‘Stop what?’ I said, avoiding his gaze.
‘You know what I mean. You’re not eating. You barely sleep, or talk.’
‘I’m keeping up with you and Zoe, aren’t I?’
‘I didn’t say you weren’t. It’s just that you’re not yourself anymore.’
‘And since when are you an expert in what I’m like? You hardly know me.’ My voice was loud in the morning stillness.
I knew it wasn’t fair to snap at him. What he’d said was true enough. I’d been eating less, even now we were out of the deadlands and the hunting was good. I ate just enough to stay well, to travel fast. On frosty days, when it was my turn to sleep, I cast the blanket off my shoulders and offered myself up to the cold.
I couldn’t explain any of this to Piper or Zoe. It would mean talking about Kip. His name, that single syllable, caught in my throat like a fish bone.
His past, too, stopped me at the brink of words. I couldn’t speak about it. Since the silo, when The Confessor had told me what Kip had been like before the tank, I carried her news with me everywhere. I was good at secrets. I’d hidden my seer visions from my family for thirteen years before Zach exposed me. I’d concealed my visions of the island from The Confessor for the four years of my captivity in the Keeping Rooms. On the island, I’d hidden my twin’s identity from Piper and the Assembly for weeks. Now I concealed what I knew about Kip. The knowledge that he had tormented The Confessor as a child, and delighted when she was branded and sent away. That he’d tried, as an adult, to track her down and pay to have her locked in the Keeping Rooms for his own protection.
How could he be such a stranger to me, when I could identify each of his vertebrae under my fingertips, and I knew the precise curve of his hip bones against my own?
But at the end, in the silo, he’d made the choice to die, to save me. These days, it seemed that was the only gift we had to offer one another: the gift of our own deaths.
Halfway to the Sunken Shore, Zoe led us to a safehouse at the edge of the plains. Nothing moved in the cottage but the wind, banging the front door, which had been left open.
‘Did they run, or were they taken?’ I asked, as we walked through the empty rooms.
‘Either way, they left in a hurry,’ said Zoe. In the kitchen, a jug lay in pieces on the floor. Two bowls sat unwashed on the table, velveted with green mould.
Piper was bending to look at the door latch. ‘The door was kicked in, from outside.’ He stood. ‘We have to leave now.’
And even though I’d looked forward to a night of sleeping indoors, I was glad to leave those rooms where all noise was muted by dust. We retreated into the long grass that grew right up to the house itself, and didn’t make camp until we’d walked all day, and half the night.
Zoe was kneeling over a rabbit that she’d caught the day before, skinning it while Piper and I lit a fire.
‘It’s worse than we thought,’ said Piper, leaning forward to blow on the timid flame. ‘Half the network must’ve been infiltrated.’
It wasn’t the first ruined safehouse that we’d seen. On the way to the silo we’d come across another safehouse, where nothing remained but blackened beams, still smoking. The Council had taken prisoners on the island, and the resistance’s secrets were being wrung from them.
As Zoe and Piper took stock of what we knew, I sat in silence. It wasn’t that they excluded me from conversations – rather that their talks were full of shorthand references to people, places and information that they shared, and that I had never encountered.
‘No point in going past Evan’s place,’ Piper said. ‘If they took Hannah alive, then they’ll have got him too.’
Zoe didn’t look up from the rabbit. She stretched it out on its back, grasped its back legs with one hand, and ran her knife down the line of exposed white fur. The stomach fell open like two hands parting.
‘Wouldn’t they pick up Jess, first?’ she said.
‘No. She never dealt with Hannah directly – she should be safe. But Evan was Hannah’s contact. If she’s taken, Evan’s done for.’
The resistance network on the mainland had been larger and more intricate than I’d ever realised. At how many other safehouses did broken doors now swing onto empty rooms, the latches smashed? The network was like a woollen jumper with several loose threads, each one threatening to unravel the entire thing.
‘Depends how long Hannah held out for,’ Zoe said. ‘She might’ve bought him some time to get clear. Julia lasted three days when they took her.’
‘Hannah’s not as strong as Julia – we can’t assume she managed to last that long.’
‘Sally had no contact with Hannah, either. And some of the western cells should still be intact,’ Zoe went on. ‘They reported straight to you – there were no links with the eastern network.’
I spoke up. ‘I never realised how much of the resistance was going on here, on the mainland.’
‘You thought the island was the only thing that mattered?’ Zoe said.
I shrugged. ‘That was the main thing, wasn’t it?’
Piper pursed his lips. ‘The thing about the island – it mattered that it existed. It was a symbol – not just for the resistance, but for the Council too. It was a signal that there could be a different way. But it was never going to be big enough for all of us. Even in those final months, we were having to turn down some requests from refugees – until we’d built up our capacity. Added to the fleet, sorted out the supply situation.’ He shook his head grimly. ‘It was never going to be the final answer.’
Zoe interrupted him. ‘Most people on the island did nothing. They felt like great rebels just for living out there, but that was it. They might have joined the guards or done a few shifts in the lookout posts, but not many of them were actually actively contributing – coming to the mainland to help with rescues; running the safehouse network; monitoring the Council’s movements. Even some of those in the Assembly with Piper – they were happy enough to sit about in the Assembly Hall, looking at maps and talking about strategy, but you wouldn’t catch half of them making the crossing. The mainland was where the hard work still happened – but once they’d made it to the island, most people never came back.’
‘I wouldn’t have put it like that, but Zoe’s right,’ Piper said. ‘A lot of people on the island were complacent. They thought being there was enough. It was those on the mainland, or working the courier ships between the two, who did most of it. Zoe did more than most, and she’s never even been to the island.’
I looked up quickly. ‘Really? I was sure that you had,’ I said.
‘They never wanted any Alphas setting foot on the place – even I understood why.’ Zoe was hunched over the rabbit. She pulled the fur from the flesh as if peeling off a glove. ‘Why did you think I’d been there?’
‘I guess because you dream about the sea all the time.’
I didn’t realise I knew it, until I heard myself say it. In all those nights that we’d slept close to one another, I’d shared her dreams, the same way I’d shared her water flask or her blanket. And her dreams were all of the ocean. Perhaps that’s why it hadn’t struck me before: I was used to it, after my years of dreaming of the island. Used to the sea’s restlessness, and its shifting register of greys, blacks and blues. In Zoe’s dreams,