And Jeb. Ian. I had friends now. Doc, Trudy, Lily, Wes, Walter, Heath. Strange humans who could overlook what I was and see something they didn’t have to kill. Maybe it was just curiosity, but regardless of that, they were willing to side with me against the rest of their tight-knit family of survivors. I shook my head in wonder as I traced the rough rock with my hands.

I could hear others in the cavern, on the far side from me. I didn’t pause; they could not see me here, and I’d just found the crevice I was looking for.

After all, there was really only one place for me to go. Even if I could somehow have guessed the way to escape, I would still have gone this way. I crept into the blackest darkness imaginable and hurried along my way.

CHAPTER 27.Undecided

I felt my way back to my prison hole.

It had been weeks and weeks since I’d been down this particular corridor; I hadn’t been back since the morning after Jared had left and Jeb had set me free. It seemed to me that while I lived and Jared was in the caves, this must be where I belonged.

There was no dim light to greet me now. I was fairly sure I was in the last leg-the turns and twists were still vaguely familiar. I let my left hand drag against the wall as low as I could reach, feeling for the opening as I crept forward. I wasn’t decided on crawling back inside the cramped hole, but at least it would give me a reference point, letting me know that I was where I meant to be.

As it happened, I didn’t have the option of inhabiting my cell again.

In the same moment that my fingers brushed the rough edge at the top of the hole, my foot hit an obstacle and I stumbled, falling to my knees. I threw my hands out to catch myself, and they landed with a crunch and a crackle, breaking through something that wasn’t rock and didn’t belong here.

The sound startled me; the unexpected object frightened me. Perhaps I’d made a wrong turn and wasn’t anywhere near my hole. Perhaps I was in someone’s living space. I ran through the memory of my recent journey in my head, wondering how I could have gotten so turned about. Meanwhile, I listened for some reaction to my crashing fall, holding absolutely still in the darkness.

There was nothing-no reaction, no sound. It was only dark and stuffy and humid, as it always was, and so silent that I knew I must be alone.

Carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible, I took stock of my surroundings.

My hands were stuck in something. I pulled them free, tracing the contours of what felt like a cardboard box-a cardboard box with a sheet of thin, crackly plastic on top that my hands had fallen through. I felt around inside the box and found a layer of more crackly plastic-small rectangles that made a lot of noise when I handled them. I retreated quickly, afraid of drawing attention to myself.

I remembered that I’d thought I’d found the top of the hole. I searched to my left and found more stacks of cardboard squares on that side. I tried to find the top of the stack and had to stand in order to do so-it was as high as my head. I searched until I found the wall, and then the hole, exactly where I’d thought it was. I tried to climb in to ascertain if it really was the same place-one second on that bowed floor and I would know it for certain-but I could not get any farther than the opening. It, too, was crammed full of boxes.

Stymied, I explored with my hands, moving back out into the hall. I found I could go no deeper down the passageway; it was entirely filled with the mysterious cardboard squares.

As I hunted along the floor, trying to understand, I found something different from the crowd of boxes. It was rough fabric, like burlap, a sack full of something heavy that shifted with a quiet hissing sound when I nudged it. I kneaded the sack with my hands, less alarmed by the low hiss than by the plastic crackle-it seemed unlikely that this sound would alert anyone to my presence.

Suddenly, it all came clear. It was the smell that did it. As I played with the sand-like material inside the bag, I got an unexpected whiff of a familiar scent. It took me back to my bare kitchen in San Diego, to the low cupboard on the left side of the sink. In my head I could see so clearly the bag of uncooked rice, the plastic measuring cup I used to dole it out, the rows of canned food behind it…

Once I realized that I was touching a bag of rice, I understood. I was in the right place after all. Hadn’t Jeb said they used this place for storage? And hadn’t Jared just returned from a long raid? Now everything the raiders had stolen in the weeks they’d been gone was dumped in this out-of-the-way place until it could be used.

Many thoughts ran through my head at once.

First, I realized that I was surrounded by food. Not just rough bread and weak onion soup, but food. Somewhere in this stack, there could be peanut butter. Chocolate chip cookies. Potato chips. Cheetos.

Even as I imagined finding these things, tasting them again, being full for the first time since I’d left civilization, I felt guilty for thinking of it. Jared hadn’t risked his life and spent weeks hiding and stealing to feed me. This food was for others.

I also worried that perhaps this wasn’t the entire haul. What if they had more boxes to stow? Would Jared and Kyle be the ones to bring them? It didn’t take any imagination at all to picture the scene that would result if they found me here.

But wasn’t that why I was here? Wasn’t that exactly what I’d needed to be alone to think about?

I slouched against the wall. The rice bag made a decent pillow. I closed my eyes-unnecessary in the inky darkness-and settled in for a consultation.

Okay, Mel. What now?

I was glad to find that she was still awake and alert. Opposition brought out her strength. It was only when things were going well that she drifted away.

Priorities, she decided. What’s most important to us? Staying alive? Or Jamie?

She knew the answer. Jamie, I affirmed, sighing out loud. The sound of my breath whispered back from the black walls.

Agreed. We could probably last awhile if we let Jeb and Ian protect us. Will that help him?

Maybe. Would he be more hurt if we just gave up? Or if we let this drag on, only to have it end badly, which seems inevitable?

She didn’t like that. I could feel her scrambling around, searching for alternatives.

Try to escape? I suggested.

Unlikely, she decided. Besides, what would we do out there? What would we tell them?

We imagined it together-how would I explain my months of absence? I could lie, make up some alternative story, or say I didn’t remember. But I thought of the Seeker’s skeptical face, her bulging eyes bright with suspicion, and knew my inept attempts at subterfuge would fail.

They’d think I took over, Melanie agreed. Then they’d take you out and put her in.

I squirmed, as if a new position on the rock floor would take me further away from the idea, and shuddered. Then I followed the thought to its conclusion. She’d tell them about this place, and the Seekers would come.

The horror washed through us.

Right, I continued. So escape is out.

Right, she whispered, emotion making her thought unstable.

So the decision is… quick or slow. Which hurts him less?

It seemed that as long as I focused on practicalities I could keep at least my side of the discussion numbly businesslike. Melanie tried to mimic my effort.

I’m not sure. On the one hand, logically, the longer the three of us are together, the harder our… separation would be for him. Then again, if we didn’t fight, if we just gave up… he wouldn’t like that. He’d feel betrayed by us.