Page 52 of The Infinite Glade
Isaac sat slumped, his head in his hands, leaning against the side of the Berg. The machine vibrated and hummed beneath him. He no longer cared on which island of Alaska Cian and Erros chose to drop him off, he’d never get back tohisisland, and everything about home felt further and further away.
Sorrowful, nostalgic thoughts filled his mind and heart with pain. Sadina trying to get him to hang out with the west-siders after his parents died. His constant refusal because he felt out of place. They were all so happy. Isaac would give anything for just one more invitation from Sadina to go out to the ocean together. He’d never thought he could lose so much, again, and again, and that the things he’d once hated were now something he longed for.
Ximena looked over at him and his body surged with anger. “I don’t know how, but you knew about this fire?—”
“Don’t you get it?” she snapped. “How can you not understand that things happen the way they happen, no matter what? I’m just as tortured by my inner-knowing as you are!” She looked like she was about to cry, but Isaac couldn’t bring himself to care. There wasn’t anythingleftto care about.
“It’s not her fault, Isaac.” Jackie sat down next to him.
“Jackie . . .” He couldn’t believe she was trying to defend Ximena. But then again Jackie still had family at home; she still had plenty of west-siders on the island to go back home to.Isaac had nothing.
Only Frypan could understand Isaac, now. “It’s alright boy . . . just sit with it. It’ll be alright.” He tapped the floor of the Berg with his sharpened walking stick.
“It’s not okay. She . . . cursed us, somehow!” He pointed at Ximena.
Ximena seemed genuinely hurt by his words. “I can’t help knowing certain things. You think I wanted to know that my mom was dead before this one told me?” She flicked her wrist at Jackie. “You don’t think I wanted to be able to stop that? I couldn’t!” She held her hands up, clenched into fists, before slamming them down on her thighs.
Just hours ago, Isaac would have sacrificed himself and his future to protect Ximena from Cian and Erros finding out the truth—that she had lied about knowing the location of the Sequencers. But he just didn’t care about protecting her anymore. Or anyone.
Isaac didn’t care about anything.
Castaways from birth.
Abandoned without concern.
Minho’s entire life had prepared him to take beatings without a fight, but since he’d met Roxy and the others, things had changed. He wanted to fight back more and more. His breath quickened as he listened for another gunshot; there were only two. He probed his left ribs to see if any were broken or just badly bruised. The Orphan couldn’t feel any cracks, but breathing each breath got harder. His lungs couldn’t quite expand and it hurt like hell.
“Get ’em in here. We’ll sort them out.” This was a deep-voiced Grief Bearer, speaking from the outside. Minho wanted to puke again. Grief Bearers were just older and dumber versions of Orphans. Stupid enough to come back to the Nation after their cliff ceremony and forty days in the wilderness.
Soldiers marched in the captives, one by one. Minho didn’t dare lift his head enough to show the Grief Bearers that he cared about the people they’d captured alongside him. But from the very corner of his eye, he saw Roxy and Sadina hoisted into the Berg and pushed in the direction of the cage. His relief almost made him forget the pain.
Orange still lay motionless, but her skin felt warm.
“Ever see one this old?” one soldier said to another as they tossed Roxy into the cage.
“Nah. Ever see one this fragile?” They threw Sadina in. She cried out as she landed on top of Roxy, but otherwise they appeared relatively unharmed.
“Come here,” Roxy whispered to Sadina—who was crying, quietly. Minho knew that her cries could get her killed next.Remnants hated weakness and were scared of emotion—they’d shoot a weeping trespasser more quickly than a raging screamer. Anger, they understood. Fighting, they knew. But tears, they couldn’t abide.
He whispered as softly as he could to Sadina. “Breath through your nose. Tongue on the roof of your mouth.”
“It’s okay . . .” Roxy whispered in a soothing voice. “We’re together.”
A loud thump against the Berg’s loading ramp stole their attention. Minho turned to see who would be carried or pushed into the Berg next. Through his twice-punched blurry eye he could see a puke-yellow cloak stumble forward, Alexandra’s worthless and godless body pushed in their direction. He’d been certain one of those bullets he’d heard would have been lodged into Alexandra’s head already because of the Pilgrim’s cloak she wore. But the so-called Goddess fell toward him. That left Dominic, Trish, and Miyoko. Only one of them—at most—would be walking into the Berg, now.
Orphans didn’t have a higher power.
Minho didn’t believe in Gods.
But he wanted to pray, wanted to see at least one of them.
The Orphan looked to Roxy, questioning with his eyes. She just shook her head, the saddest thing he’d ever seen.
The Goddess’ shoulder hurt from the filthy Orphans throwing her against the inside of the cage. She would have walked in and sat down, had they merely asked. She fixed her cloak and tightened the hood around her face. She hadn’t survived the war for this long just to have the Remnants recognize her silky garments underneath, or that her hair wasn’t that of a feral Pilgrim. She huddled into the corner of the rusted metal cage, as far away from Minho and the others as possible. It smelled like the pits of Crank Palace. Like piss and ash. Crank Palace, where Alexandra first got her name—and her purpose—had a grip over her, as tightly as she gripped her Pilgrim’s cloak.
Crank Palace had provided an end for many, but a beginning for her. And the piss and ash in the cage reminded her that she’d find a way out of this situation, too, no matter what. She rubbed the back of her neck and dug her fingers into the spot where her spine met her head. Her soul itched to separate from her body. The Evolution behind her eyes pounded, making the Goddess’ vision shake.
“Are you alright?”
