“We’ve got lots of cleanup to do,” I say. “What do you want?”
His shoulders sink with defeat. “I know I have no right to ask, but will you help our survivors?”
I’m taken aback by the desperation in his tone. Pax has always been confident to the point of cockiness. He was laid back and unfazed by anything until Virginia’s death.
Nova’s single note of laughter is bitter. “Go fuck yourself. Karma came to collect.”
“How many survivors do you have?” I ask.
Nova’s brows hit her hairline. “It doesn’t matter, Briar. We’re not helping them.”
I keep my gaze on Pax as he answers. “Eighty adults, not including me and Theron. Seventeen children.”
I gape at him, horrified. “Seventeen?”
There were more than a hundred and fifty children at that camp. Now I understand why Pax is so forlorn.
“We tried to evacuate,” he says. “It was chaos. Our camp is gone. All our supplies. Our well. We have nothing.”
Aromium makes people into darker versions of themselves. I can’t see the people at Rising Tide as my enemies, because I was once one of them. None of us asked for this. Especially not those poor children.
Pax coughs and something comes up that he turns and spits to the ground. The same thing is happening to our people due to breathing air from the toxic gas and ash cloud.
“I’m not asking you to take me or Theron. Just the others.”
I turn away, his pleading tone gutting me. This is a decision I wish Marcus were here to make.
“This isn’t our problem, Briar,” Nova says.
“How did you get the burns?” I ask Pax.
“The heat.”
“How many of the survivors are babies?”
“Five of them are under one year old. We wrapped them in wet blankets.”
Nova’s saying something to me, but I’m lost in my own thoughts. This is what Marcus would describe as a situation with two bad choices. If we take in Pax’s people, we’ll have to turn our shield off. We’ll be inviting people who have tried to kill us into our home.
“At least take the kids,” Pax says.
I rub my temple, divergent thoughts racing through my mind.
How would we feed everyone? Can I live with myself if I leave them to die? What if they attack us?
“I don’t know what to do with those kids,” I tell Pax. “They’re...”
“I know.” His voice is thick with emotion.
He holds out his blistered palms. “All of us look like this. We’re still losing people to lung damage. We can’t take care of them.”
“We don’t know if we even have enough for our own people.”
Nova’s cautioning tone is telling me to walk away. That we owe them nothing. And I hear that, but I also hear my parents telling me not to abandon all those people. That’s a fundamental flaw in Whitman’s New America. The powerful and privileged only take care of themselves. They don’t have to worry about feeding their children or keeping them safe, and they look down on those who do.
“We have three rules,” I tell Pax.
Nova turns to face me, anger blazing in her eyes. “No. This is my call, and I’m not doing it.”
