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Tiredly I grabbed the blanket off my bed and threw it over him, then climbed into his single bunk. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed against his back, trying to warm him. The shivering was annoying, but his fever was like a little furnace, keeping me warm. I wished he were Tim. Tim was okay, wasn’t he? He and Cassie were keeping each other safe, right? Surely I would be able to tell if something happened to either one of them? I was glad they were back at camp and together, out of harm’s way.
I fought against the growing daylight as long as I could, snuggling deeper into the delicious warmth and the comfort of the not-a-rock mattress. Very gradually I became aware of something odd—the heat was coming from one side… there was a person next to me.
My eyes flew open to see Nate’s pale, concerned face looking down at me.
“Hi?” he said. He still had circles under his eyes, but his fever seemed to have broken, at least for now.
I cleared my throat and sat up abruptly. “You had fever and chills,” I said matter-of-factly, swinging my legs out of bed. “I didn’t know how else to warm you up.”
Ansel and the rest of the team were still sleeping, thank God. What I had done had made sense, was practical, and I would have done it for anyone in my squad. The fact that Nate was Cassie’s boyfriend made it weird.
Nate nodded. “Seems to have worked. I actually feel hungry.”
Ansel’s injuries also needed rebandaging, but they weren’t nearly as bad as Nate’s. I was wondering about the best time to question him about the capital. Now, in front of everyone? Later, when we were alone? Leader-type choices. I hated ’em.
Before I let Nate eat, I checked his injuries again. They were maybe 1 percent better—still swollen, still red, still ugly. Dammit. Nothing to do but wait. I put on more ointment and rebandaged him. It was bizarre, taking care of someone like this. I don’t do stuff like that—Cassie does. She always has. She should be doing this.
The sooner Nate got better, the better. For everyone.
59
CASSIE
THE NEXT MORNING I WOKE up hungry, which I took to be an encouraging sign of health. Still in my sleeping bag, I did a self-check. Everything seemed okay: No sore throat. A headache that would go away when I had coffee. I punched the air quietly. Yay for not-plague-having! At least not yet.
Tim was still sleeping. He’d stayed up later than I had last night, working his way through some of the easier books we’d found. For someone learning to read when he was eighteen years old, he was catching on fast. I almost never had to help him with long words anymore.
By the time he got up and shuffled to the small table we ate at, I’d made coffee and was on my second cup. He sat down, wrapped in a blanket, and I realized his beard was growing out. I tried to remember what he was like in the Crazy House, how he had looked and acted, how scared of him I’d been. We used to call him Bruiser! That seemed like a lifetime ago. Two lifetimes.
“Found this,” Tim said, and pushed a book across the table. “It’s not about the plague, but it’s important.” He flipped through some pages and pointed to the copyright: 2039, by the New World Party.
I picked it up as he poured himself some coffee. It was called The Rights and Responsibilities of Every Citizen. Chapter one was an old-fashioned map of the United States, showing all the little lines dividing up the fifty named territories. On the next page was the same map, wiped clean except for several big lines that cut the land in half, and then into sixths.
“Oh, my God,” I said slowly, staring at it. “This is the beginning of the United. This is when they were creating cells. See the six chunks labeled A through F? My cell was B-97-4275. So we were in the B section.” This was amazing to me, actually. I knew other people came from other cells, but I’d never been able to… like, place them. I’d never known whether our B stood for Beef or Bui
lding or Best or whatever. Now I knew that it meant its location on a map.
“Those years must have been a total nightmare,” he said. “Like, first you have a zillion people dying. Your family. Almost everyone you know. Then the New World party comes in, carves up the land, and tells you where you’re going to live and what you’re going to do. I bet people were freaked out. Like, way freaked the hell out.”
I nodded, going through the book.
“Have you checked for breakfast?” he asked, looking around.
“Not yet,” I said, reading.
Tim opened the trapdoor and felt for the rope where our food basket was hung.
“Dammit, nothing,” he said. “Someone’s late.”
“It’ll be here soon,” I said. “This book is amazing—it’s propaganda, like what Ms. Strepp told us about.”
“But it’s just—life, now,” he said. “I mean, all those rules—that’s just how we live. Used to live. Nothing weird about it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “We didn’t know any different. But how did they get everyone to agree to do it? To move into cells? How did they decide who went where?”
“Maybe we’ll find more info in that same stack. But this is stupid,” he said, picking up our phone. “I’m starving.” A minute later he put down the phone. “Strepp’s not answering.”
“That’s weird,” I said, looking up. “Give it a couple minutes and try again.”
