Lucy shielded her eyes. She could see little pockets of people to either side, mostly younger kids clutching one another and crying; the old man with the walrus mustache she’d noticed at dinner. No one who looked like they could defend themself. Many of the shelters had been destroyed, the wooden supports smashed, canvas tarps trodden into the dust. There were perhaps a dozen Sweepers scattered around.
She could hear yelling coming from other parts of the camp. They must be everywhere. The scavengers were divided. She wondered where Aidan was. Henry, Leo, Grammalie Rose? Had they been captured already?
Del swore again under her breath.
Lucy cast a glance behind them. A Sweeper stood there, blocking the way back into the maze of alleyways. Why hadn’t they run in that direction?
“Get ready to fight,” Del said.
Lucy pulled her knife out and held it ready.
Del moved so she was standing with her back to Lucy’s. She bent and scooped up a length of twisted metal. They circled, taking small steps and trying to look in every direction at once, to find a hole they could break through. A searchlight was moved so that it pointed directly at them. Lucy tried to see past it, but the intense light threw everything else into deep shadow. She caught a glimpse of white-suited figures rushing toward them, flanking them.
Del shouted and was suddenly yanked away from her. Lucy moved her knife, blade edge out, in a sweeping motion. She was grabbed from behind, her knife hand pinned. A muscular arm settled around her neck, restricting but not cutting off her breathing. “Easy,” a voice breathed in her ear. She felt a pinching sensation in her wrist, and her fingers opened. She dimly heard the thud as the knife fell to the ground. She was lifted off her feet. There was a flurry of movement to her left. And then Del was free. She swung the metal bar, aiming at her captor’s groin. The blow connected and the man dropped to his knees. She swung again with a ferocity that was terrifying, catching him across the back, and he fell forward, groaning. Lucy’s Sweeper was distracted, and she took the opportunity to stamp on his instep with all her might. With a roar of rage he pushed her away with so much force that she stumbled, falling to her knees.
“Duck!” Del yelled, swinging the metal rod like a madwoman. Lucy made herself as small as possible.
Her knife gleamed in the dust a few yards away. It might as well have been on Mars. She began to crawl toward it. She could hear Del cursing, panting, and, amazingly, mocking the Sweepers. But there were too many of them.
“Del!” Leo bellowed, appearing from an alleyway at a run and beating his way to the girl’s side. He was armed with a two-by-four studded with nails. The Sweepers fell back for an instant, and then, as if obeying an order, advanced in a solid line on the two of them.
Two more Sweepers joined them, effectively containing the scavengers within a small area. Leo circled.
And then, surprisingly, one of the Sweepers moved forward alone. It didn’t make sense. The scavengers were totally outnumbered. Lucy had reached her knife. She picked it up. No one was paying any attention to her. She crouched in the shadows, looking for an opportunity to help.
Leo pushed Del behind him and faced off with the Sweeper. A grin spread across his face. “Come on then,” he yelled, advancing. He slapped the wood against his palm.
The Sweeper moved in closer and suddenly lunged forward, his arm outstretched. Concealed within his hand was a small black box. Lucy screamed a warning, but her cry was drowned out.
Leo raised his club.
And then there was a flash of electric blue light and a sound like meat being seared on a hot grill.
Leo collapsed to the ground like a felled tree. His body jerked spasmodically, and then he was still.
“Leo!” Del shouted, running toward his prone form. She’d taken only a few steps when another Sweeper stepped into her path. The blue light flashed again, and she crumpled.
Lucy shrank back into the shadows, drawing her hood forward around her face.
The Sweepers were gathered around Leo and Del, who were as still as corpses.
Were they dead? Leo groaned as one of the Sweepers nudged him roughly with a boot. Lucy felt a surge of relief. Another man picked up Leo’s nail-studded two-by-four, studied it, then hurled it to the ground in disgust. It bounced, landing not far from where Lucy lay hidden.
She thought she could see smears of blood on the board. What could she do? If she tried to help, they would capture her, too. She was safe for now. She felt a sense of relief mingled with the shame of escaping capture. If she had not paused for her backpack, then Del might still be free.
Slowly, Lucy forced herself to crawl backward toward the collapsed shelter behind her. Once she was concealed under the tarpaulin, she curled into a ball and tried to control the tremors that racked her body. She listened to the heavy sounds and grunts of the Sweepers, picturing them as they loaded Del’s and Leo’s unconscious forms into the nearest van. She heard the low rumble of voices and the piteous sound of a child sobbing. The doors slammed shut, the engines roared, and heavy tires crunched through the debris.
The rumble of the vans slowly died away, and afterward there was silence, which felt oppressive and filled with threat.
It was hours before she moved from her hiding place.
Lucy sat on a small hill above the camp and watched the sun rise. She was cold and cramped, but she could see everything from this vantage point. As soon as she had dared, she’d scuttled out from under the tarp and run, heading for higher ground.
Her thoughts went around and around in her head. She’d been arguing with herself for hours, unable to sleep.
She’d figured out this much. One: She was scared. Two: She badly wanted to leave. Three: That was the one thing she could not do.
The reality was, she was involved. Not only because she’d been right there when Del and Leo were taken, but because probably—definitely—Del wouldn’t have been caught if not for her.
She untied her backpack and scanned the contents. A journal, a few pieces of clothing, her sleeping bag, a yearbook, a broken radio, a flashlight without batteries, a sharpening stone, and a tinderbox with a book of soggy matches in it.
Nothing she owned was worth someone else’s life.
She looked down on the settlement. All the shelters around the square had been ripped apart. Flimsy supports lay twisted and snapped in two, plywood lean-tos were scattered in splintered heaps. The soft, packed earth where the trading market had been held just a day ago was torn up, and the deep tire tracks of the vans snaked through the devastation.
She looked south in the direction the road curved. The road that ended at Roosevelt Island. From here she couldn’t see the red light flash at the top of the tower, but she knew it was there.
She got to her feet with a sigh.
A small group had assembled in the square. She recognized Aidan, Henry, Grammalie Rose, and a few others.
Lucy paused. Turned and looked in the opposite direction. She could make her way inland, find another perfect place to build a home, go back to life as she knew it. Alone.
A shout wafted up from below.
She gazed down. Henry had lifted his hand in a wave. He flourished it back and forth as if he were signaling an airplane.
Slowly, she waved in return and started down the path.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
AIDAN
The scavengers stood in a close group near the kitchen. Lucy shuffled her feet, not sure if she should interrupt, and was grateful when Henry hollered at her to join them. His left eye was blackened and puffy, the whites shot through with red. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat and filth and he bounced from foot to foot with nervous energy. He moved over to make room for her in the huddle.