Wherever we were going, I began to lose focus. My footing grew unsteady. I felt as if I were at the end of a rubber band being pulled too tight, yearning to snap back to my origin. It was Henry--I knew it. The farther I drew from him, the more intense the sensation became. But all that my captors saw was me, weak and unbalanced, looking more fearful than anything else. Their comprehension of my fear was misplaced, though--I wasn't afraid of them. I was afraid of losing Henry. I hadn't realized until those moments how much I still needed him. He'd been with me for weeks, now, and I'd begun to take him for granted, because we'd been close. But my body's reaction was a visceral reminder that he was, somehow, connected to me. A part of me.

They pulled me along the cobblestoned bank. The rocks were uneven, and vegetation grew up from every crevice. The overpass seemed half a mile behind us when Peale, who'd been walking ahead, stopped and turned. The others stopped as well, and I put in real effort to stand as straight and strong as possible. I couldn't--wouldn't--let him think I was afraid.

Paying attention for the first time since they'd started this trek, I saw that there was a boat pulled up onto the bank. It was surprisingly big, but it didn't look like it could float. It had a makeshift cabin made of awnings and plywood, probably something they'd cobbled together over time.

Peale motioned to the people holding onto me. "Let her go. I'll let you know if I want you."

They released me, and I rubbed my upper arms where their vice grips had been. The three of them headed back a ways and then stopped, I guessed to be there in case of trouble. I stood, facing him, the hard, cold sensation in my chest in contrast to the fiery enmity I felt toward him. Peale was grinning, but I saw no humor in the grin. He still held my gun in his hand, and he removed his jacket as he kept it aimed at me.

"Why so quiet, now? After all your talk?"

I could barely breathe properly, let alone speak to him. All I could do was stare.

"No fight in you? Come on--don't disappoint me now."

He approached me, and though my instinct was to run back toward Henry, get as far away from Peale as possible, I knew with the others behind me I'd never make it. My brain raced to figure out what I should do. At a minimum, I hoped I could fend him off so he couldn't hurt me the way I knew he wanted to. I'd fight him. I liked to think I'd die before I let him touch me . . . but how many people thought the same thing and were brutalized anyway?

Peale was so close that I could feel his breath hot on my face when he talked. "I don't like posers in my tribe, Punky. Can't have people like that here."

"Fine," I said at last, my voice steady. "Then we'll leave."

He laughed. "No--I don't think so. You're not leaving."

"Then what do you want?" Nights of avoiding his advances had told me the answer. I asked only to prolong conversation, to allow my frenetic mind to catch up with itself, to try to work through the frigidity lacing my chest.

Peale gripped my arm, pulled me toward him and got right up in my ear, rasped, "I want to fuck you, and then I want to kill you." He pushed me away slightly, but his words were still slime on my cheek. Then he looked me up and down and added, "But I'm not totally uncompromising, so I tell you what--I'll let you choose the order."

His bluntness told me there was no way to talk myself out of this one. No way to outsmart him. No way out of this but the hard way. As he let go of my arm and circled me once more, I watched him from the sides of my eyes, zeroed in on the gun in his hand, and suddenly went for it. I almost succeeded--felt my fingertips brush the metal--but I was no match for his agile strength. He wrapped his arms around me from behind and held me tight, squeezing so hard I gasped for air. He stuck the gun up under my chin and turned me toward the overpass.

"Look," he demanded. "Look up there!"

Water streamed from my eyes. My hands pulled on his forearms, tried to put space between them and my constricting throat, but he took no notice. When I saw what he wanted me to see, though, everything in me froze. Way above, half a mile up, on the overpass, a group of people were assembled. It was dark, especially where I stood, but they seemed situated under one of the few street lamps on the bridge, and from what I could tell, the figures were struggling. We were far enough away that I couldn't make out faces or clothing, but I knew--I knew who they were. And when one of them separated from the others, went up and over the barrier, and dropped down toward the river below, I knew exactly who he was.

Some primal scream erupted from me. He seemed to fall in slow motion, everything seemed set in slow motion, and when he hit the water, I didn't even hear the splash, because my whole body was shrieking with his name. The space in my skull rang with some high pitched siren. And then I went slack. Everything came into focus around me. The arms around me tightened violently, and I struggled to breathe, again.

"That's what you get when you play the game and lose."

Peale pulled me backward, toward that boat. I was too stunned, too terrified to even realize what was happening. All I could think about was Henry. There was no way someone could've survived that fall. The water was shallow, and cold. And he'd dropped so far . . .

Up and over the side of the boat, into the makeshift cabin before I really understood what was happening, and I fleetingly wondered whether it even mattered what happened to me, now. Let Peale win or fight him--did I care? In that moment, I wasn't sure I had fight in me. He threw me on the floor and yanked my pack off my shoulders. When I tried to get up, he kicked me hard in the stomach, sending me back down, the wind entirely knocked from me. As I coughed and gasped for air, he put down the gun, began going through my bag, making comments as he did. I could tell he found the money--we probably had several hundred left--and was pretty happy with that. But he questioned the other items in there, not understanding what any of them were. He asked me something, but I couldn't focus on him. Wouldn't focus on him.

Then he was in my face, suddenly, crouching beside me, pulling me up by shirt, practically spitting as he snarled, "What is all of this shit?"

And then he said something that drew me from the turbulent ocean my head had become.

"You from that Circuit? You trying to take my people?"

He hit me hard across the face, and almost instantly, I tasted blood. The blow brought me to my senses, though, rather than push me further from them. Peale had stood up, gone back to his survey of my belongings, but his image came into crystal-clear focus. His dark, tight-curled hair, the bumps of his spine visible through his thin shirt, his elbows as he sorted items.

"You--you said--the Circuit?"

Snapping toward me, realizing I was speaking, he drew near again and grabbed my neck. "You with them?"

"No," I shook my head, straining to get words out, his small black eyes piercing. "No--I--I need to find them. Do you--"

"Shut up! Just shut up. I'm done with you." He threw my bag away and straddled me, one hand to his belt, the other on my throat.

The next thing I knew, as fast as he'd jumped on top of me, he was off of me, and some dripping wet figure was pulling me up off the floor of the boat, soaking me in the process. But in all the chaos, I knew who it was; I felt who it was. He didn't wait a moment after he'd helped me up; he went out and, as far as I could tell, argued with Peale. I heard disbelief from the latter, fury from the former. I didn't know what exactly they said, but I realized when putting everything back in the bag that the gun wasn't there. I hoped--I was sure--that Henry had it, otherwise he'd be dead no doubt. And how wasn't he dead?

I double checked the area--even found our cash, which Peale had left on a table--zipped up the bag, and left that boat cabin with the hoverboards in my hands. My stomach ached terribly, and I couldn't quite stand up straight, but it was amazing, the energy I suddenly felt returning now that Henry was with me again.

The air seemed fresher outside. Henry and Peale were on the bank, off the boat, and Henry had the gun aimed at Peale. Seeing his situation reversed gave me immense satisfaction. I pushed back my messy hair, set a stoic expression, and calmly approached them. Beyond, the others who'd been waiting for him kept back; Henry had yelled at them to stay away. When I reached the two, I dropped the hoverboards, and their sides flipped out inches above the ground. Peale's face, surprisingly, showed no form of fear or even disappointment. He was as relaxed as if this were all some sort of bargain we were working out. Maybe he didn't think we'd actually hurt him.

Henry looked briefly to me, nodded when he saw I was all right, then said to Peale, "Start walking that way, to the others."

"You want me to turn my back when you got a gun?"

"Walk backward. I don't care. Just go."

Peale slowly, slowly moved away from us. His eyes met mine as he did so. I wasn't going to flinch or look away. I hated him more than feared him, especially now. But I wanted him to feel afraid or at least concerned, and he didn't. It was almost as if he were still laughing at me, and that was more infuriating than anything else.

"Come on. Let's go." Henry stepped up onto his board and waited for me to do the same.

My eyes were still locked with Peale's when he said, his hateful grin on his face, "Punky's always going to be somebody's bitch."

That was it. The fury couldn't be pushed down. My whole body was on fire as I snatched the gun from Henry, moved a few steps forward, and shot Peale in the chest. As he stumbled and fell, I thought how nice it felt to have the thing in my hand again. Then I walked over to him, saw the blood seeping through his clothing, and, catching the startled gaze in his dying eyes, insisted, "It's Nadia."

I walked calmly back to Henry, stepped up on my hoverboard, and, ignoring the look he was giving me, zipped off across the river and under the overpass, breathing in the night air more deeply than I had in days.

Oh, how I wanted to soar forever into whatever dark night would have me. I must've raced for an hour over the river, not concerned with who might see me or whether or not Henry could keep up. I assumed he was behind me the whole time; I knew my body would tell me if he weren't. But even I grew tired after some time, and I let myself down on the grassy banks of the river. We were far from the actual city. There were warehouses and trainyards out here, junkyards, empty lots. I was so exhausted that I rolled down onto the grass and lay on my back, looking up at the surprising amount of stars in the black beyond. When Henry stepped up beside me, I made no notice of him. We existed in the silence, him sitting me lying back. The cold seeped into every part of me.

At long last, he spoke, and his voice was like music, weaving its way into the calm. "Are you all right?"

I was so painfully grateful for him in that moment, even as he was, but I couldn't express it. I turned away from him, ignored his question. "How--how did you survive that?"

"I don't know," came his response. I wasn't looking at him, but I pictured his glass eyes reflecting the moonlight. I wished I could look into them, really look into them, for as long as I wanted, without it feeling strange.

"That was a crazy fall, Henry."

"It hurt."

"It was shallow, though, right?"

"I felt the bottom, if that's what you mean." He waited, I waited, and then he added, "I'm sure I should be dead."

I thought back. Said quietly, "Lucas said we were different, somehow. He indicated that we were stronger. Didn't need to eat, drink . . . it's true. I've not felt cold like others. I didn't get altitude sickness when we--when I was in the mountains. Now you . . . We are different."

"Things--inside me--they shifted, though. It wasn't normal. I . . . I felt them move."

"What, like your bones or your organs?"

"I guess. I don't know. There was this--this moment, where I felt gone. I was sure I was dying. But then, I thought of what might . . . be happening. I saw you, and it made me get back up. I swam, to you. Nadia--I knew where you were. I just knew it. It was like . . . instinct. And I found you."

I knew that instinct. Hadn't I felt it trying to find him for so long? I was gratified to know he still felt it, too, even if he didn't remember me. I wished he would elaborate, but he didn't, and I wasn't going to push. Truthfully, I didn't want to say anything at all. If he wanted to speak, I'd listen, let his words wrap around me, blanket me with the comfort of him. But Henry reverted to his quiet self, and neither of us spoke anymore.

When he fell asleep--and I could tell he slept because of his regular breathing--I couldn't contain myself any longer. I pressed my arms more tightly around my chest, tried to hold myself in. I stopped swallowing the sobs and allowed them to come to fruition. Though I made little noise, I cried with deep, buried tears of shame and anger. What had happened, it'd been my own fault. I'd wanted to be with those people; I'd prolonged our stay with them, even though I knew it was a poor choice, because I'd felt intrigued and powerful; I'd been so sure I was ahead of the game, that those people had nothing on me, couldn't hurt me--I could take care of us. It was so painfully clear that I'd just been lying to myself, and it had almost killed Henry. Peale had almost . . .

It would have destroyed me. It was destroying me--the knowledge that I'd been so wrong and that because of that he'd almost assaulted me. That I had willfully put us in so much danger. I was an idiot for thinking I'd had control of the situation.

I sat up, stood up. The river was sparkling under the moonlight; somewhere a dog was barking. As dilapidated as this area was, there was a weird peace to it. A breeze had begun to blow softly through the darkness, and it dried my damp cheeks. This was so much like what had happened before . . . my poor decisions tended to lead to disaster. At least neither of us had died, this time—or stayed dead.

Henry stirred. I glanced toward him. He was curled up as I had been, but he was definitely asleep. How could he sleep after what he'd been through? Maybe I needed sleep, too, but I wasn't sure it would come.

What future did I have? Where were Henry and I even headed? What was the point in all this? I couldn't let my guard down, ever again. At all costs, I had to protect him. No one would take Henry from me again; he was all I had. No one would take advantage of me. The picture of Peale's startled eyes, his body draining on the ground, made me smile. Any potential future I could hope for depended on my capacity for rage, for aggression. Everyone was my enemy: I'd treat them accordingly.