Sky on Fire

It’s weird. I don’t know what happened between them on the road. It’s not like they’re a couple, but they hang out almost every day. Sahalia watches Alex fix electronics that people bring to him and Alex hangs out while Sahalia roots through the charity bins for clothes. Her birthday’s coming up, too, and Alex has been bartering to get her a pair of black biker boots she’s coveting.

Right now Sahalia’s wearing white painter’s coveralls rolled up to the knee, with the sleeves cut off and a red bandanna tied around her waist.

She’s got flair, all right.

I feel Astrid go tense.

It’s Jake. Jake’s coming up the faded green hill with his dad.

He and his dad found each other the first day we arrived.

I’m jealous of him (because of his dad).

But that’s okay, because he’s jealous of me, too (because of Astrid).

We give each other a wide berth.

“Hey, y’all,” Jake calls out.

“Uncle Jake! Uncle Jake!” the kids screech and yell. They abandon their game and run to him, tackling him. They all roll down the hill together in a big dog pile.

(You’d think Max would be feeling left out, but no, he just buries himself deeper into Mrs. Dominguez’s willing arms and lets himself be mothered and fussed over.)

“Now, where’d I put that present?” Jake says to the kids. He tickles Henry and then Caroline. “Is it under your neck? Maybe it’s here in your armpit!” The kids are all laughing.

Jake pulls out a package of Gummi bears and the kids go nuts. Gummi bears were no big deal back at the Greenway, where we had dozens of bags of them, but now that they’re scarce, the kids covet them.

“He’s doing better,” Astrid says.

“Yup,” I say.

I don’t tell her what Alex told me—Jake is on antidepressants and seeing a counselor.

Jake can tell her himself. They talk sometimes. She tries to explain why she chose me over him. He probably tries to persuade her to get back together with him.

But that’s not going to happen. Our plan is that the baby will call Jake “Daddy” and will call me “Dean” and that’s fine with me. I don’t need the title. I want the position.

“Hey! Hey, everyone,” Mrs. McKinley sings. “Is everyone here?”

“Where’s Niko?” Astrid asks me.

“Probably at the listings,” I say.

Niko’s the one who’s doing the worst out of all of us. He wanders around, not really engaging with anyone. He’s not been able to find any word of anyone from his family.

And he’s still mourning Josie.

He sketches sometimes, but he won’t show anyone the drawings.

“Gather around, please,” Mrs. McKinley calls to us.

Mrs. McKinley has put two birthday candles in the center of two of the tiny doughnuts. They share one thin paper plate.

Before she lights them, Mrs. McKinley pushes her long auburn hair out of her eyes. She looks just like the twins—wall-to-wall freckles, light blue-green eyes. She especially looks like them when she smiles and her eyes crinkle up in the corners.

“I just want to say thank you, for taking care of my babies. I will never stop being grateful to you kids. I owe you … I owe you everything,” and she stops because she’s so choked up.

I don’t know how we did it, actually. I don’t know how we managed to save them.

Alex and I take long walks during the outdoor period for Tent J. We do laps and we recount what happened to us in each other’s absence. There’s no older/younger between us anymore—we’re equals now.

We talk about the future.

We can’t believe we even have one.

Looking around our little circle, I wish that Niko was with us and I worry about him. I wish Brayden had made it. I will always regret the way that he died. And poor lost Josie—her last hours must have been horrible beyond what any of us could imagine.

I look at Mrs. McKinley and her grinning twins.

I look at Sahalia, who is still, somehow, cooler than the rest of us, and Chloe, who is still, somehow, a brat.

And at the brothers, Ulysses and Max, standing with the rest of the Dominguez family. I wish Batiste could be here to stand with them, for he’s also our family, but he’s in Calgary, we think. I bet Batiste thinks about us all the time.

I look at Jake and his dad, who are going to be okay in the end, I think.

And at my brother, Alex, who I will never, ever leave again.

And the beautiful Astrid, who I would kill for, and already have.

The gratitude I feel swells up and tears come into my eyes. But that’s okay, because as Henry and Caroline blow out their candles, everyone else is crying, too.

* * *

A figure is approaching over the hills and grass. It’s Niko and he’s running.

“Guys, guys!” he shouts, breathless. “Look!”

He holds up the front section of a printed newspaper. Printed papers have made a comeback with the interruption of the Network. We all pull in close to see.

A headline reads: CLOUDS OF WARFARE COMPOUNDS RUMORED ADRIFT

Reading that gives me a pit of cold dread in my stomach.

But that’s not what Niko’s so excited about.

He points to another, smaller headline: RIOTS AT UMO!

The slugline reads, Refugees rise in rebellion at the University of Missouri containment camp

Niko puts his finger on a full-color picture.

It’s an old guy being protected from a guard wielding a nightstick.

“It’s Mr. Scietto!” Alex yells.

And next to him, shielding Mario Scietto from the blow, is a girl with her hair up in two giraffe bumps.

It’s Josie.

The girl in the picture is Josie!

“I’m going for her,” Niko says, eyes flashing between me and Jake and Alex.

“Who’s coming?”