shapes my small cave forced on me. Each time I had to crawl back inside was harder than the last.
Three times that week, always during the sleeping hours, someone came to check on us.
The first time it was Kyle.
Jared's sudden lunge to his feet woke me. "Get out of here," he warned, holding the gun ready.
"Just checking," Kyle said. His voice was far away but loud and rough enough that I was sure it was not his brother. "Someday you might not be here. Someday you might sleep too soundly."
Jared's only answer was to cock the gun.
I heard Kyle's laughter trailing behind him as he left.
The other two times I didn't know who it was. Kyle again, or maybe Ian, or maybe someone whose name I hadn't learned. All I knew was that twice more I was woken by Jared jumping to his feet with the gun pointed at the intruder. No more words were spoken. Whoever was just checking didn't bother to make conversation. When they were gone, Jared went back to sleep quickly. It took me longer to quiet my heart.
The fourth time was something new.
I was not quite asleep when Jared started awake, rolling to his knees in a swift movement. He came up with the gun in his hands and a curse on his lips.
"Easy," a voice murmured from the distance. "I come in peace."
"Whatever you're selling, I'm not buying," Jared growled.
"I just want to talk." The voice came closer. "You're buried down here, missing the important discussions... We miss your take on things."
"I'm sure," Jared said sarcastically.
"Oh, put the gun down. If I was planning to fight you, I would have come with four guys this time."
There was a short silence, and when Jared spoke again, his voice carried a hint of dark humor. "How's your brother these days?" he asked. Jared seemed to enjoy the question. It relaxed him to tease his visitor. He sat down and slouched against the wall halfway in front of my prison, at ease, but with the gun still ready.
My neck ached, seeming to comprehend that the hands that had crushed and bruised it were very close by.
"He's still fuming about his nose," Ian said. "Oh, well-it's not the first time it's been broken. I'll tell him you said you were sorry."
"I'm not."
"I know. No one is ever sorry for hitting Kyle."
They laughed quietly together; there was a sense of camaraderie in their amusement that seemed wildly out of place while Jared held a gun loosely pointed in Ian's direction. But then, the bonds that were forged in this desperate place must have been very strong. Thicker than blood.
Ian sat down on the mat next to Jared. I could see his profile in silhouette, a black shape against the blue light. I noticed that his nose was perfect-straight, aquiline, the kind of nose that I'd seen in pictures of famous sculptures. Did that mean that others found him more bearable than the brother whose nose was often broken? Or that he was better at ducking?
"So what do you want, Ian? Not just an apology for Kyle, I imagine."
"Did Jeb tell you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"They've given up the search. Even the Seekers."
Jared didn't comment, but I could feel the sudden tension in the air around him.
"We've been keeping a close watch for some change, but they never seemed overly anxious. The search never strayed from the area where we abandoned the car, and for the past few days they were clearly looking for a body rather than a survivor. Then two nights ago we caught a lucky break-the search party left some trash in the open, and a pack of coyotes raided their base camp. One of them was coming back late and surprised the animals. The coyotes attacked and dragged the Seeker a good hundred yards into the desert before the rest of them heard its screams and came to the rescue. The other Seekers were armed, of course. They scared the coyotes off easily, and the victim wasn't seriously hurt, but the event seems to have answered any questions they might have had about what happened to our guest here."
I wondered how they were able to spy on the Seekers who searched for me-to see so much. I felt strangely exposed by the idea. I didn't like the picture in my head: the humans invisible, watching the souls they hated. The thought made the skin on the back of my neck prickle.