feeding the IV lines. The paramedics shoot furious looks at the soldier in command as they slide the stretcher into that tiny bit of space at our feet. Mia and I both have to lift our legs up to make room.
“Luc!” Mia says, ignoring the soldier slamming the back doors shut. In the instant before the internal lights shut off, I get a good look at him. They’ve cleaned the smudges of dirt and soot off his face, bandaged a cut on his upper arm. Aside from the slight rise and fall of his chest, he doesn’t seem to be moving at all.
When we first got out of Thurmond, I could never get through a full night of rest. It was like trying to fall asleep while floating on my back in a pool of water—every time I relaxed enough to sink into it, I’d startle myself awake again before I could drown. Every small sound was amplified and stretched by the paranoia that someone was creeping up on whatever house or hole I’d found for us to spend the night in.
Lucas never had that problem. I used to check on him while he slept. Count the measure of his breathing. Watch the way his eyes moved beneath his lids. I heard somewhere once that that only happened when people were deep asleep and dreaming…maybe it was Mr. Orfeo who told me? He was so smart, spilling over with the need to explain every mystery to us. Seeing it happen to Lucas was like some small miracle. I remember thinking, He’s still there. He’s dreaming. Something was happening beneath the blanket of his skin and bones. He never thrashed, he never cried out—they weren’t nightmares, I don’t think. I hope not.
And now he’s just…still. He breathes, but he doesn’t dream. But if there’s still a piece of him to save, I’ll find it.
We travel by darkness.
Time is broken up by the faint voices of the men talking to each other in the front seats, the scratchy van radio, and the few times we get to use the filthiest rest stops on the face of the earth. There isn’t an opportunity to talk to Mia without them listening in or tracking us with their eyes, not even when they uncuff us to give us sandwiches and water. Every word would be dissected, anyway, and I don’t want to give them any reason to discipline us or suspect we’re planning something.
I try to plan something.
In the early morning light that slips in through the front windshield and the tinted back windows, I study Lucas’s face. At the next stop for food or a bathroom break, when they uncuff us, Mia can shove the soldiers back and I’ll lunge for one of their guns. If she can’t knock them unconscious, then I’ll—
“No, Sam.”
I look up. Mia watches me, her dark eyes intent. The radio belches out more static, interrupting the song the driver was humming along to.
“But—”
“No,” she repeats, glancing down at Lucas. “It’s over. You were right.” Mia’s voice trembles. “You were right. I was just…stupid…”
“No,” I say, “I was wrong—”
“Wouldn’t it be better…for him?” she asks.
Maybe. An unwanted voice whispers the word in my mind. Is it better to let him live like this, force him to eat and drink, when he’s clearly determined to drift away? How would Lucas feel about living as a shadow of himself, while we cling to the memory of who he was?
I must have fallen asleep at some point, too, because the next thing I’m aware of is waking up. I’m angry with myself all over again, blinking against the bright interior lights of the car, disoriented by the blast of icy air that charges into the cramped space. What time is it? The engine is off—I can’t read the dashboard clock. How many hours have I wasted in sleep?
A soldier with a face I don’t recognize is peering down at me, a pale blue helmet secured tightly under his chin.
“Where—?” I rasp out, my throat dry to the point of pain. Where are we?
The floor at our feet is empty.
Lucas?
They’ve already taken him out—God, they did it while we were asleep? Did they stop before now? Did they take him out just a few minutes ago? Mia struggles against her cuffs, straining to see what’s happening outside of the doors.
“Where is he?” she shouts. “What did you do to him?”
“What are you doing?” I demand. “Where is Lucas?”
Panic scrambles under my skin like a