“They’re coming,” Antonio said between labored breaths. I wasn’t sure if his eyes were wild from pain, or from fear. “Worse than we thought.” Antonio started to sob. He was out of his mind. “Get out, Mark. Get everyone out. Out of the city. Away from here. What we saw… it’s impossible. But it’s real. I saw it.”
“What was it, Antonio?” Mark asked with a touch of desperation. “What did you see?”
“The factory,” Antonio said. His eyes closed; he was losing consciousness.
“Antonio!” Mark barked. “What about the factory?”
“Where they build the choppers. We stole one… nearly got away… but they attacked. My guys… all killed.”
“How many?” I asked Mark quietly.
“Four, including Antonio” was his answer.
“Were they exiles?” I asked.
Mark nodded.
Three more exiles had been killed. Of the original twenty exiles who came here with Mark from Cloral, nine were left. I was afraid it would soon be eight.
Antonio leaned forward. The small move was painful. I saw it in his eyes and the way he winced, but it didn’t stop him. He needed Mark to understand.
“I think they’ve found them,” he whispered.
“Who? Found who?” Mark asked.
“We heard them talking. After they finish us, they’re going after them. That’s what they’ve been doing. All this time, they’ve been getting ready to go after them.”
“Who, Antonio?” Mark begged. “Who are they going after?”
Antonio could barely get the words out. His voice was growing weaker, but I heard. “They found the rest of the exiles.”
“What!” I shouted.
Antonio didn’t expect to hear another voice. His eyes looked around in confusion, searching for who had shouted. I pushed next to Mark, so he could see me. “Where are they, Antonio? Where are the other exiles? Are they here on Third Earth?”
Antonio shook his head. I don’t know how he found the strength. Maybe it was easier than speaking.
“I don’t know,” he said, defeated. “After they come for us, they’re going after the rest. Get out, Mark. Run. Hide. We can’t stand up to what they’ve got. It’s over.”
Antonio closed his eyes for the last time. His face grew relaxed. He was at peace. I wondered if his spirit had joined the others in Solara.
Mark didn’t move. He stared at his fallen friend. I didn’t say anything. There was too much to absorb and process. I didn’t know Antonio, but in those short few moments- his last-I found out that he was a very brave guy. A hero even.
Mark looked away from his fallen friend, to me. It was the old Mark. The young Mark. His expression was a cross between grief, confusion… and fear. I sensed he was looking to me for answers. I had one, but it wasn’t the time to tell him. He glanced over his shoulder to see a few of his other friends watching. They were close enough to have heard all that Antonio said. They looked worse than Mark.
Elli was there too. She heard it all. She stood alone, looking lost and afraid.
“Let’s get him out of here,” Mark announced with authority. “Then we have to hide this wreck. We don’t want anything to be seen from the air.” He looked at me and added, “Are you here for a while?”
“For as long as it takes,” I answered.
“Good,” he replied. “You can help.”
They put me in charge of digging the grave. It was an experience I’d managed to avoid up till that point, but I guess with all that had happened over the past few years, it was inevitable. I made sure that Elli was safe inside the warehouse, then found a shovel and walked across the street to a spot that Mark had directed me to. It was an empty schoolyard. I saw the vague outline of a baseball diamond. Toys were scattered around. A deflated kickball. A ballerina slipper. The arm of a doll. I wondered when the last time was that these toys had been played with. I had to force myself to stop thinking that way. As important as this job was, I didn’t want to spend time looking back. There was trouble ahead. That’s where we needed to focus. Burying the dead was looking back. Still, it had to be done.
I got to work digging a long, narrow hole among the sad reminders of a past civilization. The ground was soft, I was glad to discover. It allowed me to work fast. The mindless act of digging gave me the chance to dissect Antonio’s last words. The Ravinians were planning an attack. That much was clear. It sounded like Antonio and his team had found the factory where they built their gunships and didn’t like what they saw. It could mean that the Ravinians were building a lot more choppers, in order to launch some kind of massive aerial assault. Was this the final plan for Third Earth? Were the Ravinians going to wipe out every last non-Ravinian they could find?
Or was it going to be practice for their ultimate goal, which was to wipe out the exiles, and the remaining spirit of Solara along with them? If they were building helicopters, did that mean that all the exiles were somewhere here, on Third Earth? It seemed likely. That would be the ultimate turning point for Third Earth. If the last hope for Solara was here, destroying the exiles would give Saint Dane his final victory. Halla would be his.
The more I thought of this possibility, the more it made sense. The exiles had to be here. The Ravinians were preparing to attack them. And what was I doing? Digging a grave, not knowing what to do about any of it.
The sun was going down. Though I wasn’t in an official graveyard, it still gave me the creeps to be standing in an open grave while shadows grew long. I finished the hole quickly and got the heck out of there. I brought the shovel back to the garage and saw that the wreck of the helicopter was gone. They probably salvaged any parts they could use on their own choppers, then ditched the carcass in one of the surrounding buildings. As I walked to the garage, a door opened. Six guys came out, carrying a body wrapped tightly in a white cloth. This was going to be Antonio’s final journey. The procession went past me. I stood there and bowed my head out of respect. One of the guys came to me and took the shovel. I may have dug the grave, but the job of burying Antonio would be theirs. With a nod of thanks, he rejoined the funeral procession. I watched them for a few moments, then went inside.
Mark and Elli were sitting at a table among several of the stolen helicopters. He had put out food for her, but Elli wasn’t eating. I wasn’t much interested in food either, but I knew we had to eat when we had the chance. I sat down and looked over the feast. It was basically a bunch of canned fruit and vegetables that had been opened and spread out across the scarred, wooden table. A single fork was in each can.
Mark must have seen the look on my face. He said, “Not exactly the Manhattan Tower Hotel, but it’s good. And it’s safe. There’s a ton of canned food all over the city.”
“Looks good to me!” I said, lying. I picked up the least vile-looking can and scooped out a big chunk of something that looked like half of a peach. At least, I hoped it was half a peach. If it wasn’t, I didn’t want to know. I popped it into my mouth and tried to swallow it without chewing or tasting it. Not an easy thing to do. It was sweet, that much I could tell. It slid down and I didn’t gag. I hated canned peaches.
“Try to eat, Elli,” I said. “You never know when we’ll get another chance.”
She took a couple sips of water. Mark sat staring at the table. His mind was somewhere else.
“Who was he?” I asked.
“My best friend” was his answer. He quickly looked up at me and added, “After you, that is. We got shoved into the flume in the Bronx at the same time.”
“I’m sorry” was all I could say. I didn’t think it could even begin to help him feel better.
Elli looked sick, and I didn’t think it was because of the canned peaches. She had retreated into herself, hugging her waist in a way that looked as if she were trying to protect herself. As we sat there, I realized there was something we had to talk about. Neither of them were going to like it, but I didn’t see any way around it.
“Mark, this is Elli. She’s the Traveler from Quillan.”
Mark looked up and nodded politely. I wondered how long it was going to take for him to connect the dots. He smiled at her, then his face went blank. The smile was gone. The dots had been connected in about three- point-two seconds.
“Elli Winter?” he asked, to confirm. Elli nodded.
“Nevva’s mother,” Mark stated flatly.
I had to cut in. “This is Mark Dimond, Elli. He’s been my friend since we were kids. We grew up together on
