She opened her tool bag, rifling through the research she’d saved from the university under New Atlantic: the shiny discs, the small metal devices that had a plug of some sort on one end. She thought of how far she’d come, all the way from her city; there was no way it was going to end like this. She thought of the night she’d spent lying next to Byron, thought of his warmth and how strange it felt to lie so close to someone like that. She thought of the incredible experience with Rowan in the old mine, of how his kisses had sent fire through her core. She started to feel a little warmer. She thought of his eyes, the way he looked at her, the way he smelled. Her heart rate sent a little more warmth spreading through her.
She forced her shoulders to relax and stop cramping up with the cold, but it didn’t last long. Soon she was shivering again. Tomorrow she had to be strong and go farther afield in search of firewood. And then she’d figure out her next course of action.
Trying to stay awake, she decided to listen to another of Raven’s entries about the forests. If she could imagine herself in that warm place, with the sun on her back, maybe her body would stop shaking so violently. She clicked on the next entry. Text scrolled across the bottom of the display: Video Log—Carbon Sink Project 1.3.
But instead of Raven’s usual beaming face, he was filthy and exhausted, covered with dirt and what looked like soot. Tears ran tracks down his ash-covered face. He swallowed, his hands shaking so much that the recording wavered. Behind him stretched a desolate, black, charred landscape.
“They’ve come. We’re not sure how or why, but the PPC found out about this place. We didn’t think they’d care about it. We were naïve. They came in ships with these giant harvesters in the bottom. They took . . .” He swallowed again. “They took all the trees. Killed any animals they encountered. When they’d harvested everything, they torched the place. My parents . . .” His chin trembled. “My parents tried to stop them. They remotely jammed the ships’ controls, but somehow the PPC took over again and kept burning everything. My parents pleaded with them over the comm link. And then, before the PPC left . . .” Fresh tears streamed down his dirty face. “They burned my parents. They launched a stream of fire straight down onto them. I rushed forward, tried to help them . . .”
He put down his PRD, and for several minutes she watched as the display shuddered, his legs kneeling on the burned earth, catching sounds of inconsolable wailing drifting away in the wind. At last he pulled up the PRD again, and she could see his swollen eyes. “I couldn’t put the fire out. My parents were screaming, and I couldn’t put the fire out. Then they just . . . fell over, crumpled and black, burning out . . .”
He put down the PRD again. She waited. When he lifted it up, he said, “The fire spread. The rest of the plants caught—the shrubs and grasses, incinerated. Everything was destroyed. My mother’s data recorders, all the trees . . . I wandered around, looking for animal survivors, but found only charred corpses. Some creatures the PPC had even chased far outside the forest, as if it were a sport. They burned them too . . .”
He slumped his shoulders, hung his head, and let his tears fall. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
And then the recording ended.
H124 straightened up, blinking at her display. Immediately she clicked on the next entry. The title scrolled at the bottom: Video Log—Carbon Sink Project 1.4.
Raven appeared on her floating display, looking like hell. One of his eyes was almost swollen shut, and the other had deep black-and-purple bruises all around it. A fresh cut on his cheek spilled blood, and his lip was split open. His face was still covered with dirt and soot. His haunted eyes were rimmed in red. It looked like he was in one of the weather shelters. It wasn’t one she recognized, but the shelves of books behind him were a familiar sight. He sighed, trembling. “I thought it was over. The PPC had destroyed everything. The trees, the animals . . . my parents.” He looked away briefly. “But they came back. Foot soldiers. They swept the whole area, and I couldn’t escape in time. They captured me, beat me. They were going to kill me, so I . . . I got one of their guns and shot a man. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life. I can still see him, eyes wide with surprise, the sonic weapon throwing him back, blood streaming from his face. I don’t know if I killed him. When I threatened to shoot the other two men, they backed off.
“So I ran. I managed to make it to one of our shelters.” He paused. “Why did the PPC do this? Of what possible interest could the forest be to them? Why would they take the trees? Why would they even care? It’s so far outside their center of control in their cities. I just can’t fathom it.”
He blinked, the fatigue plain on his face. “I’m going to rest for a bit. I’ve contacted a group of other Rovers, who I’ll rendezvous with. I’m worried about the other forests. I have to check on them.”
She pulled the blanket around herself and Gordon a little more, and clicked on Raven’s next entry: Video Log—Carbon Sink Project 1.5.
This time, when Raven appeared on her floating display, he looked more rested. Enough time had passed from his previous entry that she saw no sign of the beating he’d taken. He looked a
