She and the goat are small figures in the distance, and there’s no sign of the girls riding the camels and zebu. I turn to Gemini. “Let’s take turns carrying your pack.”
We continue for what feels like an hour in the heat, never closing the distance between Berta and us. We pass the yellow salt mounds with boiling puddles and travel across rocky hills of varying shades of brown. Gemini explains that the real Detroit Depression used to be a group of freshwater lakes that became submerged by the Atlantic Ocean but dried up over the centuries.
Our footsteps crunch beneath us, and the slicing blades of the drones overhead sound like fans but provide no relief from the heat. As we travel over a field of earth so cracked and baked that it resembles curved platters, neither of us speak or pause unless it’s for sips of the water we took from the stagecoach.
We walk over a hill and toward a large figure that lies face-down on the ground. Drones surround her like mosquitos, only parting when we approach.
“What do you think happened to her?” asks Gemini.
“She’s dehydrated.” I open our shared pack and find a small version of the sunshade Krim erects over the water rations to keep them from evaporating. I set it up over Berta’s prone body and kneel at her side.
“What should I do?” asks Gemini.
“Help me roll her onto her back.”
It’s rare to see someone so far gone, as there’s usually a cactus or a kind Harvester who will give a thirsty person enough to drink to get them to the Dome for medical treatment. I pour drops of water onto Berta’s lips until she becomes conscious enough to take a sip.
Berta’s eyelids flicker, and she rasps out a breath. “Calico?”
“And Gemini,” I reply.
“How long?”
“An hour or more,” I say. “You’ve got to take tiny—” Berta snatches the bottle from my fingers and gulps its contents. “Hey!”
I try to take it back, try to tell her that we don’t have much water left, but she gives me a hard shove, and I land on my tailbone.
“What’s wrong with you?” I snap.
After draining the bottle, Berta exhales a long breath. “Got any more?”
I shoot Gemini a harsh look, silently urging her not to volunteer her water. She takes several steps back and hides the bottle behind her back. My teeth grind so hard that my jaw muscles ache, and I regret having saved the oaf.
Berta reminds me of the guards who swagger around Rugosa, acting like they’re our bosses instead of people sent to do a job. She’s rude, pushy, and mostly thinks of herself.
Hatred takes hold of my heart and expands until it cuts off my air. I dismantle the shade, place it back into the pack, and leave Berta where she sits. It’s only fair since she ditched us the second she secured herself a goat. I walk over to Gemini and place a hand on her shoulder, indicating that we should leave.
“Where are you going?” Berta asks.
“The Mirage, where do you think?” I snap.
Gemini shoots me a concerned glance, and the anger swelling through my insides deflates. I want to tell her that I wasn’t always this hard or abrasive, but it would probably be a lie. For a moment, I forgot about the Echelon system and considered Berta a comrade. She’s nothing of the sort. Gemini might be a Guardian, but she’s suffering the brunt of the corrupt system.
Berta trails after us, her breaths labored. “Don’t walk so fast.”
I glance at Gemini, who slows her steps, meaning I’ve got to do the same.
“Hey,” says Berta. “Sorry I walked off earlier.”
“Why did you do it?” I stare into the distance, where the heat makes the landscape wriggle. “Did you think we were dead weight?”
“Will you stop putting words into my mouth?” Berta snaps, mirroring something I said to her when we first met. Conveniently, she doesn’t supply an answer. She probably ditched us because she thought she had a better chance of survival on her own.
“This is a team-building exercise,” says Gemini in a quiet voice. If we can’t work together—”
Her headband hisses and emits brown gas.
“What was that?” says Berta.
I spin around. Berta is looking at something in the distance. I can’t see what because her large body is in the way, but she turns and sprints past us with a yell.
An ostrich races toward us at an alarming rate, creating clues of dust underfoot.
Panic spears through my heart. “Run!”
Gemini bolts, and I sprint alongside her. Mom told me a story about being chased by a savage ostrich in the Barrens and having to stay in a tree the entire night as the creature circled her hiding place. They’re huge, deadly, and relentless with their prey.
Several strides ahead, Berta scrambles up a rocky slope, and I pick up my pace with renewed hope.
“It’s gaining on us!” screams Gemini.
We both scramble up the slope, which has enough footfalls to prevent slipping. I keep my eyes on the rock, not caring if I get blisters on my hands from its heat. Something crumbles underfoot. Gemini groans and slides down the rock face but doesn’t try to climb up.
“What are you doing?” My eyes bulge at the approaching creature. “Take my hand.”
Instead of reaching out to me, Gemini stretches her palms outward and screams.
There are only seconds left before the bird attacks. I crawl down, but a large hand grabs my arm and drags me up the slope.
“Berta,” I growl. “Let go!”
“Don’t be so trucking stupid,” Berta snarls from between clenched teeth. “This is Pixel’s execution.”
As Berta drags me to safety, my mouth opens in a silent scream.
This is no ostrich. No ostrich has a peacock-blue neck with crimson wattles, and no ostrich has a horn on the crown of its head that’s twice as thick as its beak.
The creature towers over Gemini—it’s over six feet in
