“You mean Mauricio?”

“Yeah. Is he still around?” Because over the noisy thoughts and feelings crowding around inside me—there’s something else. Another sound in the background. A ticking clock.

* * *

It’s over. I’ll be there soon . . . and then we can all go home now.

—Message from General Dumont to Caden

TWENTY-SIX

THERE’S COMFORT IN MAKING THE RETURN JOURNEY with Mauricio. Comfort in the familiarity of his company. I don’t have to wonder at his silence. I understand his gestures. I fall in with his steady pace, remembering it well. It’s easier to keep up this time, even hours into our trek, and I’m sure it has to do with my eagerness to make the crossing and get to Caden before he leaves.

Sweat dampens my flesh. My shirt sticks to my back, but I push on, my gaze sweeping over the jagged landscape. Heat ripples on the air almost in tempo to the droning cicadas. We walk headlong into them. I adjust the hat on my head, keeping the brim low. Ahead a dark smudge grows, breaking through the heat waves.

I squint and shoot a quick glance at my guide. “Hey, Mauricio, do you see—”

He nods, his expression tight and alert, his rifle ready in his hands.

I glance back at the figure. It grows and lengthens, drawing closer. I don’t let myself panic. The war against carriers is over. And it’s just one man. Mauricio seems more than capable of dealing with one man. Even I’ve proven myself against such odds.

As we get closer, something about the figure makes me increase my pace. I can’t see his face, but I begin to think, to suspect . . .

I know that poncho. The tall frame and loose stride. A hat covers his head and hides most of his face from me, but I know. I know it.

I know him.

I break into a run, leaving Mauricio behind. I’m not moving fast enough, so I lose my pack, send it flying to the ground.

“Caden!” I shout, my hat falling back from my head, hitting the baking earth. Nearly tripping, I catch myself and keep running, moving, the sun soaking my bare head.

He came for me. I came for him.

We came for each other. Because he’s right. We’re part of each other now.

Our bodies meet, collide. We nearly fall, but he catches us, staggering as our arms wrap around each other. He lifts me up, feet dangling above the earth as he twirls me in a circle.

“Davy, Davy . . . Davy.” His deep, lyrical voice whispers into my ear, mingling with the rush of wind and chattering cicadas. His voice. The world in general. It all feels clean and fresh. Bright and hopeful.

And I can hear it. Music. Warbling at first, and then gaining rhythm, strength, power. And it’s not just in his voice. It’s not just coming from him. It’s inside me.

I hear music again.

* * *

Dear Davy,

Your email almost had me packing my bags. I can’t believe you get snow in May. I’ve never even seen snow. Well, real snow. Snow that sticks longer than one hour before melting. You know what I’m talking about. It’s always been a fantasy. I used to dream about going to college up north. When I dreamed about things like college.

Sabine’s father visited us last week. It was really nice. He cried. She cried. I think Sean and I might have cried, too. It really made me think of my mom. I’m ready to visit her. Sean might come with me. And Sabine, of course. Sean wants to see his foster brothers. Travel has gotten easier for carriers. At least for those of us without imprints. Sean might still want to wear a scarf. Ha!

We just have to figure out a good time to get away from here. Sabine is the lead teacher in the preschool, and Sean has more work than he can handle in the garage. We’re still getting carriers here every day. The camp has doubled in size even though we’re all free now. They can’t (or won’t) stay in their old homes, and the protected areas set up by the government are already crowded.

But at least we have a choice. It’s funny how things work out. A year ago, I never would have thought we could go home. I never thought you wouldn’t be with us. But change isn’t always bad, I guess. We each have to follow our own path. At least we’re all free to do so now.

I know we’ll meet again, Davy. Friends don’t forget each other. Stay happy and tell Caden to keep treating you right. If he doesn’t, he better watch his back.

I gotta go now. The guy next to me just crashed his computer. Opening half a dozen programs at once. Idiot. Some people just shouldn’t go near a computer.

Build a snowman for me.

Love, Gil

—Email sent from Gil Ruiz to Davy Hamilton, May 2022

EPILOGUE

Alaska, September 2022

I SLIP ON MY HEAVY PARKA, PULL MY KNIT CAP snug over my blonde, shoulder-length hair, and step outside into cutting wind. At forty degrees it’s one of the coldest Septembers on record for this area. This high in the mountains, the cold bites pebble-sharp against my face. For me it feels arctic. Caden has adapted better, walking around in nothing more than long sleeves.

Carefully holding a steaming mug of coffee in my hands, I follow the sounds of whacks to the back of the cabin where he’s cutting wood. Making a decent cup of coffee has become one of the many tasks I’ve mastered since moving here. It’s not the end of civilization. At least I’ve determined it won’t be. It might be a far cry from a city with its malls and Starbucks on every corner, but we have neighbors and a small town at the base of the mountain with mail service and a pretty good pizzeria.

I smile, thinking about how everything I have here is better than any future I imagined for myself . . . how I’m better than that girl I used to think I wanted to be. Caden and I have found a new community here. People. A life where we can live without looking over our shoulders. Several times a week we perform at the local pool hall in town. Occasionally, we get other gigs, too. Parties, weddings. I just signed a fourth student for music lessons. It’s everything I thought I could never have. I stop and gaze at Caden as he hefts the ax and swings at the log he positioned just so.