“Yeah, well, you get fed poison, cut off from a bunch of spikes, and left for dead, see how you feel.” The self-disgust on his tongue was so thick a bottle of mouthwash wouldn’t cover the taste. “You think she’s going to like you so much once she finds out that you got Alex killed? That you decided it was easier to pretend there was nothing the slightest bit weird going on with the Zone?” He wouldn’t be surprised if Ellie wanted dibs on the firing squad, and no, he was not overreacting. These kids put down people.

What bothered him, too, was how quickly the lies came. He thought he was past all that, the Night of the Hammer and his father and the strange, meaty thunks and Deidre’s screams. Ten years later, and he still remembered answering that detective’s questions: No, sir, I didn’t hear anything. No, I was asleep. Hammer? No, sir, I haven’t seen a hammer anywhere. I don’t think we even have one.

“No, Detective, I love my dad.” He leaned his forehead against chilled glass. Just below the sill were stark coils of some very thick but snow-covered vine winding up a high iron trellis. “I’m only eight, and I’ve just listened to my dad kill someone, and no, sir, he never hurts me.”

Despite the bright sun of early afternoon, the double-paned window fogged with his breath. Through the patchy haze, he watched Ellie boost herself onto the saddle of a dingy brown mare. The way to the lake wound through thick woods fringing a vast bowl of glittering snow that, from the wire and steel posts, must be the farmstead’s garden plot. Chris saw the old man raise a hand as Ellie, Eli, and their dogs disappeared and then gather the reins of a dun-colored saddlebred, which he led toward a weathered, dark gray stable just off the long frozen oval of a duck pond south of the house. Switching to the south-facing window, Chris tracked Isaac’s progress as the shadows of the man and his horse, long and spider-thin, dashed away toward distant, wooded countryside. Nestled a short distance to the right of the stable, a clutch of cows had gathered in a white corral around a feed station outside a red, high-pitched gable barn with a stone foundation. Like the stable, the barn was decorated with several hex signs: half-stars in fake arches over the windows that Hannah had called “Devil’s doors,” as well as white rosettes. With its east-to-west orientation, Chris could just make out a swirling blue and gold Wheel of Fortune beneath the peak at the gable end. As he neared the barn, Isaac waved to another boy—not tall enough to be Jayden, so maybe Connor or Rob—pushing a barrow of soiled hay.

Man, I would muck stables 24/7 if they’d just let me out of here. Sighing, Chris closed his eyes. He wasn’t stupid, so why was he acting that way? Forget how this would hurt Ellie in the long run. What about the fact that he was only digging himself in deeper with lies? Once the truth got out—and it would—they’d find it that much harder to trust him.

Yeah, but look how long everyone’s been lying to me.

The story was so incredible, he doubted anyone could make it up. As much as he didn’t want to believe it, what Isaac said answered a lot of questions. It even explained Peter’s reaction when Chris showed up in Rule. One look at Chris, and Peter probably stalked into the Council to demand an explanation. What would Yeager have admitted?

“Betcha not much,” Chris said. “You really think an old asshole like that is going to fess up to getting his business partner’s wife pregnant?”

Or that Chris’s grandmother . . . was Jess?

All Isaac knew was that when Yeager and Jess’s daughter—Chris’s mom—showed up with twin baby boys, Yeager agreed to take only one, who turned out to be Simon. Chris was sent back to his dad, who probably raised a huge stink or got some money out of it. Not that his father spent a dime more on Chris than he had to. This was a man who never had two nickels to rub together; who always kept the money Chris made from summer lawn mowing jobs. For safe keeping; was what his dad always said. For college. Right. When you boozed as much as his dad, you needed all the pocket change you could scrape together.

But how had Yeager decided something like that? Put him and Simon side by side and done eeny-meeny-miny-mo? Drawn straws?

Chris could count the number of times he’d actually spent more than five minutes with Yeager on one hand. But he now understood why all his meetings with Yeager only happened once a year, and always in restaurants in other towns outside of Merton and nowhere close to Rule. No way Yeager would risk anyone seeing him and asking Chris, Hey, Simon, how’s it hanging, kid? Or risk him and Simon laying eyes on each other.

No wonder Dad always got roaring drunk afterward. Every time he saw Yeager was just one more reminder of how he’d ended up stuck with—

The knock was perfunctory, a warning more than a request. He heard a jingle of keys, the rattle of the knob, and then Hannah was hip-butting in on an aroma of stewed carrots, boiled potatoes, and rich sauce. A handgun rode just below her right hip.

“Lunch. Better late than never,” she said, by way of greeting. “Got tied up with the lambing. Still have four ewes waiting to deliver.”

“What, no Jayden to make sure I don’t jump you?” he said.

“He and Connor are out hunting and checking traplines. They won’t be back until they have something. Jayden always pushes the envelope.”

“At least he gets to do something. I could help out around here, you know.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Butting the door closed, she walked to the table where he’d laid his books. “Do you mind?”

Although the smell was driving him crazy, he didn’t move a muscle. “You aren’t worried I’ve got a sudden hankering for a chicken wing instead of beef stew?”

“No, you’re still talking; it’s venison; and I don’t insult easily.” Her gray gaze was unflinching. “I’m also much faster, younger, and quite possibly a better shot than Isaac. Now, are you going to help, or would you like me to leave this on the floor?”

Wordlessly, he swept the books into an untidy heap and dumped them on the bed. Leaning against a brass bedpost, he crossed his arms and watched her lay out his food with efficient, economical movements. It bothered him that he noticed how neatly that buckwheat mane wove into a smooth braid. Or that she still smelled like honey and oatmeal.

“Besides the stew,” she said, showing him her back, “there are some peaches put up last year, and I brewed you a cup of nettle tea. It’s high in iron, and good for correcting any anemia.”

“Yeah? Maybe I should have a taster first.”

When she turned, she did it without a lot of drama, the way a kindergarten teacher understands that screaming at the annoying little kid will only make him tantrum harder. “I’ve already apologized. I know I’m not perfect, but given the circumstances . . .”

“Yes, blah, blah, blah . . . if you had to do it over again, you’d still make the same choice. I know. Like you said, we’ve been over this.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

Someone to argue with, so I don’t have to think about what to do next. “How about letting me out of here for starters?”

“You know that’s not my decision.”

“But Isaac would listen to you.”

“Probably, but I don’t think this is a bad call either. While I’ve not seen that many kids turn, what happened to you is very different.”

“Like you said, I’m still talking. I came back as me.” From where was a question he didn’t want to think about and couldn’t answer anyway. He made a sweeping gesture at the books. “You’re the college kid. There’s the science. What more do you want?”

“My advice is still the same. Take this up with Isaac. Now, if that’s all”—she began to move toward the door—“I have chores that need doing, and lambs that need feeding.”

“Wait.” As angry as he was, he needed a break from himself. “Look, I’m sorry I’m being a jerk. I guess I’m not used to getting killed and then waking . . . Sorry.” He held up a hand. “Sorry. That was the wrong thing to say. Can you stay for a little while? No one but Isaac and Ellie talk to me. You treat me like I’m some kind of leper; I can’t decide if Jayden wants to dissect me or run experiments to figure out what makes me tick.”

“If he had access to a lab, he’d probably do both” Hannah said, though she didn’t smile.

That did not make him feel better. “Why are you guys so afraid of me?”

“You need to ask that? We can’t explain you, we don’t know what will happen, and, oh, you’ve been just a little violent.”

“I was confused, okay? You try getting crushed, poisoned, and then woken up with some old guy doing a bunch of mumbo jumbo on you and see if you’re not just a little freaked out.”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that I am, Chris? I’m not exactly thrilled to have misread the situation.” She sounded angry now.

Misread the situation? Had she just admitted to making a mistake? “So can we agree that we’re all a little on edge? Please, stay awhile. I hate being alone all the time. All I’ve got is what’s running around in my head. Five minutes. If I’m a jerk again, you can leave.”

“I don’t need your permission,” she said, although he thought there might be the ghost of a smile this time. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Um . . .” Now that she was staying, everything seemed to jam behind his teeth. You thought I was Simon. How well did you know him? Did you know Peter? Tell me more about Penny. But all that felt too personal, too fast. “Do you want to sit?”

“Thanks.” Slipping onto a straight-back, she clutched the tray to her chest like a shield. “So . . . what’s on your mind?”

“Okay, here’s what I don’t understand.” Actually, there were quite a few things he didn’t get, but he decided to start with something that was not only safe but pointed out that, really, he could be trusted. (Oh, riiiight, his inner voice needled, that so explains why you lied to Ellie and haven’t told them about Lena.) “You know I’m the one who’s been taking your sickest kids back to Rule. I’m the one who’s left food and supplies.”