War continues to pet Deimos. The horse butts his owner’s hand away and takes several steps towards me, until the steed has buried his face in my chest.

The horseman turns and watches the two of us. Just when I think he’s going to say something about me and Deimos making a cute couple (we so do), he says, “We’re leaving Zara and the rest of camp behind.”

The world is quiet for several seconds after that as I continue to pet his horse.

His words aren’t computing. I won’t let them.

“Everyone but the phobos riders,” he adds.

Eventually, I glance up at War. “What do you mean we’re leaving them behind?”

“At the next city we will leave them behind. I’m dismantling camp.”

Now it’s starting to sink in.

“What? Why?” My heart begins to race. “Are you planning on killing them?” Because I won’t let that happen. Not to Zara or Mamoon—and not to the others either.

War’s eyebrows come together. “I didn’t say that. I said I am leaving them.”

“So, they’ll live?” I ask.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. But that will be up to their own fortune and luck.”

Now I’m trying to wrap my mind around this—that for the first time ever, War will free his captive army. They may be far from their homes—we’re now in Sudan, after all—but at least they’ll no longer be under War’s yoke.

I can’t seem to catch my breath. There are too many warring emotions inside me. Pain, that I’ll have to let my friend go; disbelief, that this might actually happen; wonder, that War is actually considering this. And then there’s a strange, niggling worry that creeps up on me.

This is a part of war that I’ve seen only once before. The end. The part where you withdraw your troops, you decommission your weapons, you decrease your standing army. I saw it when my country’s civil war ended.

Now it’s happening again.

Zara and Mamoon will get to live a real life—somewhere not full of death and sadness. For that matter, the rest of camp will get to live some semblance of a normal life. It won’t be the same as it was before, nothing can go back to the way it was, but they’ll get another shot at life, which is more than anyone else in this camp has gotten before.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask War.

He gives me a smile. “For your soft heart.”

Chapter 53

I don’t want to let my friend go. I haven’t ever since War told me the news earlier this week, but now it’s really hitting me.

War already released his undead army twenty kilometers up the road, their badly decomposed bodies scattered among the dry earth, all that remains of his original army.

He freed his undead. Now it’s time to free the living.

Me, Zara, and the rest of camp stand in the middle of Dongola, a town in northern Sudan that sits along the edge of the Nile. It’s a striking, sunbaked place, and I hope it makes my friend happy.

Around us, the city’s residents watch us with suspicious eyes. The deal War struck with them was that he wouldn’t harm a single soul of theirs so long as they could incorporate War’s entire camp into their town.

They didn’t look particularly thrilled about it—and I don’t blame them, Dongola doesn’t look fully equipped to handle thousands more people—but when faced with the alternative, they accepted our lot.

Not that they’ll necessarily stick to the deal once we leave. That’s why War’s going to leave a zombie or two behind, just to keep tabs on them. After all, we humans make brittle vows.

Already adults and children are breaking away from our procession, carting away livestock and other forms of currency that they’ll need to rebuild their lives. I feel my heart ache watching them leave. We’ve all gone on this unique journey together. It’s a horrible sort of feeling to watch them go—and to be left behind.

“Are you going to be okay?” Zara asks. She holds the reins to a stinky, grumbly camel, the beast loaded down with goods. She has plenty of items to keep her and Mamoon comfortable, and yet I am still plagued with worry for them both.

I nod.

She glances down at my belly, which is starting to protrude. “You sure?”

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

I take a steadying breath through my nose. “I’ll be fine. Are you going to be alright?” I glance around me again, noticing all the inhospitable faces. This is better than outright death, but humans aren’t always the most compassionate creatures; I’ve seen too much evidence of that in the last few months.

Zara lets out a sound halfway between a huff and a snicker. “You know I can take care of myself and Mamoon.” The latter of whom is clinging to her leg. “I’ll be fine.”

“And the rest of the children?” I bit my lower lip. There are a lot of parentless kids. I worry for them.

“I’ll make sure they’re okay.”

I step into her arms and give her a big hug. “I’m going to miss you, Zara. More than you know.” The two of us have been together for months, and we’ve both seen and done things that no one else has. It’s brought us close. Trying to imagine life without her just hurts my heart.

Her arms tighten around me. “I’m going to miss you too, Miriam. Thank you for being my friend from day one—and for saving my life and Mamoon’s.”

The two of us hold each other for several long seconds. Finally, I break away so that I can kneel down in front of Zara’s nephew.

“Can I have a hug?” I ask him.

Reluctantly, he lets his aunt’s leg go and steps into my arms.

“I’m going to miss you, little guy,” I say, squeezing him tight. “Take care of your aunt.”

He gives me a serious look, which I take is kid for, I will. Then he retreats back to Zara’s legs.

She backs away from me, keeping her nephew close, the camel grunting a little behind her. “By the way, if you ever need someone to kill your husband,” she says, nodding across the way to where War sits on Deimos, “just remember that I’m your girl.” She flashes me a wicked grin.

A smile tugs at my lips. “I thought you owed your loyalty to him?”

“I can make an exception for a sister of mine,” she says, her eyes shining.

Something thick lodges in my throat.

She backs away a little more. “Write to me, Miriam, if you can. Maybe one day our paths will cross again.”

My smile is wavering with my sadness. “I’ll do that.”

Zara waves a final time, and then she turns around and walks away, the city swallowing her up.

Camp is quiet. Far, far too quiet.

I stand outside War’s newly erected tent, watching the breeze kick up dust like ashes. We’ve moved on, leaving Dongola behind. I feel like I’ve left a part of myself in that city.

The wind whistles through the few tents left. It keeps unnerving me. You’d think after the loudness of living in a tented city, I’d appreciate the silence. But I miss the place as it was.

How’s that for irony? I’m nostalgic for the press of tents and the crowd you could get lost in. It was a festering wound of a community, but it’s left a void in its wake.