The wide road running along the other side of the wall is nothing like the old stories I’d heard growing up of gloriously long highways with bright shiny cars. Instead, scattered along this road are rusted heaps of old twisted metal that seem like extinct creatures dozing in the sun. Only now most of them are beginning to shake with Mudo inside beating against the glass, trying to escape and get to me.
The road curves languorously to a wide bridge that stretches over a valley, joining up with another road bordered by an identical high brick wall on the other side. The bridge is huge, at least six cars wide, and lists sharply to the left, the other end of it appearing to crumble into only a narrow strip of concrete. Bordering either side runs a chain-link fence that’s curved at the top as if to keep people from jumping, except now it serves to keep a swarm of Mudo trapped on the bridge.
They start shambling toward us, sensing me, and I’m acutely aware of the cut on my arm. Of the blood trailing along my wrist. Crumbled against the edge of the bridge rests an old overturned yellow bus. Other cars tangle around it, creating a barrier of twisted metal that for now keeps the Mudo from escaping the bridge and reaching us.
But they’re piling up behind it like water trapped by a dam. They push and shove and start to crawl over one another, building a pulsing mound of bodies. Soon they’ll crest over the top and flood the road, trapping us even more.
“You can go back,” Catcher says to me as we both stare openmouthed at the obstacles we face. “We can try to overpower the Recruiters. Or I can just hand myself over. Tell them they don’t need to take any of the rest of you.” His voice is even, emotionless and I ease my hand between us until I’m gripping his fingers.
He looks over at me. His face appears drawn and tight, dark circles under his eyes. “I don’t know how we can make it, Gabry,” he says, so softly it’s like breathing.
Behind us I hear shouting. I hear the crash of the Recruiters through the trees. It won’t be long until they catch up. Mudo pry themselves from broken cars, shuffle and shift on the road, finding their way through the crushed and twisted mess.
I start to walk along the top of the wall toward the bridge. To my left the mountain drops sharply down into the valley; to my right is the road and then nothingness on the other side. Our only hope is to keep pushing forward. I stare at the fence along the bridge. On the side closest to us it stops halfway across, broken where it’s fallen away. But on the far side it looks as though it stretches across the entire valley.
“Gabry,” Catcher says, my name like a warning. I turn and look at him crouching on the wall, his knuckles white where he grips it. His face glistens with sweat.
“We can make it,” I tell him. My heart flutters in my chest, making it hard for me to catch my breath.
He shakes his head. “There are too many Mudo,” he says.
“There’s a ledge,” I tell him. “Along the side of the bridge where the fence attaches. I can walk along it.”
“There are Mudo on the bridge, Gabry—there’s no way to keep them off you.”
Sweat trickles down my back, making my shirt stick to me. “Not if I climb on the other side of the fence,” I tell him. “Put it between us. It will keep them from me.”
Catcher scoots a little closer, still clutching the sides of the wall. He looks where I’m pointing and his face blanches. “That ledge isn’t even a foot wide,” he says. “It’s a hundred-foot drop!”
“I’ll hold on to the fence,” I argue.
“If you put your fingers through those links the Mudo will bite you.”
I squat so that I’m face to face with him. “That’s why you have to walk along the bridge on the other side and press against the fence where I hold it. You have to keep them from me.” I try to hide the terror in my voice. I try to sound confident and convincing but inside I’m petrified.
He drops his head between his shoulders. “I can’t, Gabry. I can’t watch you do that. The height.”
I think about the last time we were face to face on top of a tall wall, remembering what he told me. How scared he was and how he did everything to comfort me. “I know you’re scared,” I say. “But we have to do this. It’s the only way we’re going to be able to get away. We can do this.”
And then before he can talk me out of it I take a deep breath and jump down from the wall, landing on the road with a soft thud. Energy swirls with the fear thrumming through me. The feeling that I can do this. That I have to do this.
I pull the knife from my hip, the grip and weight of it familiar. I try not to think of Elias, of the night he handed it to me. The way he looked at me as if he knew me. As if he expected me to know him.
The Mudo start to stumble toward me, the sound of them filling my ears. Some of them pull themselves from under cars; others claw around the twisted metal. All of them moaning, all of them reaching for me.
And then I feel the familiar compression of air as Catcher lands next to me, his weapon drawn.
Behind us the Recruiters approach the wall. Their shouts echo through the trees. That’s when I start running.
As we get closer to the bridge it becomes harder and harder to move quickly. I slip between two cars and hear a shuffle, a creak. A hand wraps around my arm. I scream and jump back but another hand tangles in my hair. I can feel their moans along my skin, smell their death. I’m afraid I won’t be able to escape and I fight as hard as I can, trying to yank away, but I can’t get free. They’re trapped inside the cars, reaching through windows and doors for me.
I let my legs buckle and the weight of my body pulls free of the Mudo. I roll back from them. And then Catcher’s there, shoving them away. He tries to throw them off the side of the road and down into the valley but more begin to stir in the old vehicles, their hibernation ended by the scent of human flesh. We keep running, dodging cars where we can, crawling over them where we can’t. With each step I dread the feeling of teeth sinking into my skin.
Finally we close on the bus blocking the entrance to the bridge and I scramble toward it. My hands are slick with sweat as I try to grasp the sun-warmed metal and manage to hook my fingers over the edge of a broken window, tiny pebbles of glass sinking into my flesh and drawing hot blood. I don’t care about the pain, only about escaping.
Just as I pull myself up I feel a whisper of a touch on my knuckles and I yank my hand back, slipping but still able to keep my purchase against the rust-pocked metal.
They huddle on the seats inside, standing on the window frames. Children, no more than five or six years old, all wearing identical blue sweaters. The boys wear brown pants, the girls matching skirts with socks pulled to their knees. One girl has two pigtails springing from the sides of her head. Another boy still wears his glasses.
They stare at me, their tiny fingers clutching at the air, wanting something—needing it—and knowing that I’m the one who can provide it. And when they moan it sounds like whining, like a toddler crying.
I can’t breathe. I’ve seen Mudo children before but they were bloated bodies on the beach. They were rare and they never looked like this. They never looked real and almost normal. Almost alive.
And then blood drips from the cuts on my hand. It falls through the air and lands on a boy’s cheek, right at the edge of his mouth. A streak of red against his pale white skin.
I see his nostrils flare the instant his senses ignite. And then his eyes go wide and his mouth opens, lips pulled back from his teeth. His moans are harsh and demanding as he claws at the air.
Just then Catcher clambers up the bus after me. On the ground to either side of us the Mudo are writhing, pushing, piling up on each other, moments away from washing over us. One crests above the others, just making it onto the back of the bus, when an arrow strikes its head.
I look back over my shoulder to see the Recruiters running along the top of the wall toward us, crossbows drawn. They shoot at the Mudo, trying to clear a path to us but also keeping us safe, and it occurs to me suddenly that we’re usel
ess to them dead.
The bus is crushed against the far wall of the bridge, shoved against the fence. I slide my knife back into the scabbard on my hip and rub my hands along my shirt, trying to dry off the blood and sweat. I’m just reaching for the ledge when Catcher puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Are you sure?” he asks. He can’t keep the worry from his eyes and I know he thinks this won’t work.
“Yes,” I tell him because I have to believe we can make it. I have to believe there’s a chance. Behind us one of the Recruiters is running across the road toward us, determination fierce in his eyes. As I step out onto the ledge and thread my fingers through the fence Catcher tugs two of the children from the bus and tosses them toward the Recruiter.
The man drops to one knee and lines up his crossbow. Just as he’s taking a shot more Mudo crest over the bus like water breaking a dam and they flood toward him. The Recruiters shout and let loose with their bolts. But I stay focused on the ledge and take a deep breath, telling myself to be strong. To believe in myself.
Facing me, Catcher steps into the mass of Mudo on the bridge, his body pressed against the fence. The ledge I’m standing on is barely wide enough for me to find purchase with my toes and I grip the metal links, feeling the heat of Catcher’s chest on my fingers.
“Don’t look down,” he tells me, but it’s too late. The mountain drops away beneath me, the valley below still swathed in morning mist, the sound of water thundering and echoing around us.
Mudo lunge for me, pounding the fence, trying to pry Catcher’s protection away from me. It would take only an instant, one moment of him tripping or falling back and they’d get to me, their teeth sharp against my fingertips. I swallow and feel my legs begin to shake.
“Keep your eyes on me, Gabry,” Catcher says, and I nod and raise my head, staring at him. “Are you ready?” he asks.
I nod again. And then slowly we begin to inch along the side of the bridge, Catcher staying in front of me, the Mudo pushing and pulling and moaning around him. I take a step, shift my hands on the fence and Catcher mimics my position, always keeping the dead teeth from my flesh.
I focus on each tiny movement. Each placement of my toes. Each curl of my fingers around the rusty metal. I feel the fence undulate under my touch, the Mudo rattling it.
And I concentrate on Catcher’s eyes. The way he presses his hands over mine to keep them safe. The knowledge that he’ll do anything to protect me.
Behind us the Recruiters scream and shout as they try to fight the Mudo, unwilling to give up and battling their way down the road.
“Did you know there are all these old towns and cities in the Forest?” Catcher asks me.
Sweat weaves down my neck and along my shoulders. Blood still trickles from the gash on my arm, dripping from my elbow into the void below. As we get farther out over the valley the wind streams around us, pushing my hair into my face. “What?” I ask him, the metal of the fence biting into my fingers. My toes are beginning to cramp from gripping the tiny strip of concrete.
We keep stepping, keep moving. And he keeps trying to distract me from everything but him. Not worrying about the fact that a few inches of concrete and an old flimsy metal fence are all that’s preventing me from falling hundreds of feet.
“Out in the Forest,” he says. “I came across one when I was doubling back one night to see if the Recruiters were following us. Not one of the fenced-in villages but a whole city that just died.”
I swallow and nod. I glance down and my foot slips, a hunk of the bridge dislodging and spiraling down. Catcher thrusts his fingers through the fence, trying to grab my wrists. I lock my hands on his, my entire body shaking.
“Don’t look down, Gabry,” Catcher murmurs to me. “We’re almost there.” But that’s a lie. We’re barely halfway across. The Mudo swarm around him, jostling him, but he keeps his grip firm. Everywhere around him is death. Every space is filled with their moans.
We keep stepping to the side, my feet sliding along the narrow strip of concrete, Catcher shifting along the fence, me trying not to think about the emptiness below.
“The thing about these cities,” Catcher continues, his eyes locked on mine, “is that it’s like nothing’s changed. No one’s scavenged them because they’re overrun with Mudo. But because there aren’t any living people around, all the Mudo are downed. Just … lying there. Silent.”
I remember Elias telling me about the afternoon he spent in the old airplane monument. About the silence of falling snow. And I keep sliding along the bridge, Catcher’s hands over mine every time I shift my grip.
Just over halfway across a pile of cars are wedged against the fence, keeping it clear of Mudo. Catcher begins to scramble over them and then stops.
“What’s going on?” I ask. The wind’s stronger here, whipping moans around my body. Catcher’s sweating, rivulets rolling down his temples and along his jaw.
Mudo begin to pile against the wreck, trying to reach me but held back by the mangled metal. Catcher stares at the road on the other side.
“What is it?” I ask.
He licks his lips, his voice trembling when he answers. “There’s a gap in the bridge,” he says.
I look along the length of the fence but don’t see a break anywhere. “What are you talking about?”
“The road’s broken away,” he says. “The Mudo are slipping through. Falling.”
I glance down and see bodies raining from the bridge, reaching for me even as they fall. “Then we just have to make it past and they can’t follow us,” I say. “Then we won’t have to worry about them getting to me.”
He says nothing and I wish I could reach my fingers through the fence and grab him. He won’t look at me.
“Catcher?”
“There’s a whole section of the bridge fallen away, Gabry. I can’t get across.”
When he looks back at me his face is ashen. I slide along the fence until I’m past the cars. Then I see what he’s talking about. There’s nothing, just a gap, the concrete crumbling, rusty metal rods twisting around themselves. Beyond the gap is where the bridge lists to the side. The only thing spanning the distance is the narrow ledge where I’m standing. If it were to crumble, the entire section would collapse into the valley.
“There’s a ledge on your side too,” I tell him. More Mudo drop through the gap, their moans dimming as they fall away. “You can make it across—just hold on to the fence like I am.”
He looks at me and shakes his head. “I can’t.”
“Listen to me, Catcher.” He’s still shaking his head, staring at the gap and the drop below. “Look at me.” He turns to me, his face even whiter, his eyes wide.
“I can’t do this, Gabrielle. I can’t,” he whispers.
I feel a ripple along the fence and look back to see a Recruiter trying to follow us. Except instead of gripping the fence with his fingers the way I am, he’s using two metal hooks crudely fashioned from the scraps left from the cars.
My toes are cramping, my calves screaming. “You don’t have a choice,” I tell Catcher. “Neither of us does. We can’t stay here. We can’t go back.” I hesitate before adding in a softer voice, “Come on, Catcher.”
His hands tremble as he starts to slide off the car toward the fence. The muscles along his jaw tighten.
“You can do this,” I murmur to him as he reaches for me. He threads his fingers through the metal links and I place my hands over his. He looks me in the eye and I can see that he’s having trouble focusing.
“It’s me, Catcher,” I tell him. “Just look at me.”
He nods and I feel the way his breath quakes as it brushes against my cheeks. He steps onto the ledge and then we’re standing facing each other, our hands grasped through the fence.
Slowly I slide a foot to the side and he does the same. But when I start to reach for a new handhold his eyes go wide and his gaze drops. He starts to choke, panic bolting through him.
“Just one more step, Catcher.
We can do this together,” I tell him, trying to keep my voice calm. But he’s already shaking his head, already trembling so badly that he’s having trouble keeping his toes on the narrow ledge. One of his feet slips and his mouth opens but no sound comes out. He’s dangling, the other foot losing purchase.
I struggle not to scream, seeing him hanging like that, his fingers desperately clinging to the fence.
My legs are already cramping, but I squat until my face is right in front of his. “Catcher,” I whisper. “Look at me, Catcher.”
I feel heartbeats shudder through me. I feel his pulse under my fingers. He cracks one eye open but his gaze dances around.
“Catcher,” I whisper again and he finally looks at me. “I can’t do this without you,” I tell him. Tears blur my vision, softening the edges of his face. “I need you. I know you’re terrified. I’m terrified. But you have to do this. You have to hold on.”
“Why?” he asks, and I can tell he’s not just asking why I need him but why we’re here. Why all of this has happened to us. Why we’re bothering to keep pushing.
I think about my sister and how I have to find her. I think about Elias and how I have to do what it takes to see him again. I think about how I promised him that we can build something together. I think about my mother and what she told me life is all about: We either choose to live it or we don’t.
“Close your eyes,” I tell Catcher. He sucks in a breath and looks down into the mist and whimpers. “Remember the night we crossed the Barrier? Remember how you told me to trust you? Now you have to trust me. Close your eyes.”
Slowly he lets his eyelids flutter shut and I feel his fingers tighten even more under mine.
“You know where the ledge is—raise your left foot until you’re on it,” I tell him, and he does until we’re both standing.
“Now slide your left foot along the ledge—follow my fingers.” I guide our hands along the links. His lips part and his forehead creases in concentration. I want to laugh at how familiar the expression is but I focus on keeping my voice calm and soothing. Slowly we ease farther down the bridge.