Reached

Indie. “Why would you ask something like that?”
    Indie presses her lips together. For a moment I think she’s not going to answer, but then she says, “Anything is possible now.”
    “You think the Rising might be able to do what the Society never could?” I ask. “You think the Rising has figured out how to bring people back to life?”
    “Not yet,” she says, “but don’t you think they will someday? Don’t you think that’s the Pilot’s ultimate purpose? All the old stories and songs talk about him saving us. It might not just mean from the Society or the Plague, but from death itself—”
    “No.” I speak low. “You saw those samples in the Carving. How could you bring anyone back from
that
? And even if you could use the sample to create someone a lot like the original person, it would never be the person
themselves
. You can’t bring anyone back,
ever
. Do you see what I mean?”
    Indie shakes her head, stubborn.
    Right then I feel a push at my back, shoving me off balance and toward the river nearby. I have barely enough time to reach my hand into my pocket and close my fingers around the paper before I hit water. I hold my hand up high and push off the bottom of the river as hard as I can with my feet.
    But I know the paper is still wet.
    The others think my fist is raised in some kind of salute, so they start cheering and calling out and raising theirs back. I have to play it off, so I call out, “The Rising!” and they all pick up the cry.
    I’m certain it was Connor who pushed me. He watches from the shore with his arms folded.

    Camas River runs near our camp, too, and as soon as the others are out of sight changing clothes in the barracks, I run down to the flat stones at the edge of the water, unfolding the paper as I go.
If he ruined her message to me . . .
    Part of the writing at the bottom is ruined. My heart sinks. But most of it is legible, and it’s written in Cassia’s handwriting. I’d know it anywhere. She’s changed our code a little, the way we always do, but it doesn’t take long to puzzle it out.
     
    I’m fine, but most of my papers were stolen.
    So don’t worry if you don’t hear from me as often.
I’ll find my way to you as soon as I can. I have a plan. Ky, I know that you’re going to want to come find me, that you’re going to want to save me. But I need you to trust me to save myself.
    Spring is coming. I can feel it. I still sort and wait, but I’ve been writing letters everywhere I can.
     
    I was right. This message is old. The Plague has sped things up and slowed others down. Trading isn’t as reliable as it used to be. How many weeks ago did she write this? One week after the Plague arrived? Two? Did she ever get my message or is it sitting in the pocket of someone lying still in a medical center?
     
    Sometimes, when I feel that it isn’t fair that we’re telling each other our stories in bits and pieces again, I remind myself that we are luckier than most, because we
can
write to each other. That gift, the first of many you’ve given me, means more to me each day. We have a way to keep in touch until we can be together again.
    I love you, Ky.
     
    That’s how we always end our messages to each other. But there’s more this time.
     
    I couldn’t afford to send two separate messages all the way to Camas. I haven’t asked this of you before; I’ve tried to talk to him in different ways so that the two of you wouldn’t have to share. But can you find a way for Xander to see this, too? The next part is for him and it’s important.
     
    That’s when I see that the code switches into numbers partway down the page. It looks like a basic numerical code, and near the bottom of the page it blurs into waves of ink on the paper from when I fell into the river.
    I’m tempted to decipher it. She knows I could, but she thinks she can trust me.
    She can. I won’t ever forget the way she looked at me in that little house in the Carving, when she realized I’d hidden the map to the Rising from her. I promised myself then that I wouldn’t let fear make me into someone I didn’t want to be. Now I’m someone who can trust and be trusted.
    I have to find a way to get this message to Xander, even if it’s incomplete. And even if giving it to him makes it look like I
am
untrustworthy because part of it is ruined.
    I pin the paper down on the flat stone with a small rock so that the wind can pull the water from the page. It won’t take long for