The Forsaken

back to the trail.
    As I walk down to the main clearing, I barely notice my surroundings. I’m thinking about my mom and dad. I miss them so much, it still hurts like a physical pain in my chest whenever I picture their faces—especially my dad. I was always closer to him than my mom, mostly because my mom spent so many hours away from home at the genetics lab. But David’s words have conjured my parents in my mind again, at least for a moment.
    Grown-ups on the island. My name on rocks somewhere, hidden inside the gray zone. Some kind of prison colony . . .
    I know I have to learn the secrets of the wheel before it’s too late. Before those secrets rise up and engulf me, and my chance to learn the truth gets ripped away forever.
    Deep down I know that David holds a key to surviving and outsmarting this island. We need to share what we know. I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for David, so I’m definitely not going to let him rot in a prison kennel. I vow to return and help him before the night is over.

LIAM
    WHEN I REACH THE fire pit, I don’t see Gadya or Rika. Instead, I see Liam. He sits against a nearby tree, whittling fresh arrow shafts from branches with a pocketknife. I notice that the sling is off his arm already. And for once, he’s alone.
    I hesitate for a moment, trying to compose myself after my encounter with David. I remember Gadya’s warning that Liam is off-limits. Even though he’s definitely attractive, I force myself not to think about him in that way. It would be easiest in some ways to completely avoid him. But I have a legitimate reason to talk to him right now, because he’s been inside the gray zone. There’s a good chance he knows something about the rocks that David was talking about.
    I smooth down my hair, take a deep breath, and decide to walk over to him.
    Liam hears me coming, glances up, and breaks into a smile. His teeth are very white. I wonder what people use for toothpaste on the wheel, because my teeth feel furry. I smile back at him, keeping my lips closed.
    “Hey,” Liam says.
    For a moment, I’m not sure what to say in response. I should have figured out some kind of opening line. Then I notice a pile of branches on one side of him, a stack of wooden shafts on the other, and a bowl of flint arrowheads nearby. “That’s a lot of arrows,” I say. I don’t mention anything about my parents, or David, or how I saw Liam on the museum screen back in New Providence.
    He stops whittling for a moment and flexes his hand. “I hate doing stuff like this. I hate sitting still.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah. I only feel like myself when I’m moving. But I gotta take it easy sometimes, until my arm heals. It’s almost better. I broke it for the third time two months ago, and then I sprained it again in the tunnel collapse.”
    “Ouch.”
    He smiles, his eyes warm but guarded. “I’ve been breaking bones since I was a little kid—mostly my own. My dad called me Pequeño Demonio . Little Terror.”
    I laugh. “Nice. I’ve never broken a bone in my life.”
    “Then what do you do for fun?”
    I laugh again. “Play guitar. Write songs. That sort of stuff.”
    “Cool. Acoustic guitar or electric?”
    “Acoustic.”
    He nods. I desperately want to tell Liam about everything, but I don’t want to sound crazy and freak him out. Besides, I think I’m still in shock over what David said. “Tell me about your family,” I say, sitting across from him on the grass. Near, but not too close.
    “There’s not much to tell. I’ve got five brothers, all still back in the UNA, as far as I know. My mom kept trying for a girl. Never happened.” He pauses. “We moved around a lot because my parents were rebels. My dad’s originally from Nuevo Tijuana, and my mom’s originally from London, but she immigrated to Central UNA when it was still called America. I’m a mutt, I guess—half Latin, half British. My dad died when I was nine. Taken in an anti-government demonstration.”
    “Wow. That sucks.” I wonder how many kids on the wheel share the same experience. “My parents got arrested when I was ten. They were rebels too, I guess.”
    He pauses. “Both of them?”
    I nod.
    “Tough.” He shakes his head. “Any siblings?”
    “Just me.” I push back a coil of hair. “So, you probably miss your mom and all your brothers.”
    “Yeah.” He doesn’t say any more, but he doesn’t need to. He looks down. He has started whittling again, his hands moving