Everyone scrambled from the gully and ran for Cat. He lay sprawled on the desert sand, his hands still clutching the rifle. He wasn't moving. Hope was the first to reach him, and she knelt by his side and propped him up. Cat's clothes were singed. Wisps of smoke drifted from his shirt.

"Cat! Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

His eyelids butterflied open. "Did I get 'em?" he croaked. His face was charred.

"You blew 'em up to smithereens!" Flush shouted, and everyone began to cheer.

"What're you all so happy about?" Cat said. "Look at the mess we're in now."

We had no idea what he was talking about. Then he gestured to the still-ballooning cloud of black and red. It seemed to consume the very air itself, biting a hole in the pale blue sky. Even now, a full minute after the explosion, we could feel its scorching heat.

Although we'd managed to defeat the Hunters, we'd also just announced our exact location to the entire world.

"Look," Twitch said, pointing in the far distance.

Everyone turned. A lone four-wheeler scurried across the Flats, trailing a plume of white. Apparently Cat hadn't killed all of them. Somehow one had managed to escape. And not just anyone: the Man in Orange. Flames lit the back of his jacket.

"Come on," Cat said bitterly. "Let's get the hell out of here."

He threw down the rifle with a look of disgust, and began to walk away. The rest of us scrambled to catch up.

AS THEY HEAD EAST, everyone is talking nonstop about Cat's annihilation of the Hunters. Everyone except Hope. She races up to Book, staring him down. "What was that about?" she asks.

Book looks at her, startled. "What was what about?"

"Those Hunters. Why are they chasing us?"

"They're not chasing you. Just us."

"Um, in case you didn't notice, those bullets were aimed at all of us. Why?"

Book tells her the story, how sadistic "sportsmen" have paid for the right to hunt down Less Thans.

"And now that you've escaped and the Brown Shirts can't sell you off?" Hope asks.

Book shrugs. "Maybe the Brown Shirts are paying them."

"So how come no one told us? Don't you think it would've been nice for us to know there was a group of cold-blooded killers trying to finish us off? Or were you planning on keeping that little secret to yourselves?"

"We were going to tell you."

"Really? Like when Twitch spotted them in the Flats?"

"We just hadn't gotten around to it."

"Yeah, well, thanks for sharing. And thank God Cat came to the rescue-again."

Hope sees something change in Book's face. "No one forced you to come with us," he mutters.

"Then why'd you come back for me-for us?"

"Thought you needed rescuing."

"I told you in the fields: we didn't."

"Guess I missed that."

"Yeah, I guess you did."

They walk in silence.

"And twenty-eight was better than eight," Book says, finally.

Hope's eyes widen. "Oh, so that's it. It wasn't out of any affection for me or any interest in our well-being, it was because you wanted more numbers? Well, that's good to know."

"No, that's not what I-"

"Glad we could help you out." Her voice drips sarcasm, and she hurries ahead.

As she marches on, Book's words rattle around in her head. This is why she has no faith in the opposite sex. Her father is the only man she ever trusted . . . and now he's dead. She certainly never trusted the repulsive Dr. Gallingham or Colonel Thorason. Definitely none of the Brown Shirts back at Camp Freedom. And not Book either.

She comes to a sudden stop when she hears the dull, rhythmic sounds of metal. She knows these sounds.

With a series of quick gestures, she motions everyone into the underbrush, and they hide amid ferns and low-hanging branches. The sounds grow louder-kuh-lunk, kuh-lunk-coming straight for them. The others look to Hope for answers, but there's no time for an explanation. She holds her breath and ducks deeper into the foliage.

There are five of them, all middle-aged men, marching so close Hope can hear their labored breathing. They sport long, scraggly beards and look as though they haven't bathed in a year. Smell like it, too. Their rank, pungent odor drifts toward Hope from fifty feet away. While the Brown Shirts are outfitted with M16s and the Hunters with the newer M4s, the guns these men carry look like something from centuries past: more like muskets than actual rifles. Along with hubcap shields and rebar swords. They clank as they walk.

It's been a while since Hope has seen any, but it's obvious who they are. Crazies. The ones who inhabit the towns, living in equal parts squalor, chaos, and radiation. Just laying eyes on them is enough to make her blood run cold.

Argos lets out a low growl. Book puts a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, but it's too late. One of the Crazies stops in his tracks.

"You hear that?" he grunts.

"Hear what?" another Crazy asks.

"Sounded like an animal."

Hope grips her spear firmly. To one side, Cat lies facedown in a bed of weeds. He hasn't had time to draw an arrow, and his bow is clutched uselessly by his side. One move by him-or any of the Less Thans and Sisters-and the Crazies will spot them for sure. Hope holds her breath.

With squinty eyes, the Crazies peer into the underbrush. Their gazes dance across the moldy carpet of dead leaves and camouflaged bodies: the frozen forms of Book with his hand over the mouth of Argos, of Cat lying facedown, of Hope with her spear. Every sound-every breath-is magnified ten times.

A Crazy takes a step forward and Hope's grip tightens on her spear. Cat gives her the subtlest of shakes. Don't do it, his expression says.

Hope can feel the sweat mingling with the wooden shaft. She grips it tighter than ever.

Finally, one of the Crazies says, "Hell, Lem, it was probably just someone farting." As if to prove his point, he lets out a burst of flatulence.

Charming, Hope thinks.

The Crazy's buddies laugh, and they begin moving out, their metal gear clanking with each footstep.

Hope slowly exhales and shares a glance with Cat. They stay hidden long after the Crazies have passed. Even when they rise and resume marching, no one risks speaking, for fear their voices will carry. Hope notices her hands are shaking, her heart hammering in her chest.

One way or the other, she can't escape this territory soon enough.

The woods thin and they find themselves at a clearing. Stretching out before them is a wide valley, a hollow among hills. Prairie grass. A tiny stream. But what catches their eye is not the valley itself but what lies beyond it. Vast tracks of virgin forest.

No one needs to say its name. The Brown Forest. Acres and acres of dead evergreen trees-their needles as brown as the trunks themselves. Everything's the color of rust.

They all stand there, awestruck.

"How'd you know this was here?" Dozer asks. As usual, there is a hint of challenge in his voice.

"My father brought us," Hope says. "When we were young." Us-her and Faith.

"And he said the Heartland's on the other side?"

"Somewhere past it. He never said how far."

They stand there a moment, taking it in. It's hard to believe they're that close to freedom. After all this time.

"How do you think this happened?" Flush asks, referring to the trees.

"Poison," Twitch answers. "That's not just one type of tree. Those are pines, spruces, firs-all dead."

"So?"

"So whatever did this did it to everything."

"Nuclear fallout?"

"Or acid rain or poisoned groundwater. Take your pick."

It's easy to forget about bombs and radiation while they're traipsing around the countryside. All too convenient to pretend things aren't as bad as they actually are. But seeing the Brown Forest is another chilling reminder of reality.

"Is it dangerous?" Flush asks.

Twitch actually laughs. "After Hunters and Brown Shirts and wolves, what's a little poison in our systems?"

They leave the comfort of the woods and step into the clearing, wisps of fog hanging in the air. Cat orders everyone to spread out until they're a horizontal line moving through the meadow like the leading edge of a storm. They're halfway across, the sun peeking through the rising mist, when they hear the sounds of engines. Four-wheelers.

Hunters.

"Oh crap," Flush whispers.

Cat's clenched jaw works back and forth. "Double time. No stopping until you get to the forest. We'll make preparations there." He takes off running, leading the way.

Everyone follows, fighting waist-high grass that pulls and tugs at their clothes. Sweat pours off Hope, running down her sides.

Cat is the first to reach the line of brown trees, and he throws himself to the ground and waits for the others. As they collapse on dead pine needles, a sense of relief surges through them. They made it. They're hidden now. Although the whining engines are louder than ever, there's still no sign of the enemy. It seems a cause for celebration.

Cat doesn't see it that way. "We gotta keep moving. They won't be far behind."

"Are you kidding?" Dozer says. "We just got here. I need to catch my breath."

"Let's be clear," Cat says, his voice steady. "Whoever's back there hasn't had any trouble tracking us. And I doubt they will now."

Everyone peers into the dead forest. A vehicle will have little trouble navigating these woods.

"So what do you suggest?" Dozer asks.

"Keep going. Evade them until nightfall. Then make preparations."

Dozer looks like his head is going to implode. "That's the second time you've said that word! What're you saying?"

"I'm saying that sometimes the best offense is a strong defense."

A couple of the Sisters give him baffled looks, but Hope has an inkling of what he's getting at. They can't run forever; at some point they have to confront their pursuers. And better they choose where than their enemy.

Dozer offers one last challenge. "Any hints on how we defend ourselves?"

Cat shakes his head. "Not yet. But if we don't get away from here it won't matter. They'll slaughter us before we even get the chance."

There's no stopping to eat. Even peeing is on their own time. They do their business and then hurry to catch up. It's a grueling pace.

The sun sets behind them and they continue marching. Cat is determined to find the perfect ground to make their stand.

Possibly the final one.

At the top of a bouldered crest he calls a halt. Everyone collapses. Iris-the Sister with spiky hair-falls asleep before she even removes her pack. She looks like an overturned beetle.

The remaining LTs and Sisters huddle up. In pale starlight Hope can see Cat's blue eyes as he takes them in. They are focused, alert, serious. As sharp and bright as the North Star . . . and just as magnetic. It's like he always seems to know what to do and when to do it. A natural leader. Something she recognized the very first time she saw him-the night he stayed up talking with her father, telling him of his plans.

"Our only hope is if we fight back," he says. "Agreed?"

Everyone nods in reluctant agreement. Deep fatigue and gnawing hunger aren't enough; now they have work to do. But then again, what choice do they have?

As Cat begins to lay out the plan, Hope realizes how much they have to accomplish-and how little time they have to do it. She's still angry the Sisters got pulled into this mess without anyone telling them. This isn't the Sisters' battle. Shouldn't be their battle.

Still, there's no escaping it now. It's do-or-die time. One way or the other, this will be their final battle.