His head snaps toward her. "What do you know?"

"About pain? More than I want to."

Book stands there, his arms hanging limply by his sides, and Hope wonders if she's gone too far, if she's crossed some invisible line. But the words are out there; there's no going back. Besides, there are things she wants to know. Needs to know.

"Why'd you do it?" she asks.

"Guess I was unhappy."

"Everyone's unhappy. Why'd you take it further?"

Book doesn't respond. A feeling of disappointment washes over Hope. She's tried to get him to talk, to open up . . . and she's failed. There are things about Book she'll never know. A sigh escapes her lips as she pushes herself from the rock. As she starts to walk away, she gives him a final glance . . . and sees moisture in his eyes.

Tears.

He angles away to hide them, but there's no concealing them. Hope's heart breaks, and she reaches out a hand and lets it rest on his shoulder. She feels an intimacy in the gesture . . . and knows that Book feels it, too. They are surrounded by quiet.

When Book finally speaks, his words are slow, muted, deliberate. In halting sentences, he tells her all about K2-how two unlikely LTs became the best of friends. Hope listens quietly.

He starts from the beginning, telling her about the first time they met and then the bargain they made. The friendship they made. Book has to catch his breath as he explains how they were recruited to go up the mountain. They were chopping down trees. By the third day everyone was tired and grumpy and ready to come back down. The Brown Shirts weren't paying attention to what they were doing and all of a sudden a rope slipped-one used to guide the falling timber-and the next thing Book knew a tree was dropping in the wrong direction, headed straight for him, a sixty-foot lodgepole pine.

Hope's hands are clenched, fingernails pressing into her palms. She has no idea where this is leading. Doesn't know if she wants to know.

"And I froze," Book says. "This monster tree was headed right for me and I couldn't decide which direction to go. Should I jump to my left? To my right? So I didn't move at all and the tree was coming at me and K2 . . ."

Even as he describes it, Hope can hear the violent snap of the tree separating from the stump, the whoosh of air whistling through branches. A part of her doesn't want to hear the rest. Dreads it.

"K2 saw what was happening and ran over and pushed me-he got me out of the way. He saved my life. And then the tree fell." Book pants for breath. "It landed right on him. Pinned him to the ground, the trunk right on his chest. He was alive but just barely. There was no way we could save him. I ran to his side and he opened his eyes and looked at me and . . ." Book is breathing heavy now, sucking air. ". . . and he said, 'Why didn't you move? I thought we had a bargain.' And then he died. He died because of me."

He gives his head a shake and Hope gets the feeling he's trying to dislodge the memories from his mind. Not possible, of course. She knows that from Faith. It's what they have in common-what drives them both. Guilt. Survivor's guilt.

A long moment passes before Hope speaks. "Why didn't it work?" she asks, glancing at his wrists. "Cuts not deep enough?"

"No, they were deep enough. . . ."

"Then what?"

"Someone rescued me. Before I bled to death."

Hope gives him a quizzical look. In the dim starlight, she can see his chest rising and falling.

"For real," he explains. "Someone found me on the latrine floor."

"Who?"

"Don't know. But whoever it was, they carried me to the infirmary and saved my life." His voice is hoarse, his breathing heavy.

Hope wonders if Book has ever shared this story before.

"When was this?" she asks.

"About two years ago. I'd hoped these"-he gestures to the zigzag of lines on his wrists-"would be gone by now, but no."

Wind whistles through the trees. An eerie, haunting sound.

"I'm glad someone saved you," Hope says.

Book grunts. "Sometimes I wonder."

"If they hadn't, no one would have saved me." He looks over at her. "In the fire-you came back for me. You took my hand and led me out of there. You saved me. You saved all of us."

A half smile etches itself on Book's face. "I did, didn't I?"

Hope matches his smile with one of her own. "You did."

She looks at him with her wide brown eyes. He meets her stare and doesn't look away. They hold the look, neither saying a word, and it's like the first time they touched-that current of electricity passing through them. Hope feels her breath go shallow, her limbs tingly. It's a miracle she can stand at all.

Book steps forward and leans into her. For the longest moment they just stand there, separated by mere inches, inhaling the other's breaths, feeling the heat of the other's body. Neither makes a move.

Book slides his hands to her waist, then slowly pulls her into him, pressing his mouth against hers. His lips are soft and his breath tastes of cinnamon. Hope returns the kiss and the longer it lasts, the more passionate it becomes. She feels her heart slamming against her chest. They've kissed before-twice-but always with others around. This is the first time they're alone, and his hands run up and down her back. Her hands explore him with a hunger, an urgency, as though, finally, after all these weeks together, they're able to pour their pain into the other person, to take the other person's pain away.

By the time they pull back, Hope can barely breathe. A million stars press down on them, glimmering in the other's eyes. The reverie is broken only when they hear an explosion of voices from the campfire. Their eyes remain locked.

"I guess we should be getting back," Hope murmurs.

They don't move. The heat Hope feels is as intense as the fire they just escaped from. Book leans in for a second kiss, his hands easing around her neck, pulling her into him. For a long, beautiful instant that lasts forever and no time at all, they merge as one, the press of their bodies like melting wax.

When Book pulls back, Hope feels like the air is sucked out of her body. Sucked out of the sky.

"Shall we?" he asks, gesturing to the camp.

"You go on ahead," Hope murmurs. "I'll be there in a moment."

She watches as Book hikes the short distance to the others. Once he disappears into the dark, she leans against a boulder to catch her breath. She smiles to herself. It takes a long while before her heart rate returns to something resembling normal.

That night, when the others are fast asleep and the camp is a chorus of snores, Hope thinks about Book, about their kiss.

She feels a giddy, unbridled joy-a sense of happiness she's never felt before-but she also experiences a stab of anxiety. There's no guarantee they'll reach the Heartland-and even less assurance that all will be well if they cross to the other side. And there's still the question of her father, of how he's connected to Dr. Gallingham. One way or the other, she has to find that out.

At one point she glances over at Book. He is curled up in a tight ball by the fire, Argos pressed against his side, and for a brief instant their eyes meet, as if he's aware she's watching him, has been aware this entire time.

For once, it's Hope who looks away first.

WE WOKE WITH THE sun and headed east. There was a new sense of camaraderie, and some of the group began to sing.

I felt something, too-a sensation I'd never experienced before. I didn't know what to do with it, where to put it. It was like a stray book in a library and I couldn't figure out what shelf it belonged on. All I knew for sure was I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Hope. A girl named Hope.

Then we finally reached the point where the fire stopped. Suddenly, there was grass and weeds and trees-life itself.

And that night, the woods parted and we found ourselves on the crest of a hill. Beneath us, in a valley not more than a hundred yards away, was a rusted chain-link fence, topped with coils of razor wire. On each side of it the trees had been razed, leaving a no-man's-land of stumps and weeds. An enormous scar in the geography.

As we stared at the fence that stretched in either direction as far as we could see, I wondered: Was it for keeping people in or others out?

"What now?" Flush asked.

"Now we find an opening," Cat said, walking parallel to the fence but staying hidden in the trees. His eyes remained focused on the valley below.

It was forty-five minutes before we saw a distant glow lighting up a cone of sky. The longest minutes of the entire trip. To be so close and yet so far seemed the cruelest of jokes.

We padded to a stop. There-on the other side of the fence-was the edge of a community. Houses, stores, a town square. Under the flickering glare of torches, a small band played in a gazebo, their enthusiastic strains floating through the air like smoke. Families sat on blankets while squealing children played tag and hide-and-seek. There was laughter; there was music. It was unlike anything we'd ever seen. Like we'd gone back in time-how we imagined the world pre-Omega.

We crouched in the woods, observing. Mesmerized. Some of the Sisters were moved to tears.

"There're no soldiers," Twitch whispered.

"There's no fear," Diana added.

It was true. There was no indication of badges or Brown Shirts or weapons. Just people-just regular people-enjoying themselves on a late-spring night. Mothers and fathers and children and neighbors, relaxing and playing. A far cry from anything we'd experienced the first sixteen years of our lives.

"So let's go," Dozer said, rising from his kneeling position.

Cat caught him by the arm. "Not yet."

"Why not? Let's go ask those people where the opening is."

"Not yet," Cat said again.

We sat there, watching, admiring, longing.

"Come on," Cat said at last, and began walking. But not toward the fence-away from it. Back to where we'd been.

"What the hell . . ." Dozer fumed.

But Cat just kept walking. We did our best to keep up. It made no sense, of course. We'd come all this way, survived all those hardships, in search of this very place and this very moment . . . and we were leaving it.

We marched back a quarter of a mile until the lights from the town were a distant glow. Cat stopped and faced us.

"There's a hole down there under the fence," he said. "I saw it earlier. That's where we'll crawl into the new territory."

"Um, why don't we just go back and ask those people where the gate is?" Dozer said.

"Because we don't know they'll let us in."

It was a decent point. Although the people by the gazebo appeared friendly enough, for all we knew that fence was meant to keep us out. No Less Thans allowed.

"But once we cross to the other side," Cat went on, "we can find out where we stand."

"And if they don't want us?"

Cat shrugged. "I'd rather be on the run over there than here."

Although Dozer rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, the rest of us nodded. It made sense. And what would it hurt to stay on the side of safety?

"I'll go first and make sure it isn't electrified," Cat said. He was about to leave when I stopped him.

"We go together," I said. "All of us."

"I agree," Hope chimed in.

"Me, too," said Red.

It was unanimous. Everyone-even Dozer-agreed to join Cat down the sloping hill to the fence.

Cat angled his face to the skies. When a cloud pulled itself over the glowing moon, we scrambled forward.

Pine needles gave way to tall grass and the swish of weeds brushing against legs. Fifty yards of no-man's-land and no sign of guards, no sign of lookouts. We were going to make it. After all this time. After all we'd gone through.

Forty yards became thirty. Twenty. Ten. And still nobody.

And then we were at the fence, falling in a semicircle around a swale in the ground. Draining water had left an indentation where the bottom of the fence no longer met the earth. A small but obvious opening.

Cat tossed a branch toward the fence. We held our breath. No sparks. Nothing. Then he extended the metal cap of his canteen. Metal touching metal. Still nothing. We exhaled.

Cat burrowed his head into the ground and tried to slither through the narrow opening. His legs churned, feet kicked. A moment later he pulled back out, his face streaked with brown.

"No good," he said, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. "Not big enough."

If Cat couldn't manage it, there was little hope for the rest of us.

"So let's dig," I said, and before anyone had a chance to protest I pulled out a knife. I figured we had less than a minute before the clouds rolled past the moon.

In no time we were chipping away, scratching and clawing at the hard earth, casting a small waterfall of dirt behind us. The sharp edges of the fence bottom scraped our knuckles raw, the blood mixing with dirt to create a kind of purplish paste. Our heavy breathing fell into a chant. There was an ugly beauty in our efforts.

"Let's try it," I said, when the hole seemed deep enough.

Cat needed no more prompting than that. He jumped back into the hole, squirming and prodding, until he managed to appear on the other side of the fence. He smiled, white teeth shining through a face smeared with dirt. Diana went next and she navigated the opening with no less difficulty. One by one the Sisters and LTs slid beneath the fence, twenty-four in all, until it was just Flush and me and Argos.

"I don't think I can do this," Flush said with a look of panic. Clammy perspiration dotted his face.