slush from his pants. He sniffs…he’s crying. Not the noisy sobs of Bello and Spingate, but he doesn’t try to hide the tears that line his cheeks.
“This is horrible,” he says.
Then he looks at me. “So, Em…what now?”
Is he joking? I’m the leader who took us nowhere, who didn’t find food, who put a knife in Yong’s belly, and O’Malley still thinks I should decide?
Spingate is also looking at me. So is Bello, and Aramovsky.
They are all waiting.
Yes, I am the leader, and I should be. I’m the one making the decisions. I’m sorry Yong is dead, but that wasn’t my fault—it was his.
“We go straight,” I say.
I reach down and pick up the knife.
“
No
,” Bello says, the word almost a scream. “I told you the knife was a bad thing. Leave it, Em, just
leave it
.”
I ignore her. My skirt is ruined anyway, so I wipe the blade clean against it, first one side, then the other.
Spingate’s stomach rumbles. She hangs her head, her face hidden by thick red curls.
I take a few steps down the hall, until my feet are once again on untouched gray.
The others hesitate.
“Let’s go,” I say. “We have to get moving.”
O’Malley tilts his head down at Yong. “What about him? Do we carry him? Or maybe take him back to the coffin room, so he’s not on the floor?”
The question makes our situation hit home: Yong is dead, and I’m going to leave him here. We don’t know how far we have yet to walk. We have no food and no water. Our mouths are so dry our lips are starting to crack. We’re already exhausted—we can’t afford the energy needed to carry a dead body.
He’ll be lonely here.
I try to chase away that thought, because it is the thought of a silly little girl. Yong is gone. I didn’t like him, but he was one of us. Abandoning his body is wrong, I know it in my heart, but what choice do we have?
“No,” I say. “I’m sorry, but we can’t take him with us, and we’re not going back. He’s dead. He stays here.”
O’Malley looks down at Yong, as if he wants to argue with me and his reasons for doing so are right there, somewhere on the body. He stares for a long while, thinking, then nods slowly.
“I guess you’re right,” he says. “But…I don’t know, shouldn’t we bury him or something?”
Spingate stands, flicks red slush from her clothes. “That would be a neat trick, O’Malley. Want to dig right through the floor?”
O’Malley wipes his face with the back of his hand, clearing off both blood and tears.
He looks down the dark hall.
“I can see an archway door,” he says. “It looks open. There might be empty coffins inside.”
I’d forgotten about that archway, just at the edge of the hall’s dim light. O’Malley wants to put Yong in a coffin. I suppose that’s better than leaving him here.
“All right,” I say. “Do it quick and come right back.”
He glances at me, questioning at first, then understanding. I can’t touch Yong. I don’t even want to be near him.
“Sure, Em,” O’Malley says. “Aramovsky, will you help me?”
The taller boy nods.
“We should say a few words first,” Aramovsky says. “While everyone is here with him.”
Spingate huffs in disgust. “The dead don’t care what you say.”
She walks to me, stands by my side and waits.
Aramovsky presses his hands together, holds them near his chest. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. There is something familiar about the gesture, another thing from our past that our memories won’t reveal.
Spingate crosses her arms. “We’re wasting time.”
Bello points at her. “You shut up, Spingate. You think you’re so smart, but you couldn’t save Yong, could you?”
Spingate turns away as if Bello had slapped her.
“I tried,” she says. “I tried.”
O’Malley, Aramovsky and Bello are looking at me, waiting for permission.
“Make it quick,” I say.
Aramovsky’s hands drop to his waist.
“We’re all afraid,” he says. “Yong didn’t
“This is horrible,” he says.
Then he looks at me. “So, Em…what now?”
Is he joking? I’m the leader who took us nowhere, who didn’t find food, who put a knife in Yong’s belly, and O’Malley still thinks I should decide?
Spingate is also looking at me. So is Bello, and Aramovsky.
They are all waiting.
Yes, I am the leader, and I should be. I’m the one making the decisions. I’m sorry Yong is dead, but that wasn’t my fault—it was his.
“We go straight,” I say.
I reach down and pick up the knife.
“
No
,” Bello says, the word almost a scream. “I told you the knife was a bad thing. Leave it, Em, just
leave it
.”
I ignore her. My skirt is ruined anyway, so I wipe the blade clean against it, first one side, then the other.
Spingate’s stomach rumbles. She hangs her head, her face hidden by thick red curls.
I take a few steps down the hall, until my feet are once again on untouched gray.
The others hesitate.
“Let’s go,” I say. “We have to get moving.”
O’Malley tilts his head down at Yong. “What about him? Do we carry him? Or maybe take him back to the coffin room, so he’s not on the floor?”
The question makes our situation hit home: Yong is dead, and I’m going to leave him here. We don’t know how far we have yet to walk. We have no food and no water. Our mouths are so dry our lips are starting to crack. We’re already exhausted—we can’t afford the energy needed to carry a dead body.
He’ll be lonely here.
I try to chase away that thought, because it is the thought of a silly little girl. Yong is gone. I didn’t like him, but he was one of us. Abandoning his body is wrong, I know it in my heart, but what choice do we have?
“No,” I say. “I’m sorry, but we can’t take him with us, and we’re not going back. He’s dead. He stays here.”
O’Malley looks down at Yong, as if he wants to argue with me and his reasons for doing so are right there, somewhere on the body. He stares for a long while, thinking, then nods slowly.
“I guess you’re right,” he says. “But…I don’t know, shouldn’t we bury him or something?”
Spingate stands, flicks red slush from her clothes. “That would be a neat trick, O’Malley. Want to dig right through the floor?”
O’Malley wipes his face with the back of his hand, clearing off both blood and tears.
He looks down the dark hall.
“I can see an archway door,” he says. “It looks open. There might be empty coffins inside.”
I’d forgotten about that archway, just at the edge of the hall’s dim light. O’Malley wants to put Yong in a coffin. I suppose that’s better than leaving him here.
“All right,” I say. “Do it quick and come right back.”
He glances at me, questioning at first, then understanding. I can’t touch Yong. I don’t even want to be near him.
“Sure, Em,” O’Malley says. “Aramovsky, will you help me?”
The taller boy nods.
“We should say a few words first,” Aramovsky says. “While everyone is here with him.”
Spingate huffs in disgust. “The dead don’t care what you say.”
She walks to me, stands by my side and waits.
Aramovsky presses his hands together, holds them near his chest. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back. There is something familiar about the gesture, another thing from our past that our memories won’t reveal.
Spingate crosses her arms. “We’re wasting time.”
Bello points at her. “You shut up, Spingate. You think you’re so smart, but you couldn’t save Yong, could you?”
Spingate turns away as if Bello had slapped her.
“I tried,” she says. “I tried.”
O’Malley, Aramovsky and Bello are looking at me, waiting for permission.
“Make it quick,” I say.
Aramovsky’s hands drop to his waist.
“We’re all afraid,” he says. “Yong didn’t
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