The Burning World (Warm Bodies #2)(80)

Julie ignores him, dismounts the bike and starts to climb the Cruiser.

Abram chuckles. He hops from the van’s roof to the bed of a truck and stumbles back a little under the weight of the tool bag. Sprout barely makes the jump.

“Hey,” M says, climbing up beside him. “Let me take that.” He holds out a hand for the tool bag. “You watch your kid.”

Abram hesitates, studying the collage of scars covering M’s face, then gives him the bag. He uses both hands to help Sprout onto the next roof, and they proceed forward with a labored but steady rhythm.

I climb up behind Julie. I notice a small pistol stuffed into the waistband of her jeans, like an afterthought beneath her shotgun holster. I don’t recall her having a pistol. I wonder where she found it and why she didn’t remark the find. She glances back at me and I see in her eyes that steel I admire so much, but I’m not sure I like the cold edge that glints in it now.

? ? ?

We creep from car to car like mountain climbers traversing treacherous terrain, choosing only the sturdiest vehicles and testing each step before putting weight on it. At first we climb in silence, everyone lost in deep concentration, but after an hour or so it becomes instinctive enough that we allow our thoughts to wander.

“Marcus,” Nora says. “Who fired those missiles?”

M is absorbed in crawling onto the roof of an articulated bus, which will earn him eighty feet of easy travel if he succeeds. He doesn’t answer.

“You said they were Gray River. Even if Canada still had a military, they wouldn’t have Gray River missiles, would they?”

“Nope,” M grunts as he achieves the summit of the bus and begins his leisurely stroll to the end.

“But Axiom would.”

“Yup. Parent company.”

Nora walks up and down the rolling hills of a few coupes. “Why the hell would Axiom arm the Canadian border? Who do they think is invading? And what do they think they’re protecting?” She gestures to the desolation around us. “This?”

Silence.

“Abram?” she prompts.

“If I understood why Axiom’s doing what it’s doing,” he says, “I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be settling into my new office in Citi Stadium, drinking some good Scotch, and enjoying a few company girls for my acquisition-day bonus.”

This rings false, an unconvincing impression of the Axiom good ol’ boys he’s known but never been. I find it hard to picture this man enjoying Scotch, or women, or really much of anything.

“I’m here because I have no idea what they’re doing,” he says. “And I don’t think they do either.”

“So you think they’re just flailing?” Nora says. “They seemed pretty damn organized when they invaded Post.”

“Flash and Grab was an old operation, planned before the hiatus. Axiom’s good at repeating itself, and some of the old moves still work. It’s when it tries to move forward that the cracks start showing.” A windshield spiderwebs under his weight. He ignores the pun. “If I had to guess, I’d say they’re trying to reestablish the border. Give America some hard lines again. Even before the hiatus, they never liked ambiguity.”

“What’s a border if there’s no one on the other side?” Julie wonders dreamily, like it’s some absurd Zen koan. I didn’t think she was even listening; for the last several blocks she’s done nothing but stare down alleys and side streets, alert but distant. “Might as well draw borders on the moon.”

“You mean like the Lunar Republic of Heavenly Korea?” Abram says with a grim smile.

Nora chuckles. “I remember that. If you ever want to travel north of the Apollo landing, you’ll need a visa signed by Dear Leader’s ghost.”

“When the moon hits your eye . . . ,” M sings in a low baritone, “. . . that’s Korea.”

None of this levity seems to reach Julie. Her eyes have stopped roving and she stares straight ahead. “So we’ll have to go around the wall.”

A pause. “Go around,” Abram repeats.

“Up through Maine and around Nova Scotia.”

Silence. The steady scrape of boots on metal, the creaking of old suspension.

“Canada is out. You know that. We have to get off this continent.”

“I told you,” he says without looking at her, “I can’t navigate across the ocean without radio.”

“Drop that bullshit,” she snaps. “I didn’t buy it at the beginning and I certainly don’t now after you got us from Post to Helena to Ontario like we were on rails.”

Abram is silent.

“You have some kind of analog system. I’m guessing that’s the part that got damaged, since the nose is where the nav gear goes. One of Perry’s friends was a pilot; I know how planes work.”

Abram looks over his shoulder, but not at Julie. “Do you understand this girl?” he asks me. “Can you translate her for me? Because I’m lost.”

I see Julie’s face darkening.

“Does she want to fight Axiom and save America? Does she want to run away to Iceland? Or does she just want everything she wants, all at the same time, because she doesn’t know how reality works?”

Julie stops, perched on the roof of a Chevy Tahoe. Her lips are tight and her eyes are narrow, but it’s not entirely anger. Abram’s questions are valid, and I think she knows it. What does she want? What matters most? How does anyone make choices when so much can depend on so little?