“Maybe we should just stop it.”

Lisa. Zil was surprised to hear the sound of her voice. She didn’t usually say anything. Mostly she just sat there like a bump on a log. Like a stupid cow. Mostly he hated her, and right now he hated her a lot, because she was seeing the truth, that Zil had lost.

“Just stop what?” Lance asked. He clearly didn’t like Lisa, either. Zil knew one thing for sure: Lisa wasn’t pretty enough that Lance would ever be interested in her. No, she was just the best Zil could get. At least, so far.

“I mean…,” Lisa began, but she ended with a shrug and fell silent again.

“The thing we need to do,” Turk said, “is keep telling people how it was all Caine. We keep telling people Caine burned the town.”

“Yes,” Zil said without conviction. He dropped his head and looked down at the floor, the dirty, ratty rug. “The freaks.”

“Right,” Turk said.

“It was the freaks,” Lance said. “I mean, it was. Who pushed us into it? Caine.”

“Exactly,” Turk said.

“We need some more people, is all,” Lance said. “I mean, Antoine was mostly just a stupid druggie. But Hank…”

Zil lifted his head. Maybe there was still hope. He nodded at Lance. “Yeah. That’s it. We need more kids.”

“If kids know we were trying to stop Caine, we’ll get plenty more kids,” Turk said.

Lance smiled faintly. “We tried to stop Caine burning down the town.”

“Hank died trying,” Zil said.

He said it. And he knew that Turk already half believed it. In fact, he half believed it himself.

“Lance, kids will listen to you. You and Turk, the two of you, and you too, Lisa: Go out there. Spread the word.”

No one moved.

“You have to do what I say,” Zil said, trying to sound strong, not like he was pleading. “I’m the Leader.”

“Yeah,” Turk agreed. “Only…I mean, kids may not believe us.”

“Are you scared?” Zil demanded.

“I’m not,” Lisa said. “I’ll do it. I’ll go around and tell all our friends the truth.”

Zil peered suspiciously at her. Why was she being brave all of a sudden?

“Cool, Lisa,” he said. “I mean, that would be heroic.”

Lance sighed. “I guess if she can do it, so can I.”

Only Turk kept his seat. He glanced furtively at Zil. “Someone better stay here to protect you, Leader.”

Zil laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, if Sam comes I’m sure you’ll stop him, Turk.”

“It’s the tribulation,” Nerezza said.

Orsay didn’t say anything. She’d heard that word before. Had she actually used it herself?

As if she’d guessed, Nerezza explained. “Tribulation. A time of trouble. When people look for a prophet to tell them what to do. You prophesied that this would happen.”

“Did I? I don’t remember.” Her memory was a cramped attic full of broken toys and damaged furniture. It was getting harder and harder to be sure where she was. Or when. And she had given up asking why.

They stood on the edge of the burned area, in the middle of Sheridan. The destruction was awful and eerie in the morning light. Smoke still rose from a dozen or more houses. Tongues of flame could still be seen here and there, peeking out from charred windows.

Some houses stood untouched, surrounded by devastation. Like they’d been spared by divine intervention. Some houses were only half burned. Some, you could tell, had been gutted but the exteriors seemed almost intact, aside from soot stain around blackened windows.

A house close by had only its roof gone, burned and fallen in. The cheerful green-painted siding was barely soot smudged, but the top of the house was gone, just a few blackened sticks poking up at the sky. Peering in the windows Orsay could see what was left of roof tiles and timbers, jumbled and black. Like someone had come along, ripped the roof off and used the house as a trash can to dump ashes.

On the other side of the street a different sort of devastation. It looked as if a tornado had come through and shoved an entire street’s worth of houses off their foundations.

“I don’t know what to do,” Orsay said. “How would I tell anyone else?”

“It’s a judgment,” Nerezza said. “You can see that. Everyone can see it. It’s a judgment. A tribulation sent to remind people that they aren’t doing right.”

“But…”

“What have your dreams told you, Prophetess?”

Orsay knew what her dreams had told her. Dreams of all those on the outside, all those who saw a girl named Orsay walking inside their sleeping minds. The girl who carried messages to their children and in return showed the parents startling visions of life inside the FAYZ. Visions of their children trapped and burning.

Trapped and dying.

Yes, the dreams of all those good people were anguished, knowing what was happening inside. And they were so frustrated, because they knew—those good people, those grown-ups, those parents—that there was a way out for their terrified children.

Orsay’s dreams had shown her that. They had shown her that Francis had emerged safe and sound, welcomed by his parents with tears of gratitude after he took the poof.

That had made Orsay happy. Taking the poof when you reached fifteen let you go free of the FAYZ. It was something she could look forward to herself. Escape, when the time came.