Ada had no tent. The wrinkled, brown woman just spread out her gray blankets where the walkway widened to accommodate the market and set our her wares—spices from her garden, mats woven from her rooftop grass, and crocks of a powerful vinegar used more for cleaning than cooking. Chena saw her glance up, and waved. Ada raised a hand in return.
I’m home, she thought. God’s garden, this is home.
Then a man behind her sighed. “I tried to tell them you’d make it through.”
Regan.
She couldn’t mistake the voice. All this way, and behind her stood Regan.
Chena turned. There he was—tall, dark, and frowning. Except for some gray in his hair and extra lines on his face, he looked exactly as he had the first day she’d seen him when he had burst into Nan Elle’s house to stop Chena from drinking a willow bark tea.
Chena began to laugh. She couldn’t help it. The noise welled out of her from some bottomless place, shaking her shoulders and doubling her over. All this way, and it was Regan, the first one of them who had ever caught her, whom she had forgotten to look out for.
Regan waited patiently for her to finish. When she was able to straighten up and wipe her eyes, he just shook his head.
“I thought maybe you were bright enough to stay away from the poisons. But no, you had to use them on a hothouser.”
“Then he really is dead,” said Chena. She waited to feel something, but no emotion came.
Regan shrugged. “That’s what they’re telling me.” He extended his hand. “Let’s go, Chena.”
Chena ran her own hand through her hair, took a step forward, and broke into a run, whipping her jacket into Regan’s eyes. He cursed and swatted at it but could not grab it. Chena dove for Ada’s blankets and her crocks. She picked up one of the vinegar jugs and swung around, not really aiming. She felt the jug connect. It shattered, splashing shards and vinegar everywhere. Regan fell backward under the wave.
“Sorry!” shouted Chena as she ran past Ada.
Chena pounded across the boardwalk, heading for the center of town. She grabbed people’s arms and shoulders as she passed and shoved them behind her, using their bodies to block the path for as long as she could. For a split second she thought she saw Farin, but his face was lost in the jostling mob of people trying to get out of her way. She could hear Regan’s boots slamming onto the walkway behind her, feel them vibrating the boards. She had no idea where she was going. She just ran.
Something hit her hard from behind, knocking all the air out of her lungs and shoving her against the boardwalk.
“Have to push, you just have to push,” grated Regan. He knelt on her back and ripped the jacket out of her hands. “You have nothing left to lose, is that it?” He grabbed both her wrists, twisting her arms around behind her.
Chena said nothing. She let him pull her to her feet. There had to be a way out. There had to be a way out, even with his hand clamping down hard enough to bruise her arm. Her gaze darted around the dunes, with their tinted windows and closed doors.
“Not this time, Chena,” said Regan. “This time you are just going to have to accept the rules.”
“You could let me go,” she said.
“I could, but then it would be my body in the hothouse.” He pushed against her back, steering toward the river dock.
Chena kept her eyes on the dune houses. There had to be a way. “So, you’re just doing this because you’re frightened of the hothousers.”
“Yes,” said Regan. “And before you try it, you should know I came to terms with that years ago.”
Then one of the faded wooden doors swung open just a little. Did she see a face inside? A man’s square face? And did she see him nod?
“Too bad.” Chena pulled her gaze away from the doorway before Regan could focus on what she had seen. “I wish I’d known you before you gave up.”
“I wish I believed you,” said Regan, his voice full of tired irony. The boardwalk rounded a swell in the dunes, and Chena tried to push away her exhaustion for one more try.
“I wish…” Chena kicked backward, the hard heel of her boot connecting with Regan’s kneecap. He cried out in pain, and his grip on her arm slipped. Chena tore free and ran again.
She ducked behind the dune’s swell and found herself face-to-face with a short, square man, who took her in at a glance and grabbed her arm. In the next breath, he heaved her over the boardwalk railing. Her shoulder hit the fence and pain sent her body into spasms. She dropped like a block of wood and rolled into the shadow under the boardwalk. Another shock ripped through her, and the world went away.