Page 46 of Ember Rising

“It’s fainter. Quieter. But there.”

My brows shoot up. “You feel it, too?”

“I’ve been feeling something off and on for the past few days.”

“Me too.”

He looks in the direction we’re supposed to be running. “I’m not getting anything. But you think your plants don’t want you going that way?”

I sigh deeply, frustrated. “I don’t know for sure. It’s just a feeling.”

He nods and says, “Okay. We’ll detour.”

“Just like that?”

He takes out the compass again, not responding as he studies it.

“That way,” he says, pointing. “Let’s go.”

I start running and he falls into step beside me. The barely there brush against my senses is softer now, like the change in direction soothed its source.

It’s not the plants from the island. When I was still navigating my newfound connection to them, it was like trying to speak a different language. But over time, they learned how to communicate with me by sending feelings, and I did the same with them.

That line of communication was always open. Sometimes it was a crack and sometimes it was a tidal wave. It was comfortable; part of me.

Whatever plant just sent me that warning is like the island plants were at first. Clumsy and confused.

I think there’s aromium here somewhere. It’s alarming because I know how much damage it can do, especially without a stabilizer.

This isn’t the time to think about it, though. We need to escape these damn cartel drones and get to Carson City, because I’m likely Mae’s only hope for escape.

15

“A bedsheet was found hanging on the front entrance of our infantry barracks this morning. Written on the sheet with black marker were the words ‘We’re coming for your children.’ It was signed ‘The Deadmen.’ Every officer on overnight barracks patrol has been demoted. We’re searching for the perpetrators.” – electronic message from New America Commander Lochlan Murphy to New America President Soren Whitman

Amira

Evander isn’t sleeping enough. Especially the past few days, and I think it’s because he’s worried about something.

He’ll nod off and rest lightly for a couple of hours a day, but that’s it. He hasn’t slept deeply enough to have a nightmare in almost a week. We’re in northern Louisiana, sticking to rural areas to avoid being spotted or captured.

Some days it feels like we’re the only two people left on the planet. Cotton and soybean fields have become wildly overgrown here. Even the rolling hills and neglected roads are untamed, trees starting to sprout through deep cracks in the pavement.

There’s kudzu, just like on Blue Arrow Island. There, it blended into the wild tangle of the jungle. But here, the green, leafy vine blankets everything. Utility poles, cars and trucks—even entire buildings. Briar said kudzu grows a foot every day, and in the years it’s been left unchecked, it’s taken over.

We passed the vine-enveloped shapes of a sagging canopy, pumps, and a building that were clearly once a gas station. Sections of roads and entire vehicles are carpeted in it.

The last couple of days, I’ve had a nagging sense that someone is watching us. I don’t know if I’m being paranoid or my instincts are trying to tell me something.

It doesn’t help that Evander’s been off, but he’s tight-lipped about it. As we reach the top of a small hill, he shields his eyes from the sun with a hand, his brows drawing together with worry.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing.” He doesn’t even look at me. “We’ll have to find water before we stop.”

He starts walking again, but I can’t make my feet move. My inner voice is telling me to stop ignoring it, and it’s never steered me wrong.

“Something’s not right,” I say softly.