He holds out his hand, and we stare at the pile of silver coins spread across his palm. On one side is a bold, raised C.

“They traded with Carrington,” I say, and hunch my shoulders as an itch of awareness prickles the hair on the back of my neck. “They’re too close to the northern city-states for a trading mission with the actual city-state of Carrington. Highwaymen don’t travel that far.”

“Which means they most likely traded with the army,” Logan says.

“The army would’ve been fully provisioned before they marched on Baalboden,” Quinn says. “And the highwaymen’s wagons are full, so whatever they traded, it wasn’t food, weapons, or cloth. I don’t like it. I sent Frankie and Thom south to search for signs of anyone else close to us. I have a bad feeling about this. What did the highwaymen have that was valuable enough for the Commander to buy?”

The itch on the back of my neck becomes a terrible need to get out of the open. Get the people into the Wasteland.

Run.

“Information,” Logan says, and he’s already moving. “They traded information about other routes to the northern city-states, and they must’ve done it yesterday, which means the army has had enough time to catch up to us. We’re in trouble. Let’s go.”

A shout goes up from the eastern edge of the meadow. We spin toward the noise and stare as Frankie and Thom thunder out of the forest, their horses galloping at top speed. Frankie locks eyes with us and yells, “Move, move, move! The army is coming!”

“South! Go south! Find the bridge.” Logan waves at Frankie to take the lead, and as the horse races past us, Logan yells to the crowd of survivors who stand frozen in horror, packs on their backs, food in their hands. “Follow Frankie. Men carry the children. Guards, grab your weapons. Get those wagons moving.” When everyone just stares at him for a heartbeat, he screams, “Run!”

The crowd breaks. Men grab children and race south into the tree line. Women hike up their skirts and follow. Nola, Jodi, Drake, and Elias climb into wagon seats and slap the reins to get the animals moving. Quinn and Willow run to the highwaymen’s wagons, leap aboard, and reach back to haul slower-moving people into the wagon beds before sending the horses careening into the forest.

“I’m going in the medical wagon,” I say as I run south beside Logan. “I’ll kill anyone who tries to get inside.”

“Be safe,” he says, and leaps for one of the supply wagons.

I’ve nearly reached the wagon when Ian runs up to me. His eyes are lit with a wild light as he grabs my arm.

“This is it. This is our chance. The Commander is in range.”

The medical wagon bounces over a rock, and Sylph’s cry of pain scrapes my heart raw.

“Move,” I say, and try to step around him.

“Rachel, we need the device. We can end this.” His grip hurts my arm.

“Logan has the device, and he’s in another wagon. Go talk to him if you—”

“We had a deal.” Ian’s voice is furious, but I don’t care. The entire field is in chaos, the Commander isn’t in front of us yet, and Sylph needs me. I’m not going to spend the last moments of her life trying to con Logan out of the device when I should be helping get everyone to safety.

I wrench my arm free and shove Ian aside. Before he can say another word, I grab the back of the medical wagon and jump onto the step as our people scramble into the trees while in the distance, a line of Carrington soldiers breaks out of the eastern forest and races toward us.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

LOGAN

The meadow quickly empties as wagons and people rush into the trees. I crawl into the back of the supply wagon and focus on my plan as we rumble our way into the forest.

Frankie returns to tell me the bridge is thirty yards away and that people are already crossing it. His horse pants heavily as he gives me his report, and then he wheels south again to shepherd the people in the right direction.

Thirty yards away. Thirty yards of thick trees, rock-strewn ground, and dense underbrush. We’re never going to make it.

We have to make it.

The consequences for failure are unthinkable.

I just need to buy us enough time to get every man, woman, child, and wagon over that bridge. I pray the bridge is strong enough to support our weight as we cross. We don’t have any other options.

Jodi is driving the supply wagon I’m in. The wheels bounce over roots and bushes, flinging me to the side, and threatening to toss her off the driver’s bench entirely. She hangs on to the reins with fierce determination as I yank the crates I need out from under the bench. Prying their lids loose, I do a quick count.

Fifteen jars of acid. Sixteen of glycerin.

More than enough to blow up a bridge.

Perfect.

“Stop the wagon!” I call to Jodi, and to her credit, she obeys without hesitation. Scooping up a jar of each substance, I leap from the wagon and wave Thom on when he whips his horse toward me. “Go to the bridge. Get everyone across. I’ll be there soon.”

“If you’re going to face down that army by yourself, you’ll need some help. I’m staying.” His voice brooks no argument, but he isn’t going to sway me.

“Thom, go. I’ll be right behind you, I promise.” A flash of Carrington red winks between the trees. They’re gaining on us. I look around quickly. At least forty people still haven’t managed twenty yards, much less thirty. I meet Thom’s gaze. “Save these people, Thom. I need them out of here or I can’t buy us the time we need. Save them. Please.”