“You stupid arrogant bas—”

Before I can finish the insult he slams against my little cage, shoving it over and tossing me around inside. He spits on the floor by the door before stalking off.

I laugh, which causes him to trip, which only makes me laugh harder. He doesn’t have to know about the tears burning my throat. That if I don’t laugh I’ll break down into terrified sobs.

A few more Recruiters stumble into the room, rubbing eyes, some carrying plates of food. The ripe smell of their bodies combined with the gamey smell of their dinner and the omnipresent stench of blood makes my stomach cramp.

“Let’s get this going,” one of them calls out. His fingers are slick and shiny with grease. Of the many ways I imagined dying, this wasn’t one of them, some dinnertime spectacle for a group of monsters.

“Not everyone’s here yet,” Conall says.

The other one grunts. “They’ll get here at some point. Always takes a while to wear them down anyway. That gets boring.”

I choke on my breath as Conall unlatches the kennel. My death, boring? He reaches into the cage and I back away to the farthest corner, but of course there’s nowhere for me to hide. I really wanted to face this without causing a scene, but now that the time’s come I can’t help but fight.

I kick at his hands, gratified when I connect and he roars, holding up a crooked finger. But my small victory is short-lived, because he dives in through the kennel door and wraps his other hand around my ankle, yanking me so hard that I feel as though my hip dislocates.

I struggle to grab on to the walls of the kennel, to keep myself tucked safe inside, but his strength’s too much and he’s able to pull me free. I’ve been bent over for so long in the cramped space that my muscles spasm when I try to stand and I collapse again.

I try to scramble away from him on my hands and knees, but he hauls me up by my clothes, my feet barely even touching the ground. A seam on my shirt pulls and rips and I feel a gust of cold air along my ribs. One of the Recruiters cups his hand around his mouth and hoots at me, causing my skin to blaze.

I’m punching and screaming and kicking and twisting and fighting as Conall carries me the short distance to the cage. “You can’t do this to me!” I yell. But this only encourages the men to chant and cheer, reveling in my panic-fueled struggles.

For a moment Conall fumbles with the lock and I’m able to break his grip slightly. I claw my fingernails down his arm and he flinches. A tiny burst of hope catches in my mind, but just as I’m trying to run he swings the cage gate open and throws me inside.

The door closes with a bang and even though I beat on it, he’s able to turn the lock.

That’s it, then. I’m trapped in this cage with an infected woman who could Return at any moment.

“Should we bring out another plague rat?” Conall asks the small crowd, rolling his sleeve over the scratches along his forearm.

“Nah,” one of them responds. “Let’s see what she does. Wait for the others before we up the ante.” And then they go back to their meal and their gossip, flitting their glances up at me only occasionally.

I press my back against the cage door, threading my fingers through the links of the gate. Only a few feet away Dove lies spooned with her dead husband. My eyes blur with tears of frustration and fear and I wipe them away angrily as I study her chest.

Several heartbeats go by and she’s so motionless I’m convinced she’s Returned. I start to taste panic crawling up my throat, my mind reeling with too many thoughts at once—to run, to stay put, to shout, to cry, to do anything to make this stop. I’m practically clawing at the cage gate trying to find a weakness that someone before did not. Trying to escape where no one has before.

And then I see Dove’s chest rise and fall, just slightly, and I know she’s not gone yet. There’s still time.

Tentatively, I walk over to her and kneel so that I’m blocking her face from view of the Recruiters.

“Dove?” I say. “It’s Annah.” I slip my hand into hers; she barely grasps mine back.

Her eyes flutter open. “I’m sorry,” she says. Her voice is a dry husk, like her body. There’s so much blood drenching her skin and the floor now that I don’t understand how she can still be alive. “I’m sorry for what’s going to happen to you. I’m sorry that I won’t know what I’m doing. That I can’t stop it.”

“It’s okay,” I tell her. Because none of this is her fault.

“I wish they had some kind of memory,” she says. “I wish they could understand.” Whether she’s talking about the Recruiters or the Unconsecrated, I don’t know.

“Boo!” one of the men yells. “Hurry up and die already!” I feel something wet splash against my back and when I turn I see one of the Recruiters tossing an empty tin mug at the cage, where it hits and rattles to the floor.

It’s too much and I snap. Jumping to my feet, I rush the fence, slamming at it with my fists. “Shut up!” I scream at him. “You don’t deserve the air you breathe, you dirty plague bag, and I hope you all die deaths as ugly as you are!” And even though my mouth is dry, I spit at him as best I can.

The Recruiter watches me with a vicious approving smile. “You found one with fire, Conall.”

I turn away, fists clenched, knowing that my outburst only makes this more fun for them. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe deeply and calm my thoughts. Dove’s sitting and watching me, her body wavering with exhaustion and pain.

She’s still fighting to stay alive and so will I. I spin back to face the Recruiters. “You have no idea what you’re messing with here,” I shout at them.

One of the Recruiters boos and throws a handful of his food at me. I wipe it from my arm, some sort of watery foul-smelling slop that makes my stomach turn.

I square my shoulders and narrow my eyes, directing every bit of hate and rage into my voice. “Are you so stupid that you don’t realize that I mean something to Catcher? He’s the one out there keeping you alive. What do you think he’s going to do when he comes back and finds me in here? What are you going to do if he finds me dead or Unconsecrated?”

My words finally seem to crack the surface and they all glance at one another before turning to Conall for guidance. He rises from his bench and walks slowly down the stairs until he’s just on the other side of the cage. “I say let him come.”

I’m so focused on the Recruiters that I don’t even notice another body slip into the room. I don’t notice him making his way along the edges of walls. It’s not until he opens his mouth that anyone realizes he’s there.

“That can be arranged,” Catcher calls out, a machete gripped tightly in his fist.

Chapter XXXVIII

For a moment there’s silence and then my heart starts to race. A relief so pure floods my system that I’m practically dizzy. Most of the Recruiters just sit there frozen, food-filled hands raised halfway to open mouths, watching as Catcher strides toward the cage.

He looks almost calm but I can see the way his body vibrates with rage. I press my lips shut, resisting the urge to call out to him.

“You do realize your lives mean nothing, right?” I can hear the storm in his voice as he speaks. He looks impossibly menacing and for the first time I understand what he meant about there being a monster trapped inside him.

“You know that I can kill each one of you, right here, right now, and no one would care.” He looks at the Recruiters, piercing them individually with his gaze. A few of them stumble to their feet and trip over one another in their haste to leave. He doesn’t stop them.

But Conall continues to stand with arms crossed, blocking the gate to the cage. “Just because you’re immune doesn’t mean you’re invincible,” he says.

Catcher laughs, an awful sound full of bitterness and fury. “As far as you’re concerned it means I’m God.” He starts to advance on Conall with his head down, jaw clenched. “I get to decide who eats and who doesn’t. I decide who lives and dies. I’m the one who gets to pass all judgment.”

Conall opens his mouth to protest but Catcher doesn’t let him. “You want to challenge me? You want to go to Ox and tell him what’s going on here? Tell him why none of you will ever get food or supplies from the mainland again?”

“Ha!” Conall rolls his eyes, refusing to back down. “You bring supplies because of your stupid women. You can’t bring them food without bringing it for us. If you refused, we’d no longer offer them protection.”

“And what kind of protection is this?” Catcher shouts, kicking out at a bench and causing it to topple over, the old wood cracking. “You don’t think I can kill you right here? Sever your spine and leave your body for the others to clean up?”

Conall shakes his head but I notice how his face drains of color.

“Explain to me,” Catcher continues, still moving forward, “why anyone else would bother to try to stop me if I killed you. Explain to me why I should care anything about you at all. Do you really think you mean anything to them? Do you really think that given the choice between me and you, they’d choose you?”

Catcher’s now standing inches from Conall, staring at him through the top of his eyes like an animal hunting its prey. The Recruiter has no weapon, no way to defend himself but still he curls his hands into fists.

“You saw what happened when one of yours killed one of ours,” Conall retorts. “You know Ox always sides with his men. He’ll side with me.”

Catcher snarls. I can see the wrath written in every part of him.

“Catcher,” I say softly, as a warning, not wanting him to do anything he’d regret later.

“This is the woman I love,” he says, raising his machete to point at me. “She is my life, and when you harm her you harm me.” His breath is loud and I can see the way he fights to control himself.

“Catcher,” I say again, trying to tether him to my voice. Trying to get him to step outside of the anger that’s clouding his judgment. Trying to make him understand what he’s doing—that this would be murder.

And then Catcher’s shoulders relax, just a little. But Conall must notice this too and think he’s safe because he cracks a small smile. “This is our world now,” he says. “You should get used to it.”

Catcher stares at him. “No it’s not,” he says sadly. “You don’t deserve Annah’s mercy and you won’t have mine.” The muscles on his arm jump as he swings the machete at Conall’s throat. The blade’s sharp and the cut is clean, severing his arteries, windpipe and spine. I scream and cover my face with my hands, looking away too late.

I’m standing like that, eyes squeezed shut with the feel of the dead Recruiter’s blood on my exposed skin, when Catcher unlatches the gate and wraps his arms around me. He pulls me away and it’s not until we’re outside the cage that I look up and see Dove still sitting by her husband.

She struggles to stand but is unsteady, one leg giving way so that she falls back to her knees. She holds a hand out to me.

I catch my breath.

“Annah, please,” she says, her voice so hoarse it’s more like a whisper. “Please don’t leave me here. Not like this.”

I stare at her. At Conall on the floor, his body draining of blood. I know Dove’s as good as dead. The infection’s blazing inside her, shutting down her organs. It will kill her if she doesn’t die from blood loss first, and either way she’ll turn Unconsecrated.

She’ll hunger for me and the living on this island just as her husband did. Just as they all do. I think of how I felt locked in the kennel, terrified I’d never see the sky again or breathe fresh air.

I know she feels the same, but if I let her go free I’m setting that loose on the island. I’m putting everyone including my sister and Elias in danger.

Yet I can’t kill her. Not now. She’s still alive. She’s still human. It’s a line Catcher’s crossed but that I never have. Not even to grant mercy.

“Annah,” she whispers again. Her arm trembles with the effort of keeping her hand raised, held out for me to grasp.

I’ve never considered myself a cruel person. Apathetic and ambivalent, maybe, but never outright inhumane. I’ve tried to take care of those around me or at the very least, tried not to cause them harm.

And yet here there’s no easy answer. There’s no easy choice.

“Annah?” Catcher asks softly, standing next to me. He holds out the machete, its blade still slick.

My breath burns hot inside me and my heart pounds in my ears. It’s not fair that this all falls to me. I’m not supposed to be the one deciding someone else’s fate. I’m not the judge of what’s right and wrong.

I imagine slipping my fingers into Dove’s. Her pulse under mine, the life still flowing inside her. But it’s not her hand I’m gripping, it’s the cold metal of the cage gate. When I swing it closed, the hinges protest and cry and it latches shut with such an indifferent jolt that I wince.

Dove lowers her hand. She kneels in the middle of the locked cage, staring at me. I want her to understand this decision. I want her to understand that in this world there are no easy choices, only choices that have to be made.

“Don’t leave me like this, Annah,” she begs.

I start backing away from her. Once you begin determining someone else’s fate, how can you ever stop?

“Annah.” She tries to shout but her voice cracks. “Don’t let me be like them! Annah! Don’t do this! Don’t leave me here! Please, Annah! Please!”