The fate that the people decided on, after much more discussion and recriminations, was that Will was to be banished. Though I was so sad to hear that he would have to leave his family and his community, I was relieved that we would be going with him, and that Lucy had even been the first to suggest it.

    After Will had agreed to this, I was surprised to see a red-haired young woman walk up to him. She didn't look as unusually intelligent as Zoey, the younger girl we had seen, but she seemed somehow reliable and confident, like someone you could trust. Although she had an exceptionally pretty face, her body was not delicate, but muscular and thick, like she was used to labor and being outdoors. She glanced at Lucy and me, then spoke to Will in a low voice that I thought only Lucy and I were close enough to hear.

    "Will," she began, "I'm sorry you're leaving. I wanted to see you more."

    I thought Will looked surprised and a little sheepish around her. He reminded me of how I felt around Lucy. I felt glad and sorry for him at the same time, that he could lose his composure and strength and confidence, but do so with a person so beautiful and so obviously caring and trustworthy.

    "I didn't think you did, Rachel," he said quietly.

    She smiled, a display of joy and regret, desire and coyness, both revealing and concealing the way a woman's beauty always is. Perhaps all beauty does this, but in a woman it is the most noticeable and mesmerizing. I could see immediately that, like Lucy's enchanting eye, this woman's smile would be completely disarming to a man she cared for, to a man she gave that special look to. Will visibly slackened at the sight of it.

    She stopped smiling and looked serious for a moment. "I only said I wasn't sure you were the father. Only you thought that meant I didn't want to see you."

    "And now you can't. Now it's too late." He sounded more petulant than angry-weak, hurt, unsure, insecure.

    She slipped her hand under his and brought it up slightly. Now was when she would show more of her true feelings, I thought, when she would show whether she, too, could be vulnerable. "Will," she dropped her voice a little more, till I could barely hear her, "don't make me beg or apologize for who I am. I've been wild, I know. But God Almighty, there's so much misery in this world, would you really begrudge me some fun, some little pleasure, to make me forget all the pain and ugliness once in a while?"

    He didn't take his hand away. "No. I don't. I just thought it meant you didn't want to be with me."

    "Will, we weren't married. You never talked like you wanted something more." The muscles in her arm flexed as she tightened her grip on his hand. "But all right, I'll tell you what I regret. I'll tell you what I'm sorry for. It's not for having sex with lots of people. You knew I did that, and you have no right to judge me for it." She bent her head down and forward, to catch his glance, since he was looking down. "The only thing I regret is not realizing that of the men I slept with, you were the only one who gave a shit about me. That was wrong and stupid and immature of me not to see, and that's how I hurt you, and why you misunderstood me. For that I'm sorry, Will. I'm very sorry."

    He nodded and kept trying not to catch her gaze, I think because he knew as soon as he did look in her eyes-which sparkled more with tears in them now, thereby increasing their terrible loveliness and strength-all the initiative and power went to her, a prospect I felt sure he longed for as much as he dreaded. "It's all right. You don't have to apologize. Like you said, I didn't tell you what I felt or what I wanted. Milton just said, I don't talk to people enough, and they don't know what I'm up to. It was the same with you, so it wasn't your fault."

    "It doesn't matter whose fault it was, Will. All I care about now is that you know I want to be with you."

    He lifted his head. "All right. But now you can't. I don't see why you're telling me this."

    He was looking in her eyes, and now she smiled again. She was in control. And I think I was as glad of that as Will was, though he didn't know it. "Will, I spend most my life out here, past the fence. Going back to the city is like a little vacation from my real job, from who I really am and what I'm supposed to do. So what's so impossible or unbelievable about me leaving too?" She tilted her head down a little and dropped the fateful and captivating smile. It was a final show of vulnerability and weakness, and an absolutely necessary one if it were to work out how they both wanted it to. "Unless you don't want me to?"

    "Of course I do," Will exclaimed a little louder. He looked around at the crowds surrounding them, now very self-conscious. "Let's kind of discuss this later, okay?"

    She smiled and blushed and let go of his hand. "Sure, Will."

    I did not know what to make of such beautiful, overwhelming devotion, especially following the harsh and legalistic discussion over the fate of Will and ourselves. I could not conceive of how these people lived, constantly going back and forth between such extremes. As impressed as I was with the heights of their virtue and bravery, I really would be relieved to get away from them.

    Although I was very glad to be going with Lucy, Will, and his friend, I had at first felt some disappointment that all my books, along with Lucy's violin, were back at the storage facility. I was also afraid that if we were marching into the wilderness, we wouldn't be able to carry such things. So my joy was greatly increased when they granted us a few days to prepare for our journey, and that when we left, it would be on a boat, floating down the big river and away from here forever.

    I had the time to pick out the books that most interested me, and most importantly I had the time to finish this journal. I will give it to the very kind and intelligent-looking girl, Zoey, tomorrow when we leave. I think she would be interested in it. And since the story so much involves her and her community, it would be best if they had it. I am sure there will be plenty of other things for me to record, stories of other people and places, assuming the four of us are lucky enough to survive beyond this place. I fear there will be things as horrible as some of the events I've witnessed in the last few days. But I also hope that there will be things as wondrous and good as these strange, fascinating, but unfortunately very violent people whom we will now leave behind.