I think I’m the Antichrist,” Rob Maguire said, handing me the stolen cigarette. His gaunt face, covered with moving leaf shadows, pulled in on itself under his messy dark hair.

I thought he was kidding.

I took a long drag, let it out. “Great. If you are, can you kill my dad and get me out of here?”

I was not kidding. I still had bruises from my last trip home. I’d lasted two days.

Rob gave me a sideways look, hunching his thin shoulders. He was like that, wouldn’t ever say you were being a jerk directly. He’d been knocking around Holy Camp at least as long as I had; we’d been quasi-friends, off and on, for a couple years. Lately he’d been hanging with me a lot, ever since his sixteenth birthday.

“So if you’re him, what are you doing at Camp, bigshot?” I couldn’t help myself.

He rolled his dark eyes. “Maybe I’m bored, Kingstree. Or maybe I just found out I’m a frigging supervillain recently, and decided to share the good news with you.”

“Way thoughtful.” We’d been meeting here under the big oak tree for a couple days, but it wouldn’t last. Holy Camp is like that—they always catch you. If someone doesn’t rat on you, one of the cherubs catches sight, and then you’re toast. I was up to my neck in demerits; if I did much more I would get an Incorrigible patch and maybe it would be de-resurrection into the mines for me once I hit eighteen.

Rob’s patches were Disobedience and Pride. Mine was a straight Disobedience, the green square sewn on the left breast and the sleeve of my gray uniform shirt. When we were caught together I’d probably get a Babylon. He wouldn’t; he was a guy.

Singing filtered out of the low white shell of the Community Building. We were skipping afternoon worship like we wanted to be caught. I took another drag, handed the smoke back.

“Julie.” Rob’s fingers touched mine. “If I was…you know. Would you hate me?”

I didn’t even think about it. “Of course not. You’re one of the few people I don’t hate, Robbie. Chill.”

He seemed about to say something else, but just then a head-sized silver orb drifted weightlessly through the branches of the trees above us, and a little red dot played over its surface as it hovered.

“A cherub.” I made the words a long, drawn-out, aggravated sigh. “Busted.”

Rob just stared up at it, his Adam’s apple working, and we waited for the ax to fall.

Five demerits for skipping worship, but Rob got the worst of it. He vanished between dinner and breakfast, and nobody said a word. That’s the worst thing about Holy Camps. Kids disappear, and you’re never sure if they’ve been derezzed into the mines or over the border, sent for Rechristening as an Incorrigible, taken home, or what the hell.

After breakfast—half a grapefruit and half a piece of bread with oleo spread thin, some watery skim milk—we all trooped into the Community Building, heads lowered to show the required humility. Kimmie, who was in my pod, pinched my upper arm. “Boyfriend’s not here,” she hissed, and made a slurping sound under the thunder of drums and a wailing guitar. The huge telescreens were flashing like strobes, the video some forgettable band mouthing a series of clichés about His Love.

“Go to hell,” I whispered back. She was a human cherub, that bitch, and I’d probably get another demerit.

The music wallowed to a crescendo, and before everyone was in their seats the opening montage started. The Crosses and Stars flag flapped against a blue sky, fluffy white clouds oddly foreshortened because of the angle of the telescreens, and the Pledge started. We mouthed along, everyone finally settling into their assigned seat. When the Pledge was over there was the Message, this time a recitation by Pastor Peter in Colorado Springs himself, his oil-black hair slicked back and his blue eyes piercing through the screen.

“Murica used to be a godless, sinful place!” he was saying, while a susurrus of crowd noise hit the roof and poured back down like rain. “But we changed all that! We’re free now! Now we live under Christ Jesus, and we’re happy about that! There’s no hunger in Murica. There’s no violence, no crime, no bad government! We’ve got the Lord and he’s got us. We’re lucky to live in Murica, and we’re proud of our young people. You are the future, the warriors against sin and temptation. You’re the fighters Jesus Himself talked about!”

My stomach cramped and growled. He went on through the speech, but I’d shut off. Usually you can tell where it’s gonna go in the first thirty seconds well enough to fake an answer in Discussion later. Just one of the many life skills you learn at Sunday school and polish at Holy Camp if you’ve got any synapses still functioning by the time they get done with you in elementary school.

The music swelled, and there was a glitch in the feed. For thirty whole seconds the telescreen was dark and the music kept twitching, a disc on skip. I craned my neck, the lights flashing aimlessly, and was kind of hoping I’d see Rob’s beaky face. He had this weird way of looking just when I did. Either that or he was always watching me.

No Rob.

It ended up not mattering, because halfway through the sermon, while we were all swaying with our hands in the air and the ginormous pastor on the screens was mumbling along some endless prayer about Feeling The Grace, frog-faced Miz Susan, a lay pastor (because women are always lay, in all senses, don’t you know), suddenly appeared in the aisle and grabbed me.

I thought I was derezzed. She dragged me out of the Community Building and we were whisked by lectrocart down to the Main Offices. Me with a sick sourness in my still-growling stomach and a need for a smoke burning everything else, and when the camp director ushered me into his office personally I found out I was going home.

My father had died.

“Don’t worry.” Uncle Irving perched on a stool, his watery brown gaze fastened on my mother’s ass as she wandered around the kitchen. “We’ll take care of you and Julie. Harry would’ve wanted that.”

Mom nodded, her cheeks tear-chapped and her long brown hair uncombed. She wasn’t even wearing a kerchief to hide her head, which gave me a weird feeling way deep in my bones. Plus her sweater was slipping down and showing a slice of her shoulder, and good old Irv was eyeing her skin like it was steak.

I stood in the kitchen doorway, fluorescent glare and sunlight mixing to hurt my eyes. I hadn’t even set down my duffel bag yet—by now I’ve got packing for Holy Camp down to an art. The house was the same as it always was: two story, tofu-colored, double garage and postage-stamp yard mostly kept up by the boys on mission at our local Community instead of indentureds with names like Rico or Jorge.

Father was a low-level pastor who hadn’t even made the trek to Colorado Springs yet. But he was Going Places. Everyone said so. He had a hard core of the Neighborhood Faithful and the only problem was Mom swallowing enough pills to keep her smiling and his Troubled Daughter.

That would be yours truly.

“Julie!” Irv slid off the stool. Long arms, long legs, pinchy knobbed fingers, and Dad’s perpetually blushing cheeks, the turkeyskin neck of an older man and a lipless mouth—that was Irv. He had cold-coffee eyes instead of Father’s yellow-brown pin-you-to-the-wall stare. He even had a black armband, cinching the short sleeve of his white button-down. “You’re home! Hey, kiddo!”

As if I’d come back from the Springs or something. I swung my duffel, “accidentally” catching him in the shins as he went to hug-grope me. Mom swayed near the sink, grabbing onto it, her vacant gaze sliding over both of us like we were an unfunny comedy routine. I made apologies, Irv limped to the table—stacked with paperwork and all sorts of crap; Father would’ve had a fit over the mess—and I caught sight of our domestic, Mattie, peeking from the utility room where the washer chugged quietly. Mattie’s cheeks were wet with tears, too. It would upset her to see Mom so zoned.

Oh, Christ have mercy. It was something Mom used to say when a cake fell or Father sprang a six-person dinner on her at four thirty on a Friday afternoon. I almost said it, too; caught myself just in time.

Father was dead. There would be no slap or sucker punch for blasphemy. But Irv was giving me a Significant Look, taking me in from neatly braided hair to bare knees over the tops of my socks and under my plaid skirt—I hadn’t even changed out of Camp uniform yet.

“Mom.” I dropped the duffel, made it into the kitchen, and got my arms around her when she started to moan. Irv mumbled something or other and beat a hobbling retreat to the parlor, and I met Mattie’s wide dark gaze again. She made a hurried motion, and I realized she was crossing herself.

That could get her derezzed, sent back over the border in a hurry with her indenture yanked. I hurriedly looked away. Mom swayed and hiccoughed. I swallowed hard and wondered just what Irv was up to.

The Myrmidons showed up that evening. Mom was in bed, the sedatives blurring her out, and Irv had left to go sleep at the seminary Father had been underdean at. He couldn’t stay at the house even with Mattie there. Even if he was making brotherwife noises.

God, that thought just made me go cold all over.

Anyway, Mattie came into Mom’s room, wide-eyed and pasty under her copper-toned skin. “Inquisitores,” she whispered, grabbing my arm and digging her work-roughened fingers in.

I appreciated the warning. My head filled up with rushing pulse-noise, I made it down the stairs and plodded across the hall into the parlor. It was still dust-free and shiny everywhere, the spines of books Father never read—because he’d bought them glued together by the yard from the designer—still frowning at the overstuffed couches and the doilies.

Mom used to crochet before Father made them change her meds.

Anyway, they were Myrmidons. Two nice young clean-shaven guys, hair short and fingernails buffed, in matching dark suits and wine-red ties. Squeaky-polished wingtip shoes reflecting the lamplight. The bay window looking out on the front yard held only darkness; I could barely see the streetlamp and the two black electro SUVs parked beside the still-spindly redwood tree and the mercilessly trimmed laurel hedge.

“Julia Kingstree? I’m Agent Harker; this is Agent Brown.” The fractionally taller one flashed his double-cross badge as he rose. “We’re sorry to intrude—”

“My mom’s upstairs. She’s sleeping.” I grabbed the doorframe. It wouldn’t do any good—they had tasebolt guns, I could see the shoulder holsters peeping out. But the smaller one—Brown—was sitting, staring at the bookshelves like he was perplexed.

I could maybe run, couldn’t I? I’d probably make it out onto the street before they caught me. Then it would be stuffed into the vans and off to derezzing. Unless I was going to be Rechristened.

“We’re sorry to intrude at a time like this,” he continued smoothly. “You’re not in any trouble, Miss Kingstree. Please, sit down.”

I stayed right where I was. Not in trouble? That’ll be the day.

The smaller one had a round face, and he looked a little softer. His wire-rimmed glasses flashed as he turned his head a little, looking at me. “She just came from Mount Temple, Hark. I don’t think she believes you.”

“Well, I did Temple too. Didn’t do me any harm.” Harker flashed me a wide white smile. “Really, Miss Kingstree. We’re just here to ask some questions.”

That’s how it always starts. I made my fingers unclench. But I stayed where I was, watching them, until Brown sighed.

“Harker, show a little class. Miss Kingstree, we’re here to ask about Robert Maguire. You were the last person to speak to him. We’re…concerned. We’re not going to bite you.”

No, they were Myrmidons. They could do a lot worse than bite. But I took a single step inside the room, and that seemed to satisfy them.

“Rob?” My voice wouldn’t work quite right. “He…we were…He’s gone?”

“Vanished right out of Mount Temple Camp, Miss Kingstree. You went to your pod after skipping worship; he went between the Community Building and the Sheds. The cherub lost him there.” Brown’s glasses twinkled again. The eyes behind them were sharp and cold, and I was suddenly sure he was the one to watch out for here. Harker moved restlessly, like he wanted my attention, but I kept staring at round-faced, pleasantly smiling Brown.

“Cherubs don’t lose people,” I mumbled. “Right? They just don’t.”

“Well, it lost him.” Harker sighed. “Will you come in and sit down? Honestly, Miss Kingstree. We just want to know what you two talked about. This could be a good thing for you.”

“You’re bright,” Brown chimed in. “Very bright. You have a problem with authority, and a stressful home life. You’ve done every Camp there is. You’re prime material for Myrmidon training, Miss Kingstree, and if you cooperate, well…How would you like never having to go to Camp again? And arrangements could be made.”

“For your mother, he means.” Harker was leaning forward on his toes, watching me. His shoulders were tight, and I’d seen that kind of tension on youth leaders who weren’t sure if a kid was going to play with the program. “We understand she’s…delicate.”

And there it was. Without Father, Mom was what the Elders called a “useless mouth.” If Irv took an interest, he could brotherwife her. That would be about as pleasant as living with Father again, for both of us.

Myrmidons got special treatment. Everyone knew that.

I think I’m the Antichrist. I opened my mouth, shut it. They wouldn’t believe that. Nobody would, no matter how much Pastor Peter ranted about the coming Rapture and the winnowing. If we were going to be Raptured, it would’ve happened by now, right? Because everyone was so holy.

I made it all the way into the parlor on wobbly legs. Sank down in a flowered, overstuffed armchair, squeezing my knees together out of long habit. The Camp uniform skirt scratched me—I still hadn’t had a chance to get out of the damn thing, Mom had moaned for a long time—and my shoes were beginning to feel like lead. Sweat prickled down my back and in my armpits.

“I cooperate.” I sounded flat and unhelpful, even to myself. “And I get sent to be a Myrmidon, and Mom’s safe? She doesn’t have to brotherwife with Uncle Irv or anyone else?”

“Allowances can be made.” Harker glanced out the bay window. Then all his attention was back on me. “What do you know about Robert Maguire? We hear you’re the only person at Temple he sought out or seemed to speak at any length to.”

Make it a good lie, Julie. But in order to tell a good lie, you have to start with the truth. “We just talked. Both of us hated Camp. He got a Pride patch for telling a lay pastor he could teach a better theology class. He thought all the adults were stupid.”

They exchanged glances. I drew a deep breath, and took the plunge with something they’d believe.

“He kind of was asking me to run away. Said we’d go south over the border. Just him and me.”

And we were off and running, both of them throwing questions at me. It was like a Confession Session, sitting in the middle of the circle and thinking up sins to make it worthwhile as the pastors and youth leaders shouted at you and the other kids made Holy Spirit noises.

I think I did pretty okay, because after a while they left, and I made it upstairs to my bathroom before I had to throw up.

The communicator sat on my nightstand, a little silvery circle blinking its tiny red LED. Just like a baby cherub. It probably was spying on me. If Rob showed up I was supposed to press the button and the Myrmidons would come.

They were so smart, they didn’t even know he had no idea where I lived.

I lay in bed and tried not to think. I couldn’t hurt Rob if he was gone, and if I could get into Myrmidon training…why not? I could pretend to be orthodox. I could ride around in an electro SUV and terrify people, I could mouth Pastor Peter’s newest all the time. It wasn’t that hard.

And Mom would be safe. She’d been restless again when I finished throwing up, and I’d brushed her hair to calm her down. Maybe she could even come off the meds a bit, now that Father—

A rattle at my window. I blinked, pushing down the white eyelet cover, and propped myself on my elbows. The communicator kept flashing, steadily.

A shadow at my window, tapping, and I probably already knew who it was. Because I got out of bed, pulling my tank top down, and padded over. I unlocked the window and slid it up, cool night air raising goose bumps all over me, and the plane tree outside rustled as he moved a little.

“Julie.” He was perched up in the tree, for God’s sake. His hair was all messed up, and his T-shirt had definitely seen better days, but he was bright-eyed and grinning. It did a lot for his thin face. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?” I whispered. “The Myrmidons are after you, for cripesake! And how did you find out where I—”

“You’ve got an incognito cherub in your bedroom, too. It’s okay.” The grin widened. He was as far away from the gaunt, sullen kid at Temple as it was possible to get. Still thin, but that smile threatened to crack him wide open. “And five minutes at a public vidshell would find you. Kingstree’s not like Smith for a name, you know. Get your shoes.” His whisper was a lot louder than mine, or maybe it just seemed that way. Mom was tranked to the gills and Mattie was probably in bed by now, but still.

“My shoes? I’m in my pajamas.” But I reached out through the window, and he grabbed my hand. His skin was warm, and he squeezed. “Rob. What are you doing?”

“It’s all coming apart.” He braced himself on the branch. “Come with me.”

What? “Where?”

“Out. Away. There’s safe places. It’s going to happen soon.”

“What’s going to happen?”

A shrug. The smile was fading a little. “It, Julie. You really need me to spell it out for you?”

“I guess not.” But I kind of thought he should. “I can’t go yet. The funeral’s in a couple days, and my mom…” And all of a sudden I thought that maybe I should thank him or something. After all, my father was dead. But that was stupid, right? He couldn’t have had anything to do with that.

“Don’t worry about your mom.” He leaned back a little, the branch creaked. “She’ll be okay. She’s an adult.”

She’s drugged out of her mind and Uncle Irv is sniffing around. “Rob…” I was kind of glad it was dark, because if he started looking disappointed, I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t go get some shoes.

“Hey, it’s okay. Look.” He cocked his head a little, like he heard music. “All right. Funeral’s in two days, right? Meet me three days from now, that’s Sunday. Afternoon, anytime after two, in Coughlin Park. You know where that is? You can get there on the bus.”

I knew where it was—you could see the whole city from there, and on sunny days there were picnics. “But what about the—”

“Don’t worry about the Myrmidons. They’re not a problem.”

“Are you insane?” I forgot to whisper. “They are a problem, Rob, you just can’t—”

“I can.” He leaned forward, almost inside my window. “You remember what I told you? I’ve got proof, Julie. It’s my time now. They’re not going to do a damn thing to me, or to you.”

“That’s really nice, but why?”

“I like you.” Awkward for the first time. “I liked you from the second I saw you in Confession Session at Sacred Abiding, remember? You told that counselor Sheridan to go to hell. You’re smart and you don’t believe their bullshit. The world’s rotten, their God’s rotten, and we’re gonna make them pay.” He squeezed my hand so hard the bones creaked. “I just…I thought you liked me too. At least, a little bit.”

Well, maybe I did. “You’re crazy.” I was back to whispering. “If they catch you they’ll derez you. Or Rechristen you, even.”

“I’m not worried. Do you…” He was staring at me like he wanted to get inside my skull and read my brain. “Do you like me? Even a little bit?”

What else could I say? “Yeah.” I squeezed back, hoping he wouldn’t be grossed out by my sweating fingers. “I like you, Rob.” Sure I do. And if you’re what you say you are and you got rid of Father, I like you even more. “What are you gonna do until Sunday?”

“Bum around. Eat.”

After Holy Camp, it’s the one thing most kids want to do. Eat something, anything, to fill up the hole. “All right. Sunday, Coughlin Park. Where—”

“I’ll find you.”

The tree creaked, sharply. I flinched. “You’ve got to go, they might catch you.”

“They’re not gonna, Julie. Relax.” But he was grinning again. And he did something strange. He lifted my hand up and pressed his lips against my knuckles. My whole body froze, then went hot. “I really like you,” he whispered. “See you Sunday.”

Then he let go of my hand, and I watched him climb down the tree with lanky, economical grace. I kept watching, but he vanished into the darkness along the fence. After about ten minutes I closed the window and retreated to my bed. The white walls glowed, and my familiar bedroom was a trap with the communicator’s red eye blinking, blinking.

That made two times in one day someone had called me smart. A nice compliment, but my brain was chewing on itself in the worst way. Something had occurred to me.

What if this was a test? What if Rob was a cherub? It happened. You couldn’t trust anybody. They got to you, one way or the other.

What was I gonna do?

I got Mom dressed in black for the funeral, and the entire time she clutched my arm. I wore my Camp uniform, just because. Near the end, when the telescreen in the New Horizon Church was playing clips from some of Father’s sermons, she started swaying next to me. Everyone else would mistake it for grief, but I knew it was because seeing his long nose and cruel thin lips and yellow-brown eyes larger than life on the screen was a pinch right on every bruise he’d ever given either of us.

I held her shoulders and pretended I was crying.

I also kept Irv away from her most of the time. He had papers he was trying to make her sign, but I spilled coffee on them the first time he brought them over, and at the funeral I kept steering her away when I saw him starting to open up that prissy leather folio he carried.

The Myrmidons were there too, clean-cut and crewcut enough to give anyone the chills.

I palmed Harker a note during the receiving line, while Mom murmured things as people shook her hand. It was a crumpled square of notebook paper, the letters jagged as if I’d written in a hurry.

I’ve seen him. We’re meeting in Coughlin Park on Sunday, 2 PM.

The way he took it and covered told me it was true, he had been at Temple. Or at another Holy Camp. You don’t learn those things anywhere else.

And yes, I was a rat, okay? I was a Judas. I knew it.

I managed to cover for Mom during the entire five hours, from service to reception in the huge taupe New Horizon second ballroom with a couple cherubs floating near the roof and buffet tables groaning under Velvecheese-glued goo. By the time we got home I was grainy-eyed and aching all over. Mattie had dinner waiting, and maybe she knew something was wrong by the way I didn’t eat. It was like being at Camp, only instead of indigestible crap on the plate there was plenty of good stuff; I just couldn’t make my stomach feel like taking it. The thought of putting anything in my mouth made me feel like throwing my guts up, again.

I led Mom upstairs after dinner, got her washed, and put her to bed. The amber bottles on her nightstand glowed in a shaft of evening sunlight. I started unscrewing their caps and shaking out the dosages. Little blue ones, bigger white ones, the pink-coated ones and the diamond-shaped violet ones. Each one a brick in the wall holding her down.

Mom lay against the pillows, chalky-pale, watching me with heavily lidded blue eyes. Her chin quivered a little. My hair was like hers, a pretty good chestnut, and we had the same mouth and cheekbones. I was always grateful that I looked more like her than Father.

“Do you really think he’s lying?” I whispered.

Mom moved slightly. She muttered something in response, a slurred jumble like a sleeptalker. My hand clenched around the pills. We stared at each other, and I could swear I saw something far back in her dilated pupils. Some kind of flash.

That was when they rang the doorbell and came to take her. Irv wasn’t going to brotherwife her after all.

He’d decided to send her to Rechristening.

“You’re not officially a Myrmidon trainee,” Harker said, his jaw set. “We can’t do anything.”

Brown was in the kitchen with Irv. The front door was wide open. They’d taken her away in a big black electro SUV, and Mattie was back in the utility room, probably hoping nobody would remember her.

“You promised!” Hoarse and shaking. I was bruised all over. They’d been efficient, at least—two of the Rechristening team holding me down while I fought and screamed, another two getting Mom up and out of the bed, one with Irv in the hall as Irv smirked.

He looked just like Father.

Harker folded his arms. “Tomorrow, your uncle will make sure you catch the bus to Coughlin. If Maguire shows, we’ll net him and you can enter the training program. If not, you’ll be on the next transport to Reeducation Center—and it won’t be as cushy as Temple, Miss Kingstree. Do we understand each other?”

Oh, I understood. I understood perfectly. I stood there and stared, numb.

He kept talking, relentlessly. “We’ll continue watching you. If he shows tomorrow, great. We’ll hardcore-orthodox him and you’ll be a Murican hero.”

If I opened my mouth I was going to start screaming again. So I just glared. When all else fails, you can shut up and refuse. It’s about the only thing you can do sometimes.

The Myrmidon’s high gloss faltered for a moment. He actually pinked a little around the cheekbones. “You’re a smart girl.” Softer, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Look, she would have been Rechristened anyway, no matter what. Now you don’t have her dragging you down. She was a useless mouth, and your father should’ve—”

I was across the room in a heartbeat. I managed a shot to his face before he kicked my legs out from under me, but he left me curled up on the parlor rug, sobbing, my hand throbbing and a ball of fire where he’d kicked me, one shiny wingtip sinking into my vulnerable belly.

I retreated while the Myrmidons were still in the kitchen with Irv. As soon as I scrambled up the stairs I grabbed the wooden penitence chair from Father’s office, jumping guiltily at every little sound. How many times had I sat crying in that chair, trying to hold the sobs back while Father worked on his sermons?

Now, in the middle of the night, it was braced up against my bedroom door. Which was a good thing, because the door started to rattle in its frame.

I was on my bed, curled up, still in my Camp uniform. The duffel sagged on the floor near the nightstand. My face was hot and dirty from crying, and my belly kept twitching with little pains.

Irv rattled the door a bit harder. I hugged my pillow, breathing out through my mouth because my nose was so stuffed, a hot claustrophobia under the blankets.

After twenty minutes Uncle Irving gave up. But he came back twice more.

I didn’t sleep.

Getting down out of the tree was the hard part—I dropped the duffel first, wincing when it hit. But everyone was asleep, dawn just creeping in. Irv was probably tuckered out after messing with my door all night.

Everything was gray, a chill spring fog hiding between the interchangeable houses. The manicured trees dripped little jewels of water. Dead silence filled every hole, pressed against every window.

There was getting through the fence, but I knew the lock was broken so that made it all right. I also knew to lift up to take some of the pressure off the hinges so it didn’t squeal. I peered around the corner of the garage and there was the big black electro SUV at the end of the street. I checked the sky—no cherubs I could see, and the fog would help. Things sometimes happened when the cherubs were covered up. Pastor Peter said there were heathens who had only pretended to be Goodchristians, and that’s why there was no crime. Heathens didn’t count.

The laurel hedge on this side wasn’t clipped back as hard, and when I squeezed between it and the neighbor’s fence I could almost imagine Rob coming this way. How had he just vanished? And gotten away from the cherubs, too.

I took the same route as the last time I’d run away, the time that got me sent to Temple. It kept me off the street where the Myrmidon electro SUVs crouched, at least. I cut through backyards, climbed a few fences, and was shivering at the Redeem Avenue and 143^rd bus stop an hour later. It was far enough away that they might not be watching.

Or at least, I hoped.

I had a roll of cash from Father’s office; at least I’d beaten Irv to that. So I got a protein drink from a vending machine and spent the day in the Coughlin Park bushes like a heathen pervert, trying to figure out if I should move around so it was harder to track me or stay where I was.

I’ll find you, Rob had said. I was hoping he would. Anytime after two, he’d said. Well, if he got here early I could warn him. Maybe he’d still let me go with him, even if I told him I was a filthy Judas who’d clued the Myrmidons in.

I wasn’t really hoping he would. But if I screwed up their plans good enough, they’d send me to a Center, and there’s things you can do there. You can even Rechristen yourself if you want to. It just takes shaking off the nerves long enough to throw yourself at the wall. Or slicing your arm with some of the craft supplies. Or drinking some of the floor cleaner.

By now Mom was Rechristened. If I’d fed her the pills, she wouldn’t have felt a thing when they did…what they did. It might’ve even ruined the organs they’d harvest.

Coughlin had a couple playgrounds, eerily empty because of Sunday. When the sun came out it was still deserted, since it was too early for worship to let out. I shivered and watched the trees drip, wished I could go get on the swings or—

“Julie.” A whisper-yell, behind me. “Hey.”

I leaped and almost shrieked, clapped my hand over my mouth just in time. Whirled to find Rob standing at the edge of the cluster of rhododendrons I was crouching in like an idiot.

Just standing there, right on the concrete path, grinning.

“You’re early,” he said, and it was like a shout in the quiet.

I got my wits together. “They know. Rob, they were—they know I was supposed to meet you here.” My heart pounded, thinly.

“That’s okay.” He actually shrugged. “I expected as much; they had you under some pretty tight watch. Come on.”

“I ratted on you. I told the Myrmidons.” Did he not understand?

“It’s okay, Julie. They’re like that. They used your mom, didn’t they.”

It wasn’t hard to figure out, because I’d told him a bit about my mom. It would make sense that she was the only thing anyone could use on me, really.

But I still felt creeped out. “Rob—”

“Come on. I’m not gonna ask again.”

I scrambled out of the bushes, hauling my duffel with me. He grinned when he saw it, dark eyes lighting up. “You came prepared. That’s awesome. This way. We’re going up to the Lookout.”

“They might already be here.” I couldn’t make my voice work right. What came out was a breathy little gasp.

“Not yet.” He sounded very sure. “But they’re on their way.”

Up at the top of Coughlin was the Lookout, a parking lot for electrocars and a split-rail fence along the wide paved path to keep people from falling off the cliff while they took in the view of the city’s simmering wasteland of little white houses and the steel glitter of the skyscrapers in the distance, each with their cross on top. The drop probably wouldn’t kill you, but you’d definitely end up broken bad enough to get Rechristened and harvested. The fog was lifting, golden sunshine breaking through, and I jumped at every noise. There were no cars—everyone was at worship for at least another half hour.

Everyone except the Myrmidons.

Rob seemed to know right where he was going. I followed, hauling my duffel, but halfway to the lookout he dropped back to walk beside me and reached over, grabbing the straps. I let go and he carried it, as simple as that.

“I’m sorry.” I had to hurry to keep up; he was going at a good clip with those long legs of his. “Really, I am. I—”

“It had to happen, Julie. You wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t happened.”

“You’re trying to say you knew?”

“Kind of. In a way. It’s hard to explain.”

“If you knew, why didn’t you stop them?”

“It wasn’t time. Now it is.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Well, I grew up going to worship four times a week. If I’m crazy that’s probably why.”

I laughed before I could stop myself. He glanced at me sidelong and looked pleased.

He hopped up on the curb and headed along the path. I followed, looking nervously down at the city. The fog was peeling back, and those patches of blue in the sky weren’t hopeful. Sooner or later a cherub would spot us. “Where are we going?”

“I’m gonna show you something. We’re almost there.” We came to the highest promontory, and he stopped, looking over the valley and the city. “Okay. You remember what I told you? At Temple?”

That’s not the sort of thing someone forgets. “Yeah.”

“Did you tell the Myrmidons about that?”

What, you don’t know about that? “I told them you were gonna go south, head over the border and live with the indentureds. That you wanted me to go with you. We’d Adam and Eve it in a vine-covered shack down there.”

Was he blushing? A little, maybe. “So you didn’t tell them I’m…what I am?”

“Of course not.” They wouldn’t have believed me.

“Good. Come on.” He walked right up to the rail and stepped over, carefully, the shimmering city spread out below him. I actually gasped.

“You could fall!” Then I felt like a moron. We were looking at Myrmidons showing up any second, and there would be a hard silver glitter in the sky before long, and—

“I won’t let you fall. Come on, Julie. It’s either me or the Myrmidons.”

Well, when he put it that way, it seemed kind of stupid-obvious.

It was a struggle to get over without my skirt riding up and showing everything, but I managed. He transferred the duffel to his right hand, offered me his left. “Here. Don’t let go.”

Our fingers threaded together, and he pulled me along. I shut my eyes, stumbling over grassy hillocks, tripping on stone. If we were going to fall and break our stupid legs and get Rechristened, I didn’t want to see.

My fingers were sweating again. I kept my eyelids squeezed shut so hard traceries of color exploded behind them. The ground evened out, became level. It gave, weirdly resilient underfoot.

“Okay.” Rob let out a long breath. “Julie. Open your eyes.”

I don’t want to. But I did. And I screamed, sound and breath leaving me in a walloping rush.

Because we stood on empty air, twenty feet out from Coughlin’s cliff-edge, the city in the distance sending up spirals of smoke now visible through the fog. There was nothing under our feet. The eerie silence broke, and sirens threaded through the sunlight. Little silver streaks poured down from the sky.

The cherubs were falling. Tires screeched in the lot behind us as the Myrmidons arrived. Two of the electrocars kept going, bumping up on the curb and smashing through the fence, throwing themselves off the cliff because the drivers had disappeared.

They fell. We didn’t.

And Rob didn’t let go of my hand.

We walked right through the Myrmidons.

They didn’t see us. They kept yelling at each other, spreading out through Coughlin Park. Some of them had vanished. There were neat little piles of clothes left behind, nothing else.

The buses were still running, and so were some transports—the ones that had preprogrammed controllers instead of drivers. We took the 71 to the edge of town, the dilapidated lectrotrain station full of people staring at telescreens. The news was incredible.

It was chaos. Some transports had crashed, their pilots vanished. Every kid under the age of sixteen was gone. Lots of adults, but none of the Elders, and Pastor Pete was all over the airwaves ranting about something or another. Plenty of heathens were gone, lots of indentureds, most everyone who had been sent for derezzing, pretty much everyone in Holy Camps or Reeducation Centers. All they left behind was their clothes, as if they’d just stepped out of them. Fires and looting all over the place, people screaming, sobbing, or standing with tears running down their faces. Pastor Peter kept going, ranting about the End Times.

Well, duh.

Rob got us on a train. Nobody bothered to check us for tickets. We sat in a first-class compartment as it pulled smoothly out of the station on its programmed track, another brand of eerie quiet closing over us. Sunshine poured over the world, but a pall of smoke was rising from the city. The cherubs were still falling out of the sky, and I hoped one wouldn’t hit the train.

Somehow, I didn’t think it would.

Rob stared out the window, tapping his fingers on his knee, his jeans ripped and his T-shirt a little torn, just an average thin-tall kid with a shock of dark messy hair and dark eyes. He wasn’t grinning now.

I was having some trouble breathing. I kept looking down at our hands. He hadn’t let go yet. The lectrotrain lurched and I bent forward, my fingers cramping-tight, and tried to put my head on my knees.

“Hey. Oh, shit. Julie? You okay?”

I am not okay. How can you be okay with something like this? “I dunno,” I said into my plaid skirt. “That’s…it. It’s happened. It’s real. Really real.”

“Well, I told you so.” But his other hand was on my head. He was petting my hair, and it was so awkward it made it a little easier to get some air in. “It’s okay, Julie. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Well, that’s comforting. Except I have a little trouble believing it. “We’re going to Hell,” I moaned into my skirt. I’m amazed he heard me.

“It’s better than Holy Camp.” A short, nasty laugh, sounded like it hurt. “They’re gonna pay. Everyone who’s left.”

It rose up inside me. I sat up like someone had poked me with a sharp stick. “Christ have mercy, Rob, we’ve both been through Dogma a million times. You know what happens!”

“I know what they say happens. There’s a Bible on the other side, too.” His free hand hung in the air, like he wanted to touch me but wasn’t sure he should. “It says different stuff. I’ve seen it.”

That just about floored me. The air went out of me again, and I bent over. This time little black spots danced in front of my eyes before Rob whomped me on the back with his free hand. I sucked in enough air to scream, decided against it.

When I could manage it, I sat up again. My brain was clicking like metal balls, shuddering inside my skull. “No. No. Nuh-uh. No way.”

He got real quiet, stared at me instead of the window. Just a kid, except there was a pinprick of red way far back in those black pupils.

It didn’t scare me.

Much.

But my throat was kind of dry. “So each side has their Bible and they both say different things. Where does that leave us, huh? I’m guessing either way it ends pretty badly.”

He shrugged, pointed shoulders coming up, and for a moment it was like being at Holy Camp again, sneaking away with him to sit and talk aimlessly. I wished I had a smoke. But he was listening. Hard.

I couldn’t hold his hand any tighter. I was losing feeling in my fingers. But I didn’t ease up. “Let’s just get out. Go somewhere. South, north, somewhere there’s not a lot of people. Just get away and stay away. They can’t do any of this without you, can they?”

He thought this over, chewing on his lower lip. “It might not work. I mean, I’m the Antichrist. You just don’t retire from that, or—”

“They can’t do anything to you, though. So you just let it go. Let them do whatever they want to each other as long as they leave us out of it. Right? Or do you want to be a camp counselor instead of a kid? You want to be the one peeking through the cherubs and sending the Myrmidons around?” Why couldn’t I say exactly what I wanted to? This was important. Frustration boiled up inside me. “It’s the same thing, whether it’s you or them doing it. Why not just derez ourselves right out? Just you and me. Do something better. Why not?”

“It…” His mouth worked.

I couldn’t believe this hadn’t occurred to him before. “Seriously. The cherubs are gone, the Myrmidons didn’t see us, what’s to say we weren’t disappeared with the rest of them? And as for…as for the rest, God and all that, they can’t make you, can they? What can they do to you? A big fat nothing, right? Let them have their big war or whatever without you. See how far they get.”

His fingers loosened a little. “If I…” He licked his lips, glanced away at the window like a cherub might be watching, and shook his head. Glared at me. “If I do, will you stick with me? Promise?”

Well, who else do I have? Uncle Irving? Don’t make me laugh. Mattie? If she’s not derezzed over the border then she’s probably vanished. “I promise. I like you, Rob. I really do.”

“Really?” He looked about three years old, and hopeful. It was hard to believe he was…what he said he was. The red pinpricks in his pupils were gone.

“Really.” Our fingers loosened. I was glad, because my hand was sweating something awful and my whole arm was threatening to cramp up. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry? They prolly have vendings.”

“Starving.” He looked like it, too. “Julie, what if they try to make me do it?”

“Then we never really had a chance and it’s all been a game.” I found out my legs would work and pushed myself up. The train’s smooth rollicking turned into a rhythm. I didn’t even know where we were going.

Rob grabbed my hand in both of his. We stood there for a couple seconds, looking at each other, and heat painted itself up my throat, flushing my cheeks. The duffel bag between us slumped, dispirited, like it just wanted a shower and a plate of Mattie’s roast chicken.

I could relate. My stomach made a noise like a monster in a cavern, and that managed to crack us both up. We laughed, in a kind of hysterical-screamy way I’ve heard at a lot of Camps. It means the worst is pretty much over. Or at least, that you think it is.

“Come on.” I tugged at him. “Let’s find something to eat. Then I hope you have a smoke. I’m dying for one.”

He unfolded himself, gingerly. “Yeah. They can’t give us demerits for smoking on a train, either.”

“Cool.” I took a deep breath, and steadied myself. When I opened my eyes again he was watching me, anxiously, and I wondered…

But I tugged at him again. “Find me a vending, Maguire. Where’s this train headed, anyway?”

“North, I think. How far do you think we’ll get?”

I could’ve lied to him. But I didn’t. I made up my mind not to, for as long as I could help it. “I don’t know. As far as we can.”

As far as they let us.

It would have to be enough.