The Dead-Tossed Waves by Carrie Ryan Page A

earlier question. “I’m looking for a friend of mine,” I tell him. “We were out here last night and he never came back.”
    He lets out a long breath as if grateful for the change in topic. “Down at the amusement park.”
    I tilt my head. “How do you know?”
    He looks past me into the darkness and for a moment I want to turn around, afraid that someone is watching me. “I could hear the bells and some of the shouting.”
    I stare at him and hesitate for only a moment before saying, “You’re not from Vista,” as if stating the obvious is important.
    “No.” He doesn’t elaborate.
    “I didn’t think anyone lived out here,” I press. I look around at the crumbled buildings, the fallen walls and caved roofs. So many dark shadows and crevices. This isn’t a place where people live; people don’t live in the in-between places.
    After the Return the cities and towns were the most dangerous places, infection spreading and breaking too easily in larger, denser populations. But then as time wore on, people had to band back together. They had to build communities for goods, for food, for safety.
    Cities and towns contracted, pulled in their borders, built walls. Which left a whole lot of space in between filled with nothing but Mudo. A few roads, like the long one from our town to the Dark City up the coast, are somewhat protected by the ocean and ruins on one side and the fence around the Forest on the other.
    But still, travel is difficult at best, deadly at worst. It’s as if cities and towns are like islands in a world where most everyone is afraid of water.
    Which means that someone who lives beyond the protection of a town or city is suspect.
    I’ve grown up knowing the reality of our world: The lucky among us live in cities and towns, within the protection of society.
    But not everyone is so lucky. Some are cast out for infractions, for failing to follow the rules. Many are deserters from the Recruiters, whose names end up on lists with prices on their heads. Some see themselves as traders—scavenging the ruins and edges of the Forest. Almost all of them are desperate, and I want to know which category Elias falls into.
    He rubs his chin and then grips the back of his neck. “I think I know where your friend is,” he counters.
    I narrow my eyes at him, not sure whether I can or should trust him. “How do you know? Why are you out here?” I ask, trying to figure out who he is.
    He studies me and I see a brief flash of something cross over his face. Fear? Regret? Or maybe just the moon hiding behind a cloud before bursting through. “I’m looking for someone as well,” he says. His voice is quiet and even.
    “Who?” I ask, wondering if everyone in the world is lost, all of us searching.
    He stares at me a little longer, and then finally shakes his head. “Never mind,” he mumbles.
    “Who?” I press.
    He pauses before saying, “I just saved you from the Unconsecrated, which, I might add, are still after us. Who I’m looking for isn’t important. I’d think just the fact that I am here would be something you might want to be thankful for.”
    I look at him closely, unsure if I heard him right. “You call them Unconsecrated.” I pause. “Why?”
    He’s silent for a long moment. Waiting, I think, for me to say something. Then he shrugs. “Every town has its own word for them, passed down from the Return. It’s the one I like best.”
    I’ve only heard my mother use that term. But then again, I’ve rarely met someone from outside Vista except the traders and Recruiters. “You said you’d seen my friend?” I ask.
    “I think I know where he is.”
    His eyes are so intense that I have a hard time looking away. “Will you take me to him?”
    Once again he looks past me and then rubs a hand over his head as if forgetting he has no hair to tug at. “Are you sure, Gabry?” He says my nickname carefully, as if testing it out.
    I start to say yes but the word won’t come. I have to