When I reach Willow, I grab the railing with both fists and hold on as if my life depends on it. Which it probably does. Because no one was meant to be this far off the ground.

“Look.” She points south. “No, there. A few degrees to the east.”

I crane my neck and sweep the cityscape and beyond, manfully swallowing the need to whimper when I accidentally look too far down. “I don’t see anything,” I say in a voice that doesn’t exactly shake, but doesn’t do me any favors, either.

“That line of buildings to the south of us is in the way. We need to find a better angle. Come on,” she says, and starts walking. The others follow her.

I stay put. I’m not walking across that death trap again unless I’m heading for the door. “I’ll take the east side,” I say, and creep along the railing by sliding my fists. No need to let go. No need to plummet thirty-five stories to my inglorious demise.

I scan piles of rubble with trees growing from their centers, broken metal spires leaning precariously over the remnants of roads, and random clusters of buildings that remain somewhat whole. My eyes are drawn to the edges of the Wasteland, steadily encroaching on the borders of the city. Nothing moves. Nothing is out of place.

But when I lift my eyes above the tree line, I see faint lines of smoke drifting up into the air from the bluff just beyond the city limits.

“Fire?” I ask, because apparently along with a shaking voice and a white-knuckle grip on the railing, I feel the need to humiliate myself by stating the obvious.

“Campfires,” Willow says. “The army. That’s what took us so long. We had to go west and circle back around to avoid them.”

“Our lookouts have reported that the army has been getting closer every day,” Ian says.

“If they get any closer, they’ll be able to hear you snoring in your sleep,” Willow says.

“I don’t snore.” Ian sounds offended.

“Right. And bunnies don’t reproduce every time they look at each other, either.”

“The army is right on top of us. I think the only reason they haven’t already attacked is because they don’t know exactly where we are.” Quinn appears at my elbow. If he notices the death grip I have on the railing, he doesn’t react.

Rachel’s voice is fierce. “The Commander will send scouts. We should—”

“Oh, he sent scouts,” Willow says. “Five of them. And they were doing a good job of searching the city. Unfortunately for them, all they managed to find was me.”

“You killed them?” Ian asks.

“No. I invited them over for dinner.” She smacks his shoulder. “The sun is almost down. By the time the Commander realizes his scouts aren’t coming back, it will be too dark to send more. He can’t risk us seeing torchlight, and they can’t search these ruins without light.”

“You scare me a little,” Ian says, but his voice is full of admiration.

Adam steps closer to Willow. “She’s good at everything she does.”

Quinn clears his throat. “Maybe we should get back to the problem?”

“We can’t travel at night,” I say. “We need light as well. But we can leave at dawn, and—”

“They’ll leave at dawn, too,” Adam says. “And if they’re that close already, there’s no way we can outrun them. Not with children and elderly and the wagons.”

“Which is why we’re going to create a barrier between us,” I say. “Something they can’t cross.”

Rachel meets my eyes, and her smile is cold and bright. “Fire.”

I match her smile with one of my own. “Fire. And when the army finally gets past the blaze, we won’t be where they expect, because we’re leaving the main road behind.”

“What are we waiting for?” Willow asks. “Let’s go burn something down.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

RACHEL

As the sun disintegrates into ribbons of fire in the western sky, we huddle at the edge of the rooftop, scanning the southern entrance to the city while we make a plan.

“Those houses along the western edge look like they’d burn.” Adam points toward a dilapidated row of homes that skirt the city limit.

“There’s plenty of flammable debris through the side streets that lead to this building, too,” Willow says.

“We’ll create a firebreak behind those houses at the edge of the city.” Logan’s voice is calm, though he won’t relinquish his grip on the guardrail that encircles the rooftop. “We’ll go out in teams after dark. One team will create a twenty-yard perimeter behind the houses to keep the fire from spreading toward us. The other team will gather wood, dried grass, underbrush . . . anything that will burn. We’ll spread the flammable materials in thirty-yard lines from the houses and into the Wasteland to help the fire head toward the bluff.”

“And then we light it?” Adam asks as we turn toward the stairwell.

“No,” Logan says. “We get a few hours of sleep, make sure we’re ready to travel just before dawn, and then light it. We need to be ready to move the instant that fire catches, just in case. The flames and smoke will obscure the Commander’s sight line, and he’ll have to find another way through the city, because the whole main entrance will be on fire.”

After a quick dinner, Logan and I divide up our nighttime volunteers. Logan takes those who will be working on the firebreak, mostly because he can’t stand not to be in complete control of how much distance the team creates between the line of houses we’re using to start the fire and the road that leads directly to our shelter. I take those who are gathering materials to create a sustained blaze large enough to both camouflage our movements and force the army to find another path. We leave Frankie and Eric in charge of guarding the entrance to our shelter and make sure every volunteer understands that we have to work in pairs and stay alert.