The gray-haired man I remembered from their first emergency meeting stood. “Yes, Colonel.” He addressed the audience then. “After a lengthy debate, we’ve decided to offer provisional citizenship status to any families willing to comply with the terms, which are as follows: one member of the household, male or female, must volunteer for service and pass basic training, then take his or her place on the active duty list. The rest are then free to assume support roles in town.”

Though I wasn’t sure, that sounded like joining the guard in Salvation. From what I’d seen of the training program here, it would be more rigorous; they took defense and discipline seriously. A support role must be someone who helped the soldiers do their jobs, likely by making shoes, boots, and uniforms. So that meant if Rex or I volunteered, then the Oakses could stay here and be safe. Well. Relatively speaking. Someone as smart as the colonel must understand the severity of the threat. Her scouts were good or Stalker wouldn’t be roving with them. He had little patience for incompetence.

“Are there any questions?” the colonel asked. Silence. “Objections?”

I expected a spate of complaints but the men and women in the hall merely nodded agreement with the decision. On some level, it made sense to permit new blood, but a favorable decision would never have been reached in the enclave. Resources weren’t quite as strained Topside, however, so Soldier’s Pond could afford to be more generous in their terms—and they still benefited from the influx of new faces. This ruling increased the size of their defense force.

Tully and Spence whispered together, though I wasn’t sure how they felt about the verdict. Morrow was watching me, and when I caught his eye, he touched two fingers to his brow in greeting. The gesture made me lonely for Longshot. Once the meeting broke up officially, I strode to the front of the room, my decision made.

“I’ll join up for the Oaks family.”

The colonel frowned at me. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

She sighed and shook her head. “While I admire your enthusiasm, you’re not old enough, Deuce. We require minors to be eighteen before they can volunteer.”

Horror washed through me. “I’ve been training since I could hold a knife, ma’am, and where I’m from, you’re considered an adult at fifteen. Can’t you make an exception this once?”

“I’m sorry. I respect your courage, but an adult from your family must fulfill the requirement. Come see me in two years.”

That would be too late. Momma Oaks might be strong and resilient, but if Rex died in service to the town, she would have no children left at all. I didn’t think she could bear it—and even if she could—she shouldn’t have to. Edmund probably couldn’t pass basic training; I’d noticed the slow way he moved in the mornings, as if his joints pained him, and his back wasn’t the best from long years hunched over his workbench.

“What about the wounded?” I asked. “Some of them have no surviving family.”

“If they can’t recover enough to serve, then they have to go,” the colonel said. “We can’t afford to support those who give nothing back.”

So they weren’t wholly unlike the enclave, here. They just had the resources to permit a façade of kindness, but ultimately, the result wasn’t too much different. “How long will you give them to heal before sending them away?”

The colonel seemed surprised by my question. “We discussed this issue, and a month seems fair. So we’ll assess everyone in thirty days.”

I had to admit, that was reasonable. If a patient wasn’t on his feet and in fighting form after all that time, it was unlikely he or she ever would be. Sending the injured out into the wilderness was the same as a death sentence, but that wasn’t the colonel’s problem. She had to look out for the welfare of her citizens foremost. I understood that well enough.

“What about able-bodied souls? If they don’t have anyone who can fight, how long before you ask them to move along?”

“There’s never been a time limit set on trading parties or visitors,” the colonel said. “But they wouldn’t have citizenship rights.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means they need a way to earn their food and shelter, and we give priority to businesses run by those who have someone in service.”

So the Oakses could stay, but there was no guarantee anyone would buy from Edmund’s shop. With a faint sigh, I turned and walked toward the exit. The others had mostly filed out of the hall; they milled around discussing the decision in low tones. For the most part, their reaction sounded approving. I stopped short when I realized my family was waiting just outside the doors.

“You already volunteered for us,” Momma Oaks said with a touch of anger.

The failure stung. “I tried. They won’t take me. Said I’m not old enough.”

It never even occurred to me that there would be some arbitrary age that qualified me as old enough to fight since I’d been doing it for years. The schooling requirement in Salvation might’ve given me some clue, but there, the magic number was sixteen, and I’d reached it. I wished I’d known about the rule before; to help my family, I would’ve lied. Frustration surged through me.

Too late now.

“You aren’t,” Edmund agreed.

Before I could protest, Rex said, “I’ll do it.”

I wondered if his parents noticed the despair in his eyes. He wasn’t stepping forward so they’d have a place to stay. Ruth’s loss ate at him, making him just not care about the consequences. This couldn’t happen.

Momma Oaks shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’ve already lost one son.”

“So we rest up a bit and gather supplies.” Edmund produced a cheerful, determined look. “Then we move on. There must be a settlement that doesn’t require military service. It’s just a matter of finding one that suits us.”

Given the distance between towns and the danger of the territory, I wasn’t sure it would be that simple. But the way Momma Oaks brightened, I could see that Edmund’s words had the desired effect. And I couldn’t bring myself to kick dirt on the fire of their hope.

So I offered, “I can check the maps. Longshot has notes about all the towns and settlements on the trade routes.”

Edmund sighed. “I wish I’d paid more attention to his stories, but the rest of us weren’t permitted to travel, even if we wanted to. So it seemed better not to indulge in curiosity.”

But I had noticed that he had a secret yen to know more about the world he hadn’t been allowed to explore because he’d asked me all kinds of questions when I went out on patrol. I wondered if Edmund had ever felt stifled by his life in Salvation. Not enough to want it to end this way, I imagined.

“Don’t worry,” Rex said. “We’ll find somewhere to settle. This is a good enough place, but maybe it’s not where we belong.”

I agreed. “If they can’t see that I’m capable of fighting, they don’t deserve my blades.”

“They don’t know you,” Momma Oaks said. “Like us, they only understand what life has shown them. And I’m willing to bet there’s nobody here like you.”

Given the smile she was wearing, that felt like a compliment.

Accommodation

Spence broke away from his conversation with Tully when he saw we were done discussing our options. “If you’ll come with me, I’ve got your temp quarters assignment.”

“You have houses standing empty?” Edmund asked.

That was interesting since Salvation had gotten to the point that land within the walls was at a premium. There had been talk that families would need to start doubling up in the next generation. That would never happen now, of course. Sorrow settled in my stomach like a lump of stone; so many people had died. I saw far too few familiar faces in Soldier’s Pond.

“There was an epidemic last winter. We lost more men to it than we have the Muties.”

“How is that possible?” Momma Oaks wondered.

If she hadn’t asked, I would have.

“We have stockpiles of weapons and ammo. After the army conscripted this location, Soldier’s Pond became a military base. They didn’t expect to be here long, so they went light on certain provisions.”

“Like medicine,” I guessed.

Spence nodded. “It makes things tough. There are always plenty of people who can teach you how to fight. In other respects…”

“Then it seems like you’d be happy to find craftsmen in your midst, whether any of us are willing to fight or not,” Edmund said in the sharpest tone I’d ever heard from him.

“Are you a smith?” Spence asked.

He shook his head. “Cobbler. I made the finest shoes and boots in Salvation.”

The man studied his feet, clad in obviously substandard gear. “I’ll talk to Thornton—he’s in charge of goods and supplies—see if I can get a special dispensation for you. Policies always have exceptions.”

That was intriguing, too. By rights, he should be applying to the colonel, if things ran as they should. The idea that Thornton quietly did as he wished without regard to his leader’s wishes both interested and alarmed me. But I didn’t speak of these misgivings.

Momma Oaks brightened. “That’s kind of you, sir. I’m a seamstress. Would that help?”

“Not as much, ma’am. This way, please?”

“You go on,” I said then. “If I know Tegan, she plans to tend the wounded through the night. I’ll help her, and when we’re finished, I’ll camp out in the granary like before.”

“Get some rest,” Edmund cautioned, and Momma Oaks bussed me on the forehead.

I watched the path they took in case I needed to find them later and waited in front of the hall until I saw them go into a dark house. Then I turned my steps back toward the granary. In the dark, the paths between buildings were rocky and rutted. Some of them looked like the ones in the ruins, evidence of a facility for building that we no longer possessed. The rest of the trails were only worn in the dirt, pressed flat from repeated use.

“What’re you doing here?” Tegan asked when I stepped in.

“Lending a hand.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my friend, and I care about these people, too.”

She nodded, her dark eyes full of sorrow. Because a number of our volunteers from the first evening didn’t return, it took us most of the night to complete treatment. The young warrior, Morrow, came in somewhere past midnight, to help out. She put him to work at once, turning the men who were too heavy or too hurt for us to manage. By morning, four of our patients had died. Tegan wept after the first; when the third one stopped breathing, she was pale and dry-eyed, which worried me.

“I don’t know where their families are,” she said flatly. “Or what kind of funeral rites they preferred in Salvation.”

“They were religious,” Morrow said. “They didn’t permit visitors, or I’d know more. Not sure if their minister made it. I can ask around … and if not, our chaplain could say a few words.” He hesitated, then went on, “They can’t stay with the living. It’ll increase the risk of infection.”