Erin Bowman - Frozen

For my husband:

who shows me the road when Im lost, and the woods when I need to wander.

WE HAVE BEEN WALKING FOR two weeks. Nothing tails us but snow and crows and dark shadows of doubt. The days grow shorter, the evenings frigid. I thought Id be able to handle the cold.

I was wrong.

Back in Claysoot, our winters were hard, but while our homes were drafty and crude, we still had shelter. Even if I had to bundle up and head into the woods for a day of hunting, I could always return to a house. I could light a fire and put on clean socks and cling to a cup of hot tea as though my life depended on it.

Now it is just endless walking. Endless cold. At night we have only tents. And exposed fires. And blankets and jackets and countless additional layers that are never enough to chase the chill from our bones.

Its funny how Claysoot actually looks good on some days. When its freezing and no amount of blowing on my hands seems to warm them, I cant help but think of the comforts of my old home. I have to remind myself that Claysoot was never a home. A home is a place you are safe, at ease, able to let down your guard. Claysoot is none of these things. It will never be these things. The Laicos Project made sure of that, starting the day Frank locked children away to serve his own needs, corralling them like cattle, raising them to create the perfect soldiers: Forgeries. Human machines to do his bidding. Perfect replicas of the people he imprisoned.

And now we march to one of those prisons, a forgotten group in the Western Territory of AmEasts vast countryside. Well look for survivors at Group A, invite them to join us in the fight against Frank. See what secrets theyve learned in all their years of hiding. Ryders holding out hope that Group A might make a decent secondary base, help us extend our reach to the opposite end of the country.

I look at my hands, dry and chapped. Snow is falling again, drifting through the early-morning light as delicate, gray flakes. Im supposed to be doing something. What am I supposed to be doing?

I see the footprints, and I remember. Clipper.

Hes been drifting from our team lately. Well settle down for the night, or pause for a water break, and then someone will notice that hes missing. I always get saddled with the honor of retrieving him.

I stand and pull my gloves back on, return my focus to tracking him. I crest a small rise and there he is, leaning against a pale birch tree.

We need to keep moving. You ready?

Gray, he says, turning to face me. I didnt hear you.

I force a smile. You never do.

True. Theres an unmistakable heaviness to Clippers voice. He sounds older. Looks it, too. After Harvey diedwas murdered by Frankthe boy took over as the Rebels head of technology. All the added responsibility seems to have aged him.

I miss her, Clipper says, touching a twine bracelet I watched his mother give him when they said their good-byes two weeks earlier. And Harvey. He kicks at a snow-dusted rock at his feet. He was . . . I dont know how to put it. I just feel lost without him.

Harvey was like a father to Clipper. Thats what he means to say. I know it, and so does the rest of our team. Its painfully obvious.

Youve got me, at least, I offer. Im the one who races after you every time you take off. That has to count for something, right?

He laughs. Its a short, quick noise. More of a snort than anything.

Come on. Everyones waiting.

Clipper straightens and takes one last look into the endless forest of tree trunks. You know Ill never actually leave you guys, right? Sometimes I just need some space.

I understand.

But you always come after me.

It makes my father feel better. Wed be lost without you, and as our captain, he sleeps better knowing youre not running away.

Clipper frowns. I might get scared, but Im not a coward. He folds his arms around the location device, clutching it to his chest as we head for camp. Clippers spent so much time staring at the thing lately, Ive started to think he believes Harvey is out here somewhere, waiting in a snow-filled gully that Clipper can get to if he only plugs in the right coordinates.

Even though my father has been pressing us at a grueling pace lately, the camp is still not broken down when it comes into view. Tents as bright as grass speckle the snow, and a fire sends a thin line of smoke through the tree branches. Xavier and Sammy are pulling their tent stakes from the frozen earth, but everyone else is huddled around September, a mean-looking girl in her early twenties who is actually far sweeter than her angled features let on. Shes dishing out a breakfast of grits. This has been our fare since we set out. Grits in the morning. Whatever meat we manage to catch throughout the day for dinner. And little rest in between.

Bree spots Clipper and me first. She shoots me a smile, wide and shameless. Its a good look on her. Refreshing, even, since she seems bent on scowling most of the time. She elbows Emma, who stands beside her, a wool hat pulled over wavy hair. Even from a distance I can hear Brees energetic words. Theyre back. I told you not to worry.

Emma looks up and raises a hand in a shy sort of greeting. I dont return the wave. I wish I could forgive her. For replacing me so quickly when we were separated earlier this yearme on the run from Frank, her stuck under his watch in Taem. For moving on as if what we had was meaningless, as if we never talked about birds and pairs and settling into something that feels right. I know its foolish to hold a grudge, but Ive never been the forgiving type. Ive never been able to look past peoples faults or bite my tongue or be generally decent. I am not my brother.

Clipper runs ahead to retrieve a cup of grits from September and my father shouts to me from across camp. Took you long enough!

The wind covered his footprints, I lie. I dont want to mention that, like Clipper, I experienced a moment of weakness alone in the woods. That I stopped to ponder it all: the grimness of what we face, the bleakness of our journey so far.

My father swallows a spoonful of his breakfast before narrowing his eyes at Clipper. I wont have this anymore, Clayton. Hearing Clippers true name makes the entire team freeze. We waste time whenever you take off. Gray has to find you. We all have to wait. And we cant afford delays like thatnot when our missions details could be spilled at any moment.

Just three days after we left Crevice Valley, Rebel headquarters, Ryder radioed to tell us one of our own fell into enemy hands. Were now well out of communication range, with no way of knowing how much information, if any, the Order acquired. Still, we spend a lot of time glancing over our shoulders as we hike. Fear is an ugly thing to have chasing you.

I need you to start acting like a soldier, my father adds, jerking his chin toward Clipper. You hear me?

Oh, go easy on him, Owen, Xavier calls out, securing his broken-down tent to the underside of his pack. The act reminds me of when he taught me to hunt in Claysoot, him loading up his gear and signaling for me to follow him into the woods. Hes just a kid.

Clipper frowns at this, obviously disagreeing that a boy of almost thirteen is nothing but a child.

Sammy stops wrestling with his pack. Yeah, hes just an immature, no-good, brainless computer whiz who can take any piece of equipment and make it do his bidding. Actually, on that note: Clipper, can you fabricate a time machine so we can get to Group A already? My toes are about to fall off, and I could really benefit from an accelerated schedule.

This gets a light chuckle from the group. I met Sammy over a game of darts back in Crevice Valley, but it wasnt until this mission that I truly came to know him. Hes good-natured, endlessly sarcastic, and has a quick-witted sense of humor thats been a welcome distraction.