I called the videos “revenge snuff” and stopped watching them, but Tucker watched them over and over, his eyes growing glassy with something almost like desire.
Tucker’s eyes. They stare up at the clear sky, but see nothing. I close them, then bend down to kiss his cold lips. Topher, sitting across from me, hangs over him and sobs, his tears falling onto Tucker’s sunburned arm. He takes one dead hand and presses it to his mouth.
I wonder which one of us hurts more, and if Topher will use sorrow as a final contest for his brother’s love. I can’t quite imagine his grief; I’ve never had a sibling, much less an identical twin. And though I may never know if my parents survived, or my cousins, my aunts and uncles, my massive stepfamily up north, at least I haven’t had to confront any of them dead in front of me. Except in frequent nightmares.
War, love, loss, grief, and me and Topher, each holding a hand of someone we will never get back, not even to share. The sun is too bright, he said, as though Tucker could still see and still be bothered by the sun in his eyes. As though he could see through Tucker’s eyes. A fraction of the bitterness I feel for him crumbles, then a chunk, then pretty much all of it. He’s been sitting here with me for hours, crying. How can I continue to hate him? We have nothing to fight over anymore.
In the end, it is just a war, but we seem to have lost.
We lost the world. I lost the chance to make it up to my parents for all my stupid mistakes.
And I lost Tucker. Without him those things I thought I could survive threaten to overwhelm me.
When Topher sets Tucker’s hand back down on his chest, I do the same with the other hand. Wordlessly, we lace his fingers together. He could be napping in the sun but for the blackened veins in his neck and face.
“Earth or fire, do you think?” Topher says, and without hesitation I answer, “Earth.”
He nods, agreeing with me for once.
Xander and Lochie offer to dig the grave, but Topher wants to do it. While he sweats down by the lake, digging deep under a birch tree, Emily, Mandy, and I wash Tucker’s body. I can’t imagine undressing him though, not in front of them, so we wash his face and neck, his arms, hands, and feet. We bury him in his clothes, cargo shorts and a grubby camp T-shirt, but Topher keeps his hiking boots. I take his gold earring and hook it into the hole at the top of my ear. I slip my beaded bracelet around his wrist.
Sawyer and Felix, senior counselors who have taken charge since the camp directors disappeared, stand hand in hand, leading the service even though they are only a few years older than us. They are a couple. It was a big secret for the first few weeks, even after the invasion, but gradually they stopped hiding it. And none of us care, anyway. The end of the world is not the time to get hung up on labels.
Sawyer speaks calmly, but Felix grips his shoulder as he finishes. I don’t really process the speech beyond the general gist. Something about bravery and survival and living to honor Tucker’s memory. I’m glad he didn’t make out that Tucker was some kind of angel, because that was definitely not the case. Except maybe to me.
We take turns shoveling dirt into the grave. I scoop it in with my bare hands, because I am trembling too much to hold the shovel.
Emily and Mandy have made a wreath of pine and birch boughs. Xander plays a mournful tune on his harmonica that has us all shuddering with sobs. But Topher stands as still as an ancient tree, tears streaming down his cheeks. I don’t even bother to stay standing. I fall to my knees and try to suppress the urge to scream and scream until I’m shivering uncontrollably. Someone—Xander, I think—puts a sweater over my shoulders. Someone else reads a poem, or a Bible passage. Someone sings. My blood rushes in my ears.
By the time we finish it is dusk.
This time two days ago Tucker and I snuck down to the lake and swam naked in the icy water, then forgot the end of the world for a blissful private moment under a blanket on the beach. He told me he loved me and that he was sorry for . . .
Well, nothing like that matters anymore.
War and grief—this is my life now.
“Raven.”
At first I think it is Tucker’s voice in a dream. Have I been sleeping? Time seems to have passed. I am kneeling at the graveside, my knees and ankles stiff. Topher kneels across from me. We are surrounded by half-burned-down candles.
“They shot him in the back,” Topher says.
I nod, unable to form words.
“He was running away. They could have let him get away.”
Everything we know about the Nahx, which isn’t very much, suggests that this is unlikely, but now is not the time to disagree.
“I’m going to find the one that did this and kill it.” He sounds so much like Tuck at this moment that I have to look up to check. But no, it’s Topher with his neat hair and clean camp T-shirt, as if we’re still on duty. His face reflects Tucker though. His fierce and sure expression says Tucker. Tucker never approached anything without a gallon of certainty. Tucker was so sure he would come back with fresh meat last night. But he never came back at all. Two arrows were missing from his quiver. The rifle hadn’t been fired. His smartphone was on the ground next to him when Topher found him, smashed beyond repair, as though he’d been trying to call for help on networks that no longer functioned.
“Toph, how will you find it, this particular Nahx?”
He shakes his head, wiping tears with the back of his hand. I notice the broken blisters on his palms from digging the grave.
“Swear to me that you’re with me on this,” he says, as if he’s angry at me.
“I swear. I’ll kill it too, if I find it.” I’m too tired to argue. Topher needs this. He needs to think he can fix this somehow. And he’s all I have left to fix.
“Swear on his grave.” He must know it’s an impossible promise. But I suppose many things that once seemed impossible happened anyway.
We place our hands on the loose dirt, leaving handprints into which we drip candle wax and tears. A long time passes before either of us speaks again.
“Do you want to sleep here tonight?” I ask. Topher simply nods. We walk back to the cabins to get sleeping bags. Halfway up the hill he puts his hand on my shoulder, and we walk like that until the trees clear and we’re on the open field.
“We have to do this together, you know,” he whispers, as though those treacherous stars might be listening. “We can’t fight anymore.”
“I know,” I say, and wonder whether Topher can hear the echo of his brother’s laugh, as I can.
EIGHTH
Muddy death, someone help me.
Help me.
What do I do now?
RAVEN
I watch the sky with Topher, neither of us able to sleep. Sometime after midnight, when we hear footsteps crunching down the hill, Topher wriggles out of his sleeping bag and slips an arrow into Tucker’s crossbow. But a burst of giggling and a whiff of sweet smoke let him relax. He unloads the crossbow and sets it aside.