Fourteen
Maybe Grace was wrong about being able to run. True, she was putting one foot in front of the other, and this act alone seemed capable of propelling her forward. But her knees ached. Her hips ached. And the cold rain splattering her face and hands, though a welcome respite from the heat, made her skin itch.
“Try not to get any of the water in your mouth,” Heron said. “It’s not safe. The levels of contamination and pollution are toxic.”
She pinched her lips shut, even as rainwater fell on her cheeks.
Why was this happening? Why was she trying to outrun a terrible storm, on foot, in this barren wasteland?
Why was her family dead? Why was that bastard Khan safe at home while she was here?
“Don’t worry,” Heron said, seeming to read her mind. “He’s going to get what’s coming to h
