Into the Fire by Peter Liney Page B

for sleep, getting used to the confines of the sleeping bag.
    She didn’t say any more, but I could tell she was still awake. I gave her a squeeze but she didn’t respond. “Lena?”
    Eventually she gave a long sigh and turned back over, I guess realizing I was going to keep on ’til she told me.
    “I’m no use here. Not to you, not to anyone.”
    “What d’ya mean?”
    “Oh, come on! It was fine on the Island, down in the tunnels, but over here . . . I’m just another mouth to feed, slowing you down, complicating things.”
    “Are you serious?”
    “Yes! You might not want to admit it, but the truth is . . . you’d be better off without me.”
    “Whoa, whoa,” I said, tugging her toward me, no longer worried the others might hear. “There are no circumstances in this world in which I’d be better off without you. None whatsoever. D’you hear me? . . . Lena?”
    “Yes.”
    “Please. Never ever talk about this again. Not for any reason.”
    She gave a long sigh, as if she really wanted to say more.
    “Promise?” I persisted.
    Eventually I felt her nod, but it was a long way from convincing. The two of us opted to pretend the subject was closed and returned to our search for sleep, but I knew the issue was far from resolved: she was still troubled, I just didn’t know how deep it went. And you wanna know something? The worst part of it? It’s left me with this awful feeling that maybe—just maybe—I can’t trust her anymore. Not ’cuz I’m worried she might do something wrong—more ’cuz I’m worried she might try to do something right . She might think about sacrificing herself for us, slipping away, heading off on her own, under the impression that it would be what’s best for everyone. And to be honest with you, try as I might, I can’t think of one thing in this world that frightens me more than that.
    I spent almost the entire night turning things over in my mind, thinking of what I could do or say to put her mind at rest, to convinceher she was as valued here as on the Island. Once we got out of this damn city and found ourselves somewhere to live, far away from all this, everything would be so much simpler. Well, maybe that’s not doing her situation justice, I mean, no matter how strong she is, it’s always gonna be a battle she’ll have to fight.
    It was just as the daylight was beginning to spill weakly down the stone steps that the idea came to me. At first I kind of played with it, running this way and that, waiting for the jolt when I hit the wall, when I ran up against the obstruction that told me it couldn’t be done. But do you know something? I never reached that wall. I couldn’t think of any reason at all why I shouldn’t at least explore the possibility.
    I lay there until the day had well and truly arrived, still churning over what I had to do, and eventually came to the conclusion that, as always with my ideas, the best thing was to just go ahead and do it and that there was no time like the present.
    I managed to untangle myself from Lena, unzip the sleeping bag and make my way across the crypt without waking anyone. Later I’d tell them I thought of something else we needed, that we forgot the previous day. Maybe I could pick something up just to support my story? For sure, I wasn’t gonna let any of them know what I was really up to. Especially not Lena. I mean, it wasn’t gonna be easy, and, actually, I probably wasn’t the best guy for the job, schmoozing ain’t exactly my specialty. On the other hand, if I did succeed, it would change our world.
    Despite my new green parka, I’m aware I don’t cut much of a figure these days. I remember when I was working for Mr. Meltoni, I had eleven suits hanging in my wardrobe. Can you believe that? All handmade by a little Moroccan guy down on Union and set off with genuine French or Italian silk ties. Actually, that was Mr. Meltoni’s idea. He thought his boys should reflect his status, especially his