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“There are three other cells separate from ours that we know of. Eleven with Gail, seven with

Russell, and eighteen with Max. We keep in touch. Even trade now and then.” Again, the belly

laugh. “Gail's little Ellen decided she wanted to keep company with my Evan here, and Carlos

took up with Russell's Cindy. And, of course, everyone needs Burns now and then –” He

stopped talking abruptly, glancing uneasily around him, as if he'd said something he shouldn't

have. His eyes rested briefly on the tall redhead in the back, who was still staring at me.

“Might as well get that out of the way,” the small dark man at Nate's elbow said.

Nate shot a suspicious glance across our little line. “Okay. Rob's right. Let's get this out there.”

He took a deep breath. “Now, you all just take it easy and hear us out. Calmly, please. This

upsets people sometimes.”

“Every time,” the one named Rob muttered. His hand drifted to the holster on his thigh.

“What?” Jared asked in a flat voice.

Nate sighed and then gestured to the tall man with the ginger red hair. The man stepped

forward, a wry smile on his face. He had freckles, like me, only thousands more. They were

scattered so thick across his face that he looked dark skinned, though he was fair. His eyes were

dark–navy blue, maybe.

“This here is Burns. Now, he's with us, so don't go crazy. He's my best friend–saved my life a

hundred times. He's one of our family, and we don't take kindly to it when people try to kill

him.”

One of the women slowly pulled her gun out and held it pointed at the ground.

The redhead spoke for the first time in a distinctly gentle tenor voice. “No, it's okay, Nate. See?

They've got one of their own.” He pointed straight at me, and Ian tensed. “Looks like I'm not

the only one who's gone native.”

Burns grinned at me, then crossed the empty space, the no-man's-land between the two tribes,

with his hand stretched out toward me.

I stepped out from around Ian, ignoring his muttered warning, abruptly comfortable and sure.

I liked the way Burns had phrased it.Gone native.

Burns stopped in front of me, lowering his hand a bit to compensate for the considerable

difference in our heights. I took his hand–it was hard and callused next to my delicate skin–and

shook it.

“Burns Living Flowers,” he introduced himself.

My eyes widened at his name. Fire World–how unexpected.

“Wanderer,” I told him.

“It's… extraordinary to meet you, Wanderer. And here I thought I was one of a kind.”

“Not even close,” I said, thinking of Sunny back in the caves. Perhaps we were none of us as

rare as we thought.

He raised an eyebrow at my answer, intrigued.

“Is that so?” he said. “Well, maybe there's some hope for this planet, after all.”

“It's a strange world,” I murmured, more to myself than to the other native soul.

“The strangest,” he agreed.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

STEPHENIEMEYERgraduated from Brigham Young University with a degree in English

literature. She lives with her husband and three sons in Arizona. Read more about Stephenie and

her other books atwww.stepheniemeyer.com .

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