Storm of Locusts (The Sixth World, #2)

by Rebecca Roanhorse

It’s just me and Tah now. I go to shake his hand, and he gives me a hug. I’m aware of the myriad weapons strapped to my body, making me hard to get close to, but Tah hugs me anyway. His bones feel bird-thin under his shirt, and I’m reminded how fragile he is, how old.

Ben grins in her beanie and goggles, looking like a slightly dangerous but very nearsighted prairie dog.

Last time I was here Freckles stopped me there, his hands like oversize puppy paws around his assault rifle.

Ben is staring at the screens, eyes wide and mouth gaping like someone just knocked her on the head with a hot-boy stick. I know the feeling. “Don’t sneak up on me,” I mutter. “Footpath People clan,” she says absently. “Makes me sneaky. I can’t really help it.” “Yeah, well, Footpath clan or not, I’ll put a knife in your gut if you sneak up on me again.”

“You really don’t know who Maroon 5 is?” she asks. “They’re, like, classic oldies.”

“National Park Ranger,” Aaron offers. “They stayed on after the federal government collapsed. Called themselves the Alt-Rangers. Said they had a higher duty to the land than to the government. They still wear their uniforms. It’s sort of a calling.” “They’re not even armed.” “No one would touch them. They’re considered sacred.”

Don’t you want to be free?” “No! Free is lonely. Free is having no one who cares for you, no one who will sacrifice their own lives to protect you. Free is no one having your back even when you’re a solid bitch. I don’t want that kind of free!”