Shadows Cast by Stars Read Online Free

truck at the end of the road where a trail cuts into the brush, I allow myself to breathe. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe we can still go back. Maybe this has all been a mistake.
    But the aching wound on my arm reminds me there is no going back. Removal of a chip without UA consent is punishable by law. Like it or not, we are now fugitives.
    We work quickly, unloading our boxes and lugging them down to a sheltered cove where a weather-beaten herring skiff rests in the shallows. Madda hops into it, taking our belongings from us until there’s none left. She then begins the careful task of moving the stuff around, adjusting the boxes until she’s happy with the balance, leaving us with nothing to do but fret. I sit on a nearby rock, watching her work, wishing I had something to do with my hands. I’ve always known that belongings are expendable, that stories and memoriesare the true treasures we carry with us, but seeing what little we have loaded onto the boat leaves me feeling very poor. Paul stands beside me, his rifle resting in the crook of his arm, staring out across the expanse of ocean. I can sense he feels the same way.
    It’s some time before my father returns. He took the truck deep into the forest to be reclaimed by the land, but not before draining the fuel tanks. Fuel is too precious to sacrifice, even to the earth.
    No one speaks.
    Silence is our talisman.
    It takes time for the tide to rise, but once the skiff is floating we climb aboard. The sun descends behind the thunderheads hugging the western horizon. Behind us, to the east, mountains rear up, demanding that we return home. There is no coming back once you cross to the west , they say. We will remember that you abandoned us, and we will exact revenge if you return . Their peaks are blackened maws stretching skyward to snap at the stars. As fearsome as they are, I can’t help staring at them. This may be the last time I look at those mountains, those peaks I’ve looked up at every day of my life. I wish I could say good-bye, but even if I did, I don’t think the mountains would listen.
    My father and Paul use oars to pole the skiff out intodeeper water. It’s hard work. My father’s breath comes fast and heavy as he fights against the tide.
    Once we’re far enough out for Madda to risk starting the motor, Paul takes a seat beside me on the cold metal hull, and reaches out to take my hand. He knows I don’t like the ocean. The first time spirit took me was while I was swimming not far from here. If it weren’t for Paul hauling me to the surface and dragging me back to the beach, I would still be there. Even though that day was years ago, when we were only six, I can’t shake the feeling that if I touch the water, I’ll be drawn back down into the shadows of the old cities below. They aren’t friendly, those places: Vancouver, Victoria, Seattle, Los Angeles. Their deaths were sudden and painful, shaken loose from the land by terrible earthquakes. Below, in the inky fathoms, they’re reaching toward me, raking the water with their gridiron hands.
    One look at Paul tells me he remembers too. The buildings aren’t all that lurk below. The lost live amid the barnacles and sea wrack, and they, too, seek a new home. That day, when he swam into the dark water to save me, was the first time he encountered the lost. That was the price of my life, that Paul be haunted by those who have died and yet not passed over, and that price is something I will try to repay for as long as I live.
    Our father turns from his watch at the stern. “Is it bad, Cass?”
    “Yeah,” I murmur.
    “It’ll be better when we’re out a bit farther,” he says.
    I smile and nod, because that will make him feel better. My father has enough to worry about already.
    Once it’s dark, Madda flicks on a single red light on the port side of the boat. “There’s still some traffic out here,” she whispers, “so I’ve got to put it on, but if you need to say something, keep your