Jason glanced at the sky just in time to catch a jump point lash down in the distance. Did that mean rain? The weight of exhaustion set in from the all-nighter he had pulled the previous night. A storm was the last thing he wanted to deal with.

  Flint sat abnormally still, back up against a tree, facing Jason. Even after patching him up, the poor kid must have hurt with every movement.

  Flint was obviously trying to put on a stoic face, but Jason saw through the facade.

  "At least you'll have an epic scar," Jason said, trying to lift Flint's spirits.

  "You think so?" Flint asked with a faint smile; he had seemed to be considering the idea before Jason brought it up.

  "Yeah," Jason continued, "You can tell people a tiger got you."

  Flint raised a single eyebrow. "Are you kidding? The real story is way cooler. I got it from a rabid mutant space ape."

  Jason couldn't hold back a laugh but quickly tried to smother it. In light of their most recent encounter, even a laugh was dangerous here.

  Flint also cracked a smile—a rare occurrence but much better than his persistent scowl. Jason couldn't fault his younger brother. Flint desperately wanted to be strong, no doubt, because he felt weak. They had very little control back home, and in idolizing their dad, Flint feigned agency by pretending their upbringing was his choice.

  "Hey, I can give you some cool scars, too, if you want," Flint said as he pulled one of the remaining knives out of his backpack. There it was again, the tough guy act.

  "You know what, I'm okay." Jason declined. "Though getting scars from my psycho little brother would be a much more believable story back home."

  Flint looked downcast, the brim of his cap hiding his eyes. As the chill began to set in, Jason longed for a jacket to pull tighter around him. He curled his knees in front of him and wrapped his arms around himself.

  "Jason, I'm not psycho," Flint said gravely. His tone instantly made Jason perk up. It lacked the usual arrogance and cocky confidence Flint usually spoke with. He sounded simultaneously serious and vulnerable, a combination that Jason had seldom heard from Flint.

  "Hey man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

  "It's okay," Flint dismissed with a grimace. "I know I'm not easy to be around; I really do. I just wasn't taught to be any better."

  "I know," Jason said. "Living with mom … I'd say you turned out well, all things considered."

  "Why did you leave us, Jason?" Flint asked, and Jason looked away with an inward stab of regret.

  "We were all so young; why did you leave us with her?" Flint asked as he tried to hide the ache in his eyes, but Jason saw it.

  "Look, Flint, I was young too. I couldn't have taken you with me, any of you."

  "But you left us," Flint said emphatically. "Even your wife didn't know we existed. Were you ever going to come back for us?"

  "Flint, I—" Jason started but knew that every justification or excuse he could invent would be a lie. He exhaled slowly. "No. No, I wasn't."

  His answer was met by Ash's silence, as dense as drums. No crickets chirped, no frogs croaked, only silence; the faintest whisper of wind fluttered through the trees.

  "Why?"

  Jason had to force himself to meet Flint's gaze. "Because when I ran, I ran from my former life completely. I wasn't just running from mom."

  "You were running from us too?"

  "No, of course not. I was running from everything, starting fresh."

  "How could you start fresh knowing we were there?" Flint demanded. "How could you forget us?"

  "I didn't forget you, Flint," Jason groaned. "Listen—"

  "Did you ever think about us? Of me, of Dax … of Carly? Did you think of us every day, or even any day?"

  Flint's questions cut at Jason, and Jason realized it was nothing less than what he deserved. "Flint. I don't think that's a fair question; I mean, I had my own life to think about."

  "So, no?"

  "Flint …"

  Flint stared back, resisting a retort.

  In Flint's shoes, Jason wouldn't be able to blame himself for running or for not coming back, but as Flint accused, he had abandoned them in thought and deed.

  "No. No, I didn't think of you."

  "You forgot us?"

  "It's not that."

  "Then what is it?"

  "Flint, you would have done the same if you were in my position."

  "Bullshit," Flint snorted. "I could have survived on my own years ago. The only reason I stayed behind was for the kids. I left the second CPS took them."

  "You've been stealing and eating out of garbage. Flint, that's hardly looking after yourself."

  "I've been trying to find dad." Flint insisted.

  "But why? What has Dad ever done for us?"

  Flint rested his head against the tree and clutched his bandaged abdomen. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped.

  “What is it?” Jason prodded, sensing his brother’s turmoil.

  Flint sighed in surrender. "The court said unless a competent direct relative can be found, the kids will be separated and adopted into different families."

  “Oh,” Jason said simply as Flint's eccentric desperation suddenly made much more sense.

  Flint looked away as if embarrassed, but Jason surprised himself by how impressed he was.

  Jason chuckled, and Flint glared defensively. “What?” Flint demanded.

  "And so you messed with space magic to get us stuck here, crossing the two biggest interplanetary corporations on earth, to find Dad and keep the family together?" Jason shook his head, an amused smile on his lips.

  “I never said it was a good plan,” Flint muttered.

  “It’s a ridiculous plan!” Jason exclaimed, but then his voice softened. “But it's more than I had. You’re a good brother, Flint.”

  "I'm not like you," Flint said defensively. "I haven't forgotten them."

  "Flint, you know Dad's an underground military contractor, right? There is no way the court would give him custody of children."

  Flint's face went pale. "Really?"

  “Any sane court will lock Dad up with Mom the second he arrives," Jason said.

  "Well," Flint muttered, sorrow etched across his face. “Then we'll steal them back. Dad's good at hiding; he has money and can help us figure this out. At least we'll be together again."

  "Mom's in jail now, they're safe. Why can't you just let them find families that will actually love them?"

  "Safe?" Flint snapped. "What do you mean safe? Farmed out to infertile couples who think they can buy us like pets?"

  "It's out of your control," Jason said.

  Flint scoffed and sat back. "You love that excuse, don't you? It keeps you from having to make any choices.

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  "Flint…" Jason pleaded.

  "You left us. How can you call yourself a Vance? You're pretending like this started with us; what about Grandpa or Great-grandpa? Vances have been warriors for generations."

  "Yes! I ran away. It's true, I started my own family. I'm supposed to be there for Rachel." Jason looked down. "But I'm here instead."

  "You slept at night safe on your own while you knew what mom was doing to us, that she would test her experiments on us. She would stick us with her needles. Jason, you were there when Carly lost her hearing. That was mom's fault, too."

  "Don't forget that I was the first to learn how to sign for Carly," Jason said. “You’re acting like I never cared about her, or Dax, or any of you, but you don’t know anything. Of course, I cared.”

  "So if you cared so much, why leave?"

  "Because I was scared," Jason snapped.

  Flint looked away, pulling his jacket even tighter around him. Jason would have coveted the garment if he wasn't suddenly sweating.

  "Look, Flint," Jason explained, "Dad took me to the East. He used me as a soldier when I was sixteen. I watched men die; I pulled my trigger and saw men drop. I saw war, real war. It's not like the movies, Flint, and I endured it because Dad was always watching me. The first chance I got when I got home, I had to leave. I was scared that I might become him."

  Flint scoffed.

  “Flint, Dad’s not like Grandpa or the Vances before him. Dad’s a bad guy who married an evil woman.”

  Flint pulled his hat off, giving Jason a look at his youthful face. His eyes shimmered. “I didn’t want you to go.”

  "What?” Jason blinked dumbly. “Flint, I'm … I'm sorry."

  "Well, look at that." Flint taunted as he sniffed and wiped an eye, "Magic words, the past six years have been erased."

  "Do you have to be so bitter about everything?" Jason demanded.

  "Jason, just because you were scared doesn’t mean you get a pass to leave us all behind. Don’t you think I wasn't scared, too? Every time Mom stuck a needle in me, not knowing what it was going to do. Listening to Dax cry all night as her chemicals made their way through his system? You don't think I was scared then?"

  "No, Flint, I don't. I've watched you recklessly throw your life to the wind. I think there is something seriously wrong with you. What mom did to you must have turned you cold, made you sour."

  "Better a sour survivor than a victim. Flint snorted.

  "Flint, you're a victim, too."

  "No, I chose to stay, which made me a survivor." Flint set his jaw in determination. His eyes burned hot enough to melt steel.

  Jason sighed. He knew it was unfair of him to expect Flint to move on so effortlessly. Old wounds took time to heal.

  Up in the dark sky, the golden river continued to shimmer; it lit up the clouds but did little to cast light on the ground below. The biggest and brightest moon, which would have shed the most light, was lost to the cover of clouds. With exhaustion setting in, Jason forced himself to consider their accommodations for the night. Would it rain or even snow? If so, a real shelter could be crucial, but setting up Flint's orange tube tent could leave them vulnerable. It might be time to make a natural shelter with the elements around them.

  "Did you lose my knife?" Flint asked.

  "Yeah," Jason said apologetically, "I left it with that girl from the group that ambushed us. Besides, if I'm not mistaken, it was my knife—unless you have a set identical to the one in my kitchen."

  Flint jerked his hand across his eyes and sniffed to regain his composure. "Take this one," he said, handing over the medium-length knife from his backpack, still wrapped in a makeshift cardboard case.

  Jason looked down at the weapon. "What was all that talk about not carrying a knife because you would be tempted to use it?"

  "I don't want you to use it," Flint said. "But there's something comforting about having a weapon."

  Jason started in surprise. "Did you just give me a knife to make me feel better?"

  Flint stiffened. "Maybe."

  "Flint, that may just be the most cynically sweet thing you have ever done for me."

  Flint threw up his hands. "Gah, why do you need to make everything so awkward with your touchy-feely crap?"

  "What, Flint?" Jason grinned. "I'm moved."

  "Last time I'm going to be real with you," Flint groaned, and Jason stifled a smile. Although a laugh would surely ease some of the tension, Jason recognized the grim reality that laughing too loudly on Ash could get them killed.

  Twigs snapped in the darkness, and Jason was instantly on his feet despite his exhaustion. Flint was slower to get up, groaning and grabbing at his abdomen as he did.

  Jason slid the cardboard off the knife and pulled his phone from his pocket.

  "Jason!" Flint hissed and signed 'no' as Jason looked back.

  Jason furrowed his brow in irritation. Of course, he wouldn't blindly flash the internal light into the dark. He would wait until it was advantageous. Jason nodded and crouched lower by a tree, knife at the ready.

  Footsteps sounded, crunching through heat-cracked clay, and a dark silhouette of a man loomed in the darkness. His form was not easily distinguishable in the dim moonlight filtering through the overcast sky, but he held the vague shape of a weapon lost to the shadows.

  The figure stepped closer, and Jason turned on a bright flashlight, illuminating the face of the large coffee-skinned man from the group they had run into earlier.

  The man squinted in the glare of the flashlight. He scowled through the wet blood on his face. He clutched a large club.

  The boys instinctively yelped as they jumped back, but the man just walked past them several paces before he plopped down and rested his back against a tree. He closed his eyes and started to breathe deeply.

  "Um … okay?" Flint said.

  "Let's make our camp elsewhere," Jason suggested. Staring at the large stranger who so abruptly invaded their campsite.

  "Sit down," the man ordered, his eyes still closed. His voice was deep and rich, with an African accent Jason couldn't place precisely.

  "Umm, I'm going to go with no," Flint said.

  "At least four of my friends died today; that should be enough to satisfy Abonsam's hunger for now. You don't need to fear me today. Killing you would be a waste."

  Jason looked at Flint, who shook his head and turned to leave. Why should they trust a stranger? There was nothing about this man that wasn't purely intimidating. For crying out loud, the man had fresh blood on his face.

  "Please," the man said, his voice softening. "It gets lonely out here when you're on your own."

  Flint ignored him, but Jason placed a hand on Flint's shoulder to stop him. Exhaustion made him dizzy, and he had no desire to wander aimlessly in the dark. "Let's stay," Jason said.

  "Are you stupid?" Flint demanded.

  "Maybe we can get some answers from him."

  "And you trust him because?"

  Jason's face grew dark for a moment, "Because the moment he tries anything, I'll cut his throat."

  Flint recoiled slightly. "You look just like Dad right now."

  "You know I can hear you, right?" the man said.

  "Can we get a second buddy?" Flint snapped.

  Jason sighed, slightly perplexed. "We need answers, and he's the first one who wanted to talk rather than murder us. If you meant a word of your sweet talk about not abandoning family, you'd stay with me."

  Flint let out a grunt of exasperation. "Oh man, I'm really going to regret talking about that, aren't I?"

  "Yes," Jason said before turning and plopping down across from the man. He held his knife loosely in his hand.

  Flint growled to himself but grudgingly sat down, forming a triangle between them, each with their back to a tree.

  "What are you called?" the man asked. "And where is your hometown?"

  "I'm Jason Vance, and this is my brother, Flint. We're from Arizona, but I live in Idaho now."

  "Oh, the United States?" he asked.

  "That's right," Jason responded.

  "I have always wanted to visit your country."

  "What about you?"

  "My name is Nana Kwaku. I am from New Ashanti, but I was visiting Nigeria when God sent his angel to take me to this place."

  “Your name is Nana?” Flint snickered. “Isn’t that like an old grandma’s name?”

  Nana frowned. “In my language, it means chief.”

  Flint fought an immature smile but managed to compose himself. "There are jump points in Nigeria?" he asked.

  Nana looked at Flint inquisitively. "There are many from Western Africa here."

  "I knew there were jump points worldwide, but few have been recorded in Nigeria. Manticore Inc.'s data must be incomplete."

  Nana looked at Jason, confused. "What is he talking about?"

  Jason shrugged. "I just smile and nod when he goes off like this."

  Flint scowled at Jason before turning to Nana, who was rubbing his hands together to generate warmth from the friction.

  "Can you help us understand what's going on here?" Jason asked

  Nana looked at him. "I do not know why God has brought us here, but this place is not good; people kill people, their brothers and sisters."

  "What about you?" Flint asked. "That's a big stick. What do you use that for? Is it your nutcracker? Or perhaps your head basher?"

  Nana looked at his club in surprise. "This? It's not for humans like you or me; I save it for those Abonsam."

  "Teeth?" Flint said. "That's what the other guy called them."

  Nana nodded. "Ash's teeth."

  "Why are they called that?" Flint asked.

  "I do not understand everything here. But I have been here three weeks, meaning I've lived here longer than most."

  "But why are they called teeth?" Flint asked. "That's a frankly stupid name for a predator."

  Nana exhaled onto his hands, a feeble attempt to warm himself. "Predator? No, they are not predators. A predator needs to kill and eat their prey to survive. The teeth do not eat. They do not drink; they only kill."

  "That doesn't make any sense." Jason objected. "If they don't eat, why kill?"

  Nana looked at Jason, his dark eyes twinkling in the moon's light as its cloud cover drifted away. "You do not see it?"

  "I don't see what?"

  "The predator, it is not around you. It is under your feet."

  Jason looked down, confused. What did that mean? Burrowing carnivores living underground? "Is that supposed to make sense?"

  Nana rose to his feet with a sigh, "I will show you, come."

  "Whoa, whoa. You expect us to believe you aren't leading us into a trap?" Jason asked.

  Nana shrugged. "You lead the way then. You don't have to go far before you find one."

  "Find what?"

  Nana waved them over, and the tired boys followed cautiously. Flint didn't use his flashlight, electing to travel under the moon's illumination; their march felt cold and numb on the hard dirt. Dirt and grime caked Jason's socks, which had grown stiff and wet from two days on his feet. Flint walked hunched and with a limp.

  Nana stopped them as he approached a cluster of those clay grave mounds.

  "The graves?" Jason said pointedly. "Who digs them? I've never seen anyone bury a body that way before."

  "They are not graves," Nana said as he slid a tarnished scrap knife with a stretched hide handle from under his shirt. The brothers started in alarm but relaxed as Nana crouched over one of the corpse casings. He put his ear against it and knocked, producing a hollow noise. "Too old," he muttered before moving to the next.

  "If they aren't graves, then what are they?"

  Nana knocked on a second one, which sounded much denser. He reared up and jammed his knife down into where Jason would have guessed the face to be. It stuck in an inch, and he pried a piece of the clay shell off, revealing the eye of the fresh body of a dark-haired man. Seconds later, a familiar stench accosted them.

  "Ugh," Jason wretched. "Why do they rot like that?"

  "They are not rotting." Nana said, "They are being digested. Now, do you understand where the true predator is, Jason?"

  Jason looked down at the glazed-over eye, and his stomach churned. "Ash." He realized. "Ash is the predator."

  "The world here is carnivorous, Jason Vance," Nana's voice cut through the darkness like a pin through cloth. "You are here to feed Ash. And the teeth are only here to chew you up."

  Jason looked at the eye, staring back, transfixed in place. Slowly, tan dirt started to trickle up the shell, moving on its own accord. Slowly and truly, it flowed over the eye, covering the piece of shell Nana had chipped off before melting and hardening, covering any disturbance.

  Ash was alive.

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