There's a long silence as we contemplate our mutual fate.

  "Oh, for Second's sake," Agni finally says. "Does the dead woman have to think of everything? Those three had some kind of transport, and you wouldn't wander around the waste without at least a bit of water."

  Right. Obviously. My brain still isn't working at full capacity. A bit of frantic searching reveals a trike parked in the lee of the broken cruiser, a rugged-looking thing with broad tires and a weathered metal frame. A couple of gallons of water are strapped to the back, along with a packet of food. The latter contains mostly dried meat, which we all stare at dolefully.

  "It be bug jerky," Quarter says.

  Agni snorts. "Are you hungry enough to find out?"

  We stick to the dry, crumbly hardbread, of which there's barely a handful for each of us. It's a greater struggle not to guzzle the water, but Quarter carefully portions it out in tin cups for each of us to drink slowly. It's deadwater -- recycled from piss and sweat and Twelve-know-what -- but it hits my desiccated tongue like the finest water-of-life. Even Agni's pained expression looks blissful for a moment as she sips.

  "If you don' mind me askin'," Quarter says, as he pours out the last of the first gallon, "how'd you come to leave the ship?"

  "And what's with her?" Agni says, addressing the bull-roach in the room. She looks directly at Mercy. "Can you talk, girl?"

  Mercy hasn't said anything since we sat down, almost like she's shy. Now she stirs from contemplating the drying, flaking blood on her skin and grips my arm. "Protect," she says firmly. "Murder."

  "She's …" I struggle for an explanation, then shrug. "I don't understand what she is, to be honest."

  "No surprise she's touched in th' head," Quarter says. "I never seen fleshcrafting like that. Enough to drive anyone mad."

  My con artist instincts immediately seize on a plausible story -- better they think Mercy is some meat-sculptor's experiment than try to explain about Gray and an 'epigolem', whatever the fuck that is. I nod vigorously.

  "I was trying to escape," I tell them. "Saw an opening when we were up on deck and dove over the side."

  "Pretty dumb way to escape," Agni says.

  "I figured if crazy cannibals can survive in the waste, I might be able to, right?" I give them a self-deprecating smile, my patter kicking in automatically. You build sympathy with the mark through little things, give them a laugh at your expense. "First thing I did was fall into a hellpit. Mercy dropped by and kept me from becoming bug food."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Agni looks doubtful. "And what was doing there?"

  "No idea. She seems to understand me, mostly, but she only says a few words."

  "Murder," Mercy agrees.

  "Makes no sense, but what does out here?" Quarter says.

  "What happened to the ship?" I say, eager to change the subject.

  Agni gives an exaggerated sigh. "About what you'd expect."

  "Aye," Quarter says. "Raiders came up just after nightfall. We were in th' hold, couldn't see much. Some explosions and everythin' seized up. When th' raiders opened the hull, a few o' us prisoners tried rushin' 'em, and there was a brawl. Raz an' me took our chance to run for it. Found a nice little hidey-hole, I thought."

  "And Agni?"

  "She was already in there, tryin' t' hold her guts in."

  "About the same story for me," Agni says. "Except somebody had better aim. I crawled away to find a quiet place to die."

  "She came from th' other hold," Quarter says, though there's an odd uncertainty in his expression. "We thought we had a chance when most o' them took off, but those three bastards wanted to scrape th' dregs from the barrel."

  I glance at Erasmus to see if he has anything to add, but he only gives a shrug under his long cloak. Whatever his story is, he isn't interested in sharing it, and now's not the time to press.

  "Th' question is," Quarter goes on, staring into his empty cup. "What now?"

  Another silence.

  "Don't look at me," Agni says, eyes narrowing in pain. "I'm dead."

  "We have the trike," I say cautiously. "Maybe we can get out of the waste?"

  Quarter's already shaking his head. "Not without a lot more viscid than we got. I checked th' tank, there's maybe a day's worth o' drive in there. Besides, you have any idea where t' go?"

  I have to admit that I do not, apart from the general notion that there are settlements up in the mountains of the Divide. But that must be weeks away from here.

  "Ain't you from the waste, Raz?" Quarter says. "You got a map in your head?"

  "I am afraid not," Eramus buzzes. "My home iz … far from here."

  "Then there's only one place to go." The logic is unassailable, just as it was when Gray laid it out back in the tomb. I don't like it any more this time. "The cannibal camp."

  "What, just … truss ourselves up for basting, like?" Quarter says. "Rather slit me throat out here, if it's all th' same to you."

  "He's right," Agni says weakly. "We know there's food, water, and viscid there. That beats anywhere else we can reach."

  "Aye, but we know it'll be full o' armed cannibals, too," Quarter says. "That's a bit of a counter-recommendation in my book."

  "I'm not saying we just stroll in," I tell them. "We'll scout it out. Maybe we can steal something. Or ambush a small group."

  "Ambush with what?" Quarter says. "I can swing an ax all right, but I ain't a big bastard. No offense, but you don't look a bruiser neither. Agni's gutshot, Raz is a coward, and your murder-girl is runnin' out o' limbs. They have guns an' spears an' suchlike. Don't see us comin' out on top in a scrap."

  "It's our only chance," I say, echoing Gray's argument from earlier. "I'm willing to try it. Are you?"

  "Dead women don't get to vote," Agni says. "But for what it's worth I say do it. Just do me a favor and cut my throat if they catch us. I don't give a fuck if they put me on a spit, but I'd rather not be alive for the roasting."

  "I alzo would take the rizk," Erasmus says. "I cannot fight, but I will azzizt however I am able."

  "Murder!" Mercy says cheerily.

  "Probably." I glance at Quarter. "Well?"

  He heaves a sigh. "You know I got no better option. But we'll all end in a pot o' stew."

  "There are worse things," I say. "I'm partial to a good stew."