Chapter 1
I have a theory, I sign.
“Tell me,” Mom says eagerly, and I feel a little burst of pride in the midst of all this rage and pain that that’s her response. Not doubt, not dismissal, just “Tell me.”
Your readings say they’re made of Noise, I sign.
“Right.”
We’ve got a cure for that, haven’t we?
None of them say anything. All I can hear are distant fires crackling and a whole lot of silence.
“The cure is a medicine, though,” Max says. “It’s not a weapon.”
“He’s right,” Pop says. “You can’t fire the cure in a gun or with an arrow.”
Can’t you? I sign. The cure is liquid. Liquids can become aerosols. If those things are pure Noise, and they walk into a cloud of the cure . . .
Max is shaking his head, and it’s kind of pissing me off. “Cold cure is a liquid, too, but you don’t cure someone of a cold by throwing it at them.”
A person isn’t made of cold, though, I sign. They aren’t a walking, talking cold virus.
“That’s actually fair,” Mom says, breaking her silence. I can tell she’s been thinking. “That’s a solid theory, Ben. We’d have to figure out dispersal.”
I’ve got an idea about that, too, I sign.
“I’ll bet you do,” Mom says, and I can practically feel her pride all over again.
“We may not have much time,” Max says. “Who knows when they’ll come back?”
“We’re not even sure they will come back,” Pop grunts.
Yeah, we are, I sign.
“Why?”
Because we’re still here. And other kids are hiding out there somewhere. The god in the story didn’t stop until he had everyone but the last kid of all.