As we drive away, River softly sings lullabies that Timothy likely sang to him years ago. One of them cuts deep, making me choke up.
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall;
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.
We drive past battlegrounds, where lifeless bodies lie next to wounded fighters who are being treated.
“How bad was it?” I ask.
“It could’ve been worse. Once Mother gained control over the drones, they helped with the fighting. Elijah told us about a secret entrance into the heart of the city, and some of the Defenders used it while the Raiders protected the borders. You were smart to suggest I speak with him.”
I don’t feel smart after everything I’ve lost today. “Does he maybe have a clone?”
River shakes his head. “No.”
“Well, somebodydidput Timothy’s soul into this body at one point.”
“We don’t have the means to do that again.”
I want to argue, but if River doesn’t have faith, mine quickly dwindles.
“He chose me,” he says quietly. “Out of everyone, hechoseto save my clone. And now I can’t do anything to save him.”
I don’t have the words or the energy to offer him comfort, so I remain silent, wrapped in my grief.
It takes us a few hours to reach Florence, and the moon is high in the sky by then. I’m shocked to see so many tents across the peaceful town, where Defenders and soldiers from the Free Cities have been staying while preparing for war. The whole town has turned into a military compound, and even here, many miles away from Denver, people shout and run around to take care of the incoming wounded.
Buck parks at the center of town for us to climb down. I try to block the cries of pain from all around me, but they’re unavoidable. “Where can I find Caden?” I ask.
“He should be around the clinic area,” Buck says. “I’m going to stay here and check on things.”
River and I walk deeper into town, and I grow more tired the farther I walk, but it’s going to be a long night. When we’re about to passFrankie’s Repairs and Science Things,Frankie steps outside in his white lab coat, his head as massive as I remembered.
He frowns at Timothy. “What happened?”
“Nanny Spider was shot.”
“Hmm, I see. Follow me.”
“He’s dead, Frankie,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“Follow me,” he says again, already entering his shop.
I exchange a tired look with River before stepping inside. The light is too bright, and I’m careful not to hit any of the devices lying around.
“Please put him here,” Frankie says.
River carefully places Timothy on the desk. I can’t stand the sight of his shattered head with the small wires poking out. His human palms have gone completely white.
Frankie raises Timothy’s head and examines it. “Mmm.”
“His soul is gone,” River says.
“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the science of souls, but Timothy Brown and I have had long and informative conversations about the technology behind his creation. I was naturally curious, and he was forthcoming.” He brings a squared device with a dial and two small iron clamps. “In one of ourconversations, Timothy mentioned a survival mechanism that was created in case he was damaged and needed to wait for help. If I remember correctly—and I always do—that mechanism should not be located in his head but in his backside, where a thicker layer of plastic protects his internal parts.”
