I can barely breathe. I can’t move. My arms are pinned to my sides. He’s smiling down at me, the same gentle smile he had when I first met him, which directly contradicts the insistent, panicky howl of the Community’s alarm. In his hand is a black-handled knife. Light flashes across the blade, blinding me. I am dreaming. On some level I know this and yet I can’t wake up, can’t make it stop. Wake up! “Little Owl,” he says, and there’s something eager in his voice, something needy. Pioneer’s knife comes down across my throat. I can taste my blood. I feel like I’m drowning. I open my mouth, but I can’t pull in air, not around the blood bubbling in my throat. I can hear it, a horrid gurgling that echoes in my ears. My neck and chest are wet and warm, but my fingers and toes are tingly and cold, quickly going numb. I’m dying. Just like Marie. “Everything will be okay,” Pioneer says. His voice is dreamy. He brings the knife up to his own neck. Pioneer drags the blade across his throat.
