Her wounds were bad, but she wasn’t inclined to spend the night with Shell, the frizzy-haired woman. Shell wanted more than Cin was willing to give. Despite her need for comfort, she wasn’t going to find it in the arms of Shell. So she did exactly what she’d promised Mach she’d do and headed for the mountains. She’d find her shrube, and she’d join Mach and Elder in paradise. If Elder lived. She shook the thought away. He did live. He had to. Paradise was not for the dead. She’d think of them there as she journeyed to the mountains, picture them on a hot, safe beach, where they stared at blue waves and drank cold fruity drinks with little umbrellas in the glasses. Or maybe it was cold in paradise. Maybe snow blanketed the ground and clung to the naked limbs of skinny trees, and they had feasts and music and snuggled together under piles of blankets. In paradise there were no zippers or dry bones. Maybe paradise was like her world, except there were no governments who sold their people to aliens.
