It’s a poor, run-down area filled with people who usually didn’t end up here by choice. Not the safest part of town, but it’s also the place I’m least likely to be recognized (my mother would not be caught dead in this neighborhood), and the station here is the closest one to what’s left of Highway 21, which I think I can follow out of the city and north to the cemetery. Once I get outside the city limits, the details of my brilliant plan get a little . . . fuzzier. I know that the only vehicles that really use the old highway system are trucks from the massive complex of warehouses to the south of Haven. They deliver all up and down the East Coast, and I’m hoping I’ll be able to stow away on one of them for most of the trek up to my sister’s grave. It wouldn’t be impossible to walk if I had to; I’d just rather avoid that if I can. The quicker I find Violet, the better. “Your sister is late,” President Cross says, walking over to me with her arms folded across her chest.
