The Union

by T. H. Hernandez

  “Why’d you end up leaving early?”

  She studies me for a few moments. “What else did Cy tell you?”

  “Nothing, why?”

  “That’s a story for another day.” She leans back, closing her eyes, and I take that as my cue to let her get some rest.

  I’m thrilled to join the others for dinner for the first time in nearly a week. Lucien shares news from the trading post. “Eight in total have died so far.”

  My fork stalls halfway to my mouth. “Died? From pneumonia?”

  He nods. “It’s the worst anyone’s seen in years.”

  “Can’t we just buy more medicine and help them?”

  “I did. Today. I spent the rest of what we had. I just hope it’s enough.” He pauses and levels me with a dark stare. “The money’s raised a lot of questions, though. Everyone’s asking where it came from. I told them a traveler repaid us for our hospitality, which is true. That seems to have satisfy most of them. At least for now.”

  After helping Ally tuck the boys into bed, I head outside. The fresh evening air skates across my bare arms and legs as I climb atop the rock. I lie on my back, thinking about the last few days and force myself to face the truth. I’m torn between staying and leaving. At first, my reluctance to leave had to with my feelings toward the Union, but now I’m not so sure that’s it.

  “Mind if I come up?” I scoot over to make room for Marcus. He sits next to me with his arms resting on his knees. “How is she, really?”

  “She’s okay. Really.”

  “Thank you,” he says with a slight catch in his voice. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if…”

  “I know.”

  At the sound of the front door opening, we both turn. Cyrus walks across the porch toward us.

  “C-can I go see her now?” Marcus asks.

  “Yeah, I think she’d like that.”

  Marcus hops down and he and Cyrus exchange a loaded glance before Marcus heads inside. Cyrus takes the spot vacated by Marcus, stretching out his legs in front of him “We’ll get you home, I promise.”

  I lean my shoulder into his. “I know. I’m not worried.” I don’t want to tell him I’m not ready to leave, it’ll only lead to questions I don’t have answers to. We sit in comfortable silence for a while, enjoying the night and each other’s company. The warmth of him beside me creates a fluttery sensation in my belly that’s both familiar and foreign. Like I’m attracted to him, but I can’t be. I mean, I barely know him and I’m still reeling from whatever it was Bryce and I had going on.

  When I turn toward him, he’s staring at me. The butterflies in my stomach amp up their craziness and I have a sudden urge to kiss him. Which is a really bad idea for a ton of reasons. I quickly look away and babble incoherently until the words “tell me about your family” fall from my mouth. Then I remember what Sonia said about the tornado killing them, and I want to die a little myself. I turn back to him, horrified. “I’m so sorry, I-I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  “It’s fine.” His mouth curves into a slow, sexy smile, sending the beating wings in my gut into a frenzied dance.

  I close my eyes to protect against this weirdness, no doubt brought on by lack of sleep and not the shirtless wood splitting.

  “I had a great childhood. Me, Lucien and my little brother and sister, Bartholomew and Penelope, lived a pretty good life with our parents.”

  The next thing I’m aware of is Cyrus gently waking me. I sit up and glance at him, disoriented. “Oh, god,” I mumble, running a hand through my hair. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.”

  “After the week you had, it’s understandable.” A long pause fills the space between us before he continues. “I wanted to thank you for…for everything you’ve done.”

  I chance meeting his gaze, and his eyes are bright with sincerity. Before I do something stupid, I say, “You’re welcome,” and move to get down. “Goodnight, Cyrus.”

  “G’night, Evan.”

  I head back inside, check on Sonia, and fall into a much needed deep sleep, filled with visions of a dreamy boy with the body of a god and the soul of a poet.

  18

  Something New

  Life settles back into our normal routine while we wait for Sonia to recover. This morning, I’m going fishing for the first time in my life. Marcus, Lucien, and I hike upstream where the creek is much wider and the water flows faster and deeper. A sweet mixture of grass and something I’ve come to associate with fresh water in the Ruins fills the air.

  Marcus holds a cricket between his thumb and forefinger. I squirm as he pushes the hook through its abdomen. “Your turn,” he says, a wicked gleam in his eye.

  I squint, torn between a desire not to stab myself and not wanting to watch the critter as I jab a fishhook through it. The morning is cool, but nervous sweat beads on my forehead. A slight click indicates the hook is through the outer shell and into the gooey center. I shudder, totally squigged out, and cast my line the way Lucien showed me.

  As we sit on the bank waiting for a bite, Marcus asks, “What’s it like living in the Union?”

  I’m surprised it’s taken this long for someone to ask this, so I’ve had plenty of time to think about how best to answer. “In some ways, it’s a lot like living here. People work together to grow produce in our community gardens, and we trade with other neighborhoods at our local market, which is sort of like a trading post. One of the biggest differences, though, is people are packed in tight because land is scarce.”

  Lucien cocks his head, studying me. “Is it true the government is socialist?”

  “I guess, but it doesn’t really fit the historical definition, it’s more like a modified socialism.” My arm tires and I shift my pole to my other hand. “They guarantee everyone’s basic needs but we still have a pretty healthy dose of capitalism. We have individual freedoms but also social responsibilities. No one starves or is denied health care.” I shrug, thinking about how sick Ty was with an easily curable illness.

  “I don’t get how that can work,” Marcus says. “How can you have both socialism and capitalism?”

  “It ties back into what I was saying the other morning. Everyone is required to donate ten percent of their work hours to community service. It’s only about four or five hours a week per person, but it makes a huge difference.” My back starts to ache, so I sit on the bank and prop my knees up, balancing the pole between them. “People work in hospitals and schools, delivering food to police and firefighters. It works pretty well. But the wealthy who can afford it can pay ten percent of their income in taxes instead.”

  “Sounds pretty socialist to me,” Lucien says, taking a seat on the ground next to me.

  “Maybe…but most people think the benefits outweigh the negatives.”

  “What negatives?”

  “Well, like the way you guys live here, that would never work there. You can’t own a gun, so hunting is out of the question. But you don’t need to hunt.”

  “It’s a tough call,” Lucien says. “There’s something to be said for being able to do what you want whenever you want, even if we have to fight for our survival.”

  Before I can say anything more, I get a bite on my line and let out a squeal. Marcus shows me how to reel it in, then Lucien gives me my first lesson on cleaning a fish. The Union may have its faults, but right now not having to gut a fish while it stares at me with those huge eyes is currently at the top of my list of benefits.

  By the time we’re ready to head back, we have half a dozen fish. We walk at a leisurely pace, enjoying a lazy summer morning.

  “Can I ask you something?” Lucien asks, his dark eyes intense on mine.

  “Yeah.” I ready myself for more questions about the evil socialist republic I come from.

  “Marcus said he and Cyrus offered to take you home. Why didn’t you go?”

  I’m not prepared for this question and end up stammering. “I…uh…I-I’m not sure I’m ready yet.” I can’t put into words what I
’m feeling, but I realize I’ve likely overstayed my welcome. “I know you didn’t plan on me staying this long when—”

  “Oh. Evan, no. That’s not what I meant.”

  “I’m the only person in the house with a room to myself, I assume I displaced someone.”

  He grins. “That would be Cy, and I don’t think he minds.” “Look, Evan, you’re a part of our family now and welcome to stay as long as you want.” He puts an arm around me and hugs me against his side in a warm embrace.

  Guilt eats away at me thinking about what my family and friends are going through back home, but I like it here. I like the people who’ve taken me in and treated me as one of them, the way they live, and the world they live in. I don’t know what to do, but it’s tearing me apart.

  19

  Torn Apart

  Marcus and Cyrus invited me to join them at the trading post this morning. I tried to accept with indifference, but my giddiness gave me away. By the time we reach the falls, the air already feels like my blow dryer on high. We left just after breakfast, and we’re only about ten minutes into an hour-long hike.

  We follow the creek, passing more houses than I realized were out here. People wave and call out greetings. A girl around my age stands on the front porch of a small white house. She waves enthusiastically and bounds up to us. She’s quite pretty with wide blue eyes and long platinum blond hair. She glances at me before turning her full charm on Cyrus.

  “I haven’t seen you around in a while, Cyrus. Where’ve you been?”

  Marcus grabs my elbow and tugs me along. “Let’s give them some privacy.”

  I don’t want to give them privacy. I don’t like the way she’s putting her hand on his arm or the way she’s leaning in, and…is she batting her eyelashes?

  “Come on, he’ll catch up.”

  Glancing over my shoulder at Cyrus and the blonde, I follow Marcus. “Who is that?” I ask before I can stop myself.

  “Lucy.”

  “Are they—”

  “Why didn’t you wait for me?” Cyrus asks, jogging up to us.

  Marcus shrugs, “Just giving you some room, man.”

  Cyrus shoots Marcus a look then glances at me briefly before taking the lead. We walk in silence until we crest a steep hill and the trading post comes into view. It’s nothing like the colorful open-air markets in the Union with their dazzling umbrellas and striped awnings, but somehow it’s even more spectacular. Dozens upon dozens of booths line either side of a series of narrow dirt aisles, packed so thick with shoppers, the ground is obscured below them.

  I pick up the pace and rush down the hill to a large, waving banner hanging over the entrance with the word “currency” printed on it.

  “There’s no official currency,” Marcus explains. “We’ll trade these for credits to buy other things.”

  Maybe there’s no official currency, but there are plenty of Mexican pesos, Union dollars, and money from the Northern Territories being exchanged.

  Cyrus opens his backpack and lines up our butter, cheeses, and milk on the counter. I copy him with the stuff in my pack, and Marcus does the same.

  We wait behind a dozen people until it’s our turn. Women and men, all ages, dressed like everyone at the house — shorts, tank tops or T-shirts, socks and hiking boots. Children run between the throng of bodies, using them as shields in a game of tag.

  When we’re finally up, a scruffy man with a short beard streaked with gray, nods at us. “Hey, Cy, Marcus.”

  “Rick.” Cyrus shakes his hand then quickly adds, “This is Evan.”

  Rick grunts a response, the only acknowledgment of my existence. He wipes his palms on his jeans before grabbing the first item before him. He weighs the block of cheese and glances at the board behind him that lists the names and current trade-in value of almost anything anyone could want. He does some quick calculations on a small chalkboard and shows the figure to Cyrus.

  Cyrus surveys the board and says, “I think you’re off by seven.”

  My eyes widen with newfound awe. Maybe he can’t read all that well, but he just discerned the price of two dozen items and added them in his head in a matter of seconds.

  Rick rechecks his math. “Yeah, you’re right, sorry.” He takes out a ledger, crosses off a number, and writes the new total in ink. Cyrus and Rick both sign beneath the new figure.

  “What happens now?” I ask.

  “We go shopping,” Marcus says. “When we’re done, we’ll check out.” A woman across the table from Rick is working with people to total their purchases. “We’ll either owe more credits the next time, or have a balance.”

  “What about the stuff we brought?”

  “It’ll be divided up and available for sale in one of the booths shortly,” Cyrus says, leading the way into the market.

  A constant hum of voices is punctuated every so often when someone finds an unexpected treasure. Sentries, armed with rifles, are positioned every five yards or so, keeping a watchful eye.

  Cyrus stops at a bakery where heavenly warm, yeasty aromas greet me. He puts two loaves of bread in his pack before making his way down the aisle and stopping to grab some clothes for one of the boys.

  We turn and work our way back up the other side, passing a booth of fragrant body and hair products. They can’t be made out here, they’re professionally packaged and labeled. “Where do these come from?” I ask Cyrus.

  He leans over and whispers in my ear. “Ask me later.”

  I’d kill for a jar of anti-frizz cream. I wonder how much butter and cheese one of these would take.

  Cyrus must see me coveting it, because he picks up the jar and places it in my hands.

  “No. I can’t.”

  He and Marcus have another one of their silent eye conversations. I swear my twin sisters don’t communicate telepathically as much as these two.

  “Everyone gets a little something extra now and then. I think it’s your turn. What do you say, Marcus?”

  My face burns as red as my hair, but they both seem so pleased, I finally relent and take the offered product. “Thanks.”

  After getting some potatoes, carrots, and onions, our last stop is to pick up some chicken feed. While Marcus and Cyrus talk to the feed guy, I wander down the aisle. Near the end is a vendor selling books, one in particular catching my eye. A thought takes hold, and I check the price before running the hair product back to the booth it came from. I return to the book vendor, stuffing the one I want into my pack.

  When I rejoin the guys, Cyrus introduces me to their friend. “Dag, this is Evan. She’s staying with us for a while. Evan, this is Dag. We came from the same town.”

  Dag’s bright blue eyes travel over my body as he takes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Evan. That’s a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

  I resist the urge to gag on the cheesy line. He draws out his vowels even more than the others do, as if he thinks it’s charming.

  Cyrus pulls my hand back. “That’s enough, Dag.”

  As Marcus leads the way to the currency booth, I glance over my shoulder at Dag, who’s watching my ass. I follow Cyrus’s and Marcus’s example again, and empty my pack on the counter to check out. While the woman totals up our purchases, Cyrus eyes the book and quirks an eyebrow my way.

  “I know I didn’t ask, but I have an idea, and I put the product back.” He doesn’t say anything, but considering the book costs less than the jar of hair cream, it shouldn’t be a problem. When we finish, there’s a credit balance remaining on the account. Cyrus and Rick sign below the total and shake hands before we reload our packs and start back to the house.

  “They have all these guys with guns to make sure no one steals from the trading post, but how do you know you can trust Rick?” I ask. “The ledger stays here, what’s to keep him from changing the number before you come back?”

  “The system relies on honesty. Cy knows how much is left, if the amount is different next time, we don’t use the trading post anymore. We can trad
e directly any time we want and Rick knows it.” Marcus shifts his pack to his other shoulder. “Rick offers convenience and honesty. One without the other isn’t worth anything. He makes a small fee on every item traded and we only need to go to one location. But if we couldn’t trust him, we’d cut him out of the middle.”

  “What’s up with the book?” Cyrus asks.

  “I have an idea of how I can contribute something uniquely me.”

  Cyrus grins and I don’t know if he suspects what I’m up to or if he thinks I’m embracing my destiny — the destiny I don’t even believe in.

  The sun is a blazing fireball by the time we reach the halfway point, and I’m relieved when we stop in the creek to cool off. They strip down to their shorts, but I only remove my boots and socks, wading into the refreshing water fully dressed. After cooling off, I sit on a rock waiting for the guys to finish splashing and dunking each other.

  It takes all my willpower not to stare at Cyrus’s bare torso. I force my eyes to my own body. In just my short time here, I’ve developed muscles in my biceps and shoulders I didn’t have before. Shocked, I check out my legs and notice my thighs and calves are also more defined. When the boys are finally done messing around, they dress and we continue our hike, feeling much cooler.

  The blonde, Lucy, is out front, working in the garden wearing nothing but a tiny beige bikini that makes her appear completely nude. I struggle not to roll my eyes.

  She sees us immediately, as if she’s been waiting, and comes bouncing over. And I mean bouncing. That girl is fully aware of her physical assets and how to use them for maximum attention.

  “Hi.” Her voice is bright and cheery, and her flaxen hair shines in the late morning sun.

  “Hey, Luc,” Marcus says.

  She slinks up to Cyrus and whispers something to him. They both laugh.

  Disgusted, I turn to Marcus. “I’m going back to the house. I’ll see you there.”