by E. L. Giles
“This isn’t the first one you’ve made here, is it?” I ask, staring at the pile of logs and branches inside the handmade rock fireplace.
“Cute and perceptive,” Josh says with a smile, the cracking of his voice telling me it’s more than a joke.
Also, is it me or did he call me cute? I don’t see what’s cute about me. I’m terribly plain compared to girls like Anna or the young girl that worked at the BP center. But my heart beats at an impossible pace anyway as I melt from his words. It feels strange to be complimented. It makes me blush, and I feel butterflies in my stomach.
I step back a little so he won’t notice my unease. I must look awkward, but on the other hand, I want to be confident, and I won’t be until I fight this embarrassment that makes breathing a challenge. I force as much air as I can into my lungs.
“You’re not bad either,” I finally manage to say. It’s clumsy, but it’s the best I can come up with.
Breathing is still hard. I thought the lump in my throat would leave the moment I was free of this unease, but I was wrong. I inhale and exhale as much air as I can until I realize the reason my chest still feels tight and my heart is racing like mad. Josh stands beside me, eyes locked on me as I slip a strand of hair behind my ear. I want to kiss him, right now, so I gather all the courage I have left and turn toward him. He’s much taller than me, and I must raise myself onto the tips of my toes, but that doesn’t suffice, and he must lean forward to close the remaining distance.
Courage, I say to myself, courage. I reach a hand to his neck and pull him closer to me until our lips meet. Our tongues clash, and one of his hands caresses my hair while the other pulls me against him. Our bodies practically form one entity. His hand in my hair starts working its way down my shoulder blades, following my spine in a straight line. It stops when it reaches the small of my back. He grips me firmly against him, and I tremble. The trembling grows more intense, and it takes a full second to realize I’m succumbing to some sort of hidden desire.
“You okay?” Josh asks, worry in his voice.
“I think so. I…” I say against his mouth. “Just kiss me.”
Words are useless. They stick in my dry throat. I prefer the touch of his lips against mine over a thousand meaningless words. I desire to let my body speak for my head. There’s less apprehension, less questioning, less doubt, like my body knows things I don’t.
His grip on my waist tightens, pinching softly, and I like it that way. It reminds me that this is all real. Then, his grip loosens and his hand ventures down, over my butt.
“You stop me if—” he starts.
Too many words. I can’t let words and worry disturb this moment. I reach for his hand, place mine over his, our fingers lacing together, and I guide Josh’s hand over my backside. That stops him, and we continue to kiss.
Never have I felt this feverish and nervous, this excited. Should I keep letting my body decide for me? Is this the way it works? I feel burning hot deep in my core. The fire urges me to satisfy this thirst for Josh, this insatiable need for his touch, his body on me, and his lips on mine. Stop worrying. Let things be, I repeat to myself.
I will.
I pull myself back a little, reaching for the sleeves of my dress. I pull them down my shoulders. All it needs now is a little push, and it will fall to the dirty floor and reveal my naked body to someone else for the first time in my life.
The heat of the fire beside us and the damp chill of the building clash against my skin and make me tremble. I pull myself closer to Josh again. I want the cold to disappear. I want to feel his skin too, so I start to unlace his shirt. The knots are tight, especially around the base of his wings, and for someone as clumsy as I am when stressed or excited, it’s one hell of a challenge. Josh helps me, guiding my hands until the shirt falls to the floor as a shapeless piece of fabric. His skin is blazing hot, and when mine touches his, it makes me giggle nervously.
“What?” he says.
“Nothing,” I say, playing around the base of his wings.
Now it’s him who shivers as I slide my fingers down the line of his wings. The feathers feel soft and tickle my skin. One of his hands runs down my ribs and plays around my stomach before it goes up, making circles on my skin. His free hand scoops one of my breasts, taking a handful of it. I let a sigh of pleasure escape me. Our kissing breaks. He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me off the ground. His arms feel so strong.
“You’re beautiful,” Josh says, his eyes sliding down over me.
A moment later, we find ourselves lying on the dusty wooden floor beside the fire. I arch and stiffen my back, trying to get used to the hard, cold contact with the floor, and then I relax. His nose brushes the tip of mine, and he smiles, kissing my forehead on his way down to my neck.
I reach for Josh’s pants, but my fingers are stiff from nerves. I try to pull them down but can’t. Josh chuckles nervously, and I do the same. We must look totally awkward. Josh finally stands up and starts to wriggle until his pants fall to the floor.
“You sure?” he asks as he leans back over me, his body now covering me entirely.
At first, I’m not. I wonder what I’m doing, but I shove the worry out of my head and nod. Let my body speak for itself, I remind myself. What I’m—what we’re—doing is clear; we are merging into one and only one entity.
Us.
+++
“I should have lasted longer,” Josh says, his voice a faint murmur as he rests his head at the base of my neck. I’m shocked at the vulnerability in his words.
“Why do you say that? It was perfect,” I say, caressing his tousled hair.
“You sure? I mean, I was so nervous, and I feel like I did it wrong.”
“Were you?” I exclaim. “To me, you looked composed and strong, like you always do. It’s like you knew what you were doing…unlike me.”
Josh doesn’t answer but smiles at me like he always does. He owes that radiant smile to Dolores. And there’s this sparkle in his eyes when he looks at me. Alastair had the same look in his eyes when he told me about his stories and spoke about the treasures he had dug up. But for Josh, the treasure is me. I forget about anything else. I only want to kiss him.
I lean back and draw a long kiss from his lips. In fact, the only thing that breaks this moment is a thought that takes my breath away.
“What?” he asks, worried.
“What if Marcus saved my life so I could find you? It sounds crazy—”
“Yeah, it does,” Josh interrupts and moves his lips over mine again.
“No, listen.” I pull back a little. “I know it sounds crazy, and it’s probably not what happened, but it explains so much of what he did. Why he helped me. I don’t know, but it makes it easier for me to live with everything that happened.”
It’s true, the idea sounds absurd. What are the chances I would find them in such a vast area? But at the same time, it sounds believable because it was Marcus who had saved Dolores and Josh. It gives Marcus and the unificator-turned-guard and Stephen and everyone in the convoy a reason for having sacrificed their lives. It gives meaning to their deaths. It allowed this new world to exist for us, a world where we’re free. Does it erase the pain I feel when thinking about them? No. The guilt still weighs on me. It’s lighter now, but it’s still there and always will be. The pain is part of me, part of who I am, and I must honor their memory the best I can.
“Never have I dared to think I’d be able to experience such a thing with someone else,” Josh says after some time, his cheeks blushing. “I’ve dreamt of it for so long, and overnight, you’re here, my age, and in a certain way, as lost as I was. I feared it would all crumble once you knew my…differences.”
“Two years younger, for your information,” I correct him, winking to let him know I’m playing. “And I like your differences.”
He caresses my cheek with the back of his hand, and I close my eyes to focus on the sensation and the sound of the rain that pummels the roof. The wind ra
ttles the windows, but no matter the storm happening outside, here, in this new world of ours, we’re safe.
Chapter Twenty
“Aren’t you hungry?” I ask.
I don’t know what time it is, but it’s surely past supper time. My stomach can’t wait anymore. I must eat something. It’s crazy how fast I’ve gotten used to eating to satiety, and I have forgotten what hunger feels like.
Outside it’s dark and the storm is still raging, as cloudy as it was when it began. Josh thinks it’s late in the evening. He’s a better judge of time than I am. One thing I’m sure of is that we won’t get home tonight, not with such weather raging.
Josh picks up the bag beside him and empties its content onto the blanket he’s spread over the cold, dirty floor. If only we’d thought of putting it down before we…did what we did. We both pick a slice of dried meat, and as I start chewing on mine, I notice the book lying at my feet. Reading while eating sounds nice to me.
I reach for it, and at the exact moment my fingers brush its cover, there is a thunderclap and I scream. For a second, the whole building is engulfed in pure, electrical blue light that lets me see the details I wouldn’t have seen otherwise: the poor state of the building’s frame and the paintings that scatter the wall south of us. I don’t like thunder. I’ve never felt safe during thunderstorms, and now that I can see the true fragility of the old, decrepit building, I feel even less safe. Back in Kamcala, we often had electrical shutdowns because of storms, and one time, lightning struck a building near mine, setting it ablaze and killing its occupants. What if the lightning strikes here? We don’t risk an electrical shutdown, but I doubt there are any firefighting services here either.
I think Josh notices my unease, because in an instant, he’s at my side, cradling me in his arms. It’s comforting and, for a time, distracts me enough that I don’t focus on the thunder. But when I feel the floor shake beneath us, I know I need to drive my mind elsewhere. I hurry to pick up the book and then look at Josh.
“Do you mind?” I wave the book while offering my most pleading smile. I’m sure he won’t refuse.
Josh nods, raising the corners of his lips in a smirk I can’t resist. How can he always turn my insides to mush the way he does?
I slide myself between his legs, my back leaning against his stomach and my head resting against his chest. I concentrate on his heartbeat and try to sync it with the rumbling of the thunder. How many times does his heart beat between each crash? And how many heartbeats are there between each breath? Two beats he inhales, one beat he releases. The air is warm on the top of my head, and I forget about the thunder entirely.
I open the book right where Josh’s feather marks where we left off. From our position, the fire illuminates us in a way that floods the pages in orange light, and the black lettering pops up off the page, easy to see. Time passes, and I near the end of the book. Minute after minute, line after line, love and violence and death intertwine endlessly, and I can’t detach my eyes from the words until the very end. It makes me wonder if death and sorrow can really restore peace. If such a thing were possible, how much death, how many casualties would be needed to restore peace in Kamcala? Is peace even possible there, or is it rotten to the core and hopeless?
Hopeless—like I was, according to Judge Gavreau. Rotten fruit is what he’d said I was. Well, it looks like the rotten fruit has found its place after all. I can’t help this cold wave of anxiety from crawling up my spine as I think of what I now know to be the truth about the Retirement Center and the fate that was awaiting me there. To them, rotten fruit is disposable. In Kamcala they dispose of the people they deem worthless to their cause, and that's it.
I try shoving it all out of my head. I’m not in Kamcala anymore, and I will never go back. Though knowing so many people still live there, trapped, enslaved, and sacrificing their lives for a handful of tyrants brings a pang of guilt that wrenches me to the very core of my soul. I am here, free and living the happiest time of my life while too many suffer. If only I could do something to help them.
I close the book, a distinct thought suddenly crossing my mind. “I wish we could marry,” I say, as I contemplate the reflection of the fire on a metal ring that holds the straps of the bag together. I’m not even sure I properly get the whole idea of what marriage—or God—means. I mean, what is God? Is it some official from another time, or a president? I don’t know, but it’s intriguing. The thought that with a few words and a ring we could become joined to someone in a way I can’t understand. I’d like to do it. That would be the most beautiful way to honor the memory of those who have sacrificed their lives.
“Sure,” Josh says, a sudden fervor in his voice. “Why shouldn’t we?”
“I don’t know.” I tilt my head back and stare at him. “We don’t have a ring…and no one to say the words.”
“We could ask Alastair or Dolores I suppose,” he says. “And do we really need a ring? I could give you a feather, you know.”
“But I have nothing to give you,” I say drearily. “That’s not fair.”
Josh folds his wings around me like a blanket. I close my eyes and concentrate on the unique texture of the feathers that brush against my skin, a sensation I now associate with peace and safety.
“You don’t need to give me anything. I have you. That’s more than I have ever asked for.”
“Yeah, no. One day I will find something.” I close my eyes and lean my head against his chest. “I promise. And that day we will marry.”
The weather has calmed. The wind that shook the windows to the point I feared they would shatter has quieted, and the heavy rain that hammered the roof has morphed into a gentle downpour. I wonder if Alastair returned from his hunting trip before the storm struck. And O’Hare, did he find a decent shelter? Where is he at this exact moment? Will we ever see him again? Has he done what he had to do? Will we ever know?
“I think we should go to bed. It’s late,” Josh says after a short time.
“You can,” I say. “I don’t feel like it.” And I don’t feel like it, but I yawn as I speak. Not at all convincing.
“You can’t avoid sleep forever, you know,” he says, concerned.
“It’s not about—” Josh frowns at me. “Okay, I know. But I don’t want to ruin what we have experienced together,” I say. “I don’t want to watch you die in front of me again. I don’t want to see anyone I know dying again and again or experience the anguish of not being able to help. I can’t stand it, especially not tonight. It’s too horrible.”
Josh squeezes my hand in his. “But I’m here. And I don’t plan to die anytime soon. So please, stop worrying about that. You can sleep safely, and if your nightmares come back, then focus on tonight.” He places a kiss on my forehead. “Okay?”
He won’t die anytime soon. I take that as a promise, and we don’t break promises. “Okay.”
+++
When I open my eyes, Josh is sitting stiffly beside me. The fire is dying; only a faint, white wisp of smoke rises a few inches before it dies out. I stare at Josh. What’s that tensed demeanor? And why is he clenching his teeth like that, exaggerating the tightness of his jawline? I slip my hand along his forearm. His muscles are tight. He jerks at my touch, and I notice the grimace that contorts his face. Something is wrong.
“What’s the matter, Josh?” I ask, worried.
He raises a finger and presses it against his lips, telling me not to speak. He must want me to listen to something, like that day when we went to listen to Alastair play his music in the woods. But now I don’t get what I am listening to. I pay careful attention but hear nothing other than the cawing of the crows and some chirping birds. The storm is a thing of the past, even though water droplets still fall from the roof. I don’t get why he’s acting this bizarre. What’s the matter?
“I heard people outside, and it’s not O’Hare or Alastair or Dolores.” Worry makes his voice crack. “Several men.”
“I hear nothi—” I start, but now
I hear them, beneath the regular sounds of nature.
It’s several men, as he said. It sounds like a whole troop, the same kind I heard when the convoy exploded. I instantly stiffen, all my muscles freezing at the same time, stilled by this rush of cold that has taken over my body. Everything rushes into my head at an uncontrollable pace. A myriad of emotions blend together at once, and there’s one that stands out with a wrenching familiarity, a pain that has never really left me, ominous, insidious.
Terror.
I jump to my feet and turn toward Josh. “They’re here for me,” I say. About this I am certain. Nothing else explains their presence here. These soldiers from Kamcala venturing into the wild must be searching for someone. They must be searching for Citizen G8909-26-101, the only survivor of the convoy that was headed to the Retirement Center. They will hold me responsible for that disaster. They need a culprit, and they will find one.
But they don’t know Josh. They can’t know him. I must protect him, and it’s my turn to do so. I can’t imagine—I don’t want to imagine—what would happen if they found him. This must not happen. This must not happen.
“We must split up,” I say, my voice grave with desperation at the shattering thought of losing him. “It’s the only way to keep you safe.”
His eyes widen, and he shakes his head as he stares at me. “There’s no way I’m leaving you behind like a coward. I have waited for you for so long. I won’t let you go that easily,” he says. “They’re after you, they’re after me. They find you, they find me. They kill you, they’ll have to kill me first. Got it?”
“No. You don’t understand,” I say.
He takes my hands between his rough ones. “Got it?”
His words leave no place for argument.