I roll my eyes and change the subject. “How do you know Hawke?”
“It’s better for now if you don’t know.” He glances up at the canyon edge with a grim look. “It would have been better if you never even knew me.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “Never mind.”
I lower the NAB. “You can’t say never mind. I never asked you to stay in the albino village to look after me. You could have left and never known me.”
A tiny weight tugs my heart into a pout. Jude doesn’t want to be with me. Can I blame him? We’re in the Dregs. We’re enemies with the albinos. And I’m not exactly Susie Sunshine.
Jude’s response comes out terse. “If not for me, you’d be dead in a cage at a tree base.”
I lift my chin. “You’re the one who wishes I never knew you. I’m not saying I’m ungrateful.”
He folds his arms. The writhing snake tattoo bulges. “You’re also not saying you are grateful. I tried to save you and you don’t even acknowledge that.”
I gape at him. He lets out a breath as if he’s irritated.
“I am grateful.” I force my voice to work, but I’m lying. His praise-seeking attitude just sucked my gratitude right out. I’m thankful for his effort, but the truth is he didn’t stop anything from happening. I’m still handless.
I, however, saved his life mere hours ago, and he’s yet to utter an ounce of thanks. He vomited on me and I didn’t complain. I look down at my arm and swallow. “Can we keep going, please?” The sooner we’re out of the Dregs, the better. Then we can go our separate ways.
Jude pushes off the canyon wall. “Tally ho.”
I walk with my head down, following him with peripheral vision. I take several deep breaths to calm myself, but only fill my lungs with fishy air. How did we end up angry and distant? I don’t know Jude well enough to be at odds. Why do I care if he enjoys my company?
I turn my focus to the NAB still in my hand. It takes a moment of finagling to balance it on my left arm so I can tap the screen. I enter my journal and record a new entry in a low voice so I don’t have to type.
“I’m no longer with the albinos,” I speak to the screen, watching the letters flow out one by one. “Jude and I fled when we saw the pink dogwood tree broken in half. We didn’t want to be blamed and killed by the albinos.”
Jude glances over his shoulder. I look up, but he faces forward again before we can make eye contact.
“I’m recording a journal entry,” I explain, sensitive to his judgment. He snaps a cattail out of the way.
I enter as many details as my mind recalls, more for my sake than Skelley Chase’s. I want to remember this time—the most traumatic weeks of my life. I speak Willow’s name and scan the canyon edge. Where is she? Does she know how to survive on her own?
God, please protect her. I don’t know why she tried to come with us, but please keep her safe.
My journal entry ends with our plummet into the Dregs. I whisper the portion about saving Jude’s life as soft as possible so he doesn’t hear. Why do I feel ashamed? Maybe Jude doesn’t realize I saved him.
I leave the entry with all facts except Jude’s history. It’s not mine to tell. I don’t want the world reading about him since I don’t know why he crossed. Maybe he’s a victim of the Enforcers.
I gulp. Maybe he’s a convict, escaped from a prison. I stare at the back of his head. Maybe he’s killed people.
No. Hawke sent him to help me. I can at least trust Hawke . . . to an extent.
I send the entry to Skelley Chase and notice Hawke’s bubble pulsing when I exit the journal page. I click it with a stomach-flip, visualizing his shadowy blond hair and light olive skin—the sharpest recollection of his looks I have.
He sent the message yesterday. It is short with little flair, but makes my heart lose its breath.
~I’m glad you’re safe with Jude, Miss Blackwater. He will take good care of you. By the way, today I saw your name in The Daily Hemisphere. The world knows who you are.
24
000.154.20.13.23
My biography is published.
The announcement stands like a resolute stamp of finality four scrolls down The Daily Hemisphere.
Author Skelley Chase, best known for riveting biographies like Blood Numbers and Sweeping Death’s Doorstep, stunned the world with his newest release, A Time to Die, about a Radical girl who was sent across the Wall and still lives.
My story is known. I can’t erase it. According to the date at the top of the article, it’s been known for two days already. A shiver sweeps down my body and my stomach coils like a snake in a knot. Skelley Chase published it early. Is Reid still safe?
I’m taken back to the East with a single inhale. Scenes flutter through my mind like a flip book: the library displaying my book as the newest biography, the Lead Enforcer seething about my accusations against the justice system, Trevor Rain realizing he unknowingly supported and funded Skelley Chase’s plot, Reid being questioned about his Clock . . . maybe even denied a job or hospital care.
I think of the bullies—Dusten Grunt chanting “Empty Numbers”. When he reads my biography (if he can read), will he think I’m desperate or brave? Which do I think I am?
Mother’s voice echoes through my mind: Impulsive.
I am impulsive. She was right. My impulse led to where I am. But so did God. It all connects to my prayer on the hospital floor.
The scenes sweep out of my mind like dust under a rug, brooding until they are unearthed later. My present surroundings return with one slow blink in a swirl of green cattails.
I stand alone in the Dregs, holding The Daily Hemisphere with my right hand. My pack hangs over my left shoulder and the NAB rests by my feet underwater—dropped and abandoned in the flurry of nerves.
Jude is a short speck wading through green water far ahead. He doesn’t realize I stopped. Irrational anger clenches my throat. I don’t yell for him. Why should I call him? He doesn’t seem to care if I’m left behind.
I scan the next paragraph of the article, unable to spur my legs into forward motion yet. My chest feels empty except for my heart pounding like a bell clapper.
Told with nuggets from her point of view, A Time to Die introduces us to Parvin Blackwater, a girl from a Low City with a bland past except for the secret she and her twin brother kept from the world.
My stomach lurches at the sight of my name on screen.
Born with a third brother as an unexpected set of triplets, the Blackwater children outnumbered the required two Clocks in the household at birth. After one Clock zeroed-out, taking a triplet with it, Parvin and her brother remained half-Radical, never knowing to whom the remaining Clock belonged.
This time out, Skelley Chase transcends his previous pattern of biographying by following Parvin Blackwater’s continuing story. He will offer the new biography to fans in X-book form with weekly installments following her miraculous survival on the West side of the Wall, including emotigraphs and journal entries.
Is Mr. Chase leading a revolution in the way X-books are presented, or exploring a new format for a unique case of survival? Mr. Chase hastens to say he has nothing against the current or previous forms of biographies, in fact, he intends to publish another one within the next three-months of an already zeroed-out High citizen. Some question his desire to write about the living when he’s only ever scripted stories of the dead, but Skelley Chase remains unphased.
“My writing proves I’m an expert in life and death. If someone doubts, then they haven’t read A Time to Die, which is, in fact, about both.”
I stare at the end. The article seems more about Skelley Chase than me. Proof, again, that this biography is still about his “good story” and I’m just the tool. But even though I want to remain bitter, I can’t deny the fact he’s proven himself. He published my biography. Granted
, he broke his promise of waiting, but my story lives.
I tuck The Daily Hemisphere under my left arm, pick up the NAB, and send a hurried reply to Hawke.
~Is Reid still okay?
I shove the NAB into my pack. Once I’m put back together, I continue my slow trek, avoiding the sharp stalks beneath the water and fighting for balance against the moss. I return The Daily Hemisphere to my right hand, unable to put it away yet. I want to read every word of the article with a magnifying glass.
“Oy!” Jude stands far ahead by a bend in the canyon. He throws up his arms. “Why are you back there?”
Defiance stiffens my muscles and I lift my chin. I continue to walk, giving no response. My initial impulse is to shout, “You’ve noticed, then?”
“We have to keep going,” he says once I reach him. “There’s no time for you to meander along. I don’t know what food you have in your pack, but I have nothing. We need to find a way out as soon as possible or we’ll starve.”
“I wasn’t meandering. And I have nothing in my pack. I didn’t have time to grab anything.” Once I start defending myself, the words roll out like tumbleweed down a hill. “You’re the one who dragged me out of the village without preparing. You’re so focused on the plans in your head you can’t even notice if I’m stopped behind you. I could have passed out and you wouldn’t know until I drowned. You got us down here by sawing the rope and flailing a gun and now you turn to me to provide food? I guess saving your life wasn’t enough.”
I got carried away. Again. It’s strange how easy it is to vomit my frustration on Jude. Where has my filter gone?
Jude bows with a sweep of one arm and a hard look. “Lead the way, ma’am.”
“I don’t know where to go.”
He straightens and wipes a trace of blood from his nose. “You have two choices—forward or back the way we came.”
I roll my eyes and try to fold my arms before I remember my stub. Instead, I look away. “I’m not leading.” I’ll stand here all night if you want, Jude-man.
He turns around, rubs the back of his ear with two fingers, and we travel in silence until darkness falls. By this point, my anger subsides enough that I ache for simple friendship, yet every time I imagine saying, “I’m sorry”, my voice disintegrates. It doesn’t help that his prior words and actions send the message that he doesn’t want me with him. I shouldn’t have lost my temper.
I’ve never had much of a friend. Reid was always my go-to. Now that I’m faced with the prospect of sharing bits of life with someone else, I’m rudely aware of my lack in friendliness. Even more pressing is the desire to share. I want someone else to know about me in a real way. My biography ought to do that. Maybe Hawke will read it.
The stars come out and our steps through the water turn slower and slower. Instead of imagining a bed to sleep on, I dream of a flat cropping of rock or beach on which to collapse. The darkness makes me jumpy. Anything could be watching us from the canyon edge. What lives in these waters?
Jude’s head droops ahead of me. I wish he’d offer to carry my pack. It pulls against my shoulders forming muscle knots like mini boulders. He has only his coat. Doesn’t he have belongings?
“So tell me your story.” He rubs the back of his neck.
I fold my arms to keep warm, lodging my stump under my right bicep. My lungs shrink and my breath quickens. Excitement seeps like molasses. He wants to know about me. Do I want to share?
Yes, my mind whispers. If I’m allowing strangers in the United States of the East to read about Parvin Blackwater, I ought to share with the man who did try to save my life. And, he’s waving a white flag of reconciliation.
“I have a twin brother.” I choke a little on the conflict between pride and desire. “We were born as triplets, but our older brother, William, died right after birth.” My explanation of our single Clock is far less eloquent than the paragraphs Skelley Chase formed at the start of my biography. Still, Jude seems to follow along with little prompting.
“I started writing an autobiography in my Last Year to defend the lives of Radicals. They don’t need to die.” My voice catches as faces flash across my mind—faces now gone and dead. Eaten by wolves.
“Then what did you do?”
He doesn’t even realize I’m struggling. I push through the story of meeting and trusting a biographer. I can’t bring myself to say Skelley Chase’s name—it’s like acid on my lips. “The biographer betrayed me, so I proclaimed myself a Radical so Reid could continue to receive medical care. My village sent me across the Wall.”
Facts. Limited emotion. It’s like I’m sharing the shell of my story. I’m not inclined to give Jude the raw portions—fear, loneliness, betrayal, worthlessness . . . weakness.
“Why didn’t you choose relocation? There are plenty of other cities that house registered Radicals.”
“That’s not an option in Unity.” I turn my face away to block out the memory. Betrayal. “Unity Enforcers don’t register Radicals. The trial is supposed to give the impression Radicals have a choice, but Unity Village is so close to Opening Three the Enforcers just send Radicals through. I think they do this in more places than Unity Village. Maybe even all Low Cities.”
Jude is silent for a long time. Does he see how this is wrong or does he have a similar mindset to the Enforcers? “So you’re on a pilgrimage now.”
“Pilgrimage?”
“It means you’re on a quest to something sacred.”
Quest. Pilgrimage. These words light flares of hope inside me. “But I don’t even know where I’m going.”
Jude shrugs. “It’s not based on what you’re doing, it’s dependent on your mindset. A pilgrimage is about following despite not knowing the answers. Maybe this quest you’re on can stop Enforcers from sending Radicals through the Wall. How many lives could you save?”
“That’s what I tried to do with the biography.” I look away, pondering his words. Is there a more tangible way I can help Radicals? Am I following God’s call to pilgrimage? What is my mindset?
An image of staring at Ash’s freshly birthed son flows into my consciousness, bringing with it strong hope. God wants something more for me. He won’t leave me in this broken shalom.
“Maybe I’m supposed to find the Newtons.” I glance up. “They’re a Radical family I know. The Albinos said they went through their village. I want to find them.”
“I know the Newtons. They adopted a Radical child from an orphanage near where I lived. The law took away their High-City status because of the girl. Solomon escorted them to your village to help them settle in.”
I shake my head. “It’s bizarre how many people we both know. I never would have expected to even meet someone from the East on this side.” I stumble and land on all fours in the water. Jude stops. “Sorry, I’m tired.”
I try to push myself up, but my left arm crumples under the pressure. I wince and Jude hauls me to my feet. I’m both warmed and shamed by his help.
We stand there in silence, slimy water dripping down my neck. I shiver. Jude looks around and I know he’s thinking the same as I am: how will we sleep?
The wind picks up, rustling the unseen darkened cattails. The sound of their long stalks bumping into each other sounds cold and intimidating. The gnats, locusts, and dragonflies have long since gone to sleep.
“One of us will need to rest,” he says. “Otherwise we’ll both collapse once we’re weaker.”
I cringe at the word weaker. I won’t collapse. I’ll be the last one standing, no matter what. “What do you suggest?”
“What if you lie down in the water and I pull you by your pack? I’ll keep your head above water and you can try to rest.”
I wrap my arms around my middle. “I’m already freezing.” The idea of submerging myself in the fishy gunk when I’m shivering in the darkness sounds as pleasant as walking with the wolves.<
br />
“I guess we’ll keep walking, then.”
“Thanks for the thought.”
“Welks.” He rubs the back of his ear again as if scratching away an itch.
The night feels endless in the silence. At first, I watch the moon creep higher in the sky, but my neck grows increasingly sore and I succumb to staring at Jude’s back. Crickets and frog croaks grate on my nerves.
Hours creep by, taking bites of my sanity with them. Even when daylight comes, the sleepy sand in my eyes keeps me squinting. Pimples dot my upper lip, brought on by sleep deprivation. I habitually rub my fingers over the spots, hoping a moment will come when I find they’ve disappeared.
By noon, I speak. “I need another break, Jude.”
I don’t tell him my pack feels like a boulder or that my legs are numb and heavy from the water. I don’t want him to know I want to collapse. My injuries have piled on my body like barnacles over the past few weeks. They scream for attention.
Jude’s hand flies up to swat a bug from his temple. “What?”
“I need to rest.” The least he could do is look tired.
“Lie down and I’ll pull you along.”
This time I don’t argue, though the water still causes a perpetual shiver. I release a chilled breath as my body sinks into the murk. Jude grips the two straps of my pack with both hands and I lean my head back on the lump of belongings. I’ve accepted the fact the items inside will be wet, no matter how hard I try to keep them dry.
My body is buoyant, even though my boots drag against the bottom. A sense of freedom comes once my weight leaves my feet. I close my eyes and force my muscles to relax against the cold. Small waves lick the back of my neck making me shiver. The slimy water creeps through my clothes like long water worms, filling my boots and separating my numb toes. I’ll never be warm again.
I allow twenty minutes to pass before groaning, “I can’t sleep.”
Jude continues to walk. I twist to my feet. The movement jerks him backward. He looks at me with raised eyebrows and I wince at the two black eyes from his broken nose.
A Time to Die Page 23