by Sara Kincaid
Tears pricked my eyes at Trina’s husky words. “Yes, ma’am.”
And then she slept again.
When she went, it was with a small flourish of the air, a small sigh in the thick heat at dusk. Leo and I sat beside her, caring for her in a way she had not experienced since she was a child, in the time before she was taken away by the CPA. We fed her, talked to her about life on South Farm and tried to give her comfort.
Leo lit a fire that night. We hadn’t lit a fire in all the days of wandering No Man’s Land. It was warm enough without it. But somehow, after losing Trina, it seemed necessary. The void she left behind chilled us both to the core. We sat together bathed in the small flames as we battled the darkness that loomed both within and around us.
We knew that we were going to lose her, and though we knew little of her story and her life, we each felt as if we had lost something precious. When I fell asleep that night, she lay undisturbed on my bedroll, her profile illuminated by the fire. My last waking thought was how peaceful she looked and relief that she was finally free.
Sometime, late into the night, our isolation was slaughtered by flashing lights and the harsh noise of a transport descending upon us. I sprung to my feet from the comfort of Leo’s bedroll. My mind was thick with sleep, but my instinct to run remained intact. Before I could move, we were surrounded by CPA agents dressed in sleek uniforms and armed with metallic air rifles.
“Don’t move,” a hefty male voice boomed over the noise of the transport. The dust stirred up by the transport’s engines clogged our throats and blinded us. An agent grabbed my arm. “We’re here for the Curare.” My knees nearly buckled, until I realized they meant Trina. They had been tracking her since her escape. They would have always known of her whereabouts unless she had removed the tracking device from her arm.
An agent appeared in the doorway and stomped down the ramp. The bright lights from the transport reflected on his bald, wrinkly head. He looked at us beneath bushy eyebrows. On the shoulder of his uniform, there were numerous stripes in red, green and blue. The man spoke without ceremony. “You have property belonging to the CPA.”
I was frightened into silence, but Leo’s insolence rang sharp in the tense scene. “What property? I know of no property here.” If he were not held fast and I not present, Leo would have attacked the agent. But he would not endanger me nor risk us being separated.
“The Curare. You have our Curare. I don’t like your tone, farm boy.”
“She is a human being. Not your property. She has a name.” Leo continued.
The lead agent ignored Leo and helplessly, we watched as a team of agents approached Trina’s still form. One agent lifted her sleeve and identified the tattoo on her arm. He also stuck a round identification retriever into her arm above the tattoo to retrieve her tracking device containing her name and other classified information. “It’s the one, boss,” a short man with glasses announced. “She’s dead, though.”
“Too bad. Well, pack it up. We’re heading back to headquarters.” The lead agent barely glanced at Trina, instead tapping the personal information device behind his ear and nodding along with whatever voice echoed there.
The men unceremoniously dragged Trina back to the transport, shoved her in a bag and tossed her into the belly of the vehicle. I stared, shocked at their lack of respect. Even for a Curare.
“Where did you find the Curare?” the agent inquired, his finger straying near the PID behind his ear once more. His eyes glanced in the direction of our friend now zipped into the thick body bag. We could just make out the indentation of the outline of her body. In death, she had looked free, almost peaceful after a life of blatant disregard and abuse. But now, even after death, she was a prisoner.
“I found her collapsed about a mile from here. We couldn’t just leave her to die alone.” Leo spoke calmly, but his tone dripped with hatred and disgust. His eyes were accusatory and he stared directly into the eyes of the agent, who appeared little more than bored with the whole ordeal. Silently, I willed Leo to be quiet and draw no further attention to us. He was angry. Furious. He nearly shook with barely suppressed rage, his jaw clenched and his hands balled tightly into fists.
“I urge you to pick your battles carefully, farm boy.” Leo chewed his anger, his jaw jutting haughtily forward. The soldier regarded him calmly before turning back to his crew, “Round it up, folks. We’re out of here.”
The guards kept us surrounded until every agent was back in the transport. Then they relinquished their hold on us and jumped onto the waiting platform. The transport powered up and flew off in a flourish of dust and oil.
Even in our anger, we knew it was a blessing that we had not been found out. The agents had been too focused on their target, Trina, to even consider why two people would be wandering No Man’s Land. Or perhaps this was our reward for returning her to them.
As twilight fell and the darkness crept across the yellowed landscape, I packed my bedroll. The grass beneath where I had slept was completely drained. Once assured of our safety, Leo had stalked off, seething. I couldn’t be sure that he wasn’t angry at me for staying silent in the presence of the CPA and allowing Trina’s abuse to continue unchallenged.
When he returned, his temper had receded. But it was far from gone. Ire clouded his eyes and seeped into the song that his body inherently sang, becoming discordant.
I was angry, too. The sight of Trina’s body tossed carelessly in the belly of the transport made me want to weep. Seeing her treated with such disregard in both life and death showed me that something must be done. It was time to abandon my fears in support of the few hundred Curare trapped in the clutches of the CPA. Curare were treated as property. Someone had to do something and I was ready to die trying if need be.
“What are you doing?”
I felt a new sense of purpose, revitalized, after finally having a direction to go and a destination and goal in mind. No longer would I hide in fear. We were going to the City, papers or no. I was going to fight. “It’s time.”
“Time for what?”
“We’re going to the City. And we can’t wait any longer.”
He didn’t look at me, but kept pounding his feet into the ground, pacing. “What’s the sudden rush, Vea?”
“Someone needs to do something about the Curare. And since no one else will, it’s going to be us.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest.
Leo stopped and his face broke into a grin. “It is?”
I nodded emphatically. “Yes. And we’re going to win.”
Leo practically leapt toward me. He picked me up and kissed me soundly. He tasted of salt and dirt and when our lips met, I felt the hum of the earth as it cascaded between us. My heart lurched.
After we parted, I stared at the landscape, bemused. We changed our direction and headed west toward the City. My spirits were sluggish after losing Trina and my thoughts often meandered along the trail of the few wisps of stories she left with us. But something about our new position felt right and determination distilled my grief.
I also remembered my lost aunt, Annel. Taken into the bowels of the CPA at seventeen, she had not been seen since that fateful day when she was marched into the CPA transport vehicle and, unceremoniously, taken away.
Our trek to the City was short, about a day-and-a-half across the sallow landscape. I hadn’t thought of where my energy would come from once we entered the bounds of the City. Nor had I considered how I would get inside without papers. These were worries that I swallowed, refusing to give fuel to them, for I was determined, no matter the cost or the likelihood of failure, to destroy Kade Hollis.
I walked mechanically, hardly hearing or seeing, only feeling the equivalent of pangs of hunger writhing through my body. My mind was in a haze except for the incessant draw of Leo’s energy, the force that bound him to life. It tempted me relentlessly. The tendrils pulled at my hunger
, whetting my appetite. His energy did not have a flavor, if you will, like a Curare’s. But there was something distinctly alive and strong within him that drew me like a moth to a flame, mirroring the pulse of his heart.
In the distance, I saw the City rise up before me. It bloomed like a metallic flower. The outer shell was a tangle of destruction, old buildings crumbling to dust. But inside that flower was a mass of office buildings, transport stops and high-rise pod towers. The buildings were gigantic, reaching up into the choked sky like beacons of life. I could see where the bluish tinge ended, fading into a sickly gray. The City radiated heat, the sight before me wavering like a desert mirage.
“Are you nervous?”
I shrugged in response. I was too starved to notice nerves. But each step that brought me closer to the City did heighten my anxiety. With so many unknowns and no way to see the outcome, I couldn’t help but wonder if each step brought me closer to the end. “Do you trust me?” he continued.
The tone of his voice told me that my answer was important to him. He looked at me in earnest, waiting for my response. In our new journey, I had rejected the advice of my father and mother. I tossed aside the sacrifice they made for me to hide me and keep me safe. Instead, I walked to the City on a journey that they would call foolish with the hope of making a difference, of righting the wrongs of our fathers and mothers and freeing my brothers and sisters, and I realized that Leo was the only one with whom I’d want to make this journey. “Yes.”
He took my hand and squeezed it tightly. Trust was all he wanted.
Dear Aster,
The first time I saw the City, I was overwhelmed, mesmerized by the giant buildings that rose out of the ground. Before coming here, the tallest thing I had ever seen was a tree. Not that the trees in West Farm are particularly grand. Sharp and scraggly. I saw one as tall as a house once.
I’ve been thinking about my abilities lately. I can do things to water. Could others do things to the dirt? Or the sky? When I was a kid, I heard a rumor about a grand tree in South Farm that was more than a hundred years old. I always wanted to go there to see it. Could we once again have trees the size of buildings?
Did you ever watch those videos on the Net as a kid? The ones that show the rain forests and the oceans? I can’t believe that our ancestors threw it all away. And for what? Money? What is money without life?
Would this have happened if I hadn’t gone home to the farms a few months ago? Was it the farms that triggered these episodes?
I tore the PID out of that annoying spot behind my ear. No one on the farms has those. What is it about the City people? Why do they need them? I couldn’t stand the infernal beeping anymore. God, it was liberating. I wanted to throw it out the window. My head was bleeding. I know you’re supposed to let a doctor remove those. But there’s no time for that. Besides, I can’t go outside. Not now. Someone might know, they might have figured out my secret. I can’t risk it.
Now that the beeping is gone, I can continue with my experiments. I’ve been feeling ill the past few days. But I woke up this morning reenergized.
Bram
Chapter 7
On the outskirts, the City was a pile of rubble, broken petals that protected the heart where life still pulsed. Jagged spires of steel jutted upward or lay broken on their sides, blocking our path. Shards of glass puddled on the ground in iridescent pools, sharp and biting beneath our feet. At the center of this steel, man-made flower, rose the heart and soul of what remained of society, where Bram had moved from West Farm with hopes of reuniting our two worlds and where he discovered his ability to manipulate water. Instead, he had found only death.
Leo and I walked gingerly through shattered buildings and around abandoned transport vehicles. Like No Man’s Land, nothing moved. It was as much of a wasteland as the bare earth that lay just beyond its borders. Dust from the desert shuffled through the streets and stung my bare legs as we walked. “What happened here?” I whispered in the gloom, my eyes sweeping across the destruction. The City center grew in the distance.
“The Oil Wars,” he shrugged. “You don’t think people actually gave up their votes willingly do you?”
“I don’t know.” I chewed my lip and picked at a crumbled cornerstone with my toe. “It wasn’t really worth learning about.”
Leo chuckled. “Didn’t you pay attention in school?”
“Well, yeah.” I paused. “When I went.” We exchanged smirks. Leo’s eyes were light with merriment. A lot of good education did us now.
“My grandmother was a slave to our education.” He smiled broadened at the memory.
“You were raised by your grandmother?” It was the first time he had told me something about his life in the City. My heart warmed with appreciation.
Leo paused, his foot dangling over a tangle of concrete and iron. He stepped around the pile of rubble, the cuff of his pants catching on a broken crossbeam. The fabric tore audibly and the seams burst. “Yeah. She took care of us.” His pant leg began to flap with every step and he bent down, rolling the broken cuff up his calf.
“Is she still alive?”
“Yes,” he smiled again as he looked up at me from the ground. “Very much so.”
The going was slow as we stumbled over the remains of a life we never knew. I tried to imagine the height of the buildings in their glory, the busy whir of transports and the echo of footsteps on these ghostly streets. Storefronts and broken signs greeted us like gap-toothed smiles. Once or twice I saw the flutter of shadows and felt invisible eyes slide over us as we passed. People still lived here. Hid here, I corrected myself. This was their No Man’s Land, their East Farm.
Focused on a particular doorway, I slipped on a broken patch of concrete and yelped in surprise. Bits of concrete and metal tumbled, skidding across the ground. Leo grabbed my arm, keeping me upright. Unsteadily, I caught my footing. I smiled up at him in thanks. “Careful there,” he cautioned softly, keeping his hand gently around my forearm after I had righted myself.
With each hour, the City loomed, seeming no closer or farther away. Suddenly, Leo’s path changed and he veered west, walking parallel with our destination. I looked over my shoulder and then back at Leo. “Where are we going?”
“To the City,” he replied simply.
“Yeah I know. But it’s that way.” I pointed to my right.
“We can’t go straight in. You don’t have papers.” I stopped in my tracks. Papers. How could I have forgotten? Curare weren’t issued papers and they were required to enter or leave the City. There was no hiding. “Don’t worry, Vea. It’ll be fine. I have friends who’ll get us in.” He flashed a toothy smile and squeezed my arm.
“What kind of friends?”
“You’ll see.”
As we crested the next hill, I saw a deep cut in the earth where a tall building had once stood. It looked like the giant mouth of a cave. As we drew closer, we saw a person wedged between two stones, serving as a lookout. His clothes were drab and torn, covered with grease and streaks of dirt. Dust settled on his skin, in his shaggy beard and he blinked it from his eyes. “Ho there. What business do you have out here?” His voice was gruff and dry.
“We need transport into the City.”
The man stood taller and crossed his arms. “And what makes you think we’ll do that for you?”
Leo shrugged and looked nonchalantly around before meeting the man’s gaze again. “You’ve done it before. Why’s now any different?”
At that, the lookout hesitated. “What do you have to offer?”
“How much will it take?” Leo crossed his arms over his chest, his shoulders bulging.
From inside the mouth of the cave I could hear the jostling of glass and other packaged materials as they were loaded onto a dock or into a transport. Men and women talked in hushed whispers, but I could hear the general hum of conversation. A transport buzzed ov
erhead and the three of us jumped, our eyes raking across the sky. “We’ve changed our policy. We don’t offer passage anymore,” the man answered, his eyes still watching the sky above us. “Who sent you?”
“Really? Why don’t we go inside and talk? Is Gage still around?” Leo made as if to walk into the cave.
The man held up a sharp hand. “And just how do you know Gage?”
Leo sighed, a bit put out. “I told you, I’ve had transport before.” Leo waited for a response and then reached into his pack and pulled out a ream of fabric and unfolded it. It was bright blue, the color I imagined the sky was before it had been filled with pollution. I clenched my hands at my side, refusing the desire to touch the beautiful bolt of color. The cloth was as long as I was tall and wider than my arms when held straight out to the side.
An “oh” of surprise bubbled forth from the man’s grimy, bearded mouth. He held up a finger. “Wait right there.” He disappeared into the shadow of the cave.
“Where did that come from?”
Leo shrugged. “I’ve been holding onto it for a rainy day.”
The sky darkened as the sun descended, the smog thick over our heads blotting out all light from the moon. There was no rain. “A rainy day, huh?”
“Yeah well, close enough.” He gave a sly grin and reached for my hand to give it a reassuring squeeze.
A few minutes later, the scruffy lookout returned, trailing behind a tall, broad-shouldered man with a mustache. The tall man’s face lit up as he approached and he held out a friendly hand. “Leo,” he exclaimed. “It’s been a while. We wondered what you’ve been getting into. When was the last time I saw you? Three, four years ago?”
Leo shook the man’s hand enthusiastically, a smile on his face. “Gage. What sort of operation are you running out here? We’ve been interrogated by your man here. Not how I’d treat guests,” he joked.