The Other Side

by Joshua McCune

  “He’s working with the government,” I speak the truth a part of me has known since Indianapolis. I warn Grackel about Colin’s allegiance.

  He is not our enemy anymore, human, she says. Kill emotion, human, and see his heart.

  That doesn’t make any fucking sense. I keep the thought to myself, but Grackel must pick up on it.

  If he is our enemy, how come we are already not dead?

  I ignore her, look at James. “We need to leave. Tell me the name of a Green. I’ll call them—”

  “You don’t need to escape him, Melissa,” James says. “He wants to protect you.”

  “Protect me?” I almost laugh.

  “I don’t know what he’s about, but he came back for you, Melissa. He killed for you. That’s who he is now,” he says softly.

  I don’t want to think about who he is. It doesn’t matter anyway. Not anymore. “You remember when we first met?”

  “Dragon Hill.”

  “You told me there was another war coming. I think it’s time I choose a side.”

  “This isn’t your war, Melissa.”

  “Are you kidding? Look at me. Look at what they’ve done to me.”

  “Oren won’t accept you,” James says.

  “Why don’t we let him decide?”

  “You know why I came back for you in Chicago?” he asks. “Because . . . never mind.” He sighs. “Grackel contacted me and told me what you were doing. Who does that? What sort of person takes on a Green with a Prius?”

  I shrug.

  “A fool,” he whispers, and I’m not sure whether he’s talking to me or himself. “The Diocletians destroy fools.”

  24

  We rappel into the Badlands swathed in aluminum foil. Well, Colin rappels. James and I struggle in our descent, groaning and grimacing the entire way, but finally make it into a canyon between the striated mounds of red rock.

  We hobble west, Colin leading us with a flashlight and an old-school paper map. The expansive quiet, the Mylar blankets wrapped around our shoulders, and the ruddy landscape call to mind one of those cartoon shows Sam liked growing up. Something about explorers colonizing Mars, only to discover that the Red Planet was already populated by dragons.

  An interplanetary war ensued.

  Grackel, you guys come from Mars?

  What is Mars?

  A different planet.

  She goes silent, and I know she’s searching her memories, know that she’ll find nothing. One of the few things that truly frustrates her. Fifteen years ago, over the span of several months, Reds, Greens, and Blues popped up across the globe. All in the same mysterious way—full-grown, lethal, and without any knowledge of the past.

  Probably not, I say. How would Blues have gotten here?

  She laughs, a guttural, awful sound. I like making her laugh.

  Even if Blues could fly, it doesn’t make sense. If dragons are from another world, why come to ours? Was their planet dying? That’s the go-to explanation by the extraterrestrial theorists. Not the most harebrained theory, but close.

  I don’t know if that cartoon ever explained why the dragons decided to come to Earth. That wasn’t the point. It was a boy show, full of bloodless battles that always ended in the death of dragons. Of course there were always more dragons for the next show.

  The only dragons on this version of Mars are long dead. We came upon the first an hour in. Wingless. Definitely not suited for interplanetary travel.

  Another dinosaurlike skeleton appeared, then another. Soon the foothills of red rock gave way to exploded prairie and foothills of dragon bone. They’re everywhere, scattered among the detritus of savaged earth, though none are close to complete. Fractured by war or dismantled by scavengers. Not a skull or claw in sight, the favored showpieces in cabin lodges around the world.

  We pass through a broken barbwire fence and soon arrive at the epicenter. At least two dozen incomplete skeletons ring the caved-in remnants of a stadium-sized hole.

  “Blue Rez One,” James mutters.

  Colin walks the hole’s perimeter, directing the flashlight beam into the dark spaces between the rubble.

  “Is this field trip your idea of a lesson, Sarge?” James says.

  Colin doesn’t answer.

  “Eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind, is that it?” James runs a hand along a stray rib bone wedged into the ground.

  Is that why Colin’s pit stopping at this erstwhile dragon “sanctuary”? For a visual comparison? Shrink down the bones, replace the broken rocks with broken buildings, and it’s easy to see the similarity.

  Colin drops to his knees, shines the flashlight into the abyss. Beneath those broken rocks lie the skeletons of dragon children.

  “What the hell are we doing here?” I ask.

  “We need to take cover.” He removes several glow sticks from his backpack, then a bundle of rope. He secures it to a nearby skeleton and drops it into the crevice. “There’s a cave down there. We’ll be able to rest without worrying about the drones spotting us. Hurry now.”

  “Clever, isn’t he?” James says on his way past. I don’t understand the comment until I look into the hole. The rope barely reaches a partially obscured cave, which sits off the edge of a ramp blockaded on both sides by collapsed earth.

  An easy way in, a not-so-easy way out.

  I’d hoped to escape tonight. Slip out while Colin’s sleeping. I bet I could make it back up that rope. But no way James could. Not without Colin, healthy and strong, pulling him from the depths.

  James goes down the rope first, Colin goes last. And I’m stuck in the middle.

  Colin preps a dinner of MREs. He offers us some pills that he says are painkillers. We both refuse. James takes his meal to the front of the cave. I take the front corner. Colin joins me.

  “How are you doing?” he asks.

  My ribs ache. My legs are sore. “Fine.”

  “I know you’re angry. . . . I just can’t have you doing something stubborn, Melissa.”

  I stop nibbling at my pork ribs to glance up at him. The glow stick protruding from his shirt highlights his concern in yellow. Asshole.

  “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says when I don’t respond.

  “You gonna drug me again? Put me in handcuffs? Lock me up? You gonna keep me safe?”

  “You’ve been through a lot, Melissa. You need time to recover.”

  Recover? I snort.

  “What about Baby?” he asks. “You’re the only one she has left.”

  “She has Grackel. . . .” I look at him. Fuck, I hate him. Fuck, I love him. “She has you.”

  “You know that’s not the same.”

  He’s not gonna let it go. He’s not gonna let me go. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. It’s just . . . I miss her so much, Colin. And I was supposed to protect her . . . and I didn’t . . . I didn’t protect her at all. . . .” I let myself go. I let him hug me, and I let myself cry into his shoulder.

  I let him make a bed for me. I let him lie beside me, let him hold me. I pretend to drift off, and then I wait.

  When I’m sure he’s asleep, I tiptoe my way through the darkness toward the cave mouth. James is little more than an outline in the limited moonlight from above. Head dipped to his chest, he chews slowly on a granola bar.

  “No,” he says as I sit beside him.

  “But—”

  “You know the biggest difference between Greens and Reds?”

  “Thirty thousand dollars,” I say. A dragon-hunting joke that elicits a sarcastic snort.

  “A Red will kill you because it has to. A Green because it can.” He shifts position, stifles a groan. “What would it be like to feel no guilt?”

  He envies them. A part of me does, too. I don’t want to think about that. “You mentioned that Grackel contacted you,” I say. “I didn’t know you guys were still on speaking terms.”

  “It was a one-time thing,” he says, which is similar to the answer Grackel gave me when I aske
d her about it.

  “Good timing for me, then,” I say. “Give me a name, James.”

  “No.”

  “We’ll both die if you don’t.”

  His jaw clenches. “The wrong memory, the wrong look, the wrong smell, the wrong direction of the wind . . . it doesn’t take much for a Green to decide that you’re better off in its belly than on its back.”

  “Give me a name.”

  He taps his CENSIR. “You’re unprotected. They’ll scour your soul—”

  “Give me a name.”

  “You don’t understand what they’re like, Melissa. What they’ll do to you.”

  “Dragon exposure, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve been around plenty of dragons.”

  “You don’t get it,” he says.

  “Are we going to have to do this all night?”

  He scowls. “What about Colin? He won’t make it.”

  I do not hesitate. “He made his choice. Give me a name.”

  And he does.

  25

  I tell Grackel my intentions. She thinks I should wait to make a decision until my head’s clearer—telling me to kill emotion at least three times before she concedes that I can’t—but she does agree that if I do this, I must cut all ties.

  I should say good-bye to Baby, but I don’t know how, so I just tell her I’ll be gone for a while and to listen to Grackel.

  Please don’t leave me alone. You’re the only human who talks to me anymore. Please don’t leave me.

  I’ll be back. I promise.

  I thought you loved me. I thought we were sisters.

  Always. Forever, I say, and disconnect before my resolve fails me.

  Hello, Praxus, my name is Melissa Callahan. I’m a talker friend of James Everett, who is currently CENSIRed. We need your help.

  Shutting out the sounds of James’s haggard breaths, ignoring the percussive thrum of my heart, I listen.

  My only previous experience talking with Greens was in Georgetown. I can’t remember one that didn’t threaten to kill me. I expect the same from Praxus, but when I hear the tiny ringing noise at the edge of perception that indicates he’s picked up my call, there is only silence.

  And the ghost eyes. Probing my mental blockade, searching for a way in.

  A shiver runs through me. I clench my hands, but James intercepts me, slipping his fingers through mine. “If you fight it, Praxus will never accept you.”

  His touch calms, his words provide clarity. Horrible, horrible clarity. This dragon is not my enemy, but my friend.

  A friend full of death and destruction.

  I must give that to him, I must embrace the one emotion I’ve managed to suppress. I must give him my rage.

  So I think of Georgetown. I think of Major Alderson and the All-Blacks. I think of how they abused me for just being me. I think of how they threatened my family, how they convinced my brother I was a traitor. I think of how they tortured Baby. I think of Lorena, executed in the barracks bathroom with all the other talkers.

  Then the dragons came. Spouting hellfire and retribution. I didn’t see my tormentors die, but I hope they did. Every last one of them. I imagine how they burned, how they screamed . . . imagine Lester and Patch drowning in flame . . . and it’s not enough. They deserve more. They deserve to burn but never die . . . constantly burn and burn and burn!

  Praxus begins to purr.

  I think of Major Alderson, coming into the reconditioning chamber to kill me and Allie. I think of Allie, stabbing him to death with her dragon brooch, and I only wish I’d been the one able to do it.

  My hands are clenched into fists, and I’m snarling and I can’t stop it. I want to kill them all. Again and again. Kill them in brutal and beautiful ways—

  A pressure ignites in my skull. I moan.

  “Disconnect, Melissa,” James whispers. “Disconnect!”

  I shake my head, clench my jaw. I must be strong—

  An explosion of memories swarms me.

  Not mine. Praxus’s.

  Swooping down from the cloudless sky into a frenzied crowd.

  Attacking a day-care center.

  Fighting another Green. Ripping it apart, scale by scale.

  A thousand more like this, in a jumbled blur.

  The pressure abates, then is gone.

  The body of a scorched boy materializes in front of me. To my left, a Red screeches its death knell. To my right, an old woman cleaved in half gurgles a plea for salvation.

  With every heartbeat, new victims appear. Faster and faster they come, bodies piling up all around. The smells, the screams, the tastes . . .

  Death, death, death. Everywhere.

  It is glorious.

  More! More!

  At some point I start laughing. “What would it be like to feel no guilt?” Guilt! Hah! In this world, where the end can come from any direction, what’s the point of it? Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air’s salubrity, and kill anybody who gets in the way.

  No, not killing. Controlling one’s destiny. Own or be owned. Dominate or be dominated. Two choices. Perish with the weak or flourish with the strong.

  I sweep a hand at the memories around me and laugh louder.

  Forget the weak.

  I am strong.

  I am powerful.

  I am . . . being kissed?

  I blink, and a black-haired boy is there among the dead. His lips are on mine. I try to pull back, but he overpowers me. He cups my cheeks in his hands, presses harder, full of fire. He bites my lip with such force that I cry out. But it is a good pain. I feel alive and whole and unstoppable. I bite back, drawing blood.

  Harder and harder we go at each other. Kissing and biting and kissing some more. I tear off his jacket and shirt, grapple at his jeans, but whenever I attempt to proceed past his buttons, he deflects, whispers “Not yet,” then resumes kissing me.

  His words incite me. A challenge. I bite harder to distract him, dig my nails into his scarred back. He groans in pain, in ecstasy, but still he keeps me at bay. I remove my jacket and shirt, press myself to him. I can feel his heart beneath mine, racing toward annihilation.

  I want more. I want all of him. “I will win,” I whisper, and chew violently at his ear. I will win. I will dominate and own and control.

  Praxus continues his slideshow of carnage, but it fades to the background, as does the rest of the world. It is just the boy and me, bound in our battle of savage lust.

  Only to be interrupted by a guttural voice.

  I will find you. You are mine.

  The boy bites me once more, and this time the pain shooting through me holds no pleasure.

  He notices my grimace, releases me, and backs into the shadows.

  Cool air pricks my skin. My jacket and sweatshirt are next to me, but I only have a vague memory of removing them. Of kissing that boy. Of biting and groping . . . I hurriedly cover up, looking away from the darkness where he sits.

  It takes me minutes to remember his name. I can barely remember my own.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I tried.”

  I wipe a stray tear from my cheek. “You should have tried harder.”

  “Tell you that they corrupt your memories, that they make you forget who you are?” he says from the darkness. He sounds a mile away. “Would it have mattered?”

  No.

  When I’m sure my voice won’t tremble, I ask, “Why’d you do that, James? Why’d you kiss me?”

  He doesn’t answer right away. “There are worse addictions than wanting to be happy.”

  He doesn’t elaborate, but it doesn’t take me long to figure it out. The memories of our kiss have already faded to wisps, but those of Praxus remain vibrant. The accompanying bloodlust, however, has diminished to a background itch. If not for James diverting my attention . . .

  I close the gap between us. I can see little beyond his blue eyes and the stern outline of his jaw. I press my hands to his
cheeks. He flinches, tries to pull back, but I don’t let him.

  You are mine.

  But I’m not. Because of James.

  “Thank you,” I whisper, and he relaxes.

  I kiss him for real this time. Bodies sore, lips bloodied, it’s an awkward and at times painful thing. But we carry on, and I am filled with a joy that only minutes ago I would have killed for.

  26

  Praxus reintroduces himself bright and ugly in the morning with a flurry of images, the stench of burning skin, and the taste of charred flesh.

  But he does not stay long. He lifts me up for a few glorious seconds, then lets me fall.

  “Are you okay, Melissa?” the black-haired boy says. I have a strong urge to attack him, to drive my talons through his heart.

  “Leave me alone,” I say. Over his shoulder, I see the soldier boy watching us with an incomprehensible look. I clench my claws and retreat to the alcove, where I eat my bloodless meal in silence. I catch them both eyeing me from time to time, but they remain safely distant.

  Minutes pass before I remember myself, remember them. A part of me still wants to kill them.

  “We should be going,” Colin says from the cave mouth, binoculars pressed to his eyes. His manner is far too neutral for my comfort.

  “How are you feeling?” James asks after Colin’s disappeared up the rope.

  Like when I need a kick of alcohol, but ten times worse. “Don’t suppose you’d kiss me again.”

  “It won’t matter,” he says. “Praxus knows you’re resisting. The challenge of breaking you excites him.”

  Before I can respond, he leans in with a gentle kiss.

  “I thought it didn’t matter,” I say.

  James gives me a humorless smile. “Doesn’t.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “Look, you’ve recovered from it, haven’t you?”

  He doesn’t look at me. “Yeah.”

  “That’s why the government developed the CENSIRs in the first place, isn’t it?” I snort. “Not as punishment. But protection.”

  James shrugs.

  Colin calls again.

  “You better go first.” I push out a laugh. “Otherwise he might leave you here.”