That’s how I know it’s dead. The Compound is always perfect.
I move around the courtyard, my foot scooting against a broken piece of wood. These used to be tables. Once, we ate lunch here as children. Once, Xenith and I did homework here. Once, my father stood atop one and demanded attention from the people. It was hundreds of miles away from here, but if I closed my eyes, it could be the same place.
Thorne’s beside me again suddenly. “This is one of the Compounds the Mavericks took down.”
The center building in the courtyard is a market at home. I follow Thorne inside through a broken window, and it’s so eerily the same. That is, if everything at home was left behind like this. The metal shelves are empty and rusted in some places. Broken glass jars plaster the floor like a warning. We find a few random packages-a can of soup, a jar with yellow liquid, and some sealed bags with no labels-and stuff them into our packs.
Beyond the courtyard, we walk along the wooden fences. Some of the posts are broken in half while others protrude into the air, as if they are reaching out for something to hold on to and failing, falling back into place, misshapen and broken.
I count as we walk past the houses. When we were children, we had to count how many houses stood between us and the courtyard so that we didn’t go to the wrong one. It happened one time, and we went in during someone else’s dinner. Sara never let us forget it.
“Fourteen,” Thorne says, stopping in front of the house. Fourteen steps away. The fence is split here, open and waiting for us to enter. Thorne and I exchange a glance, but he goes in ahead of me. I wonder if it’s the same inside as well.
Thorne steps up four overgrown stairs, and they creak a bit under his weight. The white paint that covers the outside isn’t white anymore. Now it’s yellowing like sickly cheese, and everything is peeling away to reveal the rotting wood underneath. The red front door is locked, wood warped, slightly bending and splintering. He kicks at the door a couple times before it bursts open, releasing dust into the night air. I follow him inside and see the paint on the door is faded, alternating in shades of lighter pink and darker red from the corrosive heat of the sun.
The house smells of something rotting and stuffy. Despite the smell, the entryway is still put together, a small, rounded room with doorways on either side and an angled staircase in front of us. The wallpaper is a faded shade of blue, but when I look closely, I notice the patterned swirl of flowers still fighting to be seen.
The entryway leads to a small living room off the left. The walls look gray but that could be the lack of light, and the floors are covered by dirt and a moldy piece of carpet. There’s an old couch, simple and sturdy, two small tables, a fireplace with a mantel, and a chair. Everything even rests in the exact way it does at our house, at every home in my Compound.
“Thorne?” I call out.
My voice echoes back to me before he yells that he’s upstairs.
I can see Sara everywhere in the exact same way. Except here, the floor is covered in trash. Broken glass. Pieces of paper. More trash. A broken chair. A plate that’s cracked in half. There’s even a toilet seat in the middle of the floor.
“Neely, come up!” Thorne yells.
I do, and I already know where I’ll find Thorne.
He’s in the third door on the left in a drafty room with no lights or candles. There’s a single large bed with a disgusting mattress, a desk to the left with a lamp, and a window that’s boarded up. It smells musty in here, like dirty socks and mold. Thorne sits on the edge of the bed, looking out the window. When I come in and lean against the door frame, he glances at me for a moment and then looks away again.
“I hate the thought of you with him,” Thorne says with a pause. “I hate all of it.”
I sigh and tap my fingers on the splintered wood of the door. “There’s nothing between us.”
Thorne’s eyes snap up to me. “You keep saying that. I have so many questions. I don’t want something to happen and for us to have never said the truth to each other.”
I move and sit next to him, taking his hand. I steady my emotions and wait until I can feel his worry form a lump in my throat. I want him to know that I’m not lying. I can’t lie while I’m touching him or he’ll know. This feels like the only way.
“If you ask me, I swear I will tell you, but make sure you want the answers, Thorne. Because I love you. I want you to trust me.”
He pauses. “Only because of the branding?” “Maybe,” I say. The connection doesn’t change, and he nods softly. “But also because I know you completely, and that part is real.”
Thorne pauses. “Did you kiss him?”
I pull my hand away. “Do you really want that answer?”
He takes it back. “Yes,” he says, and I feel the steadiness again.
“Yes,” I say.
Thorne curses and stands. I touch his arm, and it’s only half a second but he lets his guard down. I feel it- everything. More emotion that I knew he could ever feel at once. He wants to yell, to punch someone, to break something. The anger he feels toward Xenith, not even toward me, is overpowering. He wants to forgive me, to be okay, to kiss me and show me that he’s the one I’m meant for. He feels like he needs to prove himself, to prove us. I’ve hurt him in ways that he can’t place, and then there’s something else- disappointment. In me. In the fact that I don’t trust us, even though I trust Xenith. And at the thought of Xenith, he comes back to hatred, to anger, to all the reasons I’m a fool for trusting him.
“Thorne, I’m-”
“Don’t say you’re sorry, Neely, don’t. That doesn’t change anything.” Thorne sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, paces around the room. I know what he feels, but I have no idea what I feel. His gaze snaps back to me, and he takes my hand to feel the connection.
“If they can take the branding away like we heard, do you still want them to?”
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Do you feel anything for Xenith?”
I think about Xenith. The boy I knew since we were children, the one who never seemed to fit. He brought me here, and he lied about Thorne-but I did, too. When we were alone, he was something else. Someone kind and challenging, someone who was always there. I liked his kiss, his presence, but he wasn’t Thorne. He didn’t have what we have. But what if all we have is because of the branding? If it were gone, would we still feel so passionately? Xenith is far from normal, but he’s not like me, and that is something I long for since I don’t know who I am without the branding.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe?” I exhale. Thorne does, too. “I’m sorry. All I can say is he’s not you.”
“But you don’t even know if you trust that what we have is real.”
I pause. “But I trust you.”
“Okay,” he says.
“I’m sorry I never told you about this part from the beginning. I thought I was doing what was best. You have to know that.”
“I do,” he says, and then he drops my hand and heads into the other room.
6 DAYS BEFORE ESCAPE
XENITH’S IN THE OTHER ROOM, bent down so all I can see is his head. I look back at my book. Xenith has amazing books from the Old World that I’ve never heard of before. There’s nothing else to do aside from plan and wait, so I read.
“Are you going to shower?” Xenith calls.
I don’t reply, just keep reading. This story is written in old English, but I like it. Girls wore big dresses and had dances. They were stronger than most of the girls I know, dealing with marriage and no wealth and lies.
“You,” Xenith says. I look up from the book, and he’s staring at me.
“Me,” I say. “I’m reading.”
He shakes his head. “You’re taking a shower.”
“I did.”
“When?”
I pause. “Yesterday.”
He smiles and pulls the book from my hand. “Don’t lie to me, Neely. It’s time. You’re starting to smell.”
&nbs
p; “I am not!”
Xenith crosses his arms in front of me. “Now. I will drag you there if I have to.”
I shake my head, and then he’s got me over his shoulder. He’s carrying me into the bathroom, and I’m kicking my feet, begging him. The water is already running into the bathtub, pouring from the top spout. The sound of its sloshing shakes my nerves. He sets me down by the sink, and tears start to run down my cheeks. I’m shaking and sobbing. It’s not totally because of the shower; it’s because of everything. It’s leaving and dying and living. It’s being here with him. It’s what happens in a week.
The air is warm and sticky with steam. He wipes a tear from my cheek. His hands are on my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“You have to do this, Neely.” His voice is soft, as if he’s talking to a child. I guess I’m being one. “This isn’t something you can be afraid of. Not you. Not now.”
“When I close my eyes, I can still feel the waves.”
Xenith wraps me up in his arms and pulls me in. I let his arms cover me and hold me closer. I let his words whisper in my ear. I let his hand run through my hair. I let myself inhale his earthy, minty scent. Maybe it’s the steam that’s building up around me, or the sadness I feel about being alone, but my brain starts to make my body do things on its own.
My lips press against his warm neck, trace up to his jaw. He pulls away and looks at me like he’s lost, too. Everything I see in his glance matches the way I feel. I say his name softly. Seconds pass by, each of us staring at the other. Then his lips touch mine. Our kiss is hesitant and innocent. Then it’s not. Our bodies crash into each other. My mouth is not my own, not the way it’s pressing against his. My hands run along his back, and he pulls me in to deepen our kiss. Our lips and our tongues are searching for that lost thing, hoping to find it in the other person.
Everything is right in this moment-so right and less alone that I sigh into his mouth. My hands slide under his shirt and pull it over his head. He doesn’t stop me. He kisses my neck near my branding, and I forget everything. I don’t know what this is or why I’m kissing Xenith right now or why I don’t want to stop. My fingers run across his warm back. He stiffens at my touch.
Xenith jumps and pulls away from me, backing up against the wall and looking at me like I’m some kind of ghost. We’re both panting, and my skin is sticky from the fog of the shower. He runs a hand through his hair, and it’s so Thorne that my heart skips a beat at the betrayal.
“Take a shower, Neely,” he says. It’s almost a whisper. He closes the door and leaves me with the water and the steam.
I stare at myself in the mirror until the steam deforms my face. I slowly get under the water, and it takes everything I have not to scream. Tears push out of my eyes, mingling with the water around me. By the time I make it out of the shower, damp and shaky from crying until I had no tears left, I go to Xenith’s bedroom. I want to apologize or make it better. I was wrong for kissing him.
But Xenith is already asleep.
DEADLINE: 17D, 23H, 58M
OLD COMPOUND: PHOENIX, ARIZONA
THORNE’S BEEN ASLEEP for twenty minutes. I should sleep. I should be asleep. My brain won’t shut off. All the possibilities, the worst cases, play on repeat. I have to tell him everything, and I don’t know what will happen.
I want to curl up in his arms and lie there. Time can pass us by. I wish I could let it.
I turn over and watch Thorne sleep. Listen to him breathe, peaceful.
I force my eyes shut. I just need to sleep, so I count sheep. One. Two. Three jump over the fence. Four goes to meet them. Five. Six. Seven…
DEADLINE: 17D, 22H, 30M
OLD COMPOUND: PHOENIX, ARIZONA
THE DOOR BURSTS OPEN.
I scramble up in bed, Thorne next to me. Light shines in from outside, pouring over my face and in my eyes. A shadow stands there. Even from the outline, I know it’s my father.
“I warned you,” he says.
The sheets gather around us as Thorne’s arms wrap around me. I cling to him so tightly I’ll never let go. My father steps closer, into the darkness, and I can see him now more clearly. He has that look on his face, the one that says he’s in control. It’s evil with a twisted smile, and when I look into his eyes, they are empty, cold.
“We found you,” a deep voice booms from the doorway.
My eyes shoot back to the door, and three figures stand there. I can only see their silhouettes-no faces, no eyes. The Elders have come.
“We will not be disobeyed,” the second figure adds. That voice is high-pitched, but there’s a power in the way he speaks.
“We will take what is ours,” the third adds in a breathy, scratchy voice. I can’t see their faces, but I don’t need to. Fear passes through Thorne, strangling me, and the Elders move. Troopers pour into the room and rip Thorne out of the bed.
“Don’t take him,” I yell. I dig my hands into his skin, but the Troopers are stronger. I yell over and over, but no one’s listening to me. No one is listening.
“Neely,” Thorne yells as the Troopers pull him out of my sight.
I scream and run toward my father. “Please bring him back! Don’t do this!”
He doesn’t respond. He can’t respond. The Elders move in the sunlight.
“Take her,” one of them says.
My father latches on to me, and the Troopers close in around me.
“Neely!” Thorne yells. I sit up in bed. A dream. It was just a dream. He’s beside me, looking at me, his hands on my face, and I wrap mine around his forearm. The fire courses between us. I take a deep breath to calm myself.
“It was a dream,” he says, wrapping me in his arms. “Just a dream. It’s over.”
It’s over.
Except it’s not.
If they found us, it would be so much worse than that.
DEADLINE: 17D, 21H, 54M
OLD COMPOUND: PHOENIX, ARIZONA
I CAN ALMOST MAKE OUT the small patterns on the walls. Maybe they’re more of a memory from my own life. I stare at them until my eyes get blurred and then look back at my watch. 3:06 AM.
There’s never enough time. It moves too quickly, signaling the end of everything. The end is the thing I fear the most. Eventually, though, all things end. Days. Nights. Life. Even love. The fear of this loss is greater sometimes than the truth. Thorne lies here beside me, breathing, his arm resting over me. That truth is undeniable. Everything else falls apart, life slips away, and still Thorne is here. Safe. I cling to that truth as much as I can.
The truth. They can still find me-they will-and on that day, time will be quick and slow at once. Time will be my enemy. My captor. My peace. My end. If it doesn’t find me, then death will. But I will fight the whole way. I will fight until I can’t anymore.
3:07 AM. Another minute wasted. We should be moving, not sleeping. I know that too well. The dream plays on in my mind. Any second the Elders will catch up to us, and if they don’t and we succeed, then what? What happens?
“Hey,” Thorne whispers. His arm shifts off my chest and toward my neck. His finger runs down my face, groggy, sloppy, still asleep. “Why are you awake again?” His voice is rough, still exhausted. I’m exhausted, too.
“Can’t sleep.”
He smiles at me, his eyes glossy and his smile weakened by the daze of waking, but still beautiful. Still perfect. “I’ll get up,” he says with a pause. “We can go.”
His leg moves away from mine, and I reach out for him. He should rest. Even in the darkness, I can see the white pallor of his skin, the circles under his eyes. We need to stay. He’s more tired than I am.
“Go to sleep,” I tell him.
His leg brushes mine again, and my heart pumps louder. Of course it did. It always does. Always will. Our hearts are the same. I’ve forgotten that lately. I’ve been so caught up in everything else, in the questions and the lies, that I forgot the truth of him.
“I love you,” Thorne whispers. His hand is focused this time, a
ngled directly to caress my cheek. I grasp his in mine and smile. I don’t want to smile. I want to pout, to cry, to worry, yet I can’t help but feel happiness in this despair. And he is the reason. It’s selfish and I know that with every fiber of my being, but I can’t change it.
“I love you,” I say, lowering his hand to the empty space on the bed between us. His movement is quick, and his lips are on mine before I realize his intentions. I cave under the heat of the kiss, of his lips on mine, on the sparks that ignite something deep within us both. Whatever exhaustion I saw in his eyes before is replaced with desire, for me, for us. I see the hungry glimmer when his dark eyes peer over at me. I touch his cheek, kiss his jaw, and shake my head. He sighs heavily and joins our fingers together.
“I’m with you,” I say.
But for how long? The closer we get to the Mavericks, the harder everything feels. I hope I’m strong enough to stop it. Thorne’s hand falls limp in mine, and I know he is asleep again.
I lay my head back against the pillow, and now my arm is crossed over my body in an awkward twist. I won’t let go of his hand-I won’t, even if it hurts.
21 DAYS BEFORE ESCAPE
IT HURTS TO THINK THAT I’m going to be dead in eight days. That I have eight days left to walk on the beach, to stare at the only picture of my mother, to spend with Thorne. How does that even happen? Didn’t I walk into his quarters yesterday? Where does the time go? I don’t know what waits out there, and part of me doesn’t want to. I fear the end of this place, even as I long for it.
“Cornelia,” my father yells, opening the door.
I roll my eyes and cram the picture of my mother under my pillow. His thinning hair has wings from where his hands were undoubtedly running through it. I don’t say anything to him, and we both freeze in an awkward stillness. I wait for him to speak, to be himself again. I’d give anything for that.
Follow Me Through Darkness Page 18