At least Nathan’s not laughing at me. He watches me eat. There’s something hard about his gaze, something impenetrable, like a shutter made of steel and hammered shut. I can’t decide if I’ve repulsed him, if I’m making a fool of myself, slurping up pudding like a pig at the trough. I’m almost too famished to care what he thinks of me. Almost.
I squeeze every last drop of mush that I can out of the packet and set it aside. I press my knees up against my chest and wrap my arms around them, hugging myself the way Adrienne hugs her pillow. Nathan's only a few inches away from me, but when I close my eyes, I feel utterly alone, like the nearest person might be on the opposite end of the continent. I’ve never felt like that before.
"Tired?" Nathan says.
"No," I say. I’m sure the hour is late, but I don't think I could fall asleep, even if I tried.
"Want to see something cool?"
I shrug. He stands up and I stand up with him. "This way," he says.
The RV is dark. All of its patchwork shades are drawn. I think I might trip, following Nathan, so I hang on to the hem of his shirt.
He moves to the front of the RV, where the steering wheel is. I think I should be able to see him better up here, where the windshield lets the moonlight in, but there's a heavy sheet draped over the glass.
Nathan reaches up to twist a hand-crank on the ceiling. A skylight opens overhead, just big enough for us to climb through.
He stands on the driver's seat and yanks himself up onto the roof. "Need help?" he says. He doesn’t reach for me this time.
"I got it," I say.
He grins. “I thought you might,” he says. I don’t know what’s so funny, but he sure looks like he wants to laugh.
The wind hits me like a paddle when I pull myself out of the RV. I close my eyes and let it wrap around me like a shawl.
Nathan pulls the sheet off of the windshield. He spreads it out over the roof and lays down on top of it.
"Come here," he says. I fold my arms across my chest. “Fine, don’t.” He shrugs his shoulders. Something about his tone makes me feel foolish. My skin heats up. Embarrassment colors my cheeks.
I sit down beside him, careful to preserve some personal space. He folds his arms behind his head. His elbow touches my ankle and I shift away. I can't help myself.
"Look," Nathan says. I follow his gaze.
Above us, there sits an infestation of stars. The sky is almost white with the sheer abundance of them. They cluster together from end to end, as far as my eyes can see, making the night bright.
"Pretty, right?" Nathan says.
"I don't think that's the right word."
I sink back a little, settling onto my forearms. My eyes are as wide as silver dollars now, admiring the night. I’ve seen the moon before, distant and yellow, obscured by the glass of the green house. Now, there are no tinted panels to muddy its porcelain face. Its beauty collapses me like a weight.
We’re silent for a little while. I hardly notice the absence of sound. I think I could lay here, staring up at the sky, forever. But after a few minutes, I feel Nathan staring at me.
"Stop it," I say.
"I'm trying to decide where you’re from," he says.
"I could just tell you, you know."
"Nah," he says. "Let me guess it." But he doesn't make any guesses. He just keeps looking at me until I feel myself start to fidget.
"Where are you from?" I say, just to say something. I want to ask him if he's from Earth, but I don't think I can. It seems rude for some reason. I remember all of the terrible things my father used to say about the extra-terrestrials. I don't like Nathan; I don't want to like Nathan. But I don't want him to think there are terrible things like that in my head.
My mother always said the ETs and the hybrids were just like us; my father said they were different. Nathan is like me, but he's different, too. Too different to be human? I wonder, but it’s hard to be sure when I’ve never met a hybrid before.
Nathan shrugs. "The Reservation's my home," he says, which doesn't really answer my question. "It'll be your home, too, soon."
I'm not sure how I feel about that. I think of home and I don't think of the Reservation, I don't think of the bunker or the house I lived in before Brant came looking for me. I think of home and I think of Adrienne, I think of Nars. I think that anywhere could be home for me if we were all together again.
"The moon looks even bigger there, Cass," Nathan says. I don't know how that can possibly be true. It's the size of a planet already. "Sometimes you can see it in the middle of the day." He shakes my knee and points up. "That's Cassiopeia," he says. "And the Big Dipper, right there."
He takes my hand, careful not to grab me where he's wrapped it up in gauze. He uses my finger to trace a constellation from point to point.
"I think I remember that one," I say. When our roof came down, my mother would point out the constellations to me before I fell asleep. Back then, I thought that living on a star would be like living in a snow globe; I thought the ETs must've come from a bright white, crystallized world. I wondered why anyone who lived on a star would ever leave, why the ETs would come to Earth and make everything brown.
My father had some ideas about that, but my mother always shut him up before he could tell me what they were.
It's been eleven years since I've stared up at the moon and the stars without the green house glass distorting my view. It feels like eons since I've seen the night sky as clearly as this.
I don't mind Nathan sitting next to me while I take it all in. It’s almost nice, and he’s almost nice, all of a sudden. But I wish Nars and Adrienne were here with us, too.
Chapter Eleven
Nathan falls asleep, but I can't. My ribs hurts, my hands hurt, my head is full of lead and uncertainty.
I watch Nathan's chest rise and fall, broadening the wrinkles of his black t-shirt. I think of Adrienne, of her quick gasps in the night, the mumbles and moans she makes when she sleeps, the perspiration that beads her brow as she tries to shake off her nightmares. Nathan's breathing is even and slow. I wonder what he's dreaming of.
I sidle away from him, careful with my movements. I don't want to wake him up. I dangle my legs over the side of the RV and watch the sun rise over the desert like an orb, a blood orange sphere that brightens the sky and casts long shadows across the flat pleats of sand.
I wipe a tear out of the corner of my eye. It’s a beautiful sight, but I’m not the sort of person who cries about beautiful things. Adrienne is, in spite of all of her nastiness, but I’m not. So I know it’s not the sky that’s shaking me.
Everything has happened so fast. I think of how much time has passed since I first sat down with Nathan in the cafeteria. I swallow a sob so that he won't hear it. I don't want to cry; I want to think. I haven't had a single second to think since all of this began.
I don't want to be here, in the middle of the desert on top of an RV with a boy I hardly know. I want to be back in the bunker, looking out at the desert from behind the green house walls, pointing into the distance and telling Adrienne and Nars, "That's where we were, just a few miles out of sight." I want all of this to be a memory, fun to retell, but over. I want to be back at home.
I think of the Beard and his friends. A little trill of terror skips over my skin even though I'm sure we shook them. They would've killed me for my ticket, I'm certain of it. Why, with people killing each other for tickets to the Reservation, does the government need me? Will they really care if I never show up? After all the trouble I've put him through, will Nathan really come back for me if I slip off now?
The worst that can happen is that he does, and then I'm back in the same boat again.
No, I think, the worst that can happen is if I don't go back to the bunker, and always, always wonder what would’ve happened if I had.
I peer down below me. It's not that far of a drop from the roof of the RV to the ground. I think I'll make a softer escape that way, landing on sand. I'm sure to wa
ke Nathan up if I go scrambling back down through the skylight.
I jump.
I regret jumping before I've even hit the ground. My ribs wing out at the stretch of my torso as I'm falling through the air. I feel the soreness of my left side like a punch.
I try to brace myself for impact the way Nathan did yesterday when he jumped off of the sand sacks. I land with a little more finesse than I did then, but I still have to catch myself on my hands. I bite my tongue to keep from yelping as a half-dozen shards of glass pierce my palms and zing up through my wrists. Somehow, everything hurts worse today.
I pause to see if Nathan's heard me, but he doesn't move. I kicked off my shoes last night and they're still on the roof, but I'm not going back for them now. I start to move away from the RV wearing just my socks.
I can see the sun sitting low on the branches of a tree, miles ahead of me. The desert is empty; it's sand as far as the eye can see and almost nothing else, so I can be fairly certain we passed that tree on our way to the RV last night.
It's small in the distance now, but I don't think it can really be that far off. I decide to use it as a landmark. The city won't be too much farther, I think, once I make it past that tree.
The coolness of darker hours has dried out by now. I feel the warm slap of the wind against my face, heating up my fair skin. It's frightening, how desolate the desert it, how empty. I've spent eleven years living in close quarters with twenty-four other people and the occasional nun to boot. It's striking to be so alone.
I don't like the feeling, so I pretend the morning is making this trek with me, marching across the sky as I march across the sand, stirring up a hot breeze as it goes. When the clouds are up, I count them as friends too.
Above my head, all of the pretty auburns and oranges of the sunrise turn to blue. I take off my jacket, which is heavy with sweat, and lay it over my neck. My bun has all but fallen out of its elastic band, so I twist it back up. I can’t decide which is a worse feeling, my hair on the back of my neck, or the sun.
Ahead, the tree grows by centimeters. I wish it would make a great leap upwards, but it's slow to rise, and the day is getting hotter.
Last night, the air was so steady and cool. Now it changes, getting warmer and warmer till it’s not just bearing down on me, it’s rising up from inside of me.
I stop perspiring altogether. My shoulders concave. My skin burns as it’s lashed by the leathery whip of the sun. I roll up my sleeves and the hem of my slacks and watch myself turn pink.
I couldn’t sleep last night, but now I’m tired. Exhaustion sits like a stack of cinderblocks on my brow. It makes my eyelids sag. My throat is raw, maybe from breathing in so much dry air and sand. I spit to keep from having to swallow.
Peals of dead skin flake off of my mouth. My body throbs with the beat of my heart. My pulse is a slow pump. It makes less of an effort, the farther I go.
The sun is high in the sky now, but the tree is still small in the distance; too small. I peek over my shoulder. It feels like I’ve been walking for hours, so I think the RV should be out of sight. But it’s still there, standing behind me like a mockery of my pace.
I begin to devise a plan in my head, something more substantial than just escape. If Nathan comes back for me, should I refuse to go? Should I demand that he take Nars and Adrienne along, too?
If that works, maybe the three of us can run away together. We’ll live on the outside, not in the filth of the city, but somewhere. We'll find somewhere worth living, I'm sure of it. There has to be at least one clean place left on this desolate planet.
Maybe we'll find the Reservation, maybe we'll get there together. I try to imagine what Adrienne will say when she sees the moon for the first time. Nars will pretend he remembers it. I wonder if he really does.
The sand bakes my soles like bread in an oven. I want to take off my socks because the wool is chafing my heels, but I don't. Walking across the sand is like walking across hot coals. I think it will be much worse if I'm barefoot.
My ankles are sore. I never realized there were so many little muscles inside of my feet, but now I do. They're screaming at me, every one of them. They hurt more than my rib cage, or maybe I'm just used to my ribs hurting by now.
I reach the tree. I almost bump into it. The way the sun hits the sand makes everything gleam, till the entire desert is just a vat of white and doughy beige.
There are no leaves on the tree, only branches that make stubby shadows. I sit beneath the largest of these. I'm so tired. My skin is red. I can feel my pulse everywhere. My body trembles with every hard, slow thump of my heart.
I draw my knees up against my chest, making my body as small as I can, wanting to fit every inch of myself into the shadow of that one branch. I link my hands over the back of my neck and fold my forearms against my cheeks, trying to block out the sun.
I fall asleep.
Chapter Twelve
Someone latches onto my shoulders and shakes. I try to shout, but the only sound I can manage is a dry croak and then I'm overcome by a coughing fit. My eyes are bleary when I open them.
"Nars?" I say, or try to say. I can hardly do more than mouth his name. My throat is as coarse as gravel and my lips have shriveled up like dehydrated prunes.
I'm sure it's him hovering over me. His face is all shadows against the metallic desert, and my vision is gray around the edges, but I'd know him even if the world was pitch black. "Nars," I say again, and get out a Na sound this time. My tongue won't curl up properly at the r or the s.
"Shut up, Cassidy," he says. I love the sound of his voice. It feels like it's been eons since I heard it last.
Is this real? I wonder. Am I dreaming?
I think I must be. Either I'm not in the desert at all, or Nars isn't here with me. Both things can't possibly be true.
I close my eyes. It feels like I've done nothing but blink, but when I open them again, Nars's face is gone and Nathan is there. He's got my chin pinched between his forefinger and thumb. He pours lukewarm water into my mouth and I sputter.
"Hey," he says. "You've got to swallow, Cass. Don't waste it."
"Can't," I manage to say. I want to. My entire body feels as dry as a corn husk, like its dried up from the inside out. But my throat is on fire.
"You have to," Nathan says. He tilts my head backwards and pours more water over my sandpaper tongue. I try to do as he says, but I cough the whole time. The pain in my throat sends hot tears dribbling out of the corners of my eyes, stinging my corneas with salt.
"Thatta girl," Nathan says, even though I don't think I've managed to swallow anything. I wonder why he's being so nice to me. He should be angry with me for running off. I don't need his help, or want it, but I can't muster up the energy to tell him so.
I'm lying on my back in the sand. I wonder when I fell away from the tree. My coat is gone. My head aches. My skin, my lips, every inch of me is charred.
Nathan pulls off my socks and my slacks. The world goes dark, and then the white desert returns with a stunning glare and my shirt is over my head.
I can barely make sense of what's happening. My body is heavy. I don't know how I'll manage to pull the weight of it up, how I ever managed to lug myself along before this.
Nathan's got his satchel with him. He rummages through it and comes out with a jar of something I don't recognize. Not the chlorhexidine; something else. I wonder what other strange items I would find if I shook all of the contents of his satchel out at once.
He scoops a sticky gel out of the jar and slathers it onto my legs, onto my cheeks and my arms and my chest. My skin is cold now. It only feels nice for a second before it's too cold and I start to shake.
"Easy," Nathan says, like he's soothing an injured puppy. He rubs me everywhere. His fingers pause over the scar beside my naval, just for a moment, before he carries on. When he's done, he hoists me up into his lap.
"Give me a hand," he says.
“How?” I say, but my voice is just a broken hu
ff, as dry as pine straw.
Nathan shushes me. He pulls my arms through the sleeves of a fresh t-shirt. The cuffs are longer than the tips of my longest fingers. The soft, clean cotton sticks to my jelly-coated skin.
He puts a fresh pair of slacks on me, too, tucking the yellow envelope into the pocket at my thigh. The slacks are too long, like the sleeves of the shirt. He shortens the hem with a hunting knife.
“Here we go, sweetheart,” he says. It doesn’t sound so bitter when he says it this time. He yanks one of my arms over his neck and lifts me up.
"Think you can keep up?" he says.
Keep up? I think. There is no keep up. He’s got me slung over his shoulder like a soiled bath towel.
I fade in and out as Nathan charges through the desert. I see the RV inflating in front of us. It's monumentally bigger each time I open my eyes.
My jaw bumps against Nathan's collarbone, probably getting a nice bruise. I've never had so many bruises in my life. My nostrils are raw on the inside, and the smell of his skin is abrasive. He reeks of sweat.
Inside the RV, it's muggy and dark. It's blissful to be out of the sun. There's a thin mattress tucked into the farthest corner of the bus. Nathan lays me down on top of it.
I close my eyes. I truly don't know why I should bother to keep them open anymore.
Nathan unwraps my hands. "Jesus," I hear him say, but it's not his voice. It's lighter. I can't bear to believe it might be Nars; I think my heart will collapse if I'm wrong. "Now what?" says the voice.
"We'll give her till sundown," Nathan says. "We can't keep her out in the heat."
"Do you think...do you think she'll make it till then?"
Nathan doesn't say anything. I feel the mattress spring up a little bit when he leaves. I don't hear his voice, or the other voice, anymore.
I wish Nathan would come back and sit beside me again. I'm angry; my whole body is hot with the anger of being found, of being chosen in the first place. So I'm surprised at how lonely I am when he leaves me alone.
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