"See you around, eh?" he says. He slaps me on the arm. "By the way," he says, "this hall is off limits to cargo. I didn't see you here."
He winks at me and then he moves on, whistling as he goes. I realize he never told me his name. It's just as well. I might not see him again after tomorrow.
I move on, not looking over my shoulder until the clopping sound of his footsteps is far enough off. Then I double back, counting up to the fifth door on the right side of the hall. 3-5-8-8, I think, and I dial it in.
There's a loud beep, loud enough to make my whole body seize up. I freeze, thinking everyone in the entire launch station must have heard it, thinking that boy must have heard it, thinking that any second now there will be men in brown uniforms storming after me. But no one comes.
My fingers are shaking now. A part of me wants to hightail it back to my bunk. But I have to get my hands on that file. If Moreau knows something about me, if Brant or Nathan knows something I don’t know about my past, then I should know, too.
I pretend Adrienne is standing beside me, goading me to misbehave. I dial again, not quite as quickly this time.
3-5-8-0. I say the numbers under my breath as I punch them in. The door sighs and so do I.
The room is small. It's too dark to see anything. Something brushes over my forehead and I cry out. I don't know what I'll do if someone finds me in here. My whole chest shakes with my heartbeat. The tremor makes my rib cage scream.
There's an Edison bulb hanging overhead. I push the chain away from my brow. I take a deep breath, but it doesn't still my pulse. It's just a chain, I tell myself. There's nobody here.
We used to have a fixture like this one when I was little. It hung over the basement stair beneath my father’s house. Its copper chain would swing during the air strikes and the light would sway.
Our neighbors perished overhead while we sat there, in that swinging crescent of yellow light. We huddled together beneath our house while their spirits climbed up into the clouds.
I think of Nars, running away from me, running against the rising sun. I hope his body isn't lying in the desert somewhere. I hope death hasn't scooped him up into the sky. I hope, I hope, I hope, but it's pointless. There's no way to know what's happened to him.
I could've run with him, I could've tried. Is the launch station really any safer than the desert, than the caves? Did I make the wrong choice when I thought I had no choice at all?
I tug the chain and the Edison bulb makes a soft, yellow light. This isn't a room at all, I realize. It's a closet, with floor-to-ceiling shelves and dozens upon dozens of cardboard boxes, all of them labeled in a variety of languages.
I see words written in English, words written in French; words that sound funny when I try to pronounce them; words written with strange symbols, letters I've never seen before.
There's a series of boxes labeled Department of Transport and Guardianship. I wonder if I'll find Nathan's file in there. I don't see any boxes that say Cargo; I bet that's not the technical term for us, anyway. How will I ever find my file in all of this?
The door exhales. I whip around. There's nowhere in this room for me to hide; it's too small. Is it that boy from the hall coming back for me? Is it Moreau? What will I do when I’m discovered?
My mind draws a blank. My knees, my elbows, the arches of my feet, every part of me that should bolt tenses up. I feel like a bicycle with rust on all the hubs. Useless and stiff.
Nathan appears. He has to duck his head a little bit; he's taller than the door frame. My lungs almost collapse at the sight of him. "It's only you," I say.
"Yep," he says. He shuts the door behind him. The closet is half the size that it was a moment ago. A third really, with the both of us standing inside of it.
Nathan looks even bigger than he usually does, which is saying something. The crown of his head nearly touches the ceiling. His shoulders flank him. I might be nearly as tall as he is, but I'm like a willow branch and he's a tree trunk, solid and broad.
"What do you think you're doing, Cass?" Nathan says. There’s barely an inch of breathing space between us.
"What?" I say. "No one told me I couldn't be in here." I don't tell him about the boy from the hall.
Nathan's eyes aren't gray anymore, they're black. I don't think it's the poor lighting that makes them that way. "Did someone give you the pass code?" he says. It's not a question, it’s an accusation.
"I might have been...sort of resourceful," I say. I see his lip twitch. I don't know if he's going to laugh at me or shout. "I was looking for my file," I say. "Or, I was going to start looking for it, before you interrupted me."
"You won’t find it," Nathan says.
"It's not in here?"
"It is," he says. "This is where I found mine. But you're not me."
Now I'm sure of him; I know what he thinks of me. "I'll find it," I say. "Maybe I'll find yours, too. And your friend Karsci's."
"Karsci doesn't have a file," Nathan says, too quickly. "The government doesn't know about her, or care. And she's not my friend."
"Who is she, then? A murderer? And you're her errand boy, her asset?" I don't know why I care so much all of a sudden. Maybe because she almost killed me. Maybe because Nathan didn't step in front of her gun, the way Nars tried to. He let Karsci point her gun at me, he let Moreau put his hands on me. Inside of me.
Nars wouldn’t have let that happen. But Nars is gone, Adrienne is gone, everyone who’s ever given a damn about me is gone.
I feel lonely all of a sudden, devastatingly, infuriatingly lonely. I feel it like a stake in my chest, like a rod against my fractured rib, and it makes me irate. Adrienne's in the bunker and Nars might be dead. Nathan's the closest thing I have to a friend, and he sucks. He did nothing to stop Karsci in the caverns, he did nothing to stop Moreau.
I had parents once. When I had Adrienne and Nars, I had a sister, I had a brother. Now all I have is Nathan. I might as well have no one. Maybe I'd rather have no one.
Nathan takes a step closer to me. My head says, Stand your ground! But I can feel my body shrinking backwards, till my spine is flat against the wall.
"Sister Nanette is a friend of Karsci's, too," Nathan says. "Will you tattle on her?"
"Don't talk to me like I’m a child," I say.
"You act like one sometimes," Nathan says. "Those people in the caves are survivors, Cass. We're all survivors."
"They're murderers," I say. "And you're helping them." I want him to admit it, to just admit that he's bad. Because somehow, I'm still not sure I believe it. My body heats up at the nearness of him. I wonder if he can tell.
"We make different choices," Nathan says. "We have to. We have different opportunities. You're a bunker kid. You're cargo. You don't know anything about sickness, about danger, about death."
"I don't know anything about you," I say. How can I, when I hardly know myself anymore?
"I'm your transporter," he says. "That's all you need to know."
"Well, you got me here," I say. "You transported me. You did your job, Nathan. You're done. So leave me alone."
"I'm not done," he says. He shoves his hands into his pockets. I think I'm safe as long as he keeps them tucked away.
Safe from what, I'm not quite sure. What would happen if he touched me now? Would all of my pride shrivel up the way it did when Moreau put his hands on me? I don’t think so. Moreau’s hands were cold. Everything about him was cold. Nathan makes me feel hot, angry and indignant and something else too, something I’ve never felt before.
"Let's go," Nathan says. "Before someone finds us in here."
"I'm not leaving," I say.
"This might surprise you, Cass," he says, "but I'm not allowed in this room either."
"So leave."
"I can't leave." He's talking through his teeth now. “I can’t leave you alone in here. You’ll get caught.”
"I can take care of myself.”
He shakes his head. "That's not the way things work."
"I’m not going anywhere," I say. “Not until I find my file.”
“Cass.” He pushes his hands over his scalp, like he’s used to having more hair there. “I’m responsible for you. Whether you like it or not, it’s my job to keep you safe. And right now, neither one of us is safe.”
"You think I was safe when you left me alone with Moreau?” My voice threatens to shake. I stiffen my jaw to keep it steady.
"Moreau's a doctor," Nathan says. "And I was right outside the door. Those sorts of examinations are-"
“Routine?” I roll my eyes. “I swear to god, if I hear that word one more time-”
"What?" he says. "You'll strangle me?" I think he's making a joke but he doesn't smile. “It was a physical, Cass,” he says. “It was nothing.”
“It was not nothing,” I say. I can’t keep my voice from trembling now. “You’re nothing,” I say. “You could’ve helped me, and you did nothing.”
“Help you?” Nathan says. “Since when have you wanted my help?” He laughs. It’s a dry, ugly sound. It rattles what’s left of my composure. “You know what?” Nathan says. “Why don't you hit me, Cass?"
"What?" I think he must be teasing me, but the blackness hasn’t gone out of his eyes.
"Go on." He holds out his arms like he's fair game. "Whatever you're mad at me about, just get it out of your system. Hit me. Take a swing and then fall in fucking line."
He puts up his hands, but there's nothing about the way he’s glaring at me that says surrender. The room is warm, and my cheeks are warm too. Nathan moves an inch closer to me. It feels like he's shortened the distance between us by miles.
“Come on, slugger,” he says, and his voice is low. “Take a swing.”
He’s making fun of me. I try to picture myself clocking his jaw. Would he really let me? Would he hit me back? Would it hurt? I've slapped Nars before, I've shoved Adrienne, but I've never really laid into someone, I've never punched someone. I've never wanted to. But I want to now.
I make a fist with one hand. I hold it steady at my side. “It won’t make me like you,” I say.
“Tell me why I should care.”
I bite my lip. My palm has started to sweat. I do want to hit him, but not like this, not when he's baiting me.
My heart bangs against my chest. It takes everything I have not to double over; every heartbeat is like a jab to the rib. I can feel tears in the brims of my eyes but I blink them back. The last thing I want is for Nathan to think he made me cry.
Nathan’s mouth bunches up, like I’ve repulsed him somehow. Like he’s disappointed in me. He pushes open the door. "Get out,” he says. I don’t move. “Out.”
I stomp out of the closet ahead of him. I'm three feet up the hall when he stops me. "Not that way," he says.
I know I should turn around and follow him. I'm in trouble, whatever that means in this place. I'm out of Nathan's good graces, if I was ever in them at all.
I think of all the times Adrienne snuck me up to the green house after hours, all the times she passed me her dessert under the table. I think of all the boys she snuck away with, into closets just like that one, while I played lookout. I think of all the times she did what she wanted to instead of what she was supposed to do.
I don't know where Nathan wants me to go. I'm finding that I have a decent sense of direction, though. The cafeteria is this way, and the dormitories. Nathan's behind me. Maybe there's a shortcut, but I don't want to take it. Not with him.
"Leave me alone," I say. I don't hug my chest or my rib cage, I don't cradle my swollen hands. I make my spine as straight as an arrow, as straight as the pin that I pricked my finger with eleven years ago.
I can hear Nathan's boots behind me, following me. I lift up my shoes as much as I can. They seem even bigger somehow, like I'm shoving forward with wooden crates on my feet. I pray to God I won't trip. I don't.
It feels good to walk ahead of him for once. I'm always walking beside him or behind him instead of in front.
Chapter Twenty
In the middle of the night, I wake up and look for Adrienne. It's a full minute before I remember where I am.
This bunk is so much like my old bed, but the room is different, brighter even in the dark with its stark white walls. This isn't the bunker, it's the launch station, and I'm alone in my rack with no one but myself to hold onto.
I wonder if Adrienne is having a nightmare, if she's stuck in the clutches of a terrible dream with no one there to shush the monsters away. I hug a pillow, pretending it's her, but it's not the same.
I can't get comfortable, laying alone. My head throbs with thoughts of Adrienne, of Nars and Nathan and Moreau. I don't want to think of any of them. I just want a few seconds of distraction, of peace. All around me, people are sleeping soundly; their breathing is even and calm. Nobody tosses, no one kicks at their blankets, no one cries. Everyone wants to be here except for me.
I fold my pillow over my face. I want to scream, but I won't. I want to shout out every curse word I know, every vile, spitting thing Nars or Adrienne has ever said, but I don't think it will make me feel any better, or any less alone.
The cargo dorm is filled with people. Almost every rack is occupied. Somehow, being surrounded by strangers makes me feel even lonelier.
I don't think I want to make friends here. Not if it means replacing the friends I already have, or the life I've been torn away from. I want things to be simple, happy and silly and dependable, the way they were in the bunker. I want to know that Nars is alive, that Adrienne is okay; I'm desperate to know. But desperation gets me nothing. There's no way of knowing what's happened to my friends, or what will happen to me.
I squint against the darkness. I think I must be the only one awake. I can't stand to lay still for one more second while every bad thought I could possibly have detonates in my brain, demolishing me from the inside out.
I can do one thing, I think. I can get out of this bed, I can find my file, I can figure out who I am and why I was chosen, if I was really chosen at all. I can find out if anything horrific has ever happened to me. I can stop thinking about everyone else for a few minutes and just think of myself.
I roll off of my mattress, moving as quietly as I can. I don't want to be discovered sneaking out of the dorm. Relief whooshes through me when I'm standing in the hall, but then I'm nervous all over again. The hallway is pitch black. I can't see two inches in front of my face.
Adrienne wouldn't be nervous if she was here, I don't think. She wouldn't feel lost, standing by herself in the dark. Adrienne lives for dark places, for trouble, for breaking the rules, especially at night. I just want my file, but I think I'll have to be Adrienne a little bit if I'm going to get it.
I tug my hair out of its sloppy bun. It falls over my neck, touching my skin where my collar hangs too low. Adrienne always wears her hair down, but she cuts it shorter than I cut mine. I can't remember the last time I took a scissor to my raven locks.
The frayed ends of tired, misshapen curls brush my elbows now, making me itch. I want to shove them back over my ears at least, but I let them hang the way Adrienne would, if she had long hair like mine.
I don't feel quite like myself, but that's okay. I square my shoulders and pretend I'm Adrienne, sneaking up to the green house after hours or sneaking a boy out of bed in the middle of the night. Nothing's scary for Adrienne, at least not when she's awake.
I find the cafeteria first. It's the easiest landmark because it's got two swinging doors instead of one and it's got that little window up top. After that, I think I'm on the right track.
I count doors, but I don't have to count them for long. Someone's standing in front of the file closet.
I'm almost on top of him when I notice his shadow; the hall is that dark. When I see him, my chest seizes up, but I'm too close now to run away.
Should I keep walking? Should I turn back and hope the shadow won't follow me? I think he's staring at me, but I can't see his eyes. He takes a step
towards me and I take a step backward. It isn't Moreau; I'm sure it isn't. That's almost all I care about. Almost.
"I thought you might be back," Nathan says. I still can't see his face, but I think I recognize the shape of his shoulders, the angle of his jaw, when I hear his voice.
"I just want my file," I say.
"Go back to bed," he says.
"Why can't I see it? Why can't I know what other people know about me?"
"I'm in trouble if you get caught," he says. "And you're clearly going to get caught."
I reach around him and put my finger on the keypad, on the three. Nathan catches my wrist in his hand, but not before I've pressed the first button. "Goddamn it," he says. He's latching on to me too tight, but I don't tell him that. I jut out my chin.
He yanks my hand off of the keypad and dials in the rest of the numbers. The alarm, I think. The beeping from earlier when I misdialed the pass code. He doesn't want it to go off. Whatever's written in my file isn't as bad as whatever will happen to Nathan if we get caught.
I can't believe any place could be blacker than the hall, but I'm wrong. In the closet with the door shut, there are no shapes, there’s nothing to texturize the darkness. My knuckles brush against Nathan's pant leg and I don't pull them away. I want to feel somebody in the darkness with me, even if it's him. I hope he won't notice.
He tugs the chain on the Edison bulb and the room floods with light. I wince and throw my hands over my face. For a moment, everything is white. I blink till my eyes adjust.
The first thing I see is Nathan. He's looking at me so strangely. There's a wrinkle over his brow. I can't help but look right back at him. "Your hair," he says.
"Oh."
I pull an elastic band over it, bundling it back up. I feel embarrassed, like he might know I was trying to be somebody else, someone braver than myself, someone reckless. Without Adrienne, I'm not really any of those things.
I want to look at him head on, like he hasn't humiliated me at all, but I can't quite manage the brass.
I think I'll start looking for my file instead. I'll just pretend he's not here. But when I turn away from him, I'm faced with something more devastating than Nathan's assumptions.
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