Cargo (The Reservation Trilogy Book 1)

by Castleberry, Jen

  "Where is everything?" I say.

  "What?" Nathan follows my gaze. All around us, the shelves have been cleared out. The files are gone. There's nothing but square columns of dust to mark where the cardboard boxes used to be.

  The closet isn't completely empty. A couple of boxes remain, one on a shelf here and one there. Nathan tips open the lid on the Transport and Guardianship box. It's stuffed with manila folders, all of them with labeled tabs. The sides of the box are warped, it's so full of files.

  I peek into other boxes, ones with labels like Delivery and Data Entry. None of them have a folder for Hartinger inside.

  "What happened to everything?" I say. "We were just here a few hours ago. This closet was full."

  "I don't know," Nathan says. "Your file's not here, Cass. Let's go."

  "How do you know?" I say. I'm still breezing through tabs, hoping my folder was just misfiled. Maybe I'm in the K's instead of the H's.

  "These boxes are all the same," Nathan says. "Non-essential personnel. That's not you. Your file's somewhere else."

  I'm not ready to stop, but he grabs my hand, not sparing my injuries this time. He turns off the light and drags me out into the hall. I'm shouting at him, which is something Adrienne would never do. She's good at sneaking around, but I'm not. I'm so mad that I've completely forgotten to whisper.

  Nathan clamps a hand over my mouth. I protest against it but he just shakes me till I realize why he's doing it. There's a pair of voices coming from around the corner.

  I feel my heart start to thud. The vibrations of my pulse rattle my rib cage. I bite my lip to keep from moaning at the pain in my side.

  Nathan tugs me farther down the hall, deeper into the shadows. He's got an arm wrapped around my waist. He's holding me against him. My shoulder blades are snug with his chest. His breath moves my hair away from my brow. His fingers clutch the soft flesh just below my hip.

  I'm scared of getting caught. Something bad will surely happen to us if Nathan is acting this way. But there's more than just nerves raking over my belly. I've never been pressed against a boy like this. I've hardly even touched a boy before, expect for Nars, and he never made my stomach swell or my skin heat up. I wonder if Nathan feels anything, holding me this way.

  Nathan swallows. I swallow too. I peek up at him, but he's not looking at me. He's got his eyes pinned straight ahead. I wonder if he knows who the voices belong to. I wonder if he can see more than I can see in the dark.

  "Cargo takes priority, if there’s anyone you haven’t examined yet," says a voice. "Then essentials. Pins and Three-Bars first. Work your way down from there."

  "And the contractors?" That's Moreau, I'm almost sure of it. The voices are getting closer. I hold my breath. I don't want Moreau to hear me breath. I don't think I care what will happen to me if I'm caught, so long as Moreau's not the one to do it.

  "I'll have a list for you tomorrow," says the first voice.

  "Physicals," Nathan says. He’s just barely whispering. I can feel his lips move against my neck.

  "Routine examinations?" I say.

  "Maybe." I'm being cheeky, but he doesn't seem to notice. Maybe he doesn't care. "We're not due for them, though, till the end of the year."

  The conversation ahead of us takes a pause. I'm glad Nathan remembered to yank the chain on the Edison bulb. I wonder how often he roams these halls at night, going where he's not supposed to go, slinking off into the shadows before he's found out.

  "Come on," Nathan says. He takes my hand. I forget to care that it hurts. I'm too afraid of being discovered by Moreau.

  I trip over Nathan's heels, but I keep his pace. I'm glad I'm just wearing my socks. My boots make a lot of commotion, shuffling along.

  Nathan ducks through a door and tugs me along with him. It's dark in here, too, but there's some light. It's another dormitory and people are sitting in bed, reading by candlelight. Boys and girls. Some of them are our age, some of them are older. The women's hair is cut very short, even shorter than Adrienne's, shaved off just below the ear in a clean, straight line.

  A few people peer up at us. They grin when they see Nathan holding my hand. I can't tell if they're laughing at me. I try not to look anyone in the eye.

  Nathan pulls me to a bunk in the far corner. There are no empty racks here, and the beds are stacked three-high. Nathan's mattress is up top. We have to climb a ladder to get to it.

  "This is your room?" I say.

  "Yep," he says.

  "Why don't you have a pass code?" I say. We have one, the cargo.

  Nathan says, "I'm a contractor. Non-essential. Expendable."

  I think of what he said about the boxes, how all that was left in the file closet was non-essential personnel. I wonder what that means.

  "Am I essential?" I say.

  "They picked you for a reason," Nathan says.

  I want to ask him what that reason was, if he even knows, but I think I'll get angry with him if he refuses to tell me, and I don't want to be angry. Something's simmering inside of me, and for once, I don't want it to stop. I don't trust Nathan, I'm sure I don't trust him. And I don't like him either, most of the time. But I like the way he's making me feel. It colors every part of me. It keeps me from thinking of other things.

  I fold my legs together and sit on my hands. I sat with Nathan on a sheet on top of the RV, I laid next to him in the sand underneath the desert sky. But this is different. Sitting on a real bed with him is different, somehow.

  "Take your hair down," Nathan says.

  "Why?" I say.

  "I just want to see it again," he says.

  I take it out, but it doesn't make me brave the way it did in the hall. My cheeks glow red and I almost yank it right back up into its bun, but I don't want Nathan to know how embarrassed I am.

  I think I'm more like Adrienne right now than I want to be, sitting cross-legged in Nathan's bed, toying with the ends of my hair.

  "Do you want to go back to your room?" he says.

  YES, I think, but I shake my head no. I don't know why I do that.

  "My mom used to sleep next to me when I was little," I say. "And Adrienne..." I don't want to think about her anymore. Thinking of her makes me lonely, even though I'm not alone, even though Nathan is sitting right here with me. I wonder if I'll ever stop missing her.

  "I never liked sleeping alone," Nathan says.

  "Yeah," I say.

  He lays back, the way he did on the roof of the RV, but there are no stars above us this time, no moon, and not enough room to keep from touching him when I lay down, too.

  He folds his arms behind his head. I curl away from him, tucking my knees up against my chest. I cross my ankles, hugging myself, making myself the size of a child. I don't know why I do that. I'm usually trying to make myself bigger when he's around.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nathan falls asleep before I do. I can't help myself, I smile when I hear him start to snore. It's almost like lying next to Adrienne again.

  When I'm certain he won't wake up, I turn around to look at him. Should I be able to tell if he's human when we're laying this close to one another? Should it matter to me if he's not?

  I touch his cheek, the rough places where his scruff has become a shadow. His breathing stills and I curl my finger up inside of my fist and shut my eyes, afraid that he might have felt me touching him. But he doesn't wake up.

  His mattress is softer than mine. His pillow wilts under my neck. I see initials scratched into the steel bed frame: N.E.M. I don't know what the other letters stand for.

  I wonder how many nights he's laid in this rack, if he's ever had someone else lay here beside him. He called the Reservation his home, he said it would be my home too. Will he stay with me when we get there? Or will he head right back to the launch station? As often as he infuriates me, I don't want him to leave me at the Reservation all alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nathan's gone when I wake up the next morning. I feel silly,
shuffling out of his dormitory in my socks, but the hall is mostly empty anyway.

  I didn't feel silly last night, creeping through the shadows in my pajamas. But now the hall is all lit up. Long fluorescent bars stripe the ceiling. I wonder what makes the bulbs glow, if it's batteries or if it’s something else. We had a few dusty lamps in the bunker, for emergencies only, but they never burned as brightly as this.

  I keep my gaze on the ground. I think the redness of my cheeks would be evident even by candlelight. I wonder if anyone noticed that I was missing this morning, if anyone from Nathan's dorm will think he and I did more than just sleep last night.

  Adrienne would think so, if she was here with me. She'd hope so, at least. I can see her now, squealing and shaking me, demanding I spill every last detail of my first night in bed with a boy.

  The thought of it makes me smile. I hope she isn’t as lonely as I am. She’s lost her two best friends too, just like I have, just like Nars has. I wonder if Nathan’s ever lost anyone; if he’s ever had the sort of friends that I’ve had.

  I remember what Nathan said, about being lonely on the Reservation, about hating to sleep alone. Maybe we aren’t so different, after all. We're both lonely. I wonder if he feels less lonely when he’s with me.

  There are men in uniforms jogging the perimeter of the hallway with dogs at their heels, dogs that look just like that dog from the desert. Working dogs, Nathan called them. I wonder what sort of work they do, what sort of work I'll do when I get to the Reservation, if I'll have chores the way I did in the bunker.

  I can see now why Nathan recognized the dog. Every dog that canters past me looks exactly the same, just as alike as every uniformed person I've seen. They all have tall ears and long snouts and straight, straw-colored coats.

  They've got their eyes straight ahead of them, the men and the dogs, so I hardly think they notice me. If they do, they don't show it. I watch them trot by, the men in their khaki fatigues and the dogs wearing their coats of gold. They’d be hard to spot, I guess, if they were running on sand instead of concrete.

  I think of the dead men we found in the desert. I wonder if their bodies are still out there, rotting away, becoming nothing, becoming sand. How many dead men did Nathan and I walk through, coming here? Men killed by Karsci, men blown to pieces by the bombs? My stomach turns, thinking of it. My heart thumps, more erratic than the steady gait of the joggers.

  The cargo dorm is empty. I zip myself into yesterday's fatigues, working quickly in case anyone happens to come through the door. But I'm alone. Even after I've finished dressing, I'm alone. Everyone must be in the cafeteria eating breakfast.

  The thought of joining them, of knowing no one, of choosing a seat all by myself makes me anxious. It was easy to squeeze into the place between Adrienne and Nars when I was six. It seems wrong, somehow, to sit next to anyone else. But my stomach is rumbling. I haven't eaten anything since I sucked up Nathan's space rations in the RV. I can't keep skipping meals forever. I’m already thinner than everyone I’ve seen here.

  I move through the buffet line with my eyes on my plate. I want to gush over the sheer abundance of food, but I don’t utter a single word. I don't feel quite like myself, with my eyes low and my mouth shut. But every time I think I might say something to someone, I bite back the words. I've had the same friends for so long. Maybe they're the only friends I'll ever have.

  I wonder if I should call Nathan a friend now, but that doesn't seem quite right. I'm still unsure about him, I still feel angry and betrayed. But I slept like a rock last night, so I think some part of me must trust him. The question is, do I trust myself? Should I put stock in a feeling, or should I rely on my head?

  I find a seat without companions, like my bunk in the cargo dorm. I fiddle with my fork for a moment. I should be ravenous, my growling stomach tells me so, but somehow, I haven’t got an appetite. I sigh.

  "Good morning." It's the boy I met yesterday. He gives me a jolt. "Didn't mean to startle you," he says. He pushes his glasses up. He's smiling. I smile too, and I don't have to fake it, not entirely. "Eliske," he says. He holds out a hand. Then he laughs, seeing mine. "Hard transport?" he says. I nod. "Rain check, then." He sits down beside me. He picks up his fork and starts shoveling food into his mouth.

  I pick at my plate, unsure about the taste of things. The fruit I chose sits in syrup. The oats I ladled out are sopping wet with butter and cream.

  "Eli," Eliske says between forkfuls.

  "What?" I say.

  "My friends call me Eli," he says. "Not that I have a lot of friends. Fraternization, you know."

  I'm not sure I know what he means, but he’s positively beaming. The grin he wears is so toothy and white, it makes me grin, too. Eli reminds me of Adrienne a little bit. She's good at making friends.

  "I'm Cassidy," I say. It can't hurt to say it, I realize. I am Cassidy Hartinger, after all. Even if there's more than one of me, I'm still me. I'm still the same person I always was.

  "Pretty," Eli says. I think he means my name, but I wonder if he might mean me, too. Nars used to call me pretty, but he might not have known better. What does it mean to be pretty here, to be pretty on the outside, to be pretty to a stranger?

  I haven't been a stranger to anyone since I was six years old. I wonder how I hold up when Eli looks at me. I wonder what Nathan thought when he saw me for the first time in the bunker. I remember how Adrienne swooned and called him handsome, how my stomach flipped over when he squeezed my hand. We knew he was good looking straight away.

  Something shakes the table. It's a pair of boots, much smaller than the ones I'm wearing. They appear suddenly in front of me, almost landing on my breakfast tray.

  I look up. Nathan is standing beside me. I feel my cheeks flush. I wonder what I looked like, sleeping beside him last night. Did I drool? Did I talk in my sleep?

  He looks at me and then at Eli. His face was so soft last night while he was dreaming, but all of his features are hard now, as unyielding as slate. "These should fit you better," he says.

  "Oh," I say. I don't want to say it. I want to say something smart, something that will make last night seem like nothing. My mind draws a blank. I could say No thank you, I think, but I'm sick of shuffling around in shoes that are much too large for my feet.

  "Results usually come in around noon," Nathan says. "Moreau will want to see you." And he leaves.

  "Transporters,” Eli says.

  "He's not always like that," I say. I suppose it’s true. Sometimes, he’s almost silly, he’s almost sweet.

  I have the boots in my lap now. I'm holding onto them with a tenderness, like I could ruin them somehow.

  "Why don't you put them on?" Eli says.

  “Not here,” I say. “Not in front of everyone.”

  “Who’s watching?”

  He shrugs his shoulders. He’s so jovial, grinning like a monkey from ear to ear. I want to refuse him, but I find myself tugging at the knots in my laces. I don’t know why it should bother me to take off my shoes in front of Eli. It’s not like he’s asked me to take off anything else.

  I take my time. I know I'm being silly, but my cheeks are hot when I pull off my boots. I don't like the way Eli's watching me, but I can't tell him to stop. He didn't have to come and sit with me. I think I owe him some pleasantness because he has.

  My eyes dart after Nathan. He's watching me, too. His gaze drops to his tray when he catches me staring.

  I lace up my new boots. I'm surprised they fit so well.

  "Big difference?" Eli says.

  I nod. He smiles. I’m surprised to find myself smiling, too.

  I look for Nathan again, but he’s not watching me anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I’m in no hurry to pay a visit to Moreau. I take my time eating breakfast. Eli talks my ear off and I let him.

  I don't have much on my tray. I took the things that I was used to, apple slices and diced potatoes and grits. Eli goads me back to the buffet line a
nd points out all of the things that he says I should try, scrambled eggs and crispy bacon strips and croissants dripping with a sticky, sweet paste.

  I remember my mother fixing breakfast for me when I was small, before the mists came down, before the air raid began. I remember the checkered apron she’d wear, how the fat in her frying pan would sizzle and pop, how she’d slather everything with butter and salt. How she’d make a big plate for me and my father on Sundays. How the three of us would nibble on leftovers clear into the afternoon.

  We never had meat to eat back in the bunker. I don’t think I like the taste of it now, the heavy feeling that sits on my stomach after I’ve swallowed it down, the slimy beads of grease that linger on my tongue. Eli watches me eat with such an eagerness; I don’t have the heart to tell him how his selections repulse me. I’m glad when my breakfast tray is finally empty. I hope he won’t expect me to eat this way at every meal. That is, if he decides to sit with me again.

  I don't think Nathan is watching me anymore, but he must be. When I stand up and head for the cafeteria doors, he stands up, too. He follows me out. "You ready?" he says.

  "I’ll walk her to the medic," Eli says. "I'm headed that way anyway."

  Nathan sets his jaw. His brow is as rigid as stone. He talks through his teeth the way he did in the file closet when he was angry with me. “I’ll tag along, if you don’t mind,” he says, but it doesn’t sound like a request. And then he says, “Sir,” like it’s an afterthought. Like Eli is someone to scoff at.

  I wonder if I should hit him now, if the offer still stands, if I should sock him right in the arm. He’s being ridiculous. At least Eli doesn't seem to mind.

  We arrive at the medic, but we aren’t the only one’s there. There’s a long line wrapped around the corner, and it begins at Moreau’s door. Eli stands at the end of it and I stand with him.

  Nathan remains a foot apart from us. He studies the line with a furrowed brow. I see his lips move like he might be counting how many people are lined up in front of us.