by Lisa Jade
I carry him down the stairs and out across Street. People look at us, their eyes filled with curiosity. For many of them, it’s the first time they’ve seen Nicholas up and on his feet. Their eyes follow us, but nobody says anything.
Max meets us just inside the wall, and his face falls when he sees Nicholas.
“Nicholas? What are you doing out of bed?”
“Ask mutie over here,” he replies, gesturing at me. Max stares at me, incredulous, but I simply smile. It might seem sudden, and perhaps he thinks it’s wrong of me, but ultimately this will help everyone. Nicholas will get better if he’s under Dr Newton’s care, and Street won’t have to give up so much for someone who’s weak and unwilling. Max watches for a moment longer, then waves to the others to open the gate.
We emerge into the fog of the city, Nicholas’ limbs wrapped around me for support. I stumble a little, unused to carrying people, but as I see the Scouts coming closer I can’t help but smile.
Adam steps forward, into our line of sight. He watches us, and then his eyes slide over Nicholas’ face. He blinks, his face overtaken by a look of recognition.
“N-Nick?”
Sparrow and the others step forward too, peering into the mist. One by one their faces fall, their jaws dropping as they see the drawn and aged face of someone they thought long dead.
Beside me, Nicholas pushes away. He stands unsteadily, and his expression changes into something I’ve never seen before. He steps forward, stumbles, and Adam reaches out instinctively to catch him. For a moment the two stand silent, one man holding up the other, and their gaze holds more than any of the stories he’s told me. My heart hammers in my chest. This is the reunion of two comrades from years past. The tale of someone who thought their friend was dead, and the story of someone who never thought they would see a friend again. Something tightens in my throat, a feeling reminiscent of the yearning and admiration I always felt for the Scouts.
Adam suddenly laughs, pulling the older man into a one-armed hug. Nicholas hesitates, perhaps unused to the contact, but then his face fills with tears and he clutches to Adam’s clothes, his body racked with sobs.
“I had no idea you were alive. I had no idea you were here,” Adam murmurs, “if I had, I would have come for you.”
Nicholas simply whines in response, and Adam’s face sinks, his guilt apparent.
“I am so sorry I didn’t come for you. We’re all so…”
But Nicholas pulls away, straightens up, and wipes away the tears forming in the crinkles around his eyes.
“It’s okay. I understand.”
He says that, but in his face I see nothing but relief. For months, maybe years, he’s thought that he was abandoned by Fairground. He’s believed with all of his heart that for some reason or another, he was deemed not worth rescuing and left to die out here in the wastes. To hear Adam’s apology, to see his remorseful face even for a moment, is so precious to him. His hands tremble now, and behind him I can see the other Scouts smiling at each other. Adam’s eyes shine with unshed tears.
“I suppose I should thank that Max guy,” he says, “looks as though it was more than just one of our people he took in.”
“I can pass along the message,” Nicholas says, “when I go back.”
Adam’s eyes narrow.
“What are you talking about? You’re not going back.”
“I’m not?”
“Of course not. Nick, don’t you want to come home?”
The older man nods, his face contorted with barely-concealed desperation. Of course he wants to go home. It’s all he’s wanted ever since he left.
“Then it’s decided,” says Adam, “you’re coming with us.”
“A-are you sure? I’m not as fit as I was. I don’t know if I’ll be of any use.”
“You think that matters?” Sparrow pipes up, “well, it doesn’t. Fairground is your home.”
Something about that resonates with me. Fairground isn’t just Nicholas’ home, or the home of the Scouts. It’s my home, too. And just like Nicholas, no matter how long I spend here in Street I still belong in Fairground, amongst my friends. Right?
Something stirs a little in me, and I realise that I’m not as certain as he is. I still want to go home, but I feel as though I’m leaving a part of me here in Street.
The walk out of Street is harder than I ever thought possible. The fog has lessened somewhat, so I can see all around me, and a part of me wishes I couldn’t. I can feel their eyes on me as they line the walls. Their expressions are mixed, from soft smiles to mild anger to blatant indifference. I hoist my bag over one shoulder and hook my launcher over the other. Something about the weight on my back feels strange, alien, as though I’ve never done it before. My feet feel heavier, my throat tight. Suddenly all of the tiny cuts and bruises and aches I’ve accumulated since I’ve been here start to hurt, my whole body throbbing with something akin to fear. I feel like I’ve been running on autopilot for the past few weeks and now it’s all come to a head and my body is in overdrive.
I head towards the wall, but someone hooks their hand around my pack, pulling me backward. I whip round to see Minni standing behind me, her face unreadable. She stands with her feet together, her toes pointing inwards. She wraps her hands behind her back, and I notice for the first time in a while how very tiny she is, despite her loudness and strength of mind. Somehow, when she’s yelling at you or laughing with you, she seems so much bigger.
“You’re going, then,” she says, pouting. I hesitate for a moment, then nod.
“You know you don’t have to. It’s not too late to change your mind.”
I meet her eyes, and for a moment I simply watch her. Minni. Short, angry Minni, who greeted me with a scowl and hated me from the start. Who stepped up to me in the hospital with a growl, ready to fight me if she needed to. Who softened over time, and began to laugh. Who cried at the memory of her family and introduced me to things I’d never known. I’ll miss her. Her intelligence, her throaty laugh. How she always steps up to the plate, even if she knows she can’t deal with what’s coming. The way her eyes light up when she writes in her journal and speaks about the history of the place, and her ultimate dream of one day being able to carry out her plan.
I reach out a hand, but then her expression changes and I pull back, unsure. Perhaps I’m wrong. Though I’ve grown to care for her, she might still see me as the suspicious stranger I once was. She might still think I’m a danger.
But then she reaches behind her, pulling something from her bag. I recognise it immediately; her precious journal, the one in which she wrote the history of Street and her plans for the potential rescue of the city. She presses it into my hands.
“Take this.”
I shake my head and try to pass it back, but she pushes it away.
“I mean it. Listen, Street won’t last forever. A generation or two, perhaps, but eventually we’re going to die out. Besides, nobody else here even bothers to read. There’s no point having this here if nobody will ever see it.”
Then her face grows dark, and she stares up at me.
“And my plan… I think it could work. Some day. With enough people. But Street don’t have enough. I’m willing to bet your place doesn’t, either. But your group stands a chance at one day growing large enough to do this. In a hundred years, maybe, I don’t know. But it’s possible. You’re the best chance we’ve got. The best chance we have to be remembered.”
I meet her eyes, and in them I see a lifetime of hope. My throat aches; how many times must she have clutched the journal to her chest, closing her eyes and wishing of a world where her plan stood a chance? How many times has she cried thinking that it’ll never happen?
I pull the book against myself and smile. Her face falters for a moment, perhaps sad to be handing over something that’s been so vital to her, but then she steps back, a look of relief on her face.
“Good. I know you’ll keep it safe.”
I reach out again, hesitate,
and pull my HT from my belt. I lift it up to my face, gently stroking the plastic surface. For the past two months, this has been my only link to home, my only portal to sanity. Like Minni and her journal this has kept me centred, focussed, and calmed my fears. Even now I feel an attachment to it, but it’s only a fraction of what Minni is giving up.
I can’t bear to part with her forever. I give a soft smile and pass it to her. She takes it with unsteady hands, her expression unsure.
“Why are you giving me this?”
I simply point at the button and mime speaking. If she keeps this, we can communicate. Not just me and her, but all of Street and all of Fairground. This HT, as important as it is to me, will serve a better role as a bond between our settlements. Who knows, this might not be goodbye forever.
She watches me for a moment, then tucks it away in her pocket. Her eyes still seem a little troubled, and I reach out, pulling her into a hug. The moment is warm and comforting, and there’s something of home about the motion. She seems to bite back on something, but then loops her arm around my shoulder. I’m reminded for the second time today just how tiny she is, so fragile and delicate under my newly formed muscle. If I squeezed too hard I could break her.
Minni buries her face in the hollow of my neck and I hear her voice, quiet, mumbled.
“Don’t die out there, okay? Be safe.”
I simply hold tighter, hoping it’s enough to explain to her how I feel. She’s a friend; like Bree, like Sparrow. My heart hurts at the thought of leaving her behind.
But then we break apart, and the moment is over.
“You’d best head out. They’re waiting for you.”
I nod, and for the first time I can feel something hot pricking the back of my eyes. I take a deep breath and turn away, trying not to think about it. I can’t cry now. I’ve spent so long trying to be stronger, trying to prove myself. Breaking down now would be a disaster.
I’ve got to show the Scouts that I’m strong now.
We stand out in the mist, the wall of Street looming behind us. I have a pack thrown over one shoulder, and my launcher looped across my back. My pockets are full of unused launchers and I can feel my knife, now securely strapped to my thigh. The others watch me, their eyes wistful, happy in the fact that we can all finally go home.
I spy Adam staring at me and raise an eyebrow – but he simply coughs and looks away.
“I suppose we’d best get going,” he says, “got everything?”
I nod; but his eyes narrow.
“Where’s your HT?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Sparrow interjects, “she probably left it here so we could stay in touch.”
I nod, and although Adam’s face contorts he seems to let it go. But as he turns away, I spy him rubbing a thumb over the HT on his own belt.
A handful of people stand around the gate, those above it poised with their guns. In the small group I see Minni, Thomas, Marcus, and Max. My eyes skirt over Max’s face and my heart hammers in my chest, unsure, unnerved. Memories flash of that evening on the roof, how we kissed. My surprise and terror and pleasure. Even now his expression is the same, calm and collected, with a hint of something brewing underneath.
The Scouts turn away but I stay frozen, my eyes locked on his. His face is emotionless, calm. He’s giving me the choice.
“Mouse? Come on, we’re going.”
I shift a little; and the movement sends jolts up my spine. I can’t deal with it a moment longer. I race forward, all but sprinting across the misty clearing. I drop my launcher and pack onto the ground, and though I hear Adam calling me back, I don’t stop.
When I reach Max I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him close. My lips find his and this time I know why. This time I don’t have to question it. Tears fill my eyes and he pulls me closer; we both know how this ends. I have to go home. I have no choice. But a little bit of me belongs here. A little part of me belongs with him. I inhale his scent – musty and warm and homely. The touch of his soft curls, the feel of his skin, firm from the muscles that lie beneath it. The sound of his breathing. I take it all in, soaking it into my memory. I want to remember this moment forever. I want to remember him.
And then the moment is gone. I pull away, and without another word he releases me. I gather my things and wrap them round my shoulders, my heart hurting, and head out. I catch up with the others, ignoring their glances, and join them.
I stop and look back only once; to get my last view of Street and the friends I made there. People who will forget me as time goes by, and I’ll become nothing more than a vague dream to them, a stranger who stayed a while before moving on. My face grows hot and I think I might cry – but instead I smile and give a small wave. I don’t know if they can see me, but it doesn’t matter.
As I turn away my gut clenches, but I know this is the right choice. I belong at Fairground. And now, finally, I’m going back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
We walk through the city, Street behind us, Fairground ahead. Kicker carries Nicholas at the back, his shoulders straining a little. I raise a hand as if to offer help, but he brushes it away and smirks.
“M’Alright. Just make sure you’re okay.”
As he speaks his expression changes, and he looks pained. I blink at him. I almost forgot. They got hurt back then. This is the first time they’ve left Fairground since then. No wonder they’re a little unsure on their feet.
“Which way?” Adam asks. Sparrow turns her head a little, looking this way and that, seemingly unnerved by the strange roads and the half-faded mist. I hesitate for a moment, then point into the distance. She eyes me carefully.
“How do you know?”
I incline my head a little and shoot her a reassuring glance. I know these streets. I know every turn and shadow like the back of my hand, and that’s why I can stand unarmed here. There’s little danger this close to the wall. Sparrow pauses, biting on her lip, but then seems to shrug it off.
“Okay then. We’ll go your way.”
She leads off, and for a moment, I feel the others’ eyes on me. They’re staring me down, tracing my form, trying to figure out what’s different and what exactly that means. I ignore them. Once we get back it will all go back to normal and we can put this behind us.
As we walk, I realise with a start that Adam isn’t leading. He remains at the forefront of the group, his launcher poised, but he’s not the one guiding us. Something vaguely registers in my head, a memory from what seems to be so long ago.
That’s right. They were injured. My eyes, having grown used to blustering through, are finally noticing the tiny details I didn’t before. Sparrow chews on her lip nervously, and she’s holding her launcher in her left hand. It looks odd, wrong. Kicker and Brick seem okay, though I can see Brick’s scars even through his thin shirt.
Adam, on the other hand, seems a little hesitant. His actions are slower, more resolute, as though he’s more fearful than usual. It occurs to me that I may not have been the only one who was left scarred by what happened; though while I wept, Adam had the good sense to let his second-in-command take charge for a while. It’s a sensible choice, though why he felt the need to come at all is beyond me.
The formation is gone, too. I recall the first time we came out here, how Adam had ordered us into a line, strictly leading, never letting up. But now, we walk more casually. Our mission has changed – no longer needing to venture into new realms and face unknown dangers, only wanting to get back home. I picture the infirmary, the cold steel, the tattered beds. The bunkers. The hole in the ceiling, rusted away. The feel of rain on a cold night. The thirst in my throat is so strong that it threatens to force its way out in a sob. I bite back hard and keep walking.
It’s not long before we hear a rustling. A quiet, muted sound, like an insect scrambling against the palm of a hand. The others hesitate; but instinct kicks in. I pull out my knife and step toward the sound, the blade held high near my face.
&
nbsp; “What are you doing?” Adam hisses, but I wave my hand at him and he falls silent. A few moments later he shuffles up behind me, launcher raised, eyes flitting from me to the source of the sound and back again. I can feel it. His anxiety, his doubt. His fear and confusion. I wonder for a moment if I should leave it, but then the sound comes again and I act on instinct.
The bot is only small, a scurrying thing that reminds me of a rat. It climbs over a piece of twisted metal, lifting its tiny head and staring at me. In the moment it takes to realise I’m a threat, I’m on it. I pin it with one knee and lift the knife overhead, bringing it down hard enough to sever the inner workings of the machine. It lets out a high pitched squeal as I cut it open, gasping a little in the puff of black smoke it emits.
I step back, lifting the bot by its broken tail, and toss it aside. As much as I don’t want to get into a big fight right now, a small part of me can’t help but be disappointed. If I have to fight something, at least make it a challenge.
I rejoin the group and we continue to walk, though I can feel their eyes on me. Watching, waiting. Like they expect me to snap at any moment. After a couple of hours my frustration builds; we’re not moving very quickly. My legs ache with the repetition of small steps. I need to run, stretch, jump. But then I glance back at Nicholas and guilt squirms in my chest. I need to be kinder. They all wince and hesitate as we move. We can’t get into a fight right now. They’re simply too weak.
Kicker sees me looking and stops, leaning down to lower Nicholas to the ground.
“We should stop for a bit,” he tells us, “think this guy needs a break.”
Nicholas shakes his head, but his face tells a different story. He looks tired, weak, like the slightest breeze might blow him down. I glance at Kicker – he doesn’t look great either. I remember Dr Newton mentioning that he’d been knocked unconscious in the fight. Even now he seems to struggle a little, more breathless, less steady on his feet. I decide that when it’s time to move on, I’ll take Nicholas myself, regardless of their objections.