by Lisa Jade
But then Sparrow steps up behind me, her hand clasping mine, and her expression is so gentle that it almost causes the tears to flow. I always forget that this is the important part of her. Not the strength or the swiftness, but the kindness.
“You guys go ahead,” she says, “We’ll catch up.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” Kicker replies, “right Boss?”
Adam doesn’t reply; he continues to march through the ruins, kicking things out of his path as he goes. I’ve never seen him this angry before, this furious. And while I don’t blame him for his feelings, I’m too preoccupied with my own to care.
The men follow, after making Sparrow promise we’ll catch up soon, and the moment they’re gone from my sight I feel her arms around me. She pulls me close and I can feel her breath catch in her throat, teary, emotional.
“Thanks heavens you’re alright.”
I don’t hug her back. It’s not that I don’t want to – seeking consolation in her arms would feel great right now, and the comfort of her words would soothe my pain. But I don’t deserve to be soothed. I deserve to be left here in the city, unarmed and alone, to die. Just like Adam said.
She pulls away now, lifting my chin to examine my throat. She touches it and winces, clearly unsure of what to think.
“You’ve got some nasty bruises,” she says, “now I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure you’ll live.”
I touch my neck – I can feel pain akin to bruises blossoming across the skin. Without seeing them I don’t know how bad they are, but I can breathe again and I don’t feel like I’m going to black out, so I assume they’re not too serious.
She places her hands on my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. I never noticed before, but her eyes are like her hair – they look black, but on closer inspection are a dark brown, warm and soft.
“I think you know why he’s angry,” she says, “and I think you can understand. But he’s not… mad. His anger comes from concern, because he thought you were hurt and he was scared you might get killed. He feels the same concern for all of us, and sometimes it comes out as anger. The rest of us aren’t mad, but you know, we share the same concern. We’re all teammates, comrades. We don’t want each other to be hurt and we certainly don’t want to lose anyone.”
Her voice is pleading now, her eyes sad.
“Promise you won’t be so reckless again. It’s not down to you to protect all of us – we’re a team, remember? We protect each other.”
I wish I could believe her. I meet her eyes and wish with all my being that I agreed, and that I could step back and let them protect me. But I can’t. Call it selfish or cowardly or arrogant, but I just can’t do it. Back at Street I realised that I don’t need to be a hero to prove myself and I don’t need to be limited because of what people think. I also realised that I’m stronger than I ever thought possible, emotionally, physically, mentally. I’ve done things I’ve never done, learned and seen and felt things I never imagined possible. I’ve grown up. I don’t care about being respected any more, just about being strong. And letting them protect me isn’t being strong. It’s being exactly what they expect of me.
Still, I nod, and feign a smile. She returns it, petting my hair for a moment, and then leads me away.
Chapter Twenty-Four
It’s several more hours until we stop to make camp, and in that time not one of them has said a word. We’ve walked in silence for so long, not a one of us wanting to break it for fear of reprimand.
But now we stop, and someone lights a campfire, but I don’t see or care who. I pace the edges of the clearing, my teeth on edge, my nerves frazzled. Every noise makes me jump, and though I hold my launcher aloft and ready to fire I still find myself fingering the knife that’s now strapped back to my thigh. I can feel it; zaps of electricity, still coursing through me. It makes my muscles twitch and my nerves jump, and every so often I cringe a little from the pain.
Brick steps up next to me, and his eyes track the length of my body, his lips pursed.
“A-are you alright?”
I don’t react – or perhaps I do – I don’t know. My senses are on high alert, my skin hurting, my body overtired and full of mock energy. I buzz. He narrows his eyes, then points to the campfire.
“Go rest up.”
I shake my head, perhaps a little too hard, and pain shudders through my neck. What’s wrong with me? Why do I feel so shaken? My fingertips shiver in the cold and I ache for relief.
He guides me back, sitting me down near the fire in a silent, almost forceful manner. The others stare at me as he puts me next to Adam.
“I’ll be on watch,” Brick says, cocking his launcher. The others nod but something sends chills through me, and it’s not due to the night that’s already turned pitch black around us.
“You kids look great,” Nicholas says, and I realise he’s wrapped up in a thick blanket near the fire, leaning against Kicker’s legs. I stare at him, his wizened eyes and haggard face, and I wonder how old he really is. He could be fifty. Sixty. Or a hell of a lot younger.
“I just can’t believe you’re alive after all this time,” Kicker says, grinning his toothy grin, “when we lost you that day I thought for sure you were a goner.”
“Can’t take me down that easily, kid. I’m too tough for that.”
I resist the urge to sigh, remembering the state he was in when I first found him. Skinny and bony and depressed, refusing to eat unless I forced it down his protesting throat. But now we’re with the others he seems so different, confident and clear, his personality so opposite to his frail form and previously tragic demeanour. It’s a refreshing change, and I can’t help but smile at it.
“So,” asks Kicker, leaning forward, “what was it like there?”
He flits from me to Nicholas and I roll my eyes.
“Sorry. It’s not like I expect you to tell me.”
I feign a chuckle, then, because it’s been so long since I last heard his silliness, his constant funny yet mildly insulting references to my muteness. I feel like he’s the only one at Fairground who’s never been afraid to mention it. The only one who’s not scared to offend.
“It isn’t great,” Nicholas tells him, “I was there almost a year and spent most of it sick.”
Kicker raises an eyebrow.
“You did? How come?”
“Ahh, it was just one of those things. Not the best sanitation there. Not a great deal of food but plenty of alcohol. They focus more on parties than anything.”
I feel a stab of betrayal at that. That’s not true. That’s not true at all. He wasn’t sick, he was depressed, and far from sending him away when he proved useless to them, they held him, fed and watered him, cared for him when nobody else in the damn city would have. Their parties are celebrations, ways for them to be grateful for all they have, even if what they have is very little. I know they’re not my people, but I can’t help feeling he’s doing them a disservice.
“Not the most organised place, either,” he continues, “that leader, Max? He’s just a kid. No idea how he became their boss but he isn’t very good. The others constantly talk about how terrible he is.”
The feeling comes again, but this time it’s deeper. Max isn’t a bad leader. He inherited a role he wasn’t right for and fights every day to earn their approval and follow in his father and brother’s footsteps.
“Bit of a weirdo too,” he presses on, “not all there, if you get my drift. I don’t know if he’s naïve or just stupid, but his little empire’s going to fall apart any day now, and he kind of deserves it.”
That’s it. I stand up suddenly, anger filling my chest, and the others fall silent and stare at me. This is wrong. Max isn’t stupid, or weak, or weird. Street isn’t dirty or shallow or trashy. How could Nicholas – after taking advantage of their kindness for nearly a year – spread such vicious lies? The very people who took him in and saved him and now he badmouths them to people to make himself look better. The anger twists in my
stomach and I scowl at him.
“What’s wrong?” asks Sparrow, and I can hear the caution in her voice. She’s warning me, begging me not to make a scene, not to kick off. Her tone is a gentle reminder that I’m already on thin ice.
I force my expression to be neutral, and then step back and into the corner. There, despite their stunned staring, I lie down in the rubble and close my eyes. In the past I’ve cared so much whether anyone saw me sleeping, worried that I might have nightmares or pull strange faces or kick in my dreams. But now I don’t care. I’m past caring.
I’m awake with the sun, and for a brief moment I think I’m back at Street. The rubble beneath my back feels like concrete in my exhausted state, and the sound of gentle breathing around me reminds me of the hospital. I briefly wonder who I’ll be treating today, or if I’ll be guarding the wall, or maybe if I’m going into the city with Max, Thomas, and Marcus.
But then I shift a little, and a tremendous pain snakes through my neck. I’m upright in an instant, wincing at the pain, clutching at my aching throat. Somehow, it feels worse, much worse, than it did yesterday. It feels swollen and painful and makes it a little harder to breathe.
“Morning.”
I look up to see Brick, Kicker and Adam around what remains of the fire. In the corner is a huddled mass of cloth that I can only assume is Nicholas. He shifts a little and I’m reminded of last night, that burning anger I felt towards him, that blind hurt at what he said about Max and Street.
At the thought of Max, my chest aches. I haven’t seen him in a day – since we met, we’ve never been more than a mile apart, and never for longer than a few hours. I’ve grown so used to him being there that now, realising this, his lack of presence is clear. Everyone packs up to go, and I can see all kinds of expressions. Kicker says something and Brick laughs, and Adam looks on, his face unreadable. Sparrow crouches down next to me and offers me a piece of bread, which I take, and I notice her warm smile. But something’s missing.
Where is Max’s lopsided grin? Where’s the way he’d so casually lean over, placing his face so close to mine that it left me unnerved? And Minni, too, where’s she? The way she would wake me up with a swift kick to the ribs rather than being sweet or gentle, and how that clashed so terribly with her appearance? I miss them both so much that my throat aches.
“Let’s go,” says Adam, and I feel a pang of sadness at the thought of going further away from Street. A small part of me wishes I had stayed there, refused to go back – at least then Adam might not hate me, and the others might not think I’ve changed. I’d still be among friends, but it’d be happier, because I chose them.
I tuck the thought away, not wanting to linger on my decision. What’s done is done, and I can’t change it any more than I can fix Adam’s anger toward me. I convinced myself I belonged at Fairground and now I need to see it through, and fight for it myself.
This time Sparrow takes Nicholas, and I find myself holding back, following them to bring up the rear. I want to be there in case something happens, ready to jump in at a moment’s notice. My body aches, my neck especially, but my anger has subsided now, shrunk to a dull misery that seems to permeate my very being. Often I feel on the verge of tears, my cheeks hot, my eyes burning. Other times I feel numb, empty, like nothing matters.
We encounter a few more bots on the way, but I don’t try to fight them. Instead I step in front of Sparrow and Nicholas, raising my weapon and backing up, ready to defend them. But nothing threatens us, not really, and as I watch the others fighting I feel that guilt again, twisting in my side like a knife. I want to help; I need to. But I hold back, my hands clenched around my launcher, my teeth sinking into my lip so hard I draw blood. Being at Fairground has retrained my reflexes – a movement now simply means attack, not stopping and waiting for an opportune moment. I’ve got into the habit of using a knife or club rather than a launcher, and though I find comfort in its smooth, sleek design and reassuring weight, some small part of me feels that I would rather go up against a bot bare handed than fire it.
Nobody speaks. It’s an awkward silence, which I initially put down to Adam’s anger at me. It’s still there today, burning in his eyes. I can’t tell for certain, but it could even be stronger today than it was before. He avoids my eyes, seemingly at any cost, and I spy his hands clenching against his launcher.
But as we near Fairground, and the streets finally start to look familiar again, the silence changes. It becomes less of a death march through the ruins and far more about getting home. Nicholas seems to come to life as he recognises the area, and the others exchange delighted looks. I forgot that they haven’t been back here for a few days, either. These roads, which are so familiar to them, so ingrained into their memories, seem to fill them with joy.
And despite my resistance, and my terrible mood, I can’t help but feel infected by their excitement. I’m going back.
Suddenly my stomach knots. Oh god. What do I do now? When we get back in, what do I do? Do I go and find Dr Newton, or Bree? Do I stay put with the Scouts for a while? Or do I simply climb up to the guard tower and sit on watch, pretending that this whole thing never happened?
And when I do see the others, what should I do? I fear I might burst into tears, which would be a sign of weakness. Ideally I could just walk in, act like nothing ever changed. Throw on my scrubs and get to work organising the supplies in the infirmary. That’s what I’ve wanted to do, right? Slot right back into my old life without a moment’s hesitation.
But then, why does the idea sicken me? I can’t help it; I’ve been on this amazing adventure, met these wonderful people, and I feel I’d be doing something wrong to pretend it never happened. It changed me, whether I like it or not. I’m stronger now, better, faster. My confidence is real now, not just faked by a short temper and bravado. For the millionth time that tiny, unreasonable voice in my head tells me that they might not like the new me, but I can’t quash the fear the same way I always have. I’ve seen it myself – it’s the new me that took on four bots and won. It’s the new me who stood to try and defend the people of Street. These things, which I thought were good, aren’t seen that way by the others. What if I’m more of an outcast now than I was before, forgotten and dismissed, my presence forever ignored?
I shake my head, trying to free it of the eternal rhetorical questions. There’s no point in worrying about this. I can’t do anything to fix it.
“There it is.”
I look up – in the hazy afternoon sun, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but then a shadow takes form and I gasp.
Fairground.
I’ve seen Fairground a million times before, from inside and out, from all the way across the city, but there’s something about seeing it now, looming over the hill, all high fences and sturdy walls, that sends a rush of emotion through me. My hands shake, and I bring them to my mouth to try and hold back the gasping.
Home. It’s home.
Chapter Twenty-Five
We all but sprint to the gate at Fairground, each of us breathless. Our launchers bounce on our backs, and I can feel it bruising my spine, but just like the others I simply don’t care. My throat feels dry and desperate; yearning fills my body, so akin to that first day in Street, when I sobbed and wished that I could just be back here.
In front of me, Nicholas pulls away from Sparrow. He shudders for a moment, his legs barely able to hold his weight, and then manages to right himself. He draws himself up to full height, puffing out his chest. He still seems small and frail to me, but in a way I can see why he wouldn’t want to be carried over the threshold. He wants to return on his own feet, by his own power, at least some remnant of the man he used to be.
Once we get within sight of the gate, I hear those on the guard towers cry out. A moment later the bells start, pealing across the courtyard and the whole city. The sound fills my heart like music, a noise so loud and awful and familiar that I don’t know how I ever lived without it.
“They’r
e back!” someone cries from inside the gate. A few people cheer, and briefly my face feels hot. I wonder how much they had to fight to come after me. Something tells me that not everyone would feel okay with them risking their lives for me. I feel another tiny rush of gratitude, followed by another, larger pang of guilt.
Finally, the gates creak open ahead of us, and the sound, just like the bells, fills me with nostalgia. I feel like I’ve been gone for years, like Nicholas, feeling lost and alone and like I’d never find my way home. I glance at him; he’s already in tears, his strong persona broken by his long-awaited return.
Beyond the gates, I see people waiting. Some of them wave, jump, cheer, and I realise how great of a success this is for us. Nobody who’s been lost in the city has ever found their way back, least of all two people missing for a long time. This is a first in our history.
Then, as my eyes scan the crowd, I see them. Dr Newton and Bree, standing side by side, his arm around her. I spot them easily; even in a crowd Dr Newton demands respect, his very presence grounding and firm. Bree’s eyes are the brightest I’ve ever seen them.
We step over the line and suddenly the spell is broken. I throw my pack and launcher aside and suddenly I’m running, darting through the crowd and barrelling headfirst into Dr Newton. He pauses, perhaps a bit stunned by the sudden affection, but after a moment his arms find me and I bury my face in his white coat. It’s been far too long.
Then, the tears come. I hadn’t wanted to cry, but I can’t help it once it starts. Hot saltwater streams down my face, and I find it hard to breathe, and my arms shudder against Dr Newton’s body. He simply pulls me closer, one hand entangling itself in my hair, and after a moment I hear his voice. I don’t hear the words – they’re sweet nothings – but they’re enough. I keep saying it in my head, over and over again, like I don’t quite believe it myself. I’m home. I’m home.