“You went up onto the roof, didn’t you? When you left me?”
He nods, still looking away.
“Were you going to jump?”
He falls slowly forward again, this time cradling his head on the floor in the crook of his right elbow. His left hand inches forward until his gloved fingertips barely touch my foot. I don’t move it away. I feel a strange connection to him, knowing that suicide has been on his mind too. I’m not sure I realized how much it’s been on my mind until a few seconds ago.
“I don’t think we should be around each other anymore.”
He shakes his head.
“I have to get back to my people, back to my friends somehow.”
He nods slowly.
Squeezing my eyes shut doesn’t make it any harder to see the reality of my situation, of our situation. As much as we need to be rid of each other, it’s not to be. Not for a while anyway.
“I don’t think I can find my way back alone. It’s too far.”
A long time passes before he nods again, his head still cradled in his arm.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to ask of anyone. Harder than asking Xander to help us put Tucker’s body in the ground.
“Will you come with me?”
He nods right away this time and sighs a long, growling sigh.
“It’s a long way. More than two hundred miles.”
He keeps nodding, but clenches the fingers away from my foot.
We sit there until I start to tremble from the cold. The sun has dipped well below the horizon by this time, and the room is dark but for the lingering twilight.
“August . . .”
He stands quickly, perfunctorily, and glancing across the room and through the door, leans down and lifts me easily into his arms. Since I don’t struggle, he’s able to hold me, like a groom holds a bride, and carry me down the long, dark hallway. Glass crunches under his feet as he walks.
He tucks me into the sofa, folding blankets around me, always his face turned away. He doesn’t want to see me. As he finishes, I take hold of one of his hands, whispering, like I’m sharing a secret.
“There’s a place, a time maybe, or a universe, where we can be friends, right?”
He makes his sign for “pretty” then. I’m not sure why. And nods.
Later, in the dark, I hear him sweeping up the broken glass.
AUGUST
Friends.
Not in this world though. Not in this universe, somewhere else. But that’s enough, I suppose. It’s more than I deserve after frightening her so much.
When the sun rises, I have a surprise for her. It wasn’t that hard to manage, and I finally figured out how to give her something that I’m sure she’ll love, without having to steal it from a dead human. I nudge her sleeping form. As she stirs, I move back. I know she doesn’t like me touching her.
“Hello,” she says, opening her eyes. She sits up a little and looks around, out the window. “Nice day for a hike, huh?”
I nod, the happy feeling in my mind making it easy to focus. I make her name sign.
Raven.
“Yes?” she says with a smile. Ah, she’s beautiful.
I gesture, standing up and stepping backward.
Follow, I sign. She seems to understand. With the blanket still wrapped around her, she follows me down the hallway to the bathroom. I hold the door open for her. Scented steam wafts out.
“Is that . . . hot water? A hot bath?”
I nod. I’m starting to feel a little dizzy.
“Wow. August. I don’t know what to say. How did you do this? It’s amazing. . . .”
She’s smiling so brightly now that it almost hurts to look at her. This is the happiness I have been trying for all along. Sweet Dandelion with a smile on her face. It’s too much to bear. I turn away, reaching for the wall with my left hand.
“Are you okay?”
Good. Happy. You?
“Very happy, thank you. I’m going to have my bath now.”
I have forgotten how to move, I think. The smile fades from her face.
“You weren’t hoping to watch, were you?”
No. No. No. No. Sorry. No.
I step out and close the door behind me. Stupid August. That was really stupid.
By the time she emerges wrapped in her blanket, her hair in a towel, I have piled up new clothes on the sofa, things I searched all night for. I stand there and watch her reaction as she sees the offerings. Thermal underwear, a warm coat, insulated snow pants, waterproof mittens . . .
“Boots,” she says, and then, for some reason, she looks sad. She covers her mouth.
I’m not really sure what to do or say. I’m trying not to look at her bare thigh, which pokes out from the blanket. She smells phenomenal, exquisite, like a mixture of wildflowers and bees and her smell, but clean and new. So human, so much a part of her beautiful planet. I reach for her without even thinking. She takes a step back.
Sorry.
“No, it’s okay.” She sniffs. “Really, I’m fine. I’ll get dressed now. Can you . . . ?”
I step out the front door and close it behind me.
In the hallway I struggle not to imagine the blanket slipping off, her pulling the towel from her head, the golden dandelion wisps of her hair springing back and falling on her shoulders. The Dandelion in my thoughts is even more beautiful, if that’s possible.
My mind opens up and I see things, mysterious but familiar, that I know come from behind the door. The overpowering feeling of seeing her happy has cracked it open again, and I see others like me, hundreds of others lined up, something almost remembered about seeing myself in a mirror, a row of mirrors. My heart jumps in my chest as the door slides closed, the sliver of light disappearing.
I’m kneeling, my whole body leaning on the wall when she finds me.
“Are you all right?”
She is completely outfitted in the clothes I gathered for her, all black and dark gray because we will need to keep to the shadows—a tight black hat that pulls down and ties under her chin, a black scarf over her mouth and nose, a fitted waterproof jacket, mittens, the snow pants tied into the boots. She’s very small, compared to me, but if another glanced at her from far away, she would look like one of us. That’s the idea. If we are seen, and not looked at too closely, the others might ignore us. Seeing her makes me feel better about going out into the world.
I shake off the unease of the vision, and stand.
Good forever. You?
“Great. How do I look?”
You look like you’re getting ready to leave me, Dandelion. But she doesn’t know all the signs for that so I just sign good.
RAVEN
He suggests, instructs rather, that I nap in the afternoon.
Sleep now, please.
“I’m not that tired.”
Then he makes a long series of signs, most of which I’ve never seen before. But somehow the meaning is clear anyway.
Sleep now or you’ll be so tired I’ll have to carry you all night.
He laughs along with me, tipping his head back as I curl up on the sofa. When I wake, it’s dark and quiet in the apartment. Moonlight trickles in from the terrace as I sit up and pull on my boots, taking a last look around.
If this were another world and I were another person, this place would be a dream come true—a million-dollar penthouse in the clouds. In the dark it looks almost as though it could still be that, though I know by daylight it’s a bit of a mess. Clothes piled everywhere, food packets discarded on every surface. Neither one of us is very good at housework. He’s been throwing the dirty dishes over the railing, after all. We’ve basically trashed the place, like a couple of drug-addicted squatters. I feel a twinge of guilt then. What if the owner, the bald, single accountant, survived somehow, in a refugee camp or something? What if, when all this is over, he comes back and finds this mess? Maybe I should leave him a note. I wonder how I could explain what happened here.
“August?�
�� I say then, suddenly uncomfortable in the dark. There is no answer. He’ll be back soon, I tell myself. He always comes back, no matter what.
I feel my way down to the bathroom, light a candle, and use the toilet one last time. Digging through the drawers, I collect a few toothbrushes and some toothpaste. I grab some moist disinfecting wipe things and some sunscreen.
I can’t help but smile at the assortment of skin care, hair oil, and shampoo gifts August gathered over the weeks. I picture him scouring store shelves, taking any bottle or box with a model that looks vaguely like me. I have enough African hair products to last two apocalypses. I wish I could carry it all, but one jar of shea butter will have to do. For now I take some time to properly comb my hair, styling it into flat twists that will be comfortable under my hat. I figure I’ve earned a little pampering.
When I’m done, I slip everything into a small case and carry it back into the living room, tucking it into my backpack, which beyond all reason, I still have. It’s been through everything with me, barely the worse for wear. I shake my head, looking through the window at the stars.
“August?” I say to my reflection. It seems I’m still alone. I fuss with the zipper of my backpack—it’s always been a bit stubborn. When I look back up at my reflection, there is a large shadow behind me, just inside the door.
“Jesus! Don’t sneak up on me.”
A second later I know it’s not him.
I dive down to the floor, sliding my hand under the sofa, searching for the knife that I sliced into the upholstery. My hand feels around as the shadow moves toward me. I have only enough brain cells left over to realize this is a probably a girl Nahx before my hand closes over the knife. She gives the coffee table a shove with her foot, and it goes sliding across the room.
“AUGUST!” I scream, swinging my leg around. Her feet go out from under her, and she crashes down onto the floor in front of me. I have to make a split-second decision. I could jump her and try to lodge the knife into her neck, or I could run.
Ah, run or fight. Either way my chances are basically nil.
“AUGUST!”
The girl grabs my ankle, like the one in the stadium did. I pull my other leg back and kick her hard in the head. Maybe this one is not quite as robust, because this seems to stun her. Gripping the knife, I leap to my feet and vault over her, heading for the door.
Throwing the door open, I launch myself into the hallway. I catch a glimpse of the girl Nahx clambering to her feet before the door swings closed. It’s almost completely dark in the hall, and I don’t have a light. In fact, I have nothing but the knife in my hand. I don’t even have that fantastic coat on. All I’m wearing is the snow pants, boots, and a couple of sweaters. Damn it, where is August?!
I race down the hallway, dragging my hand along the wall to find my way. When I reach the stairwell, I glance back to see the Nahx emerging from the penthouse. Oh God, I’m dead, I think, and even have the logic to remember that Nahx don’t usually travel alone. Whoever this Nahx is, her partner, a boy, likely much larger and stronger than her, is somewhere nearby.
I leap down the first flight of stairs, my ankles jolting painfully as I land. Then I slide down the banister to the next level and fly out into the hallway. Thankfully, August has kicked open all the doors on this level too. I’ve never been more grateful for this particular one of his peculiarities. I run halfway down the hallway and, pulling the scarf from around my neck, toss it into an apartment. Then I double back and duck quickly behind the door of the first apartment. I’m not sure that the Nahx work by smell, but I’ve long suspected it. Maybe this will be how I find out once and for all.
The apartment I find myself in is similar to the penthouse, but smaller. I run to the kitchen first and take a second to arm myself with another sharp knife. Then I bolt down to the bedroom, into the en suite bathroom, and lock the door. I crawl into the bath and pull the sliding glass across.
And wait.
It’s not long before I hear the front door bang open. The irony is not lost on me. I’m cowering in a bathroom again, a knife in each hand. Shoot, maybe I can make this one fall in love with me too.
Fall in love? Did I just think that? Do I really think August is in love with me?
I hear metallic footsteps approaching down the hardwood floor in the hallway.
Of course August is in love with me. Of course he is. What the hell have I been thinking?
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I whisper, not sure whether I’m panicking about the girl Nahx who is coming down the hall to kill me, or the boy Nahx who is out there in the city somewhere, in love with me. How did I let either of these things happen?
The bedroom door opens. I make a rash and stupid decision. This girl will be expecting me to cower in hiding, like I did when August found me. But I’m going down slashing. As quietly as I can, I slide the glass door open and step out of the bath. A shaft of moonlight through a frosted window is all the illumination I have to work with, but it’s enough to guide me back to the bathroom door. I doubt I can slowly ease the lock back without making noise, so I decide to go for fast and loud. Click, bang! I throw the door open.
The Nahx is bent over, looking under the bed, her rifle lying on the coverlet. She barely has time to turn her head before I leap on her back, bounce down onto the bed, hooking one foot through the strap of her rifle, and then plow into the sliding door, my arms crossed in front of my face. The glass shatters around me, and I land on my knees, my face smacking into the railing. That will hurt tomorrow, I think, spinning back to see the Nahx climbing over the bed toward me.
She moves slowly at first. I’m sure she knows that the only way out for me is down, but I’m counting on her aggression taking over at the last minute. My other encounters with Nahx have all been about a slow stalk culminating in a high-speed hand-to-hand assault. I’ve lost track of where her rifle went. She doesn’t have it and I don’t have it—that’s all I know. She steps down off the bed. I crouch, gripping my knives. With a swish, she produces her own knife. The polished blade glints in the moonlight.
“Oh shit,” I say. I don’t really care if she knows how scared I am. Bravado is going to get me nowhere at this stage. I have one chance to end this in my favor. I try to frame my plan into words in my head. They should be very familiar words to me, martial arts prodigy that I am, but I can’t quite think. Glass crunches under the Nahx’s boots.
“AUGUST!?” I yell into the night.
Something about using my enemy’s momentum to do something. I have no earthly idea. She steps onto the terrace and, with lightning speed, lunges at me. Dropping the knives, I dive down and grab her ankles. She smacks into the railing as I roll onto my back, still holding her ankles, and get my feet under me. Then, knees trembling with effort, I press up. She gives a nasty growl as I flip her over the railing. One of her hands shoots out and grabs the metal as she falls. She swings down, hanging by one hand.
Damn it. This is like one of those movie scenes where the good guy stupidly helps the bad guy not fall to their death. The second it takes for me to think this is enough for us to both realize where the dart rifle is—right under the railing, right in front of her. She flings her knife away before her fingers close on the rifle. This time I don’t even think. I swing around and kick, neatly swiping her hand right off the rail. She lets out a wild hiss as she falls.
I look over the railing as she disappears below me, and something zips past my ear.
Bitch actually fired that dart rifle as she fell thirty-nine stories straight down.
I fall to my knees on the terrace, the snow pants cushioning the impact somewhat. Something trickles down my face. I reach up and find blood dripping from a cut on my eyebrow. I’m cold now too. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, I realize how bitingly cold it is out here. I have no hat or gloves or coat, either, and I’ve just smashed the window. I struggle to my feet. Leaning over the railing, I can see the Nahx girl splayed out, a dark speck on the road far below. I stumbl
e back into the apartment and sit on the bed.
Now I have to decide what to do. Do I go and look for August, risking running into this girl’s partner, or do I hide for a while and hope August can find me? Hide or fight? Hide or run? Hide or search?
And then there is the whole thing of August being in love with me. I’m not as sure of this as I was a few minutes ago, when death was so close. Now I think maybe that was just my brain twitching in the heat of the moment. He cares about me, cares about my survival, but love? I think it’s possible he loves me about as much as Topher does, which is to say not really at all. He feels an obligation to me, a perverse attraction, and a good deal of the old-fashioned hormonal confusion brought by grief and fear and being a boy. Yes, that makes more sense. Grief and fear turn us all into morons.
I wish Topher were here, so I could tell him that killing a Nahx doesn’t feel as good as we thought it would. In fact I feel sick to my stomach. She was wild and determined to dart me, for whatever reasons the Nahx have, but some part of her must have been like August, a thinking being. He can’t be the only one who thinks like he does. Did she like sunsets too? Snowflakes? Was she afraid of her own reflection? He was driven like her once too. He stormed into that trailer planning to kill whatever he found there, but changed his mind for some reason. If he could change his mind, then can’t they all? The strength of this revelation makes me dizzy. I lie back on the bed and stare at the dark ceiling. If I made August change his mind, then why can’t I . . . do something . . . you know? Save the world or something?
Why does my life have to be so complicated?
AUGUST
I encounter the boy on the fourth floor. He turns at the sounds of my footsteps on the stairs behind him. We can’t show emotion. We aren’t supposed to feel any emotion, but I can tell he’s surprised to see me.
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