Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set

by Bridget E. Baker

  Wait, what day is it? I mentally count.

  “Actually,” I say, “I’m seventeen tomorrow.”

  “Fan-freaking-tastic,” Job mutters.

  “Oh, relax.” Sam says.

  I hand him one of the other cans. Sam sits down on his chair next to me.

  “My intentions are completely honorable.” He leans over and whispers, “Happy Birthday, Ruby, a few hours early.”

  Job sips his mint tea and pulls a face. “This tastes strange.”

  No, no, no. They need to drink it. If I can’t get the sleeping pills in them, I’ll never sneak out without waking them up.

  “Too delicate for your girly constitution?” Sam smiles mockingly, but when he takes a swallow, he gags a little. “It’s got a real kick to it.” He turns to me. “How’s yours? Are we sure the sugar didn’t spoil? It’s kind of bitter.”

  “Sugar doesn’t spoil.” I sip mine, which tastes fine. That means it’s definitely the sleeping pills. I need another scapegoat. I make a face, too, and drink a little more anyway. “Maybe I didn’t rinse the cans well enough, but I was trying to conserve water. Mine tastes a little like chicken.”

  Job drinks more. “At least it’s warm. I think you’re right though, I can taste the chowder, which does not mix well with mint.”

  Sam shrugs. “It’s not awful, just a little bitter.”

  Thank goodness. They drink slowly, but they both finish.

  “Bedtime?” Sam asks, and my heart spins in a circle.

  “Sure.”

  “I think there may be some clothes you can change into upstairs,” Sam says. “In the bedroom at the top left. If you hear a sound, it’s a family of squirrels. Don’t worry though, they’re in the wall by the window. I think the dresser and closet are fine.”

  I grab my flashlight, a water bottle, and my toiletry bag. I’m delighted to find a veritable treasure trove upstairs, untouched by squirrels. A very girly girl lived here Before, and I droop a little, thinking that she must’ve died. I yank off my wet clothes, pulling and shimmying where they cling to me, trying not to let any of it rub on my abused palms or sliced finger. My skin pebbles in the cold air as I struggle with the holster. I consider calling Sam up to help me remove it, but I think of Job’s never-ending whining and reconsider. I dry off with a musty smelling towel and slide into dry underwear that actually fits.

  Clean underwear feels divine after walking in soggy panties for an entire day. I even find a pink lacy bra. Thankfully my benefactress and I wear about the same size. She doesn’t seem happy to be our size though, because it’s a padded, push-up bra. It lifts my very modest chest up more than I would have thought possible. I tug a shirt on over everything else and turn to look at myself in a cracked full-length mirror that hangs askew on the wall. With the help of my flashlight, I understand why she picked a push-up bra. Her scoop cut shirt looks awful, but I think of one positive side benefit.

  No one in the world will suggest I take the suppressant if I’m wearing this.

  I look nothing like myself. It’s like Rhonda’s staring back at me in the mirror, which I thought I’d like, but today it depresses me. I rummage around for another shirt, but they’re all the same, absurdly low cut. While I appreciate the dry underwear, my clothing cannot dry fast enough.

  I zip a windbreaker up over the shirt, and try on some jeans. Despite her taste in tops, her jeans are amazing. I towel off my hair with a hand towel from the bathroom in the hall. I put on some floral scented deodorant that only smells a little off, brush my teeth with the last of the water in my canteen, and reapply the mascara Rhonda gave me. I find some gel in the same bathroom and run some through my hair. It stings on my cuts a bit, but it still smells like peaches and cream, so I figure it’s worth it. I’m a new person. I take a handful of the toiletries down with me to stuff them in my bag.

  By the time I clomp into the family room, a fire roars in the fireplace. “Aren’t we worried about smoke this close to WPN?”

  “Not in this rain,” Job says. “We need something to help dry out these clothes and keep us from freezing in here. We won’t add any logs to it, so enjoy it while it lasts.”

  The boys pull both sofas and some chairs over near the fire, and then drape their wet clothes over the kitchen chairs to dry. I cross the room and put my clothes over the chairs too, finding open spaces where I can. I put my underwear on the far side where it’s less obvious. I notice the boys’ underwear on the ottoman and turn back quickly, curious what they’re wearing underneath the blankets wrapped around them.

  “Hey, you guys aren’t naked, are you?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Sam raises one eyebrow.

  “Eww.” Job glares at Sam and drops his blanket. Sam follows suit. Apparently, there was a male occupant of the home as well. My benefactress was the perfect size for me, but Sam and Job didn’t fare as well. The man of the house was quite small. The pants Sam and Job wear hit them at the knee, and the ankle respectively.

  I can’t help laughing. “You two look ridiculous.”

  Sam crosses the room in a flash and picks me up, tossing me up in the air and catching me. “Ridiculous, huh? Why are you wearing a coat in front of a blazing fire?”

  He reaches down and tugs it up and over my head in one smooth motion.

  “Wow,” Job says. “Everyone’s clothes are too small.”

  Sam stares at me, and not at my face.

  “Eyes up, compadre,” Job says. “And let’s put that jacket back on.”

  Sam’s gaze flies up to my face, and he blushes. My big, brawny Sam blushes.

  “Yeah, good call,” Sam mumbles. “Sorry.”

  I pull the windbreaker back over my head and Sam leans over and says, “You better not wear that to WPN tomorrow.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” I lean against him, tucking my head under his chin. I’m still mad at him for not telling me about Wesley, but this feels divine.

  “You may be tiny, but we fit together perfectly,” Sam says.

  I sigh by way of response.

  Job groans. “Ugh, this is weird. I’m going to turn this way.” He lies down on his sofa and turns in toward the cushions. “But,” he calls over his shoulder, “that doesn’t mean I can’t hear you. Don’t forget that I can’t un-hear things. Don’t. Maul. My. Ears.”

  Sam winks at me and leans back on the sofa, pulling me down against him and stretching out. It’s a full-length sofa, but it wasn’t made for someone like Sam. He turns sideways and bends his knees to avoid falling off and brings me even closer, his front to my back. Deja vu. Not long ago, we slept like this in a truck. My world had recently changed drastically, and now it’s changed yet again. Mostly for the worse, but in this one thing, better too.

  He whispers in my ear, and shivers shoot through me head to toe. “We have all the time in the world. For now, sleep. I’m here, and you’re safe. I’ll always take care of you.”

  Just for a moment. I’ll let him hold me for a moment until he falls asleep. When his breathing evens out, I’ll slip away. It’s a good plan. Except that I’m so tired, I fall asleep too.

  Thankfully, I wake with a start sometime in the middle of the night. Sam’s smooth breathing and steady heartbeat make it hard to pull away. Job’s soft snores a few feet over reassure me that he’s asleep, too. Now’s the time.

  I shift, moving Sam’s arm so I can escape.

  Sam stirs behind me and whispers, “You okay, sunshine?”

  I shiver. This still feels unreal, and I have the strongest desire to curl back up and go to sleep next to him. “Yes, I’m fine. Sleep.” He nuzzles the back of my neck and shifts. I wait in agony for his breathing to even out again. Minutes drag, but after what feels like an hour, he finally sleeps again. This time when I move his arm, he doesn’t wake.

  I quietly gather my damp clothing and stuff it in my bag. I found some paper and a pen while riffling through the upstairs room. I scribble a note, messy because pressing down on the paper hurts my scraped
palms. I leave it on the kitchen table.

  Boys-

  Don’t be upset. I realized something last night. I can go where you can’t. I have experience in Sanitation, and cleaning crews go everywhere. You wanted to leave me, but I’m the only one who really needs to be at risk. I’ll get the cure and meet you back here.

  Stay here. Be safe. Wait for me.

  In case you want to ignore me, don’t. I’m doing this to keep you safe, so please honor my wishes. I know you won’t want to listen so I’m telling WPN that I’m running from two guys I saw shoot some men in League City. I’m giving them your descriptions. If you follow me, they’ll shoot you on sight.

  Stay put. For once, it’s my task to complete.

  Ruby

  I’d never actually tell WPN anything of the sort, but it would defeat the whole purpose of my leaving them if they follow. They have to believe they can’t come after me. They’ll hate sitting around, but it’s what’s best for everyone. WPN would never suspect a little girl of trying to steal information. Heck, maybe I’ll get in and realize they’re as desperate for a cure as everyone else. Maybe this King Solomon’s reasonable after all. Maybe I can tell him what’s going on and he’ll walk me over to the lab himself.

  I can’t count on that, though. I always assume the worst and hope to be surprised. I rarely am.

  I sneak out the front door, walk down the street and move quietly toward the bridge from the mainland to the island. The moon overhead lights my way. I expect guards on the bridge, but for the first mile or so, it’s completely empty, devoid of sound, activity, and life.

  What a birthday. I’m running away from everything I love into the unknown, but at least I’m not sitting at home, alone and scared. I notice the first lamppost has a sign on it. The light from the post allows me to read the words. “Warning,” is printed in large block letters. “Intruders will be shot without exception.” I look up ahead to a brightly lit guardhouse fifty yards or so in front of me.

  I ignore the sign. It’s probably meant to scare away Marked kids or other threats. Surely the guard won’t perceive a lone girl approaching on foot as a major concern. About ten feet further, an identical sign is posted. Fifteen feet further along there’s a third. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my stomach sours. I can’t help anyone if I die alone on a bridge. I’m only twenty yards from the little guard hut. Surely he’ll see I’m unmarked, alone, and unarmed. Before I take another step, I hear a loud crack and a bullet hits the road a few paces away from my right shoe.

  I turn and run back the other direction. I run until my lungs hurt, until my legs cramp, and then I keep going until I run off the end of the bridge and right into a brick wall.

  Whump.

  A warm, familiar, breathing, brick wall.

  Sam.

  He’s as gorgeous as ever, but boy does he look pissed.

  21

  His hands clamp onto my upper arms like vises. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Obviously I’m headed back to find you.”

  “Now that you’ve been shot at, you mean?”

  I wince. “They have all these signs up on the other end of the bridge. I’m not sure we could’ve enrolled if we wanted to. They shoot at anyone who gets close.”

  Sam frowns, drops his arms from mine and takes a step back. “You dosed me.”

  “I was trying to be noble.”

  “You’re an idiot.”

  “Maybe so, but you’re standing here when you shouldn’t be. Why didn’t it work?” I narrow my eyes at him, which he can see thanks to the backlight from WPN’s creepy shooter tower. “I doubled your dose.”

  Sam shrugs. “Job’s snoozing away.”

  “You aren’t.”

  “I have an unusually fast metabolism.”

  He should be passed out for hours yet. “Don’t think I’m dropping this, but maybe we better chat about this later.”

  Now that Sam’s stepped back and my heart rate has slowed, I realize he’s armed to the teeth. “You headed for war? Geez Sam, where’d you get all this?” I gesture at the clips covering his chest. He looks like Rambo, a character from one of my uncle’s favorite old movies.

  “Maybe war,” Sam says. “I was coming to save you.”

  I frown. “I left you to keep you safe, not so you’d storm after me.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Sam mutters.

  “You’ve said that, thanks.”

  “You left me behind to come on your own. You think your problem is that you aren’t brave and rushing off alone will make you a hero. What you don’t get is that you’ve never been a coward. Your problem all along has been trust, not fear.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Years ago, you didn’t call the police because you didn’t believe they could protect you if your dad couldn’t. You didn’t tell your aunt about any of it because you didn’t trust her to love you if she knew. Then your stupid aunt and uncle lied to you about your dad and mom, and now you think you were right. You think can’t trust people.”

  “Wow, I didn’t realize you’re a psychologist.”

  Sam shrugs. “It’s simple really, and you were right, for the record. You can’t trust people.”

  “I was right to ditch you?”

  He shakes his head and pulls me close, shoving cold and sharp clips up against my jacket. “I’m not people. People suck. I’m Sam, and I’ll never let you down. You can trust me. Your problem all along has been that you trust the wrong people.” When he leans down to kiss me, I don’t stop him.

  His lips on mine erases the last residue of fear. My heart swells, and I lose track of time. By the time he finally pulls away, I’m glad the sleeping pills didn’t work.

  “What do we do now? Spend all day tomorrow looking for a boat? We can’t just walk in. They’ll shoot us.”

  “I think you’re right, about walking in, and about leaving Job. Rhonda was an asset, but Job’s nowhere near Rhonda in accuracy and reliability. He’s never been in any operations, either. I don’t know if it’s occurred to you, but if WPN hasn’t heard about you yet, they may soon. The Marked have lost their minds. The sooner we go in, the greater our chance of actually reaching that safe.”

  “When do we go?”

  Sam sighs. “Probably now, if you’re up for it. If they send scouts because you snuck onto the bridge, we don’t want to be standing around, and Job’s safest where he is, asleep and quiet.”

  I feel a pang of guilt for forcing his hand.

  Sam touches my face. “You did what you did. Don’t regret it. I roll with momentum. My strengths lie in doing anyway, not as much in planning and strategy.”

  Sam crouches down and pulls out the maps I brought from my uncle’s office. I’m glad he grabbed them when we left the truck. He points at the island. “You said your old apartment was where?”

  I kneel down next to him and point to the right side of the island. “It was on the beach. When we crossed the bridge, we turned left. We drove a long way down that main road. I don’t remember much else, other than the name. The Palisade Palms.”

  Sam squints at the map, moving his flashlight quickly. “These maps are old, and it’s here. Look.”

  I peer down at where he points. “Palisade Palms, close to the Galvestonian.” Far east side of the island, like I said. “If they have guards all up and down the bridge, how will we get there? By boat?”

  Sam doesn’t respond quickly. He’s still studying the map. “We should have gone around the island to Eighty-seven and taken a boat down. I should’ve looked at these maps sooner instead of heading for the bridge. . . well, there’s nothing we can do now. The Marked holding Rhonda are smack in between here and there.”

  “Maybe we should head back to the house before the sun comes up,” I say.

  He curses. “We need to find a boat; something small, without a motor. Then we’ll have to hope we can make it from here to the island without being noticed. It doesn’t help that these map
s are from Before. We have no idea what WPN has done since.”

  Sam starts to fold up the map, but I reach over and snatch it away. I spread it back down and extend my hand for the flashlight. “Before we go hunting for a boat and try to float in the dark, against waves and currents and who knows what, maybe we see what that is.” I point at a skinny line that runs parallel to the main bridge line.

  Sam peers down at the map. “Don’t you think the people who shot at you might notice us walking down that bridge? It’s not far from the forty-five.”

  I shrug. “I didn’t see it when I was walking. In fact, the closer I got to that lit up guardhouse, the less I could see around me. It’s called light and dark adaptation and it’ll keep the guards from noticing us on that side road, too. Or at least, I think it will.”

  “When this map was made, this Highway Seventy-five was already out of use. I have no idea if it’s safe.” He taps his lip. “We can’t risk a flashlight if we do this. I have great night vision, so maybe it’s worth a try. We can always backtrack and look for a boat to use tomorrow night.”

  Sam folds the map and puts it away. I worry that ditching him hurt our chances at being something. I put my hand on his. “I’m sorry I left without you.”

  He looks me dead in the eye. “You know about light adaptation, but this is what I do. I’ve been trained for it. When we get to the island, if we make it tonight, you’re going to do exactly what I say. No more gallivanting off.”

  “Did you just say ‘gallivanting’?”

  Sam grins. “I did.”

  I grab his jacket collar and pull him toward me. He presses his lips to mine, and I talk against them. “No more gallivanting.” The sensation of his lips smiling against mine sends my heart racing.

  I reluctantly pull away, and Sam and begin the walk down toward the retired bridge on the map. We backtrack for what feels like at least half a mile before turning down an overgrown road that must’ve been old highway seventy-five. Sam doesn’t move like a normal person. He’s quieter, more sure of himself, and agile in a way I can’t dissect. I’ve never felt particularly clumsy, but my feet stumble, my knees bob and I scrabble over tree roots, bumps, rocks, and shale like everyone else I know.