by Anna Carey
Page 17
Arden rolled over and moaned, a deep guttural noise that terrified me. She sounded so much like my mother had in those final days. Now, in that dank room, I ran down a mental list of my mother’s symptoms. Arden had lost some weight, but it wasn’t severe. She didn’t have nosebleeds and her legs did not swell and weep, swell and weep, leaving puddles around her feet. Yet the way Arden hacked, the way she shook with chills, the way her eyes rolled back so I could see only the whites . . .
I squeezed her cold hand, willing her to shoot up in bed, awake and more alive than ever. To tell me to quit hovering and dismiss me with a roll of her eyes. But nothing. Only another kick of the leg, another moan. I said the words I couldn’t have said to my mother, the words that curdled in my throat that day in July when the trucks came through the barricade, the words that had since lodged there, near my heart, turning to something solid.
I was five again, my steps light on the stairs. She’d stopped waiting for the doctors, had heard the reports that they would only help the rich. She’d opened the door to her room. I went to hug her but she’d put the plastic over my mouth and dragged me to the street, calling with her broken voice, calling out for them to stop. I tried to hold onto the mailbox as she ran back, afraid to even kiss me. I tried to keep my arms around its wooden post but I was loaded up and onto the bed of the truck, my body limp in the old woman’s grasp.
“Please,” I begged Arden now, closing my eyes, rocking with the sound of my own voice. I squeezed her hand again, turning it over. “Don’t leave me. I need you. ”
When Arden didn’t stir I returned my head to my pillow and welcomed the tears. She might never get better. We might never be back on the road, together, heading to Califia.
HOURS LATER, I AWOKE TO A BLINDING LIGHT.
Someone hovered in the doorway of the room, pointing a flashlight at my face. The silhouette shifted and the beam dropped to the ground. I rubbed at my eyes, trying to make sense of the tiny figure before me; the person could not have been any taller than my hip. Shaggy hair came down to her shoulders, and the wide, fluffy expanse of a tutu spread out around her waist.
I blinked in the darkness, but the figure was still there—real—not the shadowy remnant of a dream.
“What’s your name?” I whispered to the little girl, waiting for my vision to adjust to the dark. She took a step backward. “Come here, come to me. ” I lifted my arm to signal her over. But before I could say anything more she darted away, down the dimly lit corridor.
I sat up in bed, fully awake now. I didn’t know how a little girl had found her way to this all-male camp, but I knew I had to follow her. I raced toward the threshold, watching as she padded down the tunnel, barely visible in the flashlight beams.
“Wait!” I called. “Come back!”
She disappeared around a sudden bend.
I looked down the empty hall. The tunnel wound around and I followed it, trying to keep away from the black holes on either side where the boys slept. She was still ahead of me, winding through the corridor, her tutu bobbing up and down as she ran. The tunnel split and she turned suddenly, darting down an unlit path. I followed after her, my legs pumping fast.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I whispered urgently. “Please, stop!”
I dashed quickly, easily, my steps lighter than they’d been in days. It felt good to be up, to be moving, and with each yard I sprinted my mind quieted, leaving only the sound of my own breaths. Before long I could see the shadowy figure in front of me, steps ahead. Then the tunnel twisted once more and opened up beneath the star-dusted sky.
She ran into the trees, letting out a raspy shriek as though it was a funny game. I kept pace until she raced around the other side of the hill and plowed under a wide expanse of tall bushes. I leaned over to breathe, the effort catching up with me. When I finally raised my head, I realized she was gone. I was alone. In the dark. Outside the dugout.
I couldn’t go farther; it would be foolish to wander the woods, following the girl over the hills. If I could get back inside the tunnel I could find Caleb, tell him that she had gotten out and was on her own. But turning around, I saw only shadows. I started back toward the trees, but the forest was thick. Leaves rustled beneath my feet. Branches cracked above me. When I reached the place where I thought the exit had been there was no hill, only a rocky incline leading down to the lake.
I spun around and ran toward the opposite side of the forest, my breath quickening. I recalled the moment by the river, the rain hard on my skin, the troops coming at me with their guns in hand. I saw Caleb’s back in front of me, the face on the flyer, the words Arden had spoken aloud: You belong to the King. How could I have been so stupid to leave the dugout, to go out in the middle of the night, with the soldiers still after me? I had been warned.
Ahead, a cliff towered ten feet over my head. I was running so fast that I nearly collided into it. I must have been on the backside of the hill, but it was too dark to be certain. I took off alongside the cliff, hoping to circle up to the mossy mound that contained the entrance, when I heard something behind me. I had no time to turn, no time to run. In an instant, a strong hand came down upon my arm.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Leif hissed, jerking me forward. His contorted face was barely visible in the scattered starlight. I tried to wriggle out of his hold, but he squeezed tighter. “I told you not to leave the dugout. ”
“I know,” I managed, wincing at the pain in my wrist. “I’m sorry. ” I didn’t dare say more. I didn’t dare breathe.
“Who said you could go out?” He snapped. His top lip was raised in disgust, revealing a chipped front tooth. “Did Caleb tell you?”
“No—I was following a little girl. She ran outside and disappeared somewhere over there, but I—”
“A little girl?” Leif laughed, but it sounded more like a snarl. “There are no little girls in the camp. ”
“You’re hurting me,” I said, but his hand remained closed around my delicate wrist.
He yanked me forward, his footsteps falling loudly on the path. “It was stupid of you to come out here. There’s a reason I’m on watch duty. We’re most vulnerable during these hours—especially with you here. ”
“I know,” I said, hating his grip on me. As he pulled me toward the other side of the hill, I could feel the blood cooling in my hand, beyond the dam where his fingers pressed down to my bone.
Finally he released my wrist. He felt around the side of a mossy mound, and my stomach quaked thinking of what he might do to me. But then he tugged on a log, revealing another entrance to the dugout.
“I saw the troops tonight,” he said slowly, so that I could process each word. “Haven’t seen them in this area for months. But there they were, walking along that ridgeline. ” He gestured to a mountain beyond the trees.
He waited for me to say something—to react, to apologize maybe, but when I opened my mouth no words came out.
“Go on, get inside,” he growled. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to our precious Eve, now would we?” His eyes were cool black marbles buried in his skull.
“No,” I said, turning from his gaze. “We wouldn’t. ” I ducked into the tunnel, relieved to be free of him.