The Dead-Tossed Waves

by Carrie Ryan

  Holding my breath, I scan their sagging faces. From this distance it’s hard to see details, their appearances blurring. My body buzzes with the hope that Catcher won’t be there. That I’m wrong about Elias.

  But then I see the flash of his hair, the white-blond of it shimmering in the shadows. I see the familiar curve of his cheek, the line of his shoulder.

  Catcher shuffles through the herd of Mudo, stopping to stand among them, his lips parted as if he’s moaning. I press my palm to my mouth, biting it to keep from screaming. I didn’t realize until now just what it would mean to see him like this. The pain and the horror are unbearable. I shove my fists into my eyes, wanting to claw out the vision of Catcher as Mudo.

  My hands start to shake and I can’t force them to stop. I try not to stare at my fingers, at the blood that’s dried in the cracks of my skin. Not my blood but someone else’s. The enormity of the last few days slams into me—the walls between the compartments where I’ve stashed each bit dissolve. I toss the knife aside, scarlet red still blurring the blade.

  I’ve just stabbed someone and his blood coats my skin and clothes. I wipe my hands on the ground until they sting but still they’re stained crimson. Catcher’s gone. Returned. Mudo. I never got to tell him good-bye.

  Everything is wrong. Everything has changed. I’ve lied and broken rules and killed someone. I’ve broken my promises and failed. I don’t know who I am anymore.

  And then the sobs break over me. Painful, they flatten me to the ground. I don’t have the energy to fight anymore.

  I startle when arms wrap around me but I don’t bother protesting. I’m too ready to give up on everything, willing to let whatever happens to me happen. But then I can tell by the way he pulls me to himself, by the way he holds me as if he could push the pieces of me back together again, that it’s Elias. I can tell by his smell and his strength and the way he leans his cheek against my hair.

  I don’t know how he found me—how he knew I was here—and I don’t care. I want to hate him; I should hate him for who he is and what he’s done to Catcher. But for just a moment I allow myself to soak in his comfort because I need his strength. To fall into the feeling of him against me, another heartbeat with mine. And then I take a deep breath and lash out. Pushing him away.

  “You monster!” I sound feral, my voice a tear-fueled growl. I take everything and channel it into rage as if he’s the reason for all my pain. Wanting someone else to blame other than myself.

  He stares at me without answering and I lunge at him. “You horrible monster!” I pound on his chest. “I hate you I hate you I hate you!” It feels so good to scream. To feel as though I could tear apart the world.

  He takes my wrists in his hands and pushes me away. He sees the blood along my arms, across my chest. His eyes flare wide, his breath a gasp. He throws me to the ground.

  “Where are you hurt?” he demands. He pulls at my shirt, his fingers searching the skin along my stomach and sides. I writhe against him but he straddles me, keeping me on the ground.

  Fury boils over inside me and I scream. He grabs my face, holding my head steady. His fingers dig into my cheeks, forcing my gaze on him. “Gabry, where are you hurt?” I’m surprised to feel the way he trembles and I realize that he’s scared, that he’s panting with fear. I feel the fight drain out of me.

  “I’m not,” I whisper. But I want to tell him that I hurt everywhere, that I hurt so deeply I don’t know how to fix it.

  He sits back on his heels, still straddling me, looking down at me. I take advantage of his hesitation and gather all my strength and buck my hips up, throwing him to the side. I roll and grab the knife. I pounce on him, holding the blade against his throat.

  “You’re disgusting.” I have a hard time finding the words I want to say. “What did you do to Catcher?” I shake him and his eyes bulge a little as the blade nicks the corner of his jaw. “What did you do?” I shout into his face.

  Our breathing is like a storm, my heart the thunder.

  “Nothing,” a voice behind me says.

  Everything stops. My throat hitches. I don’t want to turn around. I don’t want it to be a trick or a joke. I don’t want confirmation that the hope charging through me is a lie.

  I stare down at Elias. He smiles, just barely—a painful sort of smile.

  I swallow and turn slowly. Catcher stands there, half in the shadow of the arch, hesitating before he runs toward me. The air compresses in its familiar way before our bodies collide and he grabs at me and I grab at him, not understanding what’s going on—how he’s still alive and for the moment not caring. He’s here in my arms now and that’s all that matters.

  His skin is almost unbearably hot against my own but he feels strong and his heartbeat reverberates through me. He’s nothing like the weak, dying person I left a few days ago.

  I push away from him and stand back, glancing between him and Elias, who still lies prone on the ground. It’s hard to find the right words. “What’s going on?” I ask. “I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be …” I can’t say it.

  “Dead.” Catcher says it for me.

  “Mudo,” I whisper.

  He smiles. “Same thing.”

  I can’t help but let my eyes trail down his neck to the spot on his shoulder where the bite mark is. It’s still an angry red welt, scabs stretching over where each of Mellie’s teeth punctured the skin.

  “It’s been almost a week since you were bitten,” I say, shaking my head. None of this makes sense; he’s supposed to be dead. The Infected aren’t supposed to last that long. A bare sort of singing feeling starts to weave through me: hope. Catcher’s still here. He’s still alive.

  “I was there, I saw it. You told me.” My voice rises, all the pain and fear and regret that built up in me ever since that night breaking free. “You told me you were infected.”

  “I was,” he says.

  “He still is,” Elias says from the ground. I look over at him. He’s sitting, one arm draped around a knee. Remnants of three scratches trail down his face from the first night I met him in the ocean and a bruise blossoms around his eye from the other time I attacked him on the beach. Now he presses a hand to his side where I just hit him and a small red cut from my knife edges along his jaw. There are traces of blood on his white tunic from where he held me, where Daniel’s blood seeped from me to him.

  I clench and unclench my hands, frustrated at not understanding. “People don’t last this long infected,” I say. “It’s been too much time. I don’t understand.” They glance at each other and then Elias slowly stands. He picks up the knife I’d dropped by his head and holds it out to me, handle first.

  “He’s immune,” Elias says.

  I stare at him, everything around us still and somber except for my heartbeat, which can’t contain itself. And then I stare at Catcher, waiting for him to explain. Because there’s no such thing as immunity. They’d have told us growing up if there were. “That doesn’t exist,” I finally say. “No one is immune. They’ve always made sure we understood that: No one is immune.”

  I look back and forth between Elias and Catcher. It’s what they tell us from when we’re old enough to listen. It’s what we’ve always known: There’s no cure, there’s no immunity, there’s no escape. Once you’re bitten, you’re infected and dead.

  “You said it yourself. It’s been six days, Gabrielle,” Catcher says. “There’s no other explanation.”

  But I’m looking at Elias. I’m trying to decide if I trust him. If I can trust a Souler. He seems to understand what’s going on here, to know more than he’s saying.

  I want to believe him. I want to think that Catcher will be okay. That I haven’t failed him. That something in this world can be good. Even though it goes against everything I’ve known and believed.

  I have so many questions but only one thing matters to me now. I stare at Catcher, barely able to breathe. “You’re okay?” I ask him. “You’re … you’re better now?”

/>   I watch as he clenches his hands by his sides. As the muscle along his jaw tightens and jumps. “I’m still infected,” he says.

  “What does that mean?” I ask him.

  Elias answers before Catcher can. “It means the Mudo don’t sense it when he’s around them. It means they don’t attack him. It means the infection won’t kill him—he won’t turn—”

  Catcher cuts him off. “It means we can go home.” He walks over to me and takes my hand, presses it against his chest. His skin is so hot I can feel the heat of him through his clothes. “Go back to the way things were,” he adds. “Pretend none of this ever happened.”

  Elias crosses his arms over his chest, his lips pursed tight. But I don’t care about him anymore. All I can feel is my heart singing. He’s okay. Catcher’s going to live! Just moments before, I thought he was already dead, already Mudo. I thought I’d never have the chance to talk to him again, to hold him and have him understand me. And suddenly all that fear is washing away and hope is budding inside me.

  “We can go back to Vista, Gabry. We can go back to the way it was before. You and me and Cira …”

  I lean my forehead against his shoulder so that he can’t see my expression. The air in my throat chokes me but whether it’s sobs or hysterical laughter I don’t know.

  The reality of our situation strikes deep. He still thinks things can go back to how they were. That his infection is the only thing that’s happened in the past week.

  But now I’ve killed someone. Even if I wanted to, I can’t ever go back to Vista. The Militia will find out it was me. They’ll execute me for killing one of their own.

  It’s impossible for me to go home.

  I can’t believe how out of control everything’s suddenly become. My deepest wish—that Catcher would be okay—has come true but at the expense of everything else. If I’d only known. If I’d even dreamed it was a possibility.

  “Why didn’t they tell us about immunity?” I ask, my voice on the edge of a wail. It’s not fair, none of this is fair. My mind scrambles, trying to figure out a way to make it work, to get back to my old life but everything leads back to the reality of Daniel’s death and Cira’s punishment.

  “It doesn’t matter now,” Catcher says, his hand wrapping around mine. “I’m okay, that’s what matters. I can’t wait to tell Cira.”

  I’m already shaking my head and backing away. “You can’t,” I tell him. He steps closer but I hold up my hands, waving him away. “We can’t go back,” I say, almost choking on the words.

  Elias says nothing, just tilts his head as he watches me, his expression unreadable.

  “We’ll find a way to make it work,” Catcher says, but I’m shaking my head.

  “It won’t work,” I tell him. I twist my fingers, running the pad of my thumb along the cut on my hand, feeling the pain radiate up my arm, grounding me. “I lied about Cira,” I whisper.

  I stare at the heat wavering on the concrete, at the clouds building in the sky above, anywhere but at Catcher. “They came after us that night, the Militia. I got away but the others didn’t. The Council voted to send them all to the Recruiters.” My voice is limp as I finish, afraid of what he’ll say.

  Catcher’s head falls back. I watch as he clenches and unclenches his jaw. “You didn’t tell me,” he says, his voice even. “I asked about her and you said she was okay.”

  “I know.” My words carry hardly any sound at all. I’m overwhelmed by how everything’s shifted and changed underneath me again. “I’m sorry,” I add uselessly.

  He turns away from me, pushes his hands into his hair and yanks. “Where is she now?” he asks. His frustration and anger cut through me, slicing at my happiness that he’s still alive.

  “They have her in the Council House.” I swallow. I want to explain, to tell him that I thought he was dying. That I didn’t want to add to his pain. But I don’t. “The Recruiters arrived today. They’d started the swearing-in ceremony when I came here.”

  He bangs a fist against the stone arch and I jump at the sudden violence. I want to go to him, to pull away his pain and anger. But I don’t. I’m afraid he’ll push me away.

  He places both hands on the wall and breathes deeply.

  I look over at Elias. Embarrassed that he’s watching this, that he knows what I’ve done.

  “We have to go get Cira,” Catcher says, his voice muffled. He turns to face us. “I’m not letting them take her. I told her I’d protect her and I will.”

  “How?” I ask. “They’re not going to give her up.”

  When he looks at me his eyes are cold and hard. “I don’t care,” he says. “I’ll find a way.” He stalks into the amphitheater, down toward the stage, and I start after him.

  “Catcher, wait!” I call out. Without even turning around he throws up a hand, waving me off. I stand there watching him go, Elias behind me. I’m afraid to face him, mortified at being dismissed by Catcher in front of him.

  Just when I thought I was putting all the pieces back together they’ve cracked and fallen into different patterns, this time with sharper edges. I don’t know how to make it work, how to make it right.

  A familiar feeling of uselessness tingles inside me. “I’ve messed it all up again,” I say.

  On the stage below, Catcher stands facing the tethered Mudo, staring at them. They don’t even notice his existence, don’t reach for him and it makes me feel cold. It looks so wrong to see him so close to them.

  Elias shifts and comes to stand next to me. His hands are by his sides and I know that I’d just have to twitch my fingers to touch him, to feel his comfort.

  “Why didn’t they tell us about the immunity?” I ask him weakly.

  He sighs and raises a shoulder. “It’s rare, Gabry. Really rare. I guess they didn’t want people getting their hopes up, letting people turn just to see and causing the infection to rage again. Most people don’t know about it.”

  What he says makes sense but I don’t care. I cross my arms over my chest, to avoid the temptation of touching him as much as to hold myself in. “How do you know it’s immunity? That he won’t turn in a few days? That it’s not just taking longer?” I hold my breath waiting for his answer, hoping that I’m wrong.

  “Only the Immunes can do that,” he says, nodding toward Catcher. “I learned about it when I was in the Recruiters. Immunes are the only ones the Unconsecrated don’t sense.”

  My stomach twinges at the word Unconsecrated. Thinking of my mother. Remembering that she’s gone. I shake the thought out of my head.

  “It’s how I knew it about him,” Elias continues. “When the storm came in I thought you might not make it back. I went and brought Catcher here to the camp, figuring he’d need food and water while he waited …” He swallows, not wanting to finish the statement, and I look at him, examining his profile. A soft sheen of dark fuzz has begun to grow on his head and his skin is tan from so many days outside in the sun.

  I have to ask him the question that’s been hammering in my mind. I take a deep breath, pushing my nails into the soft flesh of my arm to force the courage. “Would you have … I mean, if he’d turned, would you have done that to him? Made him into one of those?”

  We’re both looking at the Souler Mudo, at their disfigured faces. The moans swirl around us like a breeze.

  Elias scowls, his shoulders tense. “No,” he says simply. But I still don’t know if I can trust him.

  “Why do you worship them?” I ask.

  He takes a deep breath, blowing it out through pursed lips as he turns toward me. I notice again how his eyes are almost colorless, the sharpness of his cheekbones. “I don’t worship them,” he says.

  I don’t understand. “But you’re a Souler,” I tell him, as if it’s obvious.

  He studies my face and I want to look away from him but I force myself to keep his gaze. I squirm a little under his scrutiny. “I’m not a Souler, Gabry,” he says. “That’s what I was trying to tell you on the beach. I’m not one
of them.”

  My eyes widen and I shake my head, feeling as though he’s playing some sort of trick on me. “But you’re here with them. You were there the other night. You watched them sacrifice that boy. And you’re dressed like them and look like them.” I could keep going but he holds up a hand for me to stop and I fall into silence.

  He presses his fingers to his forehead, pushing at the skin as if trying to gather the words he needs. I bristle, waiting to hear what he has to say.

  “I told you I was looking for someone,” he says, and I nod. “It’s my sister. I’m looking for my sister.” He swallows. “I lost her.” I can hear the desperation in his voice and it makes me feel physically weak. I want to close my hand around his but a part of me is still suspicious of him.

  “She was all I had left and I promised I’d take care of her and she’s gone. We’d been living in the Dark City but neither of us were citizens. I was only allowed in to trade and sometimes even then I could barely make the rents. I joined the Recruiters so that I’d get citizenship—so that I’d be allowed as a permanent resident of the Protected Zones and I could take her with me without having to pay anymore. But when I came home after serving she wasn’t there.” He pauses, wiping a hand over his face.

  “I couldn’t find her anywhere and I thought maybe she’d been forced to leave. I had to find her.” His words come out in a rush, his voice cracked. “A single man can’t travel through the Protectorate. The roads are too dangerous, with Unconsecrated and bandits. Half the towns and cities won’t even let you in the gates if you’re alone.”

  He leans toward me, speaking fast now, his breath weaving hot around us. “The Soulers are recognized by the Protectorate. They’re nomads—they can go anywhere and be granted access. Joining them was the only way for me to search for her.”

  It’s so much to take in at once that I feel stunned, having to retrace everything we’ve ever said to each other. To rethink every thought about him in the softer light of this new information.