Soul Catchers

by Carrie Pulkinen

  Liam is fine. Maybe he got lost and didn’t make it out of town before they closed the gates. I’m sure that’s it. He’s not injured or captured. He can’t be.

  Two hours, max. How long has he been gone? Twelve hours? Thirteen? I have no idea. Luckily, Makka found a stream to drink from last night. I shudder at the thought of what he found for dinner.

  My thigh stings from the bullet wound. Thankfully, it only grazed the skin. Puffy, angry red flesh surrounds the crusty scab, but I’ll pass out from this splitting headache before the injury has time to get infected.

  Where is Liam? I need his magical healing powers right now. I need him in general.

  Another rumbling engine. I peek over my rock and spot an old green truck approaching at a fast clip. Could it be him? Do I dare break my cover to flag him down? I managed to keep Makka close to the highway last night, but I have no idea how far I am from where Liam left me. If I want him to stop, I’m going to have to get his attention. But how can I do it without blowing my cover? I’m running out of time. My mind is racing a million miles a minute, but the only thing I can come up with is to walk out onto the street and hope it’s him.

  I’m about to do just that when I lose my footing and slip on the rocks.

  The rocks. Of course.

  I gather a handful of pebbles and use the Sense to float them over the road. As soon as the truck gets close, I release the rocks and let them shower onto the windshield.

  Tires screech on the pavement as he slams on the breaks. The truck skids to a stop, sending pebbles and smoke into the air behind it. The window rolls down, and Liam leans out, squinting against the sun. I peek my head from behind my boulder and wave.

  “What are you doing this close to town?” He looks up and down the road. “Hurry up and get in.”

  “Well, hello to you too.” I climb into the passenger seat, and he slams on the gas before I even get the door closed.

  “Did anyone see you? Why were you so close to the road?” He’s so stressed, his knuckles are white, and a vein throbs in his forehead.

  “I was looking for you after you left me alone all night. Where were you?”

  He glances at me and relaxes his grip on the steering wheel. His tense expression melts into concern. “Are you okay?”

  “My head hurts, Makka got shot again. Long story.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll heal you as soon as we stop. I tried to come back, but they enforced an early curfew. I got locked in and had to stay the night in a hotel. I came back for you as soon as they opened the gates.”

  “A hotel? You got to sleep in a real bed and take a real shower? While I had to run around in a wolf’s body all night? That is so unfair.” His hair is clean. Aside from the scar, his skin is flawless, and he smells like soap and mint. I bet he even got to brush his teeth.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I was worried about you! I spent the whole night fretting over everything that could have happened and whether or not I should try to come and save you . . . and you were sleeping soundly in a hotel room.”

  “I didn’t sleep that well, if it makes you feel better. And . . . wait. You were worried about me?”

  “A little. Maybe.” My stomach flutters as the realization hits. Sure, I was concerned about being stranded in the desert with no water or shelter, but my thoughts were consumed with worry for him and all the terrible things that might have happened to him.

  He grins. “Well, I wasn’t the slightest bit worried about you. I knew you’d be all right. You’re a strong one.”

  My breath catches as the flutters in my stomach turn into somersaults. “You think I’m strong?”

  “The strongest woman I know.” He says it so sincerely I can’t help but believe him. He hands me a white paper bag. “I got some donuts. I’m sorry I took the food with me yesterday. You must be starving.”

  “It’s okay. Makka found . . . something to eat.” I open the bag, and the sweet scent of frosting chases away my queasiness. Vanilla and cinnamon flavors dance on my tongue as I savor the treat.

  “Where’s the gun?” he asks.

  “It fell out of my hand when Makka took over. I guess giant wolves don’t need pistols for protection.” My attempt at a joke fails miserably. Liam doesn’t even crack a smile.

  “Do you remember where you left it? We might need it.”

  “By the road, where you dropped me off.”

  “Good. We can do your hair there too.”

  I find the gun lying by the tree, where I left it. Liam finds a shallow gulley where he can hide the truck from the road, and he carries a plastic bag and two gallons of water toward me. He has me sit on a rock while he heals me and applies the hair dye. My eyelids flutter shut as he massages the chemicals into my hair, and I tell myself it’s because the ammonia smell stings and not because I’m enjoying the careful attention he’s paying me.

  Who am I kidding? His touch is soothing even when he’s not using his magic.

  “It’s gotta sit for another twenty minutes before we rinse it.”

  I open my eyes and find him staring at me with an expression I can’t read. His hazel eyes are so soulful and full of emotion, my heart does this weird thud . . . thud-thud-thud thing. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. His tender gaze travels up to my hair and then slides down to my lips. It lingers there for a moment, and I forget to breathe. He drifts toward me, and it feels like I’m a magnet drawing him in. Electricity seems to dance between us as the corner of his mouth twitches into a tiny smile.

  He flicks his gaze back up to my hair and clears his throat. Sitting up, he peels off the plastic gloves and chuckles, and the tension in my chest releases. Whatever just happened between us, the moment is gone.

  “So, umm . . .” My mind races, searching for something to say to relieve the awkwardness. “You act like you’ve done this before. Are you the camp hairstylist too?”

  He laughs. “You’d be surprised at the things I can do.”

  “Ooh, so mysterious.”

  “Nah. I read the directions.” He gives me a tight smile and shoves the gloves and hair-color package into a plastic bag.

  When my hair is cooked, I lean my head back and let him rinse me. He hums a tune I don’t recognize as he rubs in the conditioner and does another rinse. I try to catch his gaze again to see whether that strange energy will come back, but he seems to be purposely avoiding my eyes.

  “All done.”

  I sit up and run my fingers through my hair. “Is it supposed to feel like wet hay? I don’t think this is right.”

  He presses his lips together like he’s trying to stifle a smile. “It’s okay. Let me trim it, you know, shape it up a bit. I’m sure once the fried ends are snipped off, it’ll feel softer.”

  “Fried?”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’ll look great.” He picks up a comb and a pair of scissors and starts chopping away. Chunks of hair fall to the ground, but he whisks them away with his foot before I get a good look.

  “You’re lucky I don’t have a mirror right now.”

  He stands in front of me, admiring his work. “You look beautiful with short hair. It’s a little red, but I’m sure that will fade.”

  “Red? Are you kidding?” Before he can answer, I storm to the truck to look in the rearview mirror. My once-shiny jet-black hair is now a frizzy mop of reddish orange.

  Liam slides into the seat next to me. “I guess I shoulda left it on a little longer.”

  “You think? It’s hideous, Liam. I’m supposed to blend in, not get noticed. Now I look like a clown.”

  All the humor melts from his eyes as he gazes at me intently. “You could never look hideous. Look, I bought some styling mousse.” He squirts some foam into his hand. “May I?”

  “Might as well.”

  I rummage through the rest of the items in the bag as he massages the mousse into my hair. It takes all of my control to not melt into his arms right now. What is it about his touch that turns my brain to mush? I f
ight to keep my eyes open, and I pull a box of tampons out of the bag.

  “What are these for?”

  A pink blush spreads across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He finishes sculpting my hair before staring at his lap and answering. “You know. Just in case.”

  My frustration over my hair melts away. What a thoughtful gesture . . . kinda weird . . . but nice. “And the chocolate?”

  “Oh, that’s mine.” He snatches the candy from my hands, rips open the wrapper, and takes a bite. “Want some?”

  “No thanks.”

  He shoves everything into the bag and tosses it behind the seat. “So what do you think now?”

  I brace myself as I look in the mirror, half expecting to see a mohawk on my head. Instead, he’s molded my hair into a cute pixie style. “Hmm.” I feign indifference. “It’s okay, I guess.”

  “Well, I think it’s beautiful.”

  My heart beats that abnormal rhythm again as his green-gold eyes bore into my soul. I have to tear my gaze away before I lean in and kiss him. Why am I so drawn to him? I let out a nervous giggle and bite my lip. “Thank you.”

  He smiles and runs a hand through his hair before pulling a map from under the seat—an actual paper map. I’ve only seen those in museums.

  “Where’d you get that old thing?”

  “Missy has a collection. Since we can’t use electronics, we do everything old school.”

  “Was it called Roswell back then?”

  He runs a finger over the map and taps the page. “Yep. Says ‘Roswell’ right here.”

  “I wonder why they didn’t change the name. When they built the walls and carved the new cities out of the old, everything got ‘New’ added to the name. Why not Roswell?”

  Liam shrugs. “The new cities don’t share the same borders as the old. Roswell was government back then too. Maybe it didn’t change.” He folds the map in half and rests it against the steering wheel. “We’re making good time. There’s somewhere we have to stop before we get there, though.”

  “Where?”

  He points to a spot on the map far from any of the currently approved roads. “Home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Wren

  The truck rolls to a stop behind an abandoned gas station, and Liam switches off the engine. Everything here is abandoned, so even mentioning the word seems redundant. This far from civilization, the world is eerily quiet. There’s no hum of any kind. No cars, no electricity flowing through the sagging wires above us, no chatter from passersby. None of the sounds of normal human life exist in this wasteland of once-strong Apache pride.

  “This is the reservation my mom grew up on,” I say. He doesn’t have to tell me. I can feel the remnants of my ancestors’ energy hanging in the air. Once powerful, it now merely floats around me, softly tickling my skin. I turn to Liam, who looks just as awestruck as I feel. “Why are we here?”

  “Missy thought it might help if you understood where you came from. She wants you to ‘water the roots so the tree can grow’ or something like that.” He waves his hand dismissively. “She knew your mom too.”

  “She knew both my parents?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think she made the connection about your dad until you told her his name. She seemed surprised, anyway.”

  I slide out of my seat. “Okay, let’s do some watering, then.”

  I’m not sure I believe that Missy didn’t know who my dad was. My mom never talked about him, and as far as I know, she never told anyone else about him. But she could have. Mom insisted that my dad didn’t know I existed and that I was safer that way. Safe from what, though?

  Sighing, I trudge up the dirt road with Liam following a few steps behind. I don’t know what Missy expects me to accomplish by coming here, but I have to admit, it’s neat to see where my mom grew up.

  Dilapidated mobile homes interspersed with a few browning adobe structures make up the residential area of the reservation. Many of the houses face east so the front door can greet the sun each morning. Some of them don’t, though. I guess the old traditions were dying even before the Exodus.

  The emptiness of this place reminds me I shouldn’t be here. The abandoned communities are strictly off-limits, but this is home. I can feel it in my soul. Missy’s right, I do need to see this place. If I’m going to stop fearing my gifts, if I’m going to learn to accept who I am, I have to know where I come from. This is where my roots are . . . or where they were until the government forced everyone into the cities.

  A pack of wild dogs chases a rabbit in the distance, and Liam quickens his pace to catch up with me.

  “You face giant wolves on a nightly basis, but you’re scared of a few dogs?” I playfully elbow him in the ribs.

  “Only one giant wolf, and he happens to turn into a pretty girl during the day, so what can I say? Girls make guys do crazy things.” He puts his arm around my shoulders, then yanks it away. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I . . . Oh my God. There it is.”

  It’s a miracle I find my mom’s old house. All I have to base it on is the memory of a crumpled photograph of her and my grandma standing in front of the mustard-yellow adobe building. But this is definitely it. I can feel the family energy in the air, faint, from a time long ago. The energy recognizes me too. It seems to swirl around my body, lightening the air, giving me courage, encouraging me to explore.

  The brown front door faces east, and it creaks when I open it. I wipe my feet on the rug out of habit and stand in the entryway. A blue sweater and a beige jacket, covered in dust, hang from hooks on the wall. One hook is empty, like someone stepped out into the crisp night air for a short walk. A gray mouse skitters across the dilapidated wood floor and disappears under a cabinet.

  I make my way through the kitchen toward the living room. The floor groans with each step; I might fall through the rotting wood at any second, so I try to step lightly. A coffee cup and a small plate rest in the sink, like whoever left them intended to return soon to clean up. But they were left seventeen years ago. No one is coming back. I’m tempted to wash them and put them away. My mom always liked keeping a clean house, but I doubt the water still runs here.

  The thud of my boots on the floor echoes in the living room. The dry air smells stale, and as I stand still in the center of the room, the silence is suffocating. Dust covers the decorations and tabletops, clings to the once-white walls. Golden sunlight filters through yellowing curtains, illuminating even more dust particles that hang in the air like they too have just paused, waiting for the family to return. What was it like for an entire community to have twenty-four hours to pack their belongings and leave forever? I can’t imagine.

  I step around an overstuffed recliner and settle onto the edge of the sofa. Here, in the middle of the coffee table, lies the album, exactly where Mom said she left it. Her biggest regret from the Exodus was not taking it with her, not being able to share the memories it contains with me. And now here it is—the past I’ve been frightened of my entire life—bound in the pages of this dusty old album.

  The corners are frayed, like rodents have chewed the soft leather cover in search of the treasures inside. It’s thick—at least six inches deep—and within the binding resides my family’s history. With trembling hands, I flip to the last page. I might as well start with the most recent photos, with people I might recognize. The first picture I see is definitely Mom. Her thick raven hair hangs over her shoulders and down to her waist. Her face is younger, of course, and so beautiful. Her dark eyes sparkle with a hint of mischievousness, like she’s laughing at a secret joke. She posed for this photo shortly before fear and pain etched worry lines into her forehead. Before she knew what would happen to anyone with the Sense. Before the Enlightened Ones became the infected.

  She wears a short-sleeved blue cotton dress with a tiny yellow flower pattern. One hand holds the swell in her belly from the bottom while the other rests gingerly on top.

  “She must be pregnant with you,
” Liam says.

  His voice startles me. I’d completely forgotten he was here; I’ve been so entranced by the mysterious familiarity of this place. He must have hung back to give me space to take it all in. I swallow down the lump in my throat.

  “Yeah . . . I guess that’s me in there.” I trace my finger over the bump in her belly and wonder what she felt. Was she happy to be having a baby? Was she ashamed for not being married to my father? Why didn’t she tell him about me? Maybe he could have helped.

  But I don’t have time to dwell on the what-ifs. If we’re caught here . . . well, I don’t have time to think about that either.

  I flip to the middle of the book and find a funny picture of a little girl waving her hands in the air while a woman chases a bird with a broom. Liam sinks down onto the sofa next to me and peers at the photo.

  “Is that your grandma with the broom?” He leans in to get a closer look, and his shoulder rests against mine. I try to ignore the quickening of my pulse and the warmth of his skin radiating through our sleeves.

  “I guess so,” I say, and then the memory comes back. “Oh yeah!” I move the album to rest on my right knee and his left and point to the picture. “I know this story. My mom used to tell it to me while she made herbal remedies.

  “This cactus has a sweet fruit that cures nausea, and birds love it. My grandma used to take my mom out to pick the fruit, but the birds didn’t like them stealing their food. So my mom would hold the bucket, and my grandma would swat at the birds with the broom. Then she’d grab the fruits as soon as the birds flew away and toss them to my mom. The birds would chase my grandma, pecking at her hair if she didn’t swat them away fast enough. My mom would run in circles, laughing and singing.”

  My voice catches, my chest tightening with sadness. Tears sting my eyes, and I wipe them away before Liam sees. Apparently I’m too late.

  He wraps his arm around me and squeezes tight. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I know nothing I can say will bring your mom back, but . . . just know you’re not alone.”

  I move the book back to the table and stare at my hands folded in my lap. “It was one of her favorite things to do with my grandma. She loved telling me that story.”