by Adriana Ryan
I must have fallen asleep because when I look up again, Ceres is by my bed, holding both my hands.
“S-sorry,” she says, her voice breaking.
“For what?” My head still feels like it’s full of empty air, and I’m having a hard time pushing the words out.
“Left you alone.” She looks down at our hands clasped together. A fat tear escapes her eye, splatters on the back of my hand, warm and wet. “Lucas…” She shakes her head, cannot continue.
“It’s not your fault. I should’ve told someone where I was going.” I squeeze her hand. “Hear me?”
She shakes her head again, her gaze remains earthbound. “Bad Rad hurt you. Bad Rad.”
I stare at her for a long moment, words spinning up into a whirlwind in my head. “Ceres… how do you know about Drew?”
She gestures vaguely toward the tent door. “Guards. Got him. Got. Caught.”
My pulse jitters at the thought of all these women and children, unarmed, around Drew. “He’s dangerous. Where is he now?”
“Reyes and his men tied him up. They didn’t know if we’d need information from him so they held off on killing him. He’s not going to hurt anyone, Vika.”
I look past Ceres at Nurse Carina. She stands by the tent entrance, her hands folded in front of her. I simply cannot imagine Drew being subdued by anyone, injured knee and shoulder notwithstanding.
“Can you take me to him?” I struggle to sit up without putting weight on my bad foot.
Nurse Carina is upon me in an instant. “You’re to stay in bed for as long as possible.” She pushes gently on my shoulder. “Think of the baby. You need to keep your strength up. The Sympathetics will be here in the next twenty-four hours, and then you have a long journey ahead of you.”
Hope blooms in my chest. “Are you sure? They’ll be here in the next twenty-four hours?”
“Yes. Reyes got word from le marché noir this morning.” She smiles, her eyes shining in the light. “Freedom. Can you smell it in the air?”
“That’s great news.” I pat Ceres’s hand and smile at her to cover up the coiled shoots of alarm beginning to wrap themselves around me. Between the medicine and the pain, I’m unable to discern exactly why the news of the Sympathetics has me feeling this way. “But I promise not to exert myself.”
Nurse Carina sighs her resignation, and as she helps me off the cot, I’m gripped by the cold certainty that they’ve captured the wrong man, that Drew hangs back even now, a predator with an eye for weakness in our perimeter.
I am handed promises of retribution from Nukehead men I do not know as I make my way with Ceres and Nurse Carina from my tent to Drew’s. As we pass over the small hill that separates me from the man who is desperate to own me, these men ask me again and again for my permission to do to Drew as he deserves. But I shake my head every time, telling them that violence is not what I want.
When I see the man, his hands bound by rope, I am gripped by a terrible, unreasonable fear that it’s not Drew, that he’s actually behind me, waiting to pounce. But then I see his bandaged shoulder and the blood-soaked fabric of his shredded shirt where the bullet went in. I take in his unnatural height and ophic black braid. It really is Drew.
His lip lifts in a sneer when he catches my eye. “You. Should’ve killed you the night I fucked you,” he says between wheezing breaths. He sweats from the effort of being alive.
Ceres shakes visibly beside me. On the other side, Nurse Carina tightens her grip around my waist. Tremendous heat emanates from her—sheer anger.
I rest my hand between Ceres’s shoulder blades to let her know it’s okay, that Drew doesn’t intimidate me. It is a half-truth I must convey to keep my sister tethered to this reality. I am afraid she will drift away from me like a puff of dandelion seed, for good this time.
I turn so Nurse Carina knows I want to leave. I have no desire to spend a moment more than necessary in his toxic presence now that I’ve verified he’s here, unable to harm me any longer. When the ship arrives, he will be left behind to starve or to deal with the anger of the Nukeheads. I feel no pity at the thought.
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
Outside, the calm-but-industrious buzz of activity has been replaced by cacophony. A number of Asylum and Nukehead children rush about with packs of their belongings, all chattering at each other. Nukehead parents yell instructions over the noise.
Sara sees me and waves. I go over to her, my heart a fiercely beating thing. “Is it the Sympathetics? Are they coming?”
Sara nods. Alexander attaches himself to her leg and smiles shyly, caught up in the excitement of the crowd. Whistles and shouts bob on a breeze, sail past. “They’ve just turned onto the main road. Some of our men rode back to get word to us. I can’t believe it’s happening.” Her mangled face is pink with imagined happy endings.
I smile at her in spite of the worry worming its way into my chest. The Sympathetics are coming. I force myself to relax. “You and Alexander deserve no less.”
She hugs me gently, and I inhale the scent of desert sun. “Promise me that you and Ceres will make every attempt to stay in touch, even if we don’t live near each other.”
I pull back and pat her shoulder. “But of course. That doesn’t need to be said.”
A memory of Shale punches through my mind, and the bittersweet moment crumbles around my feet. I remember the sight of him, tall and full of anger, as he stood in acid rain and watched the attack on the Nukeheads. He should be here now, embarking on this journey to our future. Instead, his body decomposes in the sun somewhere, alone and unwatched.
I blink back the tears and turn to Ceres. “We better pack some of our things.”
“Ceres and I got all that done while you were resting,” Nurse Carina answers. “Isn’t that right, Ceres?”
Ceres beams at me and nods.
“Why don’t you come to the gates with us?” Sara asks. “We’re bringing gifts to the Sympathetics.”
We follow Sara and Alexander as the rest of the camp streams past us to get to the gate so they can watch the welcoming ceremony. I smell excitement and the rounded juicy notes of delight wafting off of everyone just as readily as I can smell the jasmine and honeysuckle extract the women and girls have rubbed on themselves. It is, I think to myself, the smell of new beginnings.
I stand motionless, listening to the excited chatter of children, and the laughter of the women woven along with brisk directions from the Nukehead men. In spite of my foot’s protestations to all the abuse it has endured, in spite of the dust and sand that’s been kicked up by everyone settling into my eyes and coating the insides of my nostrils, in spite of worry hanging on me like the smell of rot, I am the nearest to happy I have been in a long time.
And then I see them approach, an elegant entourage of two silver government cars and one white bus glinting and sparkling in the sun as they eat up the miles in their hurry to get to us.
The woman in the first car gets out and approaches the Nukeheads waiting by the open gate, eager smiles on their faces. I notice first that she is wearing the green BoTA uniform. A Sympathetic in BoTA? But then I also notice her green tattooed-on eyebrows and the tattoo of a tulip in the center of her chin.
Moon.
Picking up a proffered apple, she smirks. “Le marché noir fruit as a welcoming gift? Isn’t that a bit cheeky, even for a rebel camp?”
It is then that the realization slams into me: These aren’t Sympathetics. This is simply a group of government officials come to arrest us, or worse.
I need to warn someone, but Moon cannot see me. I’m certain she’s here because she knows of my involvement with the Rads. If she finds proof that the refugee camp has been harboring a fugitive like me, it will mean certain death for all of us.
Forgetting my bad leg, I step backward in an attempt to get out of Moon’s line of sight. When the pain flares through my bone, I bite down on my finger to keep from crying out. But little Alexander spots me, and, thinking I’m playing, he
laughs.
“Vika!” he cries. “Silly Vika!”
I hold my breath and stand still, hoping Moon hasn’t heard. But her eyes fly toward the source of the noise. She sees Alexander and follows his gaze to me.
“Well,” she says into the silence, staring at me with a strange smile licking across her face. “If it isn’t Vika Cannon. We’ve been looking for you.” She makes a hand signal and Maintenance men pile out of the bus in the back, their acid guns at the ready.
CHAPTER FIFTY
“There’s no need for violence,” I say, staring straight into Moon’s eyes. “These people have done nothing wrong. They didn’t know I was in their camp. I’ve been hiding.”
Several of the Nukehead men turn to me as if to argue, but I shake my head at them. This isn’t the time to be brave, or noble, or honorable. These are the end days; from this point on, we do what we need to survive. Principles for our children’s lives: to me, it seems a fair trade.
Moon chuckles at my obvious lie. “Don’t you worry, Vika. I only want to talk. As long as these things don’t do anything rash, my men won’t either.”
I nod. “Alright. Then let’s talk.”
Moon has one of the Maintenance men check my pockets. He takes my pistol and we head to a nearby tent, the previous excitement in the air now replaced by fear and tension. Ceres grasps the back of my shirt, but Nurse Carina comes forward and gently detangles her fingers. Cupping the soft curve of her cheek, I look into her golden eyes. It’s going to be alright. You’re safe.
When we’re alone, I look at Moon. “What is it you wish to know?”
Moon folds her arms and arches an eyebrow. “Right to business? Aren’t you the slightest bit curious how I’ve come to be here? Me, a zero armband, with all this power?” She chuckles. “After you left and we realized what you were, Miss Adams was only too eager to let me join the special program the Escorts developed to stop all of you Rads. And now I’m eligible to emigrate, just like that.” She walks up to me slowly and puts a finger under my chin. I resist the urge to back away. “Your terrorist group was involved in those uprisings in the Asylums. All that time we worked together, and I scarcely knew you after all. Little snake.”
I don’t respond.
“What a slap in the face to the great Mathilde Cannon.” An amused smile spreads on her face. “So tell me, Vika, who else from that group of Rads is here in this camp?”
I continue to stare at her. “No one. They all died when your guards attacked the bus.” A blinding flash of pain steals my breath away as I recall the last time I saw Shale. An image steals into my brain, unbidden: me ripping Moon’s throat out with my teeth. It would happen so quickly she’d stand there, still and quiet, until it was too late, until her green uniform was stained a warm, wet crimson.
Moon sighs, as though she’s disappointed in me. Her gaze has a peculiar reptilian quality to it. Has it always? “You know I’m talking about the team that attacked after the ones on the bus were taken care of; the Rads who actually infiltrated the Toronto Asylum. I’m sure they’re here with you.”
Once again, I remain silent. A child cries somewhere outside.
“Looks like you have quite a few little ones in camp here.” She plays idly with a stick she picks up off the floor of the tent.
“Yes,” I say carefully.
“Hmm. It would be heartbreaking to see them all die.”
I tense. Once again, I see myself with my teeth on the tender skin of Moon’s throat, but even as I consider it I know my injured foot will slow me down. I cannot risk acting rashly if there is a chance she might escape. “We’re armed. And we’re not afraid to use our weapons.”
Moon laughs, a throaty, robust chuckle. “Neither are we, my dear. Not to mention, our casualties won’t be mourned nearly as hard as yours.”
“You have to believe me. I have no information about the whereabouts of the other Rads.”
“I have to believe you?” She arches one green eyebrow and snaps the stick in two. “After you lied to me the entire time we worked together? You must be joking.”
“I did it for my sister,” I say, forcing my voice to be strong. “I had to rescue her. You don’t know what it was like in that Asylum for the children—”
“You’re boring me now.” Moon stands up and the two halves of the stick fall to the ground. “If you won’t tell me willingly, I’ll have to make you, I’m afraid.”
I hobble after her, my skin tingling like it does before a bad acid rainfall. I’ve made a mistake. I should’ve chanced it, should’ve acted when I had her alone. She’s speaking to a Maintenance worker by the time I emerge from the tent. I open my mouth to tell the children to run, but before I can, the Maintenance men have grabbed four or five each, regardless of whether they’re Nukeheads or Asylum escapees.
One of the children they have is Alexander. I stare at his tiny open mouth, at his impossibly small fists as they beat against the Maintenance man’s muscled arm. I know he must be screaming, but I cannot hear him. Sound is distorted in the space between him and me, it seems, or perhaps I’ve been exiled to an impenetrable vacuum.
I watch as a Nukehead mother tries to wrestle her child from the man who has him, but she’s pushed to the ground effortlessly. I see her motioning to him wildly, I know she must be speaking, but I can’t hear her either. I look around me in wonder. How is this happening? How have the madness and violence followed me like twin dark stallions, charging effortlessly through any barrier of happiness or hope I try to construct?
“You will all calm down!” Moon orders through a megaphone. Her tinny voice pushes against my eardrums, and just like that, I’m jarred from my reverie. “Calm down or we’ll kill your children right here in front of you!”
The throng of bodies around us falls mostly silent, with some of the younger children in the crowd still whimpering as though they can’t help it. Moon, the Maintenance men with the children, and I are in the center, while the rest of the refugee camp presses in around us in a loose circle.
“Good. You can follow orders, at least.” Moon smiles and looks at me. Still speaking into the megaphone, she says, “Now, Vika, have you changed your mind?”
I glance at the captive children helplessly. Their fates rest in my hands, but I feel as though I’ve been thrust into a game whose rules I don’t understand. How can I make her see I don’t have the answers? “I don’t know—I really haven’t the slightest idea where the other Rads are.”
Moon quirks her mouth and turns to the Maintenance worker who has Alexander. The boy’s big eyes drip tears and his chest hitches with every breath.
Pointing one long green fingernail at him, Moon says, “That one.”
The Maintenance man puts one hand on Alexander’s forehead and the other one on his chin. He means to break his neck. No, I think. No, no, you can’t, he is so close to freedom, to the rest of his life.
Somewhere behind me, Sara screams, breaking my paralysis. I stumble forward. “Wait! Stop!”
Moon looks at me. “Are you ready to talk?”
I shiver so hard my teeth clatter against each other. “Yes. Yes, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
When Drew stands propped up by two Maintenance men, delirious and talking to hallucinations, I feel only cold anger and revulsion. Not one small part of me is guilty for throwing him to the wolves so callously. I think back to only weeks ago, when I’d felt such outrage at finding out the truth about the Asylums. Drew is far from an innocent victim, but he’s still unable to protect himself against attack at the moment, incapacitated by fever and injury. Am I really so different from those who made a living torturing our children? I am just as willing to assist in the torture of another human being to keep myself and those I love from coming under fire. Perhaps in being hurt by Drew, I’ve lost some of my humanity too. The thought only fuels my rage.
“So this is your fellow fugitive and former Husband?” Moon chuckles as she prods him
under the chin with her megaphone. He moans loudly. “He doesn’t seem to be in very good shape.”
“He’s injured,” I reply. “Please…be careful with him.”
“If he cooperates with me, he’ll have nothing to worry about.” She smiles at him. “Now be a good boy and tell me who gave the second group the order to infiltrate the Asylum.”
Drew glares at her, his eyes glassy from fever. “Bl…bloody government bitch.”
Moon’s smile disappears. She nods slightly at the Maintenance man on Drew’s right. The man’s face is passive as he sticks an electric prod into Drew’s mangled shoulder. Drew screams terribly and convulses, but the men do not let him fall. His head slumps forward and he drools onto the ground, thick ropes of blood and spit and mucus.
“Let him go!” I shriek, hoping that I can carry on the charade long enough to give some of the Nukeheads a chance to plan an escape.
Ignoring me, Moon speaks to Drew. “I’ll give you another chance because I’m in a magnanimous mood today. Who ordered the second attack on the Asylum? Was it Tomas?”
Drew’s head jerks up. He looks past Moon at me, and the madness in his eyes is staggering. “Vika? Vika…can’t…get away…” His head lolls on his shoulder.
“She won’t be getting away because you refuse to cooperate,” Moon says, misunderstanding his words. She nods at the Maintenance worker again.
This time the man places Drew’s upper arm on his knee. Pressing down with one hand, he uses his other one to hyperextend Drew’s elbow. There’s a loud cracking sound and Drew shrieks, his face draining entirely of color. Even I blanch at the brutality of it.
“This is just the beginning, Shale,” Moon says, walking slowly to me. She produces a knife and holds the point to my eye. “You keep denying knowledge and we’ll do things to Vika you’ve never even heard of.”
I step back, my palms sweaty, my breath short, and run into a Maintenance worker’s chest. There’s no way I could maneuver around him, even if I wanted to run.