Time Next

by Carolyn Cohagan

  “He needs one of you to take him to Dr. Rachel’s house,” I say.

  “Let me sleep another hour, and I’ll take you,” Mary says, her eyes closed.

  “We can’t risk walking around in the daylight,” Juda says.

  “You’re right,” Silas says, rubbing his light hair. “I should take you now.”

  “Or you can draw me a map,” Juda says.

  “It’s safer for me to lead you. I can keep us out of view.”

  Juda hesitates. “If you’re sure.”

  “It’s why we’re here, right?” Silas says.

  Juda smiles gratefully. He stands, ready to go immediately. I’ve never seen him so jumpy.

  “Silas, you can have five minutes.” I pull Juda’s arm. Once we’re a few feet away, I say, “I’m coming, too.”

  “No, I––”

  “Don’t argue. You don’t know Dr. Rachel,” I say.

  “Silas does, right?” he says.

  “It’s different. Dr. Rachel and I, we talked about you. She understands that Rose needs to see you, and I think she’s more likely to say yes if I’m with you.”

  His shoulders slump. “If you really think it will make that much of a difference, then . . . okay.”

  “I’m not asking for your permission,” I say.

  He gives me a rueful smile. “I’m starting to learn that.”

  When Silas is ready to leave, I ask a groggy Mary, “Will you be safe here alone?”

  “Safer than you out there,” she says. “If my brother comes by, he won’t hurt me.”

  “Okay,” I say, although I don’t like the idea of splitting up. “See you soon.” I give her a huge hug as she wishes us good luck.

  Dr. Rachel lives in a purple house, which doesn’t seem to suit her at all. When we reach her door, I can’t spend even a moment thinking about what I’m doing or why we’re there. I knock and then resume my counting. 1000, 999, 998.

  I’ve counted to 792 by the time the door opens. Dr. Rachel, wearing cotton pajamas, her hair loose and tangled around a sleepy face, looks us up and down. “Silas Dixon? Mina? What are you doing here?” she says, confounded.

  Without an invitation, we brush by her into the house.

  “What’s going on?” she asks, distress entering her voice.

  “We’re sorry to be so rude,” I say, “but we can’t have any Bees listening to us right now.”

  We have no idea if the rest of the Unbound know that we’ve escaped, or how Dr. Rachel will respond if they do. She could panic, sound the alarm to bring all the Sentries running, and all of this will have been for nothing.

  My instinct tells me she won’t. She seemed to really care about Rose. If she thinks seeing Juda will help Rose, I think she’ll bend the rules to make it happen. Anyway, I’m risking our safety on this prediction.

  “I found Rose’s son,” I say, pointing to Juda, “and he needs to see his mother right away.”

  “You can come to the hospital this afternoon,” she says, looking at us like we’re lunatics, “during visiting hours.” She gestures toward her front door.

  “Wait!” Juda says.

  Dr. Rachel squints at him with suspicion.

  “We can’t do that,” I say. “We, uh, don’t have a lot of time. Juda was staying, uh, somewhere complicated, and they will want him back there very soon.”

  She looks Juda up and down and seems to notice only now that we’re all wearing tan.

  “You’d better sit down,” she says, motioning toward the kitchen.

  I could burst from relief.

  “What made you think you could bust out of the Forgiveness Home and just walk into my hospital?” Dr. Rachel asks.

  We sit around her kitchen table greedily eating toast with jam and drinking hot tea.

  Silas, mouth full of bread, says, “You have a better idea?”

  “Juda could have petitioned Ram to see his mother.”

  “We don’t have access to Ram,” Silas says, swallowing.

  “We only have access to starvation and torture,” Juda says, looking her square in the eye.

  “What are you talking about?” Dr. Rachel says, putting down her tea.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know what goes on in the Forgiveness Home,” Juda says, voice hard.

  “Counseling and prayer for troubled youth,” Dr. Rachel says.

  Juda laughs nastily. “Is that what you call it?”

  “Is that true, Silas? Were you being tortured?” Rachel asks.

  Silas looks at her, then at both of us, then back at her. “No one is hitting us, if that’s what you mean.”

  Juda and I look at each other, flabbergasted.

  Dr. Rachel looks gently at Silas. “Torture doesn’t always mean physical contact. It can be anything that leads to physical or psychological pain.”

  Silas looks at her, misery creasing his face. “I don’t know if they torture us, but I do know that the Forgiveness Home is the most horrible place on the planet, and the idea of being there one more day makes me want to kill myself.”

  “It’s what I would call ‘endurance reeducation,’” Juda says. “They take away food and sleep and test your tolerance for pain until you break.”

  Sitting there, trying to find a way to sit that doesn’t hurt my back, I know that my tolerance for pain wasn’t going to last much longer.

  Dr. Rachel looks teary. “I’m so sorry this happened to all of you. If I’d had any idea––”

  “You’d what?” Silas says with bitterness.

  “I would’ve tried to do something,” she says.

  Silas rolls his eyes. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  “Silas, why are you being so nasty?” I ask. “She’s trying to help.”

  “Plenty of kids, myself included, have gone home and told their parents what happens at the Forgiveness Home, and nothing has ever changed. Why would this be any different?”

  “I’m not saying it will be. I’m just saying that I can try,” Dr. Rachel says. “The next time I meet with Ram, I’ll ask him about it.”

  “He’ll lie,” Silas says.

  “I’ll ask for a tour and see for myself. How about that?” she says.

  Silas stares at his mug of tea. Finally, he says, “That would be good.”

  Dr. Rachel smiles.

  “What matters right now is my mother,” Juda says.

  “Of course,” Dr. Rachel says, gathering our plates.

  We spend the next twenty minutes coming up with a plan: Dr. Rachel will drive to the hospital with Juda in the passenger seat disguised in different clothes. As they enter the hospital, they will pretend he is a very sick patient. After he’s seen his mother, he’ll follow the map that Silas drew to return to our hiding spot.

  Once the details are clear, Dr. Rachel disappears upstairs to fetch what she and Juda will need.

  “How do we know we can trust her?” Juda asks in a whisper.

  “Because she would’ve sounded the alarm already if she wanted to turn us in,” I say.

  When we hear her coming down the stairs, we stop talking. She enters the kitchen with blue pants, a blue shirt, a coat, and a hat, for Juda.

  “Do those belong to your husband?” I ask, realizing with a start that he could be sleeping upstairs.

  “I’m not married. These were my father’s.”

  “I’ve never known how you managed to stay single, Doc,” Silas says. “Every woman I’ve ever known has a husband.”

  Rachel smiles ruefully. “Once I announced my intention to be a doctor, the suitors stopped coming, which was all right with me.”

  “Being a single doctor sounds pretty great,” Silas says, and I agree with him. Dr. Rachel lives in a huge house with no one telling her what to do, what to cook, or how to behave. It seems pretty dreamy.

  “Can I take a look at your wrist, Silas?” she asks. After examining it, she tells him, “It’s pretty swollen. Maybe you haven’t been letting it rest like the doctor told you?”

&n
bsp; Sheepishly, he says, “It hasn’t been a top priority.”

  “You’d better make it one, or it’ll fuse incorrectly and cause you pain for the rest of your life.”

  Silas looks startled. “Okay.”

  He’s been acting as if the wrist were completely healed, but what was he going to do? Stay in the Forgiveness Home?

  “Juda and I should leave,” Dr. Rachel says. “Where will you two go?” she asks me and Silas.

  “We’re fine,” he says. “Our hiding place is safe.”

  “You can’t hide forever,” she says. “I hope you have a plan.”

  “We do,” Silas says, a grin spreading across his face.

  I wish I was as confident as he was. What we have is less of a plan and more of a rough intention.

  Taking my hand, Juda says, “Be careful. Don’t make me break you out of the Forgiveness Home a second time.”

  “You broke me out?” I ask. “I think I was helping you.”

  “I think Mary technically yanked me out,” he says, smiling.

  Smile disappearing, I say, “Be careful. Really.”

  “I will.” Leaning down, he kisses me on the forehead, on each cheek and then on the mouth. My nerve endings all seem to buzz at once. When he pulls away, I’m giddy with longing.

  “See you soon,” he says.

  “See you soon,” I echo.

  Thirty-Four

  I wonder what time it is. Five in the morning? Six? People will be waking up soon.

  Silas guides me back the way we came, but with the rising sun we seem so much more exposed. He leads us deeper behind trees and shrubbery.

  I’ve counted so much tonight that I decide to switch to Kalyb’s method of focusing on different parts of the body. I start with my forehead, nose, and mouth, picturing Dr. Rachel’s lasers scanning me from top to bottom.

  Prowling around behind Silas reminds me of the night we snuck out of his house, when I thought I was going to see Juda. A lot has happened since then. A wave of distrust washes over me, and, for a second, I wonder where Silas is taking me. I have to remind myself that I know his secret now, and I didn’t then.

  Concentrate, Mina. Shoulders, chest, belly button . . .

  Silas is different to me now. I can see the cracks where his father made him feel unloved and also the little boy who had to face Solomon alone. He seems more vulnerable and more powerful at the same time, if such a thing is possible.

  Back to your loop! Thighs. Knees. Ankles . . .

  Silas has been more honest with me than I’ve been with him. I have lots of secrets he still doesn’t know about.

  My mind flashes to Solomon dragging me into a room full of cables. A gurney. Screaming. “All of us! Everyone!”

  Oh my God. My confession. I told Solomon about Damon.

  How could I have forgotten that? I confessed my own sin, but I also betrayed Juda, Rose, Dekker, and Grace! What have I done?

  I’m so upset by the memory, at first I don’t notice the whirring sound. I spin around, looking for the source, and when I don’t see anything, with dread, I look up.

  And there is a Bee.

  Nyek.

  It hovers only two feet above my head. I take a quick step to my right, and it mimics my motions. It’s synched me.

  Without moving my head, I look around and spot Silas, who’s continuing to walk. I see his lips counting. No other Bees are in sight. I run in the opposite direction of Silas, and the Bee dutifully follows.

  What was I thinking? I wasn’t omming at all! I was thinking about Solomon and Damon like an idiot.

  Too late now. I’m caught. I wish I had a giant fly swatter so I could smash the Bee into a thousand pieces.

  By the time I’ve run three blocks, I hear the shouts of men behind me. I pray I’ve given Silas enough distance to escape.

  “Freeze!” screams an angry, male voice. I stop running. I know what happens if I try to escape: nets and needles.

  “Get on the ground and put your hands on your head!” a second man yells.

  I drop to my knees in the grass and do what he says.

  My heart thumps from sprinting, but also from fear and disappointment. I wasn’t even free twenty-four hours.

  Footsteps approach, and when I twist around, my stomach turns. It’s not a Sentry. It’s Mr. Tanner.

  He gives me a nasty grin. “Not too bright, you woolies—walking around in the daylight.”

  Another man comes to his side. He has a weaselly face and tiny shoulders. His slight build is counterbalanced by the enormous shotgun he holds in his hands. He smiles, just like Tanner, as if he’s shot a holiday pig—or worse—is about to. “Nice one, Luke,” he says.

  “I told you it was worthwhile holding onto last year’s Bees.” Tanner opens up his jacket, makes a chirping sound, and the Bee flies into an inside pocket. “No one’s watching us now. Let’s take her back to where we caught her.”

  The little man nods.

  Tanner tells me, “Let’s go,” but I don’t budge. Without warning, he kicks me in the stomach.

  Wind knocked out of me, I fall to the ground, gasping for air and grabbing my belly in pain.

  “You ready to come with us now?” Tanner asks.

  I stand with difficulty, and the men lead me by gunpoint back to the edge of the woods where I first noticed the Bee.

  “This is the spot,” says the little man, who must have been watching through the Bee.

  “Okay, Samuel,” says Tanner. “Let’s say I came running around from behind that house over there, saw her, saw her gun, and then saw her pointing it at you.”

  “Sounds good to me,” says Samuel, grinning widely.

  What’s happening? I don’t have a gun. Panic shoots through me as I try to catch up to what they’re saying.

  “Okay,” Tanner says. “That means I’ll have to shoot her from way over here.” He walks to the edge of the house, and points his shotgun right at my head.

  I almost faint thinking he’s going to pull the trigger.

  “Wait for me to get out of the way!” Samuel says.

  “Wait! No!” I plead. “I don’t have a gun!”

  “Of course you don’t, dearie,” Tanner says. “That’s why Samuel brought one for you. But sadly, you won’t be getting it until you’re dead.” Sticking out his lower lip, he mocks a sad face.

  What happened to Ram’s special protection?

  What should I do? What can I do? My mind races for an action—any action that will delay them.

  Is Silas still here or did he escape when I gave him the chance?

  I spin around, turning my back toward Tanner. “You’re going to have to shoot me in the back. Everyone will know I wasn’t aiming a gun at Samuel.”

  “Whatever you prefer,” says Tanner. “I’m good at improvising.” I hear the cock of the gun. “Time to meet the Devil, you woolie trash.”

  “Put it down, Mr. Tanner,” growls a deep voice.

  Mr. Tanner goes rigid. I spin around, searching for the source.

  Jeremiah comes around the side of the house in his Sentry uniform. I can’t believe how relieved I am to see him. He holds up the same large gun he held the first time I saw him.

  “It’s time for you to go home, Mr. Tanner. You, too, Samuel. We’ll talk about this with Ram tomorrow.”

  After the two men mutter disgusting things at me, they slowly walk away, chests puffed out, trying to let Jeremiah know that they aren’t afraid of him.

  Once they’re gone, Jeremiah asks, “Are you okay?”

  I still can’t breathe fully since the kick Mr. Tanner gave me, and my body is so full of adrenaline I may pass out. I sit down in the grass.

  “We’ll get you some help,” he says. He blinks quickly, awakening his Tact. “I need an ambulance at Seventeenth Street, behind the Folsom house.”

  Ambulance? I think. Will it take me to the hospital? Will Juda be there? What if we arrive right when he’s trying to escape? That sounds bad.

  “No,” I say. �
�I’m fine. I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “You sure?” Jeremiah says, skeptical. He comes over, kneeling beside me.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Okay, then. In that case, you’re under arrest.”

  Of course I am. I nod.

  After he cancels the ambulance, he says, “Before I take you in, I have one question.”

  I’m surprised. I’ve never heard Jeremiah speak this much. His blue eyes are full of anger, but I also detect anxiety.

  “Where is my sister?”

  “How should I know?” I ask, confused.

  “Don’t play dumb,” he says, standing. “We know Mary broke out with you. So where is she?”

  Mary is Jeremiah’s sister?! How could she neglect to tell us that her brother was a Sentry?

  “I don’t know. We got separated,” I say.

  He takes a deep breath as he produces a long piece of hard plastic to tie my wrists together. “I don’t believe you, but we’ll get the truth out of you. One way or another.”

  Thirty-Five

  Jeremiah leads me to a van exactly like the one that I was forced into on my first day—black with black windows. I’m confounded when not only does Jeremiah not sedate me, but instead of throwing me in the back, he tells me to get in the front seat.

  He doesn’t say where we’re going, but he doesn’t have to: the Forgiveness Home and Solomon. My back begins to ache at the thought, while my heart accelerates with fear.

  “Is she okay?” Jeremiah says, jolting me out of my thoughts.

  I stare at his profile. Mary’s brother? I still can’t believe it. Mary is full of opinions and sarcasm and is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met; Jeremiah is such a . . . big lump of cooperation. You wouldn’t think he had an opinion in his head.

  “Last time I saw her,” I say.

  “That’s what I meant,” he says, frustrated. “How was she doing in the Forgiveness Home?”

  What should I say? She was far from happy. She was being tortured by a barbaric belt around her waist. The girls in the dorm treated her like dirt. I know that Jeremiah was writing her letters, but I also remember her saying that her whole family thought she was disgusting, and I have to guess that that included Jeremiah.