We were all underdressed—Tu most of all, to be fair, though Pavati wasn’t much more clothed in her halter top—and shivering. I wouldn’t have minded more coverage myself, but those two needed it for more than the cold. The Words stamping their skin looked more striking than ever, as good as signs pointing to them and shouting, We’ve escaped from the Athenaeum! Come get us!
Khaya looked at them, obviously thinking the same thing. “You two have to stay here,” she said, with only the barest hint of satisfaction. “You’re way too conspicuous.”
“As if you two aren’t,” Tu said, giving us a once-over with a contemptuous smirk. “You look like you’ve been running and hiding in the woods for days on end. Nothing suspicious there.”
“Tavin and I are still the better option,” Khaya insisted, folding her arms—to appear stern, or to ward off the cold, or maybe to cover a hole in her shirt. “They could still mistake us for runaway teenagers. You two are unmistakable like this.”
“So what? I say we march right in and come what may.”
Pavati rubbed her arms, which were covered in goose bumps. “Why don’t we go in at night and just break into a store?”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me. And there was a reason. The one time I’d ever stolen something had been one of the most shaming moments of my young life, not only because Drey had forced me to hand over the toy, along with my stammering apology, to the storeowner down the street, but because he’d bought it for me the next day, to prove I didn’t need to steal. I hadn’t even been able to play with it, I was so embarrassed. It just sat on the metal desk in my back room and collected dust.
“No!” I spoke louder than I’d intended. I was well beyond the shame of the incident, but I didn’t want to dishonor Drey now. And besides, he’d prepared things so I wouldn’t have to steal. “I mean, I have money,” I said more quietly, slipping the backpack off my shoulders and digging out the envelope with the postcard and cash. “Plenty of it. And besides, we’d leave a trail for anyone hunting us if we break into a store and steal only food and sweatshirts.”
“You’re right,” Pavati said, her eyebrows raised as if she was surprised by the fact she hadn’t considered that. Or maybe that I had. But she blinked it away and gave me a smile.
I pulled out the wad of Swiss francs and stuffed it in my pocket, leaving the envelope with the backpack. The pack would be safer with Pavati and Tu, especially if Khaya and I needed to run for any reason. And Khaya probably didn’t want the gun coming with us.
“We could always steal more to throw them off,” Tu said with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Maybe wreck the place so we look like common thugs.”
“You would be a common thug then,” I said, and Pavati gave me another assessing look.
Khaya glanced at her, then took my arm—firmly. “Tavin and I are going in. We’ll get the basics: food, clothes—”
“Soap,” I interjected.
“Any other requests?”
“Tavin could always give me his shirt and I could go in,” Tu said. “You need a man capable of reading, never mind—”
“No.” Khaya cut him off.
Tu sneered. “His shirt wouldn’t fit me anyway.”
I nodded. “Too big, I know.”
Khaya yanked me away before the conversation could degrade further and started off across the fields. My feet crunched in the shadowed patches of the grass. Frost.
“Get some chocolate!” Pavati shouted after us. “Hell, lots of chocolate—we’re in Switzerland, after all! And toilet paper!” Her shout dissolved into laughter amidst the trees.
“You know, I wouldn’t mind some toilet paper either,” I said as we walked. It felt strange to be out in the open, in the daylight no less, and I was talking mostly to stave off any nervousness. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that earlier.” I’d been making do with leaves.
“Probably because you were busy running for your life,” Khaya said. “In that situation, toilet paper is a luxury. It still is. We’ll need to get another backpack at this rate, maybe two. Toilet paper is light, but it takes up too much space.”
“Killjoy,” I said.
Khaya didn’t even look at me. She had gone into action-mode—her way of dealing with nerves—winding herself into a tight coil of seriousness. Not that I was used to seeing a side of her that wasn’t serious, but I’d been making some headway there. I wondered if it was part of her training or just part of her. Or because of what I’d confessed the night before.
“Though at this point, soap is a must,” she said, almost to herself. She stopped and faced me. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful.” She gave me a glare before I added, “And filthy.”
“Be more specific.”
“Well, I’ve always thought your hair was gorgeous, even when it’s a rat’s nest like now, and your eyes are the most melting shade of—”
She cleared her throat.
“Dirt smudges,” I said in a clipped fashion, as if reporting to my superior. I threw in a salute for good measure. “Upper left cheek and above right eyebrow. I repeat: hair is a rat’s nest.”
A smile worked its way onto her face, even though she obviously tried to stop it. She buffed at her cheek and forehead and tried to run her fingers through the dark, tangled mass of her hair, then gave up and twisted it into a knot at the nape of her neck. It was so stiff with grime it actually stayed in place without a tie. “Better?”
“Nothing could make you look better than you already do—but you look cleaner,” I said, before she could open her mouth. I took a step forward and rubbed at a dark spot visible above her collarbone. It didn’t come off, not even when I fell back on my trusty, all-purpose solution and licked my thumb before trying again.
“Whoops,” I said, the realization hitting me. “I think I did that. You know, when I was kissing your neck.”
Khaya craned her neck to see, a flush rising in her cheeks. She looked warmer than sunlight, sweeter than any flower in the world. Even when she smelled like old sweat.
“Oh. Well, nothing to be done about it,” she said, pulling her shirt a little higher and continuing to walk.
“What about me?” I asked, following her.
“Your face is as clean as it’s going to get, but your arms are a lost cause. We’d need a stiff scrub brush. I suggest keeping them folded if we encounter anyone. Your shirt looks horrible up close, but at least it’s dark—”
“No,” I said. “What else do you see?”
Normally, I would never have asked anyone a question like that in a million years, let alone a girl. Asking someone to tell you why they like you is obviously searching for an ego-boost, not a bruising. But this was Khaya, and I still felt high, especially after seeing the reminder of our last encounter on her neck. Besides, I was beyond curious: how the hell did a guy like me matter to a girl like her? Finding out that I did matter to her had only left me with that burning question.
Khaya’s stride faltered for a second, but then she kept going, faster than before, pulling ahead of me. I didn’t think she was going to answer.
But a few seconds later, she said, “I like your hair, even though you need a haircut. Some people wear theirs messy to look carefree, but it’s affected. You really don’t care.” I could hear the smile in her words, even though I couldn’t see her face. Her voice warmed up as she spoke, flowing more freely. “I particularly like your eyes. Their color is one of the least remarkable things about you, compared to your height, your build … ” She cleared her throat, more embarrassed than stern. “Anyway, it’s easy to miss your eyes—they’re sort of a nondescript muddy brown, but so clear. You see right through them almost. But I like looking, because of what I see.”
“What do you see?” I asked, my throat tight for some reason I couldn’t name.
“When you’re happy, I see the laughter in your eye
s, and the mischief when you’re being a shit. When you’re crying I see your pain, raw and bleeding, and when you look at me … ”
She took a sharp little breath. She couldn’t say it, because I hadn’t said it yet. I hadn’t even known it until then. And I still couldn’t say it, because my throat seized up almost painfully.
But I knew what she saw.
She stopped right before we reached the sidewalk at the far end of the field and turned around. She had tears in her eyes.
“Mostly I see you,” she said. “And you’re good.”
She looked scared herself. No, she looked …
And then I saw it, for the first time: her guard dropped, the doors of her eyes opened, and I saw her.
I saw something else, too, as she looked at me. Probably the same thing she’d seen in my eyes.
“Tavin,” she whispered. She didn’t need to say it, like I didn’t have to. And that made me love her even more.
Gods, love. It was strange, intoxicating, wonderful … and utterly terrifying. It was like riding a roller-coaster drunk. I sort of wanted to laugh, scream, and puke all at the same time.
I exhaled, my head spinning. “So you don’t just like me for my body.”
She shook her head once and smiled, the motion making a tear run from the corner of her eye. I caught it, leaving a wet, muddy smear where I’d touched her.
I stared at my damp finger, trying to ground myself. “Even though I want to, I probably shouldn’t touch you again until we get some soap. You now have another smudge of dirt on your left cheek.”
She laughed and lifted a sleeve to wipe her eyes. “Better? Cleaner, I mean?”
“Check, captain.”
“Okay.” She took a deep, steadying breath, blinking away her tears. “You need food. You’re about to fall over. Let’s go.”
Admittedly, low blood sugar was probably why I felt so dizzy, but not entirely. I felt like I was flying as I followed her down the sidewalk and into the town of Martigny. The world streamed by in a blur, as if nothing could touch me so long as Khaya felt the same way about me as I felt about her. We crossed a couple streets, hardly needing to look both ways since there were so few cars on the road, and Khaya scanned the signs on the buildings. Soon she stopped.
“This is about all I see.” She gestured at the sign above the wooden siding of a storefront, then read it aloud when she remembered I couldn’t read. “A supermarché—a supermarket. It doesn’t look very ‘super,’ but there’s not much else to this town.”
I shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
A bell jingled as we pushed the door open. Thank the Gods there was no one else inside except a portly man with a beret, blue overalls, and a big round nose reading a newspaper behind a wooden counter. It amazed me that just anyone could read, especially a guy looking like that. In Eden City, I would have pegged him as wordless from a mile off. A TV was playing over his head, unwatched. It looked even older than the TV in Drey’s garage that had broken years ago.
“Eh, bonjour,” the man said without looking up.
We picked up empty baskets and ducked into an aisle. Khaya snatched things off the shelves as she passed, mostly dried food, a lot of which looked suspiciously like energy bars even though I couldn’t read the packaging. She had to seize my arm when I spotted the candy bars. I gestured at them, hissing under my breath about how good they were, but she shook her head and added healthier-looking food to the basket. We crossed into an aisle with tools and plastic jugs that even I knew held motor oil, and that was where Khaya found some bar soap, toothpaste, and toothbrushes. She eyed a collection of bottles that looked like shampoo but passed them over with a small sigh.
In a back corner, I spotted a rack of T-shirts and sweatshirts, and Khaya sent me that way with a nudge, murmuring, “I’ll look for anything else we might need.”
There were different words on different sweatshirts, but I couldn’t read what they said and only cared about the color, anyway—the darker the better, to hide dirt. I took four black sweatshirts off the rack. I paused, grinned to myself, and replaced Tu’s with the next size down. It would still fit him, but snuggly. Like a muscle sweatshirt.
I was so pleased with my little prank that I didn’t notice the TV until I’d followed Khaya up to the counter, where she had put her basket and stood waiting for me. Earlier, the screen had been showing a soccer game, but now there was an aerial view of a forest, obviously filmed from a helicopter.
The trees were burning.
I didn’t need to be able to read the text flashing across the screen to know this was the forest we’d left behind. And my connection to it was especially obvious, since my picture was displayed in the upper right corner—the same photo that had dominated the giant video screens in Eden City.
Whether or not they believed I’d struck the match for the fire that nearly burned a massive swath of forest to the ground, every viewer would know I was involved. Not only was local law enforcement definitely tracking me, but I’d be hunted down by average citizens.
Like the portly man in overalls behind the counter. He was staring at the newspaper, not the TV, so I ducked my head to dig out a wad of Swiss francs. I passed them to Khaya without looking up and turned as if I’d forgotten something, hoping the shopkeeper wouldn’t notice me slipping out of the store.
But I didn’t slip away. I froze instead. Someone else’s face had filled the screen, even though my photo remained in the corner. He was gaunt and gray with tubes in his nose and mouth and tape on his eyelids, surrounded by hospital equipment. He looked horrific, but he was alive.
Drey was definitely alive.
Swanson’s voice suddenly became clear in the background, speaking English instead of French: “This is a message for Tavin Barnes, a plea. Turn yourself in. The only way this innocent bystander’s life can be saved is if you return to Eden City with what you stole. There’s nothing else that can save him.” There was a heavy pause. “He has roughly one day to live. Your choice.”
twenty-one
A day. Drey had only a day to live.
“Drey!” I shouted, startling the man at the counter. He glanced at the TV in surprise, but didn’t look at the screen for long. He looked back down at his newspaper. “Khaya, we have to go now. We have to see if there’s a cure—”
“Tav—” Khaya said in warning, then choked off my name. “Just be quiet.”
She probably didn’t want to give me away any more than I already had. I couldn’t stop staring at the footage of Drey, let alone sneak away. Fortunately, the shopkeeper seemed to be more interested in his paper than either the TV or me.
Or so I thought, until he slammed the paper down on the countertop and my upside-down face stared at me from the front page.
“You are … Tavin Barnes?” he asked, pronouncing my name with a heavy accent.
“Uh,” I said, right when Khaya said, “No!”
“I think you are Tavin Barnes.”
The shopkeeper ducked out of sight behind the wooden counter and returned with a rifle before either Khaya or I could blink. He aimed it right at my chest.
“You think you can just come into my store and I will do nothing?” he demanded.
“No, sir!” The line of stuffed deer and elk heads above the windows was all the proof I needed. The man in overalls was not only a reader, but a hunter. Fantastic. “I mean, I’m not Tav—”
“Now, you wait here while I make a phone call.” He held the rifle in one hand while the other reached along the countertop for an old corded phone. “If you do not move, I will not shoot.”
“Sir,” Khaya began. “Monsieur, s’il vous plaît—” she added in French. Of course she would speak French.
“Now, I do not know who you are, mademoiselle, but you are with a bad young man. He is wanted by the police and everyone in Switzerland.”
So I’d been right about that at least, even if I’d been wrong about everything else—like not simply robbing the store, or Khaya and I coming into town instead of Pavati and Tu, or Drey possibly having more than one day left to live. Chilled as I was, I’d broken out in a sweat. And hungry as I was, I would sooner have ejected the acid boiling in my stomach than eaten.
Khaya looked around, as if for some sort of weapon. But there was nothing living in the shop that I could see, not even a potted plant. And I’d left the gun in the backpack with Pavati and Tu. I actually wished Tu were here in all of his earthshaking, shirtless, macho glory.
“Sir, really, you don’t understand,” I said, trying a different tack. “We have to—”
“Be quiet,” the shopkeeper said, jerking the rifle for emphasis. Then he spoke into the phone in rapid French. All I caught was his name: Pierre.
As soon as he hung up, both of his hands were back on the rifle, which hadn’t wavered from me. Perhaps I should have tried something while he was on the phone, but I hadn’t been able to come up with any more of a plan then than now. Swanson was maybe my father, Khaya loved me, Drey was alive but dead in a day—it was all too much. I felt as brainless as one of the stuffed deer heads with glassy eyes. All I knew was that if I made any sudden moves, my chest would be turned to Swiss cheese.
Even if I couldn’t save myself, maybe there was still hope for Khaya. Hope for the world.
“Let the girl go,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “It’s me everyone wants. She didn’t do anything.” At least, Eden City wouldn’t have told the Swiss government any different.
Pierre narrowed his eyes. “How do I know that? She could be your—what do you call it?—your accomplice.”
“She’s not. I—I kidnapped her. She’s my hostage. But I don’t want her getting hurt in any of this, and you probably don’t either.”
Khaya was staring at me, her eyes wide. Then she blinked.
“He’s lying,” she told Pierre.
“Khaya!” I cried. “Tell the man the truth and get the hell out of here!”
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