The Capture

by Tom Isbell

  “But dinner . . .”

  “. . . is right here.” She held up a tidy bundle wrapped in a large bandanna. “We’re going to have a picnic.”

  “But my friends . . .”

  “. . . will have to have dinner without you. Or don’t you want to have a picnic with me?” She stuck out her lower lip and pretended to pout.

  “No, I do.” I was about to say more, but Hope and Scylla strolled by. They slowed to a stop, waiting for me to join them. When I didn’t, they gave Mandy a quick once-over. An awkward silence followed.

  Mandy nudged me in the ribs. “Well? Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  “Right. Hope, Scylla: this is Miranda. Miranda: Hope and Scylla.”

  Hope and Miranda said, “Nice to meet you,” at the same time. Scylla was grim and silent as always.

  Mandy hooked her arm through mine. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said to the two Sisters, “but I’m going to steal your friend for dinner.”

  I dropped my eyes to the ground. For whatever reason, I couldn’t bear to see Hope’s expression.

  “You can have him for breakfast, for all I care,” I heard Hope say.

  “I may just take you up on that,” Miranda said. “Come on, Bookie Boy.”

  Bookie Boy?

  “Where’re we going?” I asked as Mandy dragged me away. It was hard to imagine a picnic hundreds of feet beneath the surface of the earth.

  “You’ll see.” That same Cheshire cat smile as always.

  We turned off into a side tunnel.

  “Should we be here?” I asked. “You know I’m—”

  “A spy?”

  “A prisoner.”

  “We’re not leaving the Compound. We’re just going to the edge of it.”

  Guards lined the wall. Their eyes narrowed when they caught sight of me and the embroidered eye on my shirt, but when they saw Mandy, they seemed to relax, exchanging crisp nods with her.

  It was a different entrance from the one we’d first been herded through, and the door was open. Sunlight poured in through the jagged oval. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness. Mandy led me outside to the edge of a precipice. Below us, looping like a writhing snake, the brown river sparkled in evening sunlight.

  “Come on,” she said. We picked our way among the rocks, careful not to trip and plummet down the limestone bluff. She found a spot to her liking and plopped to the ground, legs and feet dangling over the edge. I joined her.

  “Nice, huh?” she asked.

  Nice was an understatement. Below us lay the river; across the way, limestone cliffs jutted upward. Swallows darted in golden twilight, moving in an acrobatic frenzy. It was spectacular.

  Mandy unwrapped the bandanna and gave me a sandwich. For the longest time we ate in silence, serenaded by the distant sound of the rushing river and the swallows’ staccato chirps. The sun slid behind a bank of clouds.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said.

  “Sure.”

  “Why me? There are tons of people in the Compound. Why’d you choose me to take on a picnic?”

  She shrugged. “There may be tons of people, but there aren’t tons my age. Besides . . .” She hesitated a long moment. “There’s something about you I trust.”

  “Really?” I enjoyed the compliment, especially since Hope felt just the opposite.

  “Absolutely.” Then she added, “And it doesn’t hurt that you’re kinda cute.”

  “But according to your Council, I’m a spy.”

  She smiled that mischievous smile, freckles dancing. “You and I both know you’re not. You’re too bad a liar for that.”

  I had to laugh. “How about you?” I asked.

  “How about me what?”

  “I know nothing about you. How long have you been here? What’s your family like? You know, that kind of stuff.”

  She gave a small, restless sigh. “Nothing much to say, really. I was born and raised here, so this is all I know.”

  “And your parents?”

  “I lost my mom when I was a kid—cancer from the radiation—so it’s just my dad and me.”

  “What’s he do?” For some reason I wondered if he was one of the men I worked with down in the Wheel. What if he was Goodman Dougherty with the bushy beard?

  “He’s a clerk. He does . . . clerical things, I guess. Kinda boring stuff, really.” Her eyes left the winding river and landed on me. “Was what you said at the trial really true? That you all came from Camp Liberty and Camp Freedom?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s, like, really far away.”

  “Tell me about it. I had the blisters to prove it.”

  She laughed softly, then studied me a moment. Without any warning whatsoever, she leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.

  “What’s that for?” I asked.

  “For making it all this way. Blisters and all.”

  A warmth coursed through my entire body. Without really meaning to, I said, “‘Admired Miranda.’”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, just a line from Shakespeare. The Tempest.”

  She smiled slyly and said, “‘Indeed the top of admiration!’ Ferdinand’s next line.”

  My mouth fell open.

  “You don’t have to look so surprised,” Mandy said. “I’ve read a book or two myself. And I happen to love that play.”

  I couldn’t think of a response, but I didn’t need to. As twilight set the sky ablaze in orange and purple, Mandy leaned her head on my shoulder, resting it there as the sun dipped behind the western plateau. She kept it there long after stars began popping in the sky, and I didn’t dare move. I suddenly felt incapable of it.

  34.

  HOPE IS ON HER way to work when she hears raised voices.

  “Out of the way!” someone shouts, and people stand to the side.

  Hope presses herself against the cave wall just as a group of men bursts through. They carry a man on a stretcher. A shaft of an arrow juts from his chest; an enormous bloodstain paints the front of his shirt.

  “What happened?” someone asks.

  “Hunting accident,” someone else responds. The stretcher is carried past.

  What grabs Hope’s attention most is the patient himself: It’s the man who led the hunting party. The one she spoke to in the deserted tunnel. He had been paranoid about talking to Hope that day . . . and now this has happened.

  Hope feels suddenly light-headed. She tries to tell herself it’s just a coincidence, that her conversation had absolutely nothing to do with this, but when she looks up, she sees Goodman Nellitch across the way. He seems to make a point of meeting her eyes . . . and giving her a little wink.

  Hope feels sick to her stomach.

  Later, she learns the man has died.

  “What do you think?” she asks Book that night, after everyone goes to bed.

  “About what?”

  “The death of the guy who captured us.”

  “It was a hunting accident,” he says.

  “And you believe that?”

  “I don’t know enough not to believe it.”

  Hope can’t figure Book out these days. He seems . . . different. He asks fewer questions, provides fewer observations. But it’s more than that. It’s like he can’t look her in the eye. At night he no longer reaches for her fingers through the bars.

  “But don’t you think it’s a little strange that the man who captured us—who told me he didn’t know anything about the map—turns up dead? Just days after I spoke to him?”

  Book gives a noncommittal shrug. “Hunting accidents happen, Hope.”

  He’s about to turn away when Hope blurts out, “You still want to escape, right?”

  “Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know. You tell me.”

  For a long moment, their eyes lock. Book looks away when he begins to speak. “Look, I want to escape just as much as the next person. But I also want to make sure we have a plan before we do someth
ing rash, that’s all. I’d hate for us to commit to something and then realize we don’t know what we’re doing.”

  “But there’s no point coming up with a plan if not everyone’s going to commit.”

  “I agree.”

  “So why aren’t you working on a way to get us out of here?” Hope asks.

  “Because at the moment I don’t see one.”

  Hope wants to reach through the bars, shake him by the shoulders, and scream into his face, Where’s the real Book and what have you done with him?! Why don’t you look me in the eye anymore? Why don’t you talk to me the way you used to?

  But she asks none of it, and she is suddenly filled with a deep despair. Although she and the other two Sisters have continued to scrape away at the back wall, the hole’s no bigger than a small cantaloupe, and they all seem to realize their thirty-year sentence might very well be concluded before the tunnel reaches even a few feet.

  And now she’s lost Book. Though she doesn’t know exactly why, she can only assume it has to do with something she said. Or didn’t say.

  When she lies down that night, she buries her face against the wall so Scylla and Diana can’t see the tears that tumble sideways down her cheeks, nor hear the heaving sobs that shake her body.

  Two evenings later, Hope sits at dinner, absently pushing food from one corner of her plate to another. Her mood has gotten worse.

  She lets the fork clatter to the table and rises from her chair.

  “Done so fast?” Diana asks.

  “Not hungry” is all she says, not entirely sure where she’s going or what she intends to do. All she knows is that she has to get out of there. The walls are closing in, and the Compound seems more claustrophobic than ever. She needs air.

  She makes her way to one of the entrances, where sunlight creeps in through the open door. Two guards perk up when they spot the embroidered black square, and point their weapons at her.

  “I need to go outside,” she says. “Just for a second.” There’s a tightness in her lungs—like a giant hand squeezing her chest.

  “You’re not allowed out there.”

  “I know that—”

  “We can’t let prisoners out of the Compound.”

  “Keep your gun on me. Shoot me if I start to run away. Mow me down. I just need a breath of fresh air. Please.”

  The guard looks at his friend, who gives him a noncommittal shrug.

  “All right,” he says at last. “But just for a second.”

  “That’s all I need.”

  The guard escorts her through the narrow opening. Below her is the wide brown river; above her, a limitless sky. Sunlight warms her body like a flame melts wax. She takes a series of deep breaths, trying to soak it all in: the air, the sun, a blue sky above orange-painted clouds. For ten years she lived outside, in the forests and fields, and to be trapped like this, beneath the ground, is the cruelest of all punishments.

  “Time’s up,” the guard says. “Ready to go back in?”

  No, I’m not ready, she wants to say. Not by a long shot. But she nods her assent. Although the time outside was brief, it’s what she needed. Comfort. Tranquility. A dose of happiness, even.

  But as she turns to step back inside, she spies two figures farther up the trail, haloed by the setting sun. She has to shield her eyes to make them out. It’s Book and Miranda. Just as she recognizes them, Miranda kisses Book on the cheek.

  Hope feels suddenly dizzy. A wave of nausea rolls through her body. In a fraction of a second, all the tension has returned, and other feelings, too. Envy. Jealousy. Utter heartbreak.

  She wheels around and races back inside. Her vision is blinded with tears; her legs are stiff and wooden. She stumbles and falls. The stone wall is cool against her back as she leans against it and tries to catch her breath.

  This is stupid. Stupid!

  Unaware she’s even doing it, she begins banging the wall, slapping the stone with her closed fist.

  Why should I care who kisses Book? What’s it to me?

  The wall feels suddenly damp and sticky, and when she examines it she finds a patch of sticky red. Blood. Her blood. From her fist.

  Hope hears the echo of people’s voices, and she curls up behind a boulder. She can’t face another human being. Not at the moment. She fingers the locket around her neck as if it has healing powers.

  Live today, tears tomorrow, she tries to tell herself, but her body won’t even begin to listen.

  She is just about to hoist herself to a standing position when Book and Miranda appear. There’s a familiarity in how they walk, arms grazing, shoulders touching. They don’t see Hope, and when they come to a stop, Miranda once more plants a kiss on Book’s cheek. Hope has to force herself to breathe, then watches as Book disappears down one tunnel, Miranda another.

  For no good reason at all, Hope decides to follow Miranda. Maybe she’ll confront Book’s new girlfriend. Maybe they’ll have it out. Anything’s better than returning to the cells with Book.

  When the tunnel empties into an enormous chamber, Hope feels a jolt of panic. These are the residences, the lodgings of the Skull People—off-limits to a convicted spy. But Hope has no intention of stopping now, so she removes the badge she’s been forced to wear, the black square with the eye in the center. That’s against the rules, too, but at the moment she doesn’t care. Her fingers rip it from her shirt and stuff it in her pants pocket.

  Some of the dwellings are carved out of caves, some built of mud and hay, all with wooden ladders and stone staircases leading from one floor to another in a dizzying arrangement of towers and pyramids that stretch all the way to the ceiling. Hope had no idea there was anything like this in the Compound.

  Miranda rounds a corner and veers down a back alley. She stops at a wooden door, pushes it open, and steps inside. Hope loses sight of her, and she wonders why she felt compelled to follow Miranda in the first place. What did she expect to do? Tell her to lay off, tell her that Book is spoken for?

  Hope turns to go. At just that moment, Miranda appears in a downstairs window . . . and Hope realizes she has to get a closer look. Even when Miranda climbs to the second floor of the adobe house and disappears from sight, Hope knows she can’t just leave.

  Miranda’s house is built within a sprawling complex of houses, and there’s no way Hope can sneak in there. But if she were able to climb up opposite the house, she’d have the perfect angle.

  A cave wall looms behind her. It is jagged and sharp, hollowed out with holes. Not so difficult to climb, but more than a little suspicious for a convicted spy to be caught rock climbing across from the residences.

  Still, what choice does she have?

  Removing her shoes and socks, she finds a series of toeholds and begins dragging herself up. Within moments she is five feet off the ground. Then ten. Then twenty. An echo of approaching voices freezes her, and she presses herself against the rock, her body as motionless as a fly on a wall.

  Three men pass without noticing.

  Hope takes in the house opposite her. She now has a direct view into Miranda’s house—and she can’t believe what she sees.

  When she has seen enough, she releases a foot and searches for the hold below. Her toes brush against a loose rock, and it bounces twice before clattering to the ground. Hope hugs the rock and prays no one heard it.

  When it seems like no one did, she begins making her way back down, more carefully this time. A voice stops her cold.

  “Hey! What’re you doing up there?”

  An old woman from across the way leans out a third-floor window, pointing a trembling finger at Hope.

  Hopes doesn’t think, just jumps—sailing through air and landing with a thud on the hard-packed ground. Other voices echo behind her. Shouts of confusion. Cries of alarm. People asking what the commotion is all about.

  Hope grabs her shoes and socks and begins to run, tearing through the tunnel as fast as she can. The pounding of footsteps follows her.

  Her feet
seem to guide her, taking her on a zigzag trail from one small tunnel to the next. Her father always taught her to find escape routes, and she has done just that, cutting through one shortcut after another.

  She rounds a final corner and spies the open jail cells. The Less Thans and Sisters stop what they’re doing and watch, openmouthed, as she comes racing in.

  “In case anyone asks,” she says breathlessly, “I’ve been here since dinner.”

  Hope whips herself into the cell and rests her arms on the bars, trying to catch her breath. The others return to their tasks, feigning nonchalance so as not to arouse suspicion in case any Skull People should appear.

  And they do.

  Three men come racing down the long corridor, and the fact that all eight prisoners are in their cells seems to surprise them. The men drift to a stop before the metal bars. Their eyes travel from one prisoner to the next.

  “All present and accounted for?” the oldest of the Skull People asks. His face is long and horse shaped.

  “Count for yourself,” Diana says.

  Horse Face grunts. “And I suppose you’ve been here all evening.”

  “Ever since we left the Commons.”

  Horse Face looks down at Cat. “Is that true?”

  Diana tries to intervene. “I just said—”

  “I’m asking him.” To Cat: “Is that true?”

  There’s a long moment of silence when everyone wonders what Cat will say. “Course it’s true,” he finally growls. “Where else would we go?”

  Diana hurries to explain what they’ve been up to, and that’s when Hope notices Flush. His eyes are wide, and it seems as though he’s trying to tell her something. She wants to tell him to calm down, that he’s going to give her away. His gaze travels from her face to her chest and seems to linger there. Perv, Hope thinks angrily.

  When she realizes what he’s telling her—that she’s failed to put her badge back on—she panics. If these Skull People see that, she’ll be a suspect for sure.

  As Diana continues talking, Hope slowly lowers a hand into her pocket, fumbling for the square patch. This is where I put it, right? Horse Face glances in her direction and she freezes. It’s like he knows something’s not right. When he returns his attention to Diana, Hope resumes searching, desperate now, breathing heavily.