Grace and I scamper after her, but I’m so confused. What does Nana need to tell me that can’t wait until I get back to Macy’s?
“How did it go?” Grace asks me. “Did you tell your father?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He didn’t know.”
“Do you feel better?”
Do I? “He’ll do the right thing,” I say, thinking, If Mother lets him.
We move rapidly across a Central Park South emptied by the rain. Wind lashes through the trees and whips up the street, sending drops horizontally through the air, rendering umbrellas useless. Most of the women on bikes have disappeared, but one or two remain, their wet cloaks clinging like a second skin.
Pointing to Rayna, I ask, “How did she find us?”
“They all knew where we’d gone,” Grace says. “She just headed to your parents’ place and looked around for tiny Twitchers.”
“Did she tell you what the message from Nana was?”
“No. She said it was ‘for your eyes only.’”
Weird.
“Is Ayan furious?” I ask.
“Sounds like she’s not happy,” Grace says, with worry in her voice, “especially since you promised you wouldn’t leave.”
“We were going to bring the uniforms back,” I say, penitent.
“Rayna says if we’d been caught—if we get caught now—we’ll expose the only means that the Laurel Society has for moving safely around the city. If Twitchers start scanning other Twitchers, the Laurel Society will be trapped underground.”
I hadn’t thought of that.
“I feel terrible,” she says.
“We just can’t get caught,” I say, feeling terrible, too.
Grace says shyly, “After Rayna scolded me, she said she was impressed that I’d come with you, and that coming up top like this was pretty ‘badass.’”
I’d have given anything to see Grace’s reaction to the compliment—I imagine her smile was a mile wide.
Rayna leads us another half block east, then ducks into a garage full of taxis. A fat, bald man sits there, half-asleep, listening to the radio: Men are superior to women. Uncle Ruho is superior to men. God is above all.
Rayna signals with her thumb for him to leave the garage, and he jumps up and scurries out without a word. One more advantage of being a Twitcher.
Rayna walks between the rows of yellow cars, and once she’s convinced we’re alone, she flips up her helmet shield, which has fogged up in the rain. Grace and I do the same. Rayna then removes a piece of yellow paper from her pocket and hands it to me. I recognize Nana’s small, boyish handwriting.
Mina, my dearest love, my darling girl, my valiant granddaughter:
Ayan came to me this morning and told me you had run away. She explained about your father and his water plant. I’m sorry you didn’t feel that you could come to me, because I SUPPORT your decision. Zai is a good man, and he’s the only reason that I got to meet you.
I have convinced Ayan to show leniency to you and Grace, and the Laurel Society will welcome you with open arms if you return. But, Chickpea, DON’T COME BACK.
I want you to leave Manhattan.
I’m sure you’re shocked at my words, but really, what could be so bad over that Wall that’s worse than here? Uncle Ruho tells us that there are Apostates who want us dead, but have you ever SEEN an Apostate? TALKED to one?
We’re taught that they hate us, but don’t you feel hatred from the Teachers who educate our men? From the Twitchers who patrol our streets?
Are we sure that the Prophet built the Wall to protect us, to keep the Apostates out? Or did she build it to KEEP US IN?
Do you know why I was leaving my apartment the day I fell? I was going to buy food, for OUR escape. The day of your offering had come. I didn’t have any more time. If you got married, had children, you would never leave.
I know that yesterday I told you that I wanted you to stay with me forever, but I was being selfish, Chickpea. I wanted you to stay here because I love you, but this is the right choice.
How I wish I could come with you! But this adventure is for a young person, not an old lady with a broken hip and a bad knee. And you can do this on your own. You’ve always known how.
So go be an intrepid explorer, Chickpea. Eat the biggest piece of cake. Climb the highest tree. Ride your bike the fastest. Don’t ever desire or expect anyone to make things easier for you. Keep up with your education. Brush your teeth. NEVER underestimate the value of kindness. And—this is important—listen to your gut instinct about people. It’s usually right.
Don’t worry about me. I’m in fabulous company—more books than I could read in a lifetime. And knowing that you are out there, free in the world, will keep me alive and smiling for a long, long time.
Love, Nana
I’m too stunned to speak.
I look up to find Rayna and Grace staring at me.
“Do you know what this says?” I ask Rayna.
“The gist of it,” she says.
How can she be so calm? I hand the letter to Grace.
“It’s completely crazy,” I tell Rayna, sure that Nana has finally lost her mind. “You told her she was nuts, right?”
Rayna doesn’t answer.
How can Nana tell me to abandon her again? I just found her! “The Apostates want us dead, Rayna. You know that.”
She shrugs. “No one’s attacked the city since I’ve been alive.”
Because the Wall protects us!
I hear a gasp to my right as Grace reaches the absurd part of the letter.
“Mina,” says Grace, “this letter is astonishing.”
“It’s bonkers, Grace. I can’t do it.”
Lightning flares outside, and I expect Grace to marvel at the spectacle, but the letter consumes her. “She’s been planning your escape all these years,” she says. “She’s so brave. It’s really sad she can’t come with you.”
Come with me? Has Grace gone crazy, too?
A clap of thunder makes me jump. The rain outside begins to come down in sheets, causing rivulets of water to flow into the garage. “And you’ve always known how to leave?” Grace asks, fascinated. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I have no idea what she’s talking about!” I say, mystified by the whole thing.
“I told Ura you’d be clueless,” Rayna says snidely. “She was sure you’d know what to do.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, “because we’re going back to Macy’s.” I need to just talk about all this with Nana.
Grace nods. “You can always leave later, when you’re better prepared.”
Rayna shakes her head. “I promised your grandmother I wouldn’t let you come back.”
I hope the hammering rain has made me misunderstand her. “We’re not stupid, Rayna,” I say, sick of her. “We can find our own way back!”
She grabs the front of my jumpsuit. “You are stupid! Both of you. There’s going to be a war, and you have to get the hell out of here!”
Grace is incredulous. “What war? What are you talking about?”
“With the Convenes,” I say. “As soon as they learn that their water is poisoned. Right, Rayna?”
She nods, releasing me. “Whether they blame Uncle Ruho, the Deservers, or both, there’s going to be a reckoning. And the smart thing to do is to leave the island before it begins.”
“Then you should come with us!” says Grace, distraught. “The whole Laurel Society has to get out!”
“No way,” says Rayna, her voice thick with disgust. “I’m ready for a reckoning of my own.”
“I can’t just leave Nana behind,” I say.
“You can,” she says, pointing to the letter. “That’s what she just told you.”
Without warning, my vision goes red. A message flashes across my screen:
Priority One UPDATE: Mina Clark . . . Age 15 . . . Impersonating a Member of the City Guard . . . Armed . . . Shoot to Disable, NOT TO KILL.
“My mother—she probably turned me in,” I say, knowing it’s no excuse.
“Now you’ve ruined everything,” she says, full of hostility. She turns to Grace. “See why you have to get out? Our best way of walking the streets is gone. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life trapped underground like a mole? Get out of here, Grace. Go have a Goddamn life!”
Grace looks about to cry.
“Stop yelling at her!” I say. “I don’t know how to leave, okay? This conversation is pointless!”
Matching my irritated tone, Rayna says, “The subway, stupid!”
“Gosh, Rayna, if you knew, why didn’t you just say so?” Grace says, handing back my letter.
I don’t feel any more enlightened. “So, Nana gave you a map or directions or something?” I ask.
Rayna laughs. “No. She said you’d been memorizing subway routes for the last five years.”
At first I have no idea what she means, but then I think of Time Out and the endless pages of restaurants, plays, museums, bands . . . and subway instructions.
Joe’s Pub, Subway: N, R to 8th St.—NYU; 6 to Astor Pl.
American Museum of Natural History, Subway: B or C to 81st St.; 1 to 79th St.
I have always known how to leave Manhattan:
Museum of the Moving Image, Astoria, Queens, Subway: R, E, M to Queens Plaza, switch to R, M for Steinway St.
I picture the remaining subway entrances around the city, their decaying signs covered in brightly colored circles full of letters and numbers that are supposed to mean nothing to me. No trains exist anymore, of course. I always assumed Uncle Ruho had filled in the tunnels or sealed them off.
But Nana must believe the tunnels are clear, and what did Juda say about the Ashers smuggling in diesel fuel? His theory was that the barrels weren’t coming over the Wall; they were going under it. Some of the tunnels must lead out.
“You need to leave as soon as possible,” Rayna says. “You’re in a lot more danger now that they know what they’re looking for.”
“You too!” says Grace.
Rayna unzips the front of her jumpsuit, telling Grace, “I brought you a goodbye gift.” She pulls out The Secret of the Old Clock.
“Are Apostate women allowed to read?” Grace asks, marveling at the idea.
“I don’t know,” Rayna says, “but if they are, don’t you want to have your favorite book?”
Grace throws her arms around Rayna. “Thank you so much. I’ll miss you.”
Rayna looks like she might actually cry. While Grace zips the book into her jumpsuit, Rayna whispers something into her ear that I can’t hear. Grace nods.
A noise comes from the entrance to the garage. Instantly, we all flip down our visors and become silent.
A man drenched in water, wearing the soggy blue tunic of a Student, ducks into the garage. Having found cover from the downpour, he looks relieved, until he spots the three of us. He quickly ducks out again.
We wait a moment, and then Rayna signals for us to follow her. She leads us out of the garage and around the corner. We stand on the empty block, the relentless clatter of raindrops smothering our words.
“Mina, do you know the nearest subway from here?” Rayna says.
Concentrating, I tell her, “57th and Seventh. That should be the entrance for the R train.” What am I saying? Am I actually going to attempt this deranged plan?
Rayna nods, and before I have a chance to give her a message for Nana, she’s walking east, fading into the hard rain.
THIRTY-ONE
TURNING ONTO SEVENTH, I THINK WE HAVE three blocks until we reach the subway station, but I can’t see far in the storm.
“Where will it take us?” Grace asks.
“Queens.” If it’s still called that.
“Oh, yes, of course,” she says. “Queens was once the, uh, largest of the boroughs, area-wise. Population-wise, it was second to Brooklyn.” She sounds as nervous as I feel.
She speeds up, ready to be off the streets, I assume. In contrast, I find myself slowing down, having doubts. My head is spinning with thoughts of Nana, Apostates, my parents—and Juda.
Am I actually going to leave? And am I going to leave Juda behind without saying goodbye? Why not? That’s exactly what he did to you, the bitter part of me says. But this feels different. I am really leaving. If we go through that tunnel, we’ll never come back.
I shake my head, trying to focus on our plan, but instead I see Juda worrying himself over my bruised hand, offering me his laundry to sleep on, and drawing back miserably when I couldn’t say that I loved him.
“What’s wrong?” Grace asks.
I didn’t realize I’d stopped walking.
“It’s Juda . . . ,” I say. “Shouldn’t I warn him about the poisoned water and the war? What if his mother or his uncles are drinking bad water?”
She doesn’t answer. She looks up and down the street to see if anyone is coming.
“Never mind. Ayan will make sure everyone knows,” I say, walking again. “Plus, he made it clear that he’s done with me.”
Now she’s the one who stops. “You’re kidding, right? He left to save you from making a decision! Like Marguerite . . . in Camille?” When I don’t respond, she explains, “She tells her lover there’s another man, when there isn’t. She just thinks Armand will be better off without her. But she still loves him madly.”
I’m still not sure what love is. Is it the panic and pain I felt when Juda ran away from Macy’s? The jittery, almost nauseated feeling I had being alone with him in the bunker? Why would I want to feel like that again? What if the women in my family were right and love is to be avoided at all costs?
I picture Juda’s serious face and imagine the moments when he’s been worried or disappointed in me. Then I envision making a joke, the small pause that follows, Juda’s lips parting, and his mouth breaking into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, followed by his deep, half-silent laugh that makes his chest convulse. He laughs as if he’s used to doing it in secret, as if you’re giving him forbidden pleasure. And I’m the one that can create that smile. I’m the one he’s chosen to share that joy with, and the feeling is . . . everything. And I could live in it forever.
“I understand that you’re torn, but you need to make a decision fast,” says Grace, checking behind us again.
“We have to warn him,” I say. “Or I’ll never forgive myself.”
Grace takes a deep breath. I’m sure she’s about to say, “We don’t have time,” but she surprises me with, “It’s very romantic.”
“We’ll hurry, and there shouldn’t be any Twitchers in the Fields,” I say, spinning and heading north.
She scampers after me. “Camille would have ended very differently if there had been Twitchers.”
I BANG ON THE GATE WITH BOTH FISTS.
“Do what I do,” I tell Grace, sounding more confident than I am. The gate guard on Fifth Avenue had no helmet or computer, but if this one does, we’re sunk. At least the rain has started to let up.
The gate slides open. A guard is there, a farmer, like last time, and I walk right by him without explanation, acting on my growing theory that no one likes to interact with Twitchers. Grace mimics my arrogant stride.
The farmer, however, yells at us. “I’m sick of you guys pinchin’ milk. I’m gonna complain to the Teachers!” I keep walking and tell Grace not to turn around. As I expected, the farmer doesn’t follow.
I anticipated cornstalks, but we’ve walked into a maze of goat pens. Even though I have my helmet on, the smell is terrible. Rain has turned the ground into syrupy mud that sucks my boots downward. I have no idea where I’m going, but I don’t want the gate guard to be suspicious, so I forge ahead, trying to ignore the bleating goats around me.
The pens are packed tight, with twenty or thirty animals in each, and they go on as far as I can see. I assume many of the unhappy creatures are supplying milk and cheese to the city
, but I try not to think of the ones that will end up on dinner plates this week.
Their crying is overwhelming; there must be thousands of them. Do goats always sound like wailing infants?
My uniform is hot and stuffy again. I can’t breathe. The raindrops on my helmet smudge the landscape, leaving nothing familiar. “This was a terrible idea, Grace. I’ll never find him.”
“At the moment, we’re heading east,” she says, her voice full of unthwarted energy. “Do you remember whereabouts in the Park his hideaway is?”
“How do you know we’re heading east?” I say, skeptical. The sun isn’t out, and Grace has never even been outside before today.
“Uh, the compass in my helmet,” she says. She doesn’t use a Rayna tone of voice, but I soon feel as foolish as if she did, because, sure enough, in the top left corner of my visor is a digital compass that says “E,” with a little arrow.
“Can you tell me about his secret hideout? What you saw nearby?” she asks.
Not sure how it will help, I say, “It’s under an old building.”
“That’s not, uh, useful.”
“Okay.” I concentrate harder. “There were kitchens. Juda said it used to be a restaurant.”
“Good!” says Grace. “What else?”
“And there were . . . columns . . . and a porch on a lake.”
“The Boathouse!” she says. “It’s sort of in the middle, so we should walk north.”
I look at her, amazed.
After I follow her for a while, she says, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s, in case you were wondering.”
“Huh?”
“I read it six times. Holly Golightly goes to the old Boathouse with the narrator and then decides to send her brother, Fred, some peanut butter. But Fred is really dead.”
I nod, as if anything she’s said makes sense.
We’ve walked for a while longer when she adds, “It’s not really how I pictured it, the Park.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing she must be disappointed not to see families having picnics on rolling green hills. Nana introduced me to Time Zero when I was ten, so I already knew what the real world was. I can’t imagine what Grace is experiencing. To grow up surrounded by Time Zero—her books and magazines, the dolls and mannequins—and then to be confronted with . . . I look at the grimy, rank goats, the dingy sky above, think of the armed guard at the gate. She must regret having come with me.
Time Zero Page 27