by Stacey Nash
“That’s not a great idea, Lil. They’d best stay here. But your mother is going to the fruit markets later today. You can go with her and pick something up for Anamae and for Will too.”
Lilly’s eyes slide up my body. I wrap my arms around my middle, protecting my small frame from her appraising glance. “Size small?”
I nod. “Ah, I guess… a three for jeans. Thanks.” I’ll have to roll the legs up a few inches, but hopefully they’ll fit. It’s so hard to get pants right without trying them on. To get the right fit around my waist, the legs are always too long, and for the right length, well, it’s kid’s sizes.
She smiles and looks at my legs again, like she understands the curse of short legs, even though she’d fit perfectly into the same size as me with the hem sitting right at her ankle.
Lilly turns to Will and looks at him the same way, only her gaze lingers longer than it did on me. Is she checking him out? The tips of my ears burn, and she says, “Hmm, large?”
Will grunts.
“Cool, I’ll get you sorted.”
My unease melts into guilt. Once again, I am in her debt. “Thank you.”
Once that’s over, Beau clears his throat and shuffles. “These two want to fight The Collective.”
Everyone stops suddenly; all eyes turn to him, all ears listen when he speaks. Jax’s gaze slips past Beau to me, his expression blank and unreadable, and his eyes slide back to Beau.
“They’ll need to learn the basics, learn about the enemy. They need help to find their strengths,” Beau says.
Our strengths? Somehow I don’t think my eye for a good photo angle will come in handy here. Nor will Will’s talent for tinkering with cars.
Jax’s sparring partner walks over. He’s at least a head taller, but doesn’t slouch or try to make himself smaller. He’s comfortable in his tall, solid mass of muscles and sinew. His singlet clings to his body, covered in a V of sweat. He smiles. “I’m Sam.”
Jax follows right on his heels. “It will be easier if you split up and we work one on one.”
Beau exchanges a guarded look with Sam, but then his eyes rest on Jax. “I don’t care how it happens, but be welcoming, be useful, be pleasant.” With a commanding look at Jax, like something I’d expect from a parent, he leaves the barn.
“I’ll take Mae. Will can go with Sam,” Jax says.
I cross my arms. I sure as hell don’t need a babysitter. “I’ll go with Lilly.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a better fighter. You’ll learn more.”
Lilly shrugs and smiles apologetically. “He’s right, I’m not very good. Besides I’ve got to find Mom. Don’t want to miss out on shopping.” She flits out of the barn.
I put on my best pleading expression and look to Will, but it’s too late. He and Sam have already made their way to one of the squares of mats in the back corner.
“I’ll play nice. Promise.” Jax smiles, but it looks kind of plastic.
He walks toward the wall and slumps onto one of the hay bales. Glancing toward Will, I take a deep breath and smooth my pendant against my chest. I doubt he’ll play nice. Even though he seemed cool when he took me home to see Dad, now we’re back here he’s reverted back not playing nice at all—he only plays arrogant or bored.
I move toward the hay seat, joining my would-be instructor, who gestures for me to sit. “Sit? Aren’t you going to teach me how to fight?”
He rolls his eyes, reaching down to scratch Ace’s ears. The dog’s still sprawled over his jacket. “Your training will start with defense. You can’t learn how to attack without learning how to protect yourself first.”
I look over at Will. Sam watches him lift his leg high and kick at a makeshift bag. His arms are crossed and a small approving smile curves his mouth. There’s no contrast between Will and Sam in size, not like when Jax was sparring with him. Sam and Will are both of a similar build, tallish and solid. No one in their right mind would take either of them on. The desire to outwit Jax brings a smile to my lips. Of course, I don’t really mean it, but I point to Will. “He’s my protector; he’ll watch my back.”
“Your boyfriend’s not always going to be there.”
“He’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.”
“Sure thing, cupcake.”
I clamp my mouth closed and cross my leg over my knee, forcing myself to quiet stillness. It takes every ounce of willpower I have to not get up and walk away. Serves me right, but condescending nicknames—not overly intelligent.
Ace rests his head in Jax’s lap. Strange, the dog seems to like him.
“Your dog’s affectionate.” I reach out to run my hand along his shaggy back.
“He’s not mine.” Jax pushes Ace off with a gentle shove.
“Oh, he seems….” To actually like you. “I thought he must be.”
“He’s Lilly’s dog, but he likes me better, don’t ya, boy?” he says. “The first line of defense is to know your enemy.” He looks at me with a straight face. He’s serious.
He’s right.
I know next to nothing about my enemy, other than they want me dead.
The three Collective agents I’ve seen have all been different. The last two wielded scary blades with remarkable precision. I don’t think the first one did, but I barely got to see him. Jax arrived so fast, everything blurred and finished before it even started.
Jax talks while I listen for most of the day. He tells me about the Collective, about the resistance. How they both came to be. When I question the resistance and what they actually do here, why they train, he tells me, “It’s complicated. We help people—like you and Will. We also try to curb the destruction The Collective wreaks on society.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re controlling. They….” He pauses, glancing at nothing while he thinks. “They believe society needs to be bent to their vision of perfection. They use tech to do this. But then, they also use it, and suppress it for their own needs, but they don’t care—not really—about the general populace. People die, people go missing, all in the name of the better good.”
Between conversations, he instructs me on basic gymnastics; tumbles, jumps, and vaults over piled bales of hay. He says my agility will serve me well. I’m quietly amused he thinks I can move with a sense of grace. I’ve always been kind of awkward, tripping up stairs, and other dumb stunts that only I could pull. He makes a grab for my ankle while I move around the floor. I jump to the side to avoid his grasp, and this is how he teaches me to evade and dodge.
By the end of the day I can barely put one foot in front of the other on our walk back to the house. Will jabbers, excited by the stuff he learned, but my tired mind is on overload and can’t make out his words. Lucky for me, Jax and Sam walk with us, which saves me from needing to pay attention.
* * * *
I sink into the deep steamy bath and soak in the tub until the water turns as cold as chilled milk. When I return to my room, someone has left a pile of neatly folded clothes on my bed. A handwritten note rests atop the large pile of shirts, pants, pajamas, and jacket. Beautiful, loopy handwriting in lilac pen reads: For my new friend, I hope these will help you feel more comfortable. Lilly. There’s a smiley face after her name which makes me smile. I like Lilly; she’s so kind and thoughtful.
A small, pink zip-up bag lies near the clothes. I open it, and toiletries spill out. Taking out a bristled hairbrush, I run it through my hair, close my eyes, and sigh at the small pleasure.
A knock at the door causes my grip on the brush to loosen. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but it’s probably just Will. When I open it, Jax stands before me, scuffing the floor with his foot. I almost drop the brush again, and neither of us speaks for a few moments. We both just stand there while I avoid his gaze.
“Can we start over?” It sounds almost painful, like the words are dragged out of him.
I hold my hand out, and he looks up. “Hi, I’m Anamae, but my friends call me Mae.”
He
grasps it. His hand is firm and warm around mine as he gives a solid shake. “Mae,” he says, his lips pressed. His eyes betray him—they hold the hint of a sparkle. “I’m Jax.”
Renewed hope that maybe we can be friends after all spreads from our clasped hands, through my arm, and straight to my heart.
* * * *
Stiff muscles greet me when I wake the next morning. Other than the short walks Will and I take from our street to the shops, exercise isn’t really something my body is used to. I try to sit up in bed but the ache is too much, so I sink back down into the soft mattress and squint against the bright light shining through the window. Dad would be just rising now too.
He’ll wake up to a day without Mom, without me, without any family at all.
A loud, insistent knock at the door makes me groan, and I force myself out of bed.
“Come on, Mae, you’ve got loads to learn today.” Jax’s voice booms through the closed door.
I pull it open and shoot him a scowl. Will’s with him, his mouth curled and laughing at me. I must look pretty funny with bed hair and these stupid flannel pajamas.
“Shut up.” I punch Will on the arm. He responds with a deep snicker.
I slam the door closed, rush around like mad, and two minutes later pull it open, freshly dressed and hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Will’s cheek dimples, and Jax maintains his mask of indifference.
We head straight to the kitchen, and Martha looks up as we enter. “Hi, kids, how are the new clothes?”
She knows we got new clothes, but wasn’t it Lilly and her mom who went to town? Oh. Martha acts motherly because she is motherly. She must be Lilly’s mom. Smiling, I run an idle hand over my jean-clad thigh. The fake Levi’s are rolled up twice over, but they fit. “Perfect, thank you.”
We help ourselves to breakfast and retreat to the dining room. I down a few pieces of toast, two cups of coffee, and push my plate to the side, waiting for the boys to finish.
“Eat more. You’ll need the stamina.” Jax speaks through a mouthful of eggs.
“I’m full.”
He disappears. While I’m exchanging a puzzled look with Will, Jax plonks a plate piled high with scrambled eggs in front of me. I look from the eggs to Will, pleading for him to defend me, but he just shrugs and chuckles.
“Eat it,” Jax says.
Scowling at him, I shovel a forkful of eggs into my mouth.
* * * *
The weeks pass in a haze of training, eating, and broken sleep. My dreams are plagued with vivid images of Dad not knowing who I am. Every night, his slack expression sizes me up, as he says, ‘What daughter?’ Tonight, I wake in the dead of the night with hollowness eating at my insides and tears streaming down my face. The nightmare is fresh in my mind. I’m so alone.
I shuffle along the twists and turns of the corridor and find myself standing in front of Will’s door with eyes swollen and puffy as jellyfish. I lift my hand to the door, and it creaks open after two short, quiet knocks.
He greets me in tartan pajama pants, a grey T-shirt, and sleepy eyes. The confusion at finding me on the other side of his door at two o’clock in the morning only lasts a second. He pulls me into a tight hug.
“Mae, it’s going to be okay.”
Like a true friend, he doesn’t mention the snotty tissue scrunched in my hand.
“But it’s not.” My voice sounds thick.
He doesn’t let go as he spins me inside his room, pushing the door closed with his bare foot.
I cling to him, gathering my thoughts while silence hangs the air. “Every night I have the same dream. I’m home, Dad’s in front of the television. When I say hello he turns in his chair… his face, oh, Will… his face is blank. There’s not a glimmer of recognition.” I speak into his chest where my head rests. “Dad says, ‘who are you?’ I tell him I’m his daughter, but he just looks confused and he says he has no children.”
Tears roll down my cheek and soak into Will’s shirt.
He waits for me to continue.
“Will, he thinks I’m dead.” Sobs jerk through me.
He strokes my hair, smoothing it down over my head. Showing me he cares and listening without the need to say it.
“I’m scared, so scared it’s real.” I pull away from him and sweep my hand around the small room. “Scared this is forever,” I say, “and that I can’t go home to him.”
I lower myself onto the edge of his bed with my insides feeling like a big, twisted mess.
“I won’t let that happen.” He squeezes my hand.
“I want to go home.” I curl around myself like a cat on the small single bed.
“We will find a way. Every day we get stronger and learn more about them.” He sits on the bed behind me and strokes my hair back from my face. I let out a long sigh. Mom used to do the same thing when I woke with nightmares as little girl. Letting go of the tension, I sink into his bed.
“We’ll be able to go home soon,” he says.
My eyes drop closed like heavy drapes.
“I promise we’ll live a long and happy life away from this place.” His baritone voice rumbles with the whispered pitch.
My anguish slips away with my consciousness.
When I wake in the morning, he’s curled up behind me with his hand resting on my shoulder.
Chapter Eight
DAYS LATER, JAX FINALLY decides my evasion skills are good enough to move onto the next stage of training. It’s like they—or he—has a whole training routine, which makes me wonder how often they ‘help’ people. After a brief discussion about different weapons, he takes me to the armory wall. Swords, knives, daggers, sticks, and batons hang from it like beautiful, deadly wall art. There are no guns, no arrows, no projectile weapons at all.
“Why do you fight with such old weapons?” I pick up a bronze dagger. “A gun would be quicker and deadlier.” I turn the small blade in my hands. It’s surprisingly light.
“The Collective have protection. Force fields. Personal ones that surround the wearer an inch from their skin like a suit. Projectiles bounce straight off,” Jax says.
“Then how can these penetrate it?” I sweep my hand to take in the wall of arsenals, and the dagger in my hand slices through the air. Jax plucks it from my grip.
“These tech weapons are the only thing that works against it.”
I run my hand over a baton supple as soft leather. “Aren’t there tech guns?”
“It’s not the guns that are tech. It’s the bullets—and no. We can’t produce them or get our hands on a constant supply.” A hint of excitement twinkles in his eye. “Hand-to-hand weapons are the cheapest and easiest to make. We can’t afford to produce single shot, disposable guns.”
“I get it.” The old television, the veggie garden, the livestock I’m almost certain we eat. They don’t have the resources. Selling fruit and other produce at the markets wouldn’t bring in much cash. Even with the farm’s deeds gifted years ago, there’s still a lot to pay for.
“Hand-to-hand combat is the only option,” he says.
“Do we have any of those personal force fields?”
“A few,” he says. “Enough for them to think all our fighters are protected.”
“Is that how you beat that scout? What happened to him, anyway?”
Jax throws me a half smile. “He’s taking a vacation without his tech. It’s a long walk home.”
My mind ticks with the talk of weapons and fighting. The resistance is an insurgence; everyone seems to have a reason for being here. Lilly because of her parents, Beau gives the impression he had no choice. So why is Jax here? He’s young, like Lilly, but doesn’t seem to have any parents around, which means he can’t have been born into it. Maybe he fell into it like me, or maybe he’s here for an entirely different reason. My curiosity wins out.
I tilt my head to the side, regarding his usual bored look. “Why are you here?”
“Because I have nothing better to do than spend my days teaching pretty g
irls how to fight.” The corner of his mouth lifts as mischief plays behind his eyes, wiping the boredom away. He returns the dagger to its place on the wall.
“That’s not what I meant.” I reach out and run my finger along the blade. The tip of my index finger stings as it makes a tiny cut. “Ouch. Why are you with the resistance?”
His face returns to blankness. “I was dumped here.”
Hint taken, I stop questioning, letting the silence he seems more comfortable with fill the air between us. The still quietness and realization we’re alone in the barn sucks all of the air out of my lungs, leaving my whole body tingling. Will and Sam must be training somewhere else.
Watching Jax stand at the wall with his back to me, legs planted apart and hands resting in his pockets, makes the tingling worse. I swallow, trying to ignore the feelings fighting inside me. He pulls two long sticks off the wall and binds each in rags from a box on the ground. “This will soften the blows while we train.”
“No need to go easy on me because I’m a girl.”
He chuckles. “I wasn’t intending to.”
We move to the mats. I pull my stick back, ready, but he beats me to it, striking first. I drop to the ground, rolling out of his reach, and it doesn’t make contact.
“Nice,” he says with widened eyes and a slight smirk.
He strikes again. I jump out of the way, but he spins so quickly I barely register the movement. He’s behind me. I try to turn around, but before I can move his arm is around the base of my neck, pressing the spot where my collarbone divots, holding me against him.
“Gotcha.”
His laugh tickles my neck. Something flips and slips inside me, and I swallow. My throat constricts around the words I want to say. The feeling in my chest rises, and I push it down because I really don’t want to like him. This situation is already complicated enough.
“Damn it,” I say. “Let’s go again.”
He releases me.
I turn to face him, and he strikes out against me. Ducking, I extend my leg, using it to swipe his feet out from under him. A move from stupid self-defense classes actually works. He struggles to get to his feet, but I jump and pin him to the ground with my knee on his chest.