by Dunn, Pintip
He traces his fingers along a pattern in the quilt. His pinky brushes the back of my hand, accidentally, and for a moment, I feel like I can’t breathe. “Of course, I didn’t find out any of this until I woke up one night, and there they were, my parents and Damian, all packed and ready to go. Without me.” He looks up, his lips thin and something very close to shame etched into his features. “That’s the moment I dream about. I begged them to take me with them. I promised I would be a good boy, that I wouldn’t ask so many questions, that I would eat my meals faster, but they didn’t care. You see, they knew ComA would be looking for a family with two boys, and the best way to throw them off track was to turn into a family of three.”
“You mean they abandoned you?” The horror is too large for my words, too large for my body. I was sent away at six years old, too. But at least I saw my mom once in a while. She may not have loved me. But she was there.
“Yes,” he says to his fingers. Or maybe, our fingers, since they’re side by side now. “They took off in the middle of the night, and I was in that house by myself for three days before Melie came by and found me.”
“Oh, Ryder.” I can’t help it. I take his hand and weave it through mine. No wonder he has such a difficult time trusting people. No wonder he took Jessa’s betrayal so personally. He was betrayed as a child by the people he trusted most.
He grips my fingers, as though he never wants to let go. “Yeah. Well, I was lucky, in a sense. Melie shipped me off to Harmony, even though I didn’t have a psychic ability or a future memory I was running from. She told everyone that my parents were locked up by FuMA, rather than reveal the truth.” He drops his head. “That my folks left me. That they didn’t want me. But it’s okay, because I found the best parents in the world, Mikey and Angela. They adopted me a few months after I arrived, even though they were barely more than kids themselves.” He sets his jaw, the lost little boy vanishing. “They are everything to me, my wilderness family. And I will do anything to protect them.”
“Yes.” I nod. “I can see that.”
“I’m not one for silver linings, but at least my parents’ betrayal taught me an important lesson,” he continues in a low voice.
“What’s that?”
“People aren’t what they seem,” he says. “Trust is something that’s earned over years of knowledge and familiarity, with countless actions that prove a person’s loyalty.” His jaw hardens, and he pulls his hand away. “Even then, there’s no guarantee that person won’t eventually betray you. So, the fewer chances you take on people, the better.”
His words ring through the night, and my heart plummets to my feet. Because with this speech, the chances of him taking me to his family in the morning have dropped to zero.
12
We go back to sleep on our respective couches. Or at least, I pretend to. I’m pretty sure Ryder’s pretending, too, even though it’s still nighttime and we could both use the rest.
He’s planning to sneak out before dawn. Gather his supplies, leave the cabin. Ditch me. I could’ve guessed this even if I didn’t have precognition. But I do, and in eighty percent of the pathways, this is precisely what he does.
Which means I need to be ready for him.
So I lay on the beat-up sofa, forcing myself to breathe lightly and evenly. Ryder’s doing the same thing. Never have I been more aware of his every move. The way his chest rises and falls. The little inhalations through his nose. Even the slight squeak of his skin against the cushions as he tries to find a more comfortable position.
An hour before dawn, he eases off the couch and makes his way soundlessly to the front hall, where I’ve left the hoverboards along with a couple of backpacks filled with gear. A few minutes later, the door beeps, signaling that it’s been opened, and then closes once again.
I make myself count to ten. And another ten for good measure. And then I spring to my feet. In record time, I change my clothes and bound into the hall. He’s taken most of the provisions from my backpack, leaving me only a couple bottles of water and a little food. The grass-green syringe—the antiseptic—is also gone, although he’s left the amber syringe in the side pocket. He must not have seen me dispense it, so he didn’t know to look for it.
A flurry of futures rushes through my mind, but I don’t have time to pick through them. I have to go now if I don’t want to lose him. Grabbing my own hoverboard and backpack, I shoot through the door.
There! Just disappearing around a bend in the trees is the tail of a board. Lucky for me, Ryder chose one of Tanner’s showier boards, one that’s painted fluorescent yellow and decorated with a three-legged mouse.
I shove the helmet on my head and hop onto my board, thankful that Tanner insisted on giving me lessons these last six months. It never would’ve occurred to me to try hovering, but a board showed up at my cabin right before I moved out. That’s how it was the entire ten years I was in isolation: every couple weeks, a present would magically appear on my doorstep. Sometimes, it was a delicacy from a fancy Meal Assembler—crispy taro chips with aioli dip or roasted bone marrow. Other times, it was a color-changing ribbon or a holo-vid. I never knew who sent me these presents…but I always secretly hoped it was my mother.
The hoverboard was my biggest present yet, and I didn’t have a clue what to do with it. And then, one day, shortly after I reentered society, Tanner invited me to tag along with him and Jessa to the hover park. In all the years I’d known him, this was the first time he invited me anywhere. I jumped at the chance.
I may not have his or Jessa’s natural grace, but I’m fast. And I can stick a landing like my feet are fused to the board. Tanner always said that hovering was a good skill to have in your repertoire. Limbo, maybe he has a touch of precognition, too.
I aim the board in the direction where I last saw the fluorescent yellow board. I’ve never hovered outside of a park before, but how different can it be? Ah! There’s Ryder now, an expertly weaving figure in the distance. The wind blows the hair that’s sticking out underneath my helmet. It snags on a few passing branches, and I yank it back and stuff it inside my shirt.
Where are we going? Unless my sense of direction is completely off, we’ve looped around the cabin a couple times. The trees, the rocks, the ever-brightening sky flash by at a dizzying pace. Does he know I’m tailing him? I’m too far away for him to hear the soft whirr of my hoverboard. I reach forward to his futures, but they’re no help. There are too many possibilities to make an educated guess. I lower my body to a crouch and urge my board even faster.
After circling the woods a few more times, Ryder heads toward the cliffs that form the eastern boundary of Eden City. I hear the roar of the river as we approach. I don’t have to see it to remember the majestic sight of white foam crashing over rocks, the turbulent water rushing past a craggy land. The sun’s climbed past the tree line now, and it shines a spotlight on Ryder as he zooms right up to the cliff, where crumbling earth meets sky.
He hovers for an infinitesimal second on the edge, and for a moment, I think he’s going to swoop right down the side of the cliff like it’s just another bowl at the hover park.
My stomach clenches. There’s no way I can follow him. Not with six months of lessons.
Thankfully, he veers to the right, finding a more gradual slope down the cliff. I follow at a safe distance, picking my way along the rocks.
Eventually, he reaches river level and skims the top of the water to the land on the other side. I wait until he is safely ensconced in the trees before I attempt my own river hover.
A smile splits my face. Oh wow. There’s nothing quite like this. The current rushes underneath me, spraying droplets on my skin and glistening like diamonds under the sun. The board vibrates beneath my feet, the hair blows out of my shirt, and I feel like I’m riding the wind.
Without warning, the river dips. My board jerks underneath me, and I’m not ready. I didn’t move into the proper stance. All of a sudden, my body is flailing backward against grav
ity. Oh Limbo, oh Limbo. I rock back and forth on the board, trying desperately to regain my balance. I’m falling, I’m falling, there’s no way… But then, by some miracle, the board doesn’t shoot out from underneath me. I hang on, literally by the edge of my feet…
…and then, I touch down on land. Not a moment too soon. I tumble off my board and collapse on the ground, more shaken than I realized.
Seconds or maybe even minutes later, when I feel like I can see straight again, I sit up. Fate fike it. How much time did I waste? Ryder must be long gone by now. Should’ve pulled myself together a little faster.
Sighing, I climb back onto my hoverboard and point it into the trees.
Immediately, at the edge of my vision, I catch a flash of fluorescent yellow zipping around a trunk. Hot Limbo, he’s still here. Did he take a break, too? And it just happened to be at the same time as mine?
No way. I’ve seen enough futures to know that coincidences do happen. But more often than not, there’s a reason behind those coincidences—and not necessarily an innocent one.
The hair stands at the back of my neck. I get the feeling I’m playing a game…but I don’t understand the rules. Like my nightmare, however, one wrong move and the pieces will come crashing down.
I don’t have time to dwell on my uneasiness. Ryder’s flying through the air at top speed, and it takes all my concentration to keep him in my sights.
For the rest of the morning, we push hard through the woods. The sun penetrates the cover of the trees and beats against the black fabric of my mesh shirt, thank goodness, since the boards are powered by solar energy. Underneath my helmet, my hair is plastered to my forehead. Just when I feel like I can’t continue, Ryder stops for a break. I hide behind a tree, gulp down my water—careful to ration the two bottles—and gather my strength to hop back on the board. And so it continues for three more cycles.
Finally, we arrive at a clearing. Ryder lands his hoverboard and steps off. A safe distance behind him, I do the same. My mouth dries, despite the water I just swigged. What is this place? The only structure still standing is a sturdy log building in the center of the clearing. Rows of rubble flank three sides of the square. If I squint and reach backward in time, I can imagine that these piles of wood were once livable huts.
Something’s not right. If his family is staying here, then where are they? Shouldn’t Mikey or Angela be rushing out to greet him? Shouldn’t there be some sign of life? A fire recently lit or leftover scraps of food? Instead, there’s just a stillness in the air…along with a few vultures feeding on the bloody remains of a deer.
A bird squawks. I duck, covering my head in case the vultures mistake me for a dead feast. When I straighten, Ryder’s gone.
Great. Invisible fingers creep up my spine. Where did he go? A person can’t just disappear. Maybe he stepped into one of the structures. The log building is too far away, but there’s a hut at the end of the row that’s only three-quarters dilapidated.
Alarm bells scream in my head. The futures flip through my mind like a deck of playing cards, too quickly for me to see each one. But I’m able to glean the overall gist of the pathways: not good.
Not good, not good, not good.
Forget Ryder! my instincts scream. Run! But my feet walk toward the dilapidated hut, and I’m incapable of making them stop. Incapable of turning around.
There’s a gaping hole in the crisscross of sticks that might’ve been a door. My heart is in my throat, and I dig my nails into my palms. Saying a prayer to the Fates, I step inside.
I stumble over a rut, and a pair of hands grab me on my way to the ground. Before I can shout or kick or jab, the hands whirl me around and press me into the dirt. I look up into a pair of very pretty, very enraged eyes. Ryder’s eyes.
“Exactly how long were you planning to follow me?” he demands.
13
I gulp the air, but there’s not enough oxygen, even though the collapsing hut is completely open to the wind. It’s hot, too hot, and his body is pressing into mine, his legs on my legs, his torso on my torso. I can’t move, I can’t breathe. There’s no way I can think.
“How long have you known I was following you?” I croak.
He smiles tightly, although I can tell from his eyes that he’s not happy. Far from it. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe from the moment you first stepped outside the cabin.”
I gape. “You knew this entire time?”
“I sure did.” He eases his body to the side, although he keeps my hands pinned above my head. “Why do you think I waited for you all those times, when you would’ve lost me? I’ve been hovering for years, Olivia. How long have you been on the board? A few weeks?”
“Six months,” I snap. “And I would’ve taken it up sooner. I always wanted to. I just didn’t…have the chance.”
Something moves across his face, something that looks very close to sympathy, but then he sets his jaw, and the expression disappears.
“You’ve been boarding for six months? What in Fates would you have done if I had gone down that cliff? I hope to Time you weren’t planning on following me. You would’ve broken your neck.”
“I can stick any landing,” I insist.
“It would’ve been suicide,” he counters. It’s hard to tell if he’s more disgusted with me or my skills. “Even skimming across the water, you were vibrating so much I thought I was going to have to dive in and save you.”
Oh. This somehow makes me feel even more foolish. “You were watching?”
“I thought we already established that.”
He lets go of my hands and sits up, obviously deciding I’m no longer a flight risk. I push myself up shakily. The rotting skeleton of the hut curves over our heads. Through the crisscross structure, I glimpse patches of blue sky, wispy clouds, and even a bird or two. I don’t have an ability to reach into the past, but I can almost imagine what it was like to live in this hut once upon a time.
When I glance back down, Ryder’s eyes are fixed on my face.
“Just look at you.” His voice is softer now, much less angry. “You’re filthy, and you look like you’re about to come apart any moment. I left you two bottles of water. Have you been drinking them?”
I wet my lips. Or at least, I try to. ’Cause he’s right. My lips, tongue, mouth are as dry as sandpaper. “I’ve, uh, been rationing them. I didn’t know how long I’d be chasing you, and I didn’t want to run out.”
“I never would’ve let it get that far!” Groaning, he riffles in his backpack and shoves a bottle of water at me. “Here, drink this. All of it. I would’ve left you more, but I didn’t want to make you carry it.”
I take the water, oddly touched. “That’s why you took all of my supplies?”
“Well, yeah.” Those deep, black eyes bore into mine. “I don’t know if I can trust you, but I don’t want you to suffer. Not if there’s something I can do about it.”
I look away. I have to. His voice is like a feather brushing up my spine, leaving me both shivery and warm. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel when it comes to Ryder—but it’s not this. Unscrewing the bottle of water, I take a long gulp, both to hydrate my body and to give me time to think.
“So, you want to tell me why we just spent an entire day hovering through the forest, only to end up here, at this abandoned campsite?” I finally ask.
“I was testing you.” He lifts his chin, as if he’s determined not to look guilty, but the way his eyes shift gives him away. “As much as I’d like to take you at your word, I can’t. So I led you to the river, knowing that the sudden dip in the water would rattle you—literally. I thought there was no way you’d be able to keep your board, and the moment you started wobbling all over the place, whoever was trailing you—trailing us—would come out and rescue you.” He pauses. “Well, that didn’t happen. And when you collapsed to the ground, no one came to your aid, either.”
“Because there wasn’t anybody!” I shove my hands through my matted hair.
He swallows. “I gathered that.”
“What if I had fallen in the water? Would you have let me drown, just to play out your precious test?”
“Of course not.” He has the gall to sound offended, even though we both know what he’ll be capable of nineteen days from now.
“Why didn’t you approach me after it was clear no one was following us?” I persist.
“I had to be sure. You might not have had an ally present, but maybe you were in communication with someone. So I came here.” He stares through the bones of the former hut to the piles of rubble, the open clearing, the sturdy log cabin. “This is the original Harmony, my first home after I left civilization. Of course, back then, we had dozens of ‘spiders’ projecting holographic illusions around the camp, so that no one could find us.” He stops. “If you pretending to torture your mom was all a ruse that the two of you designed, the second you saw signs of a fugitive camp, you would’ve reported the coordinates to FuMA. Well, we’ve been here ten minutes now. If they’re coming, they should be here any second.”
He looks at me searchingly. It’s so quiet we’d be able to hear the nearly inaudible whisper-whirr of the stealth copter. But we don’t. Seconds pass, and then a minute. Nobody bursts in to arrest Ryder. For one good reason.
“I didn’t call anyone,” I say quietly. “I’m the chairwoman’s daughter, but my loyalty to her ends with my name alone.” An image of her flailing body flashes across my mind, and I wince. I may have severed ties with my mother the moment I tortured her, but that doesn’t mean I’ll ever enjoy that memory. “I don’t agree with what she’s doing. I hope it goes without saying that I don’t support genocide. In fact, Jessa and I are doing everything we can to try to stop her.” I take a breath. “In the meantime, Jessa’s asked me to help her sister. But I can’t do that if you don’t take me to your family.”