by D. S. Murphy
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”
***
I wandered around Defiance, looking for someone to help. A large section of the outer wall—a stretch of sharpened timber and piles of stone—had been destroyed by some kind of explosion. Pieces of the smoldering wood lay scattered in the streets and a few houses had caught fire, but the embers were mostly cold now. I helped clear some of the wreckage, staining my hands black with coal. Finally I saw Meredith, sitting in what looked like a blacksmith shop. She was sharpening her knives against a wet stone. She nodded at me when I approached, but didn’t say anything.
“How’s Jake?” I asked.
“Miserable, thanks to you,” she mumbled.
“You think I wanted Zamonta to kidnap girls? For Sam to die?” I said. “I know I screwed up, but I didn’t cause any of this.”
Meredith pointed the knife at me. “You’re a distraction. Jake loses focus around you. He knows, with me, I’ve got his back. We’ve been fighting mods together for years. But with you around, it’s like he forgets who he is. And you can’t even fight. Having you around is bad luck.”
“So teach me,” I said. Her eyes widened at the suggestion.
“Seriously. I get it. I’m a liability, and I hate it. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me. So teach me how to defend myself.”
She shrugged and motioned for me to follow her outside. A row of thick logs had been buried deep in the ground, with branches tied at right angles to form makeshift arms. Monstrous faces were painted on the top of the logs.
“Those are mods,” she said. “They’re stronger and faster than us. You don’t want to let them near you. The best thing to do is run; duck under their claws until you get enough distance to use a gun or bow. If all else fails, a knife to the heart or brain will usually take them out. Though if they’re that close, you’re probably already dead.”
She handed me a knife so long it was practically a sword and let me whack at the wood for awhile, before correcting my posture.
“Harder,” she said. “You’re too soft. You’ve got to mean it.”
I struck the wood so hard the vibration coursed up my whole arm. I kept going until my arm was shaking. My ankle was throbbing as well, it still hurt to put pressure on it.
“Good,” Meredith said finally. “You’re tired. Now we can start for real. You need to be ready for anything, and you need to be strong enough to fight off mods. But you also need to learn some basic combat.”
She took the knife from me and handed me a short stick instead.
“A human will strike like this, or this,” she said, swiping at me with her stick, then stabbing it straight towards my abdomen. “You need to block, then thrust.” She showed me a few moves and made me practice them, over and over. Each time she hit me with the stick it left a bruise. After the twentieth time or so, I was able to read her stance and see which attack she was going to use so I could block it in time. The harder we practiced, the more focused I became. I even started anticipating her moves. Finally, when I saw her attack coming, I swung hard at her wrist. She cried out and dropped her stick.
I smiled in triumph. Then she punched me. The world spun as pain exploded behind my eye. I felt the hard ground against my back, then weight as Meredith straddled my waist and wrapped her fingers around my throat. I tried to push her off, but my arms felt like jelly after all the practice. Instead, my eyes focused in on the row of stars that climbed up her arms and shoulders.
She saw me staring and loosened her grip, then sighed and rolled over beside me.
“You’ve got to be ready for anything, even what you don’t expect. And the fight’s not over when you land a single blow.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. My whole body was thrumming in pain. I didn’t want to get back up so I changed the subject. “I’ve been meaning to ask, what are the stars for?”
I turned to look at her, meeting her eyes through the grass between us. She looked up at the darkening sky and smiled.
“Jake and I used to compete. We’d always brag about how many mods we’d killed that day, but we didn’t believe each other. So we started collecting proof. A finger, usually. My mom found out and was livid. The fingers were pretty gross, and they smelled. So we started trading them in for stars.”
I trailed my fingers over the marks on her arm. There were dozens. She breathed in sharply and stared back at me in confusion, then got to her feet and held a hand out to me.
“I’ve known Annabelle all her life,” she said quietly. “She’s like a sister to me.”
“She’ll be okay,” I said, unconvincingly.
“How would you know? The commander isn’t even trying to help them. She just sits there on her throne. She has no right to tell Jake what to do, or lock him up.”
“I agree, but he is injured. You really think it would be smart to go out alone again, after what happened last time?”
Meredith shook her head and sighed. “Part of me is relieved,” she confessed. “But still, we have to do something. And if I know Jake, he’s not going to just give up easily.”
“Can you show me where they’re keeping him?” I asked, suddenly nervous. If Jake escaped and ran off to save Annabelle, he could make things worse. I had to convince him to wait. We picked up some food and medical supplies, then headed towards the same apartment building I’d been in before. They’d put Jake on the fifth floor. Attempting to escape from that height would be lethal. Two guards were posted outside the room.
“Food and bandages,” Meredith said. The guards narrowed their eyes at the sharp knives glinting on Meredith’s belt. “No visitors,” one said gruffly.
“Seriously?” Meredith asked. “He’s got to eat. Or did Tamara explicitly tell you to let him starve to death?”
“He’s hurt,” I said. “I just want to clean his wounds and give him some food. Please?”
The guards exchanged looks, then one of them nodded to me.
“Five minutes. But just you.”
Jake’s eyebrows rose when he saw me. He glanced at the bowl of soup I’d brought, like he was searching for a concealed weapon.
“Is this a rescue attempt?” he asked.
“It’s just me,” I said.
“Even better.” The edges of his lips curled into a smile but there was sadness in his eyes.
The room was in shadows, but I could see by the glowing light of some thick white candles and the moon outside the window. I watched Jake eat in silence, then had him lift his shirt so I could replace his bandages. The wound still looked terrible, but I didn’t think it was infected. I poured some hydrogen peroxide from the travel medkit on it anyway, then wrapped him up in fresh bandages and tapped the ends against his abdomen.
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Perfect,” he said. “Almost like you’d done it before.”
He leaned back against some pillows, grunting in pain as he shifted his weight.
“Maybe Tamara is right,” I said gently, putting my palm over his hand. “You need to take it easy and rest for a few days.”
“Annabelle may not have a few days,” Jake said darkly. “We don’t know what even happens in there… what he could be doing to her.”
He curled his fists, then buried his face in his hands.
“I have to get out of here. Tell Meredith. She’ll think of something.”
“Charging into Zamonta alone will get you both killed. Let me find out what Tamara’s plan is first. We’ll figure something out. In the meantime, try to get some sleep tonight.”
Jake reached up and stroked my cheek.
“See you tomorrow?” he asked.
I frowned and he pulled his hand away.
“You’ll be gone again,” he guessed. “Off on some mysterious mission you can’t tell me about. My whole world is falling apart. All I have left is you, and you’re not real.”
Before I could argue, there was a knock on the door.
“Time’s up,” one of th
e guards shouted. I squeezed Jake’s hand, then let it drop back on the bed. I turned and wiped away the tear that was forming. I was real. Just not in his time. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t do anything. Tamara wasn’t in the park, so I walked down the street to the council building. She stood outside with a woman I hadn’t seen before. They talked in hushed voices until another man joined them and they headed inside. I followed them, not sure what I would find. The building was quiet. No one stood at the reception desk and Tamara was nowhere in sight. I looked for the stairs and started to climb, cautious of my sore ankle. I stopped on a first floor, but it was just as deserted as the lobby. I made my way downstairs again, but instead of going back through the lobby, I followed the stairs to the basement.
It wasn’t long before I heard voices. I crept down the rest of the steps and slowly opened the door. A group of people stood in the center of the room, huddled in a conversation. I inched my head forward to get a better look and scanned the room. Crates lined the walls, stacked as high as they could go. I glanced at the group, but they were too far away and too engrossed in their conversation to see me. I moved to the first stack of crates and peered into one. I clasped a hand over my mouth to stifle my gasp of shock. Each crate was filled with what looked like explosives. There was enough here to take out an entire city. I moved closer until I could hear Tamara speaking.
“Once we get in, we’ll plant the charges in six different locations. Set the timer for fifteen minutes, then get the hell out. Save as many of the girls as you can, but remember our primary mission. Bring Zamonta down, no matter the cost. This is the excuse we’ve been waiting for.”
It was at that moment I realized I had no idea who my sister was anymore. The woman in front of me was terrifying. I backed away slowly, in the direction of the door, but accidently bumped one of the crates with my hip. It let out a creaking noise and several heads turned in my direction. I ducked down and squeezed my eyes shut. There was no way I could leave without them seeing me.
Panic rose in my chest as I heard the sound of a pistol being cocked, and saw Tamara head in my direction. She turned her head in my direction. Just as our eyes made contact, I felt my body lighten. A pink haze surrounded me as my body slipped away.
23
I woke up in a tiny room with two people holding me down. I felt sick to my stomach, like I was on a roller coaster ride and everything was moving. Sirens pierced my eardrums. I blinked, but the noise didn’t go away. That’s when I realized I was in an ambulance.
My eyes widened and I tried to sit up.
“Just relax,” the woman said. Her smile was grim. “We’ve already called your father.”
“What? No! I’m fine, let me up.”
“Someone found you passed out in the bushes,” the woman frowned. “Covered in bruises. They called 911. Can you tell me what happened? Did someone hurt you?”
“No. I mean, I tried out for volleyball at school today. It was rough. Then I—I went to Defiance after. I just needed some space. It’s a pretty bike ride, you know? But I was tired, so I took a nap. I’m totally fine now.” She raised an eyebrow, letting me know how weak my excuse sounded.
“We’ll let the doctor decide once we get to the hospital,” she said, putting down her clipboard.
“Wait—what?” I said. “Hospital?”
“That’s usually what happens when kids get injured,” she said. “Is there a reason you don’t want to see the doctor? Did you take something? If you did, we’ll find out anyway. Might as well tell me now so we can help you.”
I bit my lip but shook my head. They’d never understand about the phylia. And it wasn’t harmful, not really. I tried to move again and felt a sharp pain in my ankle. It was worse in the present, and my ankle had nearly double in size. I’d probably made it worse, but I needed to warn them. Or try to at least.
The nurse handed me a white pill and a glass of water. She nodded her approval when I swallowed it, then watched me silently until we reached the hospital. Two paramedics showed up with a gurney but I waved them off.
“Let me walk, please? I’m fine, I promise.”
They made room and I got out slowly. I winced when I stood on my bad ankle but tried to hide the pain. It was nothing compared to the disappointment on my dad’s face when he saw me. Relief, sure, and he tried to smile reassuringly. But beneath that was a look I’d never seen before; one of total fear. He gave me an awkward hug and kissed the top of my head, then helped me hobble into a room in the emergency center. I tried to convince Dad that I was fine and that we should just go home, but the doctors recommended I should do a full toxicology. They took my blood and hooked me up to an IV. We had to wait three hours until the results came in.
At the least the drugs were working. Whatever the nurse had given me made my skin feel tingly, and my body felt like it was floating in a magical bubble. The throbbing in my ankle and eye disappeared, and for the first time in weeks, my stomach and shoulders weren’t clenched with tension. When Chrys came in the room I actually smiled at her. I kind of remembered we’d been fighting, but I couldn’t think why. Her eyes were wet as she grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
“You’re a moron, you know that?” she said, her voice cracking. “And you look like shit.”
“I got in a fight,” I grinned. “Needed to learn how to protect myself.”
“Yeah I can see how well you protect yourself. It’s written all over your face.” Her fingers touched my cheek under my swollen eye.
“Alicia, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. Her eyes filled with tears.
“For what?” I asked, looking up at her.
“For what I said at Zamonta, in front of Brett. And for being seduced by the lure of senior popularity and caring what Courtney thinks of me. And for leaving you alone this week, with all you’ve been going through. But mostly because I didn’t follow you out of the gym earlier. I wanted to stay and finish tryouts, and I just let you walk away, knowing what you were going to do—”
I didn’t realize I was crying too until I felt the warm salt water on my cheeks and tasted it on my tongue. I pulled Chrys into a hug. “I’m sorry too,” I said.
When the doctor finally came in with the test results, it was almost midnight. He wanted to keep me overnight for observation, but I convinced Dad I was fine. The toxicology report came back clean from the list of commonly abused substances, and my ankle had a mild sprain. Everyone was still concerned about the black eye and bruises, but I convinced them the volleyball tryouts had just been really rough, and that I left school on my own because I was disappointed with my performance. It was a flimsy excuse, but adults seemed ready to believe teenagers did irresponsible things for stupid reasons. The doctor recommended ice and patience, but also scheduled a mandatory meeting with a counselor before he signed me out.
Chrys wheeled me out of the hospital in a wheelchair and my dad helped me into the car.
“I’ll pick you up for school tomorrow,” she said, giving me a hug. “No more bike-riding. Deal?”
“Is school really a good idea?” Dad interrupted. “I was thinking of taking the day off tomorrow, so I could stay home with you.”
Part of me did just want to eat cereal and watch day-time soaps, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax and enjoy it. I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk with Chrys about everything that had happened, and I knew I had to plan my next step.
“I’m fine, Dad, really. They shouldn’t have even picked me up. I was just taking a nap, I was tired after the tryouts.”
His face looked angry for a second, but he masked it well. We said goodnight to Chrys and went inside. Dad went straight to the basement and brought up a pair of old crutches. He handed them to me and went to the kitchen to heat up some TV dinners. He hadn’t said much at the hospital, but now I could tell he was itching to speak his mind. The silence felt amplified at home. After half an hour of awkward tension, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Dad, are you okay?” I asked.
&n
bsp; He laughed softly. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
“I’m fine,” I said, scratching the back of my neck. “I mean, my foot feels like it has its own heartbeat, but otherwise, good as new.”
He looked at me for another minute, then stood up abruptly and walked out to the car. I sat in confusion until he returned to the living room holding my backpack. He reached into my backpack and pulled out the container with the phylia inside, then held out the lighter and the tin can I’d been using as a bong.
“Dad, you don’t understand—”
“No, I don’t,” he said, fixing me with a stern stare.
“Where did you even get this stuff? And what the hell happened today? Have you even looked in the mirror? You have bruises all over your body, and a black eye. Don’t tell me that’s all from volleyball.”
My mouth parted, but no words came out. How could I even begin to tell him the truth? I started to explain myself—to come up with a lie that didn’t sound lame—but he shook his head.
“And it’s not just this,” he said. “It’s the way you’ve been acting recently. The late nights. The dazed looks. How long has this been going on?”
“Is this an intervention or something?” I asked, anger rising.
“I’m just concerned about you, Honey. You don’t know what it’s like to be a parent. To watch your daughter slowly slip away from you. I haven’t said much to you these past few days because I’ve been watching and hoping that what I’m seeing isn’t what I think. I know you kids feel like you have to try all of these new things when you’re young and do what everyone else is doing—”
The look in his eyes stung. “Dad, please,” I interrupted.
“Listen to me,” he said firmly. “This may not be important for you, but I need to say this or else I’ll feel like I failed you somehow.” He cleared his throat. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you since…” He looked away. I knew what he was going to say, so I looked away, too. “Since your mother died,” he whispered. “And I know it hasn’t been fair to you to have to grow up without the love and guidance of a mother, but…” His eyes were wet with incoming tears, and a lump rose in my throat. “I want to think that I can be the kind of father that fills both shoes, because I have to be that for you. I want you to be able to tell me anything. To trust me with anything. That’s all. If there’s anything you want or need to tell me… I’m here to listen.” He moved closer to me and patted my shoulder.