by Anna Carey
But as we walked back to her house I slowed my pace, letting her, Lilac, Delia, and Isis get a few steps ahead. Arden ran up behind me. We were both smiling in the dark. She nodded toward the bridge, the idea already taking root. The question that had consumed us was answered. Finally, we knew what to do.
seven
“JUST A LITTLE FARTHER,” ARDEN SAID. SHE CROUCHED BEHIND a burned-out car, her breath short as she pulled Heddy to her, gripping the dog’s rope collar so she wouldn’t move. “We’re almost there.”
I peered through the binoculars, looking at the tiny, nearly imperceptible lantern light that shone at the top of the stone ledge. Isis was just outside the front entrance to Califia, a black dot moving against the gray landscape. “I can’t tell if she’s using her binoculars anymore,” I said. That night, long after Maeve and Lilac had gone to sleep, we crept into the storage room, carefully collecting supplies and loading them into two backpacks. Then we’d made our way across the bridge, darting from car to truck to car, zigzagging so as not to be seen. Now we’d nearly reached the end: Only a few yards separated us from the short tunnel leading into the city.
“Let’s sprint it just in case,” I said. Each step was unsteady, and my legs felt like they might give out beneath me.
Arden looked at Heddy, smoothing down her soft black ears. “You ready, girl?” she asked. “You have to run fast. Can you do that?” The dog stared at her with big amber eyes, as if she understood. Then Arden turned to me and nodded, signaling for me to go first.
I sprang up from our hiding place, pumping my legs as fast as I could, not looking back at Califia or the lantern or Isis’s silhouette, pacing in front of the stone ledge. Arden followed close behind, jumping over deflated tires, charred bones, and overturned motorcycles. The bag was heavy on my back. The jarred berries and meats inside clanked together as Arden darted ahead, the dog right beside her. I kept running, clutching the binoculars and sprinting toward the black mouth of the tunnel.
I didn’t even see the battered cart. It was lying beneath a truck, its hooked handle reaching for my ankle as I passed. It pulled me, pack and all, to the ground. I screamed as my knee met the pavement.
As Arden ran she turned back, her gaze scanning the mountains. “Get up, get up, get up,” she urged, stepping over the last of the debris until she was safe, out of sight, in the entrance of the tunnel. She and Heddy watched me from there, her voice calling beyond the darkness.
I scrambled to my feet and grabbed the binoculars, which had been crushed beneath me in the fall. My backpack was dripping, and something thick and purple ran down my legs as I limped forward, trying to get out of Isis’s line of sight. When I reached the tunnel, I collapsed against the wall.
“Has she spotted us?” Arden asked, holding the dog back to keep her from licking my face. “Where are the binoculars?”
“Right here.” I held them up. The center had cracked, leaving the two scopes connected by only a narrow piece of plastic. I pressed them to my face, searching the hillside for signs of her, but both lenses were black. “I can’t see anything,” I said frantically, banging the binoculars against the palm of my hand, trying to fix them.
Isis was probably halfway down the dirt path by now, sprinting to the houses to wake up Maeve. It wouldn’t be long before she came across the bridge to retrieve us. “Come on,” I whispered to myself, shaking the silly contraption to get it to work.
But when I held them to my face again I still couldn’t see anything. No Isis. No Quinn. No Maeve. There was only infinite black in front of me, and my eyes, bloodshot and frightened, reflected in the glass.
THE NARROW HOUSES OF SAN FRANCISCO WERE COVERED IN colorful, ornate carvings, their paint peeling off in sheets. Burned-out cars were piled at the bottom of each hill. There was shattered glass everywhere, making the pavement sparkle.
“We need to pick up the pace,” Arden said. She and Heddy were a few yards ahead of me, wading through the litter on the sidewalk, crushed plastic bottles and foil wrappers coming up past her ankles. She glanced above us. The moon was disappearing, the giant black dome of the sky now streaked with light. “We have to get there before the sun rises.”
“I’m coming,” I said, looking over my shoulder at the store behind me. A car had smashed through its front window, shattering the glass. Vines and moss hung down over the opening. Inside, beyond some overturned shelves, something moved. I squinted into the darkness, trying to make sense of the shadow, but then it was bounding toward me.
Heddy barked as the deer sprinted out of the store. I watched it disappear down the road. We’d been traveling for four hours, maybe more, snaking our way through the city. We were almost at Route 80 and the bridge that would take us to Caleb. Soon the entrance ramp appeared, covered in moss. I kept waiting for Maeve or Quinn to show up, or for a Stray to jump out and force us to surrender our supplies. But neither happened. I was going to be with Caleb again. With each step I took, it seemed more certain, more real. From now on, it would be Caleb, me, Arden, and Heddy—our own little tribe—hiding out in the wild.
We made our way up the ramp onto 80, weaving through the cars that would be forever frozen in traffic. My steps were lighter as we passed the old construction site Caleb and I had seen the day we’d first arrived. “That’s it!” I cried, as the road curved up, hugging the ocean. The giant building was just ahead, its blue plaster falling down in clumps. IK A was spelled out in yellow letters, with only a faint shadow where the E had once been.
All that separated me from Caleb was an empty parking lot and a concrete wall. I started running, ignoring the ache in my knee from where I had fallen, and Arden’s voice calling out behind me. “You shouldn’t go alone,” she tried.
I had thought about this moment so many times. In those weeks after I arrived in Califia, I’d stare up at the sky, reminding myself that Caleb and I were both underneath it. That wherever he was, whatever he was doing (Hunting? Sleeping? Preparing dinner over a fire?), we would always share something. Sometimes I’d pick a specific building in the city and imagine him inside, reading a water-stained book as he rested there, waiting for his leg to heal. I was convinced we would return to one another—it was only the how and when that had yet to be decided.
When I reached the glass doors, they were locked, their metal handles threaded with a heavy chain. But two of the bottom panes had been kicked out, and I crawled through, careful not to cut myself on the shards of glass. Inside, the massive store was dark and silent. The morning light coming in through the doors cast a faint glow on the concrete floor. I felt for the flashlight in my pack and turned it on, making my way farther in.
The beam flitted around the room, settling on a crate of moldy pillows, then on an old bed frame and a dresser, a lamp and books sitting on top of it as though it were someone’s home. A kitchen was nestled in one corner, the refrigerator and stove still in place, and a sitting room down the hall with a long blue sofa. I had passed stores before, seen their long, narrow interiors, but this felt like a giant maze, with each room spilling into the next.
I heard a rustling and jumped back, the beam of the flashlight hitting the floor just in time to reveal a rat scurrying by. In the dining room beyond, a few of the chairs were turned on their sides. I didn’t want to risk calling out into the darkness. Instead I kept silent, walking as lightly as I could over litter and broken glass.
I wound through the rooms, shining the flashlight in corners to be certain I hadn’t missed anything. I moved past beds and tables and chairs, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. I was looking in one of the fake shower stalls when I heard it: a faint coughing. It was coming from my right, a few rooms away. “Here,” a voice called weakly. “Eve? I’m here.”
I covered my mouth, too shaken to reply. Instead I ran, weaving through the rooms, my heart light. Caleb was alive. He was here. He had survived.
As I got closer I spotted three candles on the floor. A man’s silhouette was visible on the bed. I started toward him, but when I
reached the bedroom, he wasn’t alone. There were more of them—three men altogether. One sat in an armchair in the corner, his skin ghostly pale. Another stood by the room’s other entrance, blocking the path through. His face was scarred, and he wore dirt-caked pants and the same boots Missy had described in Califia. The others were in uniform, the New American crest pasted on their shirtsleeves.
“Hello, Eve,” the man on the bed offered. “We’ve been waiting for you.” He sat up slowly and studied me, his face half in shadow. The thin hairs on the back of my neck bristled. I knew him. I knew this man.
His eyes looked out from behind thick black lashes. He was young—no older than seventeen—but his face seemed more mature than it did when we’d encountered him at the base of the mountain that day. The day I had shot and killed the two soldiers. After he had stitched up Caleb’s leg, I had released him. I had let him go free, only to find him here, now, in this strange place.
The soldier with the scarred face crossed his arms over his chest. “I was wondering how long it would take for you to get the message.” He looked to the others. “Word spreads quickly among Strays, doesn’t it?”
My thoughts went immediately to Arden. She and Heddy were probably at the door, working their way inside the building. They had followed me here, on my stupid insistence. I had led Arden into danger once before. It couldn’t happen again.
I needed to warn them.
The young soldier nodded to the other two and they rushed forward. The flashlight was heavy in my hand. I didn’t think. As the pale one came at me, I swung, landing one blow across his cheekbone. He stumbled backward, into the other one, giving me just enough time to slip away. I took off through the maze, jumping over chairs and tables and broken lamps. I could hear them gaining on me, their steps close as I reached the entrance.
Arden was readying herself to climb through the broken glass door. Heddy started barking, growing more frantic as we neared. Boots pounded the concrete floor behind me. Heddy barked even louder. I kept running, aiming for the opening in the door. I didn’t look back as I threw myself through it, screaming the only word I could manage.
“Run!”
eight
GLASS SLICED INTO MY BARE ARM. FOR A BRIEF MOMENT THE world was completely still. My body was halfway through the broken door. I saw the empty parking lot before me, weeds sprouting up through the cracks in the pavement. Heddy was snarling. Frantic, Arden grabbed me under the arms and pulled, trying to get me out. Then a hand was on my ankle, fingernails digging into my skin as one of the soldiers dragged me back into the warehouse.
Heddy bolted through the door beside me and sank her teeth into his leg. “It’s on me,” the young soldier screamed to the others. Heddy was growling, a low rumbling sound that filled the air as she shook her head back and forth, tearing through his pants and into his flesh. She knocked him down and he finally released me. I turned to see his head smash into the floor, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. “Shoot it!” he yelled.
Arden kept pulling, my blood soaking her sleeve, until I was out in the open air of the parking lot. It was nearly fifty yards to the road. Woods spread out behind the warehouse; the dense trees would provide cover. I got up and ran toward them but Arden was frozen, staring at the doors. Heddy was still inside. She had the soldier pinned down and was barking in his face. When the other two came out of the darkness she bared her teeth, as if guarding a fresh kill. “Heddy, come, come here,” Arden urged, smacking her hand on her thigh. “Get over here!”
The soldier dressed as a Stray pulled a gun from his waist. He aimed at the dog but she lurched suddenly, biting into the young soldier’s arm. “Just shoot it!” he yelled from the floor.
“We have to go,” I said, pulling Arden away.
“Come, Heddy!” Arden tried again as she ran backward, away from the store. “Come—”
A shot sounded. Heddy let out a horrible whimper and staggered away, her side bleeding. The soldier helped the boy up, then shot the chain holding the doors closed until it broke. The three men walked out into the parking lot.
I grabbed Arden’s hand, pulling her toward the woods behind the warehouse, but she dragged her feet, staring at the building. Heddy had started limping after the men, her hind leg completely paralyzed. “Arden, we have to go,” I urged, yanking her in my wake. The men followed us, but Arden was barely moving, her neck craned backward at the suffering dog. “Come on,” I pleaded.
But it was no use. Within seconds, they had caught up to us. “Lowell, get her,” the young soldier said, pointing at Arden. The pale one grabbed Arden’s elbow and yanked her arms behind her back. She kicked wildly but the other one grabbed her legs, tying a plastic restraint around her ankles. In one swift motion he tightened it and she stopped kicking, her legs twisted and trapped.
As they held her down, the young soldier came toward me. His steps were unhurried. His leg was raw where Heddy had bitten him, a bloodstain spreading over the thin green fabric of his uniform.
“I’m taking you in,” he said calmly. His face was more angular than I remembered. His nose had a large red bump on its bridge, as if it had been broken recently. He grabbed my wrist but I pulled my fist downward, just as Maeve had shown me all those weeks before, when I’d first arrived in Califia. It slipped out from underneath his thumb. Then I leaned down, levering myself against the pavement, and landed my elbow into the soft nook of his crotch. He doubled over, his bloodshot eyes watering.
I ran at the two others. The one with the scar looked surprised right before I punched him, as hard as I could, in the neck. He made a wheezing noise and staggered back, releasing Arden’s legs. The pale one dropped Arden on the ground and sprang on top of me, pressing me to the pavement. “You’re lucky,” he whispered in my ear. I could feel his breath, hot and wet, against my skin. “If you were anyone else I’d slit your throat.” He took a plastic restraint from his pocket and looped it over my wrists, pulling it so tight the blood throbbed in my hands.
The young soldier slowly got up, gesturing for the scarred one to retrieve something from the woods. He staggered off, his hand still clutching his neck. I turned to Arden. She was curled on the ground, crying, her eyes locked on Heddy. “It’s okay, girl,” she whispered. Her cheeks were wet and splotchy. “I’m here, girl. I’m here.” The dog’s whines grew louder as she dragged herself forward. Blood was streaming down her limp hind leg.
The air filled with the grating, familiar sound of a Jeep’s engine. The scarred soldier pulled the truck out of the woods into the empty lot, while the two others loaded us, one by one, into the back bed. “Enough,” the pale soldier yelled at Arden, unable to stand her crying any longer. “I can’t listen to this.”
The scarred soldier spun the Jeep around and started back toward the highway. “We can’t leave her like that!” Arden’s voice was choked with sobs. “Can’t you see she’s suffering?”
I pulled at my restraints, wishing I could hold Arden and comfort her. The tears soaked her hair and shirt. But the men ignored her, their eyes on the ramp that led back to 80. She threw herself into the backs of their seats and screamed. “You can’t do this, you can’t leave her,” she cried. “Kill her, please, please, kill her,” she repeated, over and over again, until she was out of breath. Exhausted, she leaned her head against the seat. “What’s wrong with you? Just put her out of her misery.”
The young soldier put his hand on the driver’s arm, signaling for him to stop. Heddy’s painful cries filled the air. She licked at her side, as if trying to stop the blood.
The young soldier got out and walked across the parking lot toward her. He didn’t flinch, just raised his gun. I turned away. I heard the blast, saw Arden’s crumpled face, and felt the air go still and silent.
As we drove away, Arden buried her face in my neck, her body heaving with quiet sobs. “It’s okay, Arden,” I whispered in her ear, my head resting on hers. But the tears only came faster, her cries inconsolable as the Jeep moved east, into the risi
ng sun.
nine
FIVE HOURS LATER, THE JEEP CAME TO A STOP OUTSIDE A WALL nearly thirty feet high, ivy snaking up its stone front. My skin was sweaty and sunburned, and my hands and feet had gone numb from the restraints. I squinted against the sun, awake and alert. Months on the run, so many near misses and escapes—none of it had mattered. I’d ended up here anyway. The City of Sand.
“Arden—wake up,” I whispered, nudging her in the side. She had fallen asleep a few hours into the trip, her sobs giving way to exhaustion. Her face was red and streaked with tears, her eyes nearly swollen shut.
“This is Stark,” the young soldier spoke into a handset in the front seat. “Nine-five-two-one-eight-zero. We have her here.” I cringed at how cocky he seemed now that he had me sitting, hands tied, in the back of the truck. He’d been in the front seat during the five-hour ride, talking the driver through each turn, answering the radio whenever it buzzed. The other two glanced at him before doing anything, as if seeking permission. An hour into the journey, Arden and I had loosened the plastic ties and tried to jump from the moving car, but the soldier in the backseat caught sight of us and tied our wrists to the Jeep’s metal carriage.
The air filled with static. “Opening the gate now. You can pull inside,” a voice replied through the handset.
I pulled at the rope threaded through my wrist restraints. “It’s smaller than I thought it would be,” Arden whispered, looking up at the wall. Her shirt hung loose around her chest, exposing the top of the thick pink scar. “All that talk about its grandeur. A bunch of crock.”
Those twelve years I’d been at School it was always a point among the Teachers, and in all those radio addresses they broadcast in the main hall—the City of Sand was an extraordinary place, the center of The New America, a city in the middle of the desert, restored by the King. Pip and I had talked about our future inside its walls, of the massive luxury apartments overlooking elegant fountains, the train that passed on a track above the street, the shops filled with restored clothing and jewelry. We dreamed of the roller coasters and amusement parks, the zoos, and the towering Palace filled with restaurants and shops. This was nothing like the grand metropolis we’d envisioned. The wall was hardly higher than the one at School, and there were no glittering towers visible beyond it.