Glory

by Maureen McGowan

  Being around Cal is so comfortable. But I can’t be with him just because it’s easy. Or worse, because Burn doesn’t want me.

  I need a sign to tell me what to do.

  “This way!” Cal leans toward our clasped hands. “Step-hop-step.”

  As he repeats the words, we do them in one direction, then awkwardly in the other.

  Eventually, we fall into a rhythm. Back and forth, back and forth. Cal has a serious, concentrated expression, and I try to hide my smile as he repeatedly mouths, “Step-hop-step,” over and over.

  The dance starts to feel more natural, and we vary our steps. Relaxing, I let his strength guide me, and my stress and anxiety flow away. He looks into my eyes. Is this a sign that I’m meant to be with Cal?

  All our obstacles are gone. We work well together. Why am I looking for trouble?

  We bump into another couple. All four of us say sorry at once and laugh.

  I realize that Cal and I have moved around the hall to the far side. The music stops, but Cal doesn’t let me go. The band plays another song, this one slower. Many of the couples move closer together, their bodies touching as they dance. Cal pulls me toward him until our hips nearly touch, then he lowers his head toward mine.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  I turn my head and rest my cheek on his shoulder.

  He begins to sway, taking small steps, and his hand brushes over my back. He spins us and pulls me even closer. “Oh, Glory.” His lips are close to my ear. “I’ve missed this.”

  “Missed it?” I raise my head and laugh. “We’ve never danced before.” But I know what he means. I look past Cal.

  And see Burn.

  He’s leaning against the wall near the door, one leg bent, arms across his chest.

  Watching me.

  Our eyes meet and it’s like the electric jolt from a Shocker tag.

  The air vanishes from my lungs, and the rest of the people in the room fade into the background. Even Cal’s arms around me feel fuzzy, not quite real. The only thing in focus, the only thing solid, is Burn. The only thing real and alive in the room is the connection between us. The only thing tangible is the heat in his eyes.

  Burn might deny that it’s there. He might claim to feel nothing. But I see the truth in his eyes.

  He looks down, but I know what I saw, what I felt. My heart and lungs expand to fill my chest. What Burn and I have isn’t easy or comfortable, but we can’t give up—not without trying. There’s got to be a way.

  I finally have a sign. A sign from myself. And that sign is so clear.

  Here I am, relaxed, having fun in Cal’s arms, and I know what I want, who I want, who I need.

  I’ve always loved Cal. I probably always will. But I want Burn.

  Cal spins me. Another couple gets in the way, and I lose sight of Burn. I push away from Cal.

  “What’s wrong,” he asks.

  “The song’s over.” My voice is raspy.

  “No it’s not.” He looks at me quizzically.

  I glance around, hoping to see where Burn went.

  I spot him talking to a man with very short hair and dressed in the military garb of Fort Huron. Burn’s frowning and I can’t see the man’s face, but the conversation doesn’t look friendly.

  “Can you hear me?” Cal rests his hands on my shoulders. “What’s going on?”

  I snap my gaze back to him with no idea what he just asked.

  I hear a shout and look past Cal again. He turns to see what drew my attention.

  “Oh.” His shoulders slump.

  The man pushes Burn, hard. Burn doesn’t fight back. The music changes to a faster tune. Couples dance around the room, smiling, seemingly oblivious to what’s going on in the shadows.

  Burn walks out the door and the man follows. This does not look good.

  I run forward, but Cal grabs my arm. “You should stay out of this.”

  I pull away and race out of the building, vaguely aware that Cal’s following. Outside, Burn is scowling at the other man, whose back is to us.

  “You’re a monster!” the man yells. “No one is safe around you. We’ll be better off once you’re dead.” He shoves Burn.

  Burn doesn’t react. The man shoves him again, and anger builds on Burn’s face.

  “Hey!” I shout. “Leave him alone!” Burn’s eyes rise to meet mine and he shakes his head, signaling me to stop.

  The man spins. “And you! You little slut. I saw you with that blond kid on the dance floor.” He looks back to Burn as if hoping to get a reaction.

  “Listen now.” Cal walks toward the man with his hands held up in surrender. “Let’s calm down and talk like civilized—”

  “Civilized?” the man shouts. “How can any of you here claim to be civilized when monsters like him run free?” He slams the heel of his hand into Burn’s collarbone.

  Burn’s jaw line is rigid, his eyes narrowed, and I can tell he’s fighting to contain his anger. If he lets it loose, he’ll prove this man’s point.

  Cal leans down close to my ear. “Let’s go for help.”

  Keeping my eyes on Burn and the man, I shake my head.

  Cal’s jaw twitches. “Okay, but stay back. Don’t get involved.”

  I don’t answer, but I stay still as Cal goes inside.

  The man’s gaze darts between Burn and me. He’s full of hate, but he’s also panicking, and that’s never a good combination.

  Then, in an instant, the man transforms. Into Zina. She smirks as the moonlight bounces off her silver hair.

  I charge forward. “Murderer! Because of you, Cal’s brother is dead!”

  Burn puts up an arm, and I stop a few feet from them. “She’s not worth it,” he says.

  “Who are you, either of you, to call me a murderer?” Zina asks.

  She waits for a reaction. I don’t give her one.

  “Sabotaging that scaffolding in the Hub got Management’s attention,” Zina goes on. “That was my mission. Disruption. Killing your little friend was inconsequential.”

  “Inconsequential?” Fists form at my sides.

  “What I did helped our cause,” Zina says. “I was completely under control. I knew what I was doing. My actions were strategic and helped the FA. Whereas he”—she points at Burn—“went into a rage and killed Andreas, my brother, in cold blood. Then to make it worse, everyone let it slide.” She’s talking about events that happened more than three years ago—the day my dad was expunged.

  “Burn was a kid then,” I say. “You’re an adult. And you’re a coward. If you’re so proud about causing the accident that killed Scout, why did you do it disguised as Burn?” Where is Cal? I wonder. I hope he brings Rolph. I still don’t believe Rolph ever condoned Zina’s actions. I want to hear him say it.

  “Get lost, little girl.” Zina transforms into my father, her silver hair shortening and turning dark brown, her curvy feminine body converting into Dad’s lean, ropey one, her caramel skin becoming leathered. The shadow of a beard muddies her chin, and she even mimics his mannerisms, drumming her fingers on her thigh.

  I stagger back.

  She turns back into herself. “Scat. Monster boy and I have a score to settle.”

  “You and I have a score to settle!” I step up to join Burn.

  “You’d best put a leash on her,” Zina snarls at Burn. “Or maybe you don’t have any influence on her anymore. I saw her rubbing up against that other kid. Looks to me like you’ve been replaced.”

  Neither of us respond, but I can see the vein over Burn’s temple pulsing.

  “Come on, monster boy. Come at me like you did Andreas. Show me what you’ve got.”

  “You’re seeing it.” Burn’s voice is calm.

  “What’s it going to take for you to show your true colors?” Zina taunts. “Once everyone sees what you really are, they’ll give me a medal for putting a bullet in your head.” She pats a pistol at her side.

  Burn turns to leave, and I’m so proud of him. Proud that he stayed in
control.

  I start to follow, but Zina grabs me and pushes me up against the wall.

  “Maybe I took the wrong approach,” she says. She transforms into Thor, the bully from my COT class. Her body expands to his wide girth and her breath is putrid. I almost choke as I bring up my knee to connect between her legs. She doubles over.

  “I knew one of you would attack me,” Zina croaks as she transforms back. “But I expected the other one.” She falls to the ground just as Cal arrives with three other men.

  Burn takes off, running so fast he’s out of sight within seconds.

  “Are you hurt?” Cal slides his arm over my shoulders as the other men head toward Zina.

  “No.” I look toward the lake. “I need to go check on—”

  “Burn,” Cal finishes for me. “Yes. Of course. Go. Find him.” The hurt on his face is obvious, but I can’t worry about that right now.

  I need to make sure Burn doesn’t hurt anyone—or himself.

  Chapter Twelve

  I RUN DOWN to the boulder where I know Burn sometimes sits to look out at the lake. It’s my favorite place in Concord, too. It’s where we first kissed.

  He’s not there.

  The moon reflects off the quiet ripples that lap against the rocks. The iridescent highlights on the lake make me think of the Shredder I’ve got captive. I planned to wait until tomorrow morning to visit her again, but maybe Burn’s leaving the dance was a blessing in disguise. If I go now, I won’t be missed. Everyone will assume I’m with Burn.

  Can I get there without going past the lookout towers? I head down the beach, climb over the rock wall, then walk along the base of the cliff until I find the chains that the Shredders used to come down. If I’m right, this should cut the distance to the ruins in half.

  Bracing my feet on the rock face, I climb hand over hand until I reach the top of the cliff. The way looks clear, so I head for the shelter of the trees and descend the other side of the ridge. The slope is steep and the going tricky, but once I reach the bottom, it doesn’t take long to find one of Drake’s marked trees, and I speed toward my destination.

  Halfway there, I stop. Dust. I promised.

  I search along the cracks and crevices of the rocky landscape, hoping for a place where some dust from the last windstorm might have settled. Finally, my fingers discover a mini-cave of sorts in between two rocks. It’s full of dust. Cupfuls. I wrap as much as I can in a piece of cloth and stash it in my pocket.

  The forest is dark and quiet, and the pine trees reach high, punctuating the landscape like guards.

  A twig snaps.

  I stop and spin around but don’t see anyone. I wait, but there’s nothing. The sound must have been my imagination or maybe an animal. I think of that creature I killed last night. There might be other Shredder-animals around. I need to be careful.

  At the edge of the woods, the ruins rise in the distance, dark and ominous. The moon glows through the clouds, but it only makes me feel more exposed.

  Clouds frightened me the first time I saw them. After living my first sixteen years under a dome, the only reference I had for clouds was that they spread the dust. But when I first got out of Haven, Dad told me that the clouds sometimes bring rain, although they haven’t for years. Apparently rain is water that falls from the sky. When it comes, it’s good because we don’t need to use water from the lake to irrigate the crops.

  I open the cellar door. On the third step, I retrieve the crank torch I’ve had stashed in my pocket since I took the Shredder. After winding it, I shine it around the space before going farther.

  The light strikes the Shredder. Scrambling back in the cage, she wails. I want to cover my ears.

  “Calm down,” I tell her. “It’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Her eyes glow and her wails turn to whimpers. She rushes to the end of her rope and strains against it. “Dust. Please. I need dust.” Her voice is so hoarse.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Dust.”

  “Did you drink any of the water I left?”

  “Water?” she asks as if she’s trying to remember the word.

  “It’s right here.” I reach through the bars and pick up the bowl. It’s still full. “Take a sip. You’ll feel better.”

  With her bound hands outstretched, she approaches, and I resist the urge to drop the water and back away. My hand trembles as her fingers brush mine. It’s like she’s on fire—both softer and warmer than I expected.

  I remind myself that—if I’m right—not long ago I talked to this woman about saving her daughter. Her humanity might still be inside her.

  Waiting, I watch as she stares at the bowl, sloshing the water back and forth. A few drops spill and strike her fingers. She jumps. Then slowly, she draws the bowl toward her face until it’s right at her lips. She tips some liquid into her mouth—and chokes. I leap to the side as she spits it out.

  She smacks her tongue against her lips and sucks on the sides of her cheeks. Lifting the bowl again, she tips it more carefully and takes a smaller sip. Relief and delight flash across her face. “Good.”

  “Drink more.” I grab on to the bars separating us. “But slowly.”

  She takes another sip and the phosphorescence in her eyes fades, a sign that she’s calming down, perhaps even starting to trust me.

  “What’s your name?” I ask again. The more I can remind her of her life, before she became a Shredder, the greater my chances of getting through to her. I hope.

  Her eyes narrow, then widen as something like a smile spreads on her cracked lips. “Caroline.”

  My heart lifts. “Caroline. That’s your name? How do you feel? Do you remember what happened to you? Do you remember being in the Hospital?”

  Wailing again, she drops the bowl and backs away from me. “No. No. No.” Her head shakes from side to side so violently I’m afraid she’ll break her neck. Her eyes glow.

  I raise my hands toward her. “Don’t worry. I’m not from the Hospital. I’ll never let them hurt you again. I’m here to help you. Do you remember when I helped Arabella?”

  “Arabella’s dead. My beautiful baby is dead.” Phosphorescent tears spill over her red cheeks. She tucks down into a ball and turns to face the back corner of the cage. “Need dust.” She slams her forehead repeatedly against the stone wall.

  “Stop it!” I shake the bars. “Don’t hurt yourself. Please.”

  “Hurts.” She slumps down onto her side, and I wonder if she’s knocked herself unconscious.

  After a few moments, I open the lock. Caroline’s still breathing—her rib cage rising and falling—but she’s injured. I’ve confirmed her identity and know she was fully human not much more than a month ago.

  Like it or not, it’s time to make good on my promise. She needs dust.

  I crouch down beside her and rest my hand on her shoulder, shocked again by the heat. “Caroline?”

  She doesn’t move or open her eyes. Her forehead shines where it struck the wall. There’s a gash but little blood, confirming that, in spite of everything, she’s still a Shredder, still so dehydrated by the dust that her blood is thick like tar.

  I pull out the cloth, place a tiny amount of the dust in my cupped palm—just a few grains—and hold it near her mouth. Her wheezing breaths pull the dust from my hand.

  She bolts upright.

  I fall back, the dust-filled cloth still in my other hand. I quickly stash it in my pocket.

  “Better.” Her eyes glow, then fade. “Thank you,” she says. “More. I need more.”

  She looks up at me with pleading eyes that are clearer and more focused than I’ve yet seen them. It might be wishful thinking, but she seems more like the woman I met back in Haven.

  “You’ve had enough.” I keep my distance, moving outside the metal cage.

  “What do you know about it?” Her tone isn’t angry. She’s asking an honest question.

  “Too much dust is dangerous,” I answer with more authorit
y than I feel. “You’ve haven’t had any for nearly two days.” Maybe longer. “You need to take it slow.”

  She slumps down to sit.

  “Can you tell me why you came here?” I ask. “How did you find the way?”

  She rubs the back of her hand on her forehead and winces as the rope scrapes over the gash there. “I was picked,” she says. “Chosen.”

  I stiffen. “Who told you that you were chosen?”

  “She did. The President. She chose us for this mission.”

  I grab the bars of the cage. “What was the mission?”

  “To find you.” Her eyes glow. “To bring you back.”

  My muscles tense, but I don’t move away. “Why?”

  Caroline’s eyebrows draw together. “I don’t know.” She pulls her arms forward. The rope pulls taut, and she rubs the binding. “The rope’s cutting me.” Her speech is more coherent now, gentler, less like a Shredder’s.

  “Can you remember your life before—before she changed you?”

  Caroline looks up at me and nods slowly. “I had a daughter, a husband, a work placement in Haven.”

  “What was your placement?”

  “Pre-GT child care.”

  This woman took care of babies and toddlers, the kids too young for General Training. Just months ago, she was kind and patient and loving—she’d have to be in that job. Is it possible that version of her still exists somewhere inside?

  And, if Mrs. Kalin is turning Deviants into Shredders, is it possible they can change back?

  “What happened?” I ask her. “Why did Mrs. Kalin choose you?”

  “I went to the Compliance Department,” she says, “to report my daughter missing.” She rakes her fingers through her matted hair. “You said you’d take my Arabella to safety, but I worried what might happen to my husband and me if we didn’t report her missing.”

  “That was smart.”

  Her head snaps up toward me. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever done. Compliance told me she was dead. They showed me footage of my Arabella and a man being torn apart by Shredders.” She gags. “It was horrible. I screamed. They grabbed me. I fought back and my eyes started to glow.” She looks straight at me. “That’s when she came into the room.”