by Casey Hays
My steps take me past the inner checkpoint, where the guard on duty simply nods me through without question. I continue down the main street to the corner, turn left, and head the six blocks to the lab. There is no sound but my breathing, which I keep slow and even. Business is done for the day, and all the storefront windows stare with black faces as I pass by. I’m the only one in the city tonight.
Five blocks. Four. And then I can relax. Mission completed.
I rest a hand against the blanket covering the baby—the blanket I managed to fasten back around me, even torn. She’s a tiny bundle, curled into a ball against me. My shirt is wet where blood has seeped from her nose, and her hair is caked with blood where it burst from her ears. She has been deathly still for most of this trip. Nothing changes now.
I wonder briefly what might’ve happened if the rains hadn’t delayed me. If I’d gotten here hours sooner even. Would Dr. Phillips have been able to save her? Or . . . maybe luck has decided to be on my side, and I’m here in time after all. I hold my breath and wait for hers to press against me. Maybe so.
But even as I allow this fleeting hope to form in my mind, I don’t actually believe it. I squeeze Tabitha to me, trying to give her some comfort in her last hours. Comfort from a stranger. Is there anything more bleak?
But I’m all she’s got.
With the gesture, my thoughts turn to Mom. She hasn’t slept for nearly half the year with all her worrying over me. She’s more than likely up now, wringing her hands with fear. And I feel bad. I really do.
But I had to go back.
The longing in me was like nothing I’ve ever felt before. It was a harsh whisper in the wind, coaxing me with urgency. A lure, tantalizing in dizzy circles. It filled me with an unexplainable ache, like heavy stones stacked on my chest—crushing— until I discovered the one thing that was sure to kill me: Kate—seared into my memory forever. It was misery.
Most people would have moved on. Best to forget such a horrible place with such horrible people. A little therapy, and before long, the memories would dull along with the image. Someone else would come along to fill the void. And the nightmare would end.
And I tried. I made every effort to forget just as Kate wanted. Every day, I’d wake up, and another piece of her had faded—gone like drifting smoke. And so, I believed I was winning, and soon, the aching would subside. But it didn’t. She broke her end of the bargain when her memory wouldn’t let go. It lingered in the quiet wisps of a ghost, permanently haunting me. And my heart felt her with every beat.
And then . . . when I started to forget what she looked like? When all I could remember was how much her eyes reminded me of chocolate? That’s when I realized I didn’t want to forget. Ever.
Fear came to visit then, whispering in my ear. I was never going to see her again—that strange girl with the fire in her eyes, and the fight in her soul, and my heart in her hands. All she has to do is squeeze, and I’ll do anything she wants. That’s the power Kate has over me. It’s stronger than I am.
So I grabbed Fear by the throat, and I ran as fast as I could back to the Village. Back to the Pit. Back to a cage . . . and the girl I love.
I’d do it again . . . and again.
Every single move I make is for her.
The lights of the laboratory flood from the front windows of the building. From a block away, I can see them, and as I climb the fifteen steps to the front door, I see Dr. Phillips’ silhouette. I see someone else, too. Dad.
I take a deep breath and hold it for the rest of my climb.
“Ian.” Dr. Phillips holds the door wide. I maneuver my pack, myself, and the baby through the entrance with difficulty. “It’s good to see you’re in one piece. How are you, son?”
“Good, Doc. Real good. Tired, but . . . otherwise good.”
I shrug out of the bulky pack. It hits the floor with a thundering thud that echoes through the empty lobby. A check-in counter, where a technician in a white lab coat usually sits tapping out data on a computer, is vacant at this hour. I lean my bow against it. Only then do I look at my dad.
His expression is difficult to describe. He’s angry, no doubt. This is evident by the frown peeking from beneath his dark mustache. But his eyes are a mixture of emotions: relief, sadness, happiness, and utter disappointment. I sigh, long and deep.
“Dad—“
“No,” he interrupts. “Don’t you say one word to excuse your conduct.”
“I was going to say it’s good to see you,” I counter. He doesn’t find my comment amusing.
“Do you know what you’ve put your mother through? Do you have any idea?”
“Yeah . . . I have an idea.” My voice fills with remorse. And it’s genuine. I don’t like hurting my mom. I rest my elbow on top of the counter. “There was just something I had to do, Dad.”
“There is nothing so important that should cause you to completely disobey us.”
His face reddens at the same rate as his voice rises. I cringe under his scolding, but the tiny moan that emits suddenly from my chest saves me for the second time. Thank you, girl.
“Ernie said you have a baby with you,” Dr. Phillips says, taking a step toward me. “Let me have a look.”
I loosen the blanket enough to work Tabitha’s body from it. She flops into my hands, completely inert. Blood smears most of her face and inches into her clothing, drenching them at the collar. If Doc is shocked by what he sees, he doesn’t show it as he takes her from me and turns abruptly, whisking her out of the lobby and down the long corridor to one of the examining rooms. I start to follow, but my dad’s hand on my arm stops me.
“Ian. Where did you get that baby?”
I shake my head and twist out of the knots of the blanket, tossing the lumpy mess to the floor. “It’s a long story.”
“Then I suppose you better start talking.”
He spots the blood-stain—thick and wet in the center of my chest. Without looking, I peel off my shirt, drop it on top of the blanket, and squat to rummage through my pack for a less dirty one. Nothing in my pack is clean, so I settle for a crumpled, navy hoodie. I slide into it before answering him, taking my time to work up the lie.
“I met this woman a couple of day ago. Her baby was already sick. She asked me to take her.”
His expression is every shade of skeptical. “And why would she do that? Why would she pick some random kid and just hand her sick baby over? What would be her motive?”
It’s a good explanation; at least I thought so until I looked into my dad’s eyes. I realize how thin it sounds as the lie comes out. I hate lying to him. I shrug, keeping my eyes down. “She knew I was from Eden. Maybe . . . she’s heard of Dr. Phillips.”
“Is this what she said?”
I grimace, and he sighs.
“Exactly.” His lips tighten. “People don’t come looking for Dr. Phillips.”
I don’t respond.
“Ian, we have worked very hard to fortify this city. The Code is in place for good reason. Your juvenile displays could jeopardize every safety measure we’ve put into place.”
“I know that, Dad. I haven’t jeopardized anything.”
I haven’t. Kate doesn’t even know the whole truth. Yet even if she did, it’s Kate. I can trust her. I’ve told no one else anything about us.
In this moment, I wish I could trust my dad. I wish I could tell him the truth—tell him where I was for all those months. Tell him that I crossed the river and that there is life on the other side. Real life. Not just stragglers, but a whole community. I wish I could trust that he wouldn’t take the information to the Board and urge them to form a search expedition to look for the Village. And that is what he would do. He couldn’t just listen, be supportive, keep the information between us. No. He would have to report to the Board in order to ensure our secrets. To be certain that the Village knew nothing about us.
The secrets of Eden. I’m still not completely aware of all of them. Even I’m not privy to knowing everythin
g about my city. But the Village knows about us. At least, some of them do, and this worries me.
There was a time when I would have gladly divulged everything I know. In the Pit, trapped alone for days at a time with only stale bread and water and revenge to sustain me, I longed for the day the expedition came for me. And after my fear subsided enough for me to think straight, I envisioned it, played out the bloody scenarios in my head. It was all that kept me going for a time.
But the expedition never came.
And then suddenly. . . there was Kate. She appeared like a broken angel out of a dream—with a veil of long, shiny black hair and a solid bruise on her left cheek. When the sunlight spilled over her that first morning, she was ruggedly beautiful. And each day after that, I was somehow captured in her snare. And she never even set a trap.
So now, facing my dad, I weigh my options. And I keep my mouth shut.
“At any rate . . .” He’s still speaking, so I clear my thoughts and focus on his words. “You defied us. And your friends are in no better position. All of you are restricted from leaving the city until further notice.”
I perk up. “What? No, you—you can’t do that!”
“It’s done!” he growls, and I clench my fists in tight desperation. “The Board has a policy on request submissions. When you request a two week camping trip, you take a two week camping trip. And then, you come back—in two weeks. It’s called a curfew, Ian. Learn it.”
“But—“
He holds up a warning hand. “Enough. Now your mother and I made that request in good faith, and we expected you to honor it. Do you know how this makes us look?”
I purse my lips, my eyes narrowed with a fury. There’s no arguing this point. And as much as I don’t want to admit it, he has every right to say it. We all left Eden knowing we wouldn’t be back within two weeks.
“You’ve been in training for only a few months, Ian.”
I look up. My dad’s tone has changed. It’s surprisingly tender, and it makes me pause. He lays a big hand on my shoulder.
“You’ve shifted, son. There’s a lot more at stake when you leave Eden now. We don’t want to scare Outsiders. Our size alone does enough of that as it is. You can’t be reckless, and until your mother and I feel that you’ve mastered your classes and are stable enough to walk on the outside fairly undetected, we just can’t risk it again. Do you understand?”
I suck my lower lip between my teeth and bite down hard. Hard enough that a few teeth sink in and puncture right through to the other side.
But I nod, and I swallow the blood that fills my mouth just before the wound heals.
Chapter 17
The laboratory examination room is dimly lit. A single-bulb light hangs stiffly over the very middle of a metal examining table. The table is dented in various places—just tiny indentations all over it—as if someone recently used it for rock-throwing target practice. I’m not sure why I notice this, except that to study the pitted table prevents me from having to look at the dead baby lying on top of it for just a few seconds longer.
After briefly speaking with Doc, Dad gave his permission for me to go into him with strict orders to come home immediately afterwards. I haven’t quite decided if I’m going to comply. It’s what I should do for so many reasons. It would be better for Kate and Diana if I stayed here for a while—laid low until Justin could get them safely to Jordan. I know this even as everything in me urges me to get past the wall and back to Kate as soon as I can.
And then, there is the Set-Typhon to think about. We’ve seen no more evidence of them. We don’t even know if they were truly the ones to throw that knife. But if they were, I do know this: they may not be able to hurt me or Justin or Max or Jesse, but they could hurt Diana. And they could hurt Kate. And that gives me two more reasons to find a way out.
I let the door fall closed behind me silently, and I stand very still, staring at Dr. Phillips’ broad back slumped over the table. His bloodied hands rest on the edge, supporting his weight. I clear my throat, and he straightens abruptly, casting a quick glance over his shoulder before pulling a thin blanket up and over Tabitha’s body, covering her completely.
“There was nothing I could do for her,” he says quietly, still not facing me. “The toxin had eaten her up.”
I study my dirty sneakers, a pinch of sadness digging into me for this baby I hardly knew. A baby that for the last two days relied solely on me for her every need. A baby whose mother put all her faith in me to save her. And I couldn’t.
My chest tightens.
I rub a hot hand against the back of my neck. For once, I wish sweat accompanied the heat. I haven’t sweated in months, but at this very moment, I’d welcome it. Anything to make me feel more human—more vulnerable— in the sadness.
“Well, thanks for trying, Doc.” I work to control my voice. Keep it steady.
Without responding, he gathers up a pile of medical tools and carries them to a sink, shoving the I.V. stand out of his way in the process. A blue bag of Serum, completely full of its contents, sways limply from the hook. It’s clear he didn’t use any of it.
The water snaps on with a rush of sound that seems harsh in the silent dimness of the gray, metallic room. I force myself to look at the small lump on the table before I return my gaze to Doc, who scrubs the blood from his hands with short, rough movements. The blood swirls in a wide circle, mixing with the water until the drain swallows it up.
“Can I ask you something, Doc?”
A long pause before he acknowledges my question. The muscles in his back tense and relax as he continues with his cleaning, ridding himself of the last significant evidence of Tabitha’s life. I feel the tear sting my eye involuntarily, and I blink it away. The thought crosses my mind that things might have turned out differently for Tabitha if I’d run a little faster after all—if I had kicked myself up to that next level. I could have done it; I have no doubt. I felt it even as I held back. One tiny click, and I would’ve been there.
And this is the irony. I held back to protect her. My decision might have been the difference between life and death.
“What would that be, Ian?” Doc finally asks, and it jars me back to my present reality. I didn’t take the click, so thinking about it is futile.
“Well,” I struggle a minute with exactly how to put into words what I need to say next. “I . . . don’t . . . really get it.”
Dr. Phillips turns, drying his hands on a severely clean, white towel, and leans against the side of the sink.
“Get what?”
“How this baby had toxin poisoning.”
Dr. Phillips’ near-black eyes crease in confusion. “And why would that not make sense to you?” His voice is even, reasonable. “It’s not unusual for a baby to succumb to the toxin—even after the Serum has been administered. It doesn’t work on all of us, Ian. You know that. Sometimes the toxin is just too much for a body, and the Serum doesn’t take.”
“Right, but—” I hesitate again for just a moment, rolling the thoughts around in my head until I can manage to organize them into something that won’t sound incriminating. “This baby was outside the wall. She . . . was never exposed to the toxin.”
Dr. Phillips rubs a hand down one side of his face and back up again several times as he digests my information. But his expression is unreadable.
“You’re sure about that? You’re certain this woman who “gave” you her baby wasn’t from Eden?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’m positive. She was small and . . . normal.” I pause, and then, as an afterthought, decide to test him. “And wouldn’t she have brought the baby in herself if she were from here?”
The doctor’s expression is stern, and I get the impression he’s not going to swallow what I’m feeding him. He will pry, because he’s a doctor, and this is what doctors do to get needed information. He’s well-trained in this.
He can pry all he wants. My story won’t change.
But it is glaringly obvious Tabitha died fr
om toxin poisoning. Doc confirmed it. Something isn’t right.
“Ian, the baby had to have been inside the city at some point before tonight,” he affirms with confidence. “There is no other explanation for the levels of toxin in her system. Now, where is her mother?”
I clench my jaw tight, sucking my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I formulated an answer along the way, running different ideas through my head. I had plenty of time to think it through the past two days with only Tabitha to worry about. I rummage through my mind, searching for some plausible way to deliver the lie I was so hesitant to tell my dad.
“I think . . . she may have been from Gaza.” I force my voice to gain the confidence it needs to be convincing. “She was . . . mumbling, talking about dragons like they always do. And then . . . she just handed me the baby and walked away. I think she was sick . . . if you know what I mean.”
He knows. Everyone knows. Gaza is full of hoppers.
“That may explain why this baby was sick, but it doesn’t explain away the fact that she was either from Eden, or had been in Eden for some time. Now, you are just going to have to accept that.”
It’s my turn to frown. I decide to follow my story where it leads me, hoping the doctor will stumble somewhere along the way, giving me some kind of explanation by mistake. I may be lying, but so is he.
“So you’re suggesting that one of our own people possibly went to Gaza with her baby to get high on Cricket? That would break the Code on so many levels.”
Besides, after the Shift, people from Eden can’t get high. It’s physically impossible for us.
“There is no other explanation,” he repeats slowly and deliberately. His words are final—stinging me with their authority. They halt me from saying anything more. He narrows his eyes “You boys have crossed a line.”
He’s cleverly changed the subject, and this one lies too close. I swallow, sneak a glance at him, wait for him to say more.
“I will deal with Justin in the morning. You, in the meantime, need to get home.”