by Casey Hays
A wall erects itself between us. I step back.
“That’s not true. I’m . . . fine.”
“Honey, I’m your mother. Mothers sense things in their children. You don’t have to pretend with me. I know something has been on your mind for months. And this is why, after much hesitation, I agreed to let you take this camping trip when your father approached me. I thought getting out of Eden for a while would do you some good. I thought you’d find what it was that has made you restless. And did you?”
I’m silent. She nods, knowingly.
“And did you find it on this side of the bridge?”
My head shoots up to stare at her. She smiles, a sad, weak smile, and it is unnerving to see it on a woman with such strength. My mother, tall and slender and full of muscle, can run nearly as fast as I can. But now, in all her tenderness, I can’t see even a glimpse of that other woman. She’s buried under all the turmoil I’ve caused her.
“I saw it in you, even as a little boy. You won’t remain within the confines of the Code. It’s not in you. I am frightened for you. And,” she adds. “I admire you.”
I don’t know what to say, and my mouth falls open in stark amazement. She expects me to break Code?
“I knew your spirit would lure you across the river one day,” she continues. “You have a rebel’s heart. And it won’t be content with what we have to offer here. Which is why I caution you to be discreet. You could never manage lifelong restriction. You’d defy it at every turn, bringing more trouble on yourself.”
I take a step toward her, shaking my head. “Mom, you’re wrong. I’m not a rebel. I was miserable when I got lost, and I did everything I could to find my way home.”
She takes my hands, squeezes them. “You and I both know you did not get lost on this side of the river. Even before you shifted, you’ve been on enough hunting expeditions to recognize the territory. You would have found your way home far sooner than you did. And we searched, Ian. We searched for you in every village, every forest, everywhere we thought you might be. And you were simply gone.”
Her eyes fall to the floor, and she drops my hands in a defeated gesture.
“Your father was certain you were dead, and when we did find you, it would only be your bones. But not me.” She crosses her arms, her voice exuding her confidence. “I knew you’d crossed the river.”
“Why have you never said any of this to me before?”
“I wanted to give you time. Time to work through your emotions. Time to feel comfortable coming to me with the truth. But when you didn’t come back from your camping trip this time, I knew we had to have this conversation.”
“You’re not angry? About the river? I mean, I broke the Code by crossing over.”
She smiles and takes up my hand again. “No. I’m not angry. Only wary. You aren’t the first one to cross over, but you were the first one to return.”
“How do you know?”
“We just know.” It’s a simple but convicting answer. “It’s not civilized on the other side, and there is a severe consequence for crossing the river if you’re caught.”
I swallow, stung by her words. “Does Dad know I crossed?”
“No.” Her response is quick and sure. “And he won’t . . . unless you tell him.”
I feel my pulse skip a beat. Dad would take me before the Board without hesitation. I would be forced to tell them what I’ve done and accept my just punishment for my misconduct. Dad would consider it a learning experience. Good for me. It would teach me to be a real man and to suffer the consequences for my actions.
But Mom, for whatever reason, has decided to keep my secret. My blood calms as this realization washes over me. I can trust her.
I slide two fingers into my pocket, feel the flat, metal casing of the pocketknife. I could tell Mom, show her the symbol, ask her about the Set-Typhon. Maybe she would know something. Like why someone carrying this knife would have a reason to be on the other side of the river.
I bite my lip and ease my fingers out of my pocket to hang at my side. I can’t say anything. Justin is in enough trouble with his father already. The last thing he needs is for me to reveal what Doc told him to forget.
“I did find what I was looking for,” I finally say, feeling an obligation to tell her this much at least.
“And are you satisfied?”
I cringe beneath the weight of her expectation. “I don’t know yet.”
Her response is accompanied by another quick squeeze of my hand. “You will not cross the river again. You will honor the Code in this. But above all, you will obey me. For now.”
“For now?”
“Some rules deserve to be broken, Ian. But think very carefully about which ones are worth it.”
I press my lips together. Danger swims hard through her words, as if it fights the current of the river itself. And as her eyes flash with meaning, a meaning I can’t quite define, I think I feel a trickle of sweat work its way down my back. It doesn’t, of course. But still, the effect is the same.
“There is nothing for you over there but dead cities and wild woods. In this, I agree with the Code. We have plenty of game here for hunting. Plenty of resources. You don’t need anything the other side of the river can offer.”
I feel the cold hands clamp around my throat before she’s finished speaking. The one thing I need more than anything else is still on the other side of the river.
I study Mom’s blue eyes full of resolve. The tenderness is gone and her protective nature has returned, stern with her command. This should shove me into obedience as it always has before. As it did when I was a child, and she knew everything, and nothing could hurt me. I should nod and say, “Yes ma’am” the way I did back then. The way Ava does still.
But I don’t.
Chapter 19
K ate comes to me in a dream. She stands in the middle of a clearing, and rain pours down on her. She’s soaked all the way to the bone, her dress sticking to her skin. It’s night, and the moon shines on her like a spotlight. Her head is lowered; her hair hangs in long tresses hiding her face from my view. Every time I take a step toward her, it’s as if I haven’t moved at all. I can’t reach her.
I call her name—three times—before she responds. She looks up, straight into my eyes.
“Why have you done this to me, Ian? Why?”
Her nose is bleeding, and in the dream, the blood flows faster and faster, running down the front of her dress, mingling with the rainwater and rushing to puddle at my feet.
“Kate! Kate!”
She collapses. I rush toward her, pull her to me, but she isn’t there. My arms gather up only empty clothing.
“Kaaaaate!”
My eyes fly open, my breathing heavy in my chest. And Ava, leaning over me, creases her dark brows.
“Who’s Kate?”
I cover my eyes with one hand as the last wisps of the dream evaporate into wakefulness, and I sigh deeply before pushing up to face her. I smile.
“Just a girl in a dream.”
Ava sits back on her haunches. She’s propped herself up on her knees on the edge of my bed. “Is she pretty?”
“No,” I say. “She’s beautiful. And smart and nice.”
“Not like Bethany.”
I laugh and pull Ava onto my lap, shaking away the last tendrils of the nightmare. “Nothing like Bethany.”
She smiles and reaches up to touch the side of my face. “You need to shave. And you need a haircut.”
I study my sister for a moment. Despite the ten year difference between us, and the fact that at times she’s the typical, spoiled, younger sibling, she means the world to me. We look nothing alike, and one would think as much as I look like our mom, she would resemble our dad. But she doesn’t. In fact, she resembles no one in the family. Her skin is darker, her eyes deeper, her hair blacker.
I was ten when they brought her home. She was six months old. My parents didn’t say a word one way or the other, but I knew she wasn’t
theirs. I wasn’t stupid. But the first time I ever stepped foot in Gaza years later, I knew for certain. My little sister was a rescue baby.
Justin told me how it works. The expedition team assigned to Gaza brings the babies back to the city. They are taken to the children’s ward of the lab and immediately given their first dose of Serum. The doctors monitor these little lives, giving full exams and watching for any signs of toxin sickness. Eventually, the lucky ones get to come home to their new families.
Ava was a lucky one.
We never know if the Serum will work once they’re exposed to the toxin. It’s a risk we take. Because death inside Eden is better than life in Gaza.
At least, that’s what they say.
I squeeze Ava to me. “I missed you, Sissy.”
“Me too. I’m glad the Boogie Man didn’t take you this time.”
I laugh. “Nope. I’m way too tough for him now.”
“Because of the Shift?”
“Yep.”
“Good.”
She snuggles against me, her weight pressed into my chest, and for a fleeting moment Tabitha is in my arms. I swallow, blinking back tears, and protectively wrap my arms around my baby sister.
“Did you bring me something?” she asks.
I focus on her, take comfort from her presence—warm and alive. “From Scarlet Forest? What would you want from there?”
She shrugs, and places two small hands against each side of my face. “I heard they have the giantest-est acorns there. Do they?”
I smile. “And who told you that?”
She leans back.
“Becca. She showed me one. She said her daddy brought it back with him from Scarlet Forest. She has it sitting on a shelf in her room, and she won’t let me touch it.”
Her frown folds her eyebrows together, and she crosses her arms in frustration. I pretend to be sympathetic toward her problem.
“She won’t? Well, I’ll tell you what. Next time, I’ll bring you back an acorn twice as big as hers, and you don’t have to let her hold yours, either. Deal?”
Her eyes brighten. “Deal! But . . .” Her brows furrow in thought. “I might let her hold my acorn. Because I’m a whole lot nicer.”
I laugh, kissing the tip of her nose, which she immediately wipes away with a grimace.
“You’d better get on out of here. I need to shave and stuff, right?”
She hops off the bed, landing with a soft thud, and her pigtails bounce at the motion. “Will you take me running today? Faster than last time?”
“Maybe. I have some things to do first, but if you’re really good for Mom, we’ll see.”
“I’m always good, Ian.” She places her chubby hands on her hips. Her tone carries an air of exasperation that makes me smile again. “You’re the ornery one.”
She skips out of the room. I sigh. She does have a point.
I roll onto my side and open the drawer to my nightstand. The knife is there, and I lift it out. I lean back, flipping it open to examine it again. I run the flat of my thumb across the coiled snake. Just who are these people?
I’m determined to find out. Once I know Kate is safe and settled in Jordan, I’ll have time to search out just why someone would be interested in stabbing me in the back.
I shower with what water is left in the tank, and it almost runs out before I finish. I barely have enough left to brush my teeth. It’s my job to fill the reserve, but I haven’t been around much. A tinge of guilt pokes at me relentlessly. I guess I deserve it.
We’ve been lucky for the rains that keep the river full, which keeps water in Eden. My grandpa told me that during the early days after the Fall, there was a drought, and the people barely had enough water for drinking. That water was full of bacteria and all sorts of muck that had to be boiled and treated for twice as long. And showering was reduced to spit baths.
In the Pit, I missed showers terribly. Not to say that I didn’t get one once or twice. Two jailers hauled in a massive bucket of water and dumped it over the top of my head. The water was cold and not nearly sufficient enough for cleaning, but I managed. And the one time Kate bathed me? That was the cleanest I’d ever felt.
And the most vulnerable, too. She was so close, brushing the cloth against my bare skin while I stood on the brink of insanity. It was more than I thought I could bear. She pulled me back from the edge that day. She saved me in more ways than one.
The nervous tension I’d felt yesterday returns as I think of her. I grab my bow. I don’t need it—not in the city. But I’ve developed a habit since my last visit to the Village. A habit of wanting it near me always. Of feeling safer with it by my side.
Before the Village became my temporary reality, I’d never used my bow as a weapon. I’d never even thought of the dangers that might be lurking just within my arrow’s reach. My bow was a tool, like my knife. I was a hunter, not a fighter. I could hit a target clean every time. Gut a deer. Skin a rabbit or a duck. But that’s all the use I had for weapons.
And then, Mona caught me for the second time. There was no excuse for it. That’s when the thought ran through my mind. “You know, Ian, your bow might have been useful at this moment.”
I understand my mom’s fears. I don’t like to admit it. It makes me feel weak to concede, but I get it.
Weaponry stage of training comes later. After I’ve completed my aptitude testing and the commanders think I’m stable enough; after the side effects of the Serum have leveled off. Only then will I be ready to wield a bow as a weapon.
But now, with my bow tight in my grip, I know I will use it any way I have to—even before my weapon training begins.
Mom and Ava have gone to school. A couple months after I came back, Mom took a job teaching in one of the primary classrooms. It keeps her busy and informed on what Ava is doing in school. To a degree, it keeps her mind off of me, too. But I know I will ever continue to worry her. She never knows what I might do next. Frankly, neither do I.
Dad sits at the breakfast table, the city newsletter spread out before him. His fingers are wrapped around a cup of black tea, half gone. His hair is starting to gray just slightly on each side of his temples. I don’t know why I notice this minor detail about him, except that it reminds me of our mortality. Serum or not, age eventually weakens us, reminds us that everything comes to an end no matter how strong we are. I’m just coming into my prime, but Mom and Dad are on the downward slope. Still strong. Still fast. But still human.
In Eden, we’ve become practiced in deceiving ourselves. Those who have never been outside the wall exercise it the most. We think we are invincible, invulnerable. And maybe we are—to a degree.
I’m not deceived. The Pit changed that for me. But I would never say it aloud. I don’t want anyone to think I’m weak.
Dad looks up as I duck into the kitchen and head for the refrigerator. Fresh orange juice, just squeezed. I pour myself a tall glass and reach for a warm biscuit from the basket next to the oven.
“Good morning.” Dad raises the tea to his lips, sips. “How are you feeling?”
“Much better, thanks. Still a little weak. I thought I’d stop in to get a dose of Serum.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re depleted. If you hurry, they can squeeze you in before your classes.”
I nod. I will go for the Serum. Running full speed for two days straight has done its work to drain me. But I have no intention of attending classes. It would be glaringly obvious that Justin, Jesse, and Max are missing if I did. And I don’t want to draw anymore attention to them than necessary. They won’t arrive today, or tomorrow for that matter. They have much farther to go once they cross the bridge.
I nervously chew on this thought until my Dad’s voice breaks in.
“Any idea when the other boys will show?” It seems he’s read my mind. “Dr. Phillips is planning to give Justin only today before he calls for a search expedition.”
I chew on my lip a moment, pinch off a corner of the biscuit before answering.
“Let us hope.” Dad stands. “I need to get to the office. Just wanted to visit with you first.” He pauses. “You need to keep yourself in check today. Go to classes. Do your best. And comply with your restriction. Don’t let me find out you went to the gate again.”
I stand very still, eyeing him. So my new friend, Kyle, ratted me out.
“Yes sir,” I say. I squeeze the juice glass until I hear a tiny, tinkling crack. Instantly I release it, and lay my palm flat against the counter, taking a deep breath. Juice dribbles, barely noticeable, from the pencil-line splinter that now runs the length of the glass. Mom isn’t going to be happy that another one of her dishes is damaged. They’re hard to come by, and every one of them is a prized possession.
Dad assesses me with soft but stern eyes. He’s a good man, a great dad, actually. Ava and I are lucky to have him. He’s brave. He’s intelligent. He’s hardworking and only wants the best for us. Even with our differences, I can appreciate this.
“Ian, you are a good boy,” he begins, his eyes still on me. “You just need to discipline yourself. This spontaneity in you . . . it’s . . . noble at times. We need people like you. People who are not afraid to take chances. To act before thinking when necessary. I get that. Sometimes those quick actions can make all the difference.” He bores into me, raising his hand with a slight command. “But you need to balance this with self-control, son. It’s the only way you’ll be beneficial to our cause. This is why your training is so important.”
I furrow my brows. “And what is our cause exactly, Dad?”
He raises his own brows until they disappear under the thick tuft of hair hanging over his forehead. I’ve asked before, but in light of Tabitha’s death, I have to ask again. I know what he’ll say before he utters one word.
“To protect the city boundaries. To preserve posterity. To keep peace with surrounding communities. To keep our citizens safe, informed, and . . .