by Casey Hays
Justin huffs in mock exasperation. This teasing tone appears to be a way between them.
“No. I came of my own free will.”
She pauses, tips her head, confused. “You don’t sound like you’re from Eden.”
“What about Eden, Liza?” Justin interjects. Liza redirects her focus, and I release a small puff of breath, grateful to be out from under her probing eye. “Did you see what’s happening at home?”
“No.” Her expression turns grim. “But whatever it is, it isn’t good.”
“Ian said he saw a plane.”
“Yeah. How is that even possible? Where are they getting fuel?”
Justin has no words, and my mind races. Every bit of this is unimaginable, and I am again reminded of how skewed my impression of Eden was. If it ever was a haven, it is no longer—not even for those who belong in it. Justin rubs the back of his fingers against his jawline.
“Where is Ian?” Liza suddenly inquires, her eyes scanning our surroundings. “Isn’t he with you?”
“He’s hunting with Jeb.”
After this, no one speaks—except the bumblebee, who busily goes about his work in the yellow flower bush. His buzzing hits my ears, and the airplane is alive in my mind roaring over us and spitting its bullets.
“Did you see a plane?” I ask.
“I did,” Liza responds, and the muscles in her throat tense as she straightens her shoulders, making herself that much taller. “When we saw the first plane, it was pretty far off, and we weren’t quite sure what it was. So Jeb and a couple of the men went ahead to scout. The rest of us stayed behind. And then out of nowhere over the trees, there was another one.” Her lip trembles with the memory. “I’ve never heard anything so loud. And I’ve never been more afraid.”
She wipes at her eyes remembering her fear, and Justin squeezes her elbow, comforting her. And I see reflected in her the same fear I saw in Ian. A fear that he believes to be misplaced. Because he’s supposed to be invincible, untouchable, and afraid of nothing. The fact that he isn’t after all eats at his very core. Liza’s voice drops to a nervous whisper.
“It started shooting at us. We raced for the trees. I’ve never run that fast, Justin, but I was so panicked. My survival stem kicked up so high, I reached another click. I didn’t even know I had another click.”
“Did anyone get hit?”
She runs a hand up and down one arm. “Albert West and Ginny Markus. We scooped them up and dragged ourselves undercover of the trees just as Jeb got back to us.”
“And are they okay? Albert and Ginny?”
She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. “They’re gone.”
Justin straightens as this reality strikes him. “What do you mean gone? Like . . . they’re dead?”
“Those bullets? We thought at first they might be made of titanium. The wounds were harsh, and they knocked those two down like I’ve never seen before.” Her tears appear even as she attempts to hold them back. “They couldn’t even move.”
Justin looks at me sidelong, and I know what he thinks. The knife with the Set-Typhon symbol. The arrow that pierced him through the arm as we fled from the burning cabin.
“Albert was hit right in chest,” Liza continues, and she hiccups once. She pushes past me and sits on the steps. “But the bullet didn’t come out the other side like we’ve seen in training. If it had, he would’ve survived. He could’ve kept running while he healed. But it stayed in his chest and kind of exploded. We tried to dig out the shrapnel, but it was stuck all over his insides like glue, and we could only cut on him so much. He wasn’t healing.”
“And Ginny?”
“She got it in the head. She was gone, just like that.”
“That wasn’t titanium.” Justin concludes.
“There’s no way.” Liza sniffles, her shoulders sagging in defeat. “Those bullets were made of something we’ve never seen before. Something that can kill us.”
Liza releases a sobbing gasp, and covers her face. “This was Ginny’s first expedition. We graduated training together. She was my friend.”
Justin sits and drapes his arm over her, pulling her into his chest. My heart catches with a sadness as Liza gives into her sorrow and cries into his embrace. And I feel out of place, an unwelcome observer of this familial moment—the first I’ve seen of it. Justin rests his cheek against the top of her head, and I’m moved by their affection, because it reminds me of the closeness I have with Ian. With Diana. Of what I had with Mia.
It reminds me of how Justin nurtured me back to health.
Family.
I leave them, slipping past to climb the steps. The flower has grown limp in my hand, the scent nearly gone. I regret that I did not leave it alone to flourish on the bush.
Chapter 31
D iana remains inside the entire day, listlessly moving about the house or curled in a tight ball on top of a sleeping bag. Her eyes hold a distance in them that keeps her emotions at bay, and even I cannot reach so far to pull her back again. When she looks at me, she sees straight through me as if I am a mere phantom floating in her midst. It isn’t healthy—not for her and not for her unborn child. She stands beside me and stares out the dirt-encrusted window through the thin and tattered curtains, watching closely the movements of the hunters fromEden who work alongside Ian and Justin to skin the product of their hunt.
“They frighten me, Kate.”
I turn. These are the first words she’s uttered all day. She leaves the window to slump before the silent fireplace, absent of flames on such a hot day. She carries a doleful expression, and she is full of suspicion.
“Just when I’ve begun to grow accustomed to Ian and his friends, these others invade. I don’t like it.”
“They seem safe enough.” I take one final glance before joining her. “Honestly, I feel a bit safer since their arrival.” I smile and squeeze her forearm, grateful for even this small camaraderie. “Perhaps no one will be inclined to burn down the house while we’re still in it.”
“Or perhaps someone will try twice as hard.”
Her pessimism is disheartening, and it causes my hopes to sink. It is her grief which speaks, and I must remind myself that it will not last forever. In time, she will heal, though not completely. There will be a hole in her heart for all time. But perhaps the child that she carries will bring her a bit of comfort to lessen the pain.
Perhaps this child will be the one to outlive her.
“Would you like to talk about . . . about Tabitha?” I suggest tentatively. Her eyes dart toward me.
“And what will we say?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug, feeling a small tinge of regret at broaching the subject when I’d just begun to connect with her again. “I thought . . . remembering her might bring you some comfort.”
“Did you?” Her words are biting. “For the second time in my life, my baby is dead. And you think remembering will bring me comfort? So shall we talk about the first child, too, then?” Her voice rises to a daring level, and I freeze in place. “Shall I relate to you these details as well?” She pauses in her fury, her bottom lip trembling fiercely. “Just before the nurse took him from my arms, he looked at me for the first time. His beautiful, blue eyes looked straight through to my heart, and they begged me not to let them take him. And I couldn’t stop it. Is this what you want to hear? Are these the things we are to discuss?”
“Diana—”
“Or,” She cuts me off. “Shall we discuss how desperate it felt to place my child’s life into the hands of someone I barely knew in hopes that I could trust him. Or, no—let us revisit how I sent my daughter to Eden—a place I am never going to see—where she drowned in her own blood! Yes, let’s talk about this!”
I can’t move, and Diana’s breath comes in long, throbbing heaves before the tears spill over in a rush. She lumbers heavily to her feet and thrusts open the door. And she charges out into the street.
“Diana!”
I don’t know where
she means to go, and for a moment I contemplate running after her, but I check myself. She doesn’t want me near her. Not now.
I sigh and push the door closed. She blames Ian. He promised her Tabitha would get the help she needed, and he failed. Which in her mind equals a failure on my part as well. She trusted me because I trusted him. And I have failed her most severely.
I angrily wipe away the tear that trickles suddenly from my eye. Tabitha is gone, and this angers me most of all. She didn’t deserve her fate. She was a helpless child. And the gods have chosen to end her life as they have done countless times before with a countless number of people. Could Atropos not have at least spared her? Just once, could she not have shown mercy?
I bite my lip against these thoughts. There is nothing to do now but grieve until the time of grieving passes. And Grief does not keep track of time.
On the air, there rides a feeling of the familiar. I sense this somewhere deep inside my bones. It calls to me in the same manner that celebration nights beckoned in the Village. The celebrations themselves were riveting, pulling us out of our mundane lives and into a world of dreaming where—for just one night—we could throw away our cautions and dance beneath the moonlight on the effects of fermented juice. The cause for the celebration, however, was often forgotten until the following day—when it became one woman’s reality.
And so it is tonight. Some of Ian’s people cut down trees with their large axes, and build a large fire in the middle of the street. Furniture is brought from the houses and situated around the flames where one big man turns a hunk of deer meat on a spit. But tonight, they laugh with hesitation, keeping their humor in check as they lounge upon worn couches and broken chairs. For they do not care to be too jovial when the ones they love most face a formidable army just across the river.
Diana has returned to my relief, but she keeps her distance. And when Justin offers her a plate of supper, she takes it and disappears inside the dark house. So I resort to sitting on the porch steps, nibbling on my meat, and brooding.
Ian takes a seat beside me.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you want to come meet some of the pride of Eden?” He nudges me gently with his shoulder. “It’s almost as good as being there yourself.”
I shake my head, avoiding his eyes. He sighs, and I hear the frown in it.
“What is it, Kate?”
“I’m—” I pause, take a breath. “I’m sad, is all. For many reasons.”,
He’s quiet. And then he slips his arm around my shoulders and says nothing more. I lean into him, and we simply sit together, staring into the firelight and listening to the murmuring conversation of the others in the short distance.
“She blames you,” I say quietly after a time.
“I know.”
“It isn’t your fault.”
“I know that, too.” The look in his eye proves his words. “But it doesn’t make it any less horrible. And I wish I knew the reason behind it all.” He shakes his head and runs a hand across his forehead to brush away a stray hair. “I just keep thinking if I had some kind of an answer for Diana—some real explanation—it would help, you know? I mean, I know it won’t bring Tabitha back, but maybe if Diana has some closure, it would be easier on her.”
“Perhaps,” I say, but I don’t know. I’m not certain what Diana needs at this point. “She wants nothing to do with me. I miss her.”
His arm tightens around me. “Give her time. She’ll come around.”
Time. In the Village, a single death was swept from our lives so quickly we had little time for grieving. Always there was another matter to tend to. Often another death. Another execution. Another responsibility. In truth, I spent the majority of my life in the Village in a state of numbness. It was one way to survive.
But here, it seems all the time in the world has gathered at my feet. And we have no boundaries. Grief is free to roam about like a child at play. But I have to remember that the same liberty is given to Love and Hope. And when it is over, I will still be clinging to Love and Hope. I only hope Diana will be as well.
She has remained indifferent even to the impending danger poised over Eden. I see it clearly in her actions. It is not her concern—not her battle, and so she has not involved herself in the matter. It is someone else’s problem to solve.
“Some of the girls are going over to the river after dinner.” Ian interrupts my thoughts. “Maybe you can talk her into going?”
A bath sounds nice, and I can’t imagine that she would turn it down. Especially when we will have no access to any water for a few days after tonight. I look at Ian. His eyes are full of a tenderness that eases my anxiety.
“I’ll ask her.”
I hand him my plate still half-full of deer meat. And then, I pause, peering into his eyes.
“How are you?” I ask, a tender hand on his arm.
At my question, he deflates a bit. He sets the plate beside him on the porch.
“I’m all right.” His voice wavers. “A little worried.”
“Of course, you are.” I squeeze his arm. “Your family is there.”
He nods. “They’re tough. I’m sure they’re fine.”
He attempts to sound confident. As if to disprove this, his bottom lip begins to quiver until he bites down on it. I feel a pang stab at me for his sake, sharp and fierce in the middle of my chest.
“Oh, Ian,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry this is happening to your people.” When he doesn’t answer, I press myself against him until he wraps his arm around me, pulling me into him. “I know you feel as if you shouldn’t be scared, but I’m going to say it again. In times like these—no matter who you are, no matter what you can do—it’s all right to feel afraid.”
He sucks both lips between his teeth, struggling to fight back the tears, but they come anyway. He closes his eyes, his arm tightening around me.
“I hope whoever it is hasn’t gotten inside the city,” he whispers. “My parents are strong, and they’ll fight. All of them will. We’re trained to defend ourselves. But Ava—” He chokes on her name. “She’s still scared of the boogie man.” He sniffles once, a half-smile lighting his features before his lip begins to tremble again. “I just—I wish I was there for her. She has to be scared.”
“I know,” I whisper. I don’t know what else to say. I don’t know how to comfort him. “And . . . I’m sure she knows this is your wish.”
“I don’t know if she does.” He shakes his head. “I broke out of Eden to get back to you. I was restricted. I disobeyed a direct order that goes beyond just disobeying my parents. It’s a punishable action in Eden.” He shakes his head in defeat. “Even before this siege, I wasn’t sure I’d be going back. And when I said good-bye to Ava, I think she knew she might never see me again. I could see it in her eyes even as I lied, promising her I’d see her soon.” His face twists with a new kind of pain. “I lied to her. Straight to her face.”
A sob escapes him. I tighten my hold on his waist and hold my tongue, giving him a moment to feel. I suddenly understand how many emotions he’s kept at bay as he’s placed my own feelings—my own safety and well-being—ahead of his own. Even his lies were to protect me from what he feared might destroy my resolve. And I am overwhelmed by the brokenness I see in him now. I love him for it. Tears sting my eyes, flooding up to blur my vision.
“You can’t give up hope,” I insist. Ian connects with me. “We keep moving.” I repeat Justin’s words with a new determination. “We keep doing something.”
He heaves a huge sigh, squeezes me once, and pulls away from me to wipe at his eyes.
“Yeah. We’ll figure it out,” he nods. “We always do, right?”
His wet eyes crinkle with his smile. I reach up, wipe away a lone tear that clings to his cheek.
“We always do,” I repeat.
“So you’re Ian’s girlfriend.”
My eyes snap up to meet Liza’s under the light of the moon. We walk through the town toward the river. Four other wom
an, each as towering, walk with us, and all of them turn their heads in unison at her question.
I weigh the expression in my thoughts. I am a girl. And I suppose Ian is my friend. So . . .
“Yes,” I answer. Liza huffs quietly.
“And here I thought Justin was the one who’d snagged up a beauty. And before the Shift even.”
The other girls laugh, and then one tilts her head and says. “Bethany Ryan could not have been happy about this.”
Her eyes twinkle even in the darkness and another girl whistles through her teeth.
“Not one bit,” she adds. “I’ll bet she wanted to kill you the first time she saw you with him, didn’t she?”
They all tilt their heads my way, waiting. I swallow, not meeting their gazes. Bethany? I search my mind, trying to remember if Ian ever mentioned this name. But I dare not ask about her. As far as these girls are concerned, I’m from Eden. So I smile, a weak laugh escaping my lips.
“She wasn’t pleased, I will say.”
The girl next to me frowns, and she tugs at my elbow until I look up.
“You talk strange. How did you pick up that accent?”
Her eyes are needled with suspicion, and my heart speeds up anxiously. But Liza takes the lead again, slipping an arm around my shoulders.
“Leave her alone, girls. Give a lady some time to Shift at least before you start accusing.” She winks and steers me away from the rest of the group. “Come on, Kate. We’ll find a private place to bathe away from these piranhas.”
I welcome her invitation. The others laugh, tossing a few comments her way before their voices fade in the distance.
We’ve reached the end of the street which breaks into a grassy knoll Liza describes as “the park.” Here, a shallow portion of the river winds throughout, a cluster of trees guarding each side of it like jailers on heightened duty. We find a place encircled with low, bushy hedges near the bank. Liza positions her flashlight to cast a beam over the small area and spreads out a thick blanket.