by Celi, S.
“Suicide. That’s what it turned out to be for him.” Fostino’s eyebrows knit together. He bites his lower lip as his voice turns sadder. A worried expression takes over his face.
“I know how to get back to Canada,” I plead. I hold up a hand for emphasis. “I’ve got a map in my backpack and a notebook with all the safe houses between here and there. I can get us back to Lake Erie.” My eyes hold his.
“I hid in here for two days, almost three, until you found me.” Fostino surveys the shelter. “When I climbed in here, I thought I climbed into my own grave. I never expected to come out again. I wanted to die. Then I fell asleep yesterday and thought I would just die here. I woke up when you opened the trap door. Jesus, Char. Being with you again is like breathing again.”
“I know,” I whisper. “It’s the same for me, too. Please say you’ll come with me.”
“All right,” he says. I hear the reluctance, but he folds me into his arms yet again. These are the words I long for, the words I traveled all these miles to hear. “I’ll go. We’ll go. You’re right. We can’t lose much more — except each other. I don’t want to lose you again.” He presses his lips into my tangled hair.
“I’m glad that’s settled,” I reply. “Now. When do you think we should leave?”
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
“It’s after one.” The one boy I’d risk my life for looks down at his own Hologram Watch.
“You know this place better than I do,” I reply. “You’re the one who’s gone out on all these patrols.”
“We’ll leave at seven. Shift change. When The Party’s the most distracted.” Then Fostino glances down at himself and sniffs. “God, I stink.”
“I’m sure I do, too.” I laugh a little.
He stands up with resolve. “Okay. I’ll go take a shower. You keep watch. I think I can take one fast in the bathroom in the apartment. I don’t know. It might not work.” He moves over to the screws in the trap door of the shelter and starts to take them out.
“No way. Not a good idea.” I frown. “Are you crazy? They’ll come back at any minute!” I hold a hand up to stop him.
“True,” he replies. “They might come back.” A beat passes. “I guess I don’t care what happens. I want to do something normal.” He moves back to the trap door and works on the screws again.
“Fostino, wait. We should figure this out.” I’m a little exasperated. “We have to be smart.”
“I’m tired of being smart.”
“Doesn’t make it okay to be stupid!”
“Come on, Char. I think we can risk it if we take a couple of minutes. There’s no one else here right now.”
“How do you know that?” I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t like this.”
“We’ll be fine. I promise. I snuck out of the apartment the other day to get food at the store and no one saw me.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you think it’s too dangerous?”
“Isn’t risk what life is about?”
I sigh, spent from all the arguments. Then I just change the subject. “What about our escape from here?”
“I haven’t thought of that yet.”
“Do you still have your Homeland Guard uniform?”
“Of course.” He nods in the direction of a pile of supplies in the far corner. “It’s right there.” Fostino regards me. “If we want even a chance to get out of Harrison Corners alive, I’ll need to wear it.”
“Yep. And I’ll play the part of Party Princess.” I roll my eyes.
“Good thing you had some practice,” he snickers. “There’s a tunnel system we used for some of the patrols that might work. And I think it’s better if we do the majority of the travel at night. Less chance of being seen.”
The screws are out of the door and it’s ready to open. “I can drive pretty well. They taught us how to do it in The Party’s training at school.”
“Good.” I exhale. “I’m still not so sure about this shower thing. What if—”
“Look, we should just do it. I won’t think about the ‘what ifs’ if you won’t.” Fostino pushes on the shelter’s trap door and it opens a little. Light from the windows of the apartment streams in and stings my eyes. “All right,” he says. “Do you have a gun?”
“Yes.” I walk over to the backpack and take out the cold sliver of metal. “This is one they gave me.” I move to the opening with the gun cocked and ready in my hand. I’ll shoot if I have to with no hesitation. I know it.
He pushes the door open a little bit more. “Here we go.”
“I still don’t feel good about this,” I say as he slides it open. “This feels like a stupid idea.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Fostino pulls himself up through the opening. I follow with hesitant steps. My eyes search the apartment like a cat would scan for prey. I try to find anything amiss, anything out of place, and any trace of the men from a half hour ago.
Nothing.
Even so, I don’t allow myself to relax. I slow my breath. I don’t want to make any noise.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” I whisper. “I just don’t think…”
His eyes meet mine. “You’ll keep watch. And I’m good with a gun. Remember? Trust me.” He cocks his head to the door of the bathroom. “It’s okay to do this one thing. We haven’t heard anyone come by here in a while.”
“Make this fast,” I say so only his ears can hear. I take one deep breath.
I’m about to shut the trapdoor when I hear a loud clang. I freeze. My hand hovers above the door handle. Fostino whirls around, halfway across the room.
What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?
I wait to see if I hear it again. My mind races. I dissect the sound in my mind. I search for all the possibilities of the noise. The Party? Other people that live in the building? A mouse?
I can’t figure it out. .
Fostino points the gun at the front door of the apartment. He’s ready to shoot. He turns his head and locks eyes with me. I jerk my head towards the trap door. We don’t need to speak.
After two quick steps, I slide into the shelter. Fostino takes three backward strides before he turns and jumps into our hiding spot. The two of us pull the trap door back into place.
Invisible once again.
“Did you hear that noise?”
“Yes,” he whispers.
“I told you. Bad idea!” I say as we screw the door shut. “What the hell? Do you know how much shit we could be in? What if someone heard us?” My words come out faster than bullets.
He bites his lip, fixes the door, and doesn’t say much for a few seconds. You’re right,” he says as he secures the final screw. “Stupid.” Fostino turns to me. “I’m just so tired of all this. I want something else.” A slow smile spreads across his face. He stands up and reaches for a book I hadn’t noticed before. “I found this in the house when I packed up to come here. It’s a book my parents had. I started reading it, and Charlotte, life used to be a lot different. A lot.”
“I know.”
“It made me sad to read it.” He tosses the book onto the cot and it falls with a thud.
I grit my teeth. “What if someone heard us just now?”
“They might have,” he admits. “But I still don’t think someone did.”
“We should be extra careful now,” I say as I throw myself on the cot. My body unwinds a little with each second. “We can’t leave until we know it’s safe.”
“It never will be safe.”
“You know what I mean. We must make sure no one hears us. This won’t be easy.”
“Nothing worth doing is. I won’t stay here. Not when I have a chance to leave with you.”
“We should figure out what we can and can’t take.” I
pick up my backpack and empty the contents onto the cot. It’s not much.
“Hmm,” says Fostino as he looks at the little we carry to protect us against the danger. He picks up the credit card thin phone. “Nice. I didn’t know these still existed. I thought they banned this kind of stuff before we were born.”
“They did here, but not in Canada.”
“Right. One more thing.” A strange expression crosses his face, but a second later Fostino shakes if off. He picks up the few personal items he brought into the shelter himself. “Here’s my uniform,” he says. “And I’ve got a knife, a first aid kit, and a map of Harrison we used to use in the patrols.”
“Show it to me,” I say. “I didn’t know you had one.”
He opens it up.
The map is not like any map I ever saw before. It’s one big color photo of the main section of our town. Every house near the town center has a color code on this map, and various routes through streets and alleyways highlighted with one of three colors. The Party checkpoints and command setups sprinkle through the map. A code on the bottom left corner identifies as the 5 or 6 Xs on the paper.
“Holy shit,” I say before I cover my mouth. I almost never cuss— or at least, I didn’t just a few weeks ago. It’s not lost on me it’s the second time I’ve said “shit” in a half hour. I shake my head. “How recent is this?”
“They gave us this about three days before they killed my Dad.”
“I’m so sorry.” I wince.
He holds up his hand. “Stop this. Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t shoot them.”
“Okay.” I bite my lip a little because I’m still not convinced it’s not my fault. I change the subject anyway. “This will help us a lot.” I read the map. I’m still amazed he has this kind of information, even though I know I should expect it. Fostino and I study the map for a few minutes in silence.
“The most trouble we might have is on 295, before we get to the checkpoint on the outskirts of town.” He points to a section of the map. “See these two Xs? We put up two new posts so people can survey the town like you would in a hunter’s nest.” He shudders. “Someone mans them 24/7.”
He thinks for a minute longer, than says, “We’re on the far side of 295. We’ll go a block down the street here and cross on the south side of the old grain co-op. We can use the abandoned trucks as cover. The Party doesn’t do a sweep there until after the factory’s shut.”
“But they’re searching for me,” I remind him. “Didn’t they beef up patrols everywhere?”
“It’s a risk we have to take. If we cross through the lot of the co-op, there’s enough stuff there to distract the people in the birdcage. It also puts us on the right side of 295.” Fostino shrugs.
“I do have a gun, you know.”
“How many bullets?”
“Enough.” I think for a second. I didn’t count before I left Canada. “Six. No, eight.” I point down to the cot. “They’re in that box, and the gun’s loaded too.” I cringe at the memory of how I didn’t use the gun to save Glenn.
“I’ll take these,” he tells me. “Just in case.” Fostino fishes the ammunition box out of the pile and puts two of the bullets aside.
“I’ll put what we need in the backpack and then we can take turns carrying it,” I tell him, and then throw the heaviest stuff in the bottom. It doesn’t take long to load the water, bullets, granola bars, and more into the pack. When I’m done, I shake out The Party uniform. The fabric is coarse, cold, and stiff. I hate it, but I start put it on anyway. Fostino stands a half-foot or so away from me. When he sees me pull on the jacket, he put his arm out to stop me.
“It’s only 2:15,” he reminds me. “We won’t set out until seven.”
“Oh, really?” I jump back a little, surprised. Fostino’s eyes fix on me.
“We’ve got time to kill,” he remarks, and purses his lips a little. “You don’t need to be in such a hurry.” He reaches out and tucks a piece of escaped hair behind my ear. His hands soften behind my ear.
“What do you suggest we do until then?” I breathe.
“I can think of a few things.” He smiles. He raises a thick eyebrow and pulls me to him. His lips brush mine and within seconds, my back is up against the wall.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
I wake up over four hours later in a sweat. Fostino has draped himself over me, passed out too. I can’t tell where his legs begin and mine end; I shake him hard to wake him up. He wipes the sleep from his eyes but they stay red with stress.
“It’s 6:45,” I tell him. “Almost time to leave.”
He runs his hand through my hair and doesn’t reply.
“Listen,” I say as we lie there in the silence. “I never should have left. I never want to leave you again.” I click my jaw and take a deep breath.
“I know.”
“Whatever happens, please know I love you more than I ever thought I would love anyone,” I continue, even as I’m about to cry. I tighten my grip on his arm and will myself to stay in control. “I came back to get you, but I also came back because I wanted to know you know this. I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
“Do you know what I am thinking about right now? That time when you brought me that orange.” I manage a weak smile at him. “Thank you for everything you’ve ever done for me.”
“I would do it all over again.” He puts his forehead on mine. “One thing I love about you, Charlotte, is that you saw the truth before I did. You saw through everything.”
I laugh a little and pull him as close to me as I can, until every part of my body touches his. We stay frozen until his Hologram Watch sounds the alarm.
7:00.
“It’s time.” He swallows.
“Yes.” I untangle myself and find my clothes. No thread can be out of line. For the next few hours, I must mask who I am and fade into the background. I watch Fostino do the same. Our eyes don’t meet.
“Don’t we make a pair?” he says, and I detect a hint of sarcasm. He picks up the backpack and pulls the straps over his broad shoulders.
“This is it,” I say. I take one final look at the shelter before I unscrew the door. Conflicted about it, I press on anyway. I see a small knife we left on the bed and throw it in my right side pants pocket for good measure.
“It is,” he replies. “I never thought I would leave here alive, but I am glad I get to leave here with you.” He smiles at me as I push the shelter door open, and the last bits of daylight fall on our faces.
We have one task: get to Canada alive.
*
A half hour later, we cross into the back parking lot of the feed co-op. The long row of abandoned and rotted aerodynamic trucks acts as our cover. We’re close enough to the street to hear the shuffles, pops and clicks of The Party at the checkpoints. We can’t see them.
“Shh,” Fostino cautions in a low voice as we slide around the trucks. He motions for me to crouch down halfway as we both slither past. I watch the ground and my feet, scared I’ll step on something that makes a loud noise. My breath comes out hot and fast; I am ready for anything.
“We’ll cross the road one at a time,” he whispers as his lips press against my ear. “I’ll go first, and then signal you when it’s clear enough to cross.” Fostino pulls me flat against him once we reach the end of the row. The corner of a truck stands between 295 and us.
“You sure about this?” I breathe back into his ear. My eyes search his face. My nose slides against his cheek as I do it, and I’m desperate to keep it there even though I know I can’t. Fostino runs a hand down my arm and over The Party insignia. He nods and his eyes tell me he won’t change his mind. Just as Glenn did, I hold up my left hand for a countdown.
Five, four, three, two, one.
Once the last
finger falls, I give him a nod. Fostino runs across the road. It’s about a 50 meter dash across the lot, over the road, and through overgrown grass into the trees. I whip my body around and flatten it against the truck. I can just make him out as I watch his lithe, athletic body get smaller and smaller. Watching him cross the road and into the small cluster of trees is pure agony. I only exhale once he makes it.
Fostino’s body fades in the trees a little bit before he turns around in the light of the summer sun. He watches me from his safe spot for a few seconds before he looks up and down 295. Then he holds up his own left hand for a countdown.
Five, four, three, two, one.
I glance to my left and then my right. Then I sprint across the road.
CHAPTER FIFTY
I make it across, but it is all a blur until I reach Fostino’s hiding place in the trees. Once I get there, Fostino pulls me deeper into the cluster. I pant from the run; I’m out of breath and my heart threatens to explode in my chest. Once we’re covered, Fostino puts both of his hands on my shoulder to steady me.
Fostino whispers. “You’re okay. You made it.”
I can’t form a reply right away. I suck in air. When I speak, the words croak out of my lungs. “Yep. Not as hard as I thought.” I keep my voice as quiet as possible.
“No,” murmurs Fostino. “Almost too easy.”
I still breathe hard and have the same thought.
Where is The Party? Why has no one seen us? Is this all a trap?
“Do you need some water?” he asks in my ear. Before I answer, he unzips the pack and fishes out one of the bottles. “Drink this,” he whispers. “You need it.”
I take two sips and steel my nerves.
Fostino takes a few ginger steps to the tree line on the north side of the grove. A second passes before he rejoins me. He still whispers his words.