by Pintip Dunn
But then, he grabs my hand. “All right. Let’s do it.”
“Do what?”
“I’m going with you.”
What? What? “Don’t be ridiculous. You just said—”
“Look, Callie. Five years ago, I stood by and did nothing when they took my brother away. I’m not about to let it happen again.”
It is generous, so generous that hot tears stab my eyes. “I’m not your sister. I’m just a girl you haven’t spoken to for five years.”
He touches my cheek, briefly. “You’ve never been just a girl to me, Calla Lily.”
An alarm sounds. Dimly at first, and then louder and louder. “That’s for you,” he says. “The guard must’ve woken up and discovered you missing. They’ll start combing through the building. They’ll be on the roof before we know it. There’s no time.” He grips my clammy hand. “We jump on three.”
I take a deep breath and face the open sky. There’s no time to be scared. No time to worry I’m flinging myself into open space. No time to let my phobia out of its cage.
“One.”
I’m so sorry, Jessa. I never meant to hurt you. I never dreamed it would come to this.
“Two.”
If I die, then you’ll live. That’s all that’s important now.
“Three.”
You see, Mom? I told you I’d keep her safe.
A valley of nothingness looms before me. I jump.
16
I hit the water. It’s cold. Ice cold. Bubbles fizzle all over my body, and I plunge so deep I might tunnel a path all the way through the Earth. But my feet don’t hit ground. Instead, the water buoys me up and flips me around. White foam engulfs me, and beyond that is darkness.
Up. Which way is up?
The moon will show me the way. I arch my neck, wildly searching for a ray of light. Nothing. I can’t see more than six inches in front of me. I claw forward and kick my feet. If my pathetic maneuvering changes my position, I don’t notice.
I need a breath. My lungs begin to burn. I imagine them expanding like overfilled balloons, stretching bigger and bigger until pop!
I’m going to die here. After all Logan’s done for me, I’m going to drown, tucked into the river’s watery sheets like a long forgotten doll.
Suddenly a vise clamps onto my feet and jerks. My body sails through the water, twisting and turning as it fights the current’s pull. And then, air. Sweet, beautiful air. I take a deep breath. And then another. But the vise isn’t finished. It claps across my chest and pins my arms to my sides.
I thrash against the hold, grappling, kicking, squirming. Anything to get free.
“Calm down!” Logan yells in my ear. “You’ll drown us both!”
He repeats this twice before the words sink in. I let my limbs go limp, although I’m still sputtering for breath.
“You okay?” he says.
“Yeah,” I gasp.
Something sharp jabs me in the middle of my back. His hip bone. He’s on his side, balancing me against his body. And then we’re moving, slicing through the waves, as he swims with one arm and two legs.
The glass and steel building is already a craggy rock in the distance, and if my pursuers stand on the roof, watching us, they’re nothing but a blur of dots. I think I hear the faint echo of the alarm, but all around us is water. Nothing but water.
Logan Russell is dragging me to shore. Saving my life, in every sense of the word.
That’s my last coherent thought before I pass out.
When I wake, I’m in a boat, shaded from the sun by a blanket rigged up by a couple of sticks. A backpack lies under my head, and Logan is in front of me, pulling the oars with powerful, rhythmic strokes.
His shirt is off. For more than a moment, I stare. His muscles glisten under a sheen of sweat and sunblock. A thick white cream is smeared across his nose, obstructing my perfect view of his face. A sudden urge to wipe the stuff away washes over me. I’m reminded of the times I used to sneak into his swim practices. He always had time to help a teammate with his stroke, always left the best swim lane for someone else, even if he was the first one in the pool. That’s Logan—generous to a fault. That’s why it killed me when he stopped talking to me. It was so uncharacteristic.
He glances up now, and I drop my eyes. My stomach darts around like a hummingbird, and I’m intensely aware that each pull of the oar brings his knuckles inches from my knees. It’s almost painful the way the heat threatens to dance across my body before fading away as he pulls the oar back into himself.
Oh, we’ve touched. In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve touched him more than any other boy in my life. But those circumstances were extenuating. Now that we’re not breaking out of detainment, now that I’m no longer under the influence of Dr. Bellows’ fumes, we’re back to the girl and boy we used to be—the ones who barely spoke, much less came within an arm’s length of each other.
“How long did I sleep?” I ask in order to fill the silence.
“A few hours. I didn’t want to wake you. You looked like you needed your rest.”
His words are neutral, but his gaze is too direct. In the harsh sunlight, he must see the stamp Limbo leaves on all its inmates. The pale, ashen skin. Bruises like thumbprints under my eyes. Hair that hasn’t been washed in days.
So. Not. Attractive.
Flushing, I study the scenery as it whizzes by. The raging current has turned into the placid waters of a lazy river. Gone is the imposing cliff, with the metallic spirals and jagged towers rising above it, architectural feats dreamed up by Eden City’s most enterprising minds. We’ve even passed the suburbs surrounding the city, with their residential homes and athletic fields.
Instead, I see color. Brilliant reds, sunset oranges, emerald greens. Every color reflected in Jessa’s falling leaves, and then some. Dense forests line both sides of the shore. There’s not a manmade structure in sight.
I look back at Logan. His stroke is strong, but fading. Exhaustion edges his features. He’s probably been rowing the entire time I was asleep.
Every stroke takes him farther from civilization. Every length of the boat is more distance from where he’s supposed to be. Where he belongs.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m taking you to Harmony,” he says. “It’s fifty miles upriver, and they’re expecting us.”
The community on the edge of civilization. A chance to leave my future—and my family—behind like a bad dream.
I swallow hard. I may have to abandon the people I love best, but he doesn’t.
“No.” I grab the oar and stick it in the water, trying to turn the boat around. Unfortunately, I only succeed in making us rock and buck in the current. “You can’t go to some community in the woods. In the future you’re a professional swimmer. You have to get back to Eden City and live out your memory.”
“It’s too late. By now the patrols will be stationed at every bullet train into the city.”
My eyes get so big I feel wrinkles in my forehead. “So you’ll walk.” I point the oar toward the flat, forested shore. “Cross the river here, hitch a ride to the suburbs, and then make your way back to the city on foot.”
My attempts to turn the boat are only making my arms ache. Giving up, I pull the oar back in, and the boat drifts gently down the river.
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind,” he says, his voice thick with an emotion I can’t identify. “I’ve been hearing about Harmony my whole life. Maybe I want to check it out for myself.”
“It’s not your future.”
He reaches for the oar. “My memory doesn’t take away my free will, Callie. I still get to make my own decisions. And right now, my decision is to go to Harmony. With you. I’ll make sure you’re settled, and then I’ll go back to Eden City.”
“But why?” I shouldn’t ask. I should leave well enough alone. But the words roll out of me like they’ve been pressed against the door, waiting for five long years to be let out. “You don’t even like me. You
stopped talking to me ages ago.”
He stiffens, and I know I’ve crossed a line. We never agreed not to talk about the past—but from the moment I saw him in my cell, our interaction has had the quality of a dream. Or a hallucination. My statement plunks us squarely back into real life.
“I kinda stopped talking to everybody,” he says.
“Yes, but you ignored me. It was like I didn’t exist. No ‘hello,’ no ‘excuse me.’ Not even ‘get out of my way.’”
He sighs. Okay, so I’m a terrible person. The guy dragged me across the river. He left civilization so he could deliver me safely to Harmony. And here I am, badgering him about something that happened when we were kids. “Forget it. It was a long time ago.”
“No, I want to answer. I’m just trying to figure out the best way to do it.” He swallows once, twice, and then dips the oar in the river. But his stroke is no longer sure and steady. His motion is jerky, uneven. Almost as though he were nervous. Of what? Me?
“Do you remember the day they took Mikey away?” he asks, staring at the waves in the water.
“Like it was yesterday.”
Mikey was four years ahead of us, and I didn’t really know him, but he looked just like Logan, except with longer hair. I was sitting in the T-minus five classroom when we heard sirens, followed by the clatter of footsteps. We crowded around the door, craning our necks to see into the hallway. And then we saw him, Mikey Russell, flanked by two TechRA officials, his tanned arms wrenched behind his back in a pair of electro-cuffs.
“So you remember what you said to me?”
I shake my head. The image of Mikey being led away is imprinted in my mind, but everything else is a chaotic blur. “I’m sorry?”
“You turned to me and you grabbed my arm, just as Mikey was passing in front of our classroom. ‘Do something,’ you said.” His hand clenches, and the oar vibrates. “And I stood there like an idiot, while they took my brother away from me. I stood there and watched like the rest of you, even though my life was never going to be the same again.”
“Oh, Logan.” My heart squeezes. “You were twelve years old. What could you have done?”
“Something.” He looks up, and I see the little boy again. The one who cared so much and tried so hard to do the right thing. The generous thing. The one who shut down that day, and I never knew why. “I could’ve talked to the officials and convinced them it was some magic trick we pulled. Or maybe get the other kids to agree it was all a big joke, that they didn’t actually see what they’d said they saw.”
“I don’t think any of that would’ve worked,” I whisper.
“Maybe I should’ve been brave enough to look into his face as they dragged him away. Tell him I loved him so he wouldn’t feel so alone. But I didn’t. And that’s why I couldn’t talk to you. I couldn’t even look at you without hearing those words. Do something.” He inches forward on his knees, and the world fades away. There are no oars digging into the water, no sun’s rays warming my shoulders, no leaves fluttering in the wind. There’s just Logan and me and these words between us. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just couldn’t bear to see the blame in your eyes.”
“I never blamed you. Not for a second.”
For a moment, we don’t speak. The air around us is stuffed with so many thoughts, so many emotions. Any second now, it will burst and the excess will rain on us like a hailstorm.
“Maybe I blamed myself.” His voice is low, so low, as if these words have never been spoken before, and he’s scared to speak them now. “And I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”
You sure did. But the old anger fails to rise. My chest is too blocked up. There’s no room for anything but this ache that’s splitting me in two.
“That’s what you meant on the roof,” I say. “You jumped with me to try and make up for the past.”
His lips curve, the ghost of a grin that died five years ago. “I want him to be proud of me.”
Your poor parents. First, they lose Mikey, and now you.
I don’t say it out loud, though. If I do, he might get upset, and then I’ll start crying. Once I go down that path, I’ll think of my mom and Jessa, and then where will I be? A blubbering fool, no good for anything.
Instead, I smile so big it makes my cheeks hurt. “How much longer before we break for the night?”
17
The sun is low in the sky when Logan suggests we stop. We pull the boat onto the shore and walk until we find a clearing not too littered with rocks. Moss-covered roots jut out of the ground, and all manner of plants—fan-shaped, spiky, broad—crowd under the soaring trees. It smells like the earth here, of worms and raindrops, so unlike the steel and pavement of the city.
I step behind a tree and change out of the yellow jumpsuit into a clean black shirt and pants, identical to the uniform I used to wear at school during the Fitness Core. It’s remarkable what a change of clothes can do to a person. I almost feel refreshed. When I come back, Logan is sitting on the ground, arranging the contents of the backpack into piles.
I fold the jumpsuit and set it next to the backpack, even though I’d rather burn it. I sneak a look at Logan, only to find him watching me, and we both look away. The old awkwardness looms between us. I chew my lips and try to figure out what to do with my hands. I clasp them behind my back, but that looks stupid. Cross my arms over my waist. Too defensive.
Come on, Callie. Get it together. He’s just a boy.
No, never, a voice inside me whispers. Like you’ve never been just a girl to him.
The warmth begins in my stomach and creeps out to my skin. I give up on my hands and crouch down to study the piles of supplies. Anything to avoid the weight of his gaze.
Tins. Lots of metal tins, labeled on the side. Rope. A compass. Extra clothes. A map.
And then… What on earth? Packs of underwear, in varying sizes, and the largest pair of sneakers I’ve ever seen. I don’t get it. I’m not a wilderness expert or anything, but why do we need so much underwear? Size fourteen sneakers probably fit two people in Eden City.
Logan tosses me a metal tin. I look on the side and read “basil.” I grab a few of the others, and each tin is some sort of seasoning. Thyme. Rosemary. Mint.
I rock backward. It took weeks for me to grow these herbs on my windowsill. I had to scrounge and beg and bribe to get the seeds from my Manual Cooking instructors. And here they are, every herb I can imagine, packaged neatly into little tins. Ready to be used.
“I knew you’d be happy about the spices,” he says, grinning like a little boy handing out his first Christmas present. His smiles are like a candle to my heart, heating it up slowly but steadily.
And I couldn’t ask for a better present. I’d take curry and turmeric over a diamond bracelet any spacetime. “I’m thrilled.” There are enough tins to supply the graduate studies program for a year. “But why are all these herbs here?”
“The backpacks are a handy way to bring stuff to Harmony,” he says, comfortable now that we’re talking information and facts. If only our whole relationship could be comprised of data streams. “They don’t have any modern technology, and it’s not easy to get back to civilization when they’re running low on supplies. So one way for them to get stuff is for people like us to bring them.”
I run my finger along the tins. “So they don’t have digital communication? How does the Underground know what to pack?”
“Oh, um.” Both the grin and the comfort disappear, like a flame doused with water. “I’m not sure. They must have their ways. Or maybe they’re guessing. I don’t know.”
Guessing about size fourteen shoes? I don’t think so. I watch him stack the tins into a pyramid. He’s hiding something. But what?
“You said they were expecting us.” I say slowly. “How do they know about us, if we can’t communicate with them?”
“Did I say that?” His face is bright red now. “I must’ve misspoken. I don’t have any actual connection with Harmony. I only know what my parents
told me.”
He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. I should drop the subject. But if I hadn’t asked why he stopped talking to me, he never would’ve confessed. I would still believe he gave me the silent treatment because he didn’t like me.
“What aren’t you telling me?” I ask.
“Nothing! The situation is complicated, that’s all.” He stands and edges away from me. With each step, he becomes less the guy on the boat and more the boy who ignored me for five years. “I can’t discuss this right now. Try to keep an open mind.”
I watch him leave. Try to keep an open mind. About what? Our friendship?
I’m willing to be open about that. I’d forget about our five years of silence. I’d forgive him for all his secrets.
If only he would trust me like he used to.
An hour later, I sling the stainless steel canteen over my shoulder and head for the river to fill it. Rolling up my pants, I wade in until the water splashes around my knees. The sun has dipped below the horizon, and streaks of purple chase after the orange glow, against a backdrop of wispy clouds.
I take a deep breath and hold it. I like the sun even when it isn’t here.
Logan gave me this, and I couldn’t be more grateful. So maybe he’s right. Maybe I should keep an open mind.
The breeze rushes over my skin, making the hair at the back of my neck tingle. I unscrew the cap and dip the canteen in the water.
An open mind. I roll the concept around my tongue, my brain. What does it mean? How does it work? Your future spread out before you. Open. An infinite number of possibilities. Open. Paths branching out in every direction. Open.
A rush of something flows through me. I feel it everywhere—in the cuts on my legs, the ache in my lower back, my hands holding the canteen in the water.