by Pintip Dunn
32
The sun has moved down the sky. If I hold my hand to my face, it’s about a thumb’s length above the trees, which means I have another hour to kill before Logan finishes prepping for his trip back to Eden City.
I wander into the square, Logan’s absence a solid shadow. I’ve got to get used to this. Pretty soon that’s the best company I can expect.
The feather of a bird floats by on the wind, and I grab it from the air. The feather is ripped, torn in fluffs that drift away, trying to resurrect itself into something new. Trying to carve an alternate path out of its dead-end flight. Trying to break free of the life dictated by Fate.
The thought ties anchors to my feet. I’m like the feather, too. Battered and mangled, wanting to change my fate, but not knowing how.
I’m in danger of drowning in the dry and dusty dirt when I see Laurel walking toward the log cabin, a bunch of wildflowers dragging on the ground behind her. Me with my tattered feather, her with her wilted flowers. Aren’t we a sorry pair.
“Laurel, these poor flowers.” I pick them up and blow the grime from the petals. “Let me get you some water.”
I scoop up water from the barrel and plunk the flowers into the aluminum can, tucking the feather next to them. They fit nicely together. The can has more important functions than to serve as a vase, but maybe the flowers will perk up after a few minutes, even if I don’t have much hope for the feather.
“I tried to give them to Zed.” Her voice is as dull as a mud puddle. “He wasn’t interested in the flowers. And even less interested in me.”
“It’s not you. He’s afraid of his—”
“Future memory, I know,” she says bitterly. “But he’s already come all the way to Harmony to avoid it. Is he going to let it rule his life here, too? What kind of life do you have if you’re afraid of your memory at every turn? That’s no life at all.”
I swallow hard. I pull out the feather and stick it back in again.
“I’ve known him for two years,” she says. “In that time, I’ve seen nothing but a sweet, gentle man, trying to make up for sins he has yet to commit.” She grips the aluminum can. “I’m not scared, Callie. I have full trust in him. He has complete control of his actions—not his future self, not some memory, but him. He either refuses to hear me or he’s too scared to believe.”
She bends her head over the can, watering the flowers with her tears. After a moment, she plucks out a yellow flower and hands it to me. “I heard about Logan. I’m sorry.”
I take the flower and bring it to my nose. It smells sticky, like an overly sweet dessert. I can’t imagine anything other than bees being attracted by the scent.
“How come he’s going back?” she asks.
“He’s needed to stock the backpacks,” I say, trying to sound crisp. But my voice wilts like Laurel’s wildflowers, and unlike the blooms, no amount of watering will perk it back up. “And well…he’s not like the rest of us. No one was ever after him, so he doesn’t belong here.”
I choke over the words. A lot of things shouldn’t have happened. Logan shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t have fallen for him. Doesn’t mean you can take them back, no matter how hard you try.
“If you ever need to talk, let me know,” she says. “We can be brokenhearted together.”
I give her back the flower and, after a moment of hesitation, take the feather out of the can. “Sounds fun.”
She squeezes my arm and heads into the log cabin. I continue through the square. Dinner time approaches, but I’m not ready to face the crowd yet.
I head to the clearing. Trailing my hand over the log, I dip my fingers into the grooves and skim them over the knots. I lay the feather inside the hollowed out space of the log. This is where it belongs, because this is the place where he told me he was leaving me forever.
But the trees have not absorbed that memory. When the leaves flutter, they do not crackle to the tune of severed hearts. They tell a story instead, of moist dirt and busy squirrels, of dry pine needles holding on stubbornly through the ice of winter.
The clearing’s blocked on three sides by pine trees. I lie on the ground behind the log, my head aligned with the feather, turning the dead tree into a fourth wall. I miss Jessa. More than Marisa, more than my mom, I miss my little sister.
She would know what to say right now. That’s what I need. Her cool hands on my hot cheeks. Her simple words, which hold more truth than a room full of future memories.
Ever since I’ve discovered my abilities as a Receiver, I’ve been opening my mind constantly to check for new memories. Looking for a way to help Jessa.
But this time, as I let the physical elements of my world melt away, I’m not trying to help my sister. I’m hoping she can comfort me.
Breathing deeply, I think of the blank spaces below a certain column. The gaping holes of a fish net. Angela’s open heart as she weeps for a child that may never be born.
The rush is familiar now, and welcome. Then something fills me up as if it were coming home. Here it is. The memory. Open.
I am holding a racquet loosely around its rubber-grip handle. Black shiny walls reflect the sleek sports cap holding the hair off my face, and a large blue square is painted on the hardwood floor. Something knocks thunk, thunk, thunk against the wall.
I’m at school during the Fitness Core, standing on a racquetball court.
The air is hot, as if it’s soaked up the sweat of all the people who’ve ever played here. A ball ricochets off the reflective wall and whizzes past me.
“What are you doing?” Olivia Dresden’s braids swish across her face as she spins on her foot. Her sports cap is on the hardwood floor, probably discarded as soon as she walked onto the court. “Hit the ball.”
“We can’t start the game,” I say. Across from us, the two corners of the square are empty. “The July Fifteen girls aren’t here.”
“Oh, the twins aren’t coming to school today,” Olivia says smugly. “Or ever again.”
The ball rolls off the wall and bumps into my foot. I pick it up. “Why not?”
“My mommy says all twins are the property of FuMA now. She says their brains have the same ge…ge…” She wrinkles her nose, trying to think of the right word. “Genetic makeup. So even though they’re two people, it’s like they’re one person.”
I frown, bouncing the ball with my racquet. “You’re lying.”
“Am not.” Olivia puts her hands on her hips. “That’s how the scientists figure out future memory. By looking at twin brains. You’re just mad your mommy isn’t head of FuMA, and you don’t know anything. One day, everyone will listen to what I say, and you’ll still be nothing.” She snatches my ball out of the air. “I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.”
She sweeps up her sports cap and stalks off the square. The glass door of the court slams so loudly my ears rattle.
I open my eyes. I’m back at the clearing, and the sun has ducked below the horizon. An insect crawls up my arm, and my entire back feels damp from the moisture in the ground.
My stomach ties into a knot. First universal screening and now twins. When will this madness end?
“There you are!” Like an apparition, Logan appears and steps over the log. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
I grab his hands and he pulls me off the ground. He’s leaving in a few short hours, but I can’t think about that. I’ll have the rest of my life to mourn his absence. So I do something I’ve never done before. I forget about our past. I forget about our future. I focus fully and entirely on us, right now.
I sit on the log facing him and tell him about the memory I received.
As I talk, the Chairwoman’s words echo in my mind. The First Incident is rapidly approaching. Now you see why we have to do it. Now you see why we have to do it. Now you see why we have to do it.
I suck in a breath. “If the scientists don’t currently know how to send memories, the First Incident must be the first time a memory is s
ent to the past. And if it’s rapidly approaching, then TechRA needs to figure out how to send a memory by that date. Because if they don’t…if they don’t…”
“Future memory as a technology may disappear from us altogether.”
I frown. “Is that even possible? So many of us have already received our future memories. Where did all those memories come from?”
“Of course it’s possible,” he says. “It’s the same reason you can change a future memory that’s already been sent, even though FuMA wants everyone to think you can’t. Time isn’t a closed loop. A parallel world is created the moment a memory is sent to the past—a new world where anything can happen.”
I jump to my feet, trying to wrap my mind around his words. If Logan’s right, then there is no paradox. And if I’m right, then the very existence of future memory is at stake. That would explain everything. Why TechRA is so desperate. Why they’re arresting psychics left and right.
Because their research isn’t a bunch of experiments for the sake of science. This research might affect our entire way of life.
He stands and walks to me. “You’re shaking.”
“What have we’ve gotten ourselves into?” I whisper.
He takes my face in his hands. “You’re safe here, Callie. Jessa’s safe. That’s what’s important.”
“For now,” I say despairingly. “Until her hair grows down to her shoulders. Until they get around to testing her during the universal screening.”
“Yes, but now is all we have. Now is what’s important.”
“I wish now could last forever,” I mumble into his shirt.
He tilts my chin up and kisses me. And I wish that could last forever, too.
33
“I guess this is it,” Logan says. After we left the clearing, we went back to the village square and had one last dinner. One last evening, with one last crowd. And now Harmony sleeps, but he asked me to meet him for one last walk. One last time.
Through the jagged shadows of the leaves, the moon glows against the night sky. It’s as though a hole has been split in the cosmos and a splash of light from another place trickles into our world.
“Yeah,” I say, looking at the moon. If only we could be up there, in the light, instead of inches deep in mud and muck, everything might be okay.
I knew this moment would be hard. But I don’t think Mikey expected it. As soon as the bones were cleared off the table, he stood, flinched, and walked away. But not before I saw the sheen of moisture in his eyes. “How’s Mikey doing?”
“He’s going with me as far as the cliffs so he can make sure I get back to civilization safely.” Logan rubs a hand over his face. “He was crying when I got back to the hut.” He shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he’s saying. “I’ve never seen him cry before. Not even when TechRA took him away.”
“He’s upset. He doesn’t want to see you go.”
“I thought he wanted me to leave.”
“He wants what’s best for you and his people.” I can’t believe I’m defending Mikey, when I want to fall to my knees and curse him to Limbo and back. But now that we’re about to lose the boy most important to us both, I finally understand him. “I promise you, if it were only about him, Mikey would never let you go. He loves you.”
I love you, too, I want to say. I want to say a million things, share with him a million thoughts, confide in him a million stories. Because Logan’s right. This is it. I’ll never have this chance again.
But so many words swell in my heart that they get jammed in my throat. So what comes out is: nothing.
We continue to walk around and around the village, ducking under tree branches, hopping over roots. In the daytime, the woods are tricky to navigate. At night, they’re downright treacherous. But we don’t stop. We keep on as if our forward motion can make time stand still. As if by stopping, resting, acknowledging a place, we will also have to acknowledge real life.
Logan is leaving tomorrow. As soon as the sun rises, he’ll pack his rations and go, retracing our steps back to civilization.
And then I’ll never see him again.
“Callie.” Logan turns to me. His head blocks the moon, so even the glimmer of his cheekbone disappears into the night. “I don’t want to see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” We’ve stopped moving, so this is it. Reality. I should take off my plant bracelet. I should give it back to him. But I don’t. Even if I have to lose him, I want to hold onto this memory.
“I mean, I don’t want to say good-bye in front of everybody. I want to say good-bye here, when it’s just the two of us. I want to look back on this moment and remember how it feels to be the only two people in the world.”
That’s what I want, too. Tomorrow I will start my new life, a life without him. Tomorrow I will try to forget my love. Tomorrow I will need to be strong. I don’t want to see him tomorrow, either.
Cold fingertips brush against my arms. I step blindly in his direction and slip on a loose rock. He catches me, like he always does. Like he never will again. My lips seek his in the darkness, brushing against his jaw. The stubble scratches me. I turn, so I can feel more of the abrasion against my cheek, and his mouth captures mine.
The kiss tastes like dewdrops and a baby’s tears and the mist in a foggy night. It feels like dandelion fluff and tree sap and the sting of a bee.
It lasts an eternity, but it’s over too soon. I regret the kiss, for I will never, ever forget it.
“I will always remember you, Callie.”
Good-bye, Logan. Good-bye.
When I get back to the hut, Angela’s feeding a fire in the indoor pit. I join her on the ground and warm my hands at the flame.
“You’re still awake?” I ask.
“I was waiting for you.” She pokes the fire with a long stick. “How are you?”
“I’m alive. And breathing.”
“Sometimes that’s about all we can ask.”
Sweat forms on my neck, even though cool air presses against my back. The fire crackles and hisses, and threads of gray dance around us before floating to the roof and escaping through the hole. I wish I could disappear right along with the smoke.
“You must’ve heard.” Angela’s voice pulls me from my thoughts. “Mikey asked me to marry him.”
I look up. “That’s wonderful.”
“I said no.”
Scooting over, I pick up her hand. It hangs limply against my fingers, as if the bones inside have turned to liquid. “You love each other. Why won’t you marry him?”
“You know why.” She squeezes her eyes tight, but tears seep out the corners anyway. “He yearns for children, and that’s something I can never give him.”
I let go of her hand and stand up, stepping away from the fire. I’m suddenly too warm, and I whip off my long-sleeved shirt, revealing the simple white tank underneath. “He’s here, Angela. Right here, right in front of you. It’s not like he’s going back to civilization.”
I rub my chest through the thin cotton material. Stop it. Just because my heart’s broken doesn’t mean I have to fling the shards at Angela.
Crouching down, I rest my cheek on my knee. “You’ve already changed the course of your future by coming here. Your memory might not come true. You could be so happy, Angela. Your little girl could grow up here, completely safe. You could see her midnight eyes widen at a flapping fish. You could braid wildflowers into her spider-soft hair.”
She shakes her head, terror gripping every line of her face. “I won’t take that risk. Not for me. Or my baby.” Her words are resolute. Final.
I want to argue with her, but I can’t.
I’d like to live in a world where love conquers all. But maybe we gave up that privilege when the Technology Boom changed our society. Maybe when we built a world based on images of the future, we bargained away our dreams. We traded in the passion of our souls, the passion that burns on hope and desire and possibility. And all we got in return was security. Goals already achie
ved. A life already lived. And in my case and Zed’s and Angela’s, a nightmare come to life.
Maybe we would’ve been better off if those memories had never been sent. Maybe we could learn to breathe again if we could only forget tomorrow.
The pine needles crunch as Angela tosses and turns. Her breath comes erratically. Sometimes, she gulps air as if there’s a shortage of oxygen. Other times, I don’t hear her breathe at all, and I’m tempted to cross the room and check her pulse. Finally, she settles, but sleep continues to elude me.
I reach for Jessa. If I see her, it will be like a security blanket to chase away the monsters. A good night kiss to ensure sweet dreams. I’ll see her, and then I’ll be able to sleep.
I open my mind, and it’s easier than ever. I don’t even get through one image when the rush of something fills me. I reach for my sister. I reach for the memory.
I am being dragged. Metal bites into my wrist, and the heels of my shoes dig into the ground. A high-pitched scream splits open the air. It takes me a second to understand it’s coming from me.
Someone yanks me around and I fall, pitching into a coarse navy uniform. An hourglass insignia is etched onto the pocket. I’m being arrested by FuMA.
I wrench my head around. My mother stands in the doorway of our house, her hand reaching for me and grasping air. An open school bag lies in the hallway, and a holographic projection of my family shines from the desk screen . My mother. Jessa. Callie.
That’s when I realize what I’m screaming.
“Callie! They’ve got me. Come save me. Please, Callie. I need you. I need you. I neeeeeeed yooooooou!”
I open my eyes. My cheek rubs against the buckskin, and my throat feels raw, like I’ve been screaming loudly. Except I haven’t been yelling. I’m back in Angela’s hut, and that was Jessa screaming.
I was wrong. Oh dear Fate, I was so wrong. I thought there was time. I thought Jessa wouldn’t be arrested until her hair reached her shoulders. But FuMA has her. I’m too late.
She needs me. My little sister needs me. Picking up the buckskin and wrapping it around my shoulders, I step outside the hut. Millions of stars sparkle in the sky, and I think of that night in the woods, right after we left civilization, when I was convinced Jessa and I were connected through the stars.