by E. R. Arroyo
“What are you talking about?” He adjusts his grip on my shoulder and my ponytail gets in his way so he brushes my hair aside to reposition his arm.
“I’m uh …” I turn my eyes to the old concrete sidewalk. “I’m not allowed near the women and children.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re helping me inside. C’mon.” He tugs me toward the door, but I resist him.
“Tyce, nobody’s comfortable with me being here.”
Tyce sucks in a breath and helps himself to the curb to sit down. “Then why are you here?”
Stunned, I fumble for the right words to answer him. “I thought you…”
He looks over his shoulder at me because I still haven’t moved. “I said you belong here and I meant it. But clearly you don’t believe it. Yet here you are.”
“I’m sorry Antius came here. And I’m sorry for the people they took from you.” That’s as close as I can get to mentioning her. I don’t even know her name.
I finally make the move to sit beside him and he gets up as soon as I do. He leans on a pole for a minute before hobbling toward the side of the building.
I call after him, “How many flights up? Can you make it on your own?”
“Don’t know,” he grumbles before leaning through a broken window. He groans and I jump to my feet and rush to him. I hover behind him, ready to catch him if he loses his balance. Leaning over the window sill he fumbles around inside, reaching in with one hand and holding the sill with the other.
“What’s wrong?”
“Can’t reach the … lock,” he mumbles.
“The women are locked inside?” I drop my hands at my sides.
He stops long enough to look at me like I must be dense. “Um, no, doll face. The locks are to keep people out not in.”
“Oh.”
Next thing I know he finds the lock he mentioned, opens the door, and then slams it closed. I lean toward the small hole in the window pane to listen for signs that he’s fallen or maybe run into trouble. I have no way to know if he’ll make it where he’s headed or not.
I wait for maybe five minutes, knowing full well he’s probably fine and I should just head back to my apartment. He’s clearly more concerned with getting inside than with whether or not I come along.
Yet, I just can’t let that be it. He’s in a horrible condition. Fatigued, injured, hungry. Probably dehydrated. What if he’s fallen in the stairwell? What if he never even made it to the stairwell?
I can’t take not knowing—I have to go in.
So I do.
Careful for the broken edges I reach through the same window, feeling around for anything that might be a locking mechanism. When I touch something smooth I grab it, pulling it towards me. It does nothing, so I maneuver it a couple different directions trying to find the right combination of motions to unlock it.
With the last combination I try—pulling it away from the wall, toward me, and then downward—it finally releases and the door cracks open. I quietly let myself in and push the door closed behind me.
I squint as I try to see what lies in the darkness surrounding me, using what little sunlight there is from the broken window. It takes a minute or two, but once I’m able to locate a stairwell I head up. The door at the top of the first flight is locked and from the dust I kicked up trying the knob I don’t think it’s been touched recently.
The third floor door is busted out and what lies beyond it is pure destruction, no sign of anyone. Between the third and fourth floors I turn the corner to find Tyce sprawled out on the stairs. It’s so dim all I can make out is that it’s him. I rush to his side and kneel beside him.
“Tyce,” I say in a forced whisper. I pick up his head from the concrete stair. “Tyce, wake up.”
He groans. “I’m awake.”
“Did you pass out?” Cradling his upper body, I make sure to hold his head steady.
He laughs. “No. I’m just resting.”
“Oh,” I mumble. “Sorry, I was just…”
“Bein’ a rebel?” Tyce runs his fingers through his long, messy hair. He tries to sit up and I have to help him. Or maybe I don’t have to but I feel like I should.
“How much farther? Can I help you the rest of the way?”
Tyce sits upright one stair below me and I’m still holding onto his unsteady torso. “You can come anywhere you’d like,” he says.
“Let’s get you up.”
Tyce grabs onto me and a stair rail to pull himself up, but it’s just me he leans into for the moment it takes him to decide he’s ready to go. He doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by our closeness but I tilt my head away from him as we move.
We don’t stop scaling steps until we’re on the sixth floor. “Okay, this is probably as far as I should go. You got it from here?”
Tyce props his hand on the door jam, finally taking his weight off of me. I’m exhausted. I start to head back downstairs when Tyce grabs my arm and pulls me to his chest wrapping his free arm around me. “Dunno why you came back, but I’m glad you did.”
My body goes rigid, taken aback by his gesture and his assumption that it’s okay. I swallow hard and whisper, “You gonna be okay?”
“Always. Why don’t you just help me inside and then you can go, eh?”
He just doesn’t get it. I shake my head. “You’re trying to get me killed?”
“No. C’mon.” He lets me go so he can knock whatever special coded knock it is that they do and then hooks his arm around my neck. When the door opens I help him inside where we’re greeted by gasps. Only half of them are because of me. But when I release him into the waiting arms of two girls about my age at least three other sets of guarded eyes study me.
“See you later,” I call after Tyce as he’s taken down a hallway where more young women come into view to greet him and check his condition.
“Wait, where are you staying?” He fights all the guiding arms to turn to me.
“Blue door on Penn.”
“Thanks for your help.” He stands for a moment, watching me.
“Come on, Tyce. Let’s get you fixed up,” a particularly harsh-looking girl says. Her glare far from subtle, I take the hint and leave.
* * *
“Tradin’ today. You coming along?” Flex stands at my door, hands on his hips.
It only takes a second to decide. “Yes… Let me get my bag.”
Flex nods and I leave the blue door open while I rush up the staircase to retrieve my backpack. I tug open the cabinet on the far left side of the kitchen. Reaching in, I slip my hand all the way to the back until I feel my father’s Glock. I haven’t been carrying it now that I’ve gotten more used to The City’s way of life. My knife, however, is always on my hip. I glance at the random items I brought with me, now resting on the counter where I keep them.
My mind races as I start to feel anxious about the trade. I wonder who will be there. Of course I want to see Max. For a brief moment I allow myself to hope Dylan will be there too. But I know he’d have no reason to be. I slap the cabinet closed.
I haul myself to my feet and turn my gaze toward my things again, wondering if I should bring them along in case I decide to go back to Mercy. Now that I know Tyce is okay. That’s why I came here, after all.
My mind wanders, picturing Dylan showing up at the trade to beg me to come back. To apologize and promise we can work through our differences. I allow myself to be excited at the prospect even though there’s a warning in the back of my head that I can’t trust him anymore. That thought snaps me out of my daydream.
I scoot the items into a pile. Stare at them. Am I ready to go back to Mercy? To be around Dylan even though things are so different between us now? I’m not sure.
I shake my head and move toward the stairs, making the decision that I’ll be returning with Flex after the trade. Standing by the door, my fingers tapping on the frame, I sigh.
There’s a flutter in my belly, the tiny part of me that still believes in hope. I allow myse
lf a small smile and rush back to the counter and scoop the rest of my stuff into the backpack. If Dylan’s there we can patch things up. I really hope we can.
We walk all day and wait for Mercy’s group near the cabin where Max and I stayed on our trips together. Traveling with rolling containers of meat isn’t easy, which is probably why they brought so many guys. Noah’s here along with Gavin, Eli, and several others, all helping out. We’ve had to carry the bins as often as we’ve been able to push them.
Waiting for the others to show up causes nearly more anxiety than I can bear. And it’s a roller coaster. At least ten times today I’ve gone back and forth from being so sure Dylan would be here to being utterly convinced he couldn’t care less about me.
A loud thud gets my attention and I whip around toward the sound. A large bin has been dropped by the group. I glance from the bin to the person standing behind it and I feel my face light up.
“Max,” I smile, rushing toward him. I stop short, feeling torn about how to properly express my enthusiasm about seeing him. I should probably hug him but I settle for patting his shoulder briefly and awkwardly.
He laughs. “Hey, there. How good to see you.”
Max’s crew continues to carry cargo containers full of Mercy’s vegetables, Delilah’s fruit, and Lakeview’s bread into the trading area, setting them all down near the first one.
I observe how different the whole scene is from what I experienced with Antius. Here, no one is inspecting anything. No one’s nervous or threatened and no one’s hands are anywhere near their weapons.
Flex coordinates his guys but it’s nothing like Jacob who’d commanded everything to be just so, only to slaughter the group from Mercy in the end.
“How are you?” Max asks.
Looking over his shoulder I inspect the faces of all the men unloading food. A few I know, some I don’t really recognize.
But one face is notably missing and my heart sinks as all my doubts have swiftly and suddenly been confirmed. And apparently I don’t hide the disappointment very well.
Max puts his hands on my shoulders. “You okay?”
It takes a beat before I look up at him. Shrug. “Yeah,” my voice comes out weaker than I wanted. I pull away from him and get back to work, helping Eli wheel a cart over to empty the contents into Mercy’s container.
After the trade has been squared away and we’ve exchanged all of our food, Max pulls me aside again.
“How have you been holding up? I can’t say I haven’t been worried.”
I lean against a tree, trying to keep casual. For a while I had actually planned on going back to Mercy. Now, I’m not sure I should. “Fitting right in, actually,” I lie.
With the face he makes he looks impressed.
I take a deep breath. “How is … everybody?”
He stuffs his hands into his pockets, peers thoughtfully into the distance. “They’re hanging in there. Can’t say much has changed, sadly.”
I nod with a pinch of guilt. Looking at the ground, I hesitate and my question comes out thick and barely audible. “How’s Dylan?” I want to ask why he didn’t come, but I know the answer. The answer is we’re over. Done.
“Dylan’s okay, Corinne, but he’s working real hard at this. Kid’s a lot smarter than anybody his age I ever heard of.” He shifts his weight and I look up into his dark eyes, happy to know at least he doesn’t show any hostility toward me. Seems I’m running low on old friends these days. All the more reason to stay in The City with my new friends. If I can even call them that.
“So, he’s fine, then?” As long as he’s okay, what do I have to worry about? He’s not worried or missing me.
“Come back with us and you can ask him yourself.” Max smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
I purse my lips, trying to convince myself to do it. To run back to Mercy with Max. But nothing has changed in Mercy. The reasons I left will still be there. I fight back the disappointment and shame, remembering all at once that it was Dylan who betrayed my trust. And I shouldn’t be standing here right now feeling so desperate when he’s the one who owes me an apology. And if he’d wanted to give me one he would’ve shown up today. But he didn’t—so where does that leave me?
I shake my head, suddenly angry. “I think I’ll stay in The City a while longer.” Or for good.
Flex rounds up his guys, ready to head back.
“I’m sorry,” I tell Max.
He claps me on the back. “Don’t be. I’m glad to see you’re safe at least.”
I smile. “Definitely safe.”
“These boys taking good care of you?” he asks, his voice lower. He glances around and I realize he’s probably been watching how I interact with them all.
“Of course.”
He reaches out and I lean into his embrace, even letting my head fall against his chest. He gives my shoulder a squeeze before he backs away, looking down at me with a sad smile.
“All right. Go on, then.” He gestures toward the City boys.
“Thanks, Max. Good to see you.”
“You too, Cori. Hope to see you again soon.”
I nod, grateful for Max, and sad to see him go.
* * *
Two more days go by without seeing Tyce. I hunt and eat with Eli. I think we talk more than hunters are supposed to but he has warmed up to me and it turns out he has a lot to say. And I like to listen.
“You guys are all close, aren’t you?” I find it hard to believe that I haven’t seen any of them show aggression toward one another, especially in light of how guarded and temperamental everyone is. They roughhouse a lot, but it never goes too far—they’re only playing.
Eli shrugs, taking a bite of our freshly cooked kill. “We’re brothers, all of us. Nobody says it in quite these words but we love each other. The girls too. They’re our sisters.”
I smile.
“What?” he says, wiping juice from his chin.
“It’s nice. I admire how everyone takes care of each other. How safe you keep the little ones and the girls.” I snatch his last bite.
He laughs. “Hey!” He reaches for it but it’s too late. I stuff it in my mouth and make a big show of chewing it up and savoring it.
“I’m so glad you guys like to share!” I taunt him. “Mmm.” I lick my lips.
He takes a swipe for my piece of bread even though it’s probably only another day from being too stale to eat. I whip my hand back before he can grab it. He reaches for my wrists trying to control me but I keep laughing and wiggling free.
Finally he stops, defeated, and stares at the bread, looking pitiful—something his youth doesn’t hurt. I can’t help but laugh, causing him to smile.
He’s different than the others.
When we finally reach my apartment I split the bread with him. “Thanks for walking me.”
“Course,” he says. He stands there for a moment, just holding his bread. I start to ask what’s wrong but then he leans forward and throws his arms around me. Tightly. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“Thanks, Eli.” I hug him back. Even if no one else does, at least Eli accepts me.
“I think I get it now.” Eli pulls away, leaning against the wall.
“Get what?”
“Why Tyce threatened to kill anybody who laid a finger on you.” He takes a small bite of bread.
“When did he say that?” I ask.
Eli says, “The day he met you.”
I don’t know what happened that made Eli connect whatever dots he’s connected, but I don’t ask.
The next morning while cleaning up the apartment I’m interrupted by pounding on the door. Exhausted, I stumble down the stairs and find Tyce there. He manages the stairs quite well on his own, but once inside my space he collapses on my bed with his hand on his belly, gingerly pressed to the gash on his side.
I’m slightly dumbfounded by him helping himself to my bed. To my space. “You okay?”
He makes a noise that sounds somewhere betwe
en yes and I’m not sure.
“You’re grimacing,” I observe.
“That’s why I like you so much, doll face. You’re a bright one.”
I roll my eyes. “Let me see.” I kneel beside him and I have to move his hand to gain access to the wound. Pulling the bandage away, I’m relieved when I see the cut. I don’t think it’s infected at all. Relief floods my senses and I allow myself a small smile. “It looks great, Tyce. Really. It’s healing.”
“Yeah, it feels great,” he groans.
I pour some water onto a clean cloth and dab around the jagged stitches. After, I replace the old bandage with a new scrap. It hardly measures up to any sanitary standards but it’s all we have here. While I’m at it I rinse the gunshot wounds as well but they aren’t bleeding like the cut still is.
Once he’s all patched up, I reach to pull his shirt back down. Before I do, though, the ink on his skin catches my eye. I saw him without a shirt when we brought him in from the riverbank but I didn’t pay attention to the tattoos on his chest. I’m tempted to ask him what they mean—but maybe they don’t mean anything or maybe it’s private.
I feel his eyes on me and meet his gaze, realizing I’ve been staring and he’s noticed. He grabs my wrist, rough at first, then he loosens his grip. I watch his hand as it slides into mine and squeezes. Remarkably, it doesn’t bother me. My nerves aren’t screaming. I don’t feel threatened. The sensation reminds me of the time he touched me—the way he kissed me—in the warehouse. I try to pull my hand away not wanting to encourage him to try that again.
“Thank you,” he says a moment before letting go.
I back away and busy myself with rinsing my hands off. Luckily, the guys have been letting me take meat home and stores of water as well in old jugs with makeshift lids. So I feed him and give him water.
Then I pass out on the floor leaving the whole mattress to Tyce.
It’s still daytime when I wake up. I have several hours before Eli will be around. The plumbing still kind of works, so I take a cold shower then offer Tyce one, but he declines.
Sitting at the foot of the mattress, I lean against the wall. “Do you want to talk about it?”