Curious stares follow us as we pass through the camp. I look around and spot my guide. He’s sitting in the shade under that tree with the women shelling peas into bowls. Someone has given him a beer. He tilts his head back and drinks deeply. A pair of boys race past, tossing a football to each other. It’s such a normal scene.
We move between two buildings and Sabine chatters on, so unlike that solemn, watchful girl I first met. She’s comfortable here. I smell meat cooking over charcoal somewhere nearby, and my stomach rumbles.
“Are you hungry?” Sabine squeezes my arm. “We’ll find the guys and then go get something to eat. I’m sure you’re exhausted, too. I think I slept twenty-four hours straight when we first got here.”
I spot Sean first. He’s hard to miss. I’d forgotten how big he was. He and Gil and another guy bend beneath the open hood of a truck that doesn’t look like it’s started for the better part of the century. Sabine doesn’t call out, but it’s like he knows. His smoky-blue eyes lift up and lock on her. A slow smile spreads across his face. Then his gaze drifts, evidently catching the movement of me beside her. His hand stills, stops turning whatever it is he was rotating inside the engine.
His gaze scans me, head to toe, missing nothing, not the wounds on my neck or forehead. Even though we haven’t been apart so very long, it feels like forever since I felt his eyes on me. We’re different. Him. Me. I know it instantly. Even further apart than the last time we were together.
I appreciate him almost clinically. His dyed hair is longer, some of his blond already showing at the roots. He’s pulled it back into a short ponytail. The tat on his bicep dances with his movements as he hands off his wrench to the guy beside him and edges around the truck toward us.
He approaches me with his long-legged stride, and I start to hyperventilate. Not really, but it feels that way. As good as he looks coming toward me, there’s another face there, filling my mind. Maybe part of me thought that when I clapped eyes on Sean I wouldn’t think about Caden again. I wouldn’t compare his lean ranginess to Sean’s muscular bulk. That I would remember the way that Sean used to make my pulse stutter, and that’s what I would feel around him again. It would be all that mattered once more. But no. Nothing.
Nothing familiar stirs my blood. If anything, the ache in my chest that’s been there ever since I found that piece of paper in Caden’s desk, ever since I woke up from near death on that exam table, intensifies.
Sean reaches me and hauls me into his arms without a word. He wraps me up, engulfs me in the immenseness of his body, and . . . there’s nothing. His touch doesn’t bother me. It just doesn’t affect me, either.
I break down. Tears spring from my eyes, and noisy, angry sobs burst from my lips.
“Shhh,” he soothes, and I shudder at this first sound from him. His voice used to get beneath my skin. “You’re safe.” I cry harder. Because I don’t feel safe.
I don’t feel anything.
I thought the moment I saw him and Sabine and Gil everything would be right again. Or at least as right as anything could be. Certainly, I’d at least feel better than I did when I left the compound. Like I had finally arrived at the place I’m supposed to be—with the people I’m supposed to be with.
“You’re home. You’re home, Davy,” he assures me.
Home?
Caden’s face fills my mind, his eyes, his voice telling me that we’re a part of each other.
No. It can’t be. He can’t have been right about that. The tears come harder, faster, as I face the truth. I can’t have been wrong, but I know. The knowledge swims through my blood, settling into every particle of me.
This place is not my home.
The rooms are more comfortable than I expected. Behind the small houses and trailers stretches a clapboard building that sleeps eight. It’s reminiscent of military barracks I’ve seen on TV. No air-conditioning, but a fan whirs noisily on top of a table, stirring the warm air well enough. The showers are outside, enclosed by a tent. Sabine pointed them out to me after we grabbed a sandwich from the mess hall. She shares the cabin with three other females, leaving four empty beds. I’m grateful for the arrangement. There’s no picking up where I left off with sharing a room with Sean. I’d rather sleep among strangers than deal with that awkwardness.
Two of her roommates are in the cabin when we enter. She introduces me to them and then sits on the bed beside me, her legs swinging off the side. “We were so worried. Even after the message came through that you were okay, I didn’t want to get my hopes up. You still had to get across, after all.”
“Yeah.” I sink down on the bed across from her. “And I didn’t manage that the first time.”
She frowns and plucks at the blanket covering her bed. “I think the three of us took turns blaming ourselves for that.”
I look at her sharply. “Why? It wasn’t anyone’s fault. I was shot.”
She shrugs. “It’s not hard to come up with reasons to blame yourself. We each thought that we could have done something.”
“You couldn’t have.”
She shrugs again. “I don’t think anyone felt guiltier than Sean.”
And this makes me feel guilty. “How’s he . . . been?”
She looks somewhere over my shoulder. As though there’s something of interest on the wall behind me. “He likes it here. Likes working on the cars.”
I nod, glad that he’s found something to do here that he enjoys. “And you? What about you?”
She looks back at me. “I like it here. They let me work in the school with the children. I take a morning shift. I can probably get you on the same shift.”
Her eyes shine eagerly at me. I nod my agreement, feeling a little numb. I can’t even wrap my head around being here yet . . . seeing my friends. Working in the school seems like a big jump ahead. It feels so long ago since I last saw them, but I know it hasn’t been. Not so long that I should feel this yawning chasm between us.
“It reminds me of my little brothers and sisters. I was always stuck babysitting them.” She smiles ruefully. “’Course I always complained about it back then. Never thought I would miss having to do that, but I do. Being around little kids . . . they’re so innocent. You can forget everything else, you know . . . all the bad stuff, when you’re around them.”
I nod, understanding. There are plenty of things I miss. Family. Friends. So why is Caden the only face I can see? The thing I miss the most?
Why is he the one person who blocks out all the bad stuff for me?
I inhale and look around the cabin, studying its bare walls as though I might give away some of my thoughts if I keep looking Sabine in the face. “So. What else do you do here? When you’re not helping with the school?”
“Oh. Sometimes we ride out in one of the cars Sean works on.” She stops to giggle. “Last week, the car died. We had to walk five miles back to camp. Turns out the thing ran out of gas! Sean was so embarrassed. The guys made fun of him.” She laughs again, rocking back on the bed a little. “He hasn’t quite lived that one down yet.”
She’s happy. I see that. And Sean’s part of that happiness. Does that mean he’s happy, too? I hope so. Desperately. I need him to be. I need his happiness to not be wrapped up in me.
“I feel gross.” I pluck at my shirt. “I think I’d like to take a shower.”
“No problem.” She hops up from the bed, that eager light still in her eyes. “You have something else to wear?”
“Yes.” I gather my spare change of clothes from my pack. Maybe someday I’ll possess a wardrobe again. Not as big as the one I once owned, but something beyond a couple of shirts and pants.
She leads me across the grounds. I blink against the sunlight, still acclimating, it seems, to being aboveground again. I had gotten used to life in the compound. The hum of the artificial air pumping through the vents. The low drone of voices. Out here it’s just openness.
And no Caden. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that.
* * *
/>
It’s time for this country to heal its wounds, and the re-enfranchisement of carriers into the population is the first step in that process. That said, I’ve assigned a special committee to oversee the formation of protected areas for carriers should they want to live in communities together. The choice will be theirs. Not only is this their right, but it is my administration’s act of restitution for their recent treatment. This nation has lost its way, and our only hope for survival is by remembering our legacy and coming together in a spirit of camaraderie and tolerance. Let us all recall the founding principle of our justice system: Any accused person is innocent until proven guilty. Judgment should not be passed without evidence of a crime. . . .
—Presidential address, July 30, 2021
TWENTY-FIVE
THE NEWS IS SEVERAL DAYS OLD BY THE TIME IT reaches us.
US detention camps have been dismantled. The president has discharged the Wainwright Agency and formed a new committee consisting of a mix of high-level officials and HTS resistance leaders. I think of Caden’s General Dumont and assume he had a hand in this. Maybe he’ll be on the committee. As one of the leaders in the resistance, and with his former position in the military, it makes sense. It also makes sense considering his recent absence from the compound and Caden’s explanation that he was away on important business.
As for us, we only need to wait. The tide has turned. If we want to, we can return to the States with no fear of persecution. At least of sanctioned, lawful persecution. Prejudice will always exist. For that reason, most everyone chooses to stay. For now at least.
Only I don’t feel a part of this place. I wait it out. Tell myself to give it time, but two weeks pass, and I’m still not part of the “us” that is Sean, Sabine, and Gil. It’s no one’s fault. It simply is.
It’s not a bad place to be. I’ve started helping in the school, at meals. There’s plenty to do to keep the refuge running. I could have purpose here. Companionship. Friends. Sean, Sabine, and Gil go out of their way to include me, but it feels different. Like I’m an outsider to their threesome, even though I’ve been here awhile now. Long enough to start fitting in.
The news from the United States is met with celebration. The populace of refuge number four mingles around a bonfire and roasts cabrito like it’s the Fourth of July. And maybe in a way it is. A new independence day. Someone drags out a guitar and plays.
“You should sing,” Sean encourages me at the picnic table where we sit. I give a swift shake of my head.
“You can sing?” Isaac, the guy who was working on the truck with Sean the first day, asks.
I shrug. “A little.”
“She’s amazing,” Sean insists, giving me a nudge.
Isaac holds up both hands in mock offense. “You mean better than my rendition of ‘Sweet Child of Mine’?”
At this Sabine, Sean, and Gil bust out laughing. Sabine wipes at her eyes. “Oh, that killed me.”
I look from them to the bonfire’s nest of dancing flames, uncomfortable. Yet another inside joke I’ve missed since arriving here.
“Yeah, you had to be there, Davy, but I’ve never seen a guy sing and dance simultaneously like that.”
There’s been a lot of this. Laughter. Stories I don’t get. While I was with Caden, they had carved a place for themselves here. A life where they can be free. Free to laugh. Free to live. Beneath my lashes, I see Sabine hand the barbecue sauce to Sean. Their fingers brush, linger.
Free to love.
It’s not the first touch I’ve noticed between them. Not the first long glance. They’re trying to hide it. From me. Maybe from themselves, too. But it’s there. While I was away, falling in love with Caden, they were falling for each other.
A whimsical smile plays on Sabine’s lips, and the color deepens in her cheeks. I search inside myself, probing for anger, jealousy. Nothing. There’s nothing there except envy that they’ve found this in each other, despite everything. And then I feel a stab of loss that I walked away from a chance for the same thing with Caden.
Suddenly I hear myself speak. Over their laughter and conversation, over the clink of beer bottles and scrape of silverware, I say what I’ve known for weeks now, even before the news from the States. “I’m going back.”
The smile slips from Sean’s face. The laughter dies. The clinking stops.
“What are you talking about, Davy?” Sabine demands, leaning across her plate.
My fingers tear at my bread, shredding it into bits. “I’m going back.”
“Home? To your family?” Gil asks. “Shouldn’t you send word first? It can’t be totally safe yet.”
“No,” I say. “Not home.”
“To that resistance group.” Sabine states this more than she asks, and I realize then that she knew something had happened to me there. That I had changed.
“To that underground bunker?” Gil asks, looking bewildered. “What for? They’ll be disbanding. We’ve won, Davy.”
I don’t feel like I’ve won. Not here. Not without Caden.
Then what he says sinks in. They’ll be disbanding. Of course. If they’re free to go anywhere, why would they stay hiding underground?
“I need to go,” I say faster, feeling slightly panicked. What if he’s gone when I get there? How will I find him?
“What are you talking about?” Gil shakes his head. “This is your home now.”
“No,” I say, pushing up from the table. “It’s yours. And Sabine’s and Sean’s. My home is there.” I swallow, looking down at all of them. “With him.”
The three of them fall silent, staring at me like I’ve sprouted a second head, and I guess this is some shock. Sabine might have realized something happened there, but I haven’t shared much about my time with the resistance group. I never mentioned any people. Nothing about Caden.
Sean is the first to speak. “You’re in love with someone.”
My gaze jerks between him and Sabine. “And you’re in love with Sabine.”
A gasp slips from her mouth. I smile at her and reach down for her hand, cover it with my own. “It’s okay.”
Her gaze darts to Sean. She looks almost afraid. Like he might say he doesn’t care about her. He smiles at her reassuringly and then looks back at me. “Let’s walk.” He pushes up to his feet, dropping a hand to her shoulder for a gentle squeeze. “We’ll be back.”
With a nod, she smiles, crossing her arms and hugging herself.
We leave the revelry behind, slipping into shadows as we move out of the bonfire’s glow. Our steps fall in a steady rhythm, crunching over the gravel path between temporary buildings.
“Guess a lot happened when we were apart,” he murmurs, breaking the silence.
“A lot happened when we were together.” At Mount Haven. The moment I shot that man. Everything turned in that instant.
“True.” He runs a hand through his shoulder-length hair. Stopping, he faces me. “I didn’t . . . Sabine and I were together so much. We didn’t mean for—”
“Sean, you don’t owe me any explanation.” Really. He doesn’t.
He drags his hand down around his jaw. “Yeah. Okay. But Davy, you’re sure? You really want to go? We still care about you. I care about you.”
“I know you do.” He stares down at me with his eyes so full of emotion, mute appeal for me to be more like the Davy he first met months ago. Months that feel like years. That Davy wouldn’t walk away from him. Not willingly. And if that Davy had been ripped from his arms, he would have waited for her. No female on earth would have tempted him. Not if I had given him something to wait for. His heart is loyal like that.
He reaches out and slides his knuckles down my cheek. “Is he worth it?”
My lips twitch ruefully. “It’s more like am I worthy of him?”
“I don’t have to know the guy to know you are.” He pulls me in for a hug, his hand tight around the back of my neck. “I’m going to miss you.”
I flatten my hands against his broad back. “I’
m going to miss you, too.” One of my few friends through all of this, through everything. I bury my face in his chest, muffling the sob that cracks my voice.
He pulls back and drapes an arm over my shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s go eat some barbecue, and you can tell me about this guy.” His voice rings with humor, but there’s still that undercurrent of regret to it. I understand it. I feel a bit of it myself. A bit of sadness to leave my friends. But there are other feelings, too. Strange feelings. Excitement, determination, and anxiety to get to that place I was so desperate to leave.
“Hey,” Sean says near my ear like he can read my mind. “Life is a series of hellos and good-byes, right?”
I nod. That’s one way to look at it. “The guy who brought me here—”
“You mean Mauricio?”
“Yeah. Is he still around?” Because over the noisy thoughts and feelings crowding around inside me—there’s something else. Another sound in the background. A ticking clock.
* * *
It’s over. I’ll be there soon . . . and then we can all go home now.
—Message from General Dumont to Caden
TWENTY-SIX
THERE’S COMFORT IN MAKING THE RETURN JOURNEY with Mauricio. Comfort in the familiarity of his company. I don’t have to wonder at his silence. I understand his gestures. I fall in with his steady pace, remembering it well. It’s easier to keep up this time, even hours into our trek, and I’m sure it has to do with my eagerness to make the crossing and get to Caden before he leaves.
Sweat dampens my flesh. My shirt sticks to my back, but I push on, my gaze sweeping over the jagged landscape. Heat ripples on the air almost in tempo to the droning cicadas. We walk headlong into them. I adjust the hat on my head, keeping the brim low. Ahead a dark smudge grows, breaking through the heat waves.
I squint and shoot a quick glance at my guide. “Hey, Mauricio, do you see—”
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