by Anna Carey
Page 20
The alley was dark, the air thick with the smell of rotting garbage. I entered through the door marked on the map. Inside it was pitch black. I felt my way along the wall and down a narrow set of stairs, into the building’s underbelly. Smoke lingered in the air. Somewhere, someone was singing. The murmurs of faraway voices swirled around me. I crept along, stumbling over the last few steps, until I was at the bottom of the staircase, in front of another door.
A woman was on stage, clad in a silver-sequined gown, a three-person band behind her. She sang into a microphone like the one the King had used at the parade. A sad, slow song drifted to the back of the room. A man on a saxophone leaned forward, adding a few low notes. Couples spun around on a cramped dance floor, a woman nuzzling her face into a man’s neck as he shifted his weight back and forth, his hips swaying with the beat. Others huddled in cozy booths, laughing over half-empty glasses. Lit cigarettes sat in plastic trays, the smoke spiraling up to the ceiling.
The walls were covered with painted canvases. One showed the City’s buildings dotted with bloodred lights, making each skyscraper look sinister. A massive painting hung behind the bar. Rows of children were shown in crisp white shirts and blue shorts just like the ones the Golden Generation wore, but their faces were flat and featureless, each one interchangeable with the next. I scanned every person in the room, looking for Caleb at the bar, or in the pack of men huddled by the door. In the back, to the right of the stage, a figure sat alone in a booth. His face was hidden under the brim of his cap. He was twisting something between his fingers, lost in quiet concentration.
The song ended. The woman in the sequined dress introduced some of the band members and made a joke. A few people behind me laughed. I stood rooted in place, watching him play with the paper napkin, how he bit down hard on his bottom lip. Suddenly, as if sensing me there, he looked up, his gaze meeting mine. He stared at me for a moment, his face brightening in a smile.
Then he was up, closing the space between us. As the woman started singing again, he reached me, pressing his face into my neck. He wrapped his arms tightly around my shoulders, pulling me so close my feet lifted off the ground. We stayed there as the music swelled around us. Our bodies fitted together perfectly, as though we were never meant to be apart.
eighteen
“I WAS GETTING WORRIED,” HE SAID, WHEN HE FINALLY SET ME down. He gently pulled strands of hair away from my wet lips. “I thought I’d been stupid to give you that note, to tell you to come. ” He held my face between his hands, tilting my chin up so he could see beneath my cap. “You should know better than to keep a boy waiting,” he laughed. “It was torture. ”
“I’m here now. ” I held onto his wrists and pressed down, feeling the bones just beneath the surface of his skin. He smiled, his eyes wet. “I’m really here. ”
He buried his face into my neck, his lips against my skin. “I missed you so much. ” His arms tightened around me. I stroked the back of his head. There was something about the way he held me—clinging to my sides, squeezing the breath from my body—that startled me.
“I’m okay,” I said softly, trying to reassure him. His breathing slowed. “We’re here, together. We’re okay,” I repeated.
He looked at me, running his finger over my cheekbones and down the bridge of my nose. Then he pressed his lips to mine, letting them rest there for a moment. I savored the familiar scent of his skin, his stubble against my cheek, his hands in my hair. I clutched his sides, wishing we could stay like this always, the moon forever in the sky, the earth paused on its axis.
After a long while we slid into the booth where Caleb had been waiting. The woman in the sequined dress was still singing, the melody slow and sweet as she described a midnight train to Georgia. A few men studied us from the bar as they swigged tiny glasses of black liquid. The candlelight danced on our faces. Caleb kept hold of my hand. “Where are we?” I asked, adjusting my cap so it hid my eyes.
“It’s a speakeasy,” Caleb said. “They serve their own alcohol. People come here to drink, smoke, go out after curfew—all the things the King has outlawed in the City. ”
I brought my hand to my face, afraid someone would recognize me from the parade. “Is it safe? Do they know who you are?”
“Everyone here is guilty of something. ” He lowered his voice, pointing to a man in the far corner playing cards. A gold watch was set on the table in front of him, along with some silver rings. “Gambling, alcohol consumption, smoking, exchanging goods ‘off record,’ they call it. Goods that aren’t bought with the government-issued credit cards are supposed to be traded through the newspaper. You could be sent to jail just for coming in here. ” He picked up the napkin he’d been playing with. It was twisted into a small white rose. “Well, maybe you wouldn’t get arrested, Genevieve. ” He smiled, tucking it behind my ear.
I put my hand on his right leg, where he had been stabbed. I could feel the scar through his thin pants, the line that slanted inward, toward his opposite knee. “What happened to you?” I finally asked. “All that time before you came here. I thought of you every day. I shouldn’t have let you leave. I was so scared …”
“You did the right thing—we both did. ” Caleb inched closer and wrapped his arm around me, massaging the aches from my neck. “It’s strange, but I always knew you’d come back to me. The how and when of it wasn’t clear, but I knew. ”
“I hoped,” I said, keeping my hand on his leg.
Caleb shook his head and smiled. “Could any day have been more perfect than today?” He kissed me once, then twice, his lips settling by the hollow of my ear. “I woke up and the City was talking about the new Princess, the King’s daughter who’d returned from the Schools. I ran all the way from the Outlands to the City center like a complete idiot. Everyone thought I was just another one of your fans. I kept thinking, she’s come back to me. ”
I pulled myself closer to him. “Tell me what happened when you left Califia. I need to know everything. ”
Caleb squeezed my hand. “I stayed in San Francisco, in a house just over the bridge. It was hard for me to walk, even with the wound stitched up. For a while I lived off figs and berries from the local park. But then a day passed, and another, and I was too weak to walk anymore. I was trapped.
“At some point, when I was really desperate, I tried to go just a block to find food. I collapsed on the sidewalk. I’m not sure how long I was there—one day, maybe a few. I just remember a horse coming toward me. I tried to crawl into a storefront, to hide myself, but it was too late. A man was hauling me onto the horse, and then I passed out. I woke up hours later. He was giving me water. Then he finally mentioned Moss. ”
“Moss?” I asked, remembering the name. “The one who organized the Trail?”
“He’s operating from inside the City now,” Caleb said, his voice barely audible. He looked quickly around the room before speaking. Just one couple was dancing, the woman’s hand resting on the man’s heart. “He was working on the inside when the report came in about the troops killed at the base of the mountain. That soldier said where he’d last seen me, how I’d been stabbed, who I was with. Moss knew I must’ve been taking you to Califia. He came and found me. He forged my paperwork to make it look like I was just another Stray seeking refuge in the City. He’s been organizing people inside the walls, the dissidents. ”