Winter Omens

by Trisha Leigh

  When I open my eyes to reality, shadows encroach on the stretches of concrete sidewalk and the pretty yellow house is missing half its roof. This city is so unlike the pristine environments maintained by the Others.

  Pax walks ahead as we struggle over and around chunks of debris, trees sprouting from the middle of what used to be sidewalks, and I try to stick close as the sounds of the night press nearer with each passing moment. I trip on the corner of an object that escaped my notice, falling to my knees and scraping the heels of my hands. Sitting back on my butt, I give Wolf’s neck a squeeze when he pushes his cold nose against me like he’s worried, then give the offending corner a kick. The whole obstruction comes loose under the force of my shoe, the painted words on broken wooden planks sizzling excited discovery through my mind as I crawl to my feet:

  Walt Disney Elementary School.

  “An old Cell,” I whisper.

  The building is mostly gone, but the piles of bricks are a tan color, most of them smudged at the edges with evidence of fire. What used to be a Cell—a school—is reduced to several heaps of wreckage. All the way off to the right side, three walls and part of the ceiling are still standing and have protected at least some of the contents from the weather.

  Pax follows as I start toward the intact part of the building, curious about what’s still inside, what else I could learn. It’s as though reading Anne of Green Gables opened a hole in me and made me aware of how empty my life has been, and it seems nothing but more knowledge can fill it. Wolf comes, too, unwilling to go far from my side even though he must be hungry. My stomach cramps as well, but this could be as good a place as any to settle in for the night.

  The interior of the room disappoints me. Burned remnants clutter the floor, and the scorched walls smell like wet firewood. In the farthest corner, two shelving units sit upright and unharmed, a picture hanging between them. More books like Pax’s, like the ones we found two nights ago, rest on the shelves. Another unit is toppled on its front, and as I look around, it dawns on me that the entire room was full of shelves full of books. As far as I can tell, only a few remain.

  All of those stories lost forever.

  For some reason, my most recent classmates’ faces scroll through my mind, kids who will never know what it’s like to read a book that makes them feel as though they’ve found a friend, or causes them to finally realize that their struggles aren’t unique. Right now, it feels like the most depressing aspect of this entire life under the Others, the loneliness, but that’s not true. Even though it’s never happened to me, I think not being able to feel must be the worst part for the humans. They don’t feel the bad things like fear or sadness or anger, but they also never experience elation or love.

  I comb through the remaining shelves. The volumes still stacked on them are tattered and torn, missing pages and chunks from their spines. I doubt they’ll be readable. I’m digging through the books on the floor under the tipped unit when Pax calls my name. He’s standing at the picture hanging at a crooked angle on the cracked wall, which at closer inspection isn’t a picture at all.

  Blue, black, and green lines squiggle across the white background. In the center is a red pushpin trapping a square piece of paper that reads YOU ARE HERE. We both reach for the bright pin, our hands brushing. It feels as though an electrical charge bites into my skin, and we both yank away. My stomach tightens and all of the words in my head flee like startled birds from a tree.

  Pax sucks in a ragged breath, stepping away from me and nodding toward the wall. “It’s a map. Like the ones of the universe.”

  As soon as he says it, I know he’s right. During our two hours of astronomy every day for the past twelve years, we studied maps of the stars and planets. I can look at the night sky and name most of them, but we also learn about galaxies we can’t see from ours, such as where Deaspura used to be, before war destroyed it and forced the Others to leave. This is a map, and if the pushpin says we are here, then it’s a map of Earth.

  After a minute, I see the name Iowa to the right, and make out the area that seems to belong to the word. I’m shocked to see that Des Moines, the Sanctioned City, is a tiny speck in the center. Pax and I are in a city called Omaha, in a bigger place called Nebraska, which I’ve never heard before in my life. In fact, the majority of Earth that’s drawn on this map is made up of places I’ve never heard of. Connecticut is far away from where we are, all the way to the east. The sight of Portland, as far west as it could be, deadens my limbs. We can’t possibly walk that far.

  Pax’s finger trails along a wide line. “This is the road we’ve been following. Look—we can take it all the way to here before we’ll have to go north.”

  He points at a place called Salt Lake City, in a humongous area labeled Utah, but it’s still far from Portland. Looking at it makes me want to lie down and sleep. The idea of trying to travel there using our powers burbles up toward the surface again, and we’re going to have to discuss it at some point. The only thing is, I have no idea if we can control where or when we go, and Pax seems intent on not only getting back to Portland, but getting back there this winter. Then again, what’s to stop Cadi from yanking us around, assuming she’s alive and capable?

  I think of her eyes going dark, of the Wardens and the Prime’s son telling her they know she’s a traitor. Cadi might have been able to change my note, but it doesn’t seem like they’ll leave her unattended for long enough for her to orchestrate anything larger. Pax and I are on our own, but traveling is something we could maybe use to our advantage. If I can get him to try.

  “So, we keep following it.” I notice several larger names set in the big road’s path. The road called I-80. “These bigger cities should give us places to stay, at least. And maybe we’ll find more clues about how Earth used to be.”

  Pax gives me a look that’s a funny mixture of longing and disdain. “Why does that matter? I mean, what good does it do to make yourself sad about how things used to be? It’s better to accept the way things are now.”

  Irritation at his attitude finally breaks the surface, and I don’t shove it back. “Because, Pax, you heard what Cadi and Ko said, and all you have to do is look up all the Others’ previous host planets to figure out that their occupation destroys. When they decide they’re done with Earth and move on, everyone will die. All of your parents, the kids at school. Me, Lucas, Deshi. Isn’t there anyone you care about enough to try to stop that from happening?”

  “I thought you agreed—”

  “I do agree that it sounds crazy and impossible! But we don’t even have a chance if we don’t try, and to do that we have to find out why the Others want us so badly. Doesn’t their pursuit make you hopeful at all?”

  “Hopeful? No, I can’t say that idea ever entered my mind.” Bitterness freezes the words to his lips until they shatter away, scattering pain like snowflakes in the winter breeze. Pax’s anger shows up in the unnatural wind tossing his hair even though we’re protected, swishing the scent of apples and cinnamon and burning leaves into my nostrils until a sneeze threatens.

  My own impatience lifts my body temperature, spreads the sweet scent of jasmine until it collides with Pax’s spicier flavor. “I’m asking you to consider it, Pax. Consider that they might be scared. Of us.”

  It never occurred to me that they might be until the words slide from my lips. Pax’s wide eyes meet mine, and we stare at each other for a moment while the suggestion solidifies into what sounds like the truth. Cadi said the Others want to know what abilities we inherited, to study us or punish our parents with our deaths. But what if it’s more than that? What if they’re afraid that we could really undo their hold over humanity and lead an uprising against their occupation?

  Lucas and I both proved last autumn that our thoughts can somehow take down veils inside human minds. We did it on accident, and then on purpose, with varying results. We spent days wondering what we might be able to accomplish if we could find a way to wake up everyone at once, if we
could ready more than four of us to fight the Others for this planet. We could never figure out how to resolve the tiny issue that people go completely insane without the veil, at least at first.

  But Cadi pretty much said we can never reach our full potential unless we’re all together. I don’t know if Pax knows about taking down the veils, but for now, it looks as though I’ve at least convinced him to think about the potential in our lives instead of focusing on the desolation.

  “I don’t…I never thought of it like that.” Pax takes a few steps toward me, stopping a foot or so away with his hands clenched into fists at his side. He leans into my space as though he’s being pulled against his will, as though it’s almost impossible not to take that extra step and slide his skin against mine. “I’ll read your book, okay? I’ll try to see why this place might be worth saving. If we could.”

  CHAPTER 9.

  In the end, we decide it’s not safe to stay in the crumbled Cell. It’s my thought first, but it doesn’t take long for Pax to agree that if the Others are searching—and they are—that they’ll expect us to seek comfort and shelter from familiar things. Houses and Cells top that list, since they’ve stolen pretty much everything else from our world.

  Night falls as we find a place to stop and then worry over shelter. Wind that’s so strong it makes me stumble, so cold that every inch of exposed skin chaps and numbs, whistles through the fields along I-80. I’m starting to think staying at the Cell would have been worth the risk when Pax turns to me, shouting over the gale.

  “These grasses are tall enough to hide us. We could just stay along the road tonight!” His teeth clatter together, cheeks red like apples.

  I shake my head and crane my neck, preferring another option even if searching for it means staying out here longer. We need a fire, and with the wind the open fields will turn to flames in an instant if we both fall asleep. A large outcropping of rocks rises in the distance, blacker than the night. “Look! Those rocks are big; they’ll block the wind. We can maybe even find an overhang and use the blankets to close us in!”

  My throat goes raw from shouting; Pax follows my pointed finger and hears enough of my suggestion to nod and lead the way. He never looks back, even though his steps are longer than mine and I lag several paces behind, struggling against the headwind. Wolf stays at my side, appearing at home in the freezing weather. His fur sure comes in handy.

  For a while, I think my mind imagined the rocks because it takes us more than an hour to reach them. Once we do, though, we have our choice of little nooks out of the wind. The largest overhang we can locate is only about four feet deep, not offering much space, but after Pax crawls up and secures three blankets under some heavy rocks, and I do the same to anchor them to the dirt, the space at least keeps out the wind.

  While Wolf wanders away, hopefully to find dinner, Pax and I gather sticks and I start a small fire. The nice thing about our nook being so tiny is that the smoke and flames heat it up within minutes, and the lazy crackle loosens my frozen, aching muscles.

  Wolf returns with mournful eyes and empty jaws a half hour later, but Pax and I already shared cans of tuna and corn, anyway. My eyelids droop; hiking the last couple of days has been relentless, and Pax hasn’t slowed his pace for my benefit one single bit.

  Pax’s eyes rake my face as he opens a can of tuna for Wolf. “I’m going to read for a while, but you should go to sleep. You look dead on your feet, Summer.”

  He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Even though the icy wind finds its way into our makeshift shelter, I take care to nestle against Wolf and not Pax. The weird sensation that draws my body toward him disturbs me as much as it entices me, and I fear touching him once would make it impossible to stop.

  Pax seems to feel the same, always keeping an intentional distance between us. He’s clearly focused on getting to Portland, though he still hasn’t confided in me the reason why, and doesn’t seem to be distracted by the energy that flies between us without permission. Or by anything else for that matter.

  Sleep finally steals the chilly discomfort. Pax and Wolf fade away as I drift.

  Then dirt-packed walls surround me on three sides, and the world outside the open fourth wall is dark. I crawl over and look right, then left as my eyes adjust to the dimness. Tunnels reach in every direction, even up above my head and angling down in an abyss. No other alcoves like mine are in my line of sight, but I sense that I’m not alone. If I went searching down the endless hallways, I would find others.

  The thought stops me. I wouldn’t just find others. I would find Others. This is their hive, their connected mind. I know this without being told, as though the knowledge resides deep inside my blood and pumps through me with every heartbeat. I’m not really here, though; this place exists inside my head, but that doesn’t make it any less real.

  The night I realized that Lucas and I had access to their connected minds comes rushing back. When I touched one of the Wardens intent on bringing us in to the Prime, my mind connected with his and I could hear what he heard, see what he saw. They meet in here, in these tunnels, so they can communicate without being physically together. And since I am part Other, they can’t keep me out. Likewise, I suspect Fire uses the tunnels to talk to me when I’m upset or stressed.

  The alcove I find myself in must be in a corner of my mind, a place she can get to, but this is different. I’m here, and they’re here, and if they see me…I don’t know what will happen.

  All I know is that I don’t want to find out.

  Before I can figure out how to disconnect from the hive and wake up, Fire appears a step outside my alcove. A brief smile turns up her lips, revealing a beauty so stunning and intense it fills me with awe and pride. I’ve never seen her smile. She’s my mother, and even if she’s an Element and helps the Others destroy planets, part of me wants to know her. So I smile back, even though the twist in my gut says it’s dangerous. She’s dangerous.

  Fire comes into my alcove and sits beside me, putting a hand on top of mine. Our pale skin is the same warm temperature. She opens her mouth and speaks, but again, no sound accompanies her words. Frustration wrinkles her nose and she taps a finger against her lips, like she’s trying to figure out why we can’t hear each other.

  For the first time, I try my own voice, but keep it to a whisper. “Hi.”

  Tears fill her eyes at the word, which met my ears as well. I feel a strange brush of sound in my mind, akin to the soft noise a shirt makes when I whisk it over my head, and I can hear her.

  “Althea, baby.” She puts out her arms as though she wants to hug me but then drops them, unsure.

  I’m not sorry. I want to know more about her but jumping into a mother-daughter relationship like the one Anne formed with Marilla Cuthbert will take time. It might not even be possible, given what she is, but a piece of me deep inside threatens to shatter with the wanting of it. “Why am I here?”

  “You’re not. You’re asleep. We’re simply communicating through a specific part of your mind. You are a part of this hive, which is dangerous, my daughter. I love that we’re able to converse in this manner, but you should avoid this place. Let me find you from now on. The more time you spend willingly in your sinum—” She pauses, seeming to realize the word doesn’t mean anything to me, and struggles for a moment to translate. “Your bay. Pocket. At any rate, the more you are here, the bigger trace you’ll leave. It took me over four years to find you, and I’m your mother. They’ve been searching, too; they’ll find your sinum, your alcove, eventually, and then you’ll never be safe. Whenever you sleep, whenever you are not in control of your consciousness, you’ll be vulnerable.”

  “How do I know you’re not trying to trick me?”

  She tries to mask the pain that darkens her expression before answering. “It’s a fair question. I’ve…we’ve all changed. Someday I hope to tell you about Ben, your father, and how he altered me to my core, but now is not the time. Don’t come back, Althea. I’ll find you. I promise.�
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  As though she summoned them, the sound of pounding footsteps thuds in the tunnel outside my nook. She places two fingers inside my palm, heating them until the burn rips a scream from my throat. The sound is loud, and for a moment I’m sure she did it so they could find me, but my eyes open to a panicked Pax shaking me awake.

  “Summer, what’s wrong? Why’d you scream like that?”

  Sweat soaks the hair on my forehead and the back of my neck. Wolf moves away from me and watches from several feet away, head cocked to one side as he reconsiders befriending a girl who screeches in her sleep. I suck in a few deep, calming breaths as I tell myself it was just a dream, another dream about my mother, about the Others.

  Only what if it isn’t? What if they can use the hive to find me, just as Fire suggested? To find us both? The desire to tell Pax everything lights inside me, but one look at him talks me out of it. His handsome face, those blue eyes that remain so guarded, so unsure of how to react around me. The way he promised, just tonight, to rethink his convictions because of the things I said. If I tell him about my dreams, how my mother told me the Others can use them to find me, he could decide he’s better off alone. He might think my presence will betray him.

  “Althea, please tell me what’s wrong.” His voice drags over my real name, as though having to use it, to face me and what’s happening, hurts him somehow.

  It almost changes my mind. Except the idea of being alone in the middle of this big, wintery planet is the scariest thing I can imagine, infinitely more frightening than even the idea of facing the Prime’s son again, so I push a wobbly smile onto my lips. “It’s fine. A bad dream, that’s all.”

  Skepticism is at home on Pax’s face; in fact it’s the expression he chooses most often, so it’s not a surprise right now. Especially since it’s warranted. To distract him, I ask about the book, which lies on the ground at his side.