The First Twenty

by Jennifer Lavoie

  “So you made the decision?” Nixie asked, marveling when Avery nodded an affirmative. Yet another thing that differed between her people and the Settlers. “When two people are old enough, Faulkner makes the decision.”

  “Faulkner is your leader?”

  “Yes. He…well he wants the best for us.” At least, that’s what she’d grown up believing. But why couldn’t they decide who they wanted to be with? Avery was right. And what if I don’t want to be with a man? Faulkner can’t force me.

  “Sometimes those who think they know what’s best for us don’t really,” Avery said gently. She pushed herself up from the bed and picked up a pile of the clothing. “Let’s bring this back to your place.”

  “Oh! I can get that.” Nixie popped up, taking the pile from Avery and adding it to those she’d left behind. She followed the woman out of the apartment.

  They lived on the third floor, so Nixie followed her up the steep stairs to the fourth floor. It took Avery some time to get up them, and Nixie briefly wondered if she should be doing it, but Avery insisted she was fine. By the time she got to the top floor she breathed a little heavier, but then, so did Nixie. She was not used to stairs of any sort. “Thank you, Avery. I appreciate what you’ve done for me.”

  “What, letting you borrow clothes?” She laughed. “It’s nothing! They don’t fit me anymore, so what’s the point of holding on to them.”

  “But once you have the baby you’ll need them.”

  “Not for a while. Besides, you need them now.” Avery opened the door to Graham’s apartment and Nixie followed her in, stunned. These people shared their resources. They worked together to make their lives better. They even had forms of recreation that her people couldn’t begin to imagine.

  Why hadn’t she seen through Faulkner’s self-serving lies before? If she had, if they all had, perhaps Enrique wouldn’t have had to die…

  *

  Four days out of Dr. Easton’s care and Nixie was already making herself useful. Peyton watched from the second-floor window of her office as Nixie followed Graham and two other foragers back into the complex. She was talking animatedly, with her hands waving, and Graham had a fond look on his face. Clearly, she’d already worked her way into his heart. Not that it was hard to do—with Graham, anyway. Peyton had to admit the girl had her charms. She was incredibly petite, barely clearing Peyton’s shoulders, which had to put her at just above five feet, if that. And if her diminutive stature wasn’t distracting enough, once Dr. Easton had cleaned her up and she’d put on Avery’s clothing, she was downright beautiful.

  Pity she was a Scavenger.

  Peyton continued to watch their progress across the courtyard when Nixie looked up at the very window she stood in. Peyton didn’t have enough time to duck out of the way. The Scavenger paused before waving. Without thinking about what she was doing, Peyton lifted her hand in a wave.

  “Have you heard a single word I said?” Willow asked from her seat.

  Peyton cringed inwardly and turned from the window to see her friend lounging in her own chair rather than the one for visitors. “Sorry, I was distracted.”

  “I couldn’t tell,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Who were you waving at?” When Peyton didn’t answer fast enough, Willow jumped up and peered out the window herself. She gasped. “The Scavenger? Seriously? You’ve got it bad.”

  “What have I got bad?”

  “Don’t play dumb. You like her.”

  Peyton snorted. There was no way she liked her. Okay, so maybe she had been thinking about how beautiful she was before Willow interrupted her, but that didn’t mean she liked her. She could simply appreciate beauty where she saw it. “Get back to work.”

  “I’ve been trying to. Anyway, the reports are in from last night. Julian said someone tried to get into the building. He and Bill were on their rounds and they heard noise by that storeroom. You know, the one they first broke into.”

  That got Peyton’s attention. “Did they see who it was?”

  “No, but Julian is sure it’s the same people as before. I mean, what are the odds of them targeting that same place?”

  “Do you think they didn’t get whatever it was they were after?”

  “It’s possible. Or they came back for the girl.”

  Peyton frowned.

  “You’re not going to tell her, are you?”

  Would she tell her? No. What was the point? They were just getting her settled in. News of last night’s break-in attempt would remain with those who ran the Mill, and regardless of how well she seemed to be fitting in, Nixie wasn’t one of them.

  *

  “I want to go with you into the city,” Nixie said from Peyton’s doorway.

  The young guard looked up at her, eyes widening. “You what?”

  “You heard me. I can help. I’m pretty sure I could lead you back to the place.”

  Peyton pushed aside what she had been working on and folded her hands on the desk. “I haven’t even decided whether or not we’re going.”

  “You will. I talked to Static yesterday, and I know I can help.”

  Peyton sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers. Nixie stepped into the room, taking a seat without being invited. Peyton’s long hair had escaped its ponytail, and the disheveled look suited her. It made her look softer somehow, approachable. Nixie tried to ignore the feelings it stirred in her stomach as she shifted in the uncomfortable folding chair.

  “I could kill him,” Peyton said after a few moments of silence.

  “If it helps any, he didn’t come talk to me. I talked to him. He seems so sure that it will work, and well, I want to be of some help.”

  “Why?”

  Nixie looked down at her hands. She’d folded them in her lap, fingers twisted together. “I want you to be able to trust me.” She needed to get back to her people, to tell Ranger what she’d learned. It was clear now that Faulkner needed to be replaced, and the only one strong enough to do it was Ranger. She could ask Peyton to let her leave, but she doubted the girl would be so willing to just let her walk away. Maybe, if her own people hadn’t killed Peyton’s father, she would have. But now, Nixie knew she had to further prove herself.

  Or create the opportunity.

  “Again, why?” Peyton asked, pulling her from her musing. “You’ve only been here, what, two weeks now? Why would you want to help Static?”

  “He’s different. Like me.”

  “Static has been with us since…well, for as long as I can remember.”

  “Yes,” Nixie said leaning back in the chair. “And everyone ignores him. He doesn’t have a role here, not a real one. Just like me.”

  Peyton barked out a short, almost-bitter laugh. “The situation is hardly the same. His job is to work on his radios. He doesn’t do well with anything else, trust me. He can’t concentrate enough to be useful. He almost got himself killed as a hunter. He nearly killed everyone else when he picked water hemlock instead of wild carrots during his stint as a forager. And as a guard?” She snorted and Nixie could only imagine what he’d done.

  “How can he do his job at all if he doesn’t have the right equipment?”

  “The radios are unfixable, Nixie. Far more experienced people have tried—”

  “Maverick,” Nixie interjected.

  Peyton pierced her with a questioning stare.

  “Graham told me,” she said. “And Static may not be Maverick, but who’s to say his instincts are wrong? If he’s right and he fixes the radios, he will prove himself useful, right? If he doesn’t, you’ll be no worse off. So let me help. Just let Static try. It can’t hurt.” Nixie didn’t give her the time to say anything. She just stood and walked back across the room to the door. She had almost passed completely through when she looked back over her shoulder. “By the way, Graham wants you to eat dinner with us tonight.” She smiled. “He said something about you not eating right.” As she retreated, she heard a faint laugh, and her smile widened.

&n
bsp; Maybe the big, tough guard wasn’t so tough after all.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  When Nixie opened the door rather than Graham, Peyton was thrown off for a moment, and she nearly turned back with an apology before Graham walked by in the background, carrying a casserole dish.

  “Graham just finished making dinner,” Nixie told her as she opened the door wider to admit her. Peyton could only nod in response and step across the threshold.

  It wasn’t seeing Nixie there that threw her off. Not really. It was seeing her in the flowing, soft coral dress that fell just short of her knees. Tongue-tied, Peyton blurted, “Why are you wearing a dress?” and then bit the inside of her cheek before she said anything else ridiculous. What the hell is wrong with me?

  Nixie looked down before twirling. “Avery pretty much demanded I take it, and I didn’t want to disappoint her.” A faint blush colored her cheeks, mirroring what Peyton was sure colored her own—although, if the burning in her face was any indication, hers was about ten shades brighter. “What was wrong with what you were wearing before?” Peyton asked, and then winced. You are not allowed to talk the rest of the night. She wanted to curse herself for being so blunt.

  Graham came to her rescue—sort of—at that moment. “I suggested she wear it tonight. A sort of formal dinner party. I should have told you to dress up, too.”

  Peyton glanced down at her patched jeans and faded T-shirt before she regained her composure and rolled her eyes. “As if I have anything fancy like that.”

  “Well, it’s the thought that counts,” he said and gestured toward the table. “Let’s eat before everything gets cold.”

  Sitting at Graham’s table for the first time since Dad’s death felt strange, especially with Nixie sitting in what used to be his favorite seat, right by the window. Every so often he would glance out to see what was happening, and Nixie did the same thing. After Nixie’s third glance out the window, she caught Peyton staring. “Do I have something on my face?” she asked, reaching up to wipe it away.

  Peyton shook her head. “No, sorry.” She paused, dismissing several excuses in an instant before deciding to be honest. “Just thinking about my dad. He used to sit there.” The slow burn of anger over his senseless death bloomed in her chest, like reopening a wound. She struggled to push it away. She wanted to enjoy her dinner tonight.

  Nixie looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s not like you did it.” Peyton turned away from Nixie to look at the spread before them. Graham had put together a simple casserole with zucchini noodles, tomatoes, peppers, and other vegetables either grown on the farms or foraged. The food was something she was familiar with. Graham had called it comfort food before, and she supposed it was that.

  Nixie carefully scooped some of the casserole onto her fork, looking at it for a moment, before carefully, almost reverently lifting the fork to her mouth. Her lips closed around the food slowly, and as soon as they did, her eyes slipped shut. She even chewed slowly, taking her time with each bite, as if savoring it. Watching Nixie eat was like watching the ground soak up the water during a gentle rainstorm. Peyton realized she was staring again, but she’d never seen a person eat like that before, as if each bite was the best thing she’d ever tasted.

  Under the table, Graham kicked her and she let out a low grunt. She tossed him a glare, and when she looked back at Nixie, the girl was watching her.

  “Graham’s a pretty good cook, so you’re lucky you’re staying with him,” Peyton managed, taking quick bites and filling her mouth with food so she wouldn’t have to speak.

  Nixie nodded. “He is. We don’t have anything like this at my camp. It’s so basic.” She frowned and put her fork down.

  “What’s wrong?” Despite having a mouthful of food, she spoke around it anyway, earning her a sigh from Graham. She flashed him a look of apology.

  “Nothing, really,” Nixie said. “It’s just…every time I eat a meal here, I think of how little we have. The food here is like art. Everything is special.”

  Peyton swallowed her food and laughed. “It’s just a casserole. I hated them as a kid. It was practically all Dad could make.”

  “Peyton,” Graham warned. But of what, she couldn’t tell.

  She took another bite of her food and waved the fork, gesturing toward the dish. “What? It’s true. It’s like, the easiest dish someone can make. You take out a bunch of crap, throw it together, and you have food.”

  Nixie shoved back her chair and stood abruptly. “Just a bunch of crap? It’s that easy? It would be, for a Settler like you,” she spat. “When you have working ovens and electricity. We don’t have that luxury.”

  Peyton stared at her, mouth open at the fire in her eyes.

  “You take everything you have for granted. You don’t have to struggle for anything. And you think you’re all better than us?” Nixie laughed, but it was full of venom rather than humor. “You’re nothing but a bunch of pampered, self-absorbed, selfish—”

  “Nixie, that’s enough.” Graham cut her off calmly, not even looking up from his meal. Peyton gaped at him as Nixie listened. She turned, excused herself, and stormed out of the room. Footsteps thundered on the stairs and reminded Peyton of her own angry outbursts when she was a child.

  Something about that memory made her want to laugh, but the look on Graham’s face cut it short. “What?” she asked. “You heard what she called us. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “She’s right.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We are pampered. We certainly have more than her people do. We should be grateful.”

  “You’re joking. Come on, Graham! They could have it, too, but they stay out there and steal.”

  “Maybe some do, but we don’t know all of the circumstances, do we?”

  “So now you side with the Scavengers? The people who killed Dad?”

  “That’s not it.” He paused, then said, “Having her stay with me has been an enlightening experience. We’ve learned a lot from each other. Maybe it’s time for you to learn from her, too.”

  Peyton scoffed at the idea, but without much passion behind it. Why had she picked a fight? It could’ve been a nice evening with good food and good company, but something triggered her. The more she replayed it, the worse she felt. As Graham finished his last bite of the casserole and picked up both his dish and hers—even though she wasn’t finished—she hung her head and sighed. “Okay, fine. What should I do?”

  “What a normal human being would do. Talk to her.”

  *

  A knock on Nixie’s doorframe alerted her to the presence she couldn’t see. Since she hadn’t heard Graham’s heavy footsteps on the stairs, she knew it could only be one other person.

  “Go away,” she said into her pillow. Funny how she had already started to consider this room as hers, even though everything was borrowed and her stay temporary.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “Well, I don’t want to talk to you.”

  Peyton laughed, and not the cruel laugh like at the table, but one of pure amusement. “You sound like Jasper when he’s upset with me or Willow.”

  “So people being upset with you is a common event, then?”

  A moment of hesitation. “You could say that.”

  Footsteps creaked on the floor in her room but stopped once they reached the center. She turned her head to stare at the white walls. “If you’re here because Graham told you to talk to me, then just go. It’s a waste of our time.”

  “I know, but I’m off for the rest of the evening and he knows it. So I guess I have to stay here for a little while at least. Make it seem like we’re patching things up.”

  “Then I guess you’d better sit or something.”

  Footsteps and a creak as Peyton settled into a patched-up chair in the corner of the room. “I have to say, your exit wasn’t bad. You get points for style.”

  Nixie reluctantly sat up and turned to look at her. �
�It felt kind of nice to storm away to my room. I never had my own room.”

  “Never?”

  She shook her head and found herself talking, even though she was still angry. “We have…tents, sort of, but we share them as families. I shared one with my mother.”

  “Tents aren’t that bad. We use them when we go out for days at a time.”

  “Try living in one permanently.”

  A pause. “You said your mother died, so don’t you have your own tent now?”

  “It’s not really the same as having my own space. My shelter is open to most of the others. It’s hard to describe.” She struggled to put the words together, to make Peyton understand. “You have walls. Solid walls. We don’t. So even when we’re separated, we’re together. I may not be able to see everyone else, but I can hear everything they do, and sometimes that’s just even more invasive than seeing.”

  Peyton frowned, leaning over and resting her elbows on her knees. She rubbed her hands together, back and forth. The slide of her palms made a soft rustling sound. “I guess that could be rough. I like my privacy.”

  “I hardly know what that is.”

  Silence lapsed between them, but the tension disappeared. Nixie felt oddly at ease with Peyton in her room, even though she’d been furious with her moments before. Even if she did make ignorant comments, she was at least trying, right? Nixie swung her legs off the edge of the bed. “You know, before this I’d never slept on a mattress.”

  “Seriously? What do you sleep on?”

  Nixie shrugged. “Whatever we can scavenge.” She smiled, but there wasn’t much joy in it. “Guess that’s why you call us Scavengers, huh?”

  “Look, maybe I was wrong. A bit,” Peyton said, hanging her head. Her eyes focused on the ground and even when Nixie stood, her eyes never wavered.

  “About what?”

  “About you. Some of you. I mean, you can’t be all bad, right?” She jerked her head up and winced. “I’m sorry, that came out so wrong. Let me try that again. Whatever you were doing here, you had your reasons. You’re just trying to survive. Our people just have different methods.”