Traitor

by Alyson Santos

  “Andie, eat your dinner.”

  My stomach cramps in hunger. In guilt because I’ll consume the last bread, the last egg, while my mother goes hungry. I’ve learned not to argue.

  “Soon we’ll be able to eat together again,” I say, and she cups my face.

  “Very soon. And I promise it will be something besides toast.”

  “Shit.”

  His hostility for his screen draws my attention.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “What? Oh. Yeah.” A stiff smile accompanies a swipe at his display where I assume he’s hiding evidence I can’t see.

  “Bad news?”

  “Expected news.”

  “Anything I’ll have to file?”

  His gaze flicks to mine with a brief taunt. “Maybe.”

  “Yellow or green folder?”

  “Red.”

  I search for amusement but the light is gone. Red. Targeted reprimands.

  I’ve learned that there’s a way to watch Kaleb without his knowledge. It involves leaning against the base of the couch with a folder, legs crossed, totally casual in their support of my back. From there, I can zero in on his side of the room with barely a deviation from the assigned path to my page. Right now they I him absently rubbing a chin that needs to be shaved. Well, his superiors would think so. I wouldn’t change a thing about him in this moment. His eyes, so intense as they process whatever bombshell pulled a reaction through his typical reserve, suck me deep into his problem. I wonder about “shit” reprimands. Expected ones too, which means this is another rule he willingly broke. It’s strange: Kaleb the saint, Kaleb the lawbreaker. It doesn’t fit with the categories of men I’ve encountered in my life. I’ve seen good. I’ve seen strong. I’ve seen resilient and kind. Rebellious, enigmatic, brave, mesmerizing, and intelligent, but never in the same body. Never in such a brief window of acquaintance. Never with a smile that thins the air.

  “You sure you’re okay?” I ask, maybe so those eyes find me again.

  They do, and sure enough, oxygen rushes from the room.

  He doesn’t lie to me this time. Instead, his gaze lingers, searches me. “We live in a complicated world, Andie. Hostile and unyielding.”

  I nod, waiting for the rest. Then realize that was the rest.

  I discovered my bumpy ceiling on my first night here. It’s not stucco or concrete, but some other lumpy material that makes awesome patterns for your brain to study while it takes off each night. Tonight’s scene is a barren dessert. Specks of black try to convince me I’m watching lone wanderers fight their way across the sand, and I’m sad for them. If only they had my view. They’d know how close they are to each other. Maybe they’d come together and survive their harsh journey, but they don’t have the luxury of perspective. No, each of those stubborn specks will drown in the ocean of lumps, not knowing an identical corpse rests two hills over. I close my eyes and let my mind wander.

  There’s no knock, just the intrusive crash of a neighbor through our apartment door. Revis McDonough, eyes bulging, face contorted in fury. My thirteen-year-old brain recognizes the signs of rage, even senses the coming threat to our safe monotony. Revis has always been vocal about his sympathy for the Free Forces, but this passion is different.

  Mom intercepts him in our living room, dish towel in hand so he knows he’s interrupting.

  “Can you believe this? Now they’re dictating our jobs too!”

  “Good to see you, Revis. You were affected by the new employment directives?”

  “Affected? Fucking violated! I was an engineer. Now I’m supposed to drive a fucking bus?”

  Mom sends me to the kitchen with a look, and I duck out of sight for her sake. But Revis is too animated to ignore.

  “I can understand your frustration—”

  “Oh, really? Did they transfer you too?” Mom never appreciates my sarcasm; I can’t imagine she’s a fan of his.

  “No. I’m still a teacher. I’m older than you are, Revis. I was well above the age threshold.”

  “Exactly! How is it fair that my life gets shredded just because of my birth year?”

  “Shredded? They’re doing this to make sure every role is filled and every family has a chance to survive. Do you know how many people are starving in 12 since the rebels took Region 10 and cut off supplies? With the new structure, people will be able to eat.”

  “That’s bullshit!”

  “No, you’re being selfish.”

  “And you’re being weak! You’re complacent, Marta. You’re the reason they’re walking all over us.”

  “I think you should go.”

  “Gladly. I came to say goodbye. I’m heading to Region 10 where I can make a difference.” The scalp through his thinning hair is blotched with pink as he stomps toward the door.

  “You’re joining the Free Forces?”

  “Those government bastards need to be held accountable for their tyranny.”

  “‘Those bastards’ are your friends and family, Revis. Don’t you see how wrong it is that we’re fighting each other? Over what?”

  “Oppression!”

  “By whose definition? You know when I felt ‘oppressed’? When I had to look my daughter in the eye and explain there’d be no food that day. I’m sorry you don’t want to drive a bus, but I’m not sorry my daughter isn’t starving anymore.”

  “Whatever,” he snaps, and pride swells through my chest. I love watching the intimidating Revis McDonough slink away in defeat.

  “You can come out now, Andie.” Her stern expression fades into concern at my timid approach. “You know this war is complicated, right? It’s much easier to see black and white, but it’s rarely the truth.”

  I nod and examine the vacant doorway like it still contains the ranting silhouette of our neighbor.

  “Which side are we on?” I ask.

  She slips her arm around my waist and studies the same ghost. “Hopefully neither.”

  Face shielded by his screen, Kaleb barely acknowledges me the following morning. His brief hello does nothing to soothe my imagination, which spent our time apart manufacturing disturbing scenarios. Wondering how his complicated, hostile, and unyielding world compares to mine. It’s hard to care about someone you don’t know. Someone who seems intent on making sure you never do.

  “I made friends yesterday,” I say, hoping to trigger a conversation I actually want to have. His head tilts away when I take my place by the filing cabinets, and I don’t like that I still haven’t seen his eyes.

  “Ethan and the gang from Floor 3?”

  My stare intensifies. “How did you know?”

  “I see you sitting with them at meals.”

  “Wait, you’re at our meals? I’ve never seen you.”

  “Were you looking for me, Sorenson?”

  At least he can’t see the burn in my cheeks. “No. I just—”

  “I stop in when I can to make sure everything is running smoothly.”

  “Right. Supervisor and all that.”

  His smile slips toward me, and I freeze.

  “Kaleb…” It comes out as a whisper as he reverts to his screen.

  “Don’t, Andie.” The hand is back, blocking my view of the fresh welt around his eye. “If you’re interested in Ethan, watch out for Carla. They’ve been a unit for a while.”

  I don’t have any words about Carla. Ethan. Fucking lunchtime drama. “What happened to your face?”

  He shrugs, and I push into his line of sight. No hiding now. Even so, his gaze remains fixed on the monitor. His collar rests high, jacket on and secured despite the stuffiness of the small room. “A fight. No big deal.”

  His clenched fists don’t support that theory, and the red folder of reprimands screams at me from somewhere in the office.

  “Was this related to that hearing?�
��

  Green embers shoot to me, burning with answers I won’t get. “I said it was a fight.”

  “But—”

  “No. Just—” He holds up his hand, preventing any more unearned protests.

  I swallow them, but my question doesn’t go away in the silence that follows, his reaction. It’s too painful. “How long have you been a building supervisor?”

  “A few months.”

  “Why a desk when there’s so much fighting going on?”

  “It’s where I was assigned.”

  “That’s not a real answer.”

  He finds me staring, still tracing the purple and red streaks scaling his face. “You ask a lot of questions.”

  “Because I like facts.”

  “I’m learning that.” He returns my scrutiny, lips rocking into a curl. “Come here.”

  I approach slowly and release my breath when his eyes tinge with humor. “Are you afraid of me, Sorenson?”

  “What?”

  “You look ready to pass out. You just don’t like me, is that it?”

  “No!” Crap. I feel the force of my reaction in my face again.

  He hands me a folder. “Here. Days’ worth of facts for you.”

  I skim the first page. “Protocols?”

  “For the operation and maintenance of Refugee Residential Buildings. If you’re going to be my assistant, you need to know what I know.”

  I’d laugh if I weren’t so excited. “Thank you. I…”

  His expression melts in amusement. “Well. First time I was ever thanked for a four-hundred-page encyclopedia of rules.”

  I grin. “Well, this is the first time you’ve had Andie Sorenson as an assistant.”

  “Walk with me, Sorenson, I want to show you something.” Kaleb is already at the door. Desk lamp off, powerful body filling the dark space of the door frame. The bruise around his eye has faded into the soft yellows and greens of a reminder of the story I’m not allowed to know.

  “What about lunch?”

  “Here.”

  He holds out a sandwich, and I cringe.

  “Wait, this isn’t your ration again, is it?”

  “Why do you worry so much about my diet?”

  “I don’t want you to be hungry.” I don’t like eating alone.

  He softens as he studies me. “Fine, we’ll share it. Now, quit being insubordinate and hurry while everyone else is at the dining hall.”

  I forget about the sandwich as he leads me out of Building 9B and down a stone path. This place shouldn’t be beautiful. Before my relocation I had assumed the state-run refugee compounds were a canvas of concrete, but this brick village screams of a past we all regret. Back to a time before this civil war that’s redefining our world. Back to a moment when we still had choices.

  “This used to be a university,” Kaleb tells me. “Building 9B was a dorm building.”

  For the first time in a while, my attention diverts from the walking puzzle to my right. I’ve seen some of this scenery in my short time here, but it’s different now that it has a history. Now that its story has evolved the same way as mine. I love the idea that this was a school. It reminds me of freedom and idealistic youth. I’m young, but void of aspiration. Our parents got to dream; our lives are survival. I wonder what it would be like to have possibilities.

  “It’s beautiful,” I breathe, because it is when I look past what is to what was. I feel his eyes, and we exchange a smile as I try to match his brisk pace, drawn by the sudden youth in his expression. I’m not sure of his age, but I know he should be a lot younger than he is. My heart staggers at the glimpse of what he could have been. What if Kaleb Novelli had choices?

  “Where are we going?”

  “There,” he says with a point to the glass building on our left.

  “A greenhouse?”

  “Come on.”

  He ducks through the entrance and waves me in.

  Warm, misty air blasts me into a maze of plants where the earthy scent of life wraps me in a calming embrace. The building is mostly empty, except for an occasional soldier who exchanges a greeting with Kaleb. Apparently, the clandestine nature of our field trip wasn’t about getting in trouble as much as having exclusive access to these treasures.

  “We try to grow all of our own food in-house.”

  “Vi was assigned to the greenhouse. It’s so beautiful.”

  “Yeah? You asking for a transfer, Sorenson?”

  Never.

  “Here,” he says, stopping before a patch of pointy leaves.

  “Is that…?”

  “Mint, yes. Real mint.” He removes a leaf for me to inspect.

  I tickle my nose with the precious gift and breathe in old memories. High hopes and strong laughter. Two things I’ve lost in the years since my mother and I made catnip tea. My gaze claws through a veil of tears in search of shining green eyes.

  “Thank you, Kaleb…”

  He winks and motions toward the exit. “We’ll do tea another time. We should get back.”

  I carefully press the mint leaf under my mattress to preserve it.

  That’s what you do with hope.

  “This is your third warning, Novelli. Next time it’s a written reprimand.”

  I shrink to the wall outside the door at the unexpected venom from Kaleb’s office.

  “It’s bullshit, Sergeant. They can’t make me do this forever.”

  “Actually, they can, and the more you resist, the more aggressive they’ll get. Don’t you understand? You need to stop fighting them on this!”

  “It’s such a joke.”

  “Kaleb.”

  “Fine. But two sessions a week? You know what happened at my last one.”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry, but—”

  “It’s total bullshit!”

  “Even so, only they know the truth. To everyone else—”

  “So tell them I’m over it. Then what can they do?”

  “Dammit, Kaleb. You were held prisoner and tortured for thirty-four days. Thirty-four fucking days! You don’t just ‘get over it.’ You don’t think they know that?”

  My stomach twists at the pause. Crumples at Kaleb’s quiet response. “I know, but… God, I just can’t do it anymore.”

  Silence. My nails dig into my palms.

  “What’s your plan, Lance Corporal? They won’t let you off the hook because you say you’re okay. Your chest and back are covered in scars. Hell, they had to rebuild your face.”

  Still no response.

  The sergeant’s voice softens. “Your leg was so mangled that they had to cut it off.”

  Kaleb lets out a curse. “I get it.”

  “Do you? Because I don’t want to be back here next week handing you a summons. You’re a good man, Novelli. You’ve sacrificed more in this war than anyone should ever face and I’m tired of watching you fall over this stupid bullshit. Make up whatever damn story you want, but you need to go.”

  “I said I understand.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “Dammit! Fine, I’ll go. I’m going.”

  “Good. See you afterwards for a beer?”

  “Sure.”

  Footsteps clap toward the door, and I scurry away to feign a late arrival. An officer in his forties nearly runs me over as he marches through the exit. His features are forgettable, but not the expression on his face before it hardens when he sees me.

  “You. You’re Lance Corporal Novelli’s new assistant?”

  I use all my strength to cover my intimidation. It doesn’t leave much left to pretend I didn’t just have my heart ripped out. “Yes, sir.”

  I sense the critique knitting together in his head as he scans me. “Don’t let him down.”

  “I won’t, sir.”

  “Also, y
ou’re late.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”

  “Good.” With that, he disappears into the dark corridor, leaving me alone with my paralysis.

  There are so many reasons why I shouldn’t be standing here with these thoughts pounding through my head. Pity for something I know nothing about. A person I barely know. None of that conversation made sense to me and yet somehow it’s changed everything.

  When I enter his office, my heart constricts at Kaleb’s struggle to put the past conversation behind him. I’ve never had such a strong reaction to a forced smile before. Covered in scars?

  “Glad you’re getting a chance to eat breakfast now,” he says, and I reward his efforts with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.

  “At our first meal, Vi guessed they were going to feed us nothing but gruel in here. I’m happy to report gruel is only on the menu for breakfast.”

  His attempt at sympathy makes it all worse. Reconstructed face. “It’s no gourmet feast, that’s for sure, but at least it’s packed with nutrients. Think of it as a super gruel.”

  “Super gruel? I’ll try to make it stick.”

  Lost leg.

  He pushes up from his desk and joins me in my circle of piles.

  “I went through these thoroughly after you left yesterday. I’m impressed, Sorenson. You’re going to make me look good when you’re finished.”

  “That’s my goal. I’m hoping by the time we clock out today, I can have all of them in those fancy cabinets.”

  “That would be great. Although, we’ll have to quit an hour early. I have an appointment this afternoon.”

  “Therapy?” I blurt out, because I’m a terrible eavesdropper. I kick myself when his expression darkens.

  “What?”

  I can’t face him. Thirty-four days!

  “How much did you hear?” he continues, his eyes boring into me when I venture up to meet them.

  “I’m sorry.” I squeeze mine shut. “I arrived early. You were in a meeting, and I didn’t want to interrupt. I was waiting outside, and I—”

  “Andie, stop. It’s okay.” He sinks to the couch. “It’s not like it’s a secret.”

  I study his hands. I try to imagine them holding a weapon, killing a person, anything to distract me from this compassion that grips me. Makes me forget I’m his prisoner.