Infraction
Page 20
She pushes the hair out of her eyes. It's long enough now to be bothersome, just long enough to touch the tops of her ears. She looks annoyed by it, but I know she'll keep growing it out until it's her black waterfall again. Her face is radiant as she turns to me.
“Terra!” she calls, waving. Then she sees Madge, still trying to find a way up. “The ladder there, those rungs.”
Madge smiles and climbs, turning to offer a hand to Kai. Kai grunts and hefts herself up, having to turn to the side so her belly doesn't hit the rungs. Dave approaches the sub, still clutching Mary tight to him.
I look back to the runway and the flames, but I don't see any figures silhouetted by the fire, and I think our luck has finally changed. My friends will all get away.
“What's wrong with her?” Jessa says. I look up. Dave is trying to get an unconscious Mary up the ladder.
“She's shot!”
Jessa's brow furrows, and she disappears from the hatch.
“Is that your sister?” Jack asks. I nod. “I never knew you had a sister.”
I'm not sure if Jack intends it this way, but it comes out as an accusation. I hear the layers of meaning—the things I've kept from him, the lies I've inadvertently told. My stomach hits bottom when I see the pain in his eyes. I love him, but he doesn't know it. I haven't let him know it; I haven't done enough. The realization hits me and I stagger back. I have to tell him. I have to show him.
I muster my courage and take two steps forward through the water swirling around our legs. The cold bites into me, but I ignore it, hearing only my heart beating for him. He watches me warily. Then I kiss him. He's stiff against me, his lips hard. I thought the water was cold, but the way he's so unyielding now chills me to the bone. This is too little too late. I know that and he does too.
Jessa appears with a sheet. She tells to Dave to use it as a sling, wrap it around Mary, and together they'll hoist her up. I watch the slow process in a fog, watch Dave gently wrap the fabric around her limp body, touching her so tenderly my heart breaks with it. I watch Jack turn from me, his eyes steely. He climbs the ladder, Lily's arm still wrapped around his neck as she uses her good leg. I watch him climb farther away from me. If only I could say something, but I can't say anything now. I don't think it would matter.
Jane wraps her arms around me and hugs me tightly, more tightly than I ever would have dreamed she had the strength for. “Thanks, Terra.” There are tears in her eyes, and she doesn't dash them away like I've seen so many times before. They linger on her cheeks and shine like crystal. She climbs the ladder.
“Come on!” she yells, beckoning me forward.
I shake my head and step back.
“What are you doing?”
I can't ever explain to her why I'm staying. Sure, there's the easy reason: there's no room on the sub. Gaea and Jessa will be quick to tell her that too many bodies equals not enough food, not enough oxygen. But my real reasons would take far too long to explain. Life down in the colony is too crushing for me. Here there might be terror, but I'm breathing fresh air, and I still haven't gotten my fill of that yet. And bigger still: I can't see Jack every day and know how much I've hurt him; I'm still not ready to face my mother; I could never go back to my father. There are still so many things I don't know how to make right. There's no time for such words. Jane must see some of it in my face, though, because she closes her mouth into a half-smile, nods once, and disappears into the hatch.
Then Jessa comes up. She tosses me a pack. “You'll need this.”
I smile. She guessed before this night even happened that I wouldn't be coming. I thread my arms through the straps.
“I've missed you.” Her eyes are wistful and shiny.
I love you, I mouth. She smiles brilliantly.
“Don't know when I'll see you next, but I'll say see you later anyway.”
I grin at her optimism. Jessa never let me down.
She waves and then pulls the hatch closed behind her. It snaps in place, and the sub slips beneath the surface, with only a few bubbles and the eerie blue light to let me know it was here.
I wade out of the surf and finally slump to my knees in the sand, the damp soaking through my pants and shivering me all over, but I hardly register the cold. Jack left. It's my fault for not telling him. Love is too important to wait for the right moment, to wait for what might never come. I needed to make the time. I see that now, and I touch my lips where they pressed against his. The rest of me is cold, but my lips are on fire. I hope to remember the taste of him for the rest of my life.
I wipe my nose and my eyes with the cuff of my sleeve and blink the tears away. I tighten the pack's straps on my shoulders and take in my surroundings. The fire in the hangars is shrinking, and billows of smoke plume toward the sky as the soldiers douse the blaze. I don't have much time left before they realize there are no dead bodies. The forest reaches to the north, beckoning me with its green fingers. I know the woods. They're the closest thing I have to a friend right now. The best of my time on the Burn was spent in this sprawling forest with Jack.
I sprint to the woods but not out of fear. I have no fear of the soldiers or the agents and the physical pain they can inflict. They can't take anything from me now. Jack is gone; my friends are on their way to the colony. I'm running because the only thing I have left to lose now is my freedom. Again. After losing that for so many weeks, I know its value.
I jog through the spindly trees. Gradually they thicken into huge evergreens. I run through a wild marshy area that's crusty with frost. The running pounds a rhythm into my head, the constant thud, thud, thud of my heart and my feet helping me forget what I chose to leave at the water's edge. As soon as I'm under thick cover, maybe a mile from the beach, I sit down against a tree and unzip the pack. There's a plastic bag on top with a note stuck to it.
Cut out your tracker.
I open the bag and find a scalpel. From Gaea, obviously. She knew just as Jessa did that I wouldn't be coming back. Just as she knew she could never really leave the colony, she knew that I could never leave the Burn. We're both cowards in a way. Neither of us can face our pain.
She's right about the tracker. The idea that's been floating around my head would never work with a tracker. Just under the scalpel lies a capped syringe. Anesthetic is written on it with marker. How thoughtful. She doesn't want me to feel it. But the thought of feeling something, anything right now beside the heartache and loss wins over. There's a roll of gauze in the bag. At least I won't have to use clothes for a bandage.
I grit my teeth as I take the blade. I bite down on a pair of socks from the pack as I place the tip of the scalpel carefully at one end of the lump. I'm shaking so hard from cold and sadness that the point wavers and I draw blood in about five different spots before I slump back against the tree, take a deep breath to steady myself, and try again. Better this time. At least my hand isn't trembling. I bite the socks harder as I slice through my flesh. Then I use the scalpel tip to fish out the tracker. The tears slide down my cheeks before I can stop them. And once they start, I don't just cry for my aching arm, but also for Jack and for my friends who are gone forever now. I cry until my eyes are blurry and I can't clearly see what I'm doing anymore.
I use two butterfly sutures to close the wound and then wrap it with the length of gauze. The blood spots through the layers of cotton, but it doesn't spread. I cut out the tracker shallowly, carefully—the way Jack would if he were doing it for me. I hold the sliver of metal and computer guts between two fingers and watch the small blue light flash off and on, off and on. This is the last time the agents will know where I am. I place the tracker on a stone, and then crush it under the heel of my shoe. Small shards of glass glint in the moonlight, and the blue light flickers to nothing. I'm now as free as I'll ever be here.
I dig through the pack, find a sweatshirt, and pull it over my head. I lean back against the tree that's nothing but skinny trunk and tangled branches. For the first time in weeks, I'm surrounded by
silence. There's nothing but the wind singing through the trees. It's too quiet.
I'm up and running again before I realize it, finding my rhythm again, listening to my blood and my footfalls. I think of my idea, the only thing that can keep my mind off of what I've lost.
Could I get Gaea to send another sub? And could I find more people to put on it?
Chapter Twenty-one
I slow to a steady trot. After the weeks in the labor camp, I've lost the endurance I gained through the months in the woods with Jack. My arm throbs, and I'm tempted to pull out the syringe of anesthetic. I'd better save it though. There could be worse things ahead than slicing out a tracker just a few millimeters under my skin. The blood pulses through me, hot and heavy with every step, and it pounds in my wound, reminding me of what I've lost. Again.
My sister. The settlement. Jack.
I've lost and lost for the Burn. It was the decision I made all those months ago. Maybe five by now? I've lost count. There's so much I've paid to be here, but is it worth it? The answer will always be yes. Yes and yes again. My heart aches with loss and yet that's what makes me alive. I never felt so much until I had my feet firmly on the ground. I never knew there was so much to feel.
I wander northeast and by the time sunlight filters through the trees and turns everything green-gray, I think I'm about fifteen miles away from the beach. Maybe ten or eleven from the labor camp. I hope it's far enough to be safe.
I keep walking.
There's something driving me, pushing me on. There's a goal that tingles in the back of my mind, but it hasn't surfaced into full consciousness yet. I'll know it when I see it.
The sweatshirt keeps me warm, despite my breath that fogs in front of me. I tuck my numb fingers into the sleeves, and in a few minutes they tingle as they warm up. The ground is iced in frost. No snow, thank goodness. Jack and I could have dealt with snow together, but by myself it could be deadly. I know what I'm capable of alone and I know what I can do with help. That's probably one of the most valuable things I've learned.
I can barely make out the watery sun in between breaks in the trees when I see the first scanner. I know they've been here, but it's been too dark and shadowy to make them out. I shy away from it at first until I realize there's no way they can see me now. And I won't let them cow me with fear. That's happened too much. Not anymore.
I walk right by the scanner without a second glance, and that liberates me so much that I can finally smile. I start to hum. Singing's no longer an option, of course, but I can hum. I find my mind wandering back to a fire-lit night in the forest when I was surrounded by friends, and Sam's lovely tenor drifted up into the trees. Amazing Grace. I should be more careful, but I suspect the agents and soldiers are concentrating their efforts to the south. By myself I made more ground than they ever would have dreamed.
I play the words to the song over and over in my head as the music flows from my lips. It's a good song for humming, a simple clear melody.
I have nothing but myself to listen to now, and though I wish Jack were next to me, matching his stride to mine, humming along with me, catching my hand as we walk, I feel free knowing it's just me. It won't last long. When the grief really hits—and it will, soon—I'll be crippled for a while. I know what the price is for feeling so much.
When my stomach grumbles at me, I sit against a tree and unzip the pack, rifling through it to see what Gaea provided me with. She may not have been much of a mother, but the instinct is still there. Energy bars and dehydrated food, water pouches, first-aid supplies, an emergency blanket, clothes, extra underwear. A toothbrush. Oh, a toothbrush. I haven't brushed my teeth in days. I squeeze a stripe of toothpaste on and brush my teeth as I walk. I've never brushed my teeth so long in my life. I hum through the brushes, and some foam dribbles down my chin. I laugh, wipe it away, and keep walking.
Northeast. My inner compass keeps me on course.
When night falls, I stow my pack up a tree and pull the emergency blanket from the pack and wrap myself in it. It crinkles but keeps me warm, and I lie listening to the sound of wind tiptoeing through the tree branches. There isn't much animal life out this time of year, and the woods are pretty quiet. The wind's lullaby sings me to sleep.
In the morning I keep walking, and the trees start to look familiar. There should be a creek just over that small hill. When I find it, I break through the ice that's formed around the slow-moving edges and fill my canteen. I'm close. I can feel it.
An hour later, I find the cabin—the one Jack and I found the sleeping bags in, the one with the rug that gave me Mary and Dave's wedding ring. It's even more cold and barren than when we stopped here, but to me it looks like home. I go inside and rifle through the cupboards. Still all the same. There's a creak I don't remember when I step on one of the floor boards, though, and when I bend to examine it, I find I can lift it. Three other boards come up with it, and inside the dark hiding hole, there's an axe, a tin of matches, a can of oil for a lamp. Funny and providential things to keep from sight. Now I can get firewood.
I spend the rest of the afternoon finding small trees to cut down. It's all I can manage to hack down three of the smallest, and I'm sweaty and exhausted by the time I'm done. I don't want to leave the wood outside where it could get wet, so I stack it neatly against the wall opposite the fireplace. The fireplace smokes fiercely when I try to light the fire, and the next two hours are filled with soot and bird nests as I clean out the chimney. It stinks awful up there; there's so much excrement that I don't think I'll be clean for a month. Once I get the fire going properly, the cabin warms up in a matter of hours. I keep the fire low—I don't want to attract too much attention with the smoke, though with how high the evergreens tower over me, I don't know if any wafts that high up.
I empty my pack and lay out my supplies. I have enough for maybe three days. I'll have to figure out more food soon. That'll be my first job tomorrow. As much as I want to lie down and not move for a very long time, the rest of today is spent with any available container I can find—two old buckets and a metal bowl. There's a cast-iron pot hanging on a hook by the fireplace, but it's too heavy for me to heft down to the water. I take them all to the stream, fill them, and walk them all back. The stream is far, and it takes me so long. I'll see if I can find water closer. When I'm finally done my arms tremble, but still I keep moving, trying to keep the grief at bay. I fill the pot next to the fire and boil some water to rehydrate a meal pouch.
I sit in front of the fire on a moth-eaten upholstered chair. I'm all too aware of the empty seat next to me. I don't really taste my dinner. I sleep fitfully that night.
In the morning I search for food, and a gnawing hunger starts in my stomach and then goes to my heart. I find a few acorns, the surprising remains of government-issued supplies (probably from a nomad stash), and a den of sleeping rabbits. I don't know if rabbits hibernate, but they looked pretty sleepy when I came upon their home, and I was able to snare two of them before the rest dashed away.
The rabbits satisfy the hunger in my stomach, but the hunger in my heart doesn't go away.
I sleep in the chair again and as I fall asleep, I imagine Jack dozing off in the chair next to me. Here it comes, my heart tells my brain. We're going to be out of commission for a while.
The next morning, my eyes are dry and gritty when they flutter open. I must have been crying in my sleep, and I have no will to get myself out of the chair. Instead, through the slits of my eyes, I watch the last of the coals burn down in the fireplace and feel the cold creep into the cabin again. My stomach growls.
I don't move.
By midmorning I hear a heavy thump outside. I turn my head just enough to look out the window, squinting against the white brightness. It snowed last night, and heavy, wet hunks of snow fall off the roof and onto the ground. I should feel more about the surprising beauty something so cold and deadly can bring.
I don't move.
The next morning's brightness fills the cabin, an
d my dry, swollen mouth aches for water. I manage to crawl to the pot and ladle out a scoop. I fall asleep under the emergency blanket.
I don't move.
The third day and finally my body wills itself to get some food. An energy bar. It's tasteless and dry. I practically choke it down. I lie down next to the table and don't move.
The fourth day and there are footsteps outside the cabin door.
I move.
I drag myself up to the window sill, my fingers clawed into the wood to keep myself propped up. There are three people out there—two adults and a child. They're hunched over and wrapped in so many shirts I can't tell if they're male or female. They look cold, and they're struggling to find a way into the cabin. The sight of people shakes me out of my stupor, and suddenly my numb heart, numb limbs, and numb brain begin to thaw and I stagger to the door and open it wide.
They look up. All I see are three pairs of eyes that are so afraid that I'm afraid for them. I try to smile, and I don't even know how scary I look. Probably very, and my smile doesn't help. I try again, and one of the adults steps forward.
“Who're you?” A woman. Her voice is dry and scratchy, full of distrust, but it's not hostile.
I point to my mouth and shake my head. She eyes me for a moment with green eyes the color of spring buds. Then she takes another step forward.
“We'd just like some place to warm up.”
I nod. I can give them that. I motion them forward and hobble toward the fireplace. My joints are creaky and stiff, but I manage to squat down and build the fire again.
As the cabin warms up, the three slough their layers and I see two women—probably sisters—and a girl who looks exactly like the younger one. A family. They stare with wide eyes at the cabin. I've left it a mess in my days of paralysis. I avoid their eyes as I warm up a can of beans. I still feel the hunger in my heart, but it's an ache that will always linger, and I can work around it now. I can't believe I let myself get that way. I still see Jack in the chair, but he smiles at me, and though I can't yet smile back, I don't let grief overwhelm me.