by Annie Oldham
“You here alone?” the younger woman asks.
I nod.
“Where'd you come from?” the other says through a tiny mouthful of beans. They saw how bare the cupboards are, and they're desperately trying to eat slowly. Except the girl. She's all angles in her skinniness, and I dish her up another spoonful before she's even done with her first helping.
The woman lets me write on her hand. A camp.
Their eyes go wide. “No one gets out.”
I did. And seven others.
“We heard from another nomad about some activity south of here. Something big. That was you, wasn't it?” The woman laughs, and shows her yellowed teeth. I nod. “Good for you.”
The girl looks up from her bowl, and her eyes are big as saucers. “Where'd the others go?”
I'm not ready to tell them the whole truth. Not yet. Someplace safe.
The younger woman snorts. “I'd like to see that.”
I won't contradict her. I don't know them at all.
I let the women sleep in the chairs, and I make a pile of ratty blankets into a bed for the girl. I climb up to the loft and sleep on the floor. I lace my fingers over my chest and stare at the faint outlines of the rafters. The sound of the fire crackling and the soft breathing of the sleepers soothes me, untangles the knots that cinch my heart so tightly it feels like a small, shriveled thing. It aches as those knots loosen and my heart expands to where it was before. It feels like when your arm falls asleep and the blood shooting back through your veins sends pinpricks all over your skin. But it's a good feeling. It means my heart might just survive.
In the morning we talk more. As the older woman builds up the fire and I dig through the cupboards to make us a meal, the women confirm that they are sisters, and the girl is the youngest's daughter. Just like Kai, she had an unregistered pregnancy, so the women cut out their trackers—they both have the twisted, puckered scars—and fled their city. The woman had the girl in the woods, with only her sister to help. I marvel at their courage. In turn they marvel at mine when I painstakingly take the time to spell out my story from the time I left the settlement until now.
I put bowls of oatmeal on the table. Then I decide it's time to tell them the truth. My heart is opening, and I need to trust them.
“You put your friends on a submarine to a colony?” the older woman asks incredulously.
I warm my fingers on my mug and nod.
“How long have you been here?”
I'm not sure what she means, so I write, About five months on the Burn. Four days here.
The girl's eyes shine as brightly as the foil wrapper on her granola bar, and I think I know what she wants.
“Why did you leave?” she asks, folding her wrapper around the remains of her granola bar. She's a meticulous little thing for someone so young. It comes from living a life in the woods, always watching for agents and soldiers.
To me it was a prison. Here is scary, but here I'm free.
My answer does nothing to dim her shining eyes. It's coming, just there on the tip of her tongue.
“Can I go on a submarine too?”
Her mother closes her eyes, and her aunt's black eyes narrow on me so fiercely I think she can see the way my heart has been hurt. I think of Dr. Benedict's black eyes, and the way the only thing I could see in them was my own reflection. This woman's eyes are so deep and full of emotion that they might swallow me whole.
I take her little hand in my own. Yes. If your mother does too.
She turns to her mother, all wide-eyed innocence. “Can we go there? I'm so tired, Mommy. I want to see a field of corn in a pod. I want to see the elevator that goes out by the ocean.” She even giggles. “I want to see the funny fish.”
Her mother stares at her folded hands. No one speaks for ten minutes, and the time presses in on me as I see the expressions painting her face with every emotion I can think of. She sighs and then asks the important question.
“If we did go—if it's even possible—would my girl be safe?”
As far as I know, yes.
That's the one thing I'm not sure of—what kind of a reception my friends received at the colony. It's never been done before, land-dwellers coming down to the colony. I'm sure they were put in quarantine at the minimum. I remember my dad's fear of the Burn, which would also mean he would be terrified of its inhabitants. I hope he can see them as people and not monsters. I hope they can see him the same way; I always had a hard time with that.
She looks at her sister, and the hesitation is written all over her face. But her daughter tugs at her sleeve.
“Please, Mommy.”
I smile. I don't know if I'd be able to resist that voice either.
Her mother turns back to me. “How do we do it?”
A woman watches me by satellite. I don't even go into how Gaea is my mother. That whole situation is way too messed up. I tell her when. Then we go to the ocean. In theory, at least. It worked once before. It could work again.
The older woman laughs hollowly. “You make it sound so easy. Like getting out of here is as simple as snapping your fingers.”
I think of all my friends climbing the sub ladder, Jack disappearing into the hatch, Jessa waving goodbye as I stood on the beach and watched them all go. It's never easy.
The younger woman stares into the fire, her fingers splayed on the table, trembling. “We'll go.”
I take a deep breath. It'll probably be about a week.
Gaea has to be back by now, and I'm not sure how soon she can get a sub. But she has to know about this plan. She gave me supplies, and I saw the look in her face as she disappeared into the sub again. She looked proud.
The next day I find a clearing in the woods, one where I have an open view of the sky. If Gaea's been watching me, she'll know I'm here. I hope she knows. I'll do this again tomorrow, just to be sure.
A sub. One week. West. Two adults, one child.
There. Message sent.
The women, the girl, and I spend the next four days gathering firewood and scrounging for more food. My pack of supplies won't last the four of us, and they feel bad enough that they've already gone through half of what I had before. I hide the firewood outside under a tarp and a layer of snow. I put as much of the food as I can back into the hiding hole under the floor boards. I scoop down to the ashes in the bottom of the fireplace, stirring them so they look old. It's the best I can do so that if anyone finds the cabin while I'm gone, it'll look abandoned.
We take a straight route west. I don't want to go anywhere near the labor camp. I'm guessing it'll take us about three days to get to the ocean. I could probably do it in two, but I don't want to push the girl. I realize I don't even know their names. I don't ask. If they wanted me to know, they would have told me.
The girl smiles at me and holds my hand sometimes. She chatters about anything and everything, and she reminds me of a bird. She's so different from the sunken-in, haggard thing that came to the cabin doorstep. I wonder if I've given her wings.
On the third day, I see the ocean through the trees, and we descend the hill and stop along the forest's edge until nightfall. We've seen the occasional scanner in the woods, helicopters flew overhead twice, but saw no soldiers or agents. When the helicopters flew over, both women and the girl shrank to the ground, desperately covering themselves with wet bracken. I felt so sorry for them. That was me not too long ago. Only a few more days and they won't have to cower again. I wonder if the helicopters were looking for me, looking for my friends, or if they were just a routine patrol scouting for nomads. It doesn't matter anymore. I won't let them scare me.
At midnight, we make our way to the beach, staying hidden among the trees, but watching the ocean for the lights of the sub. I tell the girl what to look for, and she's on her tiptoes, her face beaming as she scans the water. She wants to be the first to see it, and I want her to be too.
She squeals suddenly, and her mother whips a hand over her mouth, silencing her. But the girl jump
s and points, and I see the lights. She's ready to burst free, but I hold her back, waiting for the sub to surface. As soon as it glides to a stop and the hatch hisses out a breath, I let them go and we race across the sand to the water's edge. Jessa appears above the hatch.
I'm so glad she came again. She motions the girl up the ladder, and I help the mother up the ladder. Jessa turns to me.
“I told Dad what I'm doing.”
I freeze. What? I mouth.
She smiles. “He flipped.”
I smirk. Of course.
“But after a few days, he couldn't keep up the purple-face look. He's not happy, but he's okay with it.”
My friends?
A tremor flutters over her face but disappears just as quickly. “They're fine. Dad put them in quarantine and then isolation, of course.” I can't help but smile at her tone. She's breaking up the remaining ice that lines my heart. “But the council met and decided we couldn't keep them prisoners. They're not terrorists or anything.”
I breathe out in relief.
“Kai had her baby. A girl. With a shock of black hair. We're all pretty smitten.”
My heart expands. Kai had her baby safely, and she wasn't taken away from her. Then I remember Mary's wound.
Mary?
Jessa's face falls. “She lasted for the sub ride home. Dave held her the whole time, and all she did was smile at him and tell him how lucky they were. She died as we pulled into the sub dock. We just didn't have the supplies we needed on the sub. Dave hasn't said much since then, but he wants to stay. He asked if he could work in agriculture.”
I bow my head. At least they had those few days of peace.
“But Gaea helped me outfit the sub better. I don't know how often we'll be doing this, but I think we ought to have the supplies, just in case.”
Jessa helps the older woman into the hatch, and then they're all safely aboard. Still no word about Jack. I won't ask. I don't want to know how happy he is, if he's found a vocation as a doctor, if he's settled in just fine.
I hear the thud of a helicopter in the distance. I jump away from the sub, the icy water sloshing against my legs, and motion Jessa down. She smiles and waves, closes the hatch, and the sub disappears into the ocean.
The searchlight flickers through the trees as I make my way back to the forest. When I'm safely covered in shadow, I hunch down in the brush and shiver as I change out of my wet clothes. I watch the helicopter swoop by, lingering for a moment on the beach. The sand is pocked with footprints, but hopefully the soldiers won't know how recent they are. I turn my back on the helicopter and the ocean and retreat back into the woods.
* * * * *
About the Author
Away from her writing, Annie is the mother of the three most adorable girls in the world, has the best husband in the world, and lives in the hottest place in the world (not really, but Phoenix sure feels like it).
Other books by Annie Oldham:
The Burn
Bound
Dragon Sister
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one