Dark Parties

by Sara Grant

  We scan our surroundings, ears burning to hear the crack of a twig or the pounding of feet. But there’s only a cool, eerie silence.

  He pulls me close and kisses the top of my head. I can hear his heart pounding. My heart feels as if it’s reaching for his in heavy, hard beats.

  He rests his head on mine. “We can’t stay here.”

  “We’ve got to be close.”

  “Yeah, and they know we’re here. They might come looking for us. Neva, I think we should go back to the highway. We didn’t think this through.”

  “We can’t go back now.”

  “I agree.”

  I cock my head, confused. He picks up the bike and checks it out as he talks. “We’ve got one battery. We can keep heading north. It’s nearly deserted up there. We can camp out in the woods, live off the land for a while. Braydon and Neva can disappear forever.” He’s removing weeds from the engine and battery.

  I let his proposal sink in. I wouldn’t be the Minister of Ancient History’s daughter. He wouldn’t be my best friend’s boyfriend. Until this moment, I never imagined a future, not a future that makes my heart lighten the way Braydon’s idea does.

  He raises his eyebrows. “What do you say?”

  I want to say yes more than I’ve ever wanted anything. But I’m silent.

  “We should get moving,” he says when he sees my indecision. “I’ve got to change the battery and then you need to decide.”

  I watch him hook up the new battery. I let myself think about a life of only Braydon and me. I try to imagine living in the wild, in a place the government has abandoned. No one watching us or telling us what to do.

  But then I think of Sanna. I see her face when she caught Braydon and me kissing. The look of confusion and then despair. I can’t abandon Sanna, but I’m not sure I’m strong enough to rescue her either. It doesn’t feel like there’s a choice. When he’s finished, black grease is smeared on his cheek. He seems to have lost his polish. Even his red boots don’t seem as shiny.

  When we climb on the bike, I desperately want to tell him to drive north and keep going. It’s probably the smartest thing to do. We have a better chance of survival if we run away. But I can’t. “We can’t leave without Sanna.” I could never be happy knowing I abandoned her.

  His shoulders sag. “I don’t see how this can end in any way that means we’ll be together. We’ve got this chance to start over, to leave everything behind.”

  He’s right. We won’t be together. If we go after Sanna, the government will come after us. If we somehow manage to free her, then she’ll need Braydon more than ever. If we get home again—which seems like a very big if—I have an invitation to a new life outside the Protectosphere.

  “I can’t abandon Sanna,” I say softly.

  “We may not find her. And if”—he pauses and raises his voice—“if we find her, we might not be able to rescue her.”

  “We’ve got to try,” I say, and hug his back. He starts the engine. We slowly drive up one of the hills that surrounds us. Maybe we’ll be able to see where we are and where Sanna might be. The hill is steep and we have to walk the bike to the very top. He lays the bike on its side.

  The forest goes on forever, but at the base of the hill in the middle of this valley is a huge, square brick structure with a lush green courtyard in the middle. It looks like an old manor house. I can see shapes that must be people milling around. It’s hard to tell what they are doing, but their pace is slow. Beyond the main structure is a square building with no windows. It could be a barn. Four dark figures orbit the building, security guards, no doubt. It has to be the Women’s Empowerment Center. If it weren’t for the security guards traveling a well-worn pattern, this place wouldn’t look sinister at all.

  Women’s Empowerment Center. It doesn’t sound so horrible. Empowerment isn’t a bad word. Women has become the word that isn’t so great recently. Being female makes you more likely to disappear. What are they doing to these women? Brainwashing them? Making them accept that the greatest gift they can give their country is children? They wouldn’t torture them, right? They want them healthy so they can return to society, find partners, and make babies.

  We notice movement on the gravel road leading to the cluster of buildings. It’s the white van. Braydon and I instinctively duck. From our crouched position, we can see the van pull around to the far side of the building and park. We shift so we are sitting. Five people exit from the back of the van. They disappear behind the building. We watch for a while longer.

  “It’s getting dark,” Braydon says. I hadn’t noticed. “We can’t do anything tonight. Let’s find someplace to sleep and then figure out our next steps tomorrow.”

  He leads me and the bike down the hill. We almost don’t notice it because it’s made of forest trees and covered in brown, dying shrubs. It’s a small wooden shack. “You stay here. I’ll go check it out,” he says.

  I’m too exhausted to argue. The shack is only a little taller than Braydon. He waves me forward after a few minutes. Once we and the bike are safely inside, I realize there is no roof. There are beams crisscrossing from wall to wall but nothing between us and the Protectosphere. There are no windows and only one door with a huge plank that rests in a solid latch. Braydon secures the lock. “I think we’ll be safe here for the night,” he says, and begins to empty the contents of my duffel bag, which has been tied to the back of the bike. He hands me a piece of cheese and a hunk of bread. We’ve been sipping water from his canteen all day. There’s only a little left. We are too tired to talk. We eat standing up on opposite sides of the shack.

  The floor is overgrown with weeds that in places nearly reach my knees. Braydon stomps them flat and spreads a blanket on the floor. I take off my jacket. It feels as if it’s molded to me with sweat. He turns his back to me, carefully slides off his boots and lies down. My skin is damp and the night air is cold. I shiver. He pats the place next to him. I stretch out beside him. The dry grass and weeds crunch beneath me.

  We are afraid to touch. We stare up at the sliver of moon, the only thing keeping us from being shrouded in complete darkness. It feels as if we are at the end of everything. My fear of the dark is trumped by a million other fears.

  “Neva,” he whispers, and rolls on his side, facing me. It’s a question and a plea all wrapped tightly in my name. He lowers his face to mine. I kiss him tenderly on the lips, giving him my answer. We kiss with eyes wide open. I want to see and feel this moment.

  He pulls away painfully slowly. I follow, not wanting to lose touch. His hands explore my body. His eyes follow his touch and he works his way down, removing each piece of clothing and then kissing my bare skin. He lingers at my tattoo. I cover it with my hand, suddenly embarrassed. He laces his fingers through mine.

  I feel as if I’m imploding and exploding. I don’t want to be scared anymore. But I am. I’m terrified of what might happen next. I want him to stop, but I’m equally terrified of stopping and never feeling this way again.

  “Are you okay, Neva?”

  I kiss him, maneuvering him until he’s on his back. Now I undress him with trembling fingers. Our bodies are pressed together. I can’t get close enough to him. There’s a rhythm to our passion. Our hands, our lips flow instinctively over each other’s bodies.

  I want desperately to break our vow, but something keeps us from crossing the line. We don’t speak. We both know breaking the vow means letting the government in, and tonight there’s only Braydon and me.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  I open my eyes, but my body is still heavy with sleep. Braydon is draped over me like a blanket. We are lying in shade, but the sun is shining brightly. I stare at him for a long time, wanting to recapture last night. In the harsh light of day, I see my best friend’s boyfriend and someone I barely know lying naked next to me. But that’s not how it felt last night.

  I can’t change what happened. If I’m honest, I don’t want to. I won’t regret it. I’ll keep
those memories trapped in a bubble away from labels of good and bad and right and wrong.

  I slip out of his grasp and dress quickly. I lift the latch a millimeter at a time. Braydon has rolled over and wrapped himself in the blanket. His bare shoulders and feet are exposed. I feel a rush of the emotions we shared last night. My life is divided into before and after our kiss in the dark.

  I have two more days. One day to save Sanna, and tomorrow at midnight I can escape. If I have any hope of succeeding, I need to take it one moment at a time. I retrace our steps to the top of the hill. I watch the buildings in the valley for a long time. I notice how people move in and out of the main building. I figure out how the guards patrol. A dark car with what I think is the crest of Homeland pulls up. A man in black delivers what looks like a cooler and then drives away.

  I hear steps behind me. I turn to see Braydon walking toward me. His hair is sticking up on one side and his faced is creased from sleep. I realize I must look as equally disheveled. He slips his arms around my waist. We sway slightly as if moved by the gentle morning breeze. He kisses me. “You okay?”

  I nod.

  We are cheek to cheek. “What’s the plan?” he asks. “I can practically see the cogs turning.”

  It’s funny to feel his jaw forming words against my face. I put my hand on his cheek and hold him there. I have been thinking. I know the first part of a plan, but the middle is going to have to be down to a little luck and a lot of improvisation.

  “Absolutely not,” he says when I’ve explained as much of a plan as there is. “I should be taking the risk. I won’t let you do it.” He breaks the connection between us.

  “This is a place where they take women. I can blend in. And”—I swallow—“if I get caught”—I talk faster. I can see his face getting redder—“It won’t happen. I won’t let it, but if I do, you can tell my parents. My mom won’t leave me here.”

  “What are you thinking?” He raises his voice and it feels too loud.

  “I’ve got to do this, Braydon.” I survey the Women’s Empowerment Center, nestled in the valley below us. I think of my grandma and my mom. Of Sanna and her mother. Senga and her three daughters. “I’m doing this with or without you. But I have a better chance of success if we work together.”

  We stare out over the treetops. I lean into him and we are kissing again. But this kiss isn’t passionate like last night. It’s sad and tender, a long good-bye. I pull away slowly. I can’t give in to this now.

  “Okay, let’s go over this again,” I say when I find my voice. We run through my plan over and over and over. I’ll be ready. I can do this.

  Braydon runs up the hill. The sun is setting and flickers in the trees behind him. “Okay, Neva, the van’s on its way.” He collapses at my feet, panting. He found a vantage point on a nearby hill that let him see the main road. He’s run all the way to alert me. We went over and over the plan. We didn’t talk about anything except details and possibilities and worked out everything we could think of.

  “I guess this is it.”

  He hugs me. “We can still walk away. We don’t have to go through with it.”

  I can’t let him make me emotional or frightened. There’s so much we both want to say tangled in the air between us. I kiss him one last time and race away.

  I watch the guards from a little way up the hill. I time it just right and sneak behind the barnlike building. I hear shouting.

  I look toward the space where I left Braydon. A finger of black smoke winds its way skyward. Our plan has been set in motion, and so far everything is going as we envisioned. Braydon set a fire to distract the guards. I flatten myself against the wooden building and count: one, two, three, four, five guards charge up the hill. That’s all the guards on perimeter duty. My thoughts shift to Braydon. I pray that he’s okay. He was supposed to set the fire and then drive a safe distance and wait for some signal from me.

  We dug a pit around the shack, the only home he and I will ever share. The wood was dry and the brush hiding it brittle. Braydon had one of Sanna’s discarded lighters in the satchel of his motorbike. We hoped it had a spark or two left. It was an ancient white plastic lighter, which still had the shadow of a smiley face.

  I am hot and sweaty, but it’s not from the fire Braydon has set. I have never been so scared and exhilarated. All the possible outcomes spiral before me.

  A girl screams. I check left then right. The coast is clear. I dart behind the brick building and peer around the corner. Four girls my age climb out of the back of the white van. I am thankful they are dressed in everyday clothes. I couldn’t tell what they were wearing from the hilltop. It’s possible that I could be one of them.

  One girl is crying uncontrollably. Her mouth is open wide in an unnatural shape. She’s batting at the other girls. One girl slaps the hysterical girl across the face. I cringe at the sound of skin on skin.

  The girls stare at one another in shock. They seem to notice for the first time that they are unguarded. One points in the direction of the fire. The guards have disappeared into the forest. The girl who was hysterical seems to collect herself, sniffling and wiping her eyes. She bolts away from the fire and the van, deeper into the forest.

  The girls call to her and then look at each other like puppies waiting for their master to issue a command. Another guard appears from inside the building and races into the forest after the escapee.

  Now’s my chance.

  I step around the corner and into the open. Even though my legs are shaking, I stroll over and join the other girls. Their eyes shift from me to the building to one another, but no one says a word. I can see their fear and confusion. “Please,” I whisper. They seem to understand. My lips twitch nervously.

  A man in a blue-and-tan-striped shirt appears in the doorway to the main building. “Hey, what the…” he exclaims when he notices us huddled together. His face softens. “Welcome, ladies,” he says, directing us inside. He reaches a hand to help me, but I slip past him. He mouths the numbers as he counts us. Satisfied, he shuts the door behind the fourth girl. The light in the room is dull, and my eyes have to adjust. We are in a windowless room with hallways ahead of us and to our right. We cluster in a tight ball.

  “Welcome to the Women’s Empowerment Center,” the man says, and smiles warmly at us. “My name is Mr. Jefferson. I am the director here. It’s my job to get you settled into your new surroundings.” Why is a man the head of a place for women? He has an easy manner from his bushy, unkempt curls to his untucked shirt. He gestures to a cluster of couches. “Have a seat and relax. I know your journey was long and uncomfortable. My apologies.”

  I look from each girl to the next; they all have the same confused expression. We move in a pack and sit too close together. Mr. Jefferson takes a few steps down the hall ahead of us and calls, “Can we get some hot tea for the ladies?” but doesn’t take his eyes off of us.

  Two women dressed in faded blue doctor scrubs appear in the entryway. One holds a tray with mismatched ceramic mugs. The other hands a steaming mug to each of us. I cup it in my hands and inhale the peppermint steam. “Go ahead,” the woman encourages. “Drink up. You’ll feel better.”

  I take a sip and then another. The peppermint warms as it flows through me. The other girls are also enjoying the treat of hot tea. I scoot back into the couch and wiggle some room free from the girls on either side of me. I take another sip and another, but this time I taste something sour through the peppermint. I notice a white grainy substance at the bottom of my cup. I give the mug to one of the women in blue. She glances in my mug and nudges it back toward my lips. “You’ll want to finish it.”

  She pulls her lips into a tired smile and waits and watches until I put the mug to my lips and pretend to sip. She steps closer to me. She doesn’t say anything, but I know the tea isn’t an option and this is no party. I drink slowly, trying to keep the settled matter at the bottom of my mug. The woman casually inspects each mug as we place them on the tray. I swirl the
remaining liquid in my mug so the grainy flakes dissolve before setting it on the tray. My brain’s getting fuzzy. I could be imagining it, but I don’t think so. The girl to my left is swaying slightly.

  The women in blue remove the mugs and bookend Mr. Jefferson. He smiles again. “Okay, I hope you are feeling better. Let me introduce Dr. Ann and Dr. Beth.” Both the women in scrubs wave at the same time, so I can’t tell which is which. “We have a few induction duties, and then you can go relax in the garden. I need you to line up, please.” We shuffle until we are one behind the other. I’m second in line. “That’s right. Good girls.” He snatches a pen and a clipboard from a hook next to the door. “I’m really sorry about this next part, but we need to track all of you lovely ladies. It’s the best way we could think of. Roll up the sleeve on your left arm.” He’s writing on the first girl’s arm with a big black marker. He reaches for my wrist next and I flinch. “It’s not going to hurt, I promise.” His fingers circle my wrist. His grip is firm. “Hold still.” The marker is a cool dot on my skin until he roughly drags it in big bold strokes. He writes the numbers 1133 on my arm and 1134 on the next girl.

  “Don’t you want our names?” the youngest girl asks. “I’m Crystal.”

  “Hi, Crystal,” Mr. Jefferson says, but writes 1135 on her arm. He marches to the front of the line. “One simple rule and we’ll all get along just fine. Please do as you are instructed by myself, Dr. Ann, or Dr. Beth. Remember this is for your own good and for the future of Homeland. Follow Dr. Ann and Dr. Beth and I’ll see you later.” He winks at us and disappears down the hall.

  The doctors stride ahead of us, and we follow somewhat sluggishly. My feet feel heavy, as if encased in cement. They lead us to a big bathroom like we used to have at our school. “We need each of you to shower please,” one doctor says, and points to a bank of showers on the far back wall, but none of us move.