Caste (The Corporation)

by RaeLynn Fry

  “Why were they chasing you?” My breathing has started to slow, and my heart rate is getting back to normal.

  “Who says I was being chased? Maybe I just really enjoy vigorous activity. Blood pumping and all that.”

  “I saw them chasing you.” I cross my arms.

  “Us,” he says.

  “Huh?”

  “They weren't chasing me; they were chasing us.” His smile is back, and he winks.

  “Great. I'm in the city no more than ten minutes and already I'm a wanted fugitive.” I shake my head. This is not what I need. His hands are on his hips, and his chest rises and falls with his heavy breaths.

  “Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he says.

  I keep my brow raised. “You might like to spice up your life by tempting death and the Corporation’s wrath, but I can’t afford to be on their radar.”

  Ethan slumps against a wall and waves me away. “There was never any real danger.” He winces a little with a sharp inhale of breath.

  “If you say so,” I say.

  He waves me away again. “Relax. They didn’t get a good enough look at you, and they don't even know who I am. Not the brightest bunch, those three.”

  “You’re important enough to chase,” I point out.

  “Only because they think I took something that didn't belong to me. Big deal.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?” His breathing’s still labored, and I’m beginning to think he doesn’t like cardio as much as he claims.

  I sigh with impatience. “Take something that wasn’t yours?” Talking with him was like talking in circles with a four-year-old.

  “Of course not.” His eyes register offence at my suggestion. “I'd never steal anything that wasn't mine.”

  “Well, if it was yours, then it wouldn’t be stealing, would it?”

  “Exactly.” He winks again, his face glossy and pale. I’m starting to think that wink’s an involuntary tick. He slouches more against the wall, giving it all of his weight, breathing harder than before. “We need to get going.” He pushes himself away and winces, doubling over immediately.

  I hurry to his side, grab his elbow, and ease him to the ground. “What’s wrong?” I ask as I lean him back. Alarm spreads through my body faster than a fire through our parched crops.

  “Just a scratch.” He winces again.

  My eyes dart over his body, searching for the source of his pain. Then I see it—a blotch of red bleeding through his shirt, spreading across his side. How did I miss it before? My fingers fly to the hem of his shirt. A sharp inhale of breath hisses between Ethan’s lips as I pull it up.

  Stretched across his side and curving around to his back is a bright red gash oozing fresh blood. “It looks like the butcher tried to get you on his chopping block.” I finger inflamed tissue, trying to be as gentle as possible. Blood is coming out at an alarming and steady pace.

  “Now that you mention it, he did say he was planning on adding something special to the menu.” He tries to laugh but falls short.

  I watch his face for a response as I poke. His jaw is set, but other than the occasional minute wince, he's hiding the pain well. It isn't until I separate the wound to see how deep it is that I get a real reaction.

  “Ow! Stop doing that!” He bats my hand away. “It’s not very polite, and it hurts like hell.”

  I pull his shirt back down, the light colored fabric quickly soaking up the blood. “We need to get you to a Medic as soon as possible.” I take his hands and press them firmly into his side to try and help stop the bleeding.

  He shakes his head. “Not an option. Try again.”

  “Try again? We don’t have any other choice. This needs to be stitched, otherwise you could bleed out. At the very least get a nasty infection. Possibly lose a limb.”

  “Lose a limb? Nice try, Karis. But I appreciate…your gesture to try and lighten the situation.”

  “I wasn’t kidding about getting you to a Medic, Ethan.” He’s getting paler by the second. Why is he arguing about this?

  “You're a seamstress, you can sew me up.”

  I hold out my hands. “Whoa, there. I sew socks, Ethan, not people.”

  “Come on, how different could it be, really? I mean, just use one of those whip stitch thingies and close the gap.”

  My eyes widen.

  “It's not like it has to be perfect,” he adds quickly, seeing my alarm. “Listen, I’ll make you a deal. Give me something to hold me together, and I’ll take us somewhere I can get fixed up.”

  “Why don't we just go there now?”

  “Because, as you pointed out a few seconds ago, I have a gash gushing blood that traces across half my body. Stop being a wimp.”

  I bristle at his comment. “I am not a wimp.” I cross my arms. “And insulting me is not the best way to get me to do what you want.” I rock back on my heels. “Besides, I don't have time to help you out because you were busy playing games and got caught. I came to the Inner City for a reason. And I don't have time to waste.” I stand up to leave.

  “You wouldn’t…really…leave me.” He tries to sound confident, but I see the uncertainty all over his pain-riddled features.

  I take a step back. Of course I’m not going to leave him here. What kind of person would that make me? But maybe if he thinks I’m serious, he’ll take his injury seriously, too.

  “Wait, wait,” he says. “Maybe…we can help…each other.”

  I roll my eyes. “I doubt it.”

  “You’re in Dahn for your brother…to get him Morrow.” Sweat is drenching his skin now, and words are hard for him to get out. Whatever we end up doing, it needs to be done fast.

  I look him over. Taking this risk may pay off. If he can help me find what I need, my time will be cut down drastically. And Ajna needs all the time I can get him.

  “That’s not exactly a surprise. I already told you what I was planning to do.”

  “So I was right.” He winces again and brings his hand to his side. I can't believe he was able to run the distance he did with that wound.

  “Eta said if she could get some Morrow, she might be able to save my brother. She Petitioned the Corporation, but she was denied.”

  “Doesn't surprise me,” he says under his labored breath.

  “I figured I had nothing to lose if I came here and got it myself.”

  “Except your life.” Ethan's breaths are a little more forced, and the red spot on his shirt has already turned the fabric all but red and sticky. “Morrow’s going…to be next to…impossible to get.” The last words tumble out of his mouth, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “Morrow root is one…of the few things…tightly regulated by the Corp and kept under…lock and key. Literally. The Corp’s the one that doles it out…as they see fit.”

  “That's just great,” I say.

  “Hey, hey, hey. I said next…to impossible.” He gives a strained smile.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Corp keeps ninety-nine…percent of the inventory. But I happen to know someone…they use…to filter the medicine. I'm sure I could persuade...her to pinch some for you.”

  “You trust her?” I ask skeptically. No one who works for the Corporation can be trusted.

  “I'm lying here—dying—in the street, and you think...I'd take the time to lie...about something like this? Karis, I can barely breathe.”

  “Actually, I think you’d do exactly that.”

  “Well, how about this, then. I have the power to...help save someone from dying. You think I'd withhold that?” His eyes tell me he wouldn't, no matter who it was. “Unlike the person…standing over me right…now.” He winces again and sucks in another sharp breath.

  “Fine, we have a deal,” I say. He gives a sigh of relief. “But there's a problem.”

  He removes his hand from the wound and glances at the puddle of blood collecting on his stomach. “More pressing than…the current situation?”

  “I don't have anything
to sew you up with.”

  He nods at the pack he’d been carrying earlier. “Look in there.”

  “For what?” I bend over and open the pack, digging around inside.

  “Green pouch. Little. Needle…thread…inside.”

  I dig a little deeper and pull out two glass vials of clear liquid. I hold them up in the sunlight. Small particles float around reflecting the glinting sun. They look like microscopic shards of metal. “What are these?”

  “Not a little green pouch.”

  “Right, sorry.” I dig around a little more and find the mentioned supplies. “You want me to do this here?” I look around with doubt. This place was beyond dirty, and I’d probably cause more harm than good.

  His fumbling fingers find mine and give them a weak squeeze. “Karis, we don't…have an option. And right now…to be honest…I'm having a really…hard time…keeping my eyes open…against all the spinning…and darkness pressing...against my brain. So if we could hurry it up…I'd be extra grateful. Even throw in dinner."

  “I need something to wash the wound with before I start.”

  “Water bottle. Side pocket.”

  I find it and unscrew the lid. This water I’m about to throw away could be the difference between life and death back in Neech. I push the thought aside. “Ready?”

  He gives a tight nod. I pull up his shirt, gently this time. It makes a sticky noise as it pulls away from the wound. I refuse to look at Ethan because I don't want to see the pain scarring his face.

  I dribble the water onto his skin above the gash and watch the water carry away the bright red, diluting it to a soft pink. I thread the needle quickly, hesitating as I try not to think about what I'm going to do.

  “Pretend I’m a shirt…or something. And don’t worry about the pain…I can take it.”

  I sink the needle into his skin. He must not have been expecting it so soon because he lets out a grunt before he bites down on is lip.

  I ignore him and continue to sew in a familiar rhythm. In, push, pull. In, push, pull. In, push, pull. Every now and then, I have to pour more water to wash away the emerging blood. It takes forty stitches in all for me to get from where the gash starts on his side to where it ends. I tie the thread off, pouring the last of the water over his wound.

  My work doesn't look too bad, and at the very least, the bleeding’s stopped. If Eta were here, she'd be pleased with what I've managed to do.

  Ethan cranes his neck to inspect my work. “Not bad, Karis. Not bad.”

  “Thanks,” I say, as I put the needle and empty water bottle back in his pack.

  “There’s a jacket in the bag. Give it to me.”

  I reach inside until I feel fabric, and yank it out. I put it over his shoulders and help guide his arms in, slowly. “We’re going to stand now, think you can do it?”

  “Apparently…you’ve forgotten to whom…it is you speak.”

  I turn my face away to hide my smile and nestle my body under his arm at his uninjured side. “On the count of three. One. Two. Three.” I bend at the knees and use all my strength to lift Ethan from the ground. He’s dead weight until he gets his feet under him.

  We stand for a minute while he catches his breath. Ethan gives me a tight nod, letting me know he’s ready. His hand grips onto my shoulder, and I slip my arm around his waist, careful of the wound I've just stitched.

  “Let's do this,” he says. We walk toward a series of tall buildings that shade us from the sun.

  “Where to?” I ask.

  “One of my better secrets.”

  I roll my eyes, glad to see he’s feeling better.

  ७

  We walk in silence, working our way into a different, quieter part of Dahn. “These apartment complexes are where the majority of the citizens live. There's another section behind the Tower where more important people live.” He says the word as if it leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

  “How do you know all this?” I ask in awe. Our gait is slow and measured.

  “How do you not? Didn’t you study about Dahn before you decided to come here?” When I don’t answer he goes on. “I make it a habit to know as much about the environment I’m in as I can.”

  I stare at the structures towering over us. We have tall buildings in Neech, but our tallest one is only about half as high as these and not nearly as clean and bright. Or in one piece. All cities used to look this way, I’m told.

  “Can you tell me yet where we’re going?” I ask.

  He gestures his head to somewhere in front of us. “Not much farther. We have to be careful. I don't want her getting into trouble because of me.”

  I don’t think that’s going to be a problem. I haven't seen another living soul since we entered the complex. Ethan seems to know what I’m thinking.

  “Just because we don't see them, doesn't mean they aren’t watching us,” he says.

  An unpleasant chill creeps up my back as my eyes dart between different windows. Ethan nudges me to the left between two shorter apartment buildings. His body hunches and his walk becomes more uneven. I slip my arm tighter around his waist, taking on as much of his weight as I can.

  “I didn't know you cared,” he says with a weak smile.

  “Which door?” I say. We’re at the rear of a two-story building with a blue door on the right and a red door on the left. Each has a small flowerpot of brightly colored blooms at the back steps.

  “Red,” he manages to get out. I shuffle us to the stoop and hold up my hand to knock. Ethan kicks the base of the door. Two dull thuds vibrate through the wood.

  It's a moment before I hear movement, then, the clipping of shoes on a hard surface hurrying towards us. The twisting of a metal lock slides back. Then the door opens.

  “It’s about time.” A woman in her mid-forties opens the door with a smile. Her black hair hangs long and straight against her cinnamon skin and bright brown eyes. A small jewel is centered between her eyebrows. She’s dressed in beautifully embellished red and pink sashes of fabric wrapped around her body, forming a dress. Ethan slumps against my side; her smile falls, and her face tightens. “What happened?” She rushes forward and takes his head in her hands.

  “Hey.” Ethan gasps as he says the simple word.

  She steps back. “Hurry, come inside.”

  When we cross the threshold, Ella slips under Ethan’s other arm, kicking the door closed behind us. We make our way down a narrow hall.

  “Put him in here.” We go through a door on the left. “There's a bed we can lay him on.”

  “Beautiful women…dragging me…to bed. Could this get…any better?”

  “Can you take his weight again for a second?” Ella asks.

  I nod.

  She steps away and opens the bedroom door, hurrying to the bedside and turning down the sheets. When she returns, we lower Ethan onto the soft mattress, where he sinks with a sigh.

  I can't help but run my hands over the soft fabric and down mattress when I lie him down. I'm barely aware of Ella bustling around at the other end of the room until her voice cuts through. “What happened to him?”

  I shake my head, bringing myself back to the present. “He got cut pretty bad,” I say.

  “Hacked with a meat cleaver, actually,” Ethan says.

  Ella stops gathering towels and looks over her shoulder. “By Thomas?”

  “Yeah, by stinking Thomas. The man needs to be more careful with his cutlery.”

  “Did he—”

  “There was a hood involved; I was doing a lot of spinning.” Ethan winces. “Can we just hurry up with all this?”

  He gestures to his midsection. “It's kind of uncomfortable and more than a little inconvenient.”

  I see Ella smirk the slightest bit before she goes back to filling her wicker basket. “What's your friend's name?”

  “We're not—” I start.

  “Karis,” Ethan says. “My friend's name is Karis.”

  “Nice to meet you, Karis,” Ella says. “Please ta
ke off Ethan's shirt.”

  My head snaps to Ethan who smiles and winks. “Rip, tear, shred. I’m really not that picky.”

  Lifting up his shirt to sew his wound was one thing. This was something completely different. I think it’s the fact that there’s a bed involved. Or the fact that I’ve never seen a boy without his shirt on. I’m not sure. Probably a combination of the two. I swallow.

  Ethan mistakes my hesitation. “There’s no need to be gentle with me, Karis. I can take it.”

  My discomfort evaporates. His cocky grin slips, and his eyes widen ever so slightly. I reach forward at the hem and yanked his shirt up over his head.

  “Ouch!” he says. “I was kidding. I'm injured; you have to be gentle.”

  “I thought you weren’t picky?” I turn away without noticing his muscled chest or tanned skin. I didn't even bother to commit to memory exactly how much muscle he did have. Okay, so maybe I looked. A little.

  “Anything else?” I ask Ella, my mouth too dry.

  “Toss his shirt over there.” She points to a corner. “I'll get rid of it later.” She comes over to the side of the bed and perches on the edge, inspecting Ethan's wound. She pokes at it with skilled fingers. “Did you do this?” she asks of the stitches.

  “I didn't have much time, and I've never had to stitch a person up before.” I try to explain the poor quality.

  “It's very good,” she says. “Have you trained as a Medic?”

  I twist my wrist so my Mark is pressed against my side. “No, I'm just a—”

  “—A wastin' my time,” Ethan cuts in. “We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later. After I’ve survived this life threatening wound.”

  “Always so dramatic,” Ella says with a smile. “Hand me those scissors, will you, Karis?”

  I reach into the wicker basket and draw out a shiny pair of small, sharp scissors. With steady hands and great care, Ella clips, one by one, the stitches I made with the thread. The wound spreads open slowly. Almost all of the bleeding has stopped.

  “What did you clean it with?” she asks me.

  “All we had was water,” I say.

  She gives a curt nod and turns to her basket, pulling out a glass container of a dark, brown-yellow liquid. She takes a piece of rag and soaks it, dabbing at the wound. I look to Ethan to see if it hurts, but he keeps his eyes closed and his breaths deep.