by Simone Pond
10
(10 days remaining)
At dawn, we get up and Noah stomps out the fire and puts away his gear. He hands me a packet of almonds, and without a word we walk along the tracks until we arrive at a bridge. I hold Phoebe tight against my chest and begin crossing, avoiding looking at the rushing waters below. The last time I was on a bridge, I jumped over the side.
“You okay?” Noah asks, looking over his shoulder at me.
“Fine,” I say, although I’m anything but.
Noah slows down and walks next to me probably sensing my primordial fear. I remove a folded piece of paper from the pocket of his jacket he let me borrow. “The codes. Wrote them down for you this morning.”
“You brought a pen and paper, but no jacket?” He smirks and glances over the codes, then puts the paper into his back pocket. “You honestly memorized them? Are you some kind of idiot savant?”
“You really know how to make a gal feel special.”
“Last time I checked, my job was to help you get off-grid, not whisper affections in your ears.”
“Please! That’s not what I meant.”
He laughs, making me feel puny and witless. In a moment of utter weakness, I stick out my tongue, which causes him to howl with laughter. So infuriating. I can’t wait to get to that first speakeasy because that’s where I’m going to leave him behind. Who needs this Long-Timer anyway? I have everything I need—a passport, currency and a traveling companion. I kiss Phoebe’s head.
“You know you’ll have to let Furball go before we get to the gate, right?”
“I know.”
Noah glances over, surprised. “What? No arguing?”
“I’ll put her down once we’re over the bridge.”
“I’m sure you’ll makes some new friends off-grid.” I know he’s teasing, but his words cut through me.
Once we’re on the other side of the bridge, I let Noah walk on ahead and when he’s a good distance away, I shove Phoebe into the jacket pocket. Noah doesn’t have a clue what I’ve done, and he’s quite confident in himself when we arrive at the gate.
An extremely tall station agent wearing a dark green uniform decorated with many badges greets us. “Reason for this leave?”
Noah steps forward, taking command of the conversation. “Doing some research for my father, Commissioner Brenson.”
The station agent examines Noah’s passport, his eyes widening. His attitude instantly becomes congenial. He stamps Noah’s passport and steps aside with a smile to let Noah pass through the gate.
I hand over my passport to the towering station agent. He squints his menacing eyes as he scrutinizes every word with meticulous precision. My breathing is labored as I try to keep Phoebe still inside my pocket. But she becomes more and more restless.
“She’s my assistant,” Noah calls out from the other side of the gate.
The station agent nods and lifts up his stamp of approval, then pauses and holds up his hand. “Stay where you are,” he orders.
“What’s going on? We’re cleared to pass,” Noah yells through the gate.
“You’ve been cleared. This one hasn’t.” The station agent digs into my pocket and pulls out Phoebe.
Noah groans and backs away from the gate.
“It’s illegal to smuggle items from the grid. Why didn’t you claim this?” The station agent holds Phoebe up by the scruff of her neck, and she lets out a meow.
“You’re hurting her.” I take her from his grip and hold her against my chest.
Noah waves and turns to leave. “Best of luck to you, Miss Kalliste.” Now that he has the codes, he doesn’t need me any more.
The station agent escorts me into the office and orders me to sit in a metal chair, then politely offers a cup of tea. Before he begins his interrogation, a car pulls up to the gate. He goes to check their passports, giving me a moment to wade through my options. The clock on the wall ticks, commemorating every passing second. My gleaming DOD mocks me. Ten days remaining. My room is spinning. I’m angry with myself for getting attached to Phoebe in the first place. Instead of thinking ahead, I let my emotions get the best of me. I must really be insane. She meows, rubbing her whiskers against my cheek, giving me an idea.
*
The station agent waves me off, smiling apologetically. I wave back and hurry to the other side of the gate before he changes his mind about letting me through. Phoebe pokes her head out of the pocket, and I give her a loving rub, thanking her for being a good girl and saving me.
The farther away from Richmond’s border we walk, the more unruly and bedraggled the landscape. The location had been hit with multiple bombs during the Border War, and nobody bothered cleaning up or restoring the town. They decided to make a fresh start by creating our grid. I can see why. The daunting task of rebuilding this desecrated town from the wreckage would take up too many resources; and the SOB can’t have that. Remaining chunks from fallen buildings scatter throughout the area. The road is full of potholes and cracks. Overgrown foliage grows out of every piece of rubble. I can see why most people who leave the grid don’t go on foot. I keep walking, expecting to eventually come across a local speakeasy. While the territory might be unfit for habitation, it’s a perfect place to hide away from the Technocrats and their pesky System of Balance.
After making it through the most ruinous section, the area begins to take on some semblance of a town. It’s actually more like an abandoned ghost town—if ghosts could even tolerate this shoddy hell. Ahead, I see a figure walking and my heart stops until I recognize the familiar gait—one marked with confidence bordering arrogance. Or maybe just arrogance. Also, I’d know Noah’s dark curls anywhere. He strides along as if leaving me behind had no affect on him whatsoever. I decide to get him back by sneaking up behind him and rubbing Phoebe against his neck, which he doesn’t appreciate in the slightest. He hollers and takes a swing, thankfully missing my chin.
“What the hell is your problem, Fly?”
“I can’t believe you left me. After all we’ve been through,” I tease, clutching my chest as though my heart has been broken.
“Aw, I knew you’d figure a way out. Curious, how’d you pull it off?”
“Said I suffer from agoraphobia. That Phoebe is like a security blanket whenever I have to leave the house.” I kiss Phoebe’s head and slide her tiny body back into my pocket.
Nodding with reluctant approval, his eyes soften and he grins. “Using the mental illness card. Not too far from the truth.”
“Well … I am starting to question my choice in traveling companions.”
“I told you to leave the cat behind.”
“That’s not what I meant, you dirty—”
Noah puts his fingers over my lips. “Let’s try to keep things civil.”
I’m about to bat his hand away, but I smile all sugary sweet because there’s no point wasting precious time arguing with him. We’ll be splitting up soon enough. “You’re right. Might as well make hay while the sun’s shining. Judging from the looks of this place, I’m sure we’ll come across a speakeasy sooner rather than later.”
We continue through the ramshackle ghost town, but we don’t find any speakeasies among the half-standing buildings. So we keep walking and walking with the late morning sun beating down on us until we reach another off-grid sector. It’s less run-down than the previous. The broken beer and wine bottles shattered on the pavement are telltale signs that Low-Bottoms live here. Many of the brick buildings have been tagged with slogans the Borders often use. System of Lies. Time is Free. Sons of Brothers. The graffiti is a good sign—it means we’re heading in the right direction.
“I have a good feeling about this place. Keep your eyes peeled,” I tell Noah.
I’m not a hundred percent certain, but he seems a little bug-eyed and nervous. And when a bare-footed man caked in street muck jumps out from behind a dumpster and Noah grabs my arm, I can’t stop myself from laughing. I try to contain myself, though it’s nice to f
inally have a winning hand. “We haven’t even gotten to a speakeasy yet.”
“Shut up, Fly. I want to find out who killed my brother, but I don’t want to die in the process. I’ve got a long life ahead of me.”
For the first time, I gaze down at his wrist and see his DOD assignment. While I only have ten days to work with, Noah has countless decades. I shove down my fury and tell myself it’s not his fault the system is so messed up. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? It’s not going to be pretty in there.”
He nods. “I’m sure. But unlike you, I don’t have a death wish.”
“I don’t have a death wish. I’m just determined.”
“Whatever,” he says, rolling his eyes.
I ignore him and point to the Low-Bottom who’s now ambling down the road, swaying and tripping over his own feet. “I’d say there’s a speakeasy very close by. Let’s stop talking and go find it.”
We follow the Low-Bottom toward a clapped out brick building at the end of the block. The windows are boarded up, but the rest of the building is intact. A burly man with scars on his face and knuckles stands at the front door. My nerves are firing all over the place, but I keep it together. I’m not about to ruin the first opportunity to get information on Achilles. We approach the door, and the grungy bouncer folds his arms across his chest. I recite one of the codes. He checks his list and grunts, moving off to the side to let us pass.
“Much obliged, sir,” Noah says graciously.
I grab Noah’s hand, crushing his fingers together. “You don’t need to be a gentleman here. They’ll think you’re a narc.”
“I’m a gentleman wherever I go.”
“Just shut up.”
The tavern smells like stale beer and sewage. I gag into my sleeve and practice some mouth-breathing. The place is dimly lit, only a few candles burning here and there. These Low-Bottoms don’t even bother with chairs. Most of them are sprawled out on the concrete floor, either inhaling capsules or already passed out. The dregs of humanity. The lowest of Low-Bottoms. I notice that none of their wrists have the pale glow of a DOD assignment. Somehow they’ve found a way to buck the SOB. Standing next to the bar, I notice a well-coiffed man, wearing multiple gold rings and sporting a top hat. From the way he’s observing the room, he must be the owner of this fine establishment.
“You stay here, while I ask around,” I whisper to Noah.
He takes my arm and pulls me close. “This is no place for a lady.”
“I don’t need a knight in shining armor,” I assure him. “And hold Phoebe.” I shove Phoebe into his hands.
“Have you thought this through?” He sneezes.
“Just keep a low profile. Leave if I’m not back in five minutes and go on without me.”
When I’m halfway across the room, I realize in a roundabout way Noah called me a lady. Something about this makes me smile. Before I get too confident, the owner of the speakeasy disappears through a door in the back. I run after him, leaping over the deadbeats strewn on the sticky floor. Without knocking, I open the door and enter his office. It’s like stepping into another world—fine paintings, leather chairs and a computer sitting atop a large desk.
The well-dressed man turns around and after taking a long gander, he smiles wickedly. “What are you doing in a place like this, Miss—I’m sorry what is your name?”
“I’m looking for information.”
His eyes narrow as he strides over to me. His spicy cologne is a nice reprieve from the stench of the tavern. “What kind of information?”
“I’m trying to locate Achilles Reines.”
“Whatever for?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but he’s my brother.”
He chuckles lightly and strokes my cheek with his gloved fingers. “You won’t find any leads here. No, your best bet is down in Savannah.”
I politely remove his fingers from my face. “Do you have an exact location? I can’t just show up in Savannah, going door to door.”
“That kind of information comes at a price.”
His snide grin sickens me to my core. Slowly, I inch backward for some breathing room. I dig into my pocket and pull out two coins, starting the negotiations there. “This is all I have.”
Laughing, he swiftly grabs my neck and shoves me against the wall. I wriggle to break free from his grip, but he’s much stronger than I am. He moves closer so that his warm breath heats up my cheeks, then tightens his hand around my throat. I’m losing air and shadows are closing in on my sight. I reach behind me for the door handle, trying to twist it open before he suffocates me, but he throws me to the ground. I scramble to my feet just as the door swings open. Noah bursts into the office and tackles Mr. Fancy Pants to the floor. Phoebe darts under the desk, and I go after her.
“Run, you fool! Get out of here!” Noah yells as he’s choking the man.
Bending down, I reach under the desk and grab Phoebe by the scruff of her neck and pull her into my arms. Then I snag a paperweight off the desk and toss it to Noah. He slams it over the man’s head, instantly knocking him out. We run out of the office, through the tavern and out into the blinding daylight. We don’t stop until we’re both out of breath, heaving in an alcove of an abandoned shop.
“You’re an idiot,” Noah spits out.
“I told you to leave if I didn’t come back.”
“Like I’m going to leave you behind.”
“You did at the gate station.”
“Oh, I knew you’d talk your way out of that.”
The cramp in my side is too much. I sit on the ground, cradling Phoebe as she trembles in my arms.
Noah remains standing and looks down at me. “I can’t do this. I’m going back.”
“Because of one small mistake?” I don’t know why I’m whining, I was going to leave him anyway. But now that he wants to leave, I’m not sure I want him to go.
“Small? That guy was going to … No, I don’t want to think about it.”
“Like I said, I don’t need your help.”
“Well then, good luck to you out here, Fly. I hope you find your brother before you get swarmed.”
“Fine. Nice knowing you. Oh, that’s right, we don’t really know each other.” I look away as though I don’t care, even though it hurts watching him walk off and not look back. As much as I want to strangle him, I was getting used to his company. And he seems to know what he’s doing out here. While I tend to make hasty decisions. That’s the problem with having a Short-Timer mentality; never enough time to think things through. Noah doesn’t rush headlong into things. I could use that balance.
I pull myself up and run after him. “Wait, Noah!” He doesn’t stop, forcing me to run after him like one of his hair-ribbon wearing belles. I catch up and grab his sleeve. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry that you don’t think before you act? Or sorry that you’re only thinking about yourself?”
My words get muddled and twisted up in my mouth, so I stand there like a fool, not able to answer the question. He’s right about me not thinking about the consequences. And he’s not altogether wrong about me only thinking about myself. As much as it chokes me to say it, I whisper, “You’re right.”
“You can’t go off on your own half-cocked. We need to stick together.”
I glance up at him in shock, my cheeks blazing. He wants to stick together? “I wanted to prove myself. That I’m not some stupid Fly.”
The gold specks in Noah’s hazel eyes flicker a little. “Just don’t pull something like that again.”
I hold out my hand. “Deal.”
He begrudgingly shakes. “Deal.”
I point across the street to a rundown surplus store. “The speakeasy was a bust, but maybe we can get some supplies and figure out our next move?”
“That’s the first good idea you’ve had since we started.”
*
Later that night, we make a camp on a hillside overlooking a valley of treetops. The stars twinkle above
, hundreds of them spread across the infinite black of this post-war region. Noah’s got a fire going, and I’m sitting by some rocks wrapped up in my new wool blanket. It’s not exactly new due to the stains and mildew smell, but it’s better than being consigned to the outside of Noah’s sleeping bag all night.
“You afraid to sit next to me?” Noah calls over to me.
“Just keeping guard.”
Noah walks over and sits on one of the rocks. We stare off at the stars, the quietude resting all around us. He sneezes, shattering the peaceful stillness. “Is that cat under that blanket?”
“She sure is.”
He rubs his nose and stifles back a sneeze. “I’m not sure which one of you will be my demise.”
“Phoebe stays.”
“You know, I’m allergic to cats.”
“How would I know that? Like you said, we don’t know each other.”
“I’ve been sneezing non-stop.”
“Well, you’ll have to get un-allergic because Phoebe is coming with us.”
“Why are you so deeply attached to a stray kitten?”
“Why are you so gung-ho about finding out who killed your brother?”
Noah closes his eyes, the harshness of my words cutting too deep.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s actually nice to talk about it. My friends aren’t exactly the sentimental type.”
“No shit.”
He laughs and bumps shoulders with me. “Julian was everything to me. You might not remember him, but he was a great guy. Top of his class. Excelled in everything.”
“Like Achilles,” I say.
“They were good friends, despite their, um, well you know—despite coming from different backgrounds.” Noah looks at me carefully.
“Long-Timer versus Short-Timer. You can say it. It’s not an insult. It’s the way things are. However, calling someone a Fly or a Low-Bottom is definitely an insult. Just want to be clear on that.”