“That, too.” Zoe squeezed my arm as she stopped. “In a way, Zone 3 was lucky. A lot of farmers refused to leave during the evacuations. Their farms were their entire livelihood, and they couldn’t just uproot and start over. So, there were people who knew the land and how to ensure an abundance of all kinds of crops. And those who were moved here have all been willing to learn.”
“And the food and the stuff here is really free for those who need it?”
“All the necessities are,” Zoe answered as I spotted a short, scruffy white-haired dog burst out from under one of the stalls, rushing to greet a group of people who’d stopped a few feet from the table. The little puppy yipped happily as it went from person to person, collecting pats and scratches.
“It hasn’t always been easy,” she continued. “Crops took a pretty bad hit during a drought last year, and along with a very hot summer, it was … hard. Not enough cool places to hold those most at risk for heat-related illnesses.” She took a ragged breath. “There used to be more who needed assistance.”
“That’s sad,” I whispered.
“But they didn’t lose anyone this summer—not from the heat, at least.”
Scanning what seemed like an endless procession of brightly colored stalls, I soaked in the sights and smells, but I was a little dumbfounded by it all. Who could really blame me? Having always existed in a world where nothing was free and where people were shamed for needing assistance, no matter how badly they needed help, this was entirely unexpected.
The people here had found a system that worked for everyone. Obviously, it was a much smaller populace, but it wasn’t like the same mentality couldn’t be applied to larger communities.
And then it hit me. If Zone 3 was able to survive, become a place where those left behind could thrive among those who needed sanctuary, then what about the other zones? There were three other cities that had been walled off and left to decay: Alexandria, Chicago, and Los Angeles.
Luc hadn’t exactly said they were empty. He’d just said that people were left behind.
“What about the other zones?” I asked. “Are they like this?”
Zoe watched the wind rolling through the canopies. “In some shape or fashion, yes. All but Alexandria. It’s too close to the capital.”
“What about the people in there? Were there still people left behind when they built the walls around Alexandria?”
Zoe started walking again. “We don’t know. It’s been too much of a risk to get close. The bridge into Arlington has always been blocked, as are all the other roads that feed into Alexandria.”
Pressing my lips together, I trailed alongside Zoe. It was hard to think of the people who could’ve been trapped. Four years without aid? Zone 1 had to be truly dead by now.
The invading Luxen weren’t responsible for that. It was we who’d dropped the EMP bombs, and it was our government that walled up those cities, knowing there were people either too sick or too poor to leave. It was our government that told extended family members that their loved ones had died in the war when they could’ve still been alive in those cities, waiting for help that was never going to arrive.
The number of people who had to be involved to hide what was done was astronomical, and I couldn’t understand how any of them slept at night.
As we neared the stalls, it became apparent who was approved to enter. Most of those moving about were elderly, their backs hunched and their speckled fingers with swollen knuckles clutching shopping carts used more for support than for goods. There were younger people, a few I spotted in wheelchairs or those who had other mobility challenges, and others who were younger but were being aided by older people who I knew weren’t all human. The silvery-haired woman with eyes as glacial blue as Grayson’s was definitely Luxen. Her pale arm was curled around the shoulders of a young human man who held a straw basket full of leafy greens close to his chest as they stood in front of a table loaded with potatoes in wooden crates.
She appeared to be the first to become aware of us.
Glancing over her shoulder at Zoe and me, the smile on her lightly lined face faded. She quickly turned to answer whatever the young man said. Her smile returned as she ushered him farther into the market, to where several firepits cooked meat.
“Are we allowed to be here right now?” I asked.
Zoe’s grin was teasing. “Yeah, we are. Don’t worry.”
Not worrying was easier said than done, but I was caught up in the market and how all of this was possible. “You said ‘they’ make sure no one goes hungry. Who are they?”
“It’s a group of people, kind of like a city council, that’s made up of humans, Luxen, Origins, hybrids, and Arum.”
My gaze jerked to her. “How does that work out with Arum and Luxen here?”
The two alien species were natural-born enemies, having destroyed their own planets in a way. That was how they’d ended up here in the first place. Arums could feed on Luxen or any creature who had the Source in them, taking the power within them and then using it, which made them a totally different kind of dangerous.
“There aren’t a lot of Arum, but the Arum and Luxen know to behave. Obviously, no feeding on the Arum’s part and no bigotry on the Luxen side. Neither are tolerated.”
“And what happens if they don’t follow the rules?”
Zoe’s eyes narrowed. “As far as I know, there have only been a few instances where rules were broken. All of them have been resolved in one way or another.”
I studied her profile. “And what do you mean by ‘one way or another’?”
She didn’t respond as we walked along the outskirts of the crowded tables, not for several long moments. “The people here don’t want to leave, Evie. For many, their lives are better, but it’s too much of a risk to kick people out. Luckily, it’s never come to that. No serious rules have been broken, and there is a place to hold those who need a time-out from fighting or being a general pain in the ass.”
Sounded sort of like a jail, which made sense.
An older man who’d just placed a bundle of ears of corn in his cart eyed us—or me—with open suspicion as he hurried as fast as he could to the next stall, the wheels on his cart squeaking.
“And no one has wanted to leave?” I asked. “To be reunited with family or friends outside?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “But I wouldn’t know. I’m not a part of the council, and I imagine if someone wanted to leave, that would be who they’d go to.”
Unease trickled through me. I had a really hard time believing that not a single person had wanted to leave.
“That’s Javier.” Zoe pointed out a dark-haired man with skin the color of sunbaked clay. “He was a tailor before the war, and his skills are now just as useful.”
A man waved from behind a table where clothing was folded and stacked neatly when he spotted Zoe, but the smile froze when his gaze coasted over me.
Zoe didn’t seem to notice as she led me along, but I did. I couldn’t help it. Each time someone noticed us, they noticed me and immediately appeared as if they wanted to bolt.
I was a stranger in their midst, and these people had every right to be wary, so I didn’t take it personally. Or, at least, I tried.
The scent of cinnamon grew. The last table was the source, but the crowd around it blocked any access to Larry and his apparently magical pecans.
“Dammit,” Zoe grumbled. “I really wanted you to try them. The pecans are amazing, but we’re getting nowhere near the front of that line anytime soon. I’ll check back later to see if he has any left. Right now, there’s still more to see.”
Tugging me around the last stall, she pointed out the urgent care I’d noticed on the way in, explaining that it was as functional as could be, serving as the only medical facility. Then I saw what was behind the plaza. Clothing hung from tightly stretched lines attached to bolted-down wooden poles. Men and women, all I inherently knew were human, sat on stools or in chairs above large plastic co
ntainers. The area smelled like fresh detergent.
I glanced back at the market. “Are they cleaning the clothes for the people shopping at the market?”
Zoe nodded. “Yep, and some do it full-time for others who really don’t want to mess around with it.”
“Labor?” I surmised.
“You got it.” Motioning me to cross the street, she said, “The market is pretty much in the center, so a lot of stuff is here. The council meets here, and if anyone needs anything, this is the place they come to.” She pointed to a three-story, concrete building with a sign LITTLE FISHER LIBRARY. “The basement area is also used when the temps get high.”
Zoe didn’t take me into the library. Instead, she followed a stone path shaded by heavy oaks as it curled around the side of the building. We only took a handful of steps when I heard the shouts and laughter of children.
“The school?”
Eyes a deep violet in the shade of the trees, Zoe smiled. “Mostly little rug rats. I think there are only like two a year or so younger than we are. They moved the school to this house because it’s close to everything and easier to manage without power.”
Someone had painted Sesame Street characters as if they were peeking out from the windows of the one-story, redbrick building.
Children—tiny children—were everywhere. Racing over sand and grass, climbing onto jungle gyms and playing on a seesaw that featured Snoopy and Charlie Brown. Jump ropes snapped off the asphalt part of the yard. Little ones smacked their hands in the sand shaded by the trees.
There were two sets of swings and both were packed, of course, as swing sets were the coolest piece of equipment in a playground. One was designed for smaller children, and the other was occupied by kids who looked around ten or so years old, but I was always terrible at figuring out kids’ ages. To me, they all looked like babies.
Sitting at the picnic table were the two teens Zoe had mentioned. Two boys sat close, their heads almost touching as they shared a book in their hands. They must’ve had amazing focus, because I had no idea how they could read when they virtually sat in the middle of an outdoor Romper Room.
“Is this all of them?” I asked, counting them as best as I could since some of those little suckers were fast. “There’s only like fifteen, and they’re all…”
“They’re all what?”
I had no idea how weird it would sound if I said I knew they were human. The three adults—two women and one male—weren’t rocking any alien DNA. It was bizarre, because I felt like there was something else here. Someone who did have alien DNA. I didn’t know how to describe that it wasn’t so much a feeling as a knowledge, so I went with, “There are no Luxen kids, are there?”
Zoe looked at me for a moment and then leaned against the base of an oak, her hands tucked behind her. “There are actually sixteen kids here, but there aren’t any Luxen kids. I went to the Chicago zone once and I saw little Luxen there, but many of the Luxen who were old enough to have kids died in the war, on both sides, and most of the ones who had children ended up registering. Young Luxen can’t always control their abilities. They slip in and out of the form all the time, and having three children who can’t control their forms was too much of a risk. Registering was safer; at least that’s how it appeared in the beginning. A lot of other Luxen don’t seem to want to bring a Luxen or hybrid child into this world, the same with the Arum. Well, except Daemon and Kat, but they’re crazy and apparently decided condoms were for people with common sense.”
I swallowed my laugh.
“Or maybe the condom broke,” she rambled on. “I don’t know, and I’m not going to ask, but I would be scared to death. Their kid is going to be crazy powerful one day, but until then, it’ll just be a baby, and when—”
“Wait. I don’t understand.” I twisted toward her, remembering the Luxen I had accidentally barged in on when I’d gone back to find my phone at Luc’s club. The male had nearly choked me out, but he’d been protecting his family—a family that included a little girl with pigtails. I had no idea if the other two siblings had been there and I hadn’t seen them—because Luxen always came in threes—or if something had happened to them. “Luc had a family at his club. A little girl who was a Luxen. I saw her—”
“They didn’t make it here.”
My heart squeezed and then stopped. “What?”
Somberness was a heavy weight in her voice. “I think it was Daemon and Archer who were moving them. Halfway here, something came up and they had to hand them off to another who was going to take them the rest of the way. They were spotted. We lost Jonathan, too—the Luxen who was escorting them. They were taken to wherever the ART teams take unregistered Luxen.” She watched the children, shoulders tight. “Luc has tried to find out where they’re being housed, and you know Luc. He can ferret out just about anything. Same with Daemon and Archer. Between the two of them, they’ve probably done recon on at least a hundred locations.”
All I could see when I looked back at the children was that little girl.
“We know unregistered Luxen are initially processed at ART offices, but where they’re taken after? No idea. Whenever we think we have leads, it’s a dead end.” Zoe paused. “Either they have them someplace we just haven’t thought to look, or…”
Zoe didn’t finish, but there was no need. Mouth and throat dry like they were coated with ash, I folded my arms over my stomach. The unregistered Luxen didn’t simply vanish, and if there were no leads, no evidence of a holding facility, then that left one possibility.
There were no holding facilities.
And that would mean the little girl with pigtails held by her frightened mother and her father who had been willing to kill to protect her were dead.
8
How many Luxen had been taken into custody? There weren’t statistics on that as far as I knew, and the worst part—and there were a lot of terrible parts competing for top spot—was this horrific possibility made sense. If the Daedalus planned on eradicating anyone who could fight back, why would they detain the Luxen? What would be the point?
I had to breathe around the building nausea. “And no one apprehended by ART has ever been seen again?”
Zoe opened her eyes. “A few escaped, but it always happened before they were processed. As far as I know, no one has ever escaped after that.”
Shivering at the implication, I watched the wind stir the tall reedy plants bordering the playground. What Zoe had said earlier about the human psyche defaulting to denial seemed to be right on point yet again, because I almost couldn’t believe it.
But it wouldn’t be the first time the human race committed genocide. It wouldn’t even be the tenth time. We had a striking inability to learn from history.
“There’s the sixteenth rug rat.” A small smile appeared, erasing a fraction of the sadness on Zoe’s face.
Following her gaze, I saw a tiny girl coming out of the door of the school, her dark hair pulled back from a face shaped like the cutest little heart. Her jeans were rolled up, revealing bare feet.
“Ashley,” I said. Bethany and Dawson’s daughter. “Is she the youngest Origin there is right now?”
“I believe so.” Zoe paused. “At least until Kat gives birth.”
Clutching some sort of stuffed toy to her chest, Ashley hopped down the steps like a little kangaroo. One of the other kids all but power-dived off a seesaw, nearly sending the other tyke flying into the air.
“Oh my God.” I laughed as that little girl rushed across the playground, meeting Ashley at the bottom of the steps. The girl gave her a quick hug and then scampered off.
“They all love her,” Zoe said quietly. “Probably because she’s made a couple of them”—Zoe lifted her fingers, forming quotation marks—“‘fly.’”
“Uh, what?”
Zoe grinned. “Watch the little girl who hugged her.”
Finding the little girl in pink tights over behind the swing set, I about fell over when the child swept up into the
air as if a giant, invisible hand had reached down, swooping her up.
Thrusting her little arms straight above her head like a baby Wonder Woman, she flew as high as the school and then as high as the tree.
Ashley was just standing in the center of the walkway, her stuffed toy dangling at her side while her little face was scrunched up into a mask of rather adorably severe concentration. I quickly glanced over at the teachers and saw, much to my shock and awe, they were surrounded by several of the other, very distracting children.
And they had a little lookout!
A boy with dark brown skin kept glancing between the girl in the pink tights levitating above the tree and the adults. Peals of laughter from Baby Wonder Woman sent the other children clamoring to keep the teachers focused on them.
It was a good thing they did.
Because Baby Wonder Woman was rolling in midair, not once, not twice, but three times before the lookout waved his arms like one of those flailing inflatable tube men.
Ashley brought her down swiftly. Perhaps a bit too swiftly. Baby Wonder Woman made a rough landing, losing her balance when her feet hit the ground, plopping onto her butt. Like a true warrior goddess in training, she toppled onto her back, giggling.
My mouth was hanging open.
“Ashley really needs to work on the landings, though,” Zoe murmured.
Grinning as if she were entirely pleased with herself, Ashley lifted the stuffed toy to her chest and resumed her barefoot skipping.
“I don’t know what I just watched.”
“How baby Origins make friends with humans?” Zoe suggested.
I couldn’t disagree with that.
“I bet you won’t guess who taught her to do that.”
I didn’t need to guess. “Luc.”
“Yep.” Laughing, she pulled her hands out from behind her back. “He taught her when she was barely two, apparently starting with making her toys fly, and then Daemon when he visited.”
Now my jaw had to be on the ground. It took me a moment to find my voice. “I’m sure her parents appreciated that.”
The Brightest Night Page 10