I shrug. “I should be the one asking questions. I’ve been sick and unconscious for days, you ought to know this village better. But you’ve been so busy cozying up with the elders, ignoring the ‘froth.’ You know squat about this place.”
He paces a short way down the hall, comes back. “That’s unfair.”
“I’ll tell you what’s unfair. Leaving Sissy all alone at the farm. That’s what you and the boys did. You deserted her. She led you safely to this village, through the Vast, up the mountain, protecting you guys from dusker attack after attack. And what did you do in return? As soon as you set one foot in this place, you dropped her like a sack of potatoes. Off you went, running around, carousing with—”
“Enough!”
“—all the local girls, not giving a moment’s thought for Sissy.”
“Sissy can fend for herself! She doesn’t need hand-holding—”
“It’s not about that! It’s about sticking together, it’s about—”
“I said enough! I don’t need a lecture from you about loyalty!” His face is filled with anger. But it’s not directed at me. His clenched fists thump against his side. Self-hate and guilt tighten his shoulders.
“You left her alone,” I say, softer now. “You shouldn’t have done that. The younger boys, okay, I can understand them getting caught up with everything here, losing their heads. But you. You should have been more collected. And you should never have left Sissy to fend for herself, Epap. What were you thinking, going off with all those girls? You did it to make her jealous, didn’t you?” I say, my voice rising with accusation.
His lips tighten. He paces down the hallway again, with small, tight strides. He stares disconsolately at his boots. When he walks back, it’s with slower, meditative strides. He leans against the wall and kicks backward, his heel smacking against the wall.
“I didn’t do it to make her jealous,” he says quietly. “Spending all that time with the village girls, hanging around with them, it wasn’t to play the jealousy game. I’d never do something so … juvenile.”
“Why’d you do it, then?”
His eyes mist over, and he turns them downward. “To prove to myself that I could get along fine without her. That I didn’t need her. That in the company of other girls, I would forget her.” He sniffs. “And in the beginning, I thought I would. All that female attention, it was intoxicating, see. But I was wrong.” He stares down at his hands, exhales angrily through his nose. “And you’re right, I should never have neglected her. I totally dropped the ball on that one.”
His eyes rise to mine and they are balanced and steady and filled with resolve. “I’m better than that. I’ll make good. I will.”
I give a quick nod, our eyes never breaking contact. It’s taken over a week, but Epap and I have finally had our first real interaction.
“Something’s got you spooked about this place,” he says. His eyes turn hard with self-reproach. “What have I been missing?”
“There are things I just learned. And which you definitely should know.” I flick my chin toward the room. “But let’s go inside. I want the boys to hear this, too.”
Movement. Outside the window, a line of gray figures trundling in the rain toward us.
“Hold on,” I say. “Someone’s coming.”
* * *
It’s a trio of village girls. They bring medicinal ointments and bandages. Kneeling before the still-unconscious Sissy, they work with practiced efficiency. A pungent cream is lathered onto the branded skin. It’s wiped off after a few minutes, and a different yellowish cream is layered on, less thickly. A bandage is placed around the burnt skin, but not on top of it.
“Apply a new coating every hour,” the lead girl says. She has hard eyes that sit upon soft, chubby cheeks, and her hair is done up in braided ponytails. She gets up to leave. The others follow suit, the floorboards creaking under their collective weight.
One of the other girls, with a high-pitched, wavering voice, speaks. “The elders wish to express their displeasure. Your removal of this girl from the clinic was a major indiscretion. Grand Elder Krugman, however, has decided no further discipline is necessary. Enough punishment has been meted out tonight. Justice has been rendered, orderliness has been restored.” The last sentence is intoned like a chant.
“However,” the third girl says, her face thin and flat, “the eldership further wishes to convey their desire that you each return to your abodes. All sleeping arrangements are strictly enforced. We will escort the boys to the cottage, and carry the girl back down to the farm.”
The boys look at each other.
“No,” Epap says. “That is not happening. We’re all staying here. From now on, we’re together.”
“The eldership is insistent.”
“As am I,” Epap says.
The girls, unaccustomed to challenging males face-to-face, wilt easily and quickly. One of them adjusts her dress. “I know what you are thinking,” she says. “That what happened tonight to your friend Sissy is an awful thing.”
“And it isn’t?” I say.
The girl peels back her sleeve. She has three brandings on her forearm. “I was once wild and undisciplined. I did not appreciate how my unruliness was a cancer to the Mission’s harmony. But I’ve matured. And now, I can honestly tell you that since I’ve learned to place the Mission before self, I’ve found the peace and joy I’d been seeking in all the wrong places. I’m happier than I’ve ever thought possible, especially knowing one day I will achieve the highest of joys, my ticket to the Civilization.”
She sees incredulity in my eyes. “The elders teach us—and I have come to see this is true—that this Mission will rise or fall depending on how well we sync with its harmony. That is why any deviance, no matter how small, must be dealt with swiftly and, unfortunately on rare occasions, drastically. But this is a peaceful, wonderful community. You must stop looking for a devil in every bush. Because you look needlessly.”
“You’ve been branded three times,” I say, pointing at her forearm. “What happens when you get five?”
She doesn’t answer, only pulls her sleeve over her arm. Her left eyebrow twitches. “It is time for us to leave,” she says. They pick up the medical baskets, waddle out of the room. I hear them tromping down the hallway.
Curiously, one of them has remained in the room. She is standing still. It’s the girl with braided pigtails. She suddenly spins around, looks at me.
“Be very careful,” she whispers urgently, her eyebrows pulled together into a single line of fear.
“What?” Epap says. Too loud.
The receding footsteps in the hallway stop. Then they start up again, but instead of fading, they get louder. They’re returning. And quickly. Like fists raining down on a door, louder, louder.
“What’s going on?” I whisper to the girl.
But it’s too late. The girl hears the approach of the other two and quickly collects herself. “Will you at least let us bring you some food?” she asks loudly. The other girls are back at the door, gazing curiously at her.
“No,” I answer. “Not after what happened earlier with the soup.”
The girl waddles out of the room, her pigtails bouncing up and down.
The trio of girls clomp down the stairs. We hear the front door open and close. And then they are gone.
27
“SO THAT’S WHERE we are,” I say to the boys. My voice is threadbare and hoarse after talking so long. “We need to decide what to do. Get on the train or not.”
For the past hour, I’ve shared with them everything Krugman told Sissy and me in his office. About the world, the history of the duskers, the Scientist. And about the Origin. Every so often, to give them time to digest the information, I’d stop speaking and add more wood to the fire or check on Sissy’s arm. I needed the time, too. Between almost getting into a fight in Krugman’s office, being drugged, and searching for Sissy, I had yet to digest everything myself. When I shared my suspicions about the
Civilization—that it might not be the Promised Land but instead the Ruler’s Palace—my voice quivered, and I had to dig my fingers into my palm to keep them from trembling.
Epap puts his arm around Ben, who is now on the verge of tears. Nobody says anything as they sit on the rug between the fireplace and sofa on which Sissy still lies. Their faces are knotted into deep frowns. I spread a fresh coating of lotion on Sissy’s burn. Her breathing is deeper, more rhythmic, her brow drier. The effects of whatever drug she ingested fading, she’s coming to. Any minute now.
Outside, dusk—hidden behind the curtain of black rain—has segued imperceptibly into night.
“But we don’t know, do we?” Jacob says. “Not for sure, right? The Civilization could be the Promised Land. The train could be the way to paradise.”
“But remember what the girl with pigtails said,” I say. “She warned us to be careful.”
“But think about what the other girl said,” Jacob says. “That we shouldn’t go looking for a devil in every bush. Maybe this place really is the gateway to paradise.”
Sissy groans in pain, eyes still closed.
“Look what these same people did to Sissy,” I say. “How can you trust anything they say?”
Jacob gets off the floor, stands by the window. “Listen. I had this dream last night. About the Civilization.” He pauses, hesitating. But then he starts speaking, and a warmth suffuses his cheeks. “It was so real. I saw outdoor stadiums full of humans watching sports in sunlight, just like in all those books we read. Outdoor markets with hundreds of different stalls, summer concerts on lush grass, city blocks filled with restaurants, tables spilling out onto the streets, humans sitting and eating … salads. And there were amusement parks with parades and magical castles and thrilling rides. Carousels full of laughing children, magical boat rides surrounded by singing puppets that the Scientist told us about. We can’t not go there.”
“C’mon, Jacob, that’s just a dream. We can’t make a decision based on something so fluffy,” Epap scolds mildly.
“It’s no more fluffy than your guesswork.” He runs his hand through his hair. “All I’m trying to say is we don’t know anything. Not for certain, anyway.”
We fall quiet. I throw in another piece of wood and we gaze at the fire as if somewhere in the swirling light lies an answer.
“But we do know one thing for certain.” It’s Ben, his voice a high squeak. He is sitting hugging his bent legs, chin on kneecaps. He lifts his head off his knees with a smile. “The Origin. What it is.”
We all turn to him.
“Who it is, actually,” he says. He lifts his arm, his finger stretched out and pointing right at me. “You are the Origin,” Ben says. “It’s so obvious.”
“Me? How do you figure that?” I say, wanting to scoff, but somehow unable to. A skein of goose bumps breaks out along my body. The boys are all staring at me with the same expression they wore a few days ago. On the boat when they’d turned over the tablet and read the engraved words—
“Don’t let Gene die,” Ben says.
“Don’t let Gene die,” Jacob repeats, slowly and thoughtfully, as if feeling out the texture of each syllable. His eyes, when they rise to meet mine, widen. “Ben’s right. The Origin’s not a thing. It’s a person. It’s you. You must be the Origin.”
Wood crackles in the fireplace behind me.
“It kind of makes sense,” Epap says, pulling on his lower lip. “I mean, we’ve searched high and low for it. Through all our belongings, clothes. We’ve scoured the pages of the Scientist’s journal and come up empty every time. If the Origin was a thing in our possession we’d have found it by now.” He glances at Sissy lying on the sofa. “You said the elders believe it has something to do with lettering, maybe words tattooed into our skin. But what if the lettering isn’t something on our skin. But—”
“—in our name. In your name,” Ben says, staring at me.
Gene.
“What if the Origin is in your genes?” Ben says. “Like genetics. All that DNA stuff the Scientist taught us.”
They are staring at me as if I’ve suddenly grown five heads. “Naw,” I say, shaking my head. “Not that simple.” I frown, catch my reflection in the darkened window. “Is it?”
“Gene,” Epap says, slowly rising to his feet. “Did your father ever mention anything to you?”
“About what?” I ask.
“Did he ever tell you why he named you Gene?” Epap asks. If he’s mocking me or joking around, it’s not showing in his voice or steely gaze.
“Hold on,” I say. “You think I’m the Origin because … it’s in my genes? You think the cure for the duskers is in my genetic code?”
Their wide eyes and gaping mouths are answer enough.
“C’mon now!” I snort. “Don’t be ridiculous! Look here, a name’s just a name! A sound. There isn’t any special meaning attached to it!” I look at Epap. “You’re going to tell me that Epap has some special significance? Or Ben does? Or Jacob?”
“Actually,” Epap says, and his face is blooming with realization, “they do. All our names do. The Scientist said he christened us according to some aspect uniquely ours. Ben got his name after Big Ben, a mythical clock tower, because of his chubby arms and legs when he was a baby. He named Jacob after the biblical character because of how he walks with a slight limp. As for Sissy, he named her ‘Sis’ so Ben would remember they’re siblings, half-siblings, anyway. Eventually, we just started calling her Sissy because of the way it rolled off the tongue. He named me Epap—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I say. “He gave you cute names. I’m happy for you. But I can tell you this: he never explained my name to me. It was just a name. No special significance attached to it whatsoever.”
But it’s as if they haven’t heard me. They’re smiling, eyes wide with awe. “This whole time,” Jacob says, his eyes glistening, “right in front of us. The Origin. The cure for the duskers, the salvation of humankind. The freakin’ Origin.”
I stand awkwardly before them, wanting to wave off their attention and unwarranted conclusions. The stiff leather on the sofa creaks.
“Well, there’s hope for you dunderheads after all.”
It’s Sissy who’s spoken. We turn to her. Her eyes are open, her head propped up on the sofa arm. She’s trying to smile. “Maybe I should pass out more often,” she says. “Remove myself from the picture. Apparently, it forces you guys to think on your own. Come up with some pretty good ideas.”
“It was me, Sissy!” Ben shouts, smiling and running over to her. “I was the one who thought of it first!”
She kisses him on the cheek. “But of course you did. You’re my brother, aren’t you?”
Ben points at me proudly. “And he’s the Origin.”
28
SISSY IS UP for only a few minutes before she violently heaves into a basin. She wipes her mouth free of dangling vomit, tells us she feels better now that it’s out of her system. The odor is foul, and I take the makeshift vomit basin outside. When I return, they’re having a heated discussion.
“We should get on the train,” Jacob is saying, one hand cupping the elbow of his other arm. “I really believe it’s why the Scientist brought us to the Mission. This place, it’s like a waiting room where we board a train to paradise. Okay, it’s a weird waiting room, I’ll grant you that much. It’s filled with eccentric regulations and ruled with an iron fist. I get it. But it’s a waiting room nonetheless.” He sighs with frustration. “A week from today, we’ll be eating at fancy digs or being paraded in luxury around town and laughing at these silly suspicions. This is the time to be celebrating, not second-guessing the Scientist. He brought us here to get on the train. I mean, how much more obvious can it be?”
“If that’s the case, why didn’t he board the train himself?” Epap says.
“He was waiting for us, for Gene—the Origin—to arrive. Probably, he wanted to board with us and personally escort us to the Civilization.” He wave
s his arms in frustration. “He’d be rolling in his grave if he could hear us now.”
“And you just made my next point for me. Because he is in a grave. If he was waiting for us, why did he kill himself?” Epap asks.
Jacob swallows hard. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice shaky. “Maybe he was expecting us to arrive much sooner. Months, years earlier. When we didn’t show, maybe he thought he’d failed us and that he no longer deserved to go to the Civilization. But we can honor his life now by going where he’d strived for years to one day take us: the Civilization.”
The room falls into a heavy silence.
“I don’t know, Jacob,” Sissy says quietly. “I’m sorry, but there’s something unnerving about the Civilization. About the Scientist’s suicide. I think we honor him best by staying alert and using our heads. We need to know more before boarding the train.”
“And how long is that going to take? A week? A month? A year?” Jacob’s eyes settle on Sissy’s brand. “We can’t stay here indefinitely.”
Sissy notices Jacob staring at her brand, and half turns her arm. “We have food and shelter here,” she says. “This mark they gave me tonight is nothing. A little scratch. Barely hurt at all.” She gives him a reassuring smile. “We’ll be fine here.”
Jacob stares down at his feet, his eyes glistening over. “You know me, Sissy,” he says, his voice shaking with emotion. “I’d never go against what you decide for us. If you say you need more time to investigate, then I believe you. But find out quickly, will you? And promise you won’t keep us here a day longer than necessary?”
She walks over to him, pulls his head against her chest. His body, taut with tension, wilts with release. He puts his arm around her waist, his body quivering against hers. Tears stream out of his closed eyes. “Not a second longer, okay, big guy? You’ll be the first to know. Hey, no more crying! You’re too big for tears now.”
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