In Astrid’s case, it had worked. When she was two days old her parents carried her off the greenway and let the singers taste her blood. As payment, she enjoyed a life free of bee suits and quiet. Most important, Astrid knew that she would never catch the disease—never fall wicked. But she was the only one.
Story of her life—Astrid was the only one.
The vex was supposed to free Goldsport’s next generation, but instead it simply erased them from existence. Every other child died within months of being bitten. That included Hank’s older brother and his twin sister. He had survived only because he’d been a sickly baby, the runt of the Bushkirk litter, and his parents had decided not to risk exposing him to the vex. To this day, his father had never forgiven Hank for being the one who’d survived. And as for the rest of Goldsport, they were all so traumatized that they were done having children. There would be no new playmates for Astrid or Hank. No new names to give or to remember.
“You okay?”
Astrid turned to see that Hank had put his bee suit back on and had joined her at the end of the dock.
“Yup,” Astrid said.
“Liar.”
“Yup,” she said again.
Funny. Just an hour ago, up at the watchtower, Astrid had been puzzling over how her relationship with Hank had fallen apart. But this right here was why it had started in the first place. The vex had screwed up his life just as much as anyone else’s. Yet here Hank was, side by side with Astrid, the living symbol of everything he and Goldsport had lost. It had been like this since they were little. Hank had accepted Astrid from the get-go. He didn’t flinch. This feeling, this closeness, was all she’d ever wanted. As they grew older it changed and went places it shouldn’t have. Astrid hoped, with all her heart, that they could find their way back to that friendship. It was one of the most important things in her life.
“So . . . just checking,” Hank said. “Now would also be a bad time for a kiss, yes?”
Astrid laughed, and so did he.
“Yes,” she said. Then: “Thank you.”
They stood together in silence after that, gazing out into the bay. The gulls flapped around them, returning to their perches. They could hear the radio show once again, reverberating through the glass behind them. A minute passed, and then another. They both seemed to realize, at the same time, that the lighthouse out on Puffin Island had turned off.
CHAPTER 5
What Klara Remembers
TRY AS SHE MIGHT, ASTRID couldn’t get that lighthouse out of her head. Over the following days she did her best to investigate. She popped over to her neighbors’ houses uninvited, armed with questions. She lurked outside the council room, eavesdropping on the board of investors. She even signed up for shifts in the dairy gardens, just so she could interrogate the people on duty.
“Hey, did you happen notice that the lighthouse turned on?”
“That’s right! On Sunday morning. That’s weird, isn’t it?”
“How long has it been, actually? Two years? More than that?”
“Do you really think batteries can last that long? Seems odd to me!”
“When was the last time anybody even went to Puffin Island, anyway?”
“Wouldn’t you agree that someone should go and check it out?”
“Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
Astrid was so persistent that her neighbors stopped opening their doors when they spied her through the peephole. Investors began to turn and head in the opposite direction when they saw her coming down the greenway. Astrid was used to this—people had been weirded out by her for as long as she could remember—but not even Amblin or Ria would let anything slip! There was simply no cracking through their lie. And so, after a few days of getting nowhere, Astrid finally decided to try her luck with Klara Bushkirk.
• • •
Honestly, she felt a little guilty about it.
Klara was Hank’s stepmom, and she was the oldest person left in the sanctuary. She’d been among the first investors and had stood right beside Ronnie Gold at the founding ceremony. Hank said his dad had married Klara only so that he could weasel his way into her big house and win himself a seat on the board of investors. Given what Astrid knew about the man, it checked out.
But none of that was why Astrid felt conflicted. The truth was that Klara tended to forget things. Sometimes it was small stuff, like a name or a date. Sometimes it was big stuff, like what singers were. She had even been known, from time to time, to forget literally everything about this new and wicked world in which they lived. Last year Astrid’s father had caught Klara trying to go outside without her bee suit on. Her ear was pressed up against a dead cell phone, and she was complaining loudly about how poor the service was. It came in waves. She had good days, and she had bad ones. All of which was why Astrid felt so guilty. Interrogating Klara felt a little like taking advantage.
Mr. Bushkirk would never stand for questions about Puffin Island, so Astrid waited until Klara left the house. She followed her along the greenway, down the airlock, and into the underground grocery. It was a large bunker, dug directly beneath the Goldsport plaza, stuffed to the brim with treats and treasures from the world before, all specially preserved. The board had done everything they could to make it look like an old grocery store. The food was arranged in neat aisles. Cardboard signs advertised special deals. There was even a checkout counter and a cash register, filled with worthless paper money.
Klara Bushkirk retrieved a shopping cart and made her way into the baking section. Astrid did a quick survey of the aisles, and as soon as she saw that they were alone, she grabbed a basket for herself and wandered casually up beside Klara.
“Oh, Mrs. Bushkirk!” she said, hiding her shame under a big fake grin. “I didn’t see you come in. . . .”
“Well, good morning.” Hank’s stepmom turned to face Astrid. She was dressed in a nice silk blouse, with all of the buttons done up right. She had her earrings in, and her makeup was immaculate. Good signs. “How have you been, sweetheart?”
“Fine,” Astrid said, trying her best to seem interested in the items on the shelves. She pulled down a vacuum-packed bag of sugar and set it lamely inside her basket. “How about you?”
“Well, you know. I could complain, if I had a mind to.” Mrs. Bushkirk smiled at Astrid. “Do you know that Missy wants us all to bake three cakes apiece for commemoration this year?”
Commemoration—far and away the biggest holiday in their sanctuary. It was held every July, on the anniversary of Goldsport’s founding.
“Ha ha,” Astrid said. “Three cakes does seem like a lot.” She paused, trying to find a smooth way to bring up the subject of the lighthouse. But before Astrid could say anything more, Klara Bushkirk beat her to it.
“From what I understand, you’ve been pretty busy yourself.” She arched one of her perfectly plucked silver eyebrows. “Carrying on about that island. To hear people tell it, you’ve been making yourself into something of a pest.”
“Oh . . . ,” Astrid said. “I didn’t mean to bother any—”
“Sweetheart,” Klara cut in gently. “I’m teasing you. A little.”
She continued down the aisle without another word, dropping items into her cart. Astrid followed along, shopping for things she didn’t need. Flour and powdered milk. Granola and freeze-dried ice cream. There was so much of everything. Astrid hadn’t done the math, but she guessed that everybody in Goldsport could have eaten nothing but chocolate-vanilla-strawberry for the next five years if they wanted to.
“So you don’t think . . . ? You aren’t curious about the light?”
“Not in the least.” Klara stopped to lift a bag up, reading ancient calorie information. “It’s a lighthouse,” she said. “It’s got a light. It’s in the name.”
“But why did it turn on again?” Astrid asked.
At this Klara only blinked. It seemed, for a moment, like she might be losing the thread of their conversation. But then she recovered h
erself. “Honey, you really need to give this up,” she said. “You’re upsetting people.”
“I’m sorry,” Astrid said. “I don’t mean to.”
“I know you don’t,” Klara said, softening. “We all know that.”
Together they were quiet for a time. The sound of their footsteps filled the empty grocery. Astrid wanted to let it go. She really did.
She couldn’t.
“But if you and the other investors aren’t hiding anything, then why is everybody getting upset when I ask about the lighthouse? How come no one is even willing to talk about it?”
Klara shook her head, keeping her eyes on the shelves. “You’ll forgive me for saying so, sweetheart, but that’s a young person’s question. When you go around asking about that lighthouse, what you’re doing is bringing up the past. And that’s a painful subject around here. The past is a painful subject to anybody who’s got one.” With this she threw Astrid a withering look. “Honestly, Ria, I’d expect you to know that already.”
Astrid almost crashed into a pyramid of canned shortening. Klara Bushkirk continued walking, turning a corner into the aisle of dried fruit. “I don’t know why you can’t be more like that nice Amblin boy,” she continued. “He’s got his head screwed on right. That young man is looking forward, not back.”
It was painfully clear what had just happened. Klara Bushkirk had confused Astrid for a younger version of her mother. It was an easy enough mistake to make—other than the purple eyes, they looked all but identical. Astrid suddenly realized that for this entire conversation, Klara had been in the past. She’d been talking to a girl who had long since grown up.
Astrid decided to say nothing more. She helped Mrs. Bushkirk finish her shopping and then carried her bags back home for her. At some point, the old woman seemed to shift partway into the present. She thanked Astrid by name, slipping a hundred-dollar bill into her palm as a tip.
“You just spend that on whatever you want,” Klara Bushkirk said, smiling.
• • •
Thoroughly discouraged, Astrid left the greenway. She headed up the road and into the singing forest. She wanted to be alone, but when she arrived at the wall, she saw that Hank was already there. He was buckled tight into his bee suit, slumped atop the turret of Mother, the tank. He looked just about as glum as she felt. Their eyes met, and they nodded to each other. Astrid joined him on the tank, her legs dangling on either side of the cannon. Together they gazed out into the wilderness beyond the wall. For a long time they said nothing.
“Ice cream?” Astrid finally asked. “Or granola?”
“What?” Hank cocked his head.
“You want ice cream or granola?”
“Um, is that really a question?” A faint smile cracked beneath the wire mesh of his veil.
Astrid pulled one of the freeze-dried ice cream bars from her pocket and tossed it up in the air for him to catch. The foil wrapper flashed in the sunlight, and Hank snatched it out of the air. He stared down at the gleaming little rectangle, small in his gloved hand.
“So . . . just to follow up on the whole kiss thing.”
“Still not a good time,” Astrid said, forcing a friendly chuckle. She was happy to laugh at that joke as many times as Hank cared to make it. It was a heck of a lot better than the alternative.
“When did you go to the grocery?” he asked.
“Today. With Klara.”
“Ah.”
“I was asking her about the lighthouse.”
“Of course you were.”
Hank carefully opened one of the snaps on his cuff and slipped the foil packet inside. Then he pulled his arms into the center of his bee suit, leaving his sleeves hanging limp and empty at his sides. His naked fingers appeared inside his bonnet, clutching the ice cream. He fumbled over the wrapper for a moment before peeling it open and jabbing the chocolate end into his mouth. Watching him, Astrid was struck once more by her good fortune. She was so lucky to be able to sit out in the open like this, totally uncovered. The breeze on her legs, the sun on her face. Nothing between her and the world. Nothing other than this big-ass wall, at least.
“Thanks,” Hank said.
“Thank the investors,” Astrid said as she tore open a foil packet for herself. This was another one of their town mantras: Thank the investors! A phrase Astrid and Hank were likely to hear far too often over the next week as the annual commemoration approached.
“So,” Hank asked. “You get anything out of her?”
“Not really,” she said. “She didn’t remember who I was.”
“The problem isn’t so much that she doesn’t remember,” Hank said, shaking his head slowly. “Actually, I think Klara remembers everything. It’s just that she remembers it all at once. She only forgets the order things go in.” He paused to gnaw on his ice cream. The breeze picked up, causing his empty sleeves to flap at his sides. “It’s hard to put a story together when you don’t know what goes where,” he continued. “When you don’t know what the present is, or the past.”
Astrid looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“What?” he said. “I’ve matured a lot since our breakup.”
Just the word brought back memories of the day itself. Hank weeping in Astrid’s bedroom, inconsolable. Astrid standing awkwardly in the middle of the carpet, torn between a desire to comfort her friend and the surety that it would be a big mistake. You can’t exactly reach out and touch someone after saying the words “I’m not in love with you” loudly and clearly, as she had. Of course she’d said other things too. She’d told Hank how much he meant to her, told him that he might be the most important person in her life. And it was all true. But the whole “not in love with you” bit had drowned out every other sentence.
They enjoyed their ice creams in silence atop the tank. From there they could see the bog, which filled the valley beyond the wall like stew in a pot. If Astrid looked closely she could make out the swarms of breeding singers—flecks of iridescent purple dotting the tufts of scraggly grass and pitcher plants, all belting out their strange and beautiful hymns. She leaned back, her hand coming to rest on the cool metal of the gunner’s hatch.
Astrid could remember the creaking sound the hatch used to make when she and Hank would pry it open. She could almost smell the tinge of rust mingled with sweat, hear the sound of their whispers reverberating in the dark. Past and present indeed. For a moment Astrid felt the way Klara might. Like all of it was happening at once. She was still in her bedroom, watching Hank sob and forcing herself not to hug him. And she was also down there in the tank with her mouth on his, fumbling and mumbling and getting things right and wrong all at once. Only recently had it dawned on Astrid how profoundly creepy it was that they’d done all of their hooking up in an old army tank named Mother.
“Why can’t you just stop thinking about it?” Hank asked, a smear of rehydrated chocolate on his lips.
Astrid glanced at him.
“The lighthouse,” Hank said.
“Oh,” she said. “I’m not sure why. But you’re right. I can’t.”
Hank finished his ice cream, letting the wrapper drop into the baggy tent of his bee suit. Then his arms tunneled out into his sleeves again, fingers finding their place in his gloves.
“My father mentioned it,” he said at last, nodding slowly. “How you were asking around about Puffin Island.” He didn’t say anything more for a while. When he spoke again, his voice sounded breezy and light. Artificial. “He said you maybe shouldn’t.”
“Maybe shouldn’t?” She snorted. “Are those the words he used?”
“Not exactly,” Hank said.
“Yeah.” She glanced back once more at Puffin Island. She could see a thin trace of white where the waves hit the breakers, but they were much too far away for her to hear them crash. “Did your dad happen to mention why I shouldn’t?” she asked.
“He said all you’re doing is stressing the old folks out.”
“I see,” Astrid said. “No of
fense, but do you think your dad actually cares if I stress the old folks out?”
“No, I don’t,” Hank said. “And no offense taken. Nobody knows my dad’s an asshole better than I do.” He allowed the words to hang between them for a long moment before changing the subject. “We should probably get back to the greenway. Otherwise everybody is going to assume we ran off together or something.”
Astrid and Hank scooted to the edge of the turret, but before either of them could dismount, they caught sight of something moving on the other side of the gate. It was a rabbit, cautiously crossing the road. Astrid and Hank stayed still as the animal approached. It arrived at the gate and began nosing at the chain link.
Then there was a whooshing noise, and the rabbit jolted to one side. It went stiff and fell flat on the asphalt. A little splash of blood began to blossom around its head, no bigger than a rosebud. The rabbit twitched its hind legs for a few seconds before going completely still.
“I got you,” came a voice from somewhere in the trees.
CHAPTER 6
Eliza
A STRANGE WOMAN EMERGED FROM the woods—a woman Astrid had never seen before. The woman noticed them immediately and stopped in her tracks on the sloping embankment. She stared first at Hank and then at Astrid.
Well. That obviously wasn’t right.
“There’s a lady by the road,” Hank said.
Astrid didn’t answer him. She didn’t even move. Neither did the strange woman. She was rather old, though not as ancient as most of the adults in Goldsport. She must have been about Amblin’s age. In one hand she gripped what appeared to be a slingshot, and in the other dangled a canvas sack stained about the bottom with concentric rings of red and brown.
“There’s a lady by the road,” Hank said again. He must have thought he was whispering. He was not whispering.
“Astrid. Astrid. Do you see her?”
Astrid could only stare. The shocks mounted. The most obvious one was that the woman was a stranger. Astrid hadn’t ever met a stranger before—every single person Astrid knew was a person she had always known. The next was that she was on the wrong side of the gate—she was outside. No one ever went outside. And the final shock, maybe the biggest of all, was that the woman wasn’t wearing a bee suit. Instead she had on a mishmash of ill-fitting clothes: rubber rain boots, oversize denim pants, some kind of shimmery blouse, and what looked like a fancy men’s jacket. She had nothing on her head for protection but a checkered wool cap with flaps dangling over her ears. But it didn’t look like she needed protection. Singers glinted on either side of the road, but none seemed drawn to her.
How We Became Wicked Page 4