Away (8 page)

“Sorry?” She spoke before she thought.

“You've heard nothing,” he said, enunciating each word. “From Rachel?” He looked impatient. “Your daughter?”

“No. I've heard nothing. I'd hoped . . .” Vivian let her thought remain unfinished.

“Yes?” The man twirled the cutter in his hand.

“I'd hoped she would get over her teenage fuss and come home, but I'm afraid something's happened to her now.” Vivian carefully injected what she hoped was a realistic note of panic into her voice. “Since her father died it's been a huge struggle, and the EOs won't even look for her. Can't you get them to look, sir? Can't you help me?”

The man drew back, as if he feared she might try to touch him. He placed the cutter carefully back in its velvet hollow.

“Surely you have some power?” She tried for a whine.

The man scowled, glanced at his digitab. He considered her for another moment, but it was clear he'd moved on. He sighed, and snapped the case before him closed.

“Ms. Quillen,” he said. “Vivian.” He spoke very softly. “It would be best if you didn't travel outside the county. Actually, why don't you limit yourself to your place of employ and Bensen. We may want to talk with you further. And if you see Peter Hill, you are to report it immediately, Vivian. Do you understand?”

“But what about my Rachel?” Now Vivian didn't have to feign her tears. “Couldn't you please just send out a patrol? Just one?” When the man rose to leave she reached for him across the table. He flicked her hands away as though they were filthy.

“You should just be happy you're going home, Ms. Quillen.” At the door he paused. He pointed a finger at his temple. “Don't think we won't be watching.”

Vivian buried her head in her arms and sobbed.

CHAPTER 7

A
FTER THE COUNCIL meeting Nandy and Rachel walked back to the hut together.

“You and I will be sleeping in there for now.” Nandy jutted her chin toward one of the two doorways off the main room of the hut. “The boys will bunk in the other room.” Nandy took some plates from a shelf on the wall and put them on the table. “Would you set these out for me, Rachel? Just us three tonight. Indigo and Malgam will be late—they have arrangements to make about who will do what while we're gone, and what happens if we don't . . . come back. And then they have to get Malgam's things from the hospital. They'll eat with some of the council, probably. Pathik should be here soon, though—he's probably off getting more wood.”

“The hospital? Is that what you call that building where Malgam was?” Rachel placed the plates carefully; they were pottery, faded and chipped around the edges. She tried not to dwell on what Nandy had said about not coming back.

“That's what we use it for.” Nandy handed Rachel three forks. “If someone gets sick we quarantine right away—we can't afford to have any sort of outbreak. The medicines we have aren't strong enough to fight the serious sicknesses.” Nandy shrugged. “Malgam would have died without your antibiotics. Many have before him.”

Rachel thought about this. She knew that Indigo had Crossed decades before. That was how he had met Ms. Moore; how they had fallen in love and had a baby—who turned out to be Malgam. But if Others had Crossed since then, wouldn't they have at least some medications from the other side? Had no Other Crossed since Indigo? She started to pose the question, but it must have been written on her face.

“We don't Cross anymore.” Nandy had been watching her puzzle things out. “We don't have any keys.” She added three cups to the table setting. “You know about Indigo's time over there.” It wasn't a question.

“I know he Crossed.” Rachel tried to remember all that Ms. Moore had told her and Vivian that night in the parlor, when everything changed. “He Crossed with friends of his—they were on a mission, though Ms. Moore never said what it was about. She said they each had more than one key to disable the Line.”

“They did. They had three each, actually, according to the story we're told. Keys passed down from father to son, and nobody knows for certain how we came to be in possession of them. There are lots of stories. Some say a highranking Reg got them over right before the Line was activated.

“But Indigo's trek used the last of the supply. Since then, some have tried to figure out how to make keys. My own father tried—cobbled together prototypes from bits and pieces gathered and saved over decades, following notes from his father, and ideas from his father's father, about how the Line might work.”

“How
does
it work?”

Nandy chuckled. “I don't know,” she said. “It has something to do with energy fields, but I don't understand it. My great-grandfather scribbled some notes that were passed down through my family, notes that looked like some sort of mathematic code but that must have meant something. My grandfather only learned that energy fields were involved by accident.” She grinned. “I'm told he was quite the rebel—he was supposed to be on sentry duty, but instead he was testing the Line. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near it—none of us are. But he was right next to it, pushing on it, and there was a lightning strike. He fell right through to the other side. Thankfully, he Crossed right back before the effect was over. Otherwise he would have been stuck over there.” Nandy took one of the oil jars that lit the interior of the hut and ignited some shavings in the fireplace. She added twigs and then three logs from a small stack next to the hearth.

Rachel thought of her own experience trying to Cross the Line. It seemed so long ago that she had dared herself to try. She still remembered the soft, firm resistance of it. And how much that silly, little-girl stunt had changed her life.

“That must be what they mean by a Crossing Storm,” she said.

“What do you know of them?” Nandy looked up from where she was cracking small blue eggs into an old iron pan.

“Some of the net books talk about Crossing Storms, where the storm somehow makes it possible for the Others . . . I mean for you people, I mean . . . I mean for people like you . . .” Rachel stopped talking. Nothing she said sounded like what she meant.

“You mean for people like us, whose great-grandparents were separated from their lovers and daughters and sons, with no warning and no remorse; people like us, who got abandoned over here, who got left to suffer and die when the bombs went off, who got left to
die
here, by people like you?” Nandy stared at Rachel, something wild in her eyes.

Rachel stared back. “No,” she said quietly.

“No,
what
?” Nandy sounded more angry than Rachel had heard her, more angry than she had thought it possible for Nandy to be, really.

“No,” Rachel whispered, looking straight into Nandy's eyes. “
Not
by people like me. People like me wouldn't do that.
I
didn't do that. I never would.” She walked to the corner where her bag and duffel were and stood looking down at them. She felt tears stinging her eyes, but she didn't cry. She wanted to take her things and go. She wanted to go find her father herself, without any help from this woman, without any help from anyone. She wanted to find him and look at him and hug him and hear him say he loved her and that everything would be all right. But the most she could do right now was to go outside and sit, and wait for the moment to change. She fumbled in her pack for some gloves.

“Rachel.”

Rachel didn't turn. She felt her cheeks burning. She kept looking for the gloves.

“Rachel.” Nandy touched her shoulder, turned her around. Her face was etched with regret. “I'm so sorry.” She looked at Rachel and her eyes looked helpless. She shook her head. “I just get so angry, and I have nowhere to put it. I'm so angry at what they did. Every time one of us dies because of a simple infection, or in childbirth . . . What they did goes on and on for us. And they don't care at all. But you're right. You are not them. You had nothing to do with it.”

Rachel just looked at her. She didn't know what to say.

“Come help me with dinner?” Nandy smiled a small, tentative smile.

Rachel nodded. She followed Nandy to the hearth. Nandy handed her a smooth piece of clean wood, carved with a wider, paddle-like end.

“If you could stir those up.” Nandy nodded to the eggs.

Rachel saw three tiny yolks floating in the pan. She broke them with the utensil and began to stir.

“Where did these come from?”

Nandy looked up from the table, where she was measuring some sort of rough flour from a crock. “They're from a bird that lives in our woods—a funny bird that can't fly. They lay three eggs at a time, and we gather one from each nest.” She stopped her measuring and leaned on the table. She waited until Rachel noticed the silence and looked back.

“I truly am sorry, Rachel.”

“It's okay.” It was Rachel's turn to smile a tentative smile. “I'd be mad too.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes. But Rachel had so many questions racing through her mind that she couldn't stay quiet for long.

“I met Fisher today. Before the council meeting. Pathik didn't seem to like him.”

“Oh, there's lots of history there.” Nandy shrugged. “I do wish those boys would loosen up a bit. It's all about their fathers. Well, not fathers—I mean, Malgam is Pathik's father, but Michael isn't Fisher's. He's his guardian.” Nandy took a bit more flour from the crock. “Fisher's parents were both killed when he was four. Michael took him in, and raised him up like his own son. And Michael and Malgam don't always get along. So the boys get torn apart a bit with that.”

“How did Fisher's parents die?” Rachel knew what it was like to lose one parent—she couldn't imagine losing both.

Nandy shrugged again. “We don't really know. Could have been a forest creature. Could have been the Roberts. We never found their bodies. They just didn't come back from gathering wood one day.”

“Why do you and the Roberts live in different camps? Why don't you work together? It seems so hard here, without having to worry about your own people being enemies.”

Nandy dumped the flour into a bowl and added some oil. She began to mix the two together.

“The Roberts don't think of us as people.” She sighed. “A long time ago, when the first gifts started to show in children, a man named Robert was one of the leaders. He thought the gifts were signs of evil. He thought all the children who had them should be killed. Indigo's grandfather was another leader at that time. He wouldn't allow any children to be killed. He said that all of us were people, that all of us were good, gift or no gift. So there was a split. Some of our people went with Robert—”

The hut door burst open in what seemed to be Pathik's usual fashion. He came inside, his arms filled with wood for the fire, but he was halted by Nandy's scowl. She was looking at the floor, where the rag they used to stuff the crack in the ill-fitting door lay, fallen when Pathik opened the door.

Pathik raised his eyebrows as far as they would go and shrugged. He set the wood down on the hearth and returned to the door, picking the rag up and carefully dusting it off before he stuffed it in the crack. Nandy shook her head, but then she started to laugh.

“That door!”

“Bet I have something to fix it.” Rachel hurried to her duffel bag. She rummaged in it and came up with a small case. Pathik nodded; he recognized it. He'd seen some of what Ms. Moore had packed in the duffel when they were still on the way to base camp. Since they had arrived there had been little time; Pathik had loaded the batteries into the solar charger and put it on the roof of the hospital to catch light, but there had been no time to try out the tools and other items.

“What is it?” Nandy came to get a better look.

“It's a laser saw.”

“I'll go get the batteries.” Pathik looked excited. He had been fascinated by the assortment of tools and other items Ms. Moore had sent. He'd grilled Rachel endlessly during the trek to camp about how her life was: what did she eat, how was it cooked, what sort of vehicles were there. Rachel had been exhausted with all his questions.

“Batteries? Too bad. Those run out of energy, right?” Nandy touched the case. “They'll end up in the tech cemetery.”

“The tech cemetery?” Rachel wondered what that meant.

Nandy nodded. “You should have Pathik show you sometime.”

“These are solar charged—Ms. Moore packed lots of things that run off of them,” said Rachel. “She also packed a solar array that will let us recharge them. Pathik put it up on the roof of one of the buildings, so it could catch the sun. I think this will trim that metal so the door fits right.” Rachel snapped open the case and took out a folded piece of paper that lay atop the tool. She handed it to Nandy. “Directions.”