Breathe (14 page)

I push the mask back onto her face and without thinking, throw my arms around her.

“Get off me,” Maude mutters.

“Are you out of your mind?” Alina shouts and runs to pull me away from Maude who, despite her protest, is clinging to me as tightly as I am to her. “Who knows what she’s got living in her skin. What the
hell
are you doing?” Alina screams. She looks at Maude with disgust, until gradually, her face changes and her look turns from hateful to sad. And when I let go of Maude, I see why: she is crying inconsolably, and in the dim light looks so human, so beautiful and vulnerable with her tank still held out as an offering, that it would take a monster not to pity her.

I’m pretty sure no one’s searching, or if they are, they must be giving up the search by now. There’s no point in calling out, so I’ve stopped. And I’ve stopped trying to find a way out. It only uses up more air.

I never really thought much about my life before, and it’s kind of sad that the first time I am actually thinking about it is probably the last time I ever will; it’s likely I won’t survive more than a day, and all the regret and gratitude I have churning around in my head will be wasted because there’s going to be nothing I can do about any of it.

I can’t stop thinking about my brothers—Lennon and Keane—and even though they do drive me up the wall sometimes, I love them. And I love my parents, too. I don’t like thinking about it, how much I love everyone and how I won’t see any of them again, to tell them that I love them. I wish I’d been nicer, you know, like actually talked to my family from time to time.

I don’t know why Bea didn’t tell me to get lost ages ago. The number of times I blew her off because I got a better offer from some girl I’d met an hour earlier. And later, when I realized that girl was as boring to kiss as she was to talk to, I’d be on the pad to Bea complaining about my disaster of a life.
My
life? And there she was with two parents who couldn’t afford to let her breathe too much, let alone make out with someone. If I survive, the first thing I’m going to do is apologize to Bea. I imagine her face, forgiving me. I imagine her eyes blinking away tears as she comes toward me and we embrace.

Maude, Alina, and I are all sitting on the dirty platform with our legs dangling over the edge. I open another nutrition bar, which Alina and I share, taking turns so that we can keep each other’s masks on.

“If I gave you
my
tank would you go back for him?” I ask Alina.

“You know I wouldn’t,” she says, and I do know that, but I have to ask anyway, to be sure.

I try to tell myself that he’s okay, that he’ll be waiting for us when we emerge from whichever station Alina intends to use to get us out of the underground. I tell myself all this, though I know it’s more likely that Quinn is dead or that he will be soon.

I make a promise to myself that if Quinn
is
dead, I’ll find a way to avenge his murder. I’ll find a way to make the Ministry pay.

I’ve given up all hope and am falling in and out of consciousness when a voice brings me back. Someone calls out. “Al-ala?” I wonder if it’s my imagination, if I’m so low on air that I’m delirious and starting to hear things. I cough. Then the voice rings again. “Al-aaala?”

I try to shout, but my throat is so dry, all that comes out is another cough. I cough and cough and as I do, the bricks shift slightly around me and dust sprinkles into my eyes.

“Hello!” I say, and it sounds like a real word. “I’m here!” I call, louder this time.

“I’m coming!” Above me there’s a sound that reminds me of a tram pulling into a station. The voice disappears, but a crunching and thudding sound replaces it. After what feels like an hour, a gray sliver of light punctures the gloom and the concrete slab is at last hauled away, and a face peers down at me in the moonlight.

“You’re not Alina,” he says.

“I’m Quinn,” I tell him.

“Okay,” he says, and continues to shift the wreckage so I can move. He frowns, his eyes dark and hard. And another figure appears over his shoulder wearing an even fiercer look. He helps to dig me out. “Can you stand?” the first guy asks when I’m free. I manage to sit up, but when I try to stand, my legs buckle and I fall. “Here,” he says, and takes a water canister from his companion. I adjust my facemask, take a long gulp, and hand it back. “I’m looking for someone,” he says. “I’m looking for a girl.”

“Who are you?” I ask. They don’t look like they should be trifled with. The first of the two, the talker with the hard eyes, hands the canister back to the blond, who puts it into his backpack without speaking and looks up at the moon. It is full in the sky and there is a fierce wind whipping our faces. The blond pulls his hat down as a few flakes of snow start to float to earth.

“You’re a Premium,” the first says. It’s amazing how quickly everyone spots this, like it’s the one thing they need to know in order to fully understand a person.

“My name’s Quinn,” I tell him again, holding out my bruised and bloody hand. He looks at it for a moment and finally puts out his hand, too.

“I’m Silas,” he says, taking my hand and gripping it tightly. “And this is Inger. We’re looking for my cousin.”

“So what you’re saying is that you met Alina?” Silas asks, looking down at me warily. “You were traveling companions and you helped her?
You?
” Maybe this isn’t easy for him to believe. I’m covered from head to foot in dirt, my body is still sort of shivering from the shock of being buried alive, and I’m holding an old T-shirt to my face to staunch the blood coming from a gash above my eyebrow.

“The drifter would’ve killed her if we hadn’t come along,” I croak, dust still lining my throat.

“We?” Silas looks at Inger, who still hasn’t spoken. He is standing behind Silas with his hands on his hips.

“My friend Bea,” I say. “She’s with Alina now. At least, I think she is. I hope she is.”

Silas rubs his mouth and stubbly chin. He’s got the same unflinching frown as Alina, giving him the look of someone who’s lived a very long time. He’s eighteen or nineteen maybe, twenty at most. But unlike Alina, Silas doesn’t look like he’s about to punch me in the face when I speak.

“So, why exactly did Alina decide to drag along the drifter?” he asks. “They’re dangerous.” Inger nods in agreement and folds his arms across his broad chest. I’m unnerved by Inger’s silence and explain everything again, right from when I met Alina in the vaccination line and then again at Border Control, and they listen carefully. When I’m done, and they’re just about satisfied I’m not lying, Silas throws my arm over his shoulder and hauls me up. “Can you walk?” he asks.

“I think so,” I say. Pain runs across my abdomen. I hunch over and groan, but it only makes the pain more intense. I gasp. I can’t help it.

“You must have cracked some ribs,” Silas says. “Nothing a doctor could do about that anyway. They’ll heal. You’ll be fine.”

Silas and Inger look like they’d keep walking even if they lost their limbs—they’d try, anyway, and wouldn’t complain about it. So I pull the straps on my facemask tight and take a deep breath. Even doing this is so painful I have an urge to howl. I take small, shallow breaths and try to focus on the moon, shining as brightly as a new coin, and on the silvery angular shapes on the horizon. I try not to look at the buildings pressing in on us, their windows shattered, their roofs caved in at the corners.

“How did you find out Alina was on the run?” I ask.

“Alina lives with me and my parents.” Silas grunts and puts his arms through the straps of his backpack.

“Why?”

“Since her parents disappeared, she’s been like a sister to me,” he says.

“Like a sister. Huh.” Silas doesn’t respond. “So, where we headed?” I ask.

Silas frowns. “You’re going back to the pod,” he says.

Inger nods and finally speaks, his voice a low growl. “You would be in our way,” he says. Because Silas has done all the talking until now, my initial impression was that Inger was something of a sidekick, but hearing him I know that can’t be true. There is a strength and authority to his voice.

“Breathe will probably come hunting again tomorrow and you can hitch a ride with them. Flash that tattoo,” Silas says.

“My best friend is heading into the city, and I’m responsible for her, so I’m coming with you,” I say.

Inger sniffs and puts his hands in his pockets. “She’s
your
cousin,” he tells Silas.

Silas, who has been holding my backpack, throws it at me and pulls up the hood on his jacket. “We found your stuff over there,” he says, pointing to the spot where I last saw Bea, Alina, and Maude. He looks up at the sky, clears his throat, and then, like he’s just seen his fate in the clouds says, “All right, you can come.” He manages a smile. “But we won’t get far tonight through this mess. There’s no road we can follow. Let’s find somewhere to get a bit of shut-eye until dawn.”

“I have a tent,” I tell them. “Really easy to put up: all you have to do is shake it.”

“You have a tent? Where did you get a tent?” Silas wants to know.

“I bought it.”

“’Course,” he snorts.

“Well, my dad bought it,” I add, and then wish I hadn’t.

We walk until we find a solid-looking house with a front garden. Inger and Silas stop, shrug off the bags, and kick the remnants of an old bicycle and some broken bottles aside while I slowly unravel the tent. Within a few minutes it’s ready.

“I have these,” I say, pulling out the sleeping bags and tossing them onto the ground.

“That must be the smallest thing I’ve ever seen.” Silas stares at the tent. He hasn’t said it, but what he really means is,
We’ll have to lie really close to each other
.

“Oh well,” I say, trying to sound blasé but really, I’m weirded out too: I hardly know these guys and it
is
a small tent, even for two.

“It’ll keep us dry,” Inger says, crouching down and crawling inside. Silas and I crawl in after him with the sleeping bags. We unzip them the whole way and use one as padding for the ground and the other one as a kind of blanket. We lie down, me in the middle. Inger and Silas turn their backs on me, so even though I usually sleep on my side, I can’t do this without spooning one of them. I lie looking up at the shadows, making sure I keep my feet together and hands on my chest.

After a few minutes Silas says, “You’re sure Alina’s all right?”

I know that what I need to say is,
Yes, Alina’s fine, don’t worry
, but the reasonable part of my brain shuts down momentarily as the concussed part kicks in. What I end up saying is, “Do you have a crush on her too, Silas?”

“Really?” Inger exclaims, stifling a laugh.

“What in hell’s name is wrong with him?” Silas says. I have no idea how to respond because I know that Silas is her cousin and I sound like some wacko. I pull the sleeping bag up under my chin.

“I’m sixteen,” I say, like that’s an explanation. Silas laughs, thank God, instead of hitting me.

“He’s sixteen,” Inger repeats.

“He’s an idiot,” Silas says. “Go to sleep.”

When we emerge from the underground into the dawn, I have to squint to protect my eyes from the light. The cold bites me, too. There are little flurries of white frost circling in the morning air and silently settling on the ground. “Beautiful,” Alina says, holding out her hand to catch some snowflakes and pulling away her facemask so she can taste them.

I haven’t spoken for hours; none of us has, we’re saving our energy. And I have nothing to say.

We walk in single file down a narrow road leading to an even narrower one, more like an alleyway than a road really. I have no idea where we are. I need a map. I don’t have one—Quinn had everything in his bags, so I wouldn’t have to carry anything and wear myself out—and my pad has no battery.

Maude and I have been struggling to keep up with Alina. How she managed to maintain her fitness without ever getting caught by a steward or one of the Ministry’s cameras is astounding. I’m jealous and angry I didn’t try to break the law myself. I’ve been virtuous my whole life, practically saintly, and where did it get me?

We’ve been walking through the night. When Maude needed to pee we all found nooks to get a minute’s privacy, but that was the longest break we took. We have to keep moving at exactly the right pace to ensure our air supplies last, though Alina’s will last longer because she’s trained herself to subsist on lower densities of oxygen.

Alina keeps her head down and marches onward, turning left, then turning right, rarely looking up to check she’s on the correct road. She points occasionally, warning us to avoid glass or cracked skulls.

I wonder whether or not Alina is thinking of Quinn. Maybe it feels better to be the one filled with desire than the one desired. I wouldn’t know. Maybe I’ll never know.