E (14 page)

"What was that?" Jonas mutters.  His voice has a sharp
edge to it.

As he falls in at my side, I look him over.  Apollon is now
at my other shoulder.  I shrug. 

"When did you meet Matthew?" Apollon asks, slowly and
carefully.  So he didn’t know.  His face, when I look at him, shows a
wariness that wasn't there before.  Does he think I'll betray them to
Matt?

I put my hand on Apollon's arm as we walk.  "I ran into
him at the Rustler one day," I tell him.  I'd not planned on
explaining things, but I don't want Apollon to worry.  "Then Oscar
broke the window of his car, but he was nice about it."  I notice
Apollon's eyes flick above my head to meet Jonas'.  I add, "It
doesn't matter anyway, because we're leaving."

Now Apollon looks at me again, his eyes a touch wider with
surprise.  He shakes his head slowly.  "Not you now, too."

I sigh and let my hand drop from his arm.  "You know
it's the only way.  If the others knew what I know--"

He plants his feet and stops walking.  We follow suit, but
the delay ends us two steps further than him.  He shakes his head. 
"You've never been out there, Eden.  You have no idea."

"I have an idea of what it's like to starve," I
counter.  "And whatever is about to happen here, I don't want to be
part of it."

His eyes narrow.  "I see what’s going on," he
says.  "Jonas has been converting you to his side.  Telling you
the grand tales of travel.  Well, has he told you about the road
crews?"  His eyes flick to Jonas and back to me.  "Has he
told you about the dead-man stretches?  The stacks of rotting bodies and
skeletons?"

Jonas opens his mouth, clearly about to protest, but Apollon waves
him off, already turning away from us.  "Tell her," he says,
heading away.  "See if she still wants to go, then."

Jonas and I stand in silence, watching him disappear down the
street and around a corner.  Finally, I turn my eyes to Jonas and say,
"Sounds lovely."

He snorts softly.  His voice quiet, he says, "It is
horrible.  He's right.  But like everything else, you get through it,
and there's something else on the other side."

"Something better?" I ask.

He shakes his head, the slightest movement.  "Who
knows?"

I lick my lips and think about this for a moment.  Think
about the ashen look on Apollon's face.  He's afraid.  That's why he
doesn't want to go.  I didn't think I would ever see Apollon afraid of
anything.  I wrap my arms around myself.  "Why didn't you just
go on your own?" I ask.  "Just go without him?"

His mouth is slightly open, and he closes it quickly.  I
think he's withdrawing, but then, he says, "I couldn't.  I don't
think it's possible to survive out there on your own.  You have to sleep
sometime, and without a guard..."  His voice trails off as he looks
into the distance.  I think he's remembering something.

I shudder.  "So if Apollon didn't agree to go, you
couldn't go," I say.  I suddenly feel very sad for him.  I know
how much I want to leave, how strong the urge is to be somewhere else.  I
sense the same restlessness in him, and I imagine what it must be like to stay
here and feel that way for what?  Years?

He's still looking away, his face scrawled in muted horror. 
I don't even know if he's heard me, but suddenly he turns to me and says,
"We could go."

"Hunh?" I say.

"You and me," he says.  "We could go."

Now I'm looking at him like he's gone crazy.  I want to shake
my head, but something about the idea is so enticing.  At last, I manage,
"I'm not going without Oscar."

Again, he puffs air through his nose.  "Oscar," he
says softly.

I'm frowning at him before I know it, my eyebrows pulling down in
the middle.  "He doesn't have anyone," I say.  "We're
his family."

He thinks it over, then says, "Oscar could go with us."

And like that, I'm really considering the possibility. 
Fear's sharp knife sinks into my chest.  Me, Jonas, and Oscar, in the
great unknown.  Only two of us to protect him.  What if we
fail?  My heart flutters, and I think,
I am not strong enough
. 
I shake my head.  My voice, when it comes out, wavers.  "We need
to all go.  We can't just leave Apollon, and Neveah, and
Miranda."  And I wonder how it is that Jonas is fine with leaving
Miranda.

"We may have to," he says.  "We can't stay
here.  You can't stay here."

I frown in puzzlement.  "Me?"

Jonas gives me a hard look. 

"Why not?" I ask.

He sighs and looks away.  "I saw the way Matt was
looking at you," he says.  Anger seeps into his voice again. 
"I told you to stay away from him.  I don't know why--"

"It's not like I planned it," I protest, feeling my
cheeks go red.  I don't like the implication he's making.  "It's
not like--"

"Just stay away from him," he snaps.  His gaze
catches and holds mine.  The cold, calm authority in the glare of his
green eyes captivates me.  Enough to keep me from protesting.

Finally, I move my head but not my eyes, and say, with equal
coldness, "Maybe we
should
stay."  As I say this, I
realize that it is not what I want.  That I have only said it to be
difficult.  And to change the subject.

Jonas doesn't bite.  His gaze softens into amused pity, if
I'm reading him right.  Which I may not be.  He says quietly,
"Alright.  If you like Matt that much."

The rain barrels and building hardly shelter me from a wind that
whips haphazardly in different directions.  I'm cold to the bone.  I
huddle with my arms around my curled-up legs, and shiver, but try to focus on
the discomfort of my body so that I don't have to think about everything
else.  A sliver of moon hangs above me, the night's rictus grin. 
I've been out here a while.  Inside, movement.  They're getting ready
to turn out the lights.  The door squeaks open.  I close my eyes
against the urge to flee.  There are steps.  It's Oscar.  But it
isn't.  Oscar's steps aren't that heavy.

The frame of Jonas emerges around the wall, peers into the
darkness.  His silhouette is lit by a golden halo of moonlight. 
"Eden," he says softly.

I don't answer.  Maybe he won't see me.  Maybe he'll go
away.

He steps into the yard, walking slowly in the darkness. 
"I know you're here."

I sigh.  "Then you probably also know I don't want to
talk to you."

He focuses in on my location and approaches.  He brushes the
ground and sits down in front of me. 

Maybe I wasn't clear enough.  I open my mouth.

"I'm sorry," he says.

I close my mouth.

He rocks forward, and when he turns his face, half of it
illuminates in the moonlight.  He looks sincere.  Concerned,
even.  He says, "I was trying to look after you."

I laugh softly.  "Nice job," I say.  But I
feel my anger quickly fading.

I half expect him to take offense.  He only shakes his head
and looks off thoughtfully.  The wind swirls around him, and he pulls his
hood up.  His face becomes lost in the shadow.

After a long time, he says, "We have to leave."

Is this why he apologized?  Because he needs me to be on his
side?  Isn't that when Nice Jonas comes out?  When he wants to
convince me of something?  I shrug.  "Who cares," I
mumble.  "It's probably all the same."

His eyes dart to me, catching a glint of light.  "It's
not," he says.  "It isn't."

Again, I laugh noiselessly.

"I thought you knew," he says.  "That you
wanted to... to be somewhere, too."

I squint to make out his expression in the darkness, but there is
only the silhouette of his nose and the spark of light in his eyes. 
"Where do you want to be?" I ask softly.

A pause.  He says, "Somewhere...."

I sigh and close my eyes.  "I dream of this place,"
I say.  "But maybe it's not even real."

His face turns to me, and though I can't see his expression, I
know he's studying me.  After a while, he asks, "What if it is?"

My arms tighten around my legs as I shiver.  "I don't
know," I whisper.  "Does it even matter?  Why can't we just
let go?  Be happy to be who we are now?" And I find myself thinking
about the name written on my lip.  The only clue about my old life--
foreign and oppressive.  If I walked back into that life, would I ever
feel like it had been mine?  Would I want any of it, anyway?

"If we could, wouldn't we?" he says.  "We're
supposed to forget, but... but there are these things that remind us. 
Your dreams.  My...."  His voice fades into a howl of the
wind.  I think of the scar on his forearm, but restrain my eyes from
wandering toward it.  There's a moment where I think he's going to abandon
the subject all together.  His head turns away, his body shifting with a stiffness
that betrays his discomfort.  But then, he says, "Don't you believe
in Fate?"

I stop breathing.  Just for a second.  His words catch
me up in an unexpected thrall.  I'm staring at him in the dark.  Fate
is the last thing I expected Jonas to be talking about.  But here he is,
asking me.  And Fate, I'm thinking, has been pulling me along all this
time.  This weird, nameless sense of
something
moves slowly through
my body, sending my head spinning.  I put my hands to my cheeks.  I
swallow, and climb to my feet.

Jonas stands up next to me, his hand reaching out to steady
me.  I'm not sure if I'm dizzy, if my legs just fell asleep, or if I
simply misstepped.  I brush him off. 

"I'll argue your side," I say, feeling the unsteadiness
of my own voice.  "But we all go, or none of us.  That's how it
should be.  We're stronger together.  We're a family."

He says nothing as I move past him and head around the wall to go
inside.

***

The argument lasts more than one session.  Two evenings
later, we're eating our meager dinner of brown rice.  It seems like
Apollon is finally coming around-- possibly because his plate is already empty
and his stomach is growling loud enough that I can hear it from across the
room.  We get equal portions, but Apollon is the biggest of us.  His
body requires more food, which means that he's feeling the lack even more than
we are.  I feel sorry for him.  Feel sorry that I have to convince
him to do something he doesn't want to do, even though his reasons may be very
good.

Miranda, as predicted, is madder than a wet cat.  She
contains it well, though.  I'm the only one who gets the evil
glares.  She softens when Jonas brings up Matthew.  The rest of the
time, she's seething.  As for Oscar, he's taken up a spot next to Neveah,
like he doesn't really want to be part of the conversation.  She snuggles
him in the crook of her arm, and he sits there pouting.  I'll explain to
him later, I think, why I have to take this side.  I'll comfort him, and
tell him how we'll protect him on our journey.

But just when it seems we're making ground, Jonas stops
arguing.  I'm still pleading our case, and it takes a moment for me to
realize that he has dropped out.  His face is ashen, drained.  Some
of his rice remains on his plate, untouched.  He sets it aside.

"Are you OK?" I ask, frowning.

He blinks.  "I don't know," he mumbles.  He
staggers to his feet and moves toward the bed, collapsing onto it like he's
dead tired.  His body tenses on the bed, shivering.

Neveah's eyes go a little wider.  She goes to him
quickly.  Her hand brushes back his dark hair and rests on his
forehead.  Her frown deepens.  She goes to her parcel of herbs and
starts rummaging.

Apollon, Miranda, and I exchange startled looks.  Miranda
opens her mouth and stutters, then bolts to her feet.  She's at Jonas'
side in an instant, feeling his forehead, stroking his hair. 

He pushes her hand away and groans.  "I'm just
tired," he says.  "Leave me alone."

Apollon stands up slowly and wanders to Miranda's side, looking down
on Jonas.  His hands are in his pockets, his face set in a thoughtful
frown.

All this time I've been frozen.  Now, I shove myself to my
feet, but I don't go to them.  I take a pan from the kitchen and push past
the sheet to fill it with water.  Then I set it on the stove top, open the
iron door, and add a splintered board to the fire.  When I'm done, I turn
toward them, but remain by the stove.  I watch Neveah, analyze the lines
of worry creasing her forehead, the downward curve of the corners of her mouth. 
Something inside me dives sharply toward the floor.  Sinking.  I'm
sinking.  I stand there quietly and watch Miranda fuss over Jonas. 
His eyes are closed now, but I don't think he's sleeping.  He's just
shutting everything out.

Neveah crumbles a packet of herbs into the water I've placed on
the stove.  She glances up and meets my eyes, and I know for certain that
this is going to be the longest night of my life.

Over the next few hours, Jonas' temperature spikes.  Miranda
draws the covers away from him, but he clings to them, shivering.  Sweat
pours off of him.  Miranda rubs the muscles of his back.  They twitch
and convulse under her hands.  We debate for a while what this could
be.  The flu?  Fall fever?  The dark sleep?  Neveah shakes
her head again and again.  She cradles Jonas and administers sips of her
herbal concoction.  But soon I begin to realize that her head shaking is
not all in response to our inept diagnosing capabilities.

Miranda takes over for Neveah, and I go to fill another pan to put
on the stove.  When I return, Neveah's gesturing something to Apollon, who
is nodding grimly, mumbling something about the season back to her. 
Miranda suddenly lets Jonas' head drop, and moves the cup aside as she sits
down on the edge of the bed.  She touches her face, her shoulders
slumping.  Her cheeks are bright pink, even through her golden skin. 
I go to her, and she shrugs me off. 

"Just tired," she says.  "And worried."

"And hot," I say, managing to get my hand on her
forehead even though she turns her face away from me.  I take her arm and
help her stand.  "Into bed with you." I lead her around so she
can climb in from the bottom.  She doesn't argue any more. 

Apollon and Neveah have broken off their conversation and are
looking at us wide-eyed. 

Apollon grabs his jacket and shrugs it on quickly. 
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he says. 

Neveah nods, and I realize she's sent him after some herb she
needs.  Something she doesn't have.  That's what he was saying about
the season.  Is it even growing?  Will he be able to find what she
needs?

Miranda's sinking into the bed now, her eyes rolling back, but
she's still conscious.  "What is this?" I hiss at her, as if she
can give me some answer that makes sense, now that she's sick, too.  She
groans, her eyes closing, her eyebrows tilted upward in the center of her
forehead.  I want to help her.  I want to help Jonas.  But then,
I look at her lying next to him, and wonder how she managed to catch whatever
this is.  I snuff air through my nose and retract my hand.  I turn to
Neveah, who has Oscar rifling through herb packets.  "Is there
something else I can do?" I ask.  "Are the herbs the only thing
that will help?  What about medicine?"

Neveah hesitates, then shakes her head.  But it is
enough.  Of course.  Of course medicine would help.  She's
thinking we have no money for it, and she's right.  Isaiah Bones is
notorious for charging exorbitant prices for his chemical medicine, and now
that things in the Outpost are going so poorly, the price has probably tripled
again.  The cost would be far more than what we have, and that would leave
nothing to live off of.  Frustrated, I turn away.  My eyes fall on
Jonas and Miranda.  Their chests rise and fall silently, rapidly.  I
turn back to Neveah.  Her gaze is sympathetic for just an instant before
she gets back to the business of tending the ill.

We dose them with herbs for another hour, and then another. 
Apollon has still not returned and Neveah is looking on-edge.  She cannot
hide the frantic worry in her eyes.  Jonas is pale-- a ghost of
himself.  If I couldn't see his shallow breathing, I would think him
dead.  Miranda looks almost green.  She has sweat into the bed so
there's a ring of dampness around her.

Jonas starts sputtering.  Neveah clutches him closer, rolling
him to his side.  I think he's coughing, but I'm not sure.  His body
jerks in on itself in a way that just doesn't seem right.  I hold my
breath until the moment passes and he goes quiet again.  Neveah's eyes are
wide and startled.  My fingernails are making deep gouges in my
palm.  Apollon isn't back.  When will Apollon be back?

I shudder and jump to my feet.  "What medicine?" I
demand.  "Which one?"

Neveah glances at me, eyes widening.  She starts to shake her
head, but then, she looks down at Jonas.  Her gaze wanders to
Miranda. 

Oscar, looking sleepy and strung-out, blinks at me from the
couch.  "
No,
Eden," he says.  His voice is small.

I give him a look that silences him.  He purses his lips and
stares at me through those large brown eyes.

I level my gaze at Neveah.  She looks at me.  A moment
later, she signs with her fingers.  V2.  Probably the strongest
anti-viral available.  I have my doubts as to whether Isaiah Bones will
even have it in his repertoire.  I'm about to find out.  I squat down
next to the table, remove the wall panel and take the last coins from the
jar.  I secure them in my pocket, and leave without another word.

I wrap my fingers around the hilt of my knife as I stalk through
the darkness toward my destination.  I know beyond a doubt that the money
I carry is not enough.  There are only two options.  Make more
quickly, or do something that will likely get me killed.  I'm not really
liking my odds either way tonight, but I consider my choice again, keeping to
the shadows, and decide that it's probably the right one.  My steps widen
as I leave the quieter streets for the ones nearer the center of the
Outpost.  I walk along the sidewalk of the main drag, casting dangerous
glares in the direction of anything that moves, hoping that I look tough enough
that no one will risk messing with me.  By the time I step through the lit
door of the Rustler, my whole body is tense, my muscles hard and stiff.  I
roll my shoulders and walk toward the card table.

In a way, it's lucky that Donegan is playing tonight.  He
looks up at my approach with eyes cold as a basement floor.  I repress a
reaction, slide out the nearest empty chair, and sit down.  Most of the
other players are used to my presence at the table, so no one says
anything.  Lloyd is playing as well, with a meager stack of coins in front
of him.  Coyote Dan, having folded the current round, winks at me as I
glance at his decent pile of money.  It's been a while since I've seen him,
and now I wonder if he's been coming to these later games with Donegan because
there's so little profit in the earlier ones.  Jacob and Taylor also seem
to be holding their own.  But the majority of the money at the table sits
enticingly in front of Donegan.  I don't look directly at his loot, but
I'm estimating value from my peripheral vision, and I think it will do just
fine. 

The next round begins and I throw in my silver.  Coyote Dan
deals.  My cards slide one at a time across the table toward me.  I
scoop them up and have a look.  It's not much, but it'll have to do. 
I'm taking no prisoners tonight.  I need to win the money and be
gone.  So I let the tiniest flick of a smile curve the corners of my
mouth, then make it go away like I let it slip by accident.  I bluff my
way through the first hand and end up with a small reward.  I have decent
cards the second round, but halfway through I can tell that they're not good
enough.  Whatever it is that Lloyd has, he'll not be bluffed into folding,
so I have to fold before I put more money at risk.  I watch sourly as the
hand finishes.  Lloyd sets down a straight flush at the end of the game,
confirming my suspicions.  I did the right thing.  The next hand, I
get shit all, and I can't make anything of the situation.  When the next
deal offers me a pair of twos, I'm starting to get nervous.  I toss in the
following ante thinking that my luck has to break.  My friends are sick--
possibly dying.  Their lives depend on my card-playing skills.  I
cannot allow myself to lose another hand. 

I slide my cards up and my heart nearly stops.  I still have
nothing.  Absolutely nothing.  My money has been slowly depleted, and
now I'm playing with just less than I showed up with in the first place. 
If I don't win this hand, I will have gone too far into the negative to hope to
recover.  To make matters worse, it's quickly apparent that both Lloyd and
Donegan have fairly decent hands.  Maybe even good hands.  I put out
miniscule signals that will tell my opponents that mine is in fact better than
theirs, while, if everything goes according to plan, not arousing their
suspicions.  Either their hands are
that good
, or Lloyd and Donegan
aren't buying it.  Only the two of them are left in the game with
me.  I don't have much to work with, but I need to increase the stakes,
make them nervous.  So when it's my turn, I go all in.  Carefully,
slowly, I slide my belt knife from its sheath and place it in the center of the
table.  Everyone goes quiet for just an instant.  It's enough, I
think.  It's enough. 

Lloyd tosses his cards in, but I ignore it.  I cannot let
Donegan see how happy that makes me.  I meet his gaze from across the
table.  He eyes the pot greedily, considers his cards.  I can feel
Coyote Dan's gaze on me, sharp and analyzing.  It doesn't matter. 
Only Donegan matters now.  I allow myself to look slightly tense,
anticipatory.  I want him to stay in the game, I think, even though it's
not true.  I want him to place more money in the pot so I can take
it.  I will my body to say this to him.  To make him think there is
no way he can possibly win.  He reaches for his coins, his eyes still on
me.  Then he hesitates.  I hold his gaze.  Give me that money, I
think, channeling what I want him to believe.  He pauses for a long
time.  Then he throws his cards face down.   I close my eyes and
swallow, despite myself.  Then I take my money and my knife.  My
hands shake as I slide the blade back into its sheath.  Clumsy fingers
pocket my coins.  I stand.  There was enough in the pot, and I'm
out.  Twenty percent goes to Arthur.  All I can think now is that my
friends may live.  The rest of the bar disappears behind a blur until I
hear Donegan mumbling.

"You were bluffing," he says. 

I glance at the cards as Coyote Dan swoops them into the deck
pile.  I didn't have to show them.  They were face down.  In my
relief, I've given myself away, but it doesn't matter.  I'm done.  My
friends will live.  So I just shrug at Donegan as the cards disappear into
the shuffle.  "If you think so," I say.  I turn and walk
out of the Rustler.

***

Sticking to the shadows, I make my way quickly to Isaiah Bones'
little shack, a few blocks from the Outpost gate.  I move with purpose,
check behind myself often.  I take a longer route to avoid the worst of
May Deth's territory.  In the end, I arrive at Bones' residence
untroubled.

I hammer my fist on the door, hoping to startle him with the force
of it and set him off balance.  A curse answers my insistent knock. 
Something inside crashes to the floor, and in a moment, Isaiah Bones is jerking
the door open.  It shrieks as its bottom scrapes the uneven cement
floor. 

The odor hits me first-- alcohol and bad breath, sweat and old
food.  I turn my face away, reflexively holding my breath.  Out of
the corner of my eye I see the glint of the gun in the moonlight.  My
heart jerks to a run.  His hand wavers from side to side as he
staggers.  He's drunk.  Good or bad?  On the one hand, his
reflexes are considerably slowed.  On the other, he could accidentally
pull the trigger, wobbling around like that.

I say, as calmly as I can, "I came to buy some of your
medicine."

The way he squints at me sideways, one eye narrowing more than the
other, makes me think he's seeing at least two of me.  I remain very
still, and finally he mutters, "It'll cost you."

"How much?" I reply, my voice dead calm.  I eye the
gun, moving only my eyes.  "V2.  Two vials."

He makes a face and stumbles.  For an instant I think the gun
is going to go off, right into my stomach, but somehow he catches himself
against the doorframe and avoids firing.  "Thirty silver," he
says as he rights himself.  He eyes me, and it's clear he thinks I don't
have the money.

I have thirty-two and a few coppers in my pocket.  Slowly, I
draw it out, where he can see it.  The coins fill up my hand and threaten
to spill over.  He eyes them greedily, reaches for them.  I draw
back.  "The meds," I say firmly.

He stands up straighter, though he's still wavering.  His
dark eyes are cloudy in a face lax with drunkenness, lower lip hanging. 
He waves the gun, motioning me inside.  As he moves out of my way, I step
through the door, but not far enough for him to close it behind me.

Inside, one shelf is lined with small plastic tubes set in wooden
racks.  The liquids inside them could make life in the Outpost a lot
easier for a lot of people, but few can afford Isaiah Bones' price.  I
scan the shelf until I see the telltale pink serum.  So he does actually
have V2.  I count out the coins, placing them on his table.  When I
reach thirty, I nod toward the vials.  But Bones is just standing there,
eyeing me.  The look on his face is greedy, despicable, and makes my
stomach turn over.  I glance at the gun that still wavers in my
direction. 

"Why don't you stay a while there, girlie," he drawls,
stumbling toward me.  He's too drunk, I think, to do what he intends, but
I'm not sticking around to find out.  As he teeters, I sweep my arm
sideways, knocking the gun from his hand.  I balance on one foot and plant
the other in his midsection.  He crashes backward, arms flailing. 

I grab two vials, hold them up so he can see as I head for the
door.  "As agreed," I say.  And I'm out.  I'm running.

I secure the vials in my inside pocket as I go.  A rush of
excitement floods through me.  I've almost done it.  I've almost
saved my friends.  In a few moments, I'll be home, and Neveah will
administer the medicine.  Everything will be OK.  I'm zipping my jacket,
crossing a street, when I notice the movement ahead.  There's five of
them-- dark shadows stalking purposely together.  We see each other at the
same time, and one of them says something.  They rush toward me.