E (18 page)

I lean in closer.  "What does she mean to do about
it?"

He shrugs.  "She never got that far."

"Dan," I say softly, as my guts twist around
themselves.  I have this sense that everything is out of control, falling
away from me, spinning wildly.  Things are bad, but they're about to get
worse.  We're about to scramble for our lives.  I open my mouth to
warn him, but he's looking past me, completely still.

As I turn, adrenaline smashes into my brain.  Miranda has
retreated to a corner, where she presses her back against the wall, eyes wide,
body shaking.  Back where we sat, Oscar stands by himself, staring
defiantly up into Donegan's face.  He knows he's little, and he's not
crazy, so there's something passive about the way he does it.  Something
that, even though it challenges Donegan's path to Miranda, makes Oscar's stance
a peaceful gesture.  One that asks, instead of tells.  Donegan does
not register this subtlety.  He smacks Oscar hard across the face. 
Oscar crumples, but does not drop to the floor.  Donegan has his fist
wadded in Oscar's shirt, and hauls him back up, growling out a threat.  I
cannot discern the words, but the sound, animal and violent, is enough. 
I'm on my feet and halfway across the room.  But Miranda beats me there.

She has her knife drawn.  It's about half the size of mine--
a slim dagger that's probably more useful for peeling potatoes than getting in
a fight.  She stands, feet apart, arms thrown out at her sides, one hand
in a fist and the other clenching the knife.  She bares her teeth at
Donegan, her whole body shaking.  But this time, it is not fear, but
rage.  "Let him go
right now
," she says, "or so help
me, the things I will cut off of you that you will
never
be able to sew
back on..."

I like Miranda right now better than I've ever liked her
before.  But Donegan looks amused.  I pace toward him, to the side,
drawing my own knife.  My eyes are fixed on him.  I can't look at
Oscar, at his little feet scrambling against the floorboards, trying to get
under him.  I focus on Donegan, and I'm calm.  Calmer than I've ever
been.  I will not let him hurt Oscar.  I will carve his eyes out of
his skull before that happens.

Donegan has two of his men with him, who also have their knives
drawn.  But when they look at me, they glance at each other behind
Donegan.  Hesitation.  I ignore them.  The only thing that
matters is getting Oscar free.  Once he's free, he can run.  Whatever
happens after that, happens.  There's a moment where we all sense the
tension of what's about to occur.  Violence about to be unleashed. 
Donegan's shoulders tighten as he glares at us.  My muscles contract,
preparing to move, but then, there's someone beside me.  There are several
people beside me.  Donegan pales.  His hand, still hanging on to
Oscar's shirt, trembles.

I glance to my sides, where Taylor and his two friends have joined
us.  Coyote Dan is also there.  Three of them have knives drawn, but
one of Taylor's friends has a pistol pointed at Donegan's head.

Miranda's eyes are wild with anticipation.  She licks her
lips, waiting for blood.

But I'm not so eager.  "Let the boy go," I say
firmly, calmly. 

Donegan glances nervously at the mob surrounding him.

"Let him go," I say again, "and you'll live."

That's enough.  Donegan drops Oscar, who retreats behind
us. 

I sheathe my knife, grab Miranda by the arm and pull her
back.  Her eyes dart to me, still wide and crazy. 

She shakes her head at me.  "No," she
protests.  It comes out almost a whine.  "No."

I fix her with a hard look and continue pulling until she comes
with me.  I nod to Dan, and Taylor, and his friends, as we make a wide
circle around Donegan's men toward the door.  Oscar's right behind
us.  I want to check that he's alright, but I dare not let go of
Miranda.  We emerge into the sunshine and stride down the sidewalk. 
"Put your knife away," I growl under my breath as we start to put
some distance between ourselves and the Rustler.

Miranda is now staring emptily into space as we walk.  She
twitches, but puts her knife back in her belt.  I glance back at Oscar,
who looks alright, but worried.  We exchange a look, then I put one arm
around Miranda's shoulders and pull her closer, rubbing her upper arm. 
She looks at me, still spacey and half-startled, but the tiniest smile touches
her mouth.  I smile back at her-- what I want to be a reassuring
smile.  It feels pretty grim on my face.  She surprises me, and
laughs.  Laughs loudly.  I'm thinking she's actually lost it. 
But she plants her feet there on the sidewalk, and turns to me with a grin.

"I'll never say anything bad about Matthew again," she
announces, as though this revelation will bring me great pleasure.

My eyes scan her face, then I nod toward home and we resume
walking.  I glance around, checking that no one is near us, and I say,
quietly, "Good.  Then no one will know, if we're not on his
side."

Neveah returns home, empty-handed, after a long day trying to
pedal herbs in the marketplace.  She sags into the chair, sets her parcel
to the side.  She doesn't meet our eyes.  I'm weary as well. 
Oscar and I spent the remainder of the afternoon hunting rats.  Miranda
crinkles her nose as she lifts the spoon to her mouth, but she eats the
soup.  She empties her bowl.  We all do. 

We sit in silence for a while after, feeling the hunger setting in
deeper.  It was just enough, really, to remind us how hungry we are. 
Unable to turn away from that thought, I broach the subject.

"We can't go on like this."

Immediately, I have everyone's attention.  They all stare at
me.

I glance at Oscar, who has news to share as well.  He looks
away, now, not wanting to jump in just yet. 

So I continue.  "We can't leave anymore," I say
slowly, avoiding Apollon's eyes.  "That means we need a new
plan."

Jonas, sitting next to Miranda, scoots forward to the edge of the
bed.  But before he can say anything, Apollon speaks.

"We decided we'd leave," he says matter-of-factly,
though I don't recall ever coming to a solid consensus.  I start to shake
my head at him, but he pushes on.  "The rest of you can still
go.  I'll catch up with you when I'm better."

"No," I snap at him, grabbing his hand and squeezing
hard.  I imagine him lying here on his own.  He would never catch up
with us.  He would just fade away.  From life.  From our
memories.  "We won't go without you," I say firmly.

Apollon stares up at me, his blue eyes passive, but underneath I
can see the sense of relief, of gratitude.  Softly, he squeezes my hand
back.  We look at each other for a long moment.

"Then..." says Jonas, quietly,
"...what?" 

I turn my face toward him.  He looks from Apollon to me and
back.  There's something on his face I don't quite get.  Is he
afraid?  I shrug it off.  How often do I ever understand him? 
Instead, I reclaim my hand, brush off my knees, and climb to my
feet.   "Everything here is about to explode," I say, and
pause to choose my words.  "We need to ally ourselves with power if
we want to survive.  That leaves only two choices.  It seems to me
that Grey is winning.  He mostly has control of the food
supply."  Here I glance at Jonas.  "How hard could it be to
make ourselves useful to him?  Maybe he would reward us with some decent
pay?"

Neither Jonas nor Apollon miss that I'm asking why they've not
been paid already.  But it's more than that.

"We lived in Outpost Two for a while, Eden," Apollon
says, as if this is news I didn't already know.  "Grey expects a lot
out of you, and his pay is that you live to see the next day.  You don't
want to get mixed up with that.  Trust me."

Something in the way he says it suddenly makes the pieces come
together in my mind.  I narrowly avoid a reaction, but still, my eyes flit
briefly to Apollon's stomach.  A punishment for not living up to
expectations?

"Grey is evil," Jonas spits.  "He makes
Matthew look like a virgin princess."

I look from one of them to the next.  I don't know what to
say. 

Miranda relieves me of the necessity.  "Guess that rules
that out, then," she mutters.

Jonas glances at her, but does not reply.

I look at Oscar, whose little face is drained, worried. 
Neveah, sitting in the chair near the door, looks away, her silent thoughts
hidden from us.  She and Miranda don't even know the kind of danger that
Apollon and Jonas are in.  I want to tell them everything, but I'm
tired.  Should I burden them with it, anyway?  There's too much to
explain.  Too much to think about.  Too much struggle and not enough
rest.  I sigh, and let it go.  Slipping into my mind is the thought
that if Grey is as horrible as Jonas says he is-- and I believe Jonas-- then
that means there's only one option left.  Silently, I solidify the
decision.  It feels like a chunk of concrete in my gut.  Something so
heavy I will never put it down again.  I nod, and take everyone's bowls to
the bucket, and wash them.  "Oscar," I say, my back turned,
"tell them what you heard today."

Behind me, I can hear Oscar's small voice talking quietly about
Matt's plans to send an army against Grey.  It’s all rumor, but it’s the
most information we’ve had in a while.

Jonas shakes his head.  I see this as I glance back over my
shoulder.  "That's insane," he says.  "Outpost Two is
twice our size, and they've been preparing for war for years."

***

As I sink into sleep, I'm resolved to my fate.  There's
little hope of surviving long-term, but if we ally with Matt now, then maybe we
can last until a better opportunity comes up.  We'll change as we
go.  Adapt.  Whatever happens now, it's only for a while.  We
can be on Matt's side.  It can be OK.  I can be OK.  But the
panic comes for me even as I drift into the darkness of sleep.

I stand on the street.  I am dreaming of this street.  I
am dreaming.  Dreaming.  I am dreaming, I repeat, but I'm not sure
what that means.  My view zooms off to the distance, where a white spire
stretches into the sky.  As my eyes touch it, my heart bursts into a
pounding rhythm.  My feet start running, moving toward the tower. 
It's all I can see.  White.  If I can just get there, everything will
be OK.  White.  White.  White.  I run faster.  There's
nothing under me, but I run.  I run, and this time it moves closer. 
A small cry of delight escapes me.  Delight, urgency, and surprise. 
The three feelings blast into me so hard that suddenly I'm lying in bed,
blinking up at the dark ceiling.  I try to breathe.  Slowly. 
Breathe.

As I calm my body, I realize that Jonas' arm is still thrown over
me.  As much as it makes me feel safe, right now it also holds me
back.  I need to move.  I carefully pick up his wrist and move his
arm aside, then slide from the covers and off the end of the bed.  I open
the door slowly, quietly, and close it behind me with the same careful
stealth.  Around back, I'm pacing, fighting down this need to leave. 
Right now, it says.  Leave everything.  Just go.  Do it.

It makes no sense, but it's powerful, and I'm only just holding on
to reality when I hear his soft steps.

"Nightmare?" asks Jonas, rubbing his arms to keep warm.

I stare at him, shake my head.  I can't find my voice. 
The moonlight washes across his face, and from this angle, emphasizes the lines
of his nose, his jaw.  His face is so perfect, so strong, I think it must
belong to an angel.

He looks into the darkness, huddling against the cold.  A
breath wisps away from his mouth, warm mist hanging on the cold night air.

"I..." I say.  I follow his gaze to the darkness,
even though there's nothing to see.  Suddenly, I want to tell him
everything.  "That place," I say, looking at him again, hope
rising inside me.  Somehow, meeting him here in the darkness is so
different than speaking to him the rest of the time.  Here, we're secret
friends.  He understands me.  I know he'll understand me now. 
"It's a tower.  A white tower.  I think I have to go there." 

His head turns toward me, and for a moment his eyes wander over my
face.  "You think it
is
real."

I nod.  Now that he's said it, I know it.  And I need to
go.  Now.  "I have to--" I start, but in the time it takes
to come out of my mouth, he closes the steps between us and seizes me by the
arms.

"No," he says.  His voice is soft-- so much softer
than his grip.  His fingers on my arms are grounding me, keeping me from
blowing away on the wind, but his words are gentle enough that I don't want to
fight against him.  I swallow hard, and look up at him.  He whispers
to me, "Not yet."

A moment passes, and the tension leaves me.  His fingers drop
to his sides.  We look at each other.

Finally, I say, "I feel so crazy, sometimes."  I
turn away from him.  "How did you know... I mean... You made it go
away."

He walks to my side, and we look toward the concrete wall. 
His right fingers play with the hem of his left sleeve.  "Sometimes I
feel that way, too," he answers after a while.  Then he's quiet,
still playing with his sleeve.  And then he says, "We are going to
leave, Eden.  Soon."

I look at him in alarm, wanting to protest, but something stops
me.  Maybe it's his expression-- passive, but confident.  What he has
told me is a simple fact.

"How...?"  The question trails off.

He shakes his head.  "I don't know," he admits,
tension rising in his voice.  "But we can't stay.  And as for
Matt..."  His eyes move to my knife, then back to my face, "If
anyone is forming alliances, it's not going to be you."

"You can't," I stutter.  "Grey.  You
can't."

"Don't worry about that," he says.  "I've got
this."

A little quiver makes its way from my chest into my throat. 
At the last second, I feel it coming, and I try to bury it, but it emerges into
a choked-off whimper.  I'm so embarrassed by the sound that I start to
turn away, but Jonas' hand on my cheek stops me.  His thumb strokes my
skin softly as he looks into my eyes.  I gaze up at him, and I would give
anything just to know what he's thinking at this moment.

But all of the best moments are brief, and soon his hand drops and
he moves away from me.  "It's cold out here," he says. 
"We can figure everything out later."

Without speaking, I follow him inside.

***

In the morning, Jonas is gone when the rest of us wake.  I
wonder how he managed to sneak out without me noticing.  I clean Apollon's
wound, dressing it with a fresh pack of Neveah's herbs, and breathe.  It's
late morning by the time that Oscar and I start out.  We say we're going
to hunt rats, and I'm sure that Oscar believes we are.  But instead of
heading to the back alleyways, we walk toward the Rustler. 

As we turn the corner onto the main road, we see her
immediately.  Hanging.  Oscar and I stop in our tracks and
stare.  At the intersection in front of the corner store, dangling from
some sloppily constructed contraption attached to an old metal pole, is Sarah's
body.  Her eyes are open, bulging, her tongue thick and protruding. 
She's clearly been there for a while.  A Sentry stands in the
intersection, but it must not have been there when Sarah was hung. 
Clearing up after a murder-- not its job.  Either it has caught and
swiftly punished the culprit, or it's missed its chance and focused on other
things.  I stand there and gape at the picture of dysfunctional justice
before me.  Sarah hanging.  So I didn't like her, but I want
desperately to cut her down.  I wonder what the Sentry would do if I did. 
I wonder what Matt would do.

Oscar's fingers, thin and cold on my wrist, stop me from
moving.  "Don't," he says softly.  "Eden, don't."

I remember him, and I'm clamping one hand over his eyes and
hugging him to me with the other. 

"It's OK," he mumbles into my stomach, making me realize
that he's calmer than I am.  How much death he's seen to be this
calm? 

In the intersection, the Sentry turns its blank face, then takes
off down the side street.  I let Oscar go, but turn his face away from the
horror with a swipe of my fingers on his cheek.  "Don't look at
that."  I catch his hand and run for the Rustler.  We duck
inside the door.  I wipe my hands through my hair as we walk to the
stools.  There are no card games, and even if there were, I don't have the
money to play.

Arthur sets a drink down by me.  I ignore it.  If I take
it, I'll need another twenty after that.  Instead, I try to breathe, and
scan the room for Jonas.  He's not here.  And if not here, then
where?  Panic rises in me.  I know he's gone to see Matthew today. 
That's why he left before any of us were up.  Now, I need to stop
him.  The panic swells larger.  I'm probably too late.  I have
to stop him.

"C'mon."  I turn toward the door, just as it
opens.  I fall short.

Eight of Matthew's men walk in, eyeing the room, followed by Matt
himself.  Behind him is another five of his crew.  They all wander in
slowly, like they own the place.  They group at two empty tables, except
for Matt, who sees me.

"Have you seen Jonas?" I ask as he walks toward me,
before he can even greet me.

His eyes narrow briefly, and he shakes his head. 
"No."

I look down at Oscar.  "Run home," I tell
him.  "See if he's back yet."

Oscar nods and does as I ask-- I think.  He has defied me
before, after all, but this is the best I can do.  I need to know where
Jonas is-- and if he didn't go to Matt then where
is
he-- but mostly I
want to get Oscar out of here.  Out of this bar.  Out of this
Outpost.  I remember Jonas' promise, that we'll leave, and I manage to
find some vestige of calm inside myself.  I look Matt in the eye and say
the only thing that comes to mind, glancing meaningfully toward the door. 
"Nice decorations."

Again his eyes narrow a touch, but he shrugs and leans back
against the bar.  "Makes a statement, anyway."