E (20 page)

Miranda just frowned.  It's not leaving these things behind
that bothers her.  It's leaving behind the hope that her mother will return
for her.  I'm glad I don't have to worry about such things.  But as
we wait for them to come back, I think about Miranda too much.  I think
about saying something to her that could make it easier for her.  I don't
know what that is.

As we come to the end of the rat meat, I get up and pace. 
Jonas, Apollon, Neveah, and Miranda are still out, and I'm beginning to wonder
what's taking them so long.  Before I can wonder much more, Apollon and
Neveah show up.  They have a large bundle of herbs with them, and, ducking
through the door, Apollon smiles.

His face is flush, and he looks winded.  He sounds a little
breathy, but pleased.  "No sign of Matthew's men on the road
tonight," he reports.  "Maybe they're busy with something."

Or maybe their numbers are dwindling.  None of us have heard
anything about what might have happened to Matt's armed escort, if he even sent
it, but his men have definitely seemed preoccupied with other things
lately.  That's perfect for us.

"We're about ready here," I say, glancing at Oscar, who
nods.

Apollon nods too, and then suddenly goes to the chair to sit
down.  He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to.

I kneel at his side.  "Hey," I say softly,
"it's not too late for us to drag you."

This earns me a mocking smile, even though his face is still
turned downward.  "You did such a great job getting me from the door
to the couch that way," he says.  "A few miles would be nothing,
I bet."

He's teasing, but part of it rings true.  And a few miles is
a major underestimation of our journey.

I have to brush it off, though, because we need to leave. 
Yesterday.  So I just play along.  "If you weren't so
enormous...."

His smile widens.  He glances up, like he's looking at his
own forehead.  "Yeah," he says, his grin turning wicked, 
"My E is for 'enormous'.  What's yours?"

Before he gets all this out, the door is halfway open and Jonas is
walking in.  "Embarrassed," he answers.  I'm not sure if
he's talking about himself, or me.  Accurate, though, probably for both of
us.

I climb to my feet.  He's wearing a scowl and holding tension
in his shoulders. 

"Everything OK?" I ask.

He makes a noise in answer, then says, darkly, "Got into a
fight with that trader.  He figured out we were leaving and tried to
blackmail me."

Apollon looks up at him, wide-eyed.  Neveah stops and turns
to watch him over her shoulder.  I look Jonas up and down, and don't see
any sign that he's been wounded.  Somehow I doubt the other guy faired so
well.

"Are we ready?" Jonas asks, glancing around the room.

"Just waiting on Miranda."

He squints, frowns.  "Isn't she back?"

I shake my head slowly.  The bad feeling sinks in, as if it
was just waiting for his words.

We all sit in silence and look at each other.  Look at the
wall.  Look at the floor.  Look at our hands.  Look at each
other.  Miranda doesn't come home.  I begin to wonder if she's
decided she doesn't want to come with us.  But I'm not going to say that.

Apollon does.  "She said she didn't want to come,"
he says.  The words drop into the silence between us like a brick off a
building.

Jonas opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't.  He
shakes his head, but the gesture is slow and uncertain.

We would probably sit here and debate it all night, wondering if
we should leave without her.  But Oscar settles it for us.

"She packed her pliers," he says.  He kneels down
at one of the packs, fishes around, and pulls them out.  "See,"
he says, as if that's everything we need to know.

It is. 

"Shit," I say, climbing to my feet.  Jonas and
Apollon are right behind me.  So is Oscar, but Neveah puts her hands
gently on his shoulders. 

Jonas glances at Apollon, who has gone a little pale in between
sitting and standing.  "Not you either," he says softly.

Apollon looks like he's going to protest, but doesn't.  He
may have it in him to make it most of the way down the road.  Or he may
have it in him to back us up in a fight.  But he definitely doesn't have
enough to do both.  And he knows which one we need from him the
most.  He sits down, and flushes red.  Now his 'E' is for
'embarrassed'. 

Jonas and I walk out into the dark of the night.  The air
smells cold, like snow is coming.  Neither of us speak, but we both seem
to know where we're going.  To Donegan's.

Donegan and his men occupy a squat row of old metal buildings not
far from the shanties I used to pass every day.  We hunker down in the
alleyway behind and quietly work our way closer to some windows.  They're
boarded up, but there are gaps, so we can hear the people talking inside. 
There's a group of men, rambling about things I don't care about.  We
listen, and my feet start to feel pins and needles from maintaining my
crouch.  I want to run away from here and find Miranda.  Maybe she's
even made it home by now.  But then, eventually they mention
"her".  It's only something about bringing water to her room,
but it's enough.  Jonas and I look at each other in the darkness.

We sneak away from the window and lean back against the opposite
wall.  I shake my legs out, trying to regain feeling.

"I'm going in after her," Jonas says quietly. 
"Stay here, and--"

"No," I say.  Now who's being stupid?  We're
outnumbered and out-armed.  Miranda's probably locked up and
guarded.  We can't just go in after her.  But then, what else can we
do?  Leave her?  I'm struggling with the futility of the plan when I
realize there's another option.  Not fun or convenient, but
effective.  I set my hand on Jonas' arm.  "I'll go for
help." 

He's silent.

I turn and start away, but then he's gripping my arm, pulling me
back.  "Not gonna happen," he growls through clenched teeth.

I stare at him in the darkness.  "Jonas," I say,
but he's already shaking his head.

"Look," he says, "if you go for help, I'm going in
by myself.  I'll probably be dead by the time you get back.  So you
could do that, or you could stay here and back me up."

"By doing what?"  This is ludicrous.  We're
both going to die.

He glances around.  "A diversion?"

I frown and consider.  Could I make it all the way to Matt's
and back before Jonas could get himself killed?  Would I be willing to
risk it?  And if it worked, would it screw up our plan to leave? 
"What kind of diversion?"

He shrugs.  "Burn something."  Then his grip
finally loosens on my arm.  He rubs his fingers up and down lightly before
he lets go entirely.  "Stay safe."  And he's gone.

I sag back against the building wall and scowl.  "Burn
something," I mutter to myself.  I look around for something to burn,
wondering how I'm going to make sure that I don't accidentally burn down Jonas
or Miranda in the process.  Or the whole Outpost for that matter. 
Then I realize I have nothing to start a fire with.

I curse and run for the end of the alley. 

It's not the smartest way to go about things, but I need
fire.  Now.  So I race toward the shanty-town, my ribs
throbbing.  I scoop up a stick on my way.  Huddled shapes cry out in
surprise as I burst into the middle of the campsite.  I dunk my stick into
the fire, brandish it at some sickly-looking guy who jumps up in protestation
of my intrusion, and head off at high speed.  They hurl curses after me,
but no one follows.  I hardly notice.  Nothing matters as much as
starting this fire.

I thrust my flaming branch into a shed nearby Donegan's row, but
hopefully far enough away from other structures to keep from setting the whole
Outpost ablaze.  The fire takes a moment to catch.  I drop my torch
and run down the alley.  Behind me, there's an explosion of metal and
glass.  I ditch into the mud, wondering exactly what was in that shed.

After that, everything is chaos.  Voices. 
Shouting.  Silhouettes run toward the shed, throwing water and dirt on the
fire.  I belly-crawl further out of the flickering light, trying to avoid
their notice.  At the end of the alley, I right myself against the
wall.  I step around the corner, straight in front of two men headed
toward the blaze.  They blink at me.  One of them levels a gun at my
face.

I sigh and close my eyes.  Death always comes for me like
this, with its mouth open, hungry, ready to devour, and then it slinks away
again, just after I make peace with the idea.  It's like a joke, only no
one's laughing.  I don't laugh this time, either.  I open my eyes
again.  I watch the man's finger tighten on the trigger.

His friend makes an unexpected noise, like a protest.  He
falls to the ground with a knife sticking out of his back.  Jonas sweeps
the legs out from under the man with the gun while Miranda kicks at his
head.  Jonas wrenches the gun away.  Miranda keeps kicking.  Her
teeth are bared.  Vicious little growls accompany each kick.

"Who pissed you off?" I ask, as she comes up for
air.  Her cheeks are flushed red and her eyes wild.  Maybe I
shouldn't have asked.  I grab her by the arm.  "Come on."

We run down the back streets, toward home.  My lungs ache,
and an invisible hammer is smashing into my chest, but running feels good
anyway.  We burst in. Our friends are ready with the packs.  Even
Apollon is all strapped up, and wearing nightglasses.

"We thought you might want to leave right away," Apollon
says, grinning.  He hands the other two sets of nightglasses to Miranda
and Jonas, who begin strapping them on.  "Was that an explosion we
heard?"

Miranda, having expertly adjusted her own glasses in a flash,
frowns at Apollon and stands on tiptoes to mess with his.

"Something like that," I answer, and grab one of the
remaining packs, hoisting it onto my back.  "Let's get out of
here."

Jonas nods gravely.  Something about the nightglasses on his
face is unnerving.  His eyes are hidden.  Another wall.  I have
to settle for the fact that he's not looking at Miranda.  Not fixed on
her, not awash in relief.  He's ready to get out of here.  That's
all.

We're out the door only a moment after we return. 

We stick to the darkest, quietest streets, sometimes circling
around lighted or populated areas in favor of less-trodden paths.  None of
us talk.  Our careful steps crunch through the darkness, our breath
steaming in the cold air. Our heartbeats throb inside our heads.  This is
our escape.  Tonight, we leave this place behind and head into the
unknown.  Uncertainty, danger, and anticipation are thick on the
air.  Excitement replaces fear.  Even though I know I could easily
die tonight, I feel like laughing.  I'm a child playing a game.  The
possibility of disaster morphs into a rush of adventure.  I glance behind
me, at Jonas, at Oscar, and see it on their faces, too.  Oscar and I grin
at each other.  As the path widens, he grabs my hand, and we walk together
into our future.

The Outpost gate is not guarded, at least not by humans. 
There's no law against using the roads.  Only Matthew's men are a worry
here, and there are none of them about.  One thing about travel is that no
one can really hide from you on the road.  The boundaries can't be
crossed.  There may be trees beyond the line of scanner posts, but no one
could take cover there.  The Sentries would come and take them away. 
Anyone who might come after us, or go before us, has to be exposed as well.

That doesn't make me feel any safer as we walk the long, black
stretch.  My eyes are adjusting to the light of a half moon.  I start
to make out what's in front of me, but there are shadows filled with
uncertainty.  As we move away from the Outpost, we walk in a tight
group.  Apollon is at my shoulder.  I move closer to him. 
Something about his size is reassuring, even if he is making strangled
breathing sounds already.  On my other side, Oscar squeezes my hand
tightly.  I grip his fingers, too, unable to loosen my hand.  I'm on
edge.  This is no longer a game.  Somehow, out here, where I should
feel safer as we put some distance between ourselves and the Outpost, I only
feel more exposed.  There are no walls to hold things back, and nowhere to
go if we get attacked.  I peer into the tree line, wondering what lives
out there, in that world with Oscar's white doe.  Maybe there are things
we don't know about.  Things that don't like us passing through their
domain.

We walk on, and I sense, somehow, that Apollon's energy is
draining.  I grab his hand and he glances down at me.  He manages a
smile, but I can tell, even through his nightglasses, that it does not touch
his eyes.  I forget my fears and my own aching ribs, trying to think of a
way to help him.  Maybe I can manage his pack and mine as well.  I'm
about to tell him to stop so I can try, when I see something glisten in the
moonlight, off in the distance.  I squint at it.  I stop. 
Everyone stops.

"What is that?" I whisper.

For a few breathless heartbeats, no one answers.

"Run," says Jonas.  I don't know where we're
supposed to run to.  We scatter in different directions.  We can't go
back.  We can't go on.  We can't go past the barriers.

I yank my knife from my belt and stand ready.

Scattering is our only option.  It breaks up the
target.  Now, standing here with the vehicle speeding toward me, I realize
the problem with this plan.  It assumes that, through luck and strategic
avoidance, some of us will make it past the obstacle.  Some of us.  I
flip my knife around and grasp the top of the blade.  The car bounces over
the broken rubble, gaining air over the roughest bits, propelling itself
forward.  My feet are planted straight in its path.  Some of us will
make it.  But not all of us.  Not me.

I draw the knife back and fling it at the car.  Apollon slams
into me, knocking me sideways.  We sprawl onto the ground and roll. 
The car screeches to a stop where I was, skidding sideways on the broken chunks
of pavement.  Dirt billows up around the wheels, mixing with the steam
pouring off the rear engine.  I stop rolling, head pressed to the
ground.  The doors open.  Men with large guns jump off the back,
where they rode hanging on to metal handles.  More pour out of the
car.  There are six of them all together.  The driver is bleeding
where broken glass has cut his face.  Hope surges in me.  Maybe we
can take them.  Clutching my side, I start to roll to my feet, but then, I
hear the motor.  Down the road, the second vehicle, a pickup truck, is not
far behind.  Oscar and Neveah are sprinting away.  The truck passes
them.  Someone throws a net.  The end is attached to the truck's
bed.  My friends go down hard, their feet jerking out from under
them.  They're dragged in a tumble as the truck comes to a stop.

I jump up, but one of the men steps forward with a gun leveled at
my face.  I freeze.  Apollon stays put, sitting in the dirt at my
side.

My eyes search the darkness for Jonas and Miranda.  On the
other side of the truck,  obscured by the heat waves bending the air
around the aether exhaust, the men have their guns trained on something. 
I'm pretty sure that makes all of us.  There's a body bleeding in the
road, too plump to be either of my friends.  Jonas has taken one of the
men down, but it's nowhere near enough.

One of the men from the truck walks toward us as the others from
his group disentangle Oscar and Neveah and herd them together with  Jonas
and Miranda.  I'm relieved to see them up, even though they're
limping.  We're all alive, for now.  It could be worse.

One of the nearby men gestures with his rifle for Apollon to get
up.  He complies with a groan.  His face is turned away from me, his
hair falling forward to create more shadows.  I can only hope he's
alright.  Guilt rises in me for being stupid enough to stand in the
road.  If I hadn't done that, he wouldn't have had to take that fall.

"Well," says the man who has walked over from the pickup
truck.  I recognize the voice, and squint to see his face.  He's one
of Matt's men-- one of the men who dragged me to Matt's house that night. 
He doesn't look happy to see me.  "This ought to be
interesting."

They confer amongst themselves, relieve us of our weapons and
packs, and shove us into a group.  The car speeds on ahead to the Outpost,
while the rest of us partake in a forced march.  The pickup follows slowly
behind, guns trained on our backs.

Oscar turns his face to me, but says nothing.  He looks
scared, limping along, forearms and knees bloodied, small chunks of rock still
stuck in his elbows.  I want to smile at him.  Want to reassure
him.  But whatever happens to us, it can't be good.  I imagine we're
not the only desperate souls who have tried to brave the roads rather than
remain in the Outpost.  They probably even have a protocol for dealing
with this.  But not for dealing with me.  The first car has likely
gone to notify Matthew himself.  Whether he'll give them orders or make an
appearance, I can't say.  But trying to leave the Outpost under the cover
of darkness is a small act of betrayal.  Breaking his windshield, wounding
one of his men, and killing another, is a large betrayal.  Calling him my
friend will not make this go away.  I will either end up dead, or wearing
a slave bracelet.  As for the others, I can only hope that he finds them
useful enough to spare.

As we march through the darkness, I picture myself on my knees,
begging him for Oscar's life.  I try to imagine his response, but I can't
decide if he would be moved to benevolent pardon, or if his anger toward me
would steady the gun in his hand.  I agonize over this scenario every
single step back to the Outpost, and still, I can't decide.  Would it
help?  Would it make things worse?  I've given up on the rest of us,
but I
need
Oscar to live. 

The gates of the Outpost come into sight, and there is Matt,
standing before them, hands on his hips, foot tapping like an annoyed
parent.  I look down as I walk.  I can't meet his gaze.

The men get out of the truck and move us up to him in
silence.  We wait.  I'm too focused on the fluttering of my own heart
to even look at my friends.

"What were you thinking?" Matt finally asks with a
quietness that startles me.  His anger will take form in his actions, not
his words.

I look at him now and see that anger writhing just below the
surface, thinly masked by control.  Fear rises unbidden from the pit of my
stomach.  I've gone too far this time.  I want to say something to
appease him, soothe him.  Beyond that, I want to be noble and selfless,
take the blame on myself, save my friends.  But when I do speak, hot,
liquid anger spills from my mouth.  "We have every right to leave
here if we want.  You can't make us stay and die.  We choose to
leave."

Matt narrows his eyes at me and says nothing.  Somewhere to
my right, Jonas shifts nervously.  Miranda shakes her head.  Apollon
looks up like he's just becoming aware of his surroundings.  Neveah takes
a small step back, stopping because of the gun barrel wedged between her
shoulder blades.

Matt looks off into the distance and licks his lips,
considering.  When he looks back at me, he smiles.  I feel suddenly
cold, like that smile has drained the blood from my body.

He says, "Of course."  He steps toward me, his body
language casual, a trace of the smile still there.  This is Matt at his
deadliest, I realize.  He's completely in control.  He knows exactly
what he will do.  I expect a gun or a knife to materialize.  I expect
a revelation of my doom, but he draws it out.  "I couldn't call you
my
friend
, and then keep you from something so important to you,"
he says, his voice like a foot, twisting, pressing the word 'friend' into the
ground.  He stops in front of me, eyeing me sideways.

When he looks down, his face softening, I realize he has not
stopped in front of me, but in front of Oscar.  My stomach muscles tighten
and bile rises into my throat.  I swallow. 

He smiles at me again, picking a piece of debris from Oscar's arm
and casting it into the dirt.  Oscar flinches.  "You can do
whatever you want."  His gaze sweeps the others.  "All of
you."

Miranda's shoulders sag in relief, but she's the only one. 
Everyone else, like me, is waiting for the catch.

Matt says it like an afterthought:  "Of course, you
can't take
him
."  He sets one hand on Oscar's shoulder. 
Oscar's brown eyes blink up at him.  They shine in the moonlight. 
The start of tears?

"The roads are too dangerous for children," Matt says
softly.  "It's practically a violation of the Fifth Law."

I open my mouth.  He looks at me.  I shake my head
slowly.

"Don't worry," he says.  His voice sounds so
kind.  "I'll look after him.  He won't be alone."  He
squeezes Oscar's shoulder, turns, and guides the boy toward the gates.

I stand there frozen for just an instant, wavering between freedom
and Oscar.  There is no choice.  Not for me.  I think the others
will go, but I can't.  I give my friends a small smile. 
"Go," I say.  "Be safe."  Around them, the men
with the guns dissolve.  My friends stand blinking, shocked.

I walk toward the Outpost.  Toward Oscar, and Matt.  I
allow myself a few steps to mourn what I've lost, but mostly, I'm relieved to
have lost so little.

There are footsteps behind me.  I glance back to see Apollon,
holding his stomach.  Maybe the trip would've been too much for him
anyway.  Neveah is behind me, too.  She gives me a little smile, and
continues on when I pause.

Jonas' feet are still welded into the same place.  Miranda
stands by him, clutching his arm.  Whatever he chooses, she'll go with
him.  Not out of love, or even loyalty, I realize, but out of fear. 
He is her protector, and she doesn't know how to be without him.  So they
will walk off down the road tonight, and I'll never see them again.  My
chest aches with the certainty of it.

It should upset me that they will leave and I will not.  That
my family will be cut down by a third.  That I will miss them.  Only
the last thought carries any real weight, but overriding it is a small sense of
victory.  Maybe I'll not ever find my white tower, but Jonas will follow
his compass.  Maybe he'll find what he's looking for.  His victory
will be mine.  It will be good enough.  It is good enough. 
Only, he's still frozen in place by guilt, by responsibility.  I have to
set him free.

"Go," I shout back to him, startling him.

His eyes focus, finding me.  He scans the backs of the
others, like he's seeing for the first time, then his eyes fix on me again.

I'm surprised how steady my voice is as I raise it again to bid
him farewell.  "Find what you're looking for," I say. 
"Find it."  I turn, before the tears can come, and start toward
the gate.

Even as I do, I catch movement from the corner of my eye-- Jonas
reanimating, making the first move toward the fate that awaits him.  My
heart swells with a mixture of joy and sorrow, both more potent for their
intermingling.  I mean to keep walking, and not look.  I can't help
it, though.  I glance back over my shoulder.

Jonas and Miranda are walking toward the gate, not away from
it.  His head is down, his feet trudging like they're weighted in iron
shackles.  Miranda still clutches his arm, her face awash in relief. 
Does she not understand?

To my side, Matt and Oscar have slowed, distracting my
attention.  Matt looks at me sideways, his face expressionless. 
Underneath, he's gloating.  He knows he's won.  I squeeze my teeth
together against the anger.

Oscar glances toward me like he wants to run to me.  I have
to ask Matt for him back.  I consider my words, but they fall away in my
mind.  If Oscar comes with us, he'll starve to death alongside us. 
If he stays with Matt, he'll have food, at least for a while.  The two
ideas wage war inside me, ripping at a heart already too tender.  Could I
let Oscar go with Matt?  Wouldn't it be best for him?  Only my
selfishness keeps me from it.  I'm starting to come around to the
self-sacrifice, when Oscar turns and says something to Matt.  Matt nods,
and Oscar runs to me.  He throws his arms around me and buries his face
against me.  All the tears I've been holding back pour freely down my
cheeks.  I sweep my arms around him, and hold on tight.  Nothing else
matters.