E (21 page)

"I'm sorry," Oscar sobs into my stomach.  "I'm
sorry."

"No," I mumble into his hair.  "Don't
be.  He only chose you because he knows I could never leave you."

He pulls away a little and looks up at me, blinking, like he never
knew or expected the statement.  A small smile works its way onto my lips,
then he buries his face against me again, clinging tightly.  He mumbles
something that I can't really make out, but my heart translates the garble.

I close my eyes.  "I love you, too."

***

Apollon and Miranda are squabbling about what to do now. 
Everything we carried in our packs is gone-- liberated by Matt's army. 
We've lost our weapons as well.  We have the clothes on our backs, and the
items we left in our house, but beyond that, nothing.  Some of them can be
replaced through foraging, but not all.  Their voices drone on, picking at
each other, draining what little life is left inside me.  I slip outside
into the chill morning air, wondering where Jonas went.  Maybe he couldn't
listen to any more of it either.  Or maybe he needed to be away-- to feel
the loss inherent in his decision to stay with us.  Guilt pushes into my
throat.  I'm glad he didn't go.  I shouldn't be.  But I am.

A noise comes from the dilapidated shed next to our house.  I
pause and listen.  Someone's in there, and it better be Jonas.

I peek through the door, then stand against the frame and wait for
him to notice me.  He must have heard my footsteps, but he doesn't
acknowledge me at all.  He has a jagged piece of metal and some scraps of
wood.  He's fastening them together to make a crude knife.  On the
bench that stretches across one wall, there are two the same, already finished.

"At least somebody's doing something productive," I say,
getting tired of waiting.  "Want some help?"

"No."  He doesn't even glance back at me.

I stand for a moment, wanting to comfort him.  The pain of
our failure is distressing me, too.  I assume that eventually I'll get
used to the feeling.  I won't notice it so much, even though it still cuts
me.  Or maybe I'll just be dead.  That's the unspeakable bottom line
here.  Staying means death, sooner or later.  Probably sooner. 
But that's not what hurts the most.  It's the thing that's waiting
somewhere else.  Being incarcerated here, unable to go after it is like
being crushed slowly, feeling the breath pushed from your lungs until they
collapse in on themselves.

"I'm sorry," I say, knowing that the words are not
enough.  I push on, hoping that somehow they'll come together to mean
something, but they sound pitiful, contrived.  "Maybe we'll still
find a way to get through this.  Maybe the thing with Grey won't
be--"

"Seriously?" Jonas says, whirling to face me. 
"We'll be OK?  Is that what you think?  Because I really did
think you were smarter than that."

I blink against the harshness of his tone, but I'm still
calm.  "You didn't have to stay."

He laughs as if my words have amused him.

"You didn't," I assert.  I'm starting to get
annoyed now.  I tried to comfort him, and all I get back is acid. 
"I told you to go," I say.  "I don't know why you
didn't.  But don't act like it's my fault, like I asked you to stay or
something.  You made your own decision.  Nobody did it for you. 
And if you really regret it that much, then you should go now, and maybe Matt
won't have changed his mind yet."

The way he's seething, I half expect him to march past me and head
for the Outpost gates.  He does move, toward me, not past, in slow, even
steps.

"Is that what you want?" he asks quietly, lowering his
head and looking me in the eye.  He takes the final step to close the
distance between us, and places his hands against the wall on either side of me
without touching me.  "You want me to go?"

Everything stops with him that close to me.  In the silence I
feel the weight of his question.  I swallow, looking up into his green
eyes.  I can't imagine what it would be like to never get to look into
them again.  He bows his head closer to me, leaning in on his hands. 
He still doesn't touch me, but the distance between us closes.  A few
inches.  An inch.  His face is leaning down to mine.

I duck my chin and turn my face away, sucking in the breath that I
was holding.  He pulls away, a little.  Back to where he was before
he started leaning. 

"You think that's a good idea?" I say, trying to make my
voice steady.  "Kissing two girls you have to live with, who sleep on
either side of you?"

His lips pull into the faintest smile, his eyes narrowing. 
"Kiss you?"

I gaze up at him with my mouth dumbly open.  Heat rushes to
my cheeks.  He was going to kiss me.  What else could he have
meant?  But now he's going to pretend like I made it up-- like only I was
thinking it?  Like I wanted it and he didn't?  The embarrassment
collects inside me and starts to rise upward.  Behind it is a wave of
anger.

But Jonas' smile broadens.  He leans in like he's telling me
a secret.  "I was," he says.  He retracts his hands and
turns away from me, going back to his project.  "But you make a good
point."

I suppress a shriek.  My hands clamp into fists.  I
breathe slow, measured breaths through my nose.  I want more than anything
to kiss him.  More than I wanted it when he was leaning close to me. 
More than when his breath mingled with mine.  His withdrawal fills me with
emptiness, with desire.  He has to know this. 

I refuse to be his plaything.  Very quietly, I walk
away.  I go inside, with the others-- exactly what I don't want to do
right now.  But I won’t give Jonas the satisfaction of seeing me go off to
sulk.  Instead, I plaster a smile on my face, and do my best to appear
entirely unaffected.  He might be a closed book, but I’m good at
bluffing.  I channel normalcy for the rest of the afternoon.  Let him
chew on that.

***

Apollon and I walk together toward the center of the
Outpost.  He says he's going to the marketplace, but I don't know what
money he intends to use there.  I, on the other hand, am just getting away
for a while.  I'll go to the Rustler, and sit on a stool, and even though
Arthur Adner will probably know better than to give me any free drinks, I'll
enjoy the change of scenery.  Maybe I'll hear something about the war with
Grey.  Give myself something else to worry about.  Take my mind off
of...  off of....

I squint sideways at Apollon as we walk.  Why not just
ask?  I make my voice very casual.  "...Jonas and
Miranda..." I say.  I swallow the lump in my throat.

He glances at me, eyes narrowing. 

I make myself go on.  "So they're like..." 
That's all I can seem to get out.  I can feel my cheeks turn pink.  I
want to hide my face, but that would just be worse, so I stick it out, hoping
he'll believe it's the wind.

"They're not really like anything," Apollon says, eyeing
me.  "Why?"

Which is exactly what I didn't want him to ask.  I glance
away and shake my head.

"You're not really his type," he says, as if it's a
simple fact.

There's no hiding it now.  I just have to pretend his answer
doesn't bother me as much as it does.  "Voluptuous?" I say,
looking off into the distance.

He laughs.  "Shallow."

I blink at him in surprise.  We've come to the corner of the
main street now, and he stops and turns to me. 

"Jonas doesn't get involved with anyone he could possibly be
serious about.  Miranda, case in point.  He doesn't even
like
her," he says.  "He's too focused on his other thing.  You
know."  The last of it comes out like he doesn't really want to say
it-- like he's not sure he should.  He looks away, and goes quiet.

I just nod in the silence.

He grins.  "On the other hand," he lulls, his eyes
flicking past me for a moment, then settling back on me, "you're exactly
my type."

I can't help but smile back at him.  Apollon has the most
adorable dimples when he grins like that.  I check behind me.  Sumter
and his daughter are crossing the street.  "I'm flattered," I
tell Apollon.  "Try again when you can hit on me without checking out
another girl simultaneously."

He just laughs and looks off down the street, toward whatever
destination he has in mind.  "I'll do that," he says, and he
saunters off.

I shake my head as I walk toward the Rustler.  For all of two
seconds, I'm distracted by Apollon's teasing.  Then my thoughts dart back
to Jonas, computing this new information.  Sorting. 
Organizing.  Dissecting.  There are so many other things to worry
about-- so many things that really matter-- and here I am literally wallowing
in thoughts of Jonas.  Maybe it's because everything else is so messed
up.  Maybe it's my way of hiding from the real problems.  But it feels
good, to think of him.  To entertain my far-fetched conjectures.  To
remember.  And remembering, even though there's truly little meat to the
memories, has a thickness about it-- a feeling of sinking into
significance.  So, ignoring Sarah's bird-pecked corpse still hanging from
the pole at the corner, I duck into the Rustler, pondering why exactly Jonas
decided to stay.  Pondering if it could have had anything to do with me.

I make it one step inside before I forget Jonas entirely. 
The room is frozen as the door bangs shut behind me.  Everyone's eyes have
fixed on me, seeing who's coming in.  People around the edges of the room
look pointedly away from what's happening in the center, where a group of men
are on their feet, a table turned over.  Matthew stands amongst his
henchmen.  He holds a long knife in his left hand.  His teeth are
clenched, feet set shoulder width apart.  Kneeling on the floor before him
is Coyote Dan, half-slumped with one eye starting to swell shut.  Colton glares
at me from Matthew's side, a clear warning, but I don't take it.  I bolt
toward them and skid into place between Matt and Coyote Dan.  Only as I
look Matt in the eye do I remember that I no longer have a knife of my own.

Matt gives a little laugh of disgust before fixing me with a look
sharper than the blade in his hand.  "Get out of the way, Eden,"
he growls.

I almost obey.  Not quite.  I glance at the knife in his
hand.  The blood drains from my face.  "He's my friend," I
say.  My voice is so much smaller than I hoped it would be.

In my peripheral vision, I see Colton's hand move.  He's
reaching for his knife.  I flinch in reaction, but Matt is twice as
quick.  His right fist comes out of nowhere and connects with my chin in
an explosion of pain.  I stumble backward, tripping over Coyote Dan, but
then Matt has me by the front of my jacket, hauling me back to my feet. 
The pull against my ribcage is like a dagger in my side.

"You take things too far, Eden," he says, dragging me
toward him so he's staring into my eyes, breathing into my face. 
"Just because I let you get away with things, don't take it as
given.  The fact is, I have plans for you. 
That
is why you're
still alive.  But plans can change.  Understand?"

I'm still blinking stars away, scrambling to get my feet back
underneath me.  Blood runs down my chin and drips onto his fisted
hand.  I want to nod, but I can't.  Behind me, Coyote Dan's hoarse
voice mumbles something that includes the words "let it go". 
Tears are stinging behind my eyes, threatening to come out.  Instead of
nodding, I start to shake my head.

Matt cuts the gesture off by shaking my whole body.  He drags
me toward the door.  As I realize he's about to throw me out of it, I
twist, trying to get my feet on solid ground.  He shakes me one more time,
stopping me, his eyes piercing in to mine.  "Don't be stupid,"
he spits.  "You'll be dead in five seconds."

It's not the threat that stops me.  It's something in his
look.  He kicks the door open and heaves me out of it.  I go
sprawling onto the sidewalk.  For a second, feeling the bruising of my
backside, the sting of skinned flesh, the ache of my ribcage, I stay
there.  Then I roll to my feet and eye the closed door.  Two
choices.  Go back in, or go home.  If I leave, Coyote Dan might
die.  But I don't think so.  I think there was something in that look
that Matt gave me, and I'm good at reading people.  I take a gamble that
Coyote Dan will make it out of this alive.  I cover my bloody mouth with
one sleeve, and limp toward home.

***

I'm worried about returning all bloody again, but at least the
only blood involved belongs to me.  The scene this time is far less
dramatic, since Jonas is the only one there to witness my arrival.  He
frowns and squints at me before realizing why I'm holding my sleeve over my
mouth.  Then he jumps up to check me out, pushing my arm away from my
face.

"I'm fine," I mumble, though it sounds a little funny
because my lip is swelling.  "Where is everyone?"

"Oscar went hunting," Jonas says absently.  Then I
hear the water splashing.  "Miranda's in the bath."

I don't really want to know about Miranda taking a bath when she
and Jonas are alone in the house together.  I glance around for something
to stop the bleeding.