E (28 page)

For a moment, she sputters like a faucet out of water, but finally
she spits out, "Donegan?  Seriously?" 

I snort.  "I
know
."

Now her glance is calmer.  She realizes I'm going to take her
side.  I'd be stupid to try to convince her that what Jonas is doing is
OK.  I may not be Miranda, but I hate Donegan enough.  He hit
Oscar.  No way in hell would I consider him an ally.  I'm swimming in
disgust and disbelief.

Miranda says "I thought Jonas--  I thought--" 
And then she's sniffling, tears pouring down her face.  She bats at them,
wiping them with her sleeves.  Somehow she manages to stop.  Her chin
is up, her face smooth.  I'll give her one for composure.  "I
thought I knew Jonas.  I thought I knew he wouldn't do something like
that," she finishes, calmly.

"Jonas doesn't seem to want anybody to know him," I say
absently.  "He lets you in.  He pushes you out.  It's
really all about that thing on his arm, isn't it?  We don't matter to him
if we get in the way of that."

Miranda's gaze falls on me and sticks.  Summing, withering,
and oddly understanding.  Finally she says, "Well, I'm done with
it."

We're in the marketplace now.  We stop and turn to each
other.  "Miranda," I say softly, but her face looks set in
stone.

She shakes her head, rubbing her arms.  We face each other,
but each of us is looking off into the distance.

I'm about to suggest we go home where at least it's warm, when she
speaks.

"I'm going to help Matt," she says.

I blink.  "What?"

"With the wall.  I can help with it."

My mouth is hanging open.  This is bad.  Miranda wants
to join Matt's side?  With all the sensitive information she knows? 
With all the anger she's incubating?

"I'm not going to say anything," she whispers. 
"So don't freak out.  I just... aren't we on the wrong side?"

I close my mouth and swallow.  I stare off into the
distance.  "Which side is the right side?" I ask. 
"Isn't it the one that's going to win?"

She frowns at me.  "You don't believe that."

"I believe in staying alive."

"Really," she says.  "You're fine with being
locked in a hole somewhere?"

I narrow my eyes at her.  She has hit home, and she doesn't
even realize why.  Again, I look away.  Truth be told, I really don't
want to think about this question.  Maybe it deserves an answer, but even
considering it makes my insides stir.  Closing my eyes, I breathe cold air
through my nose.  I focus on the way my body relaxes into the deep
breaths.  The nausea subsides.  My head feels lighter.

Luckily, Miranda is done debating.  She grabs me by the
arm.  "C'mon," she says.  "Let's get out of the
cold."

I'm happy to drop it for now.  As we walk home, I do
everything I can to put it all out of my mind.

***

Jonas is bristling.  His back is turned to me, but I can
sense every nerve is charged.  Every muscle in his shoulders is
taught.  "She's going to get herself killed," he growls.

I keep quiet, and look at the warehouse's ancient concrete
floor.  Dark, and grey, and tired, and cold.  A metaphor for everything,
these days.

"It makes no sense," he continues.  "Why would
she do this?  Why would she betray us like this?"

Why wouldn't she, I'm thinking, still staring at the floor. 
He's just used to her following him everywhere like a stray dog.

Now he turns and looks at me.  His boots have clots of mud
sticking out the sides from under his heels.  "Eden," he says,
more softly.

I close my eyes and shake my head.

He walks over to the cot and sits down next to me, turning his
body toward me.  I open my eyes but only see his lap, his leg crossed over
his knee.  His boot is pointing at me now.  I reach out and flick a
chunk of mud off of it, then look him in the eyes.

My voice is tired, wavering, slow, but strong.  "The
things you are willing to do..."

His eyelids come down part way over eyes full of an intense
gaze.  He leans toward me.  His voice is low and even.  "I
am willing to do a lot of things you probably won't like," he says. 
"Whatever it takes.  That's how we survive."

It's hard to argue with survival as the ultimate goal.  But I
find myself looking away.  My shoulders slump.  Again, I feel so
tired. 

He sets his hand on my knee.  "Eden," he says
again.  His voice sounds so soft when he says my name.  Like a
lullaby.  Like dying.

I blink and look at his face.  His eyes are scanning mine,
looking for something.  For a sign I, too, won't betray him?

"I need you with me," he says.  His voice is barely
more than a whisper.  "I really need you."

I close my eyes, a long sigh draining from me like blood sinking
into the earth.  I don't want to think about this.  All I manage in
reply is, "Oscar.  I can't be involved in this.  It's not safe
for Oscar."

His brow furrows, emotion playing across his face as quickly as a
summer rainstorm.  He shakes his head a little bit, then stops.  He
purses his lips.  All the while, he's looking at me, like he's going to
say something, but nothing ever comes out.

Eventually I grow tired of waiting.  "I have to
go," I say, getting to my feet.  He looks up at me warily.  I
feel bad for him.  He seems so lost.  I try to drum up some words to
reassure him, to ease his fears.  Something meaningful.  Something
inspiring.  All I manage is, "Don't worry.  Miranda wouldn't
sell you out.  She won't say anything."

He nods, looking down at that concrete floor. 

I turn, and walk away.

Oscar and I are sitting on the side of the street sharing a
buttered roll.  There's a noise, like a mad hornet.  The revving of
an engine.  Startled, we look down the street and see Matt's remaining car
speed by on the cross-street, people flinging themselves hastily out of its
way.  Not far on its heels is the pickup truck that followed us back to
the Outpost that night.  Something clicks in me.  Fear.  I grab
Oscar by the arm.  My voice comes out in a whisper.  "Come
on."

We start walking.  He jogs to keep up with me. 
"Where are we going," he asks.  "What's going on?"

There are three gunshots in the distance.  A Sentry keeping
watch at the side of the road turns toward the sound and takes off, metal arms
and legs flashing silver as they catch the sunlight.  We're running now,
the opposite way.  There are more gunshots.

"I don't know," I pant.  "Somewhere
safe."

Only, nowhere is really safe.  I don't know what's happening,
but I can't take any chances with Oscar.  We can't go home.  I can't
send him home.  We can't go to the warehouse, either.  So we run
toward the edge of town and take refuge in an alleyway, hunkered down on one
side of a large trash bin.  We sink against the wall, catching our
breath.  It's a long time before either of us speaks.

"What do you think is happening?" Oscar whispers.

I shake my head.  "Dunno."  I'm trying to sort
that out in my mind, playing out possible scenarios.  The worst one
involves Jonas, and by association, me and Oscar.  If Matt has discovered
his operation, we may as well all be dead.  I have to hold myself back
from cursing.  How could I have been so stupid to not see this coming? 
Or didn't I?  Didn't I just let it happen anyway?  I glance at Oscar,
wanting to tell him something reassuring.  He speaks before I can.

"You think Matt figured out what Jonas is doing," he
says, simply.  He stares into space for a moment, then shakes his
head.  "There are lots of other things it could be."

I snuff air through my nose.  He's right.  But that
doesn't make this any less frightening.  I put my arm around his
shoulders, pull him close.  I search my brain for an answer, a way to
know.  The silence stretches through long moments.  Whatever
excitement has occurred, it seems to be over with, now.  There are no more
gunshots.  No sign that anything is wrong.  Still, we wait a couple
of hours before I cautiously move from our hiding place, telling Oscar to remain
where he is until I come back for him.

Now, as I sneak through the back streets, trying not to be seen, I
start to think about Jonas.  About all my friends, but mostly, about
Jonas.  My mind fixes on the idea that one of the gunshots I heard was
meant for him.  I distinctly feel the sensation of his life being pulled
away from mine.  Of the infinite separation between us.  The
unbridgeable gap between living and dead.  He's fading.  Maybe
already gone.  Maybe I'm too late, and I will never look into his eyes
again.  I'm shaking, nauseous.  A weight pulls down over my face,
making my breathing difficult.  I stumble through the last alleyway, tears
spilling freely, so certain of what I'm going to find.  I know, deep
inside me, that he's gone.  I know it in a way that I could never feel if
he wasn't.

I make it to the warehouse, where the door is unguarded.  I
press it open and step into the blackness within. 

He turns, and looks at me, breaking off a conversation to do
so.  His eyes, registering my tears, scan over me.  "Are you
hurt," he asks, stepping quickly toward me.

I shake my head.  My arms are around him, and his around
me.  I'm sobbing.  All-out sobbing.  "I thought you-- I
thought--"  I can't bear to say the rest.

His arms squeeze tighter, pressing me against his chest. 
"Shhh," he says softly.  "It's OK.  Everyone is
OK."

I lean into him, amazed and grateful that he's alive. 
Disbelieving, almost, that he is.  I was sure.  So sure.  How
could I have felt it so sharply?  Even now, with my arms around him, I
feel as though I've lost him.  The pain is stabbing, and fresh, and
incredibly real.  I've lost him, and I'm empty without him, and nothing
will ever be OK. 

He pulls me tighter, and tighter, like he knows what I'm feeling;
like he can protect me from this nightmare with his arms alone.  His face
presses into my hair.  "It's OK," he whispers, again and
again.  "I've got you, now."

I cry myself out in his arms.  In the end, the emptiness is
emptied.  I'm hollow and whole at the same time.  Whatever had
overtaken me has run its course, and left me in wonderment that it
existed.  I've been watching someone else's pain.  We look at each
other, from a small distance apart, our eyes meeting as if for the first
time.  I don't want to lose the tender intimacy that has been kindled in
this moment, but suddenly, I'm thinking of Oscar, huddling in an alley.

Jonas sees the change on my face.  He closes his eyes. 
"Oscar," he says softly.  "Where is he?"

"I have to go get him."  I start to pull away, but
his fingers tighten on my forearms.

"I'll go," he says.  "You go home.  Get
some rest."

I want to argue-- want to go and get Oscar myself-- but there's
something in his wanting to go for me, something that affirms these past
moments of closeness.  This is the hallowed ground of our
relationship.  I step quietly, carefully.  Jonas is waiting for my
reply, so I look into his green eyes and decide to trust him with Oscar. 
I tell Jonas exactly where Oscar is hiding, to see him home safely, to avoid going
back the way near May Deth's.  He squeezes my shoulders again
reassuringly, cutting me off.  "I know, Eden," he says.  A
smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth as he releases me and moves toward
the door.  "I know."

A moment later, I'm walking home feeling strangely light. 
Maybe it's relief making me giddy with its coming.  Or maybe it's
something else.  Something naive, and human, and faltering in an endearing
sort of way.  There's been no time to feel such things, and indeed they
seem foolish in the vast tangle of difficulties we've been facing.  For a
brief second, they glitter golden in my mind's eye.  Then I come onto the
main road, near the Rustler, and freeze.  My eyes take in the vacant
street.  Foolishness does not describe what I feel.  I'm chasing daydreams,
and the pavement before me is a small red lake-- the last daydreams of how
many, drained into a congealing crimson pool of loss.

***

Apollon says, again, "No, it's nothing.  You don't want
to know."  He rakes his fingers through his tousled blonde
hair.  "War, Eden.  It's war."

Neveah and I look at each other, then at him.  It's the three
of us.  Miranda's still not home.  Apollon is only here to check on
us.  All I've been able to get out of him is that the tragedy I saw was a
retaliation for something else that happened outside the wall.  No one I
know was involved.  At least, not involved in the dying part.

I close my eyes and sigh, giving up.  Miranda might know what
happened.  She'll tell us.  "Fine," I say to Apollon. 
"Just... be safe out there."

He gives me a one-armed hug as he leaves.

Neveah and I sit in silence and wait for Miranda.  I'm more
comfortable when we're communicating on the same level.  We trade sighs,
and understanding looks, and nervous glances as the evening pushes
onward.  I'm just about to get my jacket and go looking, when Miranda
finally comes home.

She steps inside quietly, her eyes vacant, and takes off her
jacket.  Blinking a few times, she walks slowly to the couch and slumps
down next to Neveah.  Neveah's arm goes delicately around her
shoulders.  Miranda leans against her.  For an even longer time,
we're all silent.

At some point, Miranda sits up straighter, frowning.  "I
forgot to make dinner," she says.  She rises, takes the two steps to
the kitchen, places our daily bread on our plates, and serves it up.  We
finish dinner in about twenty seconds, then turn out the lamps, and go to
bed.  Tonight, it's Miranda that wakes with nightmares.  I'm too busy
lying awake to bother with them myself.  So I comfort her as best I
can.  Neveah and I wrap our arms over her, and try to hold back her terror
as she sleeps.

***

Small islands of snow dot the pavement here and there, but mostly,
everything is melted, trickling tiny silver streams across the concrete until
they find a place to sink in.  The air is brisk, but the sun is beaming
proudly down on us, like we have done something to deserve its affection. 
Oscar and I walk together across the marketplace.  He's grinning, chattering. 
Nothing seems to touch him.  Sometimes I think maybe he's not really part
of this grim world.

"Look," he says.  He has his slingshot, poised
perfectly, pouch pulled back and ready to release.  His rock goes flying,
creating a den in one of the islands of snow.  He snuffs air through his
nose impatiently.  "I was hoping it would explode."

"Too wet," I say, as we go to retrieve his rock. 
"But good aim."

He grins up at me as he scoops the rock out of the snow. 
"Bet I can do it again."

I smile and laugh.  "I'm not betting against you."

He
does
do it again.  He's been practicing.  He
hits two, and then three more islands, perfectly.  As I watch him skip
away to get his rock, I'm feeling the smile start to build inside.

"Hey," comes Jonas' voice from behind me.

I turn to watch his approach, the way he walks, the way his
shoulders form a perfect line beneath his hoodie.  He stops in front of
me, hands in pockets, and says nothing.  After a moment, his eyes flicker
behind me, to Oscar, who's running back to us.

Oscar wraps his arms around Jonas for a sincere, but very brief
hug, before he turns and aims again.  "Check this out," he
says.  He's already running to retrieve his rock.

"Awesome," Jonas says, when Oscar comes skipping
back.  "You're going to be deadly with that thing.  Like...
what's that old story?"  He glances around before saying it, and his
voice is a bit lower.  "David and Goliath?"

Oscar just laughs and aims again.

Jonas turns back to me.

We look at each other.  I want to say something, but I'm
afraid to.  I want him to say something, but I'm afraid he'll say what
he'd say any other day.  Inside, my emotions have whipped themselves into
an emulsion of confusion-- parts hope, and embarrassment, and longing, and joy,
and grief, and anger with myself.  I'm over the edge, I think. 
Grasping at things that aren't there.  I should turn my thoughts
back.  But I don't want to.  Even if I'm being stupid, I don't want
to.

Oscar's next target is further away.  We start strolling to
keep up with him.  Someone has to talk, and it doesn't seem like it's
going to be Jonas, so I manage, in a casual voice, "It almost feels like a
normal day."

He glances at me as we walk.  "Nothing's normal
anymore."

Now I glance at him.  "Seems like she's got it in for
us."

Puzzlement crosses his face as he squints at me.

"Fate," I say.

A flicker of a smile plays across his lips.  "Good ol'
Fate."

We follow Oscar's erratic path in silence.  After a while, I
find myself saying aloud, even though they're really private thoughts,
"We're not going to make it much longer.  It doesn't matter what we
do.  Everything is leading toward an ending."

His glance this time is quickly followed by a solid look that
sticks to my face, connects through my eyes, and forms a channel between
us.  His fingers graze my upper arm lightly.  Even through the
leather of my jacket, his touch raises goose bumps on my skin.  "What
if it is," he says, but his voice is not filled with the appropriate
doom.  Instead, there's something urgent, even hopeful in the way he says
it.

I open my mouth to answer, but I'm just looking at him, wondering
what he's getting at.  His fingers close around my arm and pull me to a
stop.  We stand facing each other in the middle of the marketplace. 

"If this is all there is," he says, "then why are
we wasting it?"

I blink.  His gaze is intense, his body leaning in.  His
eyes scan and scan my face, like they can pull an answer out of me.  Only,
I'm not sure what the answer is.  Part of me interprets what he's saying,
and another part laughs at the interpretation.  I'm not right.  I
can't be right.  I simply don't understand.  "Uh...?" I
say, stupidly.  I can feel myself going red.

"Uh..." he says, the corners of his mouth twitching with
a suppressed smile.  He's making fun of me.  I feel my body tense,
ready to withdraw, but before I can, he touches my cheek with just his
fingertips.  No one has ever touched me so carefully, with so much
tenderness.  His eyes, half-lidded, gaze down into my own.  The trace
of smile is completely gone.  He's all seriousness.

Not far away, I hear Oscar laughing as he hits his latest
target.  Jonas and I look sideways, watching him run for his rock. 
Jonas drops his hand.  We turn and start walking again, throwing fleeting
glances at each other as we go.  My face is still flushed, hot against the
morning chill, but it feels good, like the smooth burn of whiskey.  My
head is drunk and spinning, too.  We walk on like this, watching Oscar,
sometimes laughing at his glee.  We share the morning's joy without
words.  With just eye contact, and smiles, and something else, intangible,
that flows in rushing currents between us.