Follow Me Through Darkness (31 page)

“We’ll go that way. The barrier opening is about a hundred yards away. Be careful that you don’t step on anything.” Xenith points into the distance, through the shadows, and we move
.

DEADLINE: 8D, 20H, 2M

FREMONT, CALIFORNIA

IN THE SHADOWS,
we join a small huddled crowd. Not many people are there, but it’s good that we aren’t alone. Less obvious that we are running away from something. Eddie is quick in his orders, and no one else speaks. Crossing with us are a small boy and his father, an old couple, and three teenagers covered in piercings.

The boat is small. We squeeze inside together and sit shoulder-to-shoulder. Eddie tells us the trip is three hours, depending on if we run into stops or cautions or checks. We are all to remain still and quiet and never ask questions if we are stopped. Eddie does all the talking.

I sit with Thorne on one side and the little boy on the other. He has deep dark eyes that seem lost. His father’s eyes are similar. He smiles at his son reassuringly, and we take off into the sea. I close my eyes when the boat sways and listen to the waves. The sound reminds me of home; I miss it.

Thorne’s hand squeezes mine, and I wonder if he misses the sound, too. We sit that way for the rest of the ride, with his hand in mine and our bodies moving with the ocean. I keep my eyes shut and listen to the sound of the water on the side of the boat. I try not to hum along with it, even though it calls to me. I just listen. It’s a good sound.

DEADLINE: 8D, 16H, 59M

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

I TAKE IT ALL IN
as we walk up the street. Everywhere I look are hills and ocean, an endless supply of rolling beauty. The sky is a light shade of gray, the color before the sun breaks loose on the day. I can smell the newness in the air, holding me captive to the illusion that everything will be easy and will work out.

We walk the empty streets, passing only a few people on their way to somewhere else. It’s so quiet here, so safe. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to go.

“Let’s go to the Mavericks,” Thorne says. “We’ll wait for them.”

“Where are they?” I ask.

Thorne pauses. “They can’t be that far away.”

2 HOURS BEFORE ESCAPE

A HUNDRED YARDS IS FAR AWAY.
Farther than it seems. The lack of light and the waves that sound farther away than ever before don’t help with the distance. We cross through a line of trees. It’s odd that there are so many trees, so perfectly formed. But then, it’s not odd; it’s manufactured, here to hide something no one wanted any of us to see. Ever. The space between them is small, so we have to climb up a couple branches and go over them. The other side is truly another world
.

Small buildings rest everywhere. They’re an ugly shade of gray, the color paper gets when it’s waterlogged. Bodies of cars, tires, wire, metal slabs, and piles of wood are strewn across the open area. There are more items-large metal pieces that we use for housing roofs, barrows, large cargo crates, tractors. I wonder why they are here and what’s inside of them, but as curious as it makes me, I don’t want to know. I imagine men in those little buildings and metal cargo crates. Men that sit at screens and watch us. That pull strings, directing people where to move. Men that build things to keep us under control and things to kill us when they lose it. A shiver runs down my spine as I glance at the gray shacks one more time
.

Xenith puts a finger to his lips. Was I making noises? Maybe I was breathing too loudly. He points to his eyes and his fingers make a V shape toward the other side of the junk. I don’t notice it at first, not until we take a few more steps. Then the large fence that trails toward the sky comes into view. The barrier. No one could ever go over it
.

I step on something. It cracks underneath my foot, and Xenith looks up at me like a hunter who’s found its prey. I’m frozen, staring at him. He puts his hands toward me, making sure I stay still, before placing one finger over his lips again. He sinks toward the ground, lies flat on it, and puts his ear against it. I don’t know what he’s listening for or why his ear is on the ground, but I don’t move. I try not to even breathe
.

He gets up and pulls me toward him and whispers in my ear, “Run now!”

DEADLINE: 8D, 14H, 9M

MAVERICKS HEADQUARTERS: SAN FRANCISO

WE RUN INSIDE
the Mavericks’ headquarters as soon as the doors open. The building is large, with floors made out of shiny tile. The entrance is blocked off by glass doors, and beyond that is a lady in a black dress suit sitting at a single round desk. The image is jarring, not a real portrayal of the Old World. The Old World is out there where there’s desert and abandoned buildings and people hiding underground, trying to live. Not here, at a desk with technology in a city where people are free to do more of what they want.

“You’re here before I’ve even sat!” Her hair bounces around her. It’s the color of the sunset in the summer, trapped on a head. “Good morning. How can we be of service?” Her eyes are on me, patient and waiting for me to speak. Can I just blurt all this out?

“I-we need to meet with someone.”

“That’s what we tend to do here. What’s the purpose?” She smiles one of those fake smiles that I’ve only really seen in people like my father.

“I’m here to see Agent Handler,” I say. I memorized the name a long time ago. “Salvation,” Xenith had called him.

“He’s unavailable unless it’s an appointment or an emergency.”

“I’m sure he’d have time for us,” I say. I lower my voice to a whisper. “We’re here about the Compound.”

The woman’s features shift into surprise, confusion, awe. I’m not sure why. She stares at us like we’re aliens, and maybe we are. “Why would you need to meet with someone about that?” She’s trying us, searching and waiting for a slip-up. Her gaze is threatening. I smile back, hoping it looks more innocent than it could ever be.

“I have some information and some questions. He’ll want to talk with us.”

She shuffles some papers around on her desk, and the keys clack under her fingernails. The noise echoes past us. She flashes her smile again, and her hair moves after her.

“Agent Handler isn’t free until this afternoon.”

“Is there anyone else we can talk with?”

“I’m sorry. He’s the only one who takes meetings for that…issue.”

“Fine,” I say. “Put us down.”

2 HOURS BEFORE ESCAPE

XENITH PULLS ME DOWN
to the ground behind one of the cargo crates. He’s lying on top of me, and I’m about to ask him what’s going on when I hear a boom that makes the crate and the ground shake. I can’t see, but I can imagine the image. Tearing apart, splintering, sticking pieces into the ground. Collisions happen all around me, items hitting the ground with booms and thuds, as if it was raining rocks
.

A shout rings in my ears, along with the blast, until there’s nothing but a high-pitched screeching in my head
.

And then I hear the man again. “What the hell? See anything, Tom?”

“Nothing,” another, probably Tom, replies. There are two of them. I hold my breath, willing them not to hear us. I’m so close I can taste the freedom
.

“Better look around. If the director wakes up because of the call, there will be hell to pay,” the first guy says
.

I hear them as they move. I think it’s because my ear is planted against the dirt. Their feet crunch the earth, and the flashlights skirt us, near my head. I’m sure they’ve seen us. I’m holding my breath, trying not to move
.

“Dave, look what I found.”

Us. My heart races, pounds against my chest. This man has found us; he’ll report us, and my father will come, and all this would be for nothing. I’m this close- this close-and now it’s over. It’s hard to breathe with the light shining near us. One inch closer and they’ll see us, and then they’ll take me to my father and he’ll be relentless. He’ll torture Xenith and me. He can’t find us. Not when I’m this close to getting out
.

The light moves away from us. “Must’ve been a bird,” Tom says
.

“It’s always a bird. Stupid birds oughta know better by now,” Dave says back
.

My heart finally slows down, and the sound of their feet disappears. Xenith pulls me up and looks as relieved as I do. I whisper I’m sorry, and he nods back. It was a stick I stepped on. Just a stick. They really don’t want people here
.

Xenith leads me to the right along the fence. There’s a piece of concrete about twenty feet wide, and it stretches underneath the fence to one of the little buildings and has a large door that rolls up and down that’s open right now. Waiting
.

“This is it?” I whisper
.

“This is it.”

“What is it?” I ask
.

We stand a few feet away, ducked near the ground. I don’t hear or see anyone
.

“This is the shipment zone. The freighter trucks bring all the supplies here, put them in the building, close it, and leave. Those men from earlier? They move it all from here to headquarters. When we need it, it’s delivered to us,” he says
.

“How do you know that?”

He shrugs and avoids my gaze. “My family’s been around for a long time.”

I don’t respond to his statement
.

“See those boxes over there?” he asks. He points to a stack lined up by the side of the cement. “We need to get you in one of those.”

I shoot him a look
.

“Those are the empty ones. They take them away, refill them, bring them back. Guess where they go from here?” I shake my head. “The Old World.”

My throat is dry. “What time does it come?”

“1:50. It takes three men exactly twenty-five minutes to unload and reload the truck. It leaves promptly at 2:18.”

I look down at my watch. It’s 1:45. Five minutes
.

“Won’t they notice if one of those empty wooden crates is heavy?”

His eyes light up. “I told you, Neely, my family’s been around for a long time. No one will question anything. Come on.”

It’s not easy getting into a wooden crate. My knees are bent in an awkward shape against my chest, and for what feels like an eternity I doubt I’m going to fit. But then I do. Xenith hands me my pack. There’s hardly enough room for it to squeeze in, too. It’s shoved between the box and my shins, half in my face as I hunch low
.

“Are you okay?” Xenith asks as he stares at me
.

I want to say no, of course I’m not okay. I’m running away in a box. I don’t say that though. I say yes. He leans in, kisses my lips softly. I don’t kiss him back-as much as one can not-kiss someone back, anyway. At least, I tell myself that I’m not going to, but then my body leans into him as I realize he’s the last taste of something familiar. There’s a slight smile on his face when he pulls away, and I know that I shouldn’t have done that
.

“It’s a day or so in the truck, then you’ll be at the Burrows. You’ll be safe with them.” Xenith’s words rush out quickly, stumbling over each other. He pauses and looks at me. “Forty days from now, Neely, it happens.”

His face is the last thing I see before he closes the lid and leaves me in the darkness. His scent fills up my box, the intoxicating smell of mint and earth and ocean. I can still feel his lips on me as I disappear
.

DEADLINE: 8D, 11H, 2M

SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA

THORNE AND I COULD DISAPPEAR
in this park. We walk around like it’s normal because that’s all we can do. It’s what Caleb and Amy would do. Thorne and Neely would be fighting, but they are gone. They were lost somewhere across the country in different spots on different days. Wherever I am-the real me-I hope she is fighting to find her way back.

Amy is too fake for me to be happy.

The park is beautiful, trailing the edges of the ocean, full of trees here and sand there. Pieces of a bridge, one larger than I’ve ever seen before, stand in the water. It’s not fully intact anymore, but the remains make me small. Tiny. As if this structure was the most powerful thing created. What was it like to stand down here under it when it was one piece? Thorne stares up at it, and I know he feels the same way. Miniscule in this large world.

I like this part of the city. We’ve spent the last few hours wandering through shops and stores filled with old books. We’ve been scrambling to fill our time with life. Neither of us is willing to say that we both feel it slipping away. I can sense it on him like cologne. He carries the fear with him. Sometimes he slips up and his worries flow into me through the connection.

I watch the people as move past them. An elderly man watching the birds. A woman running with a baby stroller. A man with a dog. An old couple holding hands. Another man staring out into the ocean. They seem so carefree, so vibrant. I know it’s this place, this freedom. I know it’s changed them. And I’m on the cusp of it but as someone else. If I was here as me, longer, I know it could change me, too. This place takes away the darkness.

I bite my lip as Thorne stops walking and sits on a bench. It’s got a good view of the ocean and the pieces from the bridge, and the trees shield us from the sun. Light shines onto my back and my head through the openings in the leaves. My eyes drift out to the ocean. In the distance, barely noticeable, I can make out the boats. Some have sails; some don’t. All of them glisten and sparkle under the sun. It sends that soft memory of home rushing through me. I want to hate it back there. I want to hate it and hate them, but I can’t.

They are all innocents, blinded and manipulated. They aren’t at fault. They are fishermen and teachers and mothers and friends. They are pawns. The Elders are the problem, the game masters. I watch the boats moving on the water. They are moving toward something, and everyone at home deserves that.

Thorne holds my hand in his, and I hold him close. I can’t see his branding, which is still covered on his neck, and it’s weird not seeing the mark on his skin. Even though it’s gone, it still haunts me, and I wish I didn’t hate it as much as I do.