Gated (33 page)

I follow everyone else down the path that leads to the orchard and the Silo. Mandrodage Meadows looks like it did before we left. It’s only been a couple of months since then. It hasn’t been long enough for it to look neglected, but already it feels eerie, haunted. There are ghosts here, lingering in the twilight, waiting for us.

My parents are up ahead, but I don’t try to catch up to them. Instead I keep a careful distance between me and everyone else. It’s better this way for all of us—or at least for all of them.

The day of the raid, five people in the Community died. Three of them—Brian’s dad; Julie’s Intended, Mark; and Mr. Brown’s son, Luke—were killed on the wall when the sheriff and his men first showed up. Marie lost her life trying to free me. Mr. Whitcomb was shot and killed in the tunnel when the sheriff’s men opened fire after they pulled me out. I shot Pioneer … but he’s still alive. I hit him twice in the chest—centimeters from his heart, so close that if he’d breathed a little deeper at the moment that I shot him, he would’ve died right then. The sheriff told me that he flatlined twice on the way to the hospital anyway, and had to endure several surgeries and a pretty serious infection, but still, he pulled through. The sheriff
also says that if anyone else had the complications he’s had and survived, the doctors would call it a miracle. They refuse to say that about Pioneer’s recovery … and neither will I. His survival can’t be a miracle. Because that could mean that maybe he really is who he says he is—a prophet or messiah.

But no.

I can’t believe that. I won’t.

Pioneer won’t be here today. He’s in the hospital, and even if he wasn’t, he’d be in jail. Still, I can feel his presence here too. I pull my jacket closer around me.

You’re mine
.

I’ve tried to put his last words to me out of my head, but they’re stuck in my brain, playing over and over on a loop. I know what it means. He won’t let me go. Not while he’s still alive. Maybe not ever. I close my eyes and take a breath. He’s going to jail. He can’t come for me—not anymore. The sheriff said he’d make sure that he never could … but still I can’t make myself stop jumping at every sound, from looking for him around every dark corner, from thinking that the wind moaning through the trees at night is him calling my name. I wasn’t trying to kill him when I shot him. I just wanted to stop him from coming for me, but now I can’t help wishing sometimes that I had—then maybe this knot of fear that seems to have settled into my chest would’ve unraveled and gone away a long time ago.

The others are holding on to each other as we get closer
to the Silo. No one waits or comes back to walk with me. I wonder if they’re disappointed that Pioneer’s not here. Do they want him and not me? I used to know them well enough to know what they were probably thinking, but I’ve been kept away from the Community by the sheriff long enough not to feel like a real part of them anymore. He’s pretty sure that most of them still blame me for what happened during the raid and that the only way to keep me safe from their anger over it is to keep me separated—at least until their counselors r counsehave had time to make them see the truth. He’s here now—somewhere out of the sight line of the others—watching the group, keeping his promise to me.

Cody stayed in town today. His dad and my counselor, Mrs. Rosen, wouldn’t allow him to come with us even though he lobbied pretty hard to be included. Honestly, I’m glad he stayed behind, but I didn’t tell him so. I need to be here alone. I need to say my goodbyes without him hovering anxiously over me. I don’t want him to worry if I end up breaking down. He’s part of my future, and I need to keep that piece of my life far away from this place.

The group stops and fans out around the Silo’s iron door. I drop back a bit more and watch them settle in. I lean against a tree and tuck my head into the collar of my jacket. The cold metal zipper bumps my lips. Mrs. Rosen comes to stand beside me. She had been walking with Heather and Julie because she’s their counselor too. I guess now it’s my turn to get my hand held.

“How you holding up, Lyla?” She gives me a warm smile and touches her shoulder against mine.

“Fine,” I say. I don’t elaborate even though she’s staring at me, waiting to see if I’ll say anything more. I just want her to go back to the group and leave me alone. Eventually she does. She wanted me to talk about my feelings, about how this little trip is making me feel. The truth is that I don’t know. I feel too many things to be able to put them into a tidy sentence or two for her. What I want is to be more numb than anything else. If I let all the pain in, it might be too much to bear. One day I’ll try, but not now, not yet.

Dr. Freeman, the head of the counseling group, clears his throat to get our attention. He leans against the Silo’s door and begins to talk about what he thinks this day means. I can’t focus on his words; my mind keeps drifting back to the past—the day I came to Mandrodage Meadows, the day I rode Indy for the first time, the night I danced with Will by the river. And almost as if the memory itself conjures him up, Will is there, standing beside me.

“Weird to be back, isn’t it?” Will’s talking to me but staring straight ahead. I can only see his profile from where I’m standing. I can’t read his expression at all. My heart beats a little faster. I haven’t talked to him since we were here, when he left me in the cell. But I’ve wanted to every single day.

I shrug. I don’t know what to say. I’m afraid I’ll say the
wrong thing. I don’t want him to walk away. There’s so much that I’ve wanted to tell him. I lost Marie and now I’m terrified that I’ve lost him too, that it’s already too late. He was my best friend once upon a time, and part of me keeps hoping somehow he will be again.

Will doesn’t seem to notice that I haven’t answered him. His eyes are on the Silo door. “I keep thinking that the last couple of months are part of some bad dream. That I’ll wake up and we’ll be out in the pool playing chicken with Brian and Marie. You have no idea how much I wish that were true.” His voice cracks a little.

I swallow hard and try not to cry. This is where he’ll blame me for ruining things. This is where he’ll say that he hopes he’ll never see me again.

He takes a deep breath. “I just want it all back. So much. I’m not like you, Lyla. I’m not strong. I wish I could be. I would’ve died down there that day if it weren’t for you. We allr you. W would have.”

This is not what I expected him to say at all.

“Can you forgive me for not believing you when you tried to warn me?” Will is hunched over like he’s expecting me to say no or to yell at him and tell him to go away. All at once I have the overwhelming urge to hug him.

“I was never mad at you, Will,” I say, and then I do hug him. “I thought that you still blamed me for everything. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so, so much.”

He rests his head against my hair and I smile into his jacket. “I missed you too,” he says quietly.

“It’s almost time,” someone calls out, and we pull apart just as the sun touches the tree line.

“I know it’s not gonna happen, but I’m still nervous,” Will says.

I look up at the sky. There are clouds moving in from the west, but they’re still far away from where we are. The sky is a deep blue and the horizon is glowing orange, making the trees look like they’re on fire. It’s beautiful and vibrant and alive.

I think about what he’s said about me being strong. I don’t see myself that way. I didn’t think anyone else did either. I was always just Little Owl, the observer, the weak link, the one everyone worried about. How did that change? How did
I
? The whole time we were growing up, I thought Will, Brian, and Marie were the brave ones, and now it turns out that I am? I feel like I’m only just now figuring out who I really am—or maybe who I can be.

“See, it’s almost dark. It’s not going to happen,” Will says, more to himself than to me.

I stare at the Silo’s door and then back at the sky.

The weird thing is that it still could. I mean, it won’t, of course, but on any given day anything’s possible. It’s what makes being here—on this planet—scary. We can’t predict what will happen. We can’t control any of it. Good things. Horrible things. We can only deal with it as it comes. I look at the half circle of people in front of us and try to find the right words for what I’m thinking so I can
tell Will, but the moment for talking passes and I lean int
o him instead.

Now the sun is only a thin sliver of light lingering along the prairie’s edge. I watch as it finally gives up the day and disappears. The world grows very still—as if it’s waiting too, as if it’s still deciding what it wants to do. No one moves. We just stand close to one another and watch the sky.

Gradually the stars come out, one by one until there are too many of them to count. The day has officially ended and we are still here. I smile a little and so does Will, but there is no cheer from the crowd, no sigh of relief, only quiet acceptance.

I take Will’s hand in mine. Together, we continue to study the stars overhead. The sky’s encrusted with them. I’d almost forgotten how clear they could be out here, away from the lights of the town.

I used to think they were portals that the Brethren used to watch us. Now I think there probably aren’t any Brethren at all. I’m not sure if knowing this comforts me or not. What I do know is that looking into a sky like this one gives me hope. If a sky this dark can still be peppered with so much light, maybe this world can be too.

First let me say that I wouldn’t have had the courage to embark on this journey had it not been for my husband, Jay. You never once doubted my writing ability (or at least you had the decency not to tell me) and worked two jobs
for years
so I could focus on this dream. I’ll love you forever and always. It’s your turn now, honey.

Many thanks to:

My daughters, Samantha and Riley, who remind me daily what life’s all about and who can make me laugh even on the worst of days. You are the two halves that make up my heart.

My parents, Tom and Peggy Williams, for being there whenever I’ve needed you and for naming me after a book character because somehow you always knew I’d love stories. I’m glad I finally listened to you and gave this writing thing a try.

My brother, Tom Williams, and his wife, Erika, for gamely reading this book and the one that came before it. Your support means the world to me.

My in-laws, Alan and Trish Poe, who happily volunteered for playdates with my girls while I toiled, and endured many a conversation on writing with me.

My agent, Lucienne Diver, who will always be my version of a fairy godmother. You are brilliant at making dreams come true.

Suzy Capozzi, who loved this book more than I dared hope anyone would.

My editor, Chelsea Eberly, for taking me on and making me feel comfortable from that very first phone call. I’m lucky to have you.

Mallory Loehr for your support and guidance.

Nicole de las Heras for a cover that made me gasp in a good way when I saw it.

The rest of the Random House team for working tirelessly on this book.

My critique partners: Stefanie Jones, who demanded that there be kissing—Cody and Lyla’s hospital “date” is for you; Krystalyn Drown, who has the decency to call me on every weak plot point and challenges me to do better; and Jennifer Baker, who not only improved this book
exponentially but also shared recipes and encouragement in equal measure. Ladies, you rock.

The Gunning for Awesome girls who are experts at cheer
leading and consoling: Gemma Cooper, Corinne Duyvis, Lacey Edwards, Deborah Hewitt, Michelle Krys, Lori Lee, Ruth Stevens, Amy Tintera, Kim Welchons, Stephanie Winkelhake, and last but definitely not least Natalie Parker, who helped me figure out where this book truly began and emphatically urged me to
KEEP GOING
.

Tessa Gratton, who took me under her wing.

The Abbreviated Writers’ Group of Wesley Chapel. Every writer needs a safe place to grow. This was mine.

Early readers: Andrea McBride, Jane Juran, Cheryl Van Beek, Diana Geller, Vincent Sultenfuss, and Nancy Haines. Your advice and companionship carried me through.

Kurt Wilt and Patrick Crerand for teaching me how to write purposefully and for showing up to help fledgling writers every other Thursday for years.
FOR FREE
. You give professors a good name, gentlemen.

Last, all my thanks and praise go to God for blessing me wblessingith this wonderful, beautiful life that I lead. It’s so much more than I could’ve ever imagined.