Lotus and Thorn (9 page)

No. I survived. I’d made it here. I’d done the impossible—I’d found Lotus.
This isn’t how it happens.

I turned away as a fissure formed inside of me. Fracturing me. Schisming me. My soul shredding and evaporating in the sun.

Not wanting to hear the answer, I asked the question anyway. “How did she die?”

MY VOICE CRACKED
as I asked Lotus the question again. “How? When?”

Even the guards moved off now, giving us space. Only Alejo hung back, looking uncertain.

Lotus faced me finally, straight on—locking her hands onto mine, so we were a circle of two. Her fierce, dark eyes fixed on me, so I could see her pain and rage, still fresh. “A few months ago. A new wave of Red Death swept through our building. I’ve never seen anything like it. The quarantine shed was full. The Curadores had to come into bedrooms and apartments to collect the bodies. And Tasch . . . she went so quick. The fever burned through her before she even started bleeding.”

“It wasn’t right.” Alejo’s voice broke into our tiny circle and Lotus glared at him. “It didn’t make any—”

“Now is not the time,” Lotus snapped.

Alejo closed his mouth, his jaw clenched. It was clear they’d had this conversation a hundred times. Alejo looked at Lotus with a fierceness that matched her own—but it wasn’t anger that blazed there. It was a protectiveness, like he wanted to shield her from
her own pain. But to take Lotus’s grief would be to take Tasch from her. On some level, Alejo seemed to realize this and relented, following the other Indignos into the ravine and leaving us to ourselves.

“I wasn’t there for her. For either of you,” I said. There was a numbness to the words, as if the cavern breaking open inside of me had made it impossible to process anything.

“It’s not your fault. You were trying to protect us. Taking the Finds back to the Reclamation Fields. You couldn’t have known.” And the same detachment filled Lotus’s answer. As if we were two actors playing out a scene. Saying the things we knew we should.

“I should’ve listened to you,” I insisted.

The night before Sarika had come to live with us, after our parents had died, the three of us had sat—perched on our wide, lumpy bed—trying to decide what to do with our naming gifts.

“We can’t get rid of them.” Lotus leaned toward us, her hair falling in front of her face as she spoke in an intense whisper. As if she could compel us to agree by sheer force of will. “They’re the only bit of Mom and Dad we have left.”

I wanted to give in, but instead I steeled my heart against her. “No. We can’t keep them anymore . . . not with Sarika moving in and the Abuelos searching for dissidents.”

I looked to Tasch for support. But Taschen surprised us both, clutching the book of fairy tales to her chest. “It’s my birthright.”

The stubborn streak—so obvious in Lotus and me—rarely surfaced in Tasch. But when it did, there was no hope of changing her mind.

She stuck her chin out, face unrepentant. “Why should we be condemned for stories?”

I’d known then that we had a problem. Tasch’s words were
treasonous. For all of Lotus’s brashness, she knew when the words she spoke were dangerous, and she knew when to keep quiet. But Tasch’s idealism could get her into trouble now that the world was a lot less ideal. It could get us all into trouble.

Sarika being in our house made things extra tricky. She’d changed after Marisol left. Sarika became fervent in her belief that the new outbreaks were punishment for questioning God and our way of life. And there was nothing Marisol could’ve done to hurt her more than falling for a Curador. I suspect Marisol
knew
that. She and her mother had never gotten along and Sarika had seen Marisol’s decision to become a Curador’s lover—a Kisaeng—not just as a personal attack, but as a message from God. One more sign of how the Citizens were going astray.

So even as we had cut open the mattress and hid the naming gifts, even as Tasch had closed the hole with her invisible stitches, I’d known the Finds would have to go. Before we all got exiled. I just hadn’t known it would take eight months before I’d get the chance to do something about it. And in the end, hadn’t I made it worse?

It hurt to looked at Lotus, standing there on the outskirts of the Indigno camp—her whole face taut with the effort of holding herself together. Of being strong.

And like earlier that morning in the quiet of the desert, I opened my eyes and let myself see the truth, as it was.

“I am so sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I missed you . . . I missed you both so much . . .” But words were such useless things. So I pulled Lotus to me. And she broke, sobbing in my arms.

I knew that that was the first time she had cried for Tasch. And that she’d saved her tears in order to share them with me.

I returned her gift.

And something happened. As we cried there in the desert, Lotus’s tears filled in the rifts. They pieced together the shreds. Putting me back together. Because in all the world, only Lotus knew my grief over losing Tasch. Only Lotus knew what it meant, not only to lose Tasch now, but to have lost her two years ago. To have lost them both. And what it was like to be together again, but still incomplete, fractured even in our reunion.

Our tears didn’t lessen the pain of losing Taschen. In fact, the pain was bigger between us, but it was shared now. And that made it bearable. That made it right. That made it possible to carry.

When we came down into the Indigno camp, we were sisters again. And it was like a broken miracle. I never thought I’d get to see Lotus again. Never thought I’d get to have a family again. And I tried to imagine what it must have been like for Lotus. No sisters, no parents. It was no wonder she’d left Pleiades . . . she’d already lost her home.

Lotus led me down into the valley and introduced me to her new home with obvious delight. Actually the place was less like a valley and more like a wide, multilayered reclamation pit. Stretched out in front of us was a maze of exposed ruins, just below ground level. Half of the ruins were covered with tarps and makeshift roofs. The other half were open to the air.

There were lower levels as well—stair-stepping down toward a wall of mountains. The bottom one was planted with corn and beans and swaths of other vegetables. Just like the name Indignos, they had taken the curse of Tierra Muerta and claimed it for their own. Filling the empty spaces and bringing the crumbling buildings to life.

And everywhere there were people, men and women doing a hundred busy things. Patrolling the boundaries. Making dinner. Chopping wood.

“How many of you are there?” I asked.

“Probably about eighty or so, by now. The first Indignos left Pleiades about seven months ago, when Red Death got really bad. But the number grows every week.”

When we finally reached the bonfire in the center of camp, Alejo was waiting for us. He handed us plates of food, piled with vegetables and thick stew. Unseen by Lotus—who dug into her food like she hadn’t eaten in weeks—Alejo studied her for a moment, his eyes lingering on the grimy tear tracks snaking down her face. His worry was replaced by relief and Alejo gave me a slight bow of gratitude as he handed me my own plate.

I nodded back, equally grateful that Lotus had someone, as I took a seat on one of the old tires arranged in a huge circle around the flames. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I smelled the meaty stew—likely contraband from one of the Indignos raids. The dog was evidently hungry too. Eyeing my plate, she came right up to me. Light brown patches rimmed her eager eyes, making them stand out against her otherwise black fur.

Her closeness made me nervous and I kept one eye on her as I picked up a bit of squash. Her ears perked up. She licked her lips, exposing a mouthful of white teeth. And when the dog nosed at my knee, I instinctively flung the food as far away as possible. Anything to get her away from me. She ran over to it—all lanky legs and giant feet—and gulped it down without chewing. Then she came back for more.

One of the Indignos laughed. “The pup always knows who’s a chump!”

I glared at the dog. “Well,
pup
. You’ll have to fight me if you expect to get any more.”

I forced myself to ignore her, giving myself over to the meal. Pausing just long enough to guzzle some of the drink I’d been given. You could barely call it mezcal, it was so bland and weak. I dug my own bottle of mezcal out of my pack. After they’d reunited me with Lotus, I was glad I had some way of saying thank you to the Indignos.

Alejo cracked a smile. “I
knew
we should take you with us! She comes bearing gifts!”

He raised the bottle up high and a cheer went up from the crowd around the fire. Then Alejo offered the bottle to Jaesun, who unscrewed the cap and took a swig. A look of total pleasure came over his face. “Now
that
is mezcal.” His voice was almost reverent.

A profound hush fell over the fireside as the bottle was passed around—sip by sip—and by the time it got to me, I was bewildered by the spell this mezcal had cast. I took a drink and memories of Pleiades flooded over me.

This
was Sarika’s brew. I knew every subtle taste. Every secret ingredient. Hell, I’d probably stood side by side with her and my sisters, helping to craft this batch. In fact, I was sure I had. There was a strong scent of strawberries to it and I remembered the huge floods that spring—a little over two years ago—that’d caused the red berries to pop up everywhere.

A little sunshine for the winter,
Sarika had said, her hands stained
red with the juice. Grinning, Tasch had dumped them into the pots by the handful, infusing the whole batch with berries before we bottled it. And when we’d first tasted it, it’d had the same effect on us. A sort of joyous, burning euphoria warming our throats.

What were the odds that Edison would give me
this
bottle—Sarika’s bottle—of mezcal? It was hard to believe it was a coincidence. And he’d known about Lotus and Tasch too—asking about them before I ever mentioned I
had
sisters. The puzzle of it turned uneasily in my mind.

The bottle was finished off, and as dusk descended on us, strings of lights flickered on around the camp—giving it a bright, festive feel.

“How did you manage that?” I asked, instantly wondering how much power still ran to this place. How much of the wiring was still functional. What that could mean to a group of exiles trying to build a new community.

Jaesun flicked his head toward Lotus. “It was your sister’s doing.”

“Yeah?” I turned to her, taking a sip of the Indignos’ poor excuse for mezcal. Lotus looked proud and there was an open confidence there. Despite everything that’d happened, this place and these people had clearly been good for her. I found myself wanting to understand more of what was happening here.

“When we were digging out the fields for crops, we found power lines and water pipes that were still intact. I figured out how to splice into the circuits and ta-da!” Lotus put her hands up, gesturing at the lights.

“We’d like to get lighting inside the camp too,” she said, pointing at the tarp-covered ruins behind us. “But the wiring in the walls is kind of a mess. And I only know what you taught me.”

Lotus raised an eyebrow at me, her question implied.

I took after my mother—because we were both small, we’d been scouts out in the Reclamation Fields. This whole valley was basically one vast graveyard. According to the Rememberings, the Colony had been smashed by the fist of God.

But under the sandline, a whole world remained. Basements and underground apartments. Winding concrete tunnels. Rows and rows of rusty vehicles. This is where Pleiades’ salvage came from.

In the Fields, whenever they were ready to open a new pit, small test holes were dug until someone hit something promising. The holes were barely big enough to crawl down into, but there was less risk of a cave-in that way. Scouts like me were the first ones in, checking if the ruin was worth excavating or not. It also fell to us to make sure none of the wiring was still live when the blasters and diggers moved in.

It was dangerous work. And it wasn’t pleasant. Sometimes the ruins were caved in, unrecognizable. But other times, it was like walking into a frozen moment. Tables set for dinner. Little skeletons tucked into bed.

And every scout had their thing—the thing that kept you from going crazy while you were down there in the crushing dark, with the dead. Mom’s was books. Mine was electronics. Switching gadgets on, seeing if they still worked. Peeking inside. Most times the power was already dead when I got there. The sockets and switches useless. But if I was lucky, electricity was still flowing. Scouts were taught enough about wiring so they could cut the power safely. But before I cut . . . I learned.

“Already trying to get me to do your work, huh?” But Lotus knew me too well. She knew I was itching to get a look at this
place. “Fine. I’ll check out the wiring tomorrow.” And I’d find out what shape the radio was in too. Though now that I’d found Lotus, it seemed almost like an afterthought.

I helped myself to more stew and asked, “How do people find out about this place? I mean, my crew didn’t have any idea you guys were even out here.”

Jaesun took a slow sip of the Indignos’ mezcal, then answered. “First thing you need to know is, a lot’s changed while you’ve been out here. Red Death’s getting worse and the Curadores’ Gratitudes are getting smaller. More salvage for less food. Most folks inside Pleiades aren’t ready to give up on it yet, but tensions are running high. People are hungry and desperate and searching for hope wherever they can find it.”

I looked around the fire. Despite the generous meal, the Indignos were still too thin and too tired, but there was a sense of purpose about them. They held themselves tall and seemed to trust the others around them. I found myself wanting to trust them too.

“And what do the Abuelos have to say about this place?” I asked, taking another bite.

“Nothing,” Jaesun said. “They pretend we don’t even exist. They want to go on acting like everything’s fine in Pleiades. Like nothing’s happening. Same with the Curadores mostly.”

“Why?”

Jaesun tossed back his mezcal and locked eyes with me across the fire. “Because a place like this calls into question everything our society is built on. Cleansing the land. Redemption. If those things weren’t the core of our life . . . if Citizens stopped digging the reclamation pits . . . how else would the Curadores get their supplies? How else would the Abuelos stay in power?” Jaesun
challenged. Then he asked casually, “How do you like your dinner, by the way?”