The Other Side (2 page)

Ravenous.

I hear something at the edge of perception. I desperately want it to be a trick of the wind, but when I cover my ears and concentrate, it's still there. A whispered voice. No, multiple voices. Aggressive and guttural. All repeating the same phrase.

Where is the child?

Kill
emotion, human
, Grackel reminds me as I stumble through the snow toward our makeshift home.

Guilt, fear, anger—negative emotions, the telepathic lightning rods that allow invasion of thought. Unfortunately for us, I've got 'em in spades.

When I arrive at the shipping container, I lean against its corrugated wall, shut my eyes, focus on deep breaths, and recite my tae kwon do mantras.
In nae, baekjul boolgool.
A part of me always knew this day would come, but I never thought Oren and his sociopathic army of Green dragon riders that call themselves the Diocletians would start the hunt for Baby this soon.

“She can't be of breeding age yet,” I insist, terrified.

It is only a matter of time.

Grackel doesn't know why dragon reproduction requires cross-pollination, why a Red and a Blue spawn a Silver, a creature that breathes ice and has no blindness to the color black. What she does know is that Oren and the Greens, the erstwhile alphas in the dragon hierarchy, will be drawn to Baby's superior genes. If Red and Blue make Silver, what will Green and Silver make? What horrible influence will a Green's wrathful temperament have on its progeny?

We should notify Keith, human
.

“No!”

We'd have to contact him via dragon, which means we'd have to go through James. Or Evelyn. God help me. “Please, Grackel. Colin and Randon are leaving in a few days. I'll just add it to my shopping list.”
Socks, underwear, a couple of textbooks, dozens of candy bars, another book of poems for Allie. P.S. The Greens are on the prowl. Kisses.

Silly human.
She sighs.
If you cannot control your emotions, imagine you are somewhere else.

Mars. No annoying or hungry dragons there.

I flip off the light and head into the shipping container. Colin rises from a chair and offers me a coffee mug filled with brandy. Need to update the list I send to Preston, too. Brandy. Scotch. Vodka. Double the quantities. At least.

I accept the cup, lift the balaclava, and take a long drink.
Bottoms up, Grackel. Nothing quite kills emotion like a good drunken stupor.

“You shouldn't have waited up,” I say. He always waits up, though this is the first time he's acknowledged my drinking habit.

“Anything?” he asks.

I swallow. “All clear.”

“Can we talk?” he says. Claire? Did he figure it out? Or maybe Allie told him to spite me. I glance toward her cot, but she's not there.

I follow him to the folding table positioned between a supply crate and the backup generator. “Allie's in the cave?”

“Yeah. Away from me,” he says with a brief, toothless smile.

“She just needs to get used to you.”

“She won't have to worry about me much longer. Though she's gonna miss Randon.”

I can't help but smile. “Only because he lets her fly him upside down.”

“And races with them.”

I roll my eyes. “Laps and laps around the island. Not listening to anybody.”

“Twelve going on sixteen.”

I snort. “Twelve going on eight.”

He laughs, and for a moment, it's like it was a few days ago.

The moment passes. “So, when does Howard come?” I ask.

“You eager to get rid of me now, too?” he says. This laugh seems too lighthearted.

“That's not what I meant.” Not exactly. “This isn't what you signed up for. Babysitting a pair of broken girls in the middle of nowhere.”

He doesn't say anything, gives me that stoic look of his. It was the first thing I noticed when I met him. He resembles an army poster child, with his close-cropped hair, square jaw, broad shoulders . . . but it was those brown eyes that had most distressed me. They hid so much. I immediately distrusted him, immediately hated him.

And then he had smiled, and it all slipped away. His eyes came to life, and I saw kindness in them. I wanted to believe he wouldn't hurt me.

Now I know what lies behind that guarded look, and I wish I could make him smile again, but smiles seem very not real at the moment. He grabs a half-filled mug from the table, tops it off, and takes a long swig.

He sits, gesturing for me to join him.

I fake a yawn. “Can this wait until tomorrow?”

“It won't take long. Promise.” Pause. “I'm not very good at this. Guess it's best to just come out and say it.”

“Wait, Colin—”

“No. No interrupting.” He takes a drink. “Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about this afternoon. I didn't mean to upset you.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” I say, glad my voice comes out steady. “You haven't done anything wrong.”

“That's kind of you.” He swirls his brandy with a finger in slow back-and-forth arcs. “I shouldn't have brought up Georgetown or Claire or any of it. I've tried not to think about her, about everything, but . . . I don't know how to let go.”

Looking at him right now, I realize something terrible and wonderful. He's as lost as I am. I know I can't give him answers, tell him what's right or wrong, because I don't know myself. I'm not sure I can give him anything except more bad memories, but he deserves the truth.

That'll require another half bottle at least, so I slump into the chair opposite him and refill my cup. “I never knew what Claire was really like. She was already reconditioned when I got to Georgetown—”

“You don't have to do this, Melissa.” He rises. “It's late. You need sleep.”

“Sleep doesn't do me much good. Tell me about her. Please.”

He leans against a supply crate, looks toward the ceiling. “Claire wanted to be an ice-skater, a ballerina. ‘Someone
pretty.' She never told me that. I read it in her journal after she disappeared. Didn't even know she kept one.”

“She had such soulful eyes,” I say, sneaking a glance at him. Such soulful eyes.

“She knew she was built like a truck. Our parents reminded her often enough. What is it like to have impossible dreams people would laugh at if they knew about them?” His features harden. “I wanted to be an All-Black for as long as I can remember. I enlisted the moment I turned sixteen, passed the tests in a breeze. Claire was so proud.”

“I would be too. It's not easy.”

He snorts. “It is, as far as dreams go. Nothing like hers. She was so beautiful. . . . I never told her that. I never told her how damn proud of her I was.”

Colin sits, stares into his mug, seems surprised to find it empty. I offer him the bottle, but he waves me off. “Claire was fourteen when she told me she was hearing voices. She came to me, not my parents. She was worried what they might do to her. You know what I did?”

I shake my head, drink some more.

“I told my parents about my crazy little sister. They institutionalized her. Two weeks later, insurgents broke her out. I figured it was crazy joining crazy. I never saw her again after that. . . .” The stoic look falters. “Not until Preston's videos.”

Three more long sips. Before leaving Georgetown smoldering behind us, Keith made sure to collect all the evidence he could, including file footage that showed soldiers and scientists abusing talkers, torturing dragons, using both to attack human enemies domestically and abroad.

Preston's uploaded several clips to the net, earning himself quite a following and a place with me in the Bureau of Dragon Affairs card deck. He understands the benefits of exposure, but he's failed to realize how much pain those vids might cause the surviving prisoners and their families.

That pain's etched deep into Colin's face right now. Preston's Claire webisode started with footage from the reconditioning chamber, then segued into surveillance video of her sitting catatonic on the bathroom floor, mesmerized by the
Kissing Dragons
episodes they played on constant repeat in our barracks. It ended with scenes from the battle room, Claire almost ravenous as she snarled orders at dragons to kill innocent civilians.

After several deep breaths, I slip a hand from my glove, reach across the distance, and thread my fingers through his. He's shaking even more than I am. He squeezes my hand, gives me an empty smile, then lets go and pushes himself away from the table.

“I'm sorry. This was . . . pointless.” He grabs his jacket, reaches for the binoculars, knocking the flashlight to the
floor in the process. He scoops it up, muttering to himself, and hurries toward the exit.

“Colin, wait. It's not your fault.”

He looks over his shoulder, and I see something very Claire-like in his eyes. He smiles, a wicked thing. “If I ever find the sonofabitches who did that to my sister, I'm gonna feed them to a dragon, piece by piece.”

He leaves, slamming the door behind him, and I decide I won't drink another sip of alcohol until he's off the island.

After updating my lists, I write a letter to my brother Sam—telling him how proud I am of him—and add it to the outbound pile. I curl up in my cot and eventually fade into the nightmares.

I
spend Saturday morning downstairs with Allie, trying to get her to focus on basic algebra. She wants to discuss Greens. I remind her she can't talk to anybody she doesn't know. She throws a tantrum, screaming all sorts of colorful curses at me before hopping onto Baby and flying out of the cave. I yell at them to come back. They ignore me.

I make my rounds with Colin, letting him scout while I bitch about Allie and Baby. He tells me they're young and will grow out of it. They better damn well hurry up. He laughs at me when I say that, and I tell him Tuesday can't come soon enough.

We don't talk after that.

Which leaves me stuck with Grackel and her three favorite words.
Kill emotion, human
. She asks me why I'm angry. I don't know. Could be because I've got an army of psycho
killers striving to bore into my brain. Could be because I've got a pair of insolent children running around without a care in the world. Or maybe it's the fact that the first boy I've liked in ages is lost in a darkness that is not mine, and the second one, well, I just happened to kill his sister.

She goes into lecture mode, pretty much telling me to quit sulking, then disconnects.

After a dinner of beans and a Kit Kat, I return to the cave and chide Allie and Baby until they fly off again. I blast some holes in the crate, and for a few minutes, at least, I don't have to worry about pretending I'm exploring Mars, lounging on a tropical beach, or walking the streets of a city protected by a kick-ass dragon defense system.

Sunday, I get my emotions halfway under control. I ignore Allie and Baby and apologize to Colin. We scout the island in silence. Not comfortable, but not too awkward. Not until I catch him staring at me. Like he's trying to decide something.

I tell him I need to pee and sprint home. I unlock the cabinet where I keep my gun and pull out the hand mirror I swore I'd never touch again. After wiping off the dust and suppressing the hope of normalcy, I check my reflection.

On the list of hideous, I'm not sure which I prefer most. Sunken cheeks set in a face a dark shade of sallow, the monkish patch of black hair, or the faded CENSIR scar that still peeks through the tufts. All worthy of consideration,
but I'll go with the eyes. Brimming with wetness, like they know they used to belong to someone who didn't resemble a loony-bin escapee.

I snatch the gun from the cabinet and descend into the cave. Ignoring Randon's cocked head and Grackel's toothy grin, I hurry to the entrance. Five hundred feet down, through an abyss of blackness, ocean waves play a faint tune against the cliff wall. I hurl the mirror into the void and chase it with bullets.

Monday, I have no mirror, and Colin's too busy packing to join me on my rounds. The watching sensation dissipates. When I concentrate hard enough, I can still hear the Greens; otherwise, not a peep.

Howard, Colin's babysitter replacement, doesn't show on Tuesday.

Or Wednesday.

Thursday, Colin unpacks Randon's saddlebags while I call on almost every dragon I know. No response.

They are asleep,
Grackel says when I ask for her help. In the dragon telepathy world, asleep might as well be dead.

“All of them? Keith wouldn't do that.”

Grackel doesn't answer, which is answer enough.

Thursday night, I resume drinking and pretending I live elsewhere.

Friday, I break another vow and call Maren. When James's Red doesn't answer, I swallow what remains of my
pride and attempt to contact Evelyn's dragon.

Nothing.

Maybe the military found Loki's Grunts and wiped them off the planet. Or worse, sent them to another prison camp.

“What's protocol?” I ask Colin.

“We have two weeks of fuel for the generators. After that, we can bundle into the cave. A month of food, maybe two if we go extra skinny. When that runs out, we live off the land. Not ideal, but doable.”

I dilute my cup of brandy with a few splashes of bottled water. Conservation mode. “We should leave.”

He smiles. “Don't like the idea of eating lichen every day?”

“I'm serious.”

“We wouldn't know where to go.”

“There's a map of hideouts in the escape crate,” I say.

“It's probably outdated.”

“What about the emergency cell phone?”

Colin shakes his head. “Need to hit the mainland before it'll get a signal.”

“Sounds like we should leave.”

“We're safer here.”

I inform him about the Green voices that have been serenading Allie and me for the past week. “According to Grackel, they're in full broadcast mode. She compared it to a worldwide loudspeaker.”

“Sounds like they don't know where we are.”

“They're looking for us. And my emotions will make it easier for them to find us.”

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe you should leave, then.”

I chew at my lip. “Maybe I should.”

“I was kidding, Melissa.”

“It's a good idea. Grackel and I can vanish somewhere. Plant false trails or something.”

“No. I'm not letting you out of my sight.”

“I wasn't asking permission,
Sarge
.”

He flinches. “That's not how I meant it. We should all stick together. Lord knows I wouldn't be able to handle Allie and Baby by myself.”

I allow myself a brief smile. “They were ready to throw a good-bye parade on Tuesday.” And have been moping ever since.

“So you'll stay?”

“For now.”

A scream awakens me from an unpleasant sleep. Followed by three gunshots in fast succession and a pair of dragon roars. I cling to the sheets, waiting for the rest. But no images come, and the scream fades. No more gunshots either, but the dragons continue to growl, deep and throaty, volcanoes readying to erupt.

Real. Coming from the cave. I bolt from the bed, calling for Colin, but he's not in his cot. Two steps from the hatch, Grackel's raspy voice sounds in my head.
You probably should hurry up.

I lift the metal cover and am nearly blinded by the bright red-silver light coming from below. “What's going on?”

A misunderstanding among children. They are ruining my meal.

I slide down the ladder to find Randon and Baby circling each other, wings spread, heads arched, teeth bared, and glows at full shine. The ground rumbles beneath their prowling steps. Ice daggers drip from Baby's nostrils. A thick layer of Randon's smoke clouds the ceiling.

“A little help, Grackel,” I say. The old Red lies against the back wall, her attention focused on the half-eaten walrus carcass pinned beneath her forepaw.

If they are going to disturb my meal, I might as well be entertained.

“Randon, what are you doing? Stand down.”

The dragon shifts his glare to me.
Do not tell me what to do, human. I will not be disrespected by children.
He drops a wing and puffs smoke through two small holes near where it attaches to his body.
Look what that tangled human did to me.

“I wasn't aiming at you,” Allie shouts from somewhere out of sight. “I apologized, yes, yes.”

Dammit. Colin had warned me giving Allie her own gun was a bad idea. I duck beneath Randon's wing and realize
just how bad. Colin's standing astride a puddle of blood near the cave center, one hand raised in surrender as he clutches at a wound in his side. Allie's beside my target-practice crate, her pistol trained on his head.

I sprint forward and put myself between them. “What are you doing, Allison?”

Colin tries to step in front of me, but I push him back.

“She's not safe,” he says.

“She won't hurt me. What's going on, Allie? Why did you shoot Randon and Colin?”

“I didn't mean to hurt Randon. Colin dodged my first shots.”

“Put the gun down, Allie.” She ignores my plea. “Why were you shooting at Colin?”

“He tried to hurt Baby, yes, yes.” Her face squeezes up. “With a needle.”

“I wasn't—” Colin begins.

“Shut up!”

I hold up a hand. “Colin's a friend, Allie. It was a bad dream. A flashback, probably,” I say. “I know sometimes it's hard to—”

“No! You never believe me. James would. He always did before you made him leave.”

Made him leave? “Allie, he was never here—”

“His dragon no longer talks to me, no, no,” she says, tapping her head with the gun barrel. “Your fault.” She spins
around and dashes two steps to the cave precipice. “You don't love me anymore.”

I run for her, dodging the gun she hurls at me, but I know I won't make it.

“We were supposed to be on the island together,” she says. “You, me, and Baby. Not him. He's not one of us.”

She jumps.

“Allie!”

Baby pulls her wings tight, straightens her tail, and dives after her in a silver flash. I skid to a halt at the edge. Colin wraps an arm around my waist, securing me as I search the vast emptiness below. I can't see Allie. Just Baby's light growing smaller . . .

. . . a fading star . . .

. . . almost invisible . . .

Gone.

Seconds stretch into minutes. I spot a pinprick of light flickering at the edge of perception, a silver firefly floating in and out of the darkness. Baby must be searching the icy waters for Allie's body.

I stare into the abyss, wondering why I can't seem to wake from this nightmare. Allie had been upset with me since Colin arrived, but I never thought she'd go beyond tantrums and sulking. Maybe shoot Colin, but nothing suicidal. All those months she survived Georgetown.

Why now?

“Tell me it's not my fault,” I whisper.

Colin puts his arms around me and pulls me back from the edge. “You know it isn't.”

“I'm sorry she shot you.” I push away, focusing my attention on the gash in his shirt, the bleeding hole in his skin. I fumble for the utility knife I keep tucked in my belt.

He grabs my trembling hands with his bloodied ones. “Melissa . . .”

“Let go. You're injured.” I cut a jagged swath from the hem of his shirt but can't figure out how to wrap his wound. “I've been shot before. You're handling it better than I did.”

“It's a flesh wound. I'm fine.” He takes the strip of fabric and presses it to the bullet hole. A gesture of kindness, because it's useless.

“We need to get you upstairs.”

He doesn't argue, which means he's in worse shape than he's letting on. We're walking toward the ladder, Colin supporting me as much as I am him, when I spot the hypodermic needle near the blankets Allie sleeps—slept—on when she spent the night down here with Baby.

“How could you?”

“I was trying to help, Melissa.”

“Help! I trusted—”

“It's a tracker, Melissa. I wanted—”

“Without telling any of us?”

“It's safer that way.”

“Don't give me that bullshit. You know what they did to Baby in Georgetown. You know what they did to us. And now . . . and now Allie's . . .” Two choices. Cry, or . . .

I hit him in the chest with both fists. Over and over, until he's pressed to the wall. He covers his wound but doesn't try to block me.

I hear laughter behind me. Wild and full of impishness. Real? I push away from Colin and turn around.

Baby hovers in the cave entrance, Allie straddling her neck. Both grinning like lovely fools. There is something in Allie's eyes that tells me she's made that jump before.

The tears come. Allie's smile vanishes. She leaps from Baby, lands in a graceful somersault, and races into my arms, where she cries apologies into my shoulder.

Sorry to interrupt your strange ritual of fake death,
Grackel says,
but you should probably ask yourself why your boyfriend felt the need to inject Arabelle with a tracker tonight.

He's not my boyfriend.
I wheel on Colin. “What were you thinking?”

Allie tries to wriggle free, but I hold her tight, afraid she might go hunting for her gun. She settles on sticking her tongue out at him.

“Was just trying to keep her safe,” he says between labored
breaths. Blood seeps through the fingers covering the hole in his side. He gives me a wan smile. “Sorry. Should have . . .”

He crumples to the floor. I release Allie and kneel beside him. I press my hands over the wound, feel the blood pump against my palm. “Get me the first-aid kit.”

Allie doesn't move.

“Come on, Allison. You know he wasn't trying to hurt Baby.”

“Fine, but he has to leave the island when he's better, yes, yes.”

I nod. She skips off, humming to herself.

The blood's leaking more slowly now. Not sure if that's because I'm doing something right, or because he's already lost too much. “You better not die on me. Why tonight, Grackel?”

Listen,
she says.
Feel.

“I don't have time for riddles.”

You are angry, scared, worried.

“Yeah, kill emotion, I know. Go to hell.”

Listen, feel.

“You just enjoy watching us suffer, don't—” Watching. The watching sensation is gone. I listen for the distant, garbled voices of Greens but hear nothing.

Two things occur to me, both frightening, though for far different reasons.

Colin's a dragon talker.

“They've found us.”