The Sowing (35 page)

“Are you kidding?” He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Vale, you’d be the most important person to join them. Think of what you could do. How you could help them.” I know I could. The things I know about the Sector, the things I could tell them. “Think of the morale you’d bring over from the other side. The son of the chancellor, defected to the Resistance? They would love that.”

Yeah, but would they trust me?
I wonder.
I’d also be fighting against my parents every step of the way.
Can I do that? I let out my breath and lean back against the wall.

“Let me sleep on it, will you? I can’t process all this right now. I can’t make heads or tails of any of it.”

Jeremiah leans back in his chair. I can’t meet his gaze, so I keep playing with the map, zooming in and out on the locations of other possible Resistance bases, and then swinging upwards to where our drones have spotted Outsider encampments. It could be so peaceful, so simple, with them. I could get away from this whole mess and never have to deal with it again.
But what would Remy think of me?

After a few minutes, Jeremiah reaches over to his pack and pulls out a blanket.

“Okay, we’ll talk about it more in the morning. I’m tired; I’m sure you are, too.” His weak smile looks like he dragged it forcibly onto his face. “Just think about it, okay? Think about it seriously.” He heads back up to the cockpit and settles into one of the chairs, reclining and draping the blanket over his shoulders.

I think about it.

What it would mean to go join the Resistance. I lean my head back against the wall and contemplate the possibility. They would hate me at first, of course. They might suspect me of being a spy, or they might just throw me into prison. I reflect briefly on the irony of possibly finding myself in the same situation that Remy and Soren did. As soon as we surrendered ourselves to them, I would be at their mercy. Would they kill me? Starve, torture, and execute me like we did—almost did—to Remy and Soren? Try to drag as much information out of me as possible? Gruesome scenes fly through my head. My breath quickens and my heart pounds. Jeremiah, at least, has an in. His father is already with them. I have nothing. Worse than nothing. I represent the enemy of the Resistance.
I am the enemy of the Resistance.

And what if they did let me join? What then? If they let me fight for them, could I do it? I trained alongside a number of soldiers who will no doubt continue to work for Aulion and my parents. They’re good men and women, no matter which side they’re fighting for. Could I fight against them? Killing Aulion would be no trouble, I think, reflecting on his coldness, his brutal nature. But my parents….
No.
I can’t even think about that.

As I’m contemplating the impossibilities of turning on the Sector, of fighting against everything I’ve ever known, it feels like something is missing from this puzzle, and it takes me a few minutes to figure out what it is.

Remy.

And Soren. I feel like I owe them a debt. Helping them out of captivity in the face of certain death wasn’t enough to make up for the fact that I got them there in the first place. And now I don’t even know where they are. They could be dead, I realize suddenly, and the thought is accompanied by the claustrophobic feeling that the air is compressing around me, suffocating me. If they’re alive, I owe it to them to do whatever I can to help them. At the most basic level, I owe it to them to make sure they’re okay.

And if the Resistance does decide to do to me what I did to Remy and Soren, haven’t I earned it? 

25 - REMY

Winter 2, Sector Annum 106 05h45
Gregorian Calendar: December 22

The air is freezing and thick with moisture. I can see my breath with every exhale, and I clutch the blanket tighter around my shoulders and wrap my arms around my knees to keep warm. It’s still pitch dark outside, but I know we’re close to dawn. Today, I think our spell of sunny weather will be over. Rain portends.

“We’ll take turns sleeping,” Soren said last night. We still couldn’t figure out how to activate the boat’s cloaking, so we were both paranoid about being spotted by drones as we meander down the river. “I’ll take first watch,” he told me.

I shiver underneath the blanket as I stare out into the misty, impenetrable darkness of the pre-dawn forest. I’m on watch now, though it doesn’t do much good, as I can’t see anything through the mist. Drones, soldiers, Outsiders, wild animals—I wouldn’t have a clue if any or all of them were watching us right now.

After Soren told me he would take the first watch, I collapsed into the narrow, single-man bunk and sank into the kind of deep, restful sleep that can only come from a feeling of safety and peace. For once, we weren’t in any immediate danger. I let myself go. I don’t even know if Soren tried to wake me up for my watch. All I know is that a few hours ago, I woke up to darkness and closeness and found myself latched around him, limbs entwined like lovers. Somehow it was different this time than the last two nights, when we’d slept curled up together for warmth. That was out of necessity. This was something more. But as I attempted to extract myself without waking him, I realized he wasn’t moving. His mouth was slack, his face pale, his skin cold and clammy. I thought he was dead.

I panicked.    

I shook him, grabbing his shoulders frantically, hollering and crying like a mother who’d lost her firstborn, until he opened his eyes in alarm. Once the confusion fell from my face and I realized he was alive, I stopped panicking, and an enormous smile drowned his blue eyes and he reached up and kissed me. His arms wrapped around me and I collapsed into him. He pulled me against his full length with an urgency that both startled and drew me closer and … and….

And now everything is different.

We came together with a passion that bordered on insanity. His teeth tore at my lips and neck, and I ran my hands through his blond hair and pressed every inch of my body against his. He rolled on top of me and pulled my shirt open, attacking my shoulders like a starving man eating meat off the bone. I pushed myself up, leaning against my elbows so I could get to him better, to caress his face with my own, and then I made the fatal mistake of trying to roll over on top of him. That’s when we fell off the bunk.

In the awkward silence that ensued, Soren sat up and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He looked at me wordlessly and stretched out to try to kiss me again, but I was mortified. I told him I needed water, that I would be back, and I walked out. But I didn’t go back. I didn’t know what to say or do. So I’ve been sitting out here, keeping watch in the bleak, freezing morning air ever since.

Nothing’s happened, so I stand up to check on him. I don’t know how I feel. A part of me wants to go back and kiss him awake, curl up into his arms, and find that spark again. To have him devour my skin like a hungry animal, to feel his body connected deeply to mine. To finally let myself put aside the past and embrace the here and now. But something holds me back. I step inside the heated interior and shiver at the warmth. I crack the door to the miniscule sleeping area and peek in. Soren is passed out, his chest rising and falling regularly. Now that I’m gone he’s taken over the entire bed, a mess of arms and legs draped over the thin mattress. I shut the door, satisfied that he’s content and resting, and tiptoe back outside.

The cold air cuts at my eyes, but there’s a tiny bit of light in the world now. The sky is dark and blue, the river and the trees around us a deep, dusky grey. I hear a
splish
off to the side and wonder if the fish are waking up, too. But then I hear it again.
Splash
. I peer around the bow of the boat, but I see nothing. I check over the sides, but there’s nothing there. Satisfied but still nervous, I settle back down in my chair and watch the world drift by as we meander downriver. I feel the air change somehow and notice raindrops pattering on the deck, on the roof over my head. Maybe that’s the noise I heard. Raindrops. I stare off into the distance and am thankful that this looks like a nice, gentle rain. If the weather turned ominous and one of those devastating winter storms hit us, Soren and I, on this little boat in the middle of this river, could be in dire straits.

Is anyone searching for us? We haven’t heard any drones or seen any airships since the beach. It’s as if we’re the last people on earth. We’ve seen precious little but dull brown trees and water since we boarded, and certainly no people. Once we felt as though we were being watched, but it lasted for only a few moments and then dissipated as we headed around a bend and left whoever or whatever it was behind us.

I think about how long we’ve been gone. What day did we leave for the raid again? I do some quick math in my head and realize that yesterday was the solstice. Today is a new year. I think of the parties they’ll be holding in the capital and wonder what the Resistance is doing. Celebrating? Looking for us? Mounting a rescue attempt? A new year means one hundred and six years have passed since the founding of the Okarian Sector. Three years since Tai died. Four days since I was captured. Three since I last saw Vale. Two since Soren and I were tortured. Three hours since Soren and I kissed. How strangely relative time is. Enough has happened each day recently to fill the space of months or years.

I wrap the blanket tightly around my shoulders again, listening to the music of wind in the trees and rain on the tarp, the deck, and the water. I’m so stiff and chilled I can barely move, which is unfortunate because I hear the splash again, and this time my heart flutters, and I know something’s wrong.

There’s a knock against the side of the boat. I feel the deck beneath me rock slightly, dipping to one side as if something’s pulling at it. Instantly alert, my heart thuds in my chest and blood surges through my body like the opening of a dam. I don’t have a weapon, so I grab the first thing I can put my hands on, which turns out to be an old wooden crate. I crouch in the shadow of my hiding place. What
is
it? What’s happening? Before I can find an answer, I see the hand. Pale knuckles gleam as it grips the side of the boat, disembodied and foul. Then the leg, pants sopping wet, the long skinny foot with a dark slick coating of mud between the white toes, swings over the gunwale. The shapes are visible more as outlines than as actual tangible things, like phantoms stealing up from another world, monstrosities from the deep.

Indecision and fear paralyzes me. To scream will alert it—whoever or whatever it is—to my presence. Can I kill him myself? Or will I die quiet and alone? Still hidden, I see the rest of the man’s body land on the deck with a soft
thud
. He stands, turns, and bends over the side to help haul up a companion. The second man, who lands on his feet with hardly a sound, is much smaller. Who are they? Outsiders? Corine’s Black Ops sent to kill us in the night? I tense, tighten my grip on the wooden crate, and get ready to fight.

“Kill whatever moves,” the smaller man says quietly, and I can barely hear his voice over the wind and rain. His hand disappears under his shirt and reappears with the glint of a blade in it. “It’ll be easy. They’re probably sound asleep.” The big man grunts and starts for the cabin door.

Almost without permission, my body surges into action.

“Soren! Soren!” I scream like a battle cry. I launch myself at the man with the crate and swing it into his head like a cudgel.

“Shit!” the big one gasps as my crate connects with his face and sends him backward, stumbling into the smaller man, blood pouring from his nose and face. Still holding the crate, I try to whirl it around and bring it down onto the smaller man as well, but he’s too fast. He ducks away and then tackles me, his knife hand ready. I grab his wrist, forcing it up and away from my belly, and bite, sinking my teeth deep into the flesh. I swear I can feel bone. He howls in pain and drops the knife, which I promptly dive after, but it slides out of reach. I scramble after it, lose my footing on the rain-slick deck, and fall. My butt slams into the deck hard, and I twist to try to get up, get my feet under me. As I roll, I feel the thick handle of the man’s knife dig into my hip, and I thrust my arm underneath my body to pull it out. The smaller man throws himself at me, pushing me back, trying to reach under me to grab the knife. I scream for Soren again and see the big man look back and forth between me and the cabin as the light of understanding—there’s someone else in there—dawns on him. He puts his hand on the doorknob and turns.

Just as soon as I see the glint of silver appear in the larger man’s hand, I manage to bring my knee up hard, a violent thrust into the little man’s crotch, and feel his
ooof
of pain as he rolls off me. I twist aside, grab the knife from beneath me, and without thinking, rear back and throw it with a hard flick of the wrist. I’m hoping for a distracting flesh wound, something that will keep the big man from opening the cabin door, from walking right in and murdering Soren in his sleep. What I get is a direct hit to the jugular.

Everything stops.

The dying man’s eyes widen in surprise, and he drops his own knife as his hands fly to his neck. He grabs the hilt of the weapon and pulls it free.

“Sam!” the little man cries, agonized. He dashes to the dead man’s side as his knees buckle beneath him, and he slumps against the door. Soren appears at the window and begins to push against it, sliding the man’s body across the deck. He slumps further down, legs spread out before him, blood pumping from his neck like a hose. The deck is stained a wet, rainy red.

Then it hits me. The dying man—Sam—still has his knife in his hand. I dive towards him, shoving the smaller man out of the way. I grab the knife and pull it from the big man’s hand just as he dies, the light in his eyes extinguished as abruptly as if someone had pinched out a candle flame.

I did that.

I killed him.

I scramble backwards and stand, panting, trying not to look at those lifeless eyes. I hold the knife at the ready. The smaller man crawls to his companion. He clutches his sleeve around his bleeding wrist and cradles the dead man’s big head against his chest as Soren pushes against the door, cracking it just enough to open it.