Whispers in Autumn (5 page)

Much like my required attendance at tonight’s Gathering.

Deciding what to wear is a necessary evil. The clothes hanging in the closet offer plenty of options, thanks to Mrs. Morgan’s penchant for pretty things, and I grab a dress at random. I don’t have a date but am expected to make myself attractive. Or as attractive as a shadow person can be, at any rate.

Now that the Wardens are in town, I have to try even harder to do everything right.

I didn’t leave the house this morning, not even during the allowed weekend hour. Little noises made me jump and I’ve worn a rut in my bedroom carpet checking out the window. I expected to see Wardens racing to haul me away each time, yet they haven’t come.

During Sunday Sharing, when my “parents” asked about my life, I told them I’m looking forward to exams, and to finding a Partner at the Gathering, because that’s what normal Term girls talk about during the last year.

My autumn parents smiled as though it pleased them, their only daughter taking an interest in her future. Some people the Morgans’ ages have siblings, more than one child born to the same couple, but it doesn’t happen anymore. Now the Others have declared having more than one baby Unacceptable. Unless the first child is Broken.

The Wardens take babies and children who are Broken, who are sick, don’t act normal, or don’t look right. I have no doubt that they’ll come for me one day.

The deep navy material of the dress makes my eyes stand out and it’s snug in all the right places. I have to admit it makes me feel a little bit pretty. Mrs. Morgan insists on styling my hair, so my deep red locks now hang in fat curls down my back, the sides secured under a headband. My hair’s too thick to hold the style for long and will relax into waves before the Gathering even begins, but the attention is nice. I even give in to her prodding and apply a little makeup before grabbing a bag and heading out. Like five days a week at Cell isn’t enough.

The transformation in the eatery is stunning. Instead of the sterile, white-tiled environment we eat in every day, this new one is nothing less than elegant. The floors are wooden, the walls painted a deep caramel color, and every inch of the room reflects the season. Trees that look as real as the ones outside seem to reach off the walls, thin branches dripping radiant leaves toward the floor. Sunflowers and fall flora stand in between them, separated by long tables slathered with food. The three video screens are lit, as usual, and the Monitors watch over the proceedings with proud, glowing smiles.

Students shuffle between the tables, talking and laughing with one another, though it’s quieter than a typical lunch block. Some mingle, but the majority isn’t any more comfortable with the opposite sex tonight than during Cell hours. The girls chatter in hushed tones among themselves and the boys stand in silence and stuff their faces. I sidle up to the largest cluster of girls, allowing myself a moment to wonder how Val and Monica are getting along on this night; whether they’re going alone, what they’re wearing, if they’re excited.

Only a moment, though.

I hover around the edges of the groups, wanting nothing more than to blend in. Conversations swirl through the air; they fall on my ears but don’t penetrate. Instead, my eyes search the room for the pine-scented boy.

Since that first day in Danbury, pretty much all my spare time has been spent seeking his face. I’ve tried to stop, but I guess I really don’t want to. The memory of his pale face at the Outing yesterday hovers in my memory, and the small part of me that isn’t scared of being discovered or of trusting someone—the same part that misses having another human to talk to, to touch, to know—hopes he’s different because he’s like me.

Without warning my eyes collide with his across the room; a cool, blue flame meeting a white-hot one for a split second until we both look away. Our gazes wander back and his smile drops from his lips, swapped for curiosity and anxiety.

I tear my eyes away and pick up a glass of punch, readjusting my own expression. My face flames, the cup like an ice cube inside my superheated hand. Dread burrows under my confusion over Lucas as the sides of the cup slump inward. The melted plastic sticks to my palm, but I dislodge it with a few furtive shakes above the waste receptacle. It lands atop assorted items, walls goopy and misshapen. Real smooth.

The tone of the murmurings shifts, jittery laughter turning to hushed whispers. My heart trips into stutters, and this time not because of a too-familiar pair of blue eyes.

There, stepping through the entrance to the eatery, are the Wardens.

Even though their presence isn’t a surprise after yesterday, the actual sight of them is as shocking as always. They ignore us and march to the nearest video screen to consult with our chaperones. Everyone watches, wide-eyed but not displeased, while I slink closer to eavesdrop.

The Monitor in charge, a rail-thin bald man who instructs calculus, offers a greeting. “Welcome to Danbury, Wardens. All of the Terminals have arrived. Please make yourselves at home and let us know if we can provide any additional assistance.”

The Warden in front, a tall, muscular man nods. I’ve been staring at him for longer than I should, and a stabbing ache swells behind my eyes. I’ve never been so close to an Other before, and when my eyes demand relief and slide away, I notice a raised red mark just under his left ear. A scar of some sort.

My jaw drops. Its pattern mirrors the shape of my locket.

The room wobbles as my body sways and threatens to topple. I manage to stay on my feet and keep my hands clasped in front of me. My body temperature rises so high that anything I brush against could burst into flames. Which might not work in my favor.

“Thank you. We’re here to follow up on some reports we’ve received.” The Warden turns and surveys the room, obviously with no intention of offering clarification.

I haven’t a clue what reports he’s talking about or why they’re observing us, but fear cannonballs into my belly. Again I worry that attempting to trick a Warden during a one-on-one conversation is a recipe for disaster. I can’t be alone with them.

The Wardens disperse, moving about the room. The mood in the eatery returns to the previous nervous excitement, with the addition of some awe-filled staring at our observers. My Cellmates display no concern, even though the Others who are here searching for something—or someone—
take
people. Even though they took six of our Cellmates just yesterday, six kids not attending their first Gathering, as far as I can tell.

Without thinking, I steal toward the door. Disappearing is the single focus of my mind, every thought of staying composed driven out by alarm. The part of my brain that usually calms me in moments of panic screams at me to run. They can’t see me like this, amped up and sweaty, failing to appear as calm and happy as my peers.

It feels as though hours pass before I slip out of the eatery and into the empty hall. The black boxes mounted on either side of the door take note of my exit, little red lights illuminated and staring. The creepy feeling of being watched raises the hairs along my arms and the back of my neck. The Others record everything, but no one could be watching every camera at every moment…I don’t think. At least the wasterooms are out here and we’re allowed to use them. Leaving shouldn’t raise any suspicions.

Two Wardens step around the far corner. The mere sight of them threatens to knock me over but I continue without collapsing, passing them and turning the corner toward the girls’ wasteroom. Instead of entering I scurry to the end of the hall.

Up or down
?

Making a snap decision, I head down the stairs.

Venturing away from where I’m supposed to be could be a mistake, but every instinct forces me as far from the Wardens as possible.

If hiding is the wrong choice, it’s too late to regret it now. Decision made.

A metal door labeled “Maintenance” catches my eye and the knob turns easily in my hand. The room belches musty air and a massive cobweb splays across my face before my eyes adjust to the dark.

There’s no time to recover from the first shock or even wipe the sticky wisps from my nose and mouth before strong hands reach out from the darkness. One arm encircles my waist as the other clamps down over my mouth.

They’re both freezing. The cold bites my skin, making it feel windburned. A scream wells up in my throat with nowhere to go, and sweat streams out of every pore as I struggle against the viselike hold. My captor’s chilly breath tickles my ear and I lean away from his lips with renewed determination. Anguish floods my veins.

I’m going to die. And no one will even notice.

“Stop squirming.” He grunts as my hip bone digs into his upper thigh. “I’m not going to hurt you. I didn’t want you to make a ruckus when you saw me. I’m going to let you go now. Don’t scream.”

I don’t recognize the voice, not that I expect to. The hand over my mouth lifts ever so slightly. Like he’s testing me. I will myself to stay quiet, to earn some trust. When he turns me loose I spin away on shaky legs, whirling to confront him. My defensive posture eases due to plain shock.

Pine Boy.

He’s smiling now and not forcing it. “You look surprised. Me, too. I had this crazy idea that a dark basement room would keep me safe from jasmine-scented girls I’ve been trying to avoid.”

My glare arrives without warning, no second thought given to letting my real emotions show. “Why are you avoiding me? And what are you doing down here in the first place?”

He doesn’t answer either question, and instead wipes his palms on his pants and then studies them. The scalded red skin is visible even in the dim light. “Man, are you sick or something? You’re on fire.”

“No, I just…you grabbed me. I was scared!”

He shrugs and lets the subject drop, wandering over to sit on a waist-high steel pipe. Since he’s not going to kill me, at least not right away, I take a better look around the room. It’s filled wall to wall with desks, chairs, and scrap material, along with other unrecognizable clutter.

“So, why do you smell like that?”

His voice startles me. I’m so intent on my surroundings I’ve almost forgotten I’m not alone. “Why do you care?”

Nagging distrust and years of conditioning stop me from telling him to take a whiff of himself sometime before he lectures me.

“It’s sort of nice, actually, but if it’s perfume you could scale it back. Almost knocked me out of my chair in chem the other day. It reminds me of summer in Georgia.”

“Did you used to live in Georgia?” I catch his eye and see fear for a split second before it makes way for studied neutrality.

“Just visited once. For my grandmother’s death pyre.”

“Oh.” I roam down one of the aisles, finding it easier to breathe out of his sight. Our interaction feels honest and it scares me more than a little. I’m so desperate for a connection I’m not being careful enough. It would be best to get out of here, away from him. My brain accepts and rebels against this simultaneously.

Taking a brief moment to regroup helps me calm down but it doesn’t help me figure out what’s going on or what he’s doing down here. Or why it’s so easy to talk to him.

Trust no one
.

The warning likely applies to handsome, talkative boys hiding in basements for no good reason. I need to tread carefully, even if he does seem different. Maybe I just want him to be someone like me so badly I’m seeing things that aren’t there.

Movement catches my eye. I squint, edging toward it with more curiosity than caution.

Until I make out what it is that’s moving.

CHAPTER 6.

I stumble, tripping over several plastic crates and landing hard on my rear end. Pieces of metal and other unidentified objects skitter and bounce across the concrete floor, making a racket loud enough to be heard in the next town, never mind upstairs. I scramble backward on my butt in an attempt to put distance between me and the animal. Lucas is gone, escaped because of the noise or perhaps because of what’s in the back of the room.

There’s a fish back there. In a bowl.

Someone is keeping a live animal right here in the Cell, exposing all of us to unknown diseases. Hysteria rises as I press a hand to my mouth and suck air through my fingers. Maybe the fish can’t hurt us like some bigger animals, the ones with rows of teeth, but still. Animals of any kind are not allowed inside the boundary.

I have to get out of here. Need supersedes caution—I scoot out the door and down the hall, looking back and forth and wondering which way the boy would have gone. Not back upstairs. Not home before curfew. I sprint up the stairs. My luck holds, and no Wardens appear to bar my path out the front door. The biting autumn air aches in my ears with each sharp inhale, forcing me to a stop after a few minutes. There isn’t much occasion to sprint in my world.

A figure darts out from beside a house and runs at me. I freeze to the spot, a scream gathering in my lungs but whooshing out in a gurgle when his face comes into view at the last second.

It’s him. Again.