E (7 page)

That's sweet, I think, but he's a kid.  I’m waiting for
Miranda to jump on him, to send him to bed without dinner or tell him to go
outside while the big people talk, but she looks at him with her analytical
gaze, not speaking.  Then she glances at Jonas.  He shrugs.

At this point, I start to think they might actually
let
me
stay.  My heart starts thumping wildly.  It’s still up for
grabs.  They may not agree.  Miranda clearly doesn't like me.

"It's not
you
," she says, reading my mind. 
"It's just, I think you're trouble.  I mean, look at you."

Apollon snorts, that amused look on his face.  "As if
you're not."

She rolls her eyes, looking annoyed, not ditsy.

Neveah reaches for her blanket bundle and sets it in her lap,
scooting to the edge of the sofa. 

"Let's vote, then," Apollon says, eyeing her. 
"All who want Eden to stay."  He raises his hand.

They're voting.  I wonder if a Sentry would count this as
politics.  A violation of the Second Law.  Into the box,
everyone.  I shudder.

"Me," chirps Oscar, taking the pan off the stove.

Miranda just frowns.

Jonas remains stone still, not looking at anyone.  Why does
that hurt so much?

Apollon, Miranda, and Oscar look at Neveah.

She nods once.  Then she stands with her bundle, and heads
out the door.

Apollon flashes me a grin and flicks his eyebrows up. 
"You're in."

Joy is exploding inside me, and disbelief at my good
fortune.  But it’s smothered.  “Why?”  It’s all I can say. 
“Why would you want me to stay?”

“That’s a really good question,” agrees Miranda with a sardonic
smile.

Apollon gives me a look.  “We’re stronger in numbers,” he
says.  “You proved yourself pretty well last night.  I bet you can
keep doing that.”  He flashes me a grin, then his eyes flick to my
forehead.  “And everybody deserves a chance.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, unable, for a moment, to look at
him.  Finally, I raise my eyes and scan his face.  Does he really
believe that our marks make us somehow kindred?  I consider Jonas and
Neveah, both of them also marked.  Did all of them go through the same struggles
that I have?  Starting with nothing, and no one?

I shake myself out of my thoughts before I can take them too far,
and make a decision.  This is solid.  I know in this instant that
whatever comes I will stick to it.  "Great," I say, though my
voice is hoarse and I have to clear my throat after.  I attempt to make
the rest sound lighter.  "Is there a secret handshake?"

Oscar grins and laughs.  It's a quiet laugh for a little
boy.  “You’re going to like it,” he says.  I believe him.

“You stink,” Miranda says, out of nowhere.  “If you’re
staying, you need to take a bath.”  She looks pointedly toward the curtain
strung up across one end of the shack, then sets down her pliers.  “I’ll
show you,” she says, climbs to her feet, and heads that way.

I sigh and glance longingly at the eggs and toast before following
her.

The curtain falls behind us.  A half-rusted tub sits alone in
the middle of the room.  A toilet, a table with a bucket, a broken slab of
mirror.  One crumpled towel dangles from a propped-up rake.  A piece
of hose, repaired in places with grey tape and unevenly dried epoxy, runs
through a hole in the wall, and hangs into the tub.  From the other hole
springs a dingy hand pump. 

Miranda pushes the hose further into the tub, places a stopper in
the drain, then goes to the pump and begins to work it. 

My eyes widen as the hose sputters and spits almost-clean
water.  "Running water?"  I say, even though the answer is
plain.

"Rain barrels," she says.  She finishes with the
pump, then grabs a brown sliver of soap that is stuck to the table next to the
bucket, her fingers scraping it from the surface.  She holds it out to
me. 

I hesitate, looking at the soap in her hand.

"Don't worry," she says simply.  "No one will
bother you."  There is some small kindness in her voice.

"Thanks."

She shoves the soap at me and disappears through the curtain.

I watch the water sputter into the tub.  From the other side
of the curtain are voices, murmuring, blurred.  Who knows what they’re
saying?  I turn away from them, and strip off my clothes, laying them
neatly next to the bucket, taking care that nothing spills from my pockets.

I climb into the tub, lowering my body slowly into the
water.  My skin prickles.  The icy metal tub pulls every bit of warmth
from the water, and the water pulls the warmth from my blood and bones. 
My teeth clatter together, compelling me into motion despite the longing to
linger. 

The piece of soap rubs into a thick lather in my palms.  I
scrub every inch of my body, examining its smooth, pale skin.  The water
becomes cloudy.  My hair goes rubbery but clean after two washings. 
It squeaks between my forefinger and thumb.  I emerge from the tub, water
dripping, feeling like a new person.  I've shed my skin, grown into something
new.  The question is, what?

I reach for the towel on the rake by the mirror, but freeze. 
At first, I actually think there is someone else in the room with me.  I
should be seeing an old woman, hunched over from years of hard labor and broken
by illness-- that's how I've felt for so long.  The girl who stands before
me, though, is young and slim.  She's long-legged, built athletically with
broad shoulders on a compact feminine frame.  Her face is striking,
encircled in umber hair.  Long, dark, narrow eyes are surrounded by a
flutter of thick lashes.  Pale skin contrasts delicately-shaped pink
lips.  She's not an old woman at all.  Who is she, then?  I've
forgotten her.

I stare at her and wonder, for the first time, if she has family
somewhere.  Friends.  Does someone miss her?  Surely someone
misses a girl like that.  She and I-- this girl and me-- we have only one
thing in common.  I trace my fingers along the mark on my forehead. 
She does the same.  We stare at each other, as though we may come to some
understanding.

My stomach rumbles and I remember the eggs.  I dress quickly,
then comb my fingers through my hair, pulling my bangs down over my
forehead. 

I have to steel myself to leave the bathroom.  I’m not used
to other people.  Something about going back to them is frightening, even
if part of me looks forward to the company.

Oscar has saved me a plate of eggs and toast.  "Apollon
and Jonas are going outside the wall today," he says as I sit on the sofa
to eat.  "Maybe they'll let us come."

I look from Apollon to Jonas to Miranda.  She's still working
with her pliers, but her gaze flicks across to me.  It’s not
hostile.  Something else.  She shakes her head slightly.

"What's outside the wall?"  I ask.  I already
know part of the answer.  There's a twenty foot stretch where we can go if
we want.  This is an open area, a no-man's-land.  Beyond that,
everything is restricted, except for the road.  If we wanted to-- if we
were brave enough-- we could travel via the road to another Outpost or
city.  But surely that’s not what Jonas and Apollon intend, so why do they
go outside the wall at all?

"Plants," says Apollon.  "Herbs.  We
gather them for Neveah."

This catches my interest.  If I go with them, I can learn
which plants are useful, where to find them, and hopefully, if I pay attention
to what Neveah does, what each of them is good for.  And with Apollon and
Jonas, I should be safe even without my disguise.  I'm a little concerned
about their reaction to last night's card game, but I can't hide forever, can
I?  Clearly Apollon expects me to play again.  Everyone contributes.

"Sounds fun," I say, scooping up my eggs with my bread,
taking a larger mouthful than I intended.  It's absolute bliss.  I
can't help but close my eyes as I chew, can't help but swallow before I've
chewed it properly.  After the next mouthful, I make myself stop and look
at the food, breathing in the aroma.

"You can come," Apollon says.  "But we're
going to the Rustler after.  Better if you don't go there for a
while."

"A while?" I mutter through my next bite. 
"What about cards?"

"Let 'em cool their heels for a bit and come to terms with
the fact that a sweet little girl kicked their asses," he says, examining
his fingertips briefly before licking crumbs and egg juice from them. 

Sweet little girl?  I want to retort, but I'm busy
chewing. 

"What he means," Jonas says, standing in the kitchen
washing plates, "is that they probably won't bother you now that they've
had a chance to think about the fact that you took them fair and square. 
It happens.  But you could choose safer games than the one last
night."

Miranda narrows her eyes at this, still studying whatever she's
building.  "Who was playing last night?" she asks slowly.

Jonas' gaze flicks to her, but she doesn't see it.  Then he
looks Apollon in the eye.

Clearly Apollon is not supposed to say it, but either he doesn't
get it, or he doesn't care.

"Donegan," he says. 

There's the briefest twitch of Miranda's pliers before she bends the
next wire.  Her face is blank.  She says nothing.

"Donegan," Oscar says, his brown eyes widening as they
look at me.  I can't help but notice Miranda's little twitch as he
speaks.  She does it again when he says, "You
beat
Donegan?"

I shrug it off. "Guess so," I mutter.  I shovel in
the last of my eggs and follow it up with the remnant of my toast-- a piece I
probably should have finished in two bites.

Jonas is finishing up the last plate when I walk into the kitchen
behind him.  He reaches back and takes mine without looking. 
"It's getting late," he says.  "We should get on with
this."

Apollon doesn’t hurry to get up as Jonas tromps past him out the
door.  He pauses halfway out and flicks those green eyes back at me. 
"You coming, Stinky?"

I feel my cheeks flush bright red as I consider throwing something
at him.  There's nothing suitable within reach.  Apollon is laughing,
so as I walk by, I kick one of his two weight-bearing chair legs.  He
scrambles to catch his balance.  I stalk down the path outside and hear
Oscar's light footsteps running to catch up with me. 

"This is so cool," he says, his voice filled with the
excitement of the young.  "If you look past the barriers, the trees
just go on and on... like forever."

I glance down at him, softening.  "Yeah?"

"Once," he says, "there was this white doe. 
She got away from the hunters.  They shot her, but she ran away. 
Just kept running.  You could see her going, and then she was gone. 
Just disappeared.  Like a ghost or something."

"Wow," I say.  I'm not sure what else
to
say.

"I don't think she died," he says.  "I don't
think God would let something that pretty die."

"God?" I say, startled.  I glance around to make
sure there are no Sentries within sight.  "God who kicked us out of
paradise?  Why wouldn't he?"

He shrugs, bopping along beside me.  "Well," he
says thoughtfully, "if I was God, I wouldn't."

My hand is on his head before I realize it, ruffling his shaggy
brown hair.  "You've got my vote in the next election," I say.

He grins up at me.

The concrete wall that circles the Outpost gapes open, and hanging
from its mouth is a long grey tongue of a road, lolling away into the
distance.  There are Sentries stationed about a hundred yards down the
road, and near them is another small encampment of men.  They have large
guns, a tent shading their heads, and a battered old pickup.

"Who are they?" I say, nodding toward them as we emerge.

"Matthew's," Apollon says.

We take a sharp turn to the left and walk along the wall. 
The first thing I notice is that Oscar is right.  Beyond the neatly spaced
line of scanner posts, the trees look like they could go on forever.  The
second thing is the hunters.  The area is filled with them.  Red
stripes, orange shoelaces, badges.  The occasional unidentified
loner.  They're all armed with guns.  They lean up against the wall,
their eyes searching the tree line beyond the barrier.  The wall curves
around, disappearing away from us, but just where we’re walking, I must count
about a hundred of them.

"Surely there can't be that much to hunt out here," I
mumble.

"There's not," Apollon agrees.  "And it's not
worth it.  But these people are desperate."

"I know where they can get a lot of rats," I say.

He glances at me as we walk.

"If you hear any shots," Jonas says, "just hit the
ground.  Don't stop to see where they're coming from."

I warily exchange looks with Oscar.  "Right."

A strange sound makes its way across the cleared area and into the
trees-- a deer call.

"They won't shoot unless it's really close," Oscar
informs me, sounding like he's trying to be reassuring.  "You'd
probably see it before they start.  Not that many come into the free
zone."

I nod.  We walk on.  We're quite some distance from the
gate when we stop to do our harvesting.

"These ones," Apollon says, bending down to show me the
stem of some weed.  It has small clusters of yellow flower buds, and is
not very attractive.  "The stems are woody, so you'll have to cut
them.  Try to cut as close to the bottom as you can."

"OK," I say, glancing around.  There are plenty of
them.  They're growing... well, like weeds.  Jonas and Oscar are
already busy at work, slicing through the stems with their knives.  Oscar
spreads a cloth bag open on the ground for us to pile our harvest into.

I take my piece of glass from my pocket and begin cutting on the
nearest weed.  Apollon is right.  I practically have to saw it
off.  I'm finally working on my second one when I realize he and Jonas are
watching me. 

"You don't have a knife?" Apollon says.

I shake my head.

He and Jonas exchange glances.  We go back to work, and no
one talks.  We harvest the entire area then gather up the bag and move
further on.  Oscar's just setting it down in our new spot when Apollon,
eying me, says "How long?"

The question, I think, is phrased specifically vaguely, so that,
if I wanted to avoid it, I could.  But all three of my companions are
waiting for an answer.  They're my family now, right?  They're as
much as I've got.

"A couple of weeks," I say, wondering how my voice is so
much quieter than I intended it to be.

"A couple of weeks?" Oscar asks incredulously. 
"You mean--"  But Apollon's hand comes to rest lightly on
Oscar's head, silencing him.  He closes his mouth and looks at the bag,
then at the sky.  It's like a signal to all of us, and we get back to
work.

We're just finishing that area, when Oscar hisses,
"Look."

I follow his gaze to a young buck wandering fearlessly at the edge
of the barrier.  For just a second I watch it in awe before I hear Jonas whispering
ferociously, "Get
down."

I drop to the ground like my more-experienced companions, and,
prone, just have time to maneuver around to see the buck before the first shots
fire.  The deer makes a terrible noise as blood erupts from its far
side.  It rears, turns, and falls right on the barrier line, between
posts, kicking.

Hunters stampede toward it, leaping over us to get there
first.  Someone steps on my hand.  Their bodies crawl over the buck,
looking like an anthill, but there's a tug-of-war going on here.  Fists
and knives fly out in different directions.  Men grunt and fall away,
scramble back into the fray.  I grit my teeth, sure someone is going to
die here.  I'm looking at Jonas, to my left, wondering if we should run, when
I hear the footsteps.  Heavy, clanging, inhuman footsteps, headed toward
us.  I feel myself go white.  I freeze.

The Sentry stalks toward us.  Most of the hunters are too
busy fighting to notice.  Those who do shriek and take off running. 
I stare as it moves in, closing the distance.  In some far-off way I'm
aware of a hand gripping my wrist, dragging me backward, but I do
nothing.  I don't even breathe.

These people have had it, I think.  They're trying to kill
each other. 

"
Eden
," Jonas hisses at my side.  He's
fallen backward, dragging me through the dirt.  His fingers dig into my
wrist.  I look down at it, dazed.  His sleeve has come up and there's
a white scar on his wrist.  Three lines at different angles.  If they
intersect above the part his sleeve still covers, they could make a star. 
He pulls at me, climbing to his feet, and says my name again.

The shock clears suddenly and I look around.  Apollon and
Oscar skid to a halt down the wall and turn back to look for us.  I jump
up and run with Jonas toward them.  I expect us to keep running when we're
all together, but Apollon is just standing, looking wide-eyed back where we
came.

The scuffle has spilled over the barrier line.  As the Sentry
reaches the pile, its metal arm swoops down from above and plucks up the hunters
who have accidentally breached the boundary.  Not enough arms?  No
problem.  One by one it bashes them over the head and tosses them into an
unconscious heap.  There are seven bodies awaiting justice when it is
done.  The remaining members of the scuffle have frozen, looking up at the
thing with grimaces of terror.  None of them are moving.

The metal monster picks up the bodies, slinging three over its
shoulder.  It carries the remaining four, dangling two-each from its
hands.  The clanging footsteps fade away as it walks back toward the gate
with its prey.

Apollon lets out a long, shuddering sigh and sinks down against
the wall.  The rest of us follow suit.  We sit there for the longest
time in silence.  The remaining hunters filter away, a few of them dragging
the body of the buck, and the area is quiet.  Truly quiet.  I know
that Apollon, Jonas, and I are all sharing the same vivid nightmare.  We
stare into space, each of us entirely alone, despite the fact that we're
together.  I can't make my body stop shaking.  Horror consumes
me.  Relief only comes when a small hand covers mine.  I blink. 
Oscar gazes at me with a worried expression.  His other hand is over
Apollon's.

Apollon and Jonas look less freaked-out than I imagine I do. 
Their faces are almost blank, bearing only the slightest curling of
disgust.  They look like they might be sick, but are trying hard to
swallow it down.  I wonder how long it's taken them to become this
strong.  How long have they been out of the box?

I push my legs out, suddenly feeling that I can't stay here any
longer.  "Our weeds got trampled," I say.  My voice comes
out in one big wobble.  I sound like a turkey.  I climb to my feet
and rub my upper arms.  It's cold, the sky darkening with clouds.  It
might rain.

Jonas stands up and offers a hand to Apollon, who takes it. 
As his friend climbs up, Jonas says, "We'll make do." 

Oscar beats us to the bag and gathers it all into a bundle. 
We start walking toward the gate.

It's a long walk, and none of us are moving too fast.  Maybe
we just don't want to pass the Sentries posted there.  I try to think of
something else.

"You really think I should avoid the Rustler for a
while?"

"Yes," says Jonas immediately.

"Because I beat them.  And I'm a girl."  The
words come out bitterly.

"Because you beat them and you're a
hot
girl,"
Apollon corrects.

I blink.  Did he really just say that?

He eyes me, then says, "No offense, Eden, but you could
really have made things easier for yourself."  He goes on. 
Apparently Apollon doesn't self-edit a lot.  "I mean, did you
heat-shrink those clothes on or what?"

I turn red again.  "It's not like I had a choice,"
I splutter, turning on him.  "I got them off of a body I found in an
alleyway."  I’m miffed, but I'm feeling everything from a weird
distance right now.  "It's not like this dead girl asked me if I
would prefer the modest cut or the plunging neckline."

He crosses his arms and grins down at me.  "I have to
say," he lulls, "I'm with the dead girl on the plunging
neckline."

I go from red to white in the span of one second.  I cross my
arms over my chest, but from the glint in his eye, I can tell that only
magnifies my problem.  I turn my back on him.

Jonas, sounding completely reasonable and removed from this
madness, says "You need a lot of things.  We should stop by the
marketplace before we take you home."

My anger flees.  Not because Jonas was reasonable.  Not
because he made sense.  But that one word.  Home.  It hits me
like the whap of a Sentry, and I suddenly feel myself being unreasonably
emotional.  I blink tears away.

"Good idea," agrees Apollon, as though he has no clue
that he's offended me.  "We'll check on Neveah, too."

"Can we get lemon drops?" Oscar asks hopefully.  As
I remember his presence I feel doubly embarrassed.

Jonas ruffles his hair.  "We'll see," he
says. 

We start walking again.  I decide not to be offended. 
It's easier.  As we stroll on without speaking, my mind wanders. 
We’re almost to the gate when I ask softly, "How long?"

There is silence for a few more steps.  Then Jonas says,
"Three years."

I glance at him, and then at Apollon.

Apollon just grins again and says, "Me, too.  We're
twins.  Don't you see the resemblance?"

As we pass near the Sentries and wander through the gate, I shake
my head and firmly say, "No.  No, I don't."

***

We stop by to see Neveah first.  Oscar shows her the bag full
of trampled plants.  She nods and shrugs.  He slings it back over his
shoulder.  She surreptitiously passes some coins to Apollon, who pockets
them and murmurs something to her.  Jonas squeezes her hand as we turn to
go. 

Meanwhile, I'm looking nervously around for that old hag,
expecting her to leap out at me and start screaming for the slavers.  As
we walk away, Apollon bumps my shoulder with his.  "Don't worry,"
he says.  "No one's going to bother you when you're with
us."    I take a deep breath.  The exposed-nerve
sensation begins to dull, but the nausea remains.

"How come you two aren't slaves?" I ask.  Sure,
they're big and badass, but wouldn't that make them all the more
sellable? 

Apollon shrugs.  "We have an understanding with
Matthew."  Decidedly vague.  He flashes me a grin.

I eye him as we walk.

There's a tent-covered stand near the center of the marketplace
that has a rack of hanging garments.  Apollon and Jonas are on friendly
terms with the man who tends it.  We rifle through the items, and
eventually it's Oscar that finds my new jacket.  It's worn black leather,
and there's a hole in the left sleeve, just below the elbow, but it's a touch
bigger than the one I wear now and it zips all the way from waist to chin, with
a high collar that will keep my neck warm.  There's a blanket hung up to
partition off a changing area.  I try the jacket on and I'm hooked. 
I feel like I can breathe again.  We have less luck as far as pants are
concerned.  For the time being I'm stuck with what I have.  But we
find a soft, worn t-shirt for cheap.  Of course, it's the peddler who
comes out way ahead in the end.  He takes my current jacket-- which
happens to be in better condition than the one I'm getting-- and another silver
coin on top of it.  As far as I'm concerned, though, I'm getting a
bargain.

We make one more stop before going home-- a knife dealer. 
Rows of gleaming metal are arranged neatly on a blanket that's spread over a
line of upside-down crates.  There's a broad range of products, from
salvaged metal spikes taped onto makeshift handles, to the real thing--
weighted and balanced blades with carefully sharpened edges.  Apollon and
Jonas peruse the knives for me, taking only a moment to examine the
goods.  They narrow it down quickly to three different knives, then stand
mumbling to each other, passing them back and forth, testing the weight in
their hands.  They discard the third choice, and turn to me.

"Try these," Jonas says, holding one out. 

I don't know what it is I'm trying, but I take the knife, wrap my
fingers around the hilt, and attempt to look like I know what I'm doing.