Eden (12 page)

"No!" I cry, throwing his hands away from me as
tears erupt from my eyes.  "I didn't give up on you.  I did it.  It's
possible.  I can find him.  I can save him!"

"No, you can't!"  I don't know, or care, if he's
angry, or if he's just shouting so I can hear him over myself.  I don't want to
hear him, anyway.  Don't want to be told that I can't do it.  But his voice
cuts through everything, and nearly severs me in half.  "The Sentries
won't erase you this time!  They'll kill you!"

The breath catches halfway in.  I'm incapable of breathing
in or out.  I choke on my own throat, sputtering.  I'm about to crumble.

There seems to be a glitch in time.  One instant, I'm
sitting there choking.  The next, I'm in Jonas' arms, sprawled in his lap, and
he's rocking me, murmuring to me.  None of the words matter.  It's his voice. 
If it wasn't for his voice, my world would have imploded in that harsh instant
when I realized—when I
knew
what I had tricked myself into not realizing
all along.  He's right.  It's impossible.  I used up my one go at erasure. 
Now, my little Oscar is out there on his own.

But denial is powerful, and I'm spouting all kinds of
variations on it.  Sobbing them one after the other.  "We'll send someone
else.  We'll find another way."  And on and on.  I know them for lies, but
still they pour out of me.  All of us who know and love Oscar—me, Jonas,
Apollon—we've already been erased.  No one else can project his face to a
Sentry.  No one else will love him enough to wage that battle on his behalf. 
So I cry and cry.  Jonas whispers, and murmurs, and whatever his words, I'm
grateful.  There's an elusive wisp of peace in his arms, despite the gouge of
sorrow.  I let the tears out, and sometime later, I'm just little whimpers and
sniffles and hiccups.  I lean my face against his chest, and allow myself to
rest.

Who knows how much time passes?  Or cares?  It's a while, to
be sure.  Eventually, I'm able to scrape myself up and wipe my puffy face.  I
don't see it coming, or understand why, but in this moment, I have to tell
him.  "You're wrong about Apollon.  And even if you weren't, I don't love
him.  Not like that."

It's seldom that I catch him off guard, but now is one of
those times.  Surprise registers on his face as his eyes flick back and forth,
searching mine.  Then he gets hold of it, and his gaze moves away, avoiding
me.  He clears his throat.  After a moment, he manages, "If we do this...
if we take down the Sentries..."  His gaze comes back to mine, steadily. 
"Things will be better for everyone, then.  Even for Oscar.  Even if we
never find him."

I swallow, a new rage of emotions ripping through me.  More
to make sense of.  More to sort out.  So there I am, back at the beginning. 
Torn.

Chapter 11:  Full Moon

"I had a dream last night."

Apollon raises his eyebrows at me.  We're sitting in the
shade of his tent, but it's still far too warm.  A mosquito lands on my arm and
I smack it, leaving a red splotch as its carcass tumbles to the floor.

"You had a dream," he repeats, his tone mocking
me.

He's too far away to whap, so I settle for, "Smartass. 
I keep dreaming about this stupid alligator."

Now he really makes a face.

"But it's always been these glimpses.  Just an alligator. 
And I couldn't remember anything else."

"And now you do?"

I nod, leaning in.  "I didn't at first.  But I was
looking at Lily's journal again.  And there's this drawing in the back.  It's
just a sketch of a book.  This time, when I looked at it, it all came back to
me, like I was seeing the dream."  I pull a piece of paper from my pocket.

Apollon takes it and eyes me as he unfolds it.  He glances
down and frowns.  "A map?"

I nod, barely able to contain my excitement.

"A map to what?  An alligator?"

I shake my head, my face stretching into a grin.  "I
think it's the book.  It has to be."

"The book....  The one from the VR machine?"

Now I'm really nodding.

"Ah," Apollon says.  "The book with the ants
that turn into Sentries.  Of course."

I give him a look and he gives me one right back.

"And let me guess.  You want to go find it." 
Before I can answer, he says, "You're crazier than Jack, you know."

For a second, my eyes fly around the tent.  I can't believe
how bad I've been about keeping up with our crazy friend.  "How is he,
anyway?"

Apollon laughs.  "We introduced him to coconuts.  He's
happier than a squirrel."  His eyes go to a back corner of the tent.  Yep,
a pile of coconuts.  "Anyway," Apollon says, "do we really
want
a book with ants that turn into Sentries?"

"Nonono," I say.  "It's not about the
Sentries."

"It's not?"

I pass my hand over my hair.  How do I explain this? 
"That alligator.  It's personal.  It's a book for me.  The
real
book that Lily left for me."

He gives me a doubtful look.  "The alligator is
personal."

I throw my hands up in the air.  "I don't know.  It
is.  It just is."

He blinks at me with a little pout that says he's worried
for my sanity.  Finally, he sighs and looks at the paper in his hands. 
"...This is a pretty big map."

I nod.

His finger traces the line I've drawn through some landmarks
that littered my dream.  "X marks the spot.  So you want to play
pirates."

I tilt my head and study his face.  That sounds right,
somehow.

He sighs again.  Rubs his hands over his face.  Nods. 
"OK.  Tomorrow.  We can try to slip away—"

"Tonight," I correct, snatching my paper back from
him.

His mouth drops open.  He shakes his head.  "There's
some sort of party tonight.  It's a holiday, or something."

"I know."  I tuck my carefully folded paper back
into my pocket.  "Apparently, all of Miami celebrates it.  Freefall.  Once
every full moon."

"Sounds good to me.  Can't this wait one night?"

"You'll get your party next time around," I
soothe.  "If we're going to sneak away—and I'm pretty sure this will take
us out of Wynwood into god-knows-what—then there's no better time to do it. 
It'll be easier to sneak out,
and
, what's better, if all of Miami is
celebrating, we're less likely to get our asses killed."

He nods, skewing his lips to the side.  "I suppose
there is that.  Celine said that a lot of people go to some island.  But that
Wynwood's not going because they're avoiding one of the other tribes—Bricksomething."

"Yeah, that sounds right," I say.  "Spec told
us something like that, too."

He thinks about it.  "Alright."  He rubs his hands
together.  "What's the plan?"

"Damned if I know," I laugh.  "You're the one
who's read all the great stories.  You come up with the plan."

"You're really trusting me with the plan."  He
throws his head back and laughs.

I kick him in the shins, and when he's done cussing at me,
we put our heads together and conspire.

***

Maybe Apollon and I aren't as creative as we think.  To lose
the guards, our biggest challenge, we resort to one of the oldest tricks in the
book.  While I hang about in the apartment, Apollon throws open the door to the
stairwell.  I listen through the apartment door, ready to grab my stuff and
run.

"Quick!  Something's happening!" he yells.  Could
he get any more vague or generic?  Still, the thunder of feet rushing down the
stairs says they've bought it.

When I open the apartment door and emerge onto the landing,
Apollon is standing at the bottom of the steps grinning at me.  He looks like a
kid about to have an adventure.  I feel that way, too.

I take the stairs down two at a time and we run out onto the
terrace.  It's packed with people.  Music is drumming and thrumming through the
night.  For just a moment, weaving and darting between people, I'm a little
disappointed not to be staying.

We hit the stairs down to the street and fly down them. 
We're laughing as we run into the darkness, and I don't think anyone notices
who we are.  It seems like a night to be running and laughing.  What we're
doing is the most normal of things.  We're halfway down the street when Apollon
suddenly throws on the brakes, turns, and starts wandering back the way we
came, eyes glazed over.

I grab him by the arm.  "No you don't."

"Topless women," he says, his voice rapt with
awe.  "I saw topless women."

I give him a good tug and manage to make him stumble.  It's
enough to break the spell.  "Next time."

He sputters in protest.

"You've never had any problem talking women out of
their tops, anyway."  I turn and head down the street.

He follows, muttering.  He sounds like a little boy who's
been scolded.  "There was a whole herd of them.  A herd, I tell you."

"That might be too much, even for you."

He snorts.  "Doubtful."  Then he mutters something
I can't exactly make out, but I'm pretty sure it's about how great of a friend
he is and how much he gives up to accompany me on my stupid quests.  The word
stupid
is definitely in there.  He's still muttering when we get to the edge of
Wynwood, but as we move into the shadows, he suddenly recovers from his trauma
and sneaks properly.

We move along the dark edge of a building to the corner and
into an open street.  Or at least a gap between the buildings.  You can
definitely tell that we've crossed a border.  I've reworked my map after
studying Lily's drawing of the city.  The dream would have taken us through one
of the black star territories—Warner's alliance.  As it is, Wynwood is bordered
by those territories on the south and west sides, but there is an area where
four corners meet, with the forth corner being one of the areas marked 'No
Man's'.  We cross the street catty-cornered, directly southwest into the No
Man's.  I've asked enough questions since being here to know that the No Man's
is far from safe.  It's exactly what it sounds like—territory that belongs to
no tribe in particular.  There's a reason for that.  The No Man's is full of
undesirables—people who have been cast out of their tribes, or people who
refuse to be part of a tribe—not that I got any clear answers about
that
. 
I want to ask Apollon if he's managed to find out anything about it, but now is
not exactly the time for conversation.  We need to move carefully, quietly, and
keep our ears open.  The best thing we can do is to not be seen by anyone.

There's a marked increase in filth in the No Man's.  The
smell is strong, almost unbearable.  The lingering scent of putrid, decaying
waste—I don't want to know what's dead or where it is.  Underneath, the odor of
piss and shit and sweat covers everything.  I try not to gag... which means
trying not to breathe.

"Uhg," Apollon whispers.  "You made me miss a
party to trek through Shitville."

"Just don't step in it," I murmur.  "When we
get back, I don't want to have to smell you."

He makes no more comment—probably because opening your mouth
to talk means
tasting
the smell, and that's even worse than smelling it.

We stalk deeper into the No Man's, lifting our feet to step
over random debris.  Old rags, rained on and rotting into the sidewalk, or what
once must have been sidewalk.  There's some sort of vine that seems to be
taking over, climbing up and through the crippled buildings.  Between it,
sticking through almost every crack in the pavement, tufts of tall, stickery
grass hide things I probably don't want to step on.  We wade through it, trying
to stay in the shadow by the buildings.  There's so much dark here, and very
little light.  Really, only what the full moon provides.  The problem is that
we can't see what might be out here any more than what might be out here can
see us.

I hear a clicking sound behind us and whirl, raising my
gun.  It's the dog.  The damned dog.  Trailing us.  I lower my gun and pat him
on the head.  "Good boy," I whisper.

"Where the hell did you get that?" Apollon
whispers, eyeing my gun.

"In my drawer," I say, handing it over to him. 
"For you."

He pushes it back at me.  "You keep it."

"I have another."  I pat the back of my pants.

He snorts and takes the pistol.  "Thanks."

I fish in the bag I've slung over my shoulder and pull out a
couple of clips, thrusting them toward him.  Apollon pockets them and we walk
on in silence.  But so much for sneaking, because the dog decides to take the
lead.  He wanders in front of us, sniffing and investigating.  I suppose if
there's any danger, the dog will see it first.  The funny thing, though, is
that he seems to know exactly where we're going.  I don't need the map. 
Following the map means following the dog.  After a while, I just tuck the map
into my pocket.  The dog circles around obstacles and steers clear of certain
areas.  He stops, ears perked, then leads us to the other side of a street. 
Sits in the shadows for a long moment.  Voices come out of the darkness first,
and then a large group of men, all toting weapons, strolling down the street,
boasting loudly.  Some of them might be drunk.  The dog doesn't so much as
growl, but it tenses, crouched and ready to attack if necessary.  It's not
necessary.  The group moves past without seeing us.  When their voices fade,
the dog leads us off again.

"Nice," Apollon whispers to me.

"Totally," I agree.  I feel more confident as the
dog leads us off into the darkness.

We walk for another five minutes or so without a single
encounter.  Most of this place is the same—broken down, weed-covered, and
smelly.  We come to an intersecting street, and the dog freezes, it's head
whipping to the side, ear pricking.  Apollon and I whip out our guns, aiming
them down the street.

Two people, walking together in the darkness, freeze.  They
blink at us through wide, frightened eyes.  Then they turn tail and run.

We watch them go.

"Did you see that?" Apollon whispers, lowering his
gun.

I lower mine, too, nodding.  "They were old."

We glance at each other, stow our guns, and take off after
the dog, who is already on the other side of the street.

All in all, we walk for about fifteen minutes before we
reach our destination.  I know it when we're there, though I really have no
idea what this place has to do with an alligator.  It's an alley.  Just a
narrow old alley, like all the others.

The dog walks halfway through the alley, sits down, and
blinks at me.

Apollon and I exchange another look, then go to the dog to
inspect the pile of trash beside it.  We use our boots—thankfully I opted for
them instead of the sandals—to kick through the pile.  All trash.  Nothing
interesting.  The interesting thing is below the trash.

"Erm," Apollon says, looking at me.

I offer him a shrug.

"We're following a map to an alligator," he says,
"and you want me to go down
there
?"

I squat and pry up the metal disk that covers the entrance
to the sewer.

"Seriously," Apollon says.  "I already smell
bad enough."

"Then stay here and keep watch," I tell him as I
slip through, feet first.  I drop into the muckiness below, my feet splashing
into a shallow layer of water.

Apollon makes a bigger splash when I step to the side.

We look up.  The dog whines softly, but sits, looking into
the hole.

"Smart dog," Apollon says.

I don't need to say that I told him to stay, too.  My look
says it all.

He ignores it.  Of course.  "What now?"

I glance around, but can't really see anything.  "I
have no idea."

"Do you think there are really alligators down
here?"

"Probably."

"Great.  Just great."  He whips out an aether light—bless
him for always being prepared—and casts it's bluish beam around, illuminating a
tunnel.  We stand on a wide ledge next to a channel of watery goo.  The walls
are stained, cracked cement.  Nothing interesting.  We walk forward, down the
tunnel, and all the while Apollon mutters something about topless women.

We quickly reach an intersecting tunnel.  I'm not sure if
it's a good idea to go wandering down here where we could get lost, but it
turns out that we don't need to.  Immediately following the intersection,
there's an image painted on the opposite wall.  It looks like so much
graffiti—but then, who graffitis an alligator?

Apollon stands looking at it, holding the light, pursing his
lips.  "Well," he finally says, "what now?"

"Fuck," I whisper, squatting on my haunches at the
side of the channel.  "I don't know."