Outcasts (11 page)

“You should take care, though,” Jemma said, lips pursed in a sudden frown. “I can see how much you like her. Is it wise to spend time with her like this? She doesn’t think like you do or believe the same things. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Yes, these were all valid points Mason had considered time and again. “I’m well aware of our different philosophies, Jemma. Frankly, I like that she and I have much to debate. But if you’re concerned that I will become brokenhearted over this woman, don’t be. I cannot trust her, and trust matters more to me than how many lives she believes in or that she thinks copulation is equal to a game of checkers.”

Jemma burst into laughter then, going on for so long that she clutched her sides and lay down on the sofa.

Frustration simmered within Mason. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.”

The door opened then, and Levi and Zane entered. Zane’s hair was flat today — no spikes — but he still wore his gold spiral nose rings.

“Mason,” Levi said. “Jemma, what’s wrong?”

Jemma grabbed the top of the sofa and pulled herself to a sitting position, looking over the back at Levi and wiping her tears. “He has a date.”

Zane limped toward the couches, but Levi slowed to a stop by the
tables and crossed his arms. “They do that here? I thought that was ancient stuff.”

“Of course,” Zane said, sitting on the couch between Jemma and Mason’s. “Why wouldn’t we date?”

“I mean date like they did in Old movies,” Levi said, making his way to the back of Jemma’s couch. “I’m well aware of how people … trade paint, as you say.”

“What if that’s what she’s expecting?” Mason asked, suddenly twice as apprehensive as he had been. “Is that what ‘date’ means in the Safe Lands?”

Zane rolled his eyes. “Despite what you people think of us
flakers
, not every Safe Lander looks to pair up on the first date. Who is she?”

“Ciddah Rourke,” Mason said, intrigued by Zane’s missing ear. The entire pinna was gone, leaving only the tragus and the dark hole of the ear canal.

“Okay, I know her.” Zane shifted on the couch so that the spot where an ear should be was out of Mason’s view. “She’s a quiet one. Smart. A bit pretentious. Used to see her with Renzor a lot before he became the TDG.”

Lawten
again. Mason didn’t want to hear about him. “She told me once that the men here don’t listen. That she wanted someone to care and not leave.” It seemed important, somehow.

“Might be looking for a lifer, then, which means she’s a softie.” Zane combed his fingers through his stringy brown hair. “Okay, if it were me, I’d take her dancing.”

A terrifying proposition. “I don’t know how to dance,” Mason said.

“Does she?” Zane asked. “If not, you could take a dance lesson together.”

“Oh, yes!” Jemma clapped her hands together. “That sounds perfect.”

“No,” Mason said. “I don’t want to dance. I don’t want to make myself more nervous than I already am. I need something I can’t mess up.”

“Why?” Levi said. “You should be focused on getting the kids out of the boarding school, not trying to make some flaker like you.”

Unbelievable. “You told me to make her like me,
Elder Levi.
You said to use her to get the information I need. She’s not apt to give me information if she dislikes me.”

Levi came around the end of the couch and sat beside Jemma. “Fine. Sorry. I forgot.” He took hold of Jemma’s hand and she leaned against him.

“Go on a picnic — that’s what Levi always did.” Jemma kissed Levi’s cheek. “I love your picnics.” Levi turned his head and kissed her lips. Mason looked back to Zane.

“Go on grid and look until you find something fun,” Zane said. “There’s tons to do here.”

“Mason,” Jemma said, “you’re going to have to talk to her and look at her.”

Mason nodded his understanding. “I can do that.”

“Talk about things she’s interested in, though,” Jemma said. “Not just things you know about. And eye contact, Mason. Look at her a lot. Count to five before you look away. And let her touch you. At least three seconds before you move.”

“Three seconds.” Wait. Three seconds or five? Better go with five on everything, just to be sure.

“Brush up against her arm as you walk,” Zane said. “Make it look accidental. That’s what I do. And if you run out of things to say, compliment her.”

“Say she looks pretty,” Jemma said.

“Again and again or just once?” Mason asked.

“Send her a pre-date text tap,” Zane said. “Say you’re looking forward to the date. And text her right after the date to say you had a nice time. Then wait, like, four days and make another date. Don’t wait longer than a week or she’ll think you don’t like her. And not sooner than three days, or she’ll think you’re gummy.”

Perhaps Mason should have brought along a notebook and pen.

“Where are you getting all this?” Levi asked Zane.

“I took a class,” Zane said. “They’ve got classes for everything.”

Mason doubted he had time to take the class.

“That reminds me,” Levi said to Mason. “Zane got you a private Wyndo. Tap me when you’re in a secure location because I need to tell you about some developments we’ve had since I saw you last.”

Tonight
, Jemma mouthed.
We’re leaving the bunker.
She pointed at the door, making her fingers move like a walking person.

Leaving? That must be why Jemma had been hiding behind the refrigerator.

“Communicate with Ciddah on your regular Wyndo, though, since hers is monitored,” Zane said. “The one I made you is only for talking with us.”

“I understand,” Mason said, though Zane didn’t seem to be worried about anyone monitoring their conversation. Who but General Otley and Lawten Renzor were they afraid of?

“So you think the medic knows something?” Levi asked. “About the boarding school?”

“Um …” Mason didn’t understand. Was it safe to talk about this? It must be or Levi wouldn’t have asked, right? “She knows everything about it. But I made her angry today when I … Oh! I forgot.” Thoughts of the date with Ciddah had turned his brain to mush. “Enforcers attacked Jack’s Peak a few weeks ago. I saw Kosowe today in the SC. She’ll have had her ETP by now. Three embryos. And I also discovered Shaylinn is carrying twins and they’re Omar’s. Twin pregnancies have a higher incidence of nausea, so that’s likely — ”

Jemma gasped and clapped both hands over her mouth.

Levi groaned and set his face in his hands.

“ — why Shaylinn has been so sick.” Clearly Mason had gone about sharing that news in the wrong way as well. Could he do nothing right today?

Yet Zane chuckled as if this were great entertainment. “You people are better than watching
C Factor.
I see why you’re worried about your date, though, peer. Tact is
not
your strength.”

R
ed tugged on Omar’s hand, trying to pull him off the sofa. “Come and dance, valentine.”

Omar pretended not to hear her and took another puff from his PV. If she thought he was completely juiced, she’d leave him be. And that’s what he wanted. To be alone.

She eventually got the hint and sauntered off to the dance floor on her own. The disco lights made reflections float around the room and over the dancers. Omar watched Red from the sofa, not ever looking directly at her. She approached a couple and started dancing with the man, whose partner didn’t look pleased about the intrusion.

Typical Red. She could turn on the charm for anyone. Omar really didn’t like her very much. Or did he? He couldn’t decide. She was just so … pushy.

Relationships in the Safe Lands weren’t exclusive. If a guy saw a femme he liked, he went after her. By that logic, Omar could have gone after three girls today.

And Shay yesterday.

The thought brought on the familiar aching guilt that haunted him. Levi was right: Omar made all the wrong decisions. He was using
Red … and abusing his body with the stims. He’d already contracted the thin plague. It was his fault so many of the Glenrock elders had died. And then to have such thoughts about Shay?

Truly, if he was looking for fairness in life, death was the place to start. He deserved to die for the things he’d done. No question.

He took a long drag from his vaporizer but knew this concoction wouldn’t kill him. Why couldn’t he be consistent with his doses? When he wanted more, he cut back. And when he thought he was getting too crazy with the juice, he pushed it further.

Who was Omar Strong, anyhow? What was his life worth? The people of Glenrock saw him as a traitor. Could he ever change that perception?

He took another drag and closed his eyes, wanting the buzz to be more than it was, wanting it to pull him under, to escape to that euphoric place where nothing mattered.

“Hay-o, Strong.”

Omar opened his eyes in time to see Zane fall into the chair across from him. He’d slicked back his hair tonight — no spikes. The disco lights sparkled on his nose rings. Omar focused on the place where Zane’s ear should be. Creepy. “What happened to your ear, anyway?”

Zane rubbed the side of his head. “You here with Red again?”

“Fine, don’t tell me.” Omar shrugged one shoulder. “Came with Red. Hoping not to leave with her.”

Zane chuckled. “I hear you, peer. I lived that nightmare myself. Can’t believe you’ve lasted this long.” Zane stared at Omar, squinting his eyes a little. “You talk to Levi today?”

“About the move? Yeah.” He had to be over at the bunker at three in the morning. He should probably be home sleeping right now. Zane hadn’t responded and was still staring. “What?”

“So you roughed up a few times. Move on. Don’t cower at your brother’s feet like he’s some kind of enforcer rank.”

“I never cower at anyone’s feet.” Except maybe Belbeline’s. Maybe Zane could help him get into the Highlands where he could try to find
Bel. Like it would matter. “I have to do what Levi says. He’s the village elder.”

“What village? You people are in the Safe Lands now. Look, this place will destroy you. I know it’s hard to resist. That stuff …” He nodded to Omar’s vaporizer. “And that …” He nodded to the dance floor where Red was dancing with a girl with FloArt lightning bolts up her arms, which glowed neon blue and pink under the black lights.
Wow …
Zane kicked Omar’s foot, ripping his gaze away from the girls and back to him. “You’ve got to fight it, peer. If you let yourself get lost in it, you lose who you are.”

“What’s it matter?” Omar asked. “I never knew who I was, anyway.”

“Who you are and what you’re about are the only things that do matter. Don’t let this place turn you into a mimic.”

“I’m not a mimic.” Omar might wear some of the popular colors, but he’d never color his hair or skin. He preferred SimArt to Roller Paint.

“There’s more to mimic than fashions. This place kills the soul. Most people are walking around half dead. And from the look of you, you’re well on your way. Fight it, peer.”

Omar still didn’t know why it mattered. “What about you? You’re infected, right?”

“Yeah … and I still have moments of weakness. It burns to live your whole life separated from reality, to be trained to resist only to find out training isn’t enough. The temptation is too strong. And it feels good to give in. Real good. And suddenly you wonder about everything you were ever taught. Who was right? Does any of it even matter?”

That sounded about right to Omar. “Does it?”

Zane stood up and limped over to stand in front of Omar, looking down. “What you do doesn’t matter as much as who you are. But you have to decide who you are. Who you
want
to be. And no one can decide that for you. Not your donors, not your brother, not some flame, and not that juice. You decide. Then you stick to it with everything you’ve got. Once you know who you are and what you stand for, you’ll know what matters and what to do about it.” He slapped Omar’s
shoulder twice as he moved around the sofa. “Figure it out before you die, okay, peer?”

“Yeah, sure.” Easier said than done, though.

Zane left, and Omar watched Red and the FloArt femme dance, thinking over what Zane had said.

Who was he? Back in Glenrock, he’d always wanted to be a hunter, but that was over now. Then he’d wanted to be strong. He supposed he still wanted that, but lifting weights wasn’t enough. He wanted to matter to people, to be a hero. And he wanted a nice girl like Kendall Collin or Shay.

Omar left Red on the dance floor and exited the club. Outside, the temperature was cool. He paused to watch a helicopter sail overhead and wondered what the enforcers were doing. Enforcers were the only ones who used helicopters in the Safe Lands, and only a select few had access.

A yell pulled Omar’s gaze down the street where some guy was kicking an electric sign that had once hung on the marquee of the Night Owl dance club. The electric orange pipes that outlined the owl sparked each time the guy kicked it.

Omar had always liked that sign. Someone had painted intricate feathers on the owl, but in the dark, he could see only the orange outline of the bird and the yellow circles that were its eyes.

Owls were solitary, watchful, intelligent, nocturnal —different from most birds. Misunderstood, like Omar. He sometimes thought he even looked like an owl with his round face and large eyes.

A sudden rage took over — likely stim-induced. “Hey!” Omar ran toward the guy, ready to defend the sign if need be. But the guy took off down the street, abandoning his prey.

Omar stopped and stared at those yellow circles. “You and me,” he told the sign. “We need to make some changes.” He picked up the dented metal, careful not to cut himself on the broken glass piping, and carried it back to his apartment.

When he walked through his apartment door, the sign whacked against the dumbbells he’d left on the floor. He really needed to put
them somewhere else. It was 11:57 p.m. He had to be at the bunker in three hours. Might as well pull an all-nighter.

He set the sign on the floor in the middle of his kitchen and marveled at the workmanship that had gone into its creation. It wasn’t glitzy like most of the Safe Lands signage. Someone had painted each feather with black, brown, yellow, and white paint — they were all unique. Omar grabbed a screwdriver from his art box and set to work removing the brace bands that held the glass piping in place.