Outcasts (5 page)

“Get a room, Omar!” Jordan’s voice carried from below.

Omar ignored him.

But Red pulled away and grinned. “That’s a good idea.” She hopped off Omar’s lap and stood. “Let’s go, trig.” She pulled him out of the seat and down the steps toward the exit. They passed Levi, Jordan, and Zane at the door.

“You dirt bunnies make me sick,” Jordan said.

“We try, shell,” Red said, blowing Jordan an air kiss.

A few more steps through the darkness of the corridor, and he and Red left the theater. Red stopped to give one of the guards at the door a lingering kiss. On the lips. One of her old conquests, Omar assumed. Mad annoying. But if he said anything, they’d fight. Omar just needed to get used to how things worked here.

Or maybe find a girl who wasn’t from here. A girl like Kendall. She was an outsider too. Maybe they’d make a better match.

Finally they reached the sidewalk, passed Sim Slingers, and headed toward his apartment. Red walked with her arms around him, one hand fisting the front of his shirt, the other tucked into his back pants pocket. It made him uncomfortable, like he didn’t know her well enough for such a public display of affection despite the intimate things they’d done in private. The thought gave him pause, didn’t make sense.

Omar took another drag of his PV, and the stims relaxed him. Red’s hands did too. Kissing while walking wasn’t the easiest of tasks, so they made several stops on their walk to his place to enjoy each other. Red made him feel alive, like the brown sugar. He wanted to feel alive. He needed to.

Find pleasure in life, right? That’s what they always said in the Safe Lands.

It was during one such stop in the park that the sound of an owl drew Omar’s attention.

“What’s wrong?” Red asked.

Omar stepped back from Red, his gaze flitting over the branches above. “I heard an owl.”

“So?”

He kept looking, every rustling leaf a potential perch. “I didn’t know they came into the Safe Lands.”

“Who cares?”

Omar did. And when the curved shadow of the bird panned across the lamp-lit street that edged the park, Omar chased it.

“Where are you going?” Red called.

Omar sprinted down the sidewalk after the receding shadow. He ran for three blocks and lost the bird somewhere over the Outrunner building. He stopped to catch his breath, consumed with the image of the wingspan stretched across the center of the street. He needed to draw.

“You. Have a. SimTalk tap. From … Red.”

“SimTalk off,” Omar said.

He ran all the way to his apartment in the Alexandria. He walked inside and tripped over the dumbbells he’d left on the floor by the door before he remembered to turn on the lights. Once he could see, he grabbed a fresh sheet of paper and nub of charcoal and fell onto the tile floor in the middle of his kitchen, which was really more of an art studio now. His hands quickly drew the shape of the owl’s wings. He blended the shadow with the side of his fist, caressing the paper, creating the look of freedom. Wings that could carry him away from this place. Away from the chains that bound him so tightly.

Oh, how he wanted to be free.

Five sheets of paper later, Omar sat back on his heels and studied his work. He’d drawn the face of an owl on the body of a man. A flowing cape framed the figure.

It was the Owl — Omar’s favorite superhero from the comic books of Old that his Grandpa Seth had given him years before he died.

Levi was right; life wasn’t fair. But that was okay. Because if
everything was fair in the world, nobody would win. And Omar was sick of losing.

He was also sick of numbing his pain with temporary pleasures. There had to be another way to deal with his grief and guilt. A way that would prove to Levi that Omar wasn’t a worthless flaker. That he could be a hero too.

He could become the Owl, a superhero for the Safe Lands.

He grabbed a fresh canvas and propped it on the easel, then began to paint the Owl.

“Omar?”

He jumped at the sound of Red’s voice in his apartment.
Maggots.
He didn’t want her here, but he’d added her ID to his door lock a week ago, and now she could come and go as she pleased.

He kept his back to her, hoping if he ignored her, she’d leave. But her footsteps crossed the room. She crouched just behind him, blocking some of his light, and reached up the back of his shirt. Her long fingernails scratched lightly up his spine and caused goose bumps to stand out along his arms.

He didn’t want to want this girl. He wanted to paint. He wished she would go away. Why couldn’t he just tell her that?
Go away, Red. Leave me alone.

Instead he allowed her to take the paintbrush and palette from his hands. She set them on the paint-splattered floor, then turned him to face her, slid her fingernails up the backs of his hands and over his wrists and forearms, slowly sliding her hands up his arms, up, up, until her fingers locked behind his neck.

He let out a happy moan and thought,
Go away, Red.

But she kissed him. And he kissed her back, weakling that he was. How could someone so weak become any kind of superhero?

He couldn’t.

Women were nothing but trouble for superheroes. As soon as she left, he’d reprogram his door lock so she couldn’t get inside next time.

Next time. It would be easier to resist her next time.

M
ason paced along the sidewalk in front of the G.I.N. vending machine that sat across the street from the Safe Lands Boarding School. It was Tuesday morning, and the older students should be walking to the park soon. The boarding school housed kids from age three to thirteen. He’d seen Penelope and Nell, who were both thirteen, in the group before, and he was determined to speak with one of them today.

The clamor of children’s voices that came from behind the red brick wall surrounding the school antagonized him. Somewhere inside, children from Glenrock were playing. Were they afraid and lonely? Or were they enjoying themselves? Mason had found much of the Safe Lands fascinating, and he could only imagine what Safe Lands novelties might distract children. For a brief moment he imagined that the children would refuse to leave when he and others from Glenrock finally arrived to rescue them, preferring this eternal playground to home.

Surely a longing for their mothers would trump such innovation.

An iron gate yawned open to his left, and a line of students departed the school, single file, down the sidewalk toward where he
was standing. Excellent. He turned to face the vending machine, but instead of examining the contents for purchase, he used the glass’s reflection to monitor the passing students.

“Get the flakes,” a boy told him.

Mason turned and met the boy’s cheeky grin as he walked by.

“Flakes are the best,” the boy called after him.

A dark-haired girl grabbed Mason’s arm. “Buy me a fizzy?” She had long fake eyelashes and a familiar face. Penelope. “Pen — Please?” Mason said, looking for the teacher and hoping he hadn’t been overheard. “Um … Don’t forget your manners.”

“Please!” a dozen children seemed to yell at once.

“Leave the gentleman to his shopping,” the teacher said from the end of the line, her tone stern yet bored. “Keep the line moving.”

Penelope slipped something into Mason’s hand and stepped back into line.

Mason watched her go, then thought better of it, and turned back to the vending machine. He had planned to simply follow the class today, but perhaps Penelope’s idea was the better one. He purchased a package of chocolate chews from the vending machine and followed the students, keeping a dozen yards behind. Up ahead, the street ended, forcing traffic to the left or right along the road that bordered the park. The line of students trailed across the street, blocking traffic. Mason went into a Lift on the corner, which was an establishment that sold hot and cold beverages with the option of added “lifts” or supplements, be they vitamin, adaptogen, or stimulant.

He sat at a table at the window and watched the students enter the park. He unfolded the paper Penelope had given him.

Mason’s nerves, heart rate, and muscles relaxed. There was hope here. And Penelope still wanted out, which probably meant most of the others did too. Good.

He left the Lift and walked back past the school. He scanned the skyline, considering the placement of the Nordic Apartments, the roads, and the yellow cameras that were everywhere in the Safe Lands. Zane had promised he could take care of the cameras. The Nordic was located on the three-way corner of where Emmons Road crossed one end of Treasury Road. To the east, Treasury dead-ended at the Midlands wall. He likely wouldn’t be able to get the kids through the Midlands gate. Perhaps there was a way to take the storm drains, which would make the basement exit ideal … But if they couldn’t get to the drains through the boys’ dorm and had to use the roof of the girls’ dorm, they’d still need to come out of the Nordic and get underground.

Levi would need to explore the drains underneath the school.

If they were going to have to get out through the roof, it would be nice to speak with someone who’d attended the school, especially a female. But the only female in the rebel group was Red, and Levi had forbidden Mason from involving her in their plans.

There was Ciddah, of course. But ever since Mason had found the MiniComm in his apartment he’d been avoiding Ciddah, working beside her in near silence.

Levi’s words came to mind:
“Stop thinking of her as a person. She’s
the enemy, Mase. Use her to get what you need so we can all get out of here.”

Was Ciddah Rourke his enemy? Despite the MiniComm, he simply couldn’t accept that — at least not as harshly as Levi had put it. No one who treated patients with such gentle care could be all bad.

Ciddah had been his friend. And she had gone to the boarding school and had the information he needed. Though she’d never help him. Not with this. He couldn’t even risk asking her about the school because she might report his suspicious questions to enforcers. But he had to risk it, didn’t he?

He didn’t know what to do. He liked Ciddah too much to play the games Levi had asked of him. But she was his only option. That woman made him an irrational mess.

Enough of his pathetic emotions. Getting out of the Safe Lands and finding a cure for Omar and Mia was all that mattered. Mason could lament his poor choice in women once all of Glenrock was safely outside this diseased fortress.

He took a deep breath and walked away from the boarding school, headed back to his apartment. Tomorrow he would engage Ciddah in a conversation that would, hopefully, lead to some answers. Time to “use her,” as Levi had said, the way she’d been using him from the start.

T
wenty-six days had passed since the women had escaped the Highland Harem. And that was how long Shaylinn and Naomi had been banished to the underground bunker in the Midlands. In that time, Shaylinn had been allowed to leave only twice, both times to attend Bender’s rebel meetings with her brother.

Naomi hadn’t been allowed to leave at all. She was far too pregnant now. And she took more naps than a cat.

When Shaylinn wasn’t in the bathroom on her knees dealing with tedious amounts of morning sickness, she entertained herself by cleaning the bunker. It was hard work, but the place was gross, and she didn’t like the idea of her new nephew crawling around in such filth — though hopefully they’d all be long gone before the child learned to crawl.

Shaylinn filled a bucket with soapy water. Jemma wanted her to use bleach, but Shaylinn couldn’t tolerate the smell. She carried the bucket out of the main living area and into the corridor. The space was concrete and cold and stretched out like a very long and wide hallway. It smelled of moss and metal. Burnt sienna stains painted stripes down the walls where rusty water had run and dried. Omar had taught
Shaylinn the color burnt sienna, and the rusty stains reminded her of the boy she loved.

Maybe she was too young to love a boy. She hadn’t meant to. If she had, she would have had the sense to love someone who might love her back, someone who wasn’t so … lost. And stupid.

Tears flooded her eyes, thinking about Omar being infected with the thin plague. Why had he done everything Elder Eli had warned them not to do?

She wished her mother were here so she could talk to her about all this. Mother had always been a good listener. Jemma was too intent on fixing everything, but some things just couldn’t be fixed.

Shaylinn reached into the warm water, squeezed out her sponge, and scrubbed at the stain on the wall. The bright color smeared, coming off easily. Drops of burnt sienna water rolled down the wall, leaving clean stripes of gray behind.

A while back she’d had a dream that had showed a happy future. Shaylinn and a man in a home with several children. The dream had helped her when she’d needed confidence to get through the procedure in the Surrogacy Center. But that had been almost a month ago, and her confidence had waned since then.

It wasn’t fair. Pregnant without ever having kissed a boy. Unless she was to count kisses from her father or the time Ewan, one of the harem enforcers, had kissed her without asking. But Shaylinn didn’t count those kisses.