The Dead-Tossed Waves (13 page)

This time as we faced each other on top of the Barrier we could choose differently. I could give in to my fear and take
his hand and pull him back down toward Vista. We could both be safe. And then we’d never have ended up here, never have been confronted by this moment.

But of course, that wouldn’t change the fact that my mother isn’t my real mother. It wouldn’t change that I’m not really her daughter. That I don’t know who I am anymore. Even if last night had never happened, I’d still be lost.

“I can’t come home,” he says, almost like a moan, his mouth against my hair.

“Please,” I whisper. Everything inside me screams, desperately wanting things to be different.

I can feel the way his body shudders under mine. The way his chest heaves. I can feel him sobbing in my arms.

“I’m scared, Gabry.”

My chest aches. I think about him finding his way out here after last night. Stumbling through the darkness, terrified and bleeding. Of him spending the day here, tracking the sun across the sky through the empty window. Burning up with fever. Alone. Terrified. I wonder what I would do if it were me instead of him. How I would spend my last days, knowing what comes next.

“I’ll stay here with you,” I tell him. “I won’t leave until …” I can’t finish the sentence.

“You’ll get in too much trouble.” Every one of his tears scorches as it falls against me.

I think of Cira, of the others in the cage in the square, and I wonder if I should tell Catcher about them or if it will only add to his anguish. There’s nothing he can do for her, nothing either of us can do.

“You have to go home,” he says. “Your mother will worry otherwise and she might call out the Militia,” he adds.

I feel the anger from before seeping through me. I still
don’t know if I can face her. Too many questions swirl and crash inside me. Did my real mother wonder why I never came home as a child? Could she still be out there in the Forest, looking for me? Wondering about me?

He steps away from me, the lighthouse beam pulsing between us, ticking away the time he has left.

He’s right—if I don’t go home my mother will send them out after me. I’ll be in as much or more trouble than Cira and the others. “I’ll come tomorrow night,” I tell him. “You’ll still be here tomorrow.” I mean for it to be a statement rather than a plea, but still I stand frozen, waiting for his answer.

He hesitates. “I should have a few days,” he says cautiously. “It wasn’t a bad bite”

I cringe at the word—the stark reminder of his infection. I look around at the empty room. I don’t want to leave him. Don’t want the night to be over. Don’t want to face what the next days will bring.

“You should go,” he says. “And you shouldn’t come back. What if …” He swallows and his voice cracks as he continues. “What if I’ve already turned and I attack you?” He reaches out a hand, drawing his thumb down my throat. “I don’t want … I can’t hurt you.”

“You won’t,” I murmur, placing my hand over his, holding it against my cheek.

“This isn’t the way it was supposed to be,” he says, his voice breaking. “I had plans ….” He squeezes his eyes shut, his entire face collapsing and body shuddering. “Last night, that was what my life was supposed to be. It’s supposed to be you.” He brushes his fingertips along my temple.

His words cut into me, his desires and dreams mingling with my own, throwing at me everything I’ve lost. Everything that will never be mine.

“Are you telling me I can’t come back?” I ask him. As much as I desperately want him to say no, a part of me that’s weak and scared wants him to tell me yes, to relieve me of my burden and terror of this place and what he’ll become. What if I’m not strong enough? What if I fail him?

“It’s not safe,” he whispers.

“I don’t care,” I tell him. And suddenly I realize that it’s true. Strength and purpose and desire bloom inside me, soaring through my veins.

We stare at each other, not knowing how to leave it. And then he reaches out and pulls me to him again, kissing my eyes, my cheeks, my jaw—everywhere but my lips. Then he drops my hands and goes back to the window.

“Be careful,” he tells me. The muscles in his shoulders ripple as he digs his fingers into the wood of the sill.

I open my mouth. I want to tell him something, something he can hold on to when he’s scared. I want to tell him that I think I might love him. I want to fill the room with the hope that maybe love can make it okay. But everything is so trapped inside.

Instead I turn and feel my way down the dark cramped stairs and out into the street, everything blurred with loss and pain falling on me, dragging me down.

When I look back at the building the gaping windows are silent and dark. I want to see Catcher standing and watching. I need a memory to hold on to other than the fading feel of his heat against my skin, the absence of his hand on my cheek.

I squeeze my fingers around the knife Elias gave me and start down the street, trying not to cry. I’m just heading toward the amusement park and the wink of the lighthouse beyond when a figure falls into step beside me.

H
e’s going to turn, Gabry,” Elias says. “There’s nothing you can do about it”

I clench my teeth and keep walking. I want to tell him to shut up. I want to scream at him and tell him that he can’t understand what he’s saying and how much his words hurt me. I want to beat on his chest until he realizes that he’s wrong, even though we both know he’s not.

“What are you doing here?” I ask instead.

He puts a hand on my arm, stopping me, and I pull out of his reach, frowning. I want to remember the feel of Catcher’s warmth, want to remember his scent. Not this boy’s.

“If he turns I’m going to have to kill him.” He says the words plainly, without malice, but they cut me nonetheless.

I slap him. Before I can stop myself I feel the sting of his skin under my fingers. He just stands there, half his face now red in the moonlight.

I clamp my hand over my mouth, my eyes wide, unable to believe what I’ve done. I swing around and keep walking,
trying to control my anger and sorrow, trying hard to ignore the reality of our situation. After a moment he catches up with me. I start to climb over a tall pile of rubble when I hear him sigh behind me. “I’m sorry,” he says, and I stop, my foot twisted between two rocks and my hands clenching the edge of a fallen wall.

Slowly I let go, sliding to the ground and kicking at the debris pile in frustration. I want to keep falling; I want to slip through the pavement and into the earth and sleep forever as if none of this has ever happened. I want the pain and fear to end.

But I don’t want to accept this boy’s apology. It’s as if accepting his words means accepting the truth: that Catcher has little time before he’s gone.

“You have to understand, it’s not safe for him out there. For any of us. If he turns and there aren’t enough other Unconsecrated around him in the ruins …” His words trail into the darkness.

“Then what?” I ask him, putting my hands on my hips, digging my fingers into the soft flesh until I feel bone.

He stares at me, his eyebrows drawn together, his lips tight. “You know what happens when an Infected turns and there aren’t enough other Unconsecrated around,” he says as if it hurts him to force me to remember.

I close my eyes, thinking of the Breaker last night and of Mellie. How they’d run so fast, been so out of control. Suddenly I see Catcher the same way and I shake my head to clear the image. I don’t want to talk about Catcher, about his infection, anymore.

“Who are you?” I ask him. “Why are you out here alone in the ruins? You said you were looking for someone.”

His fingers clench into fists and he starts to turn away
from me. He stares back into the city and then looks at me again and his shoulders seem to fall a little. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, his voice sounding old and worn. “I’m not sure I’ll ever find her.”

I rise to my feet and step closer. I want to comfort him. I want to find something to say that will give him some hope because I need to believe that hope can still exist. But I can’t force the words from my mouth. Too much has happened in the past day to make me question the role of dreams in this world.

I turn away from him and watch the lighthouse blink in the night. I should be there, tucked in bed and safe. I should’ve never left. I start picking my way up the rubble pile toward home again.

“You don’t want to go that way,” he says. “The men from your town are still patrolling.”

“I thought they’d given up,” I say. Exhaustion eats through my bones. “Then I’ll have to figure out a way to get to my boat.”

He shakes his head and says, “There are still Unconsecrated on that stretch of the beach.”

I slump onto the rocks at my feet and drop my head into my hands, my limbs heavy and worn out. I’m trapped. In the morning my mother will realize, if she hasn’t yet, that I’m not coming home and eventually they’ll start searching. If they find me out here I’ll be sent to the Recruiters with the others.

When I raise my head Elias is still there. He takes a long breath and then holds out a hand. “If I get you home you can’t come back,” he says, pulling me to my feet.

“Fine,” I tell him, not ready to think about tomorrow so soon. He holds my gaze a moment. “It’s too dangerous,
Gabrielle,” he says. His hand lingers along my wrist, so light and soft that I can’t tell the difference between the hot night air and the warmth of his flesh.

“Promise me,” he prods.

I feel myself leaning toward him as if he’s the only light in the dark. I nod, unwilling to put my lie into words, and then he turns, his fingers dropping from mine, and starts walking toward the beach.

When we reach the seawall along the dunes I can see the footprints of the Mudo stretching along the waterline on the other side. We pause and listen but hear nothing, the crash of the waves drowning out most sounds. My boat rests where I left it, tilting to one side, the incoming tide reaching like fingers toward the hull.

Elias shakes his head. “This is stupid,” he says. “We barely made it the first time. It’s crazy to try again.”

“I have to get back,” I tell him.

He closes his eyes as if trying to come to a decision. And then his shoulders slump. “Fine.” And he begins to climb the smooth boards of the seawall.

I follow him and drop to the other side, my landing soft and silent in the deep sand. I start forward but Elias holds out a hand, stopping me. I pull the knife he gave me from the loop at my hip, ready, and look around in the moonlight, wondering if there are more downed Mudo buried beneath us or if they all followed me on the beach earlier.

He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. “You go ahead—I’ll fight off any that follow.”

I don’t have time to be terrified. If I hesitate and give in to the fear then I might miss my chance to make it to the boat. So I nod and slide down the dune, hitting the beach at a run. I
stumble a few times but finally find firm footing in the damp sand closer to the waves.

I look over my shoulder to see Elias still crouched by the seawall, ready. I make it to the boat and begin to push, trying to heave it out into the waves, but it’s still full of water and deeply lodged in the sand. It barely budges. I drop my knife into the bottom and angle my body, trying to push harder, but my feet slip on the sand.

I glance back, seeing Elias’s impatience. I try again and again and slowly the boat starts to move as I grunt and strain with the effort.

Behind me I hear footsteps and look up. It’s Elias sprinting toward the boat waving his hands, his mouth open. I can hear the sound of his voice but not the words, which are too jumbled. I fumble in the boat for my knife but the water is dark and I can’t see past the surface. I skid my hand across the bottom, feeling a sharp sting when the blade slices my palm.

Elias is almost on me. I finally understand what he’s screaming: “Go! Get the boat in the water! Now!”

It’s like last night when everything became slow and fast. Down the beach a Breaker runs toward us. And I realize in that instant that I recognize him. It’s the redhead, Griffin, who was there at the amusement park with us. I barely spoke to him; he was the one dancing with Mellie.

My chest feels as though it’s being crushed with the weight of this memory. I can’t catch my breath and there’s nothing to hold on to but the rails of the boat. Griffin is nothing anymore. He’s no one and neither is Mellie. They’re both dead, just like Catcher will be. I bend over and heave, spots flashing in front of my eyes. I almost want to give up, to slip into the waves and let them carry me away.

I’m jolted out of my thoughts when Elias slams against the hull. He screams “Push!” at me and suddenly the world snaps back into place. I can breathe again, the urgency of the moment infusing me with strength, and I dig my feet into the sand, throwing my weight against the boat.

It drags across the sand so slowly that it feels as though a hundred thousand waves have crashed onto the shore before we finally touch water. Elias pushes me into the stern as the bow slams against the surf. I look past his shoulder and see the thing that was Griffin racing closer, fingers tearing at the air and teeth bared.