To Be Free (5 page)

It's by no means a relief when
we reach the lodge, the door locked and a sign clearly stating that
it's closed for the season. I swear breathlessly, pushing past the
man jiggling the doorknob uselessly and pressing my hands to the
metal. My clothes are soaked and clinging to me, but I manage to
dredge up an ounce of power and manipulate time once more.

It's not something I can
explain; it's kind of like imagining something happening, seeing it
in my mind and pushing with my mind, like trying to move a rock.
You know where you want it so you push against it until it
shifts.

The deadbolt clicks and the
door opens, giving us sweet shelter from the hellfire raining from
the sky. It's not as warm as I'd want it to be, but I think I read
somewhere once that a drastic change from cold to hot is a
sure-fire way of getting a cold.

Pressing my back to the door
once Quinn is inside and locking it once more, I slip to the floor
with a grateful sigh, my lungs threatening to collapse and my legs
no longer able to support me. Thunder peels outside like some sort
of animalistic groan, denied its prey.

Eleven's swearing in French, a
blue-streak that hasn't stopped for a good ten seconds as he
collapses onto his ass on the wooden floor, leaning back on a hand
to stare up at the ceiling and inhale greedy lungfuls of air.

I can't help it: I laugh.

The hazel-eyed man looks at me
as if I've gone crazy - and in a sense, I believe I have - while I
double over breathlessly, the stitch in my side protesting loudly
as I clutch my sides. The sound is foreign from my vocal chords,
having been a prisoner in the facility for about four years and
given no reasons to laugh, but as I laugh I feel... a little more
alive. A little more like me.

Then, to my surprise, he joins
in. He scoffs as he looks away, but his laughter joins mine until
we're both in relieved hysterics.

When it dies down we look at
each other, sitting on the ground and lacking the energy to stand
while the thunder booms with each lightning strike cracking to the
earth. The wind is howling and the rain is beating on the roof like
jackhammers, but for now we're safe. We're out of the storm that's
nothing short of what blew through the facility scant hours
ago.

Finally I glance around, taking
in the dusty atmosphere.

Quinn gets to his feet in
search of a light source, the power cut for the season, so as he
rummages for something to light the room I pull myself to my feet
with the help of a nearby potted plant - fake, of course - and grip
it tightly while my legs shake, unwilling to obey.

He comes back with one of those
old-time gas lamps, a flame flickering as he stops nearby, tilting
his head to the side curiously as he watches me struggle to stand.
Without saying a word he pulls my right arm over his shoulders,
holding my wrist with his right hand and giving me the lamp to hold
in my left so he can hold the waistband of my pants with his.

"How did you know this was
here?" he asks instead, still standing in the entry as we look at
what's illuminated in the pool of light offered by the lamp.
Everything is brought into sharp lines of orange light - the
couches and the coffee table, the mounted antlers on the wall, the
fireplace (I tell him it'd be a bad idea to get that burning, and
he says we should either close the blinds or steer clear of the
windows, too) and the front desk. I gesture with my chin to an open
archway leading further into the lodge that smells like dust and
still air, sneezing. He laughs beside me.

"My parents and I came here
during the fall to hike," I inform him, frowning. He nods as we
begin walking through the lodge. "They have a gorgeous trail that
goes north-northwest, stretching to another outpost. It takes
roughly three days to travel and there are lots of camping sites
along the way and little lodges to sleep in, too. I'd asked to come
for my eighteenth birthday."

He doesn't say anything for a
moment as we walk down the hallway, the lobby behind us as we pass
a scattering of doors left ajar, leading into bedrooms.

"You came from Germany,
right?"

I look at him a moment, not
having expected that question in the slightest. He doesn't look at
me, though, so I shrug and look ahead again as I answer.

"Circumstances made us leave my homeland," I reply carefully,
trying my absolute hardest not to think about that right now. Just
vaguely mentioning it sends a shiver of dread up my spine and the
anxiety creep up on me, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of my
face as I concentrate on anything
but
that. Now's not the time for a
panic attack.

"Can I ask?" he questions,
looking at me from the corner of his eyes. He either doesn't notice
the fear creeping up on me or mistakes it for pain concerning my
legs. I shake my head.

"Maybe I'll
tell you someday,"
if I ever have the
courage to relive that nightmare
, I
add.

"Fair enough."

We walk through to the
equipment part of the lodge, where you can buy what you need to go
on their hiking trail, hunting grounds, ski hill or any other of
their offered activities here. I point to the clothing section and
we make our way over, the suits untouched from the end of the
season, if a bit dusty.

I pull away from Quinn now,
setting the lamp down on the shelf nearby and pulling a suit from
the pile that looks like it'll fit him. He tilts his head
curiously, confused.

"Since we're going to be
Running, we need an advantage," I start, handing it to him after
holding it up and confirming he'll be able to slip in. "Probe Units
will come in handy."

"Not very inconspicuous," he
mutters, demonstrating by placing his hand beneath one of the
sensors. It lights up blue.

"That's why
you get one of
these
," I continue, rolling my eyes as I pull out another cloth
and hold it up to gauge for the right length. "Refractive Synium -
hunters use it to conceal themselves and trick prey. You know how
it works, right?"

He makes a face, shaking his
head as I throw it up at him. Quinn catches it.

"I was a Lit. major," he
admits, making me quirk an eyebrow. "Me and science don't get along
too well."

"Well then, aren't you in the
wrong era," I muse, pulling out another long enough for me - as I
stand at five feet eleven inches, it's a tall order. Pun intended.
"Refractive Synium is made of Etherinium, the stuff found in the
deepest reaches of the earth. Follow me so far?" Eleven nods and
helps me back up when I pull myself up with difficulty, and I smile
my thanks. "It's refractive by nature, and it's melted down and
made into synthetic fibre. It takes the light around the wearer and
refracts it, making them see things they don't - the lack of a
human body, in this case. It's also very good at keeping warm and
is heavily similar to super-fibre cloth."

"How's this work, then?" he
asks, motioning to the suit in his hands. I take one for myself,
checking the size before glancing around for the shelf of
boxers.

"Macromite - it reacts to heat
and a pulse," I state idly, picking out two pairs and tossing one
to the man. He arches an eyebrow. "The macromite is treated like
the component of a computer in this case, and they use it in a lot
of life-support and medical machines now - don't give me that look,
my major was Geology."

Quinn laughs, and I grumpily
accept his offer to help me walk to the changing room at the
southern end of the store, skirting by the register. We go our
separate ways to change, and in the solace of the little cubicle I
breathe a sigh of relief, glad to have a moment to myself.

Peeling off my wet clothes is
among the most uncomfortable experiences I've had since coming to
the N.O., but once I'm zipping up the suit up to my Adam's apple
and the macromite is shining a light blue as it monitors my health,
I smile. The suit's a near-black, made of super-fibre threads that
bend lithely to my movements. It clings to me the way a second skin
would, the sleeves covering my middle fingers and thumbs but
leaving the other three exposed, a circle of the mineral on the top
of my hands. A line of the mineral stretches up my arm, a blue
light travelling from my hand to the pocket at my shoulder, and
travels down my sides, front and back and down the sides of my legs
to the top of my feet.

The best thing about these is
that you can forgo shoes, as the suit comes with built-in soles
that lessen the impact of falling.

Once the cloak sits on my
shoulders, the clasp tied at the base of my neck, I pull out and
head for the equipment section while using the shelves and walls
for support.

Quinn comes out while I'm
putting dried-up food and some flashlights in a backpack, and I
idly instruct him to look beneath the register for a safe of some
sort and pillage it if he can. He ducks underneath to do as he's
told while I place two canteens, all of them full, in the backpacks
I'm loading, and I toss in a fire-starter for good measure. Once I
zip them up I tie a bedroll and a tent on each, clipping some
climbing gear on the side as well.

I weigh them, satisfied that
they're not as heavy as I'd imagined, and bring them over to the
man raiding the safe. He's pulling out wads of hundred dollar
bills, folded into thousands, and puts a total of three thousand in
each backpack. Once we're done, the lamp unlit as our suits offer
enough light to see the things around us, we carry the bags out - I
grab two first-aid kits on my way out, having almost forgotten.

"What exactly is the benefit of
the suits, anyways?" he asks as I slip into one of the bedrooms.
The roar of the thunder can be felt in my very bones as it rains
hell outside, and I close the curtains well enough so that no light
will slip through and give away our position. He closes the door
behind us after shutting the others, just in case.

"The macromite lights up yellow
when our nerves register pain," I inform him, sitting down on one
of the beds and rubbing my legs carefully. "See? The lights along
the side of my legs are yellow, while my arms are blue. Not only
that, but the super-fibre protects against most injuries -
including bullets."

We sit in silence for a while,
he on one bed and I on the other, and the only thing filling the
void of noise is the rain beating the roof mercilessly and the
thunder groaning in the distance. I look at my hands, turning them
this way and that and watching how the light plays along the
nearly-bare room. The only things in this dusty room are the beds,
a breakfast table and a door leading to a bathroom.

"I was fifteen," he whispers,
more to himself than me, but I look up slightly anyways. A thought
that someone both doesn't want you to hear but it comes out anyways
is usually important. It means it was important enough for them to
feel the urge to tell you, and even though it could be just a silly
thing, it's still worth listening to. "I'd been dating Meredith
on-and-off for the past year; it was expected of us to pick a
partner before we turned nineteen, so the pressure was getting on.
Most of my friends and classmates had partners since they were
fourteen or even thirteen."

Quinn doesn't add to that for a
bit, and I almost forget he's even there as I look back to my
hands. Then he continues.

"There was this guy, a very
nice guy we all called Kenny, who was my closest friend. He and I
were on the basketball team together and we'd been friends since
preschool." I look at him from the corner of my eyes, noticing the
sad smile gracing his lips. "He called me in the middle of the
night and told me he was scared that he was gay. Explained to me
that he didn't find any girl attractive and he thought he liked
this guy at school, and I snuck out after curfew and met up with
him at his place - his parents were out for the weekend."

He shakes his head, sighing as
if he can't even believe he's telling this to a total stranger.
Leaning back against his hands and looking to the ceiling, the
Californian continues.

"He was petrified - sure I was
bringing the Vigils with me at first, poor guy, but after realizing
that his best friend wouldn't do that to him he let me in. We sat
on his couch and talked for over an hour, and I told him that he
shouldn't be afraid of it - you know, supportive bullshit in a
dystopian society." Quinn laughs once dryly, a laugh that's meant
to hurt himself. "I'd never given my sexuality much thought before
that night, as the very thought could mean you die, but after what
happened..."

He falls silent, reliving a
memory I'm not privy to and a million miles away. When he speaks,
it's softly and barely loud enough for me to hear above the thunder
and rain outside.

"He looked so
scared, so alone and so desperate for
anyone's
love and acceptance that I
felt I'd be a bad friend if I ignored it," he admits, falling down
with his back to the mattress and throwing an arm over his eyes. I
lean back against my hands and watch him, my full attention locked
on his words and his defeated body language. His voice is thick as
he continues, breaking many times in one sentence. "I've kept lying
to myself about it for seven years and what it meant, why I did it,
but... the simple reason why I kissed that boy and made love to him
that night is because I, too, craved that kind of acceptance. I was
alone in a world that wanted to kill me, to suffocate me, and we
both crashed and burned that night. We both did the one thing we'd
been told not to do since birth, and two days after that he was
taken away. I never even got to say goodbye."

Quinn stops, his story over,
and just breathes shakily. In and out, breath hitching with every
intake and quivering with every exhale. Lying scant feet to my left
is a man so broken you can't even tell who he is, a wall of glass
around him so that you see what he wants you to see, and for one
moment I'm allowed to see the inside. The darkest reaches of his
heart.