Dark Parties (26 page)

A loud crack splits through the chaos, and I stop fighting. A flaming tree is falling toward us, toward Nicoline. “No!” I
shout, and flail in the man’s arms. I watch the tree fall as if in slow motion. It erupts into a cloud of flame and ash when
it hits the ground, engulfing Nicoline.

A scream travels from my toes and radiates through me, filling the night air. The fire is now feet from me. The tree is spitting
fire. Tiny pinpricks of heat sear my skin. My nightgown is covered in black, burned spots.

Nicoline is dead.

The policeman half drags, half carries me away from Nicoline’s burning corpse. As we approach the van, Sanna stares wide-eyed
at me from the driver’s seat. “Go!” I shout. “Drive! Get out of here!” I deserve to die here with Nicoline.

The policeman drops me and pounds on the windshield. Human shapes, some in black, some pink, and some the same color as I
am, lie lifeless on the ground. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll kill her.” He grabs me by the throat and lifts me. He presses
me to the hood of the van. He’ll kill me no matter what.

“Go, Sanna!” I shout before his hand tightens around my throat. The engine revs underneath me.

I turn so she doesn’t have to see my face as he kills me. I am choking, eking out a few threads of air as he rams my head
against the hood of the van. The pain explodes in my brain. He’s screaming and the engine is roaring around me.

I must be dreaming.

Because I see Braydon.

He’s on his motorcycle, heading straight for me.

He’s off his bike before it stops. He punches the policeman in the face. The force of his blow releases me. I gasp in the
smoky air. The policeman stumbles back, and I fall into Braydon’s arms. He holds me up with one arm. He bends over and pulls
something from his boot. When he raises his arm, I see he’s holding a gun. I’ve only seen guns in the movies. No one carries
guns anymore; it’s too dangerous when the sky is electrified.

“Stop!” Braydon demands, but the policeman is on his feet. He slowly walks toward us. “Stop!” Braydon shouts again, but the
man keeps coming.

Braydon squeezes the trigger and I hear the bang, but I don’t understand until I see the policeman drop. A red hole opens
in his chest.

Braydon opens the van door. “Move!” he shoves me in, on top of Sanna, and she and I push girls out of the way to make room
for Braydon. Sanna sits in the passenger’s seat. I end up on the floor between them. “Are you okay?” Braydon asks as he slams
the van into drive.

Sanna looks blankly from me to Braydon. She nods.

Braydon turns the van around, and we make our way over the uneven ground. As I rise and fall with each bump, I can’t think
about what’s below us.

Raindrops tap angry fingers on the roof of the van. The rain started as soon as we left. The government’s firefighters. We
stare out in amazement as water blurs the landscape. It hasn’t rained here for months. The weather monitors save the rain
for the population hubs. The government must know about the fire and our escape. They are probably looking for us already.
The melody of the rain and the hum of the road numb my fear.

We’ve been driving for hours. I haven’t moved from the floor between Sanna and Braydon. I can tell we are in the
capital because the van is slowing and stopping and turning. I’ve been staring at the dashboard, watching the miles click
by. I can’t look at Sanna or Braydon or the girls who have quietly cried for hours. The smell of sweat and smoke is nauseating.
Someone rolled down the windows, but the sour smell won’t dissipate.

I see Nicoline’s face when I promised her I’d save her. My reckless actions got her arrested and sent to that awful place.
My stupid, naive plan killed her.

“Neva.” Braydon touches my shoulder and I flinch. “Neva, we are at Senga’s. I’ll be right back. You keep everyone calm and
in the van.”

Lovely, smart Braydon.

When the van door closes behind Braydon, everyone begins to stir.

“Where are we?” someone asks.

“I want to go home,” a high young voice squeaks.

“Everyone sit tight.” I lift myself into the driver’s seat and survey my fellow passengers. There aren’t as many girls as
I imagined. Nine girls about my age are crammed into the space behind me. Their arms and legs intertwined.

Sanna adds, “Senga will help us.”

“She’s how we found you,” I tell her.

I look out the windshield. The Protectosphere is glowing pink in the early morning sun. Braydon has parked on a dead-end street
lined with trash and recycling dumpsters. It’s a fitting spot for us.

“I want to go home. Please take me home.” It’s the young voice again. She starts to cry.

“That’s not possible, sweetie,” another girl says. “If we go home, they will come get us. You don’t want to go back, do you?”

“But it’s gone,” she says with a sniff. “Everything’s gone. The fire.”

“They can’t let us out. Not like this.” I look at the girl in pink who is speaking. She’s stroking her protruding belly.

“But I’m not like you.” The girl looks my age but sounds younger. She’s wearing pink and has a plus sign by the number on
her arm, just like the pregnant woman.

“Listen,” I say, turning to take my place in a circle of sorts. “We are going to get through this.”

“How do we know we can trust you? Trust him?” the girl next to me asks, and jerks her head at the driver’s seat as if an invisible
Braydon is there.

“He saved us, didn’t he?” I half smile, remembering the sight of him riding to my rescue.

“He shot that man,” the girl interjects.

My smile fades. Braydon has a gun. I try not to show the hint of fear I feel.

“He had to,” Sanna says. “And his name is Braydon. I’m Sanna.”

Everyone hides their numbered forearms and speaks her name: Margaret, Kate, Karen, Bronia, Elizabeth, Sandra, Emily, Vinita,
and Ashley.

“I’m Neva,” I say, but I feel more like 1133.

I jump when the van door opens. I automatically ball my hands into fists, ready to fight.

“It’s me, Neva.” Braydon slips into the seat with me. I
lean back into him. I want his arms around me. I want him to tell me that everything will be all right, but Sanna’s looking
at us with a blank stare. I slip back onto the floor between them.

“Okay,” Braydon says, looking at the scared girls’ faces. “Senga and her friend Carson are going to be here in a minute. They
are going to take you someplace safe.”

The girls start to fidget and protest. I hold up my hands. “Senga is the one who told me how to find the Women’s Empowerment
Center. She’s on our side. She will help you. I promise.”

Senga and Carson arrive with armloads of blankets. The girls file out. Sanna and I remain in the van. Senga opens the passenger-side
door. “Time to go, Sanna,” she says, handing her a blanket.

“I’m staying with Neva and Braydon.” Sanna hugs the blanket and settles back in her seat.

Senga looks from me to Braydon. “Will you be okay?” she asks me.

“I’ll take care of them.” Braydon reaches a hand for each of us. Sanna takes his hand and tugs him closer. I let his hand
dangle in the air.

“We’ll be fine,” I reassure Senga. “Just take care of them.” I nod toward the huddled group of girls.

“You know I will.” She closes the van door. Braydon and Sanna’s hands are clasped above my head. I slip into one of the empty
seats in the back. I remember my grandma’s invitation. Now it’s my only option. Tonight I will escape and leave all this behind.

*      *      *

The sun is high in the sky by the time we arrive at Braydon’s. He hides the van in a garage behind the house. We file into
the kitchen, unsure of what to do next.

“I’m sorry, Sanna,” I say, collapsing into one of the kitchen chairs.

“What do you have to be sorry for?” She looks down at her bare feet, nearly black with soot. “You and Braydon came for me.”
She laughs and wiggles her toes. The sound seems strange after all we’ve been through. “I knew you would. ‘Neva won’t forget
me. She won’t write my name with the others. She won’t let me go missing.’ ”

Braydon and I exchange a glance. I can tell he’s thinking about what we shared last night. It seems a distant memory now,
like the illusion of real stars beyond the Protectosphere.

“I almost forgot,” Braydon says after another awkward silence. He reaches into his jeans’ pocket and pulls out a long, thin
chain. My snowflake charm twinkles as it dangles in the air. “You don’t want to forget this.” He slips the necklace over my
head. I look down, not wanting to betray what I’m feeling. His fingers brush my cheek, and the tiniest spark from last night
fills me.

“Thanks for keeping it safe,” I say.

Sanna’s studying us. Her eyebrows are pinched together. Maybe she remembers catching Braydon and me kissing. She looks confused
for a moment, then hugs Braydon closer to her. “Our Neva’s definitely one of a kind,” she says, smiling until her face creases
unnaturally.

I finger the snowflake pendant and wish I could melt.

*      *      *

I stand in the cold shower for ages. I let Sanna go before me. She had more she needed to wash off. I use soap and shampoo,
but I can still smell the smoke. I can still feel the places where the doctor examined me. My arm is red and raw from where
I tried to remove the black ink from my forearm. I can still see the number. Sanna comes in and makes me stop scrubbing. My
arm is bleeding in tiny tears, like when I fell off my bike and scraped my knee when I was five. Sanna turns off the water
and hands me a towel.

We dress in Braydon’s clothes. She chooses one of his crisp white dress shirts. I select the shirt he was wearing at the Dark
Party when we first kissed. I find a pair of cargo pants for each of us. We cinch them up tight with belts. Sanna pulls on
a big, blue woolly sweater she finds in one of the closets. She also finds a scarf and swirls it around her neck, but she’s
still shivering.

“Go get in bed,” I tell her. She leaves me alone in Braydon’s closet. His leather jacket is draped on a hook. I touch the
rough, cracked leather and remember our motorcycle ride. I hug the jacket to my chest. I can smell him. I close my eyes and
bury my face in the leather and lose myself in the memory of being molded to Braydon with wind whipping past us and the open
road ahead. I drink in his scent and then I smell the smoke and see the fire in my mind’s eye. The image of the policeman
the moment Braydon shot him flashes into my mind. Fear flickered in the policeman’s eyes before they went dark and dull. Then
I see Braydon pointing that gun. The image should comfort me, but it doesn’t.
His eyes were as cold and dark as the policeman’s had been when he was choking me. My eyes spring open, and I toss the jacket
on the floor.

Sanna and I curl up in Braydon’s big bed. Braydon has drawn the curtains, but they are threadbare and don’t block out much
light. We huddle together for warmth and for fear that someone will come and take us away. Sanna’s hair smells sweet from
the strawberry shampoo. I place my arm around her waist and wonder if she is carrying a government-issue baby. I shudder.

“Sanna,” I whisper in her ear.

“Yeah.” The word slurs with sleep.

“Are you okay?” It’s a stupid question. Of course she’s not okay. None of us are or ever have been.

She scoots closer to the edge of the bed.

I don’t press the issue. “Sleep well, Sanna.”

She rolls on her back. She stares at Braydon’s mask collection. Their expressions look horrified, as if they know what she’s
been through and what I’ve done. We lie there blinking at the faces that stare blind-eyed at us.

I wonder where Braydon is. He has given us a little space. It’s too hard to be in the same room with Braydon and Sanna together.
My loyalties feel divided and my guilt multiplied. How can I leave them like this? Sanna won’t make eye contact with him.
Braydon tried to talk to her, but Sanna mumbled something and eventually walked away. I want him here holding me. I want to
feel reconnected to my life. My life has no borders, no Protectosphere to keep me grounded.

“Nev? You still awake?” Sanna asks.

“Yeah.”

“I…” she starts, but forgets what she wants to say.

I wait.

“I can’t remember. One minute I was being dragged away by the police and the next minute you were waking me up.” She looks
around at Braydon’s masks. Their mouths are open as if they want to speak, to tell our story. “I feel like one of Braydon’s
masks.”

“Maybe it’s best you don’t remember.” She doesn’t need to know. Not now. Maybe when she’s stronger.

“Yeah.” She snuggles deeper under the covers. “Braydon was great, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“A real hero.” She sighs.

Tears slip from the corners of my eyes and trickle down my temples and into my ears. I try not to think about what’s next.
We are safe for now and that’s all that matters. I sniff and wipe my eyes on the pillow. I’ve been living in a carefully constructed
house of lies. I’ll let Sanna live there a little while longer. I was much happier not knowing.