Dissidence (12 page)

Chapter 11

“Connor?”
My voice is barely more than a whisper as I strain my eyes to see through the dim light.

I’m busy mentally conjuring up some ten foot
tall snarling beast with horns and fangs
and razor sharp teeth. So what if I can’t think
of a single creature with all—or any—
of those attributes? That doesn’t stop me from nearly giving myself a heart attack.

“Right here.”

I take a deep, steadying breath, and almost immediately my relief is clouded by anger. My fists clench at my sides, and the only thought running through my head is that the next time I get locked up it better be for something worth it . . . like murder.

“Sorry, I went to look for something we could eat
,
and you know what I found?”

Once again my feelings shuffle, and apparently hunger outweighs even anger. “Please say food.”

“Well, yeah actually, but there’s a pre-war town not far from here
,
too.”

I’
d
intentionally
tried to steer us further upstream from the development just for safety’s sake, but I’m guessing it can’t be more than a quarter mile away even now.

“Where do you think I got the water bottles from?”

Connor stares down at the bottles on the ground beside the stream like it’s the first time he’s really seeing them.

“Huh.” Articulate. “Wait
,
you’re telling me you went
into
the town?”
Sherlock himself.

“Well they weren’t growing on the trees, Connor.”

“Are you crazy? Do you know how dangerous that was? There could have been . . . You could have been . . .”

“I know, but what was I supposed to do? I had no way to get the water back to you
,
and it’s not like I could bring you to the water.”

Connor stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I’m pretty sure
I’m
not
the one
with the dehydrated brain cells here.

“What did you find to eat?” I ask him
,
just to break the tense silence stretching out between us.

“These.” He grudgingly holds out a handful of mismatched berries of varying colors, and sizes.

Something Sal once told me about some berries being poisonous comes to mind. Eating random berries we just found growing in the forest seems like an exceedingly bad idea, but the hollow ache in my gut demands that I at least take a look. I root through the pile, examining one after another until I find one that looks familiar. I
pluck it out of Connor’s hand
and inspect it more closely. Sure enough, it’s a blueberry. Just like the ones we used in some of our muffins back at the bakery. I lay out some leaves on the ground, and spread the remaining berries out to look over. In the end, I’m left with a small pile of blueberries and raspberries that I am certain are
safe to eat. They’re delicious,
flavorful and juicy. Not at all like the frozen ones
we had
in the colony.

By the time we’ve finished our tiny meal, night has fallen, and we decide to wait it out. When the sun’s first rays pierce the eastern horizon, the water bottles are refilled, and Connor has already collected some more berries to take along with us. Turning his undershirt
into a sort of sack, he strips the bushes clean, and ties
them securely to his belt loop.

***

Days pass on foot, and nights asleep on the ground beneath a dense canopy of leaves. Nothing changes
,
not the routine, not the scenery, not anything. We’re continually careful not to wait so long to seek out sources of water again, and with the help of the water bottles, it ceases to be an issue. The berries last for a while, and we find a few more bushes along the way to replenish our supplies. It’s not exactly a three course meal, but at least they keep the grumbling in our stomachs to a minimum.

By the fifth—or is it the sixth—
day I’m convinced we must have gone off course. The colonies don’t seem small enough to miss from the inside, but when compared to the vast open spaces between them
,
you start to realize how insignificant they really are. I’m worried we managed to walk right past colony D without ever seeing it.

We’ve been at it for over seven hours already today, and my entire body is shaking. Rather than a lack of water, this time it’s caused by an excess. The wind was blowing in dark clouds when we set out this morning, and the air has gotten steadily cooler as we’ve walked. For t
he past three hours or so, we’
ve trudged through a relentless downpour. I keep telling myself that it can’t last much longer without flooding the entire planet, and yet it continues to fall. If this keeps up, maybe we can turn some of these trees into an ark, and float our way to colony D. My clothes are saturated and sticking to me in uncomfortable places, my shoes slosh with every step I take, and my entire body feels about a million times heavier than usual.

The wind is still whipping. Add th
at to the icy cold rain, and I’
m completely frozen. My knees are stiff, and if I don’t keep flexing my fingers, they’re in danger of freezing up entirely into some kind of hooked claws. I’m shivering so hard I’m not sure how I’m still moving. Connor doesn’t appear to be fairing much better beside me. For a while early on he tried to shield me from som
e of the rain, but after an hour, or so,
it became apparent that nothing was going to help, and even he abandoned the effort.

“Let’s call it a day, Girlie. There’s no reason to get sick. No need to push it.”

He’s wrong.
I do need to push it. I need to know we haven’t been walking all of this time for nothing. I need to assure myself that we’re still on the right track, and not co
mpletely and utterly
lost as I’
m beginning to fear. But
he’s also right. It’s not worth getting sick over a few hours of foot time, especially out here on our own. I nod my agreement because I’m pretty sure my jaw is frozen shut, and we start looking for a place to spend the night. After a substantial hunt, we find a tree with foliage so thick it actually manages to block most of the rain like an enormous umbrella, and Connor parks himself against the trunk.

“Come here. G
et under here.” He grabs my arm, and tugs me down beside him.

I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, trying to work out some of the frostbite in my extremities. Connor’s warm arm wraps around my shoulders, and I feel more than hear him laugh as he scoots closer to me. Up close
,
his muscles are even more defined through his sopping shirt.  His shoulders are broad, but solid, and corded muscles extend down his arms.  I guess that’s what happens when you spend all day every day swinging a pick for as long as he has. Pressed up against my side, his whole body is actually radiating heat. How does he manage that? I wonder if it feels like he’s hugging an icicle. 

“You’re freezing.” His hands rub vigorously up and down my arms.
Yep, definitely an icicle.
“Why didn’t you say something?”

His warmth is slowly seeping into my body, and making the urge to shut my eyes nearly impossible to fight.

“I’m tired.” I slip the words out through an extended yawn.

“Maybe you shouldn’t sleep just yet, Girlie. I’m not sure it’s good to sleep when you’re this cold.”

Sheesh, overreact much? I’m not
that
cold. I seriously doubt I’m at any risk of freezing to death here, but I’m just too tired to argue.

“Why don’t you talk to me for a bit, while you warm up?”

“What about?”
I mumble, still only making a minimal effort to keep my eyes open.

“Anything . . . what’s our plan once we reach D?”

I huff a laugh. He wants me to plan? I can barely force a coherent sentence through my chattering teeth.

“Where will we go first?” Connor prods.

“The archives building
,
I guess.” I stifle another yawn, and try to shift away from Connor’s side, but he holds me firmly in place with his heavy arm. I give up the struggle, and snuggle back in. “That’s where Peter works . . . he’ll know what to do.”

“What about your parents? Don’t you
wanna
go home, and tell them what’s happened?”

I shift again, this time succeeding in putting a minis
cule amount of space between us, suddenly uncomfortable
but more alert. “My parents aren’t in colony D.”

“What? I thought that’s where you’re from?”

“It is.”

“Then where are your parents?”

I root around my fatigued brain for an easy way out of this conversat
ion, but besides faking sleep—
w
hich he won’t let me do anyway—
I’m coming up blank. With a weary sigh, I resign myself to the truth. “My dad died . . . three years ago.”

“Oh . . . I’m sorry.” Connor sounds genuinely remorseful when he says it, not like those people who say it just to have something to say.

“My mom was paired with a new mate when I was fourteen. She was sent to live with him, so for the past couple of years
,
it’s just been me.”

“Unbelievable.” He sounds angry, and I glance up at him, confused. He
is
angry. “Losing one parent, that’s awful. But for them to send your mom away when she was all you had left,
that’s just . . . it’s . . .”
He seems to be at a loss for words.

“It’s not a big deal. I survived just fine on my own.”

“It
is
a big deal. You shouldn’t have
had
to be on your own. It’s not right.” Resentment is rolling off of him in waves. “Those bastards just have to have their say in everything. They don’t give a damn about the lives they’re affecting at all.”

I want to know what has inspired such indignant outrage, what happened to him to make him so angry, but I’m quickly losing my battle with consciousness. The chill seems to have drained out of my bones, and the goose bumps on my arms have receded, so I risk laying my head on Connors shoulder. The tension in his body immediately eases under my touch.

“Besides,” I yawn, “if my mother knew about any of this
,
it would probably give her a heart attack. She always got so worked up every time I opened my mouth around her.”

Connor shakes with quiet laughter. “Well, I can believe that.” 

He pulls me closer again, tucking me against his side. “Go to sleep, Girlie.” His arm still wrapped around my shoulders, he gives me a slight squeeze before resting his chin on the top of my head.

I don’t require much convincing. His chest is unyielding beneath my cheek, but in a comforting sort of way. Despite everything, I feel safe as I listen to his steady breathing. My eyes seem to close of their own volition, and I cease to fight the pull of sleep as I continue to leech the warmth right out of Connor’s body.

***

It must be near dawn. Toward the horizon the sky is beginning to illuminate a pale pink color. The rain has stopped, but I can still hear the rhythmic pitter patter of lingering raindrops falling from the leaves above us. The birds are beginning to stir from their day long hibernation, and calling to one another to announce that the coast is clear once again. My head rises and falls steadily with each of Connor’s quiet breaths, telling me he too fell asleep. I can’t blame him. Yesterday was exhausting. When I stret
ch, a weight shifts near my hip.
Connor’s arm is wrapped around my back and across my waist, holding me close. Despite my still damp clothing, I feel warm.
Really
warm actually.
I squirm out from under his blanketing embrace, and Connor wakes with a drawn out yawn.