Donor 23 (24 page)

But then Nox came, and with him came her old fears. Her nightmares returned—the same dreams, but also a new one intruded upon her sleep. Her father was falling. She tried to reach him, running to him. He stretched his arms out to her, but she ran in slow motion. And she couldn’t get to him. Joan knew the others heard her when she cried out during the night. All seven of them slept together in the tent.

The last night was exceptionally fitful, and Joan wept quietly. Old Owl, sleeping near her, slid over closer and cradled her head to his shoulder. She nestled her head deep into his neck and wept uncontrollably.

The next day, Old Owl and Joan sat at the riverside, watching Quiet Snowfall play at the water’s edge. Red Lilly braided Old Owl’s hair. Quiet Snowfall ran up to them excitedly, holding something in a cup.

“Look—a tadpole!” she exclaimed and held up the prize.

“You’re splashing me. Step back,” Old Owl complained.

She laughed at the old man, ran back to the river, filled the cup, and started throwing the water on Old Owl. Red Lilly stopped braiding his hair and joined in the fun.

“Girls, stop! Now!” he grumbled. “
Ah
, I’ve had enough. I’m going back to the tent.”

He struggled to stand up and wavered. Joan jumped up to steady him.

“It’s hot in the sun. Let’s move to the shade,” she said and guided him to the nearby Talking Tree.

They stopped there, and Old Owl rested, leaning his wrinkled arm against the large tree and catching his breath. Half
of his gray hair was neatly braided, the other half hung loose and straggly.

He pensively stared up at the branches and murmured, “Years ago, when I was young, lightning struck Talking Tree. It split it apart, like a great sword. We thought it was destroyed, never to recover. But it healed. See, look there.” He patted the tree and continued, “You can still see the scar. But as time passed, it healed. Some say it’s even stronger.”

Joan rubbed her fingertips along its scar. She yanked away and shook her hand. For Joan, the blemish marred the great tree’s magnificence. It was evidence of the tree’s hurt and injury.

As if he read her thoughts, Old Owl rubbed the scar. “Scars show the strength of those who carry them, Lionheart, not those who caused them.” He turned and faced her. “I wouldn’t want to have lived without any scars.”

Joan thought of the citizens. Perfect. No scars. No disfigurements. They were pleasing to look at. She had wanted to be like them. She had worked towards that goal. A vision of Arrow Comes Back flashed inside her—his disfigurement, his strength.

He started to walk away, and she held his arm, helping him.

“Ah, I’m fine. I don’t need help,” he grumpily pulled his arm away. “Women.”

Joan chuckled and watched Old Owl as he ambled away.
He was a peculiar man, A special man
. She’d never met anyone like him back at the Alliance. One morning Joan had been making up her bedding when Old Owl bumped her arm while he rummaged around his area of the tent, mumbling to himself. Digging under the blankets, he extracted a long, thin object, wrapped in cloth. He carefully unwrapped it. It was a rifle. Joan recognized it as a bolt-action—a .22-caliber. She practiced with one at the Center.

“A .22 bolt-action,” she blurted out.

Old Owl, Arrow Comes Back, and One Who Sees looked at her, surprised. For a second she regretted saying it, letting them know too much about her. She had to protect her clandestine reserve, fenced in place—she had to protect it and herself.

“You know about guns?” Old Owl asked.

They were watching her. She swallowed and nodded. Old Owl narrowed his eyes.

Arrow Comes Back said admiringly, “
Ah
, don’t be so surprised. You should see her with a bow and arrow.”

“Here,” Old Owl handed the weapon to Joan. She took it in her palm and ran her hand along it. The blue-black barrel was well oiled. The bolt-action shined bright silver. She rubbed her fingers together, feeling the oil.

“Bear fat,” Old Owl explained.

“It’s in beautiful condition,” Joan complimented, handing it back.

“That gun is his second child,” One Who Sees joked.

“
Ah,
it doesn’t talk back,” he replied.

“Yes, my
Noshi
, but it doesn’t cook for you. Or love you back,” she said, kissing him, while the old curmudgeon feigned pushing her away.

“That time of year again?” Arrow Comes Back said, knowing the answer.

Old Owl nodded, a poignant look on his face. Years ago when he was just a young man, Old Owl killed the owner of the rifle. It was not the first time he had taken a human life. He had been brave in many battles, but Old Owl was a gentle soul. This had been in person and up close. For all the stories he told Joan, he never told Joan that one. Each summer, around the anniversary of the battle, Old Owl took out the gun and fired it, only once. Once each year to remind himself.

He poked the blankets and extracted a bag. Emptying it, many .22-caliber bullets scattered. He took one cartridge and
replaced the others into the bag. In resignation, he stood up with the rifle and the bullet and left the tent. They all watched him go.

One Who Sees said to Joan, “He’ll be back soon. It’s his way.”

Violet paused for a moment, not moving. Her heart pounded in her chest. She struggled to keep her breath in check. Glancing around and hearing no one, she continued. She sneaked along the hallway, staying in the shadows of each consecutive doorway, as she passed. The underground passageways in the Governor’s palace were confusing, even though she had a map. She had given the same map to Jeff, her fiancé.

She stopped at a doorway and studied the map again. This was it—their arranged meeting place. She took a nervous breath. She and Jeff were going to evade. She had heard the Governor talking about the Lionheart girl the other day—about the fact the girl had made it to the Outside. Violet hadn’t thought it possible. After that news, Violet and Jeff hastily planned their own escape. Perhaps too hastily, Jeff had warned her. He had wanted to wait and plan their evasion a bit longer. But she couldn’t wait—she didn’t want to stay with the Governor any longer. She wanted to be with Jeff. She persuaded him to evade now.

She wiped her sweaty palms. Taking one last glance down the hall, she tentatively turned the doorknob and entered. The darkness enveloped her, and she waited until her eyes adjusted.

“Jeff?” she whispered. “It’s me.”

She fumbled around, touching the walls and trying to find a light switch. The lights switched on. Violet raised her hands to shield her eyes from the bright lights. What she heard paralyzed her—she froze.

“Violet.”

It was the Governor
.

“Yes, your boyfriend is here. We are all here,” Gates continued in a calm voice.

Violet blinked and looked around. Gates sat coolly in a chair. Jeff stood nearby, bent over at the waist, propped up by each arm by two guards. He held his hands to his stomach, as if in pain. Blood dripped from a wound on his face and pooled on the ground beneath him.

She started toward him. “Jeff.”

More guards appeared, and two grabbed her by the arms, stopping her and holding her firmly.

Gates slowly stood.

“I’m disappointed in you, Violet.”

“Irene!” Jeff interjected.

Gates glanced at him with a questioning look.

“Her name’s Irene, not Violet,” Jeff spit out angrily at the Governor.

A guard slapped his face, sending blood flying in an arc across the room.

“No, please, don’t hurt him,” Violet begged, struggling against the guards restraining her.

Gates turned back to her.

“As I said, I’m disappointed.” He walked close to her and tenderly brushed some hair from her face. With a hint of bewilderment in his voice he told her, “I took you out of the ghetto, away from waiting tables for athletes and cleaning up other people’s messes…to work here in the Palace. In comfort. I would’ve—”

“Sir,” she interrupted him, “please. Let me explain—”

A sharp look from him and his raised hand caused her to be silent.

“I’m disappointed.” He stared at her. “But, I forgive you. I don’t think it was your fault. He told us everything.” Gates
motioned to the bloody Jeff, who moaned. “How he thought if that Lionheart girl could make it in the Outside, then the two of you could, too. He told us how he convinced you to evade—that you really didn’t want to. I don’t blame you, Violet.”

To the guards holding her, the Governor ordered, “Take her up to my room.”

As they dragged her out, Violet struggled and pleaded, “Please don’t hurt him, sir.”

Gates approached Jeff, studied him for a moment and shook his head.

“That was stupid, boy.”

With great effort, Jeff raised his bruised head to face him.

Gates continued, “I wouldn’t have kept her much longer in my…” he paused and raised his eyebrow, “employ. She would have been back living in the ghetto soon. But now, she won’t have anyone to go back to. You won’t be there.”

He waved his hand at the guards, and they dragged him out.

Gates and Biggs remained in the room, standing in silence. Gates violently swung his hand at a chair, knocking it over. Biggs flinched. Displays of anger were uncharacteristic for the Governor.

“
That 23
…
She’s causing evasions—putting ideas of escape into the heads of donors. She’s threatening the very security and well being of the Alliance. I can’t let that happen.”

Biggs remained silent, a hint of fear in his eyes. Gates walked over near a wall and stared at a photo of his grandfather on the wall. He ran his fingers along the frame of the picture.

In a calmer voice, “I’m going to do something I rarely do, Biggs: change my mind. We have to get number 23 and bring her back. Arrest those two donors whom the TEO asked for and send them west. Make it so.”

On his way to meet Jack at the depot, Kaleb first had to say good-bye to his grandmother, Zenobia. He wouldn’t leave without doing that. Crossing the street to her apartment, he noticed there wasn’t any traffic. As he rounded a corner he saw why: a TEO van. Instinctively he stopped and furtively glanced around. Above him, he saw Zenobia’s apartment window. A snatcher leaned out the window. They saw each other.

Kaleb turned to run, but right behind him stood two snatchers with their guns drawn. He pushed at them, but one of them fired his dart gun. The dart went wide, missing Kaleb. And the two snatchers, both startled, fell backward. He took off running. The snatchers followed.

Kaleb ran as fast as he could. He kept glancing behind him, not realizing that slowed him down. If he could reach a sewer grate, he could hide in it. He knew the sewer system. The underground used it to move about. Looking around, he saw the snatchers not far behind.

A group of children ran right in front of him. He slowed, trying to make his way through them safely without mowing them down. As he held the arm of one child—a little girl—she looked up at him and smiled sweetly, just as a dart slammed into her neck. The poison took immediate effect, and she went limp. Kaleb kept a hold of her and caringly laid her on the ground.

The snatchers weren’t far away, and after missing Kaleb and instead shooting the girl, they paused to reload. He jumped up to run. Coming from the other direction were two more snatchers, cutting off his avenue of escape. He looked back. The snatchers behind had reloaded.

Something shoved hard against his arm. He saw the orange fluff of a dart disappear into his sleeve as he lost consciousness.