E (26 page)

I laugh at him.  I mean really laugh.  Tipping my head
back, not falling onto the bed only because he still has my wrists.  I
sound crazy.  Maybe I am.  When I'm able to speak, I manage,
"You think Matt won't know?  Matt knows everything."

"Not everything."  He releases me, tentatively,
like he's not sure I won't start beating him again.  "Eden," he
says quietly, "we have no choice.  If we want to survive, this is the
only way.  Grey's going to win this thing, and when he does, we need to be
on his side.  We need to position ourselves there
now
." 

Shoulders slumped, I shake my head at him.  I want to rebut
what he's said, but I lose the words before they form.  I lose his words,
too, until I'm left with just the feeling that I disagree and that it's
important.  But I blink at him, and don't say anything.

He takes me by the shoulders and leans in, talking to me
softly.  "I need you with me on this," he says. 
"We're family, right?"  His hand moves from my shoulder to my
face, brushing back my hair.  His green eyes insist that he's right. 
"You're with me."

If I wasn't so tired, I think I would be crying.  I move
slowly to get up.  His hands fall away from me.  He stays sitting,
while I stand.  "I'm with Oscar," I tell him.  "And so
help me, you better be, too."

I walk to the door, and no one tries to stop me.

***

Strangely, Miranda's out.  So is Neveah.  And Jonas is
so seldom home.  Apollon looks up at me warily when I walk in, probably
realizing he's a target without the others there to quash the
conversation.  I've just been with Oscar, and I'm feeling good. 
Happier, for having been with him, and a little clearer for the piece of bread
he slipped to me.

I pull up the chair across from Apollon and lean in with my
forearms resting on my knees.  "Tell me about Grey," I say
softly.  "About Outpost Two."

For a while, he considers, his eyes slowly scanning my face. 
Then he sighs.  "You don't really want to know."

"Is it that bad?"

He nods.

"What will happen?  I mean... when he takes over?"

He slowly draws in a deep breath through his open mouth, and holds
it until he begins to speak.  "A lot of people will die." 
An unpleasant fact, but a fact.  He has no doubt that what he's saying is
true.

"How?" I say.  "I mean, what?  Like
war?"

"Like, executions."  He looks startled, almost like
he's seeing it while we talk.  His voice is a low murmur. 
"Anyone who could be an enemy.... Anyone without worth...." 

I stare at him in the quiet.  "We can't..." I say,
"...we can't just let this happen.  We have to do something."

He shakes his head, frowning.  He's already been over this in
his own head, so he already has the answers.  "Stop the snow,
Eden," he says.  "Stop a tornado.  It would be just as
likely.  Grey is a force of nature.  There's no going against
him.  You have two options.  Get out of his way, or be on his
side.  We already tried running, and we failed.  It's down to
this.  Why can't you just trust that we know what we're talking
about?"

"Because I don't want to be on his side!" I cry, bolting
to my feet.  Anger surges around me.  Anger at being lied to. 
Anger at being forced into a position where I have to choose between survival
and the unthinkable.  I'm about to continue my tirade when the door opens
and Miranda steps inside.  I freeze, looking at her. 

She looks from me to Apollon, and back.  "Don't want to
be on whose side?"

In the grand scheme of things, it needed to happen anyway.  I
was angry over being kept out of the loop.  But I was doing the same to
Miranda and Neveah.  So, after I tell Miranda the truth-- when she
processes it and quietly says that we have to tell Neveah-- I agree. 
Apollon looks at me like I've gone mad.  But this is the way it needs to
be.  We all need to know what's happening.

We wait uncomfortably for evening.  For Neveah to return
home, and then for Jonas.  We lay everything out on the table and, for the
first time, we have a reasonable conversation about our future.  One that
includes all of us.

"We were trying to protect you," Jonas says, attempting
to explain what he and Apollon have done.  "You don't need to be part
of this.  It would only put you in more danger."

Miranda frowns, blinking.   "I thought you said the
point was to put ourselves on Grey's side.  How are we going to be on
Grey's side if we sit around and do nothing while you two do all the dirty
work?"

It's a fair question.  I nod to back her up, and raise my
eyebrows at Jonas.

He and Apollon exchange glances.  I clamp my jaw, thinking
they're keeping something from us, but then, he spills.  His voice is
strained, uncomfortable.  "Well...  we're going to have to do
something about you, anyway.  I mean... it won't be safe.  We'll have
to figure out a place to hide you or something."

"Hide us?"  Miranda's voice says how shocking and
unacceptable that answer is.  "Why?  For how long?"

Again, the glance between Jonas and Apollon.  Each of them is
waiting for the other to explain.

Finally, Apollon shrugs and says, "You're too pretty. 
Grey likes pretty girls."  He says it so simply, like he can brush
off some of its weight by the way he delivers it.  He looks from Miranda
to me, his eyes scanning down my figure, then shrugs again, glancing at
Jonas.  "She could be a boy."

I don't know whether to take offense at that or not.

Jonas' face darkens.  He shakes his head, straightening from
his slouch, his eyes piercing through Apollon.

"It would be better than being stuck in a hole
somewhere," Apollon adds.

Miranda throws her hands up in the air.  "And what about
me?  A hole?  Really?"

Neveah puts her hand on Miranda's back and rubs in slow circles.

"No," Jonas says firmly.  "Not a good
idea.  She doesn't look anything like a boy."

"Baggy clothes," Apollon says. 
"Bandages.  Short hair.  It could be done."

Jonas looks like he's about to hit Apollon.  Miranda might
start to cry any second.  This is a disaster.  I stand up, and they
all get suddenly quiet.  They look at me, waiting.

"Look," I say softly.  "I can't do anymore of
this right now.  Can we just leave it?"

Their only answer is uneasy glances amongst themselves as I put on
my jacket.  I head outside and start walking, not even caring where I'm
going, or if it's safe.  There's only one thing I'm thinking right
now.  There's no way in hell that I'm going to end up locked away in some
box... or hole... or whatever....  Not ever again.

***

Red streaks crawl across the horizon, moving into the black. 
The fissure of red, then orange, opens up in the pit of ash that is the
sky.  I stare at it, but not all of it.  In front of me, the Sentry
blocks out half of the heavens, eclipsing the rising sun.  Its metal body
is composed of thick black lines and hard shapes silhouetted against the
onslaught of dawn.

My legs and feet are numb, like I haven't moved them in a long
time.  I'm rooted, though I don't want to be.  I can't run, though it
is all I want to do.  I stare up, my body quivering.  Its metal face
gazes down at me, its void mask looking for anything that could give it a
reason to snatch my life.  Daybreak progresses slowly toward morning, and
we face off-- the mechanized demon and I.

The morning is still a cold grey mist when people begin moving
around me.  I don't pay them any attention, and they don't seem to notice
me either.  At least, not for a while.

My name.  I hear my name.  It must be droning on a
hundred times, like a looped recording, soft, and insistent.  There's a
tugging on my hand that goes with it.  I blink, and look down.  My
neck hurts.  I stare at him for a bit.  Then I mumble,
"Oscar...?"

A firmer hand takes hold of my arm and tugs me away. 
"Come on."  I follow them-- Matt and Oscar-- away from the
Sentry.  Matt sits me down on the curb and takes a seat next to me. 
I feel like I'm waking up.  He rubs one hand up and down my arm.  I
know he's looking at my face, even though I'm not looking at him.

"...Is she OK?" Oscar asks.  He sounds
worried. 

This pulls me the rest of the way out.  I blink, and rub my
hands over my face.  "I'm fine," I mutter, still rubbing. 
"I was just..."  I trail off, because I have no idea what the
rest of the sentence was.

Matt turns to Oscar.  "Run home and get some food. 
Some of that chicken.  Hurry."

Oscar doesn't even hesitate.  He takes off running.

I groan.  "I'm fine," I say again, not wanting to
accept anything from Matt.  Drinks at the Rustler, when everyone is there
and is expected to partake, is one thing.  Food, just for me, is
completely different.  Especially when it's worth its weight in
gold.  Especially when I may be allying myself with his enemy.

"Nonsense," Matt says.  His words are clipped,
firm.

I shake my head at him, but his stern look cuts me off.

"Oscar is bringing food," he says.  "And you
are going to eat.  So help me, if you refuse, I will stuff it down your
throat the hard way."

I feel my eyes go wide, despite myself.  He looks like he
really would.  I fumble for something to say.  Finally, I manage
weakly, "The thing..." I glance toward the Sentry, still standing in
the road.  "...It's not... I mean...  I just...  I've been
dreaming.  And not sleeping."  I'm making no sense.  I
press on, anyway.  "Walking.  Sleepwalking."  I look
pointedly at the Sentry.

He follows my gaze.  "About those?  What, like
nightmares?"

I shake my head.  "Idunno."

He gives me a look-- a look that says I am delirious.  I'm
not.  I'm pretty sure.  But the look is convincing. 

I lean over and cup my hands around my face.  I'm so
tired.  I could go to sleep right here.  Only it's cold out. 
So, so cold.

Matt sits with me and doesn't say anything until Oscar
returns.  I hear him run toward us, but I don't look up.  I lean into
the darkness of my hands, wishing I could stay there.  Even the ache in my
ribs feels so far away.

"Here," Matt says, helping me sit up.  He unwraps a
foil package and places it in my lap.  It's filled with chunks of white
meat, roasted potatoes, and a slice of bread with butter.  Oscar has
clearly raided the kitchen, demanding a bit of everything.  I stare at
it.  This is more than my whole family has eaten in a week-- a feast
better than we've ever partaken of-- and here it is, dropped into my lap. 
Bread from heaven.

I look at Matt, and he looks back at me with measured
patience.  Eat, or I'll make you, says his face.  I look at the food
again.  Deep inside, I want to cry, but wherever that emotion is, it's
buried deep enough that it can't come out.  My hunger must live in that
place with it, because I have no urge to feed.  All I see before me is
some sort of vicious paradox.  A meal fit for a king in a land of
beggars.  Life in the midst of so much death.

"Just try a little," Oscar pleads, crouching down in
front of me.  "It's good," he says, putting on a hopeful
smile.  "You'll like it."

I reach for the food because of him.  Not because I'm
hungry.  Not because Matt has threatened to stuff it down my throat. 
But because Oscar wants me to.  My hand gravitates to the bread-- finer
than I'm accustomed to, but still the most familiar thing in the packet. 
Matt's hand stops me.

"Eat the meat first," he says, letting go as quickly as
he touched me.  "Better for you."

I sigh and pick up a piece of chicken.  I know from the looks
of it that it must be tender, flavorful, but it feels like dust in my
mouth.  I chew and chew.  It's a lot of work for a bite. 
Finally I swallow it, finishing the piece with a sigh.  I look at the rest
of the package with slumped shoulders.

Matt and Oscar spend the next hour patiently coaxing each bite
into me.  I get through maybe a third of the chicken, and I simply can't
manage any more.  My stomach threatens to forcefully eject everything I
just ate.  I close the foil around the package and push it toward Matt,
turning my head away.

"Keep it for later," he says quietly, scanning my
face. 

When I look at him, his expression is wary, but I shake my head.
"Someone would kill me for this before I could get halfway home."

He opens his mouth, likely to insist on it, and to offer some sort
of guard along the way, but I cut him off with another head shake.

"It's too much," I say.  "I just want to
rest."  Even now, I'm rethinking the decision, feeling guilty over
not keeping it to share out amongst my friends.  But I hate owing Matt
anything.  And I may be starving, but I'm proud.  And guilty about
this.  About taking from someone who I am in some way betraying. 

Maybe he recognizes the stubbornness in my expression, or maybe
he's thinking that food is eventually going to be scarce for him, too. 
Whatever it is, he withdraws the package, and stands.