Evolution (6 page)

Ren and Jordan meet eyes across the table, and briefly they
are united as passengers on a sinking ship.  They’re about to start
spluttering, claiming to have remembered Matt, though clearly it never crossed
their minds.  I spare them the trouble and continue.

“I’m just saying…”  I flip my hair casually over my
shoulder as I lean back, “…Ultimately, you all have to decide if you can make
business work together or not.  But financially speaking, it makes more
sense.  I mean, you’re already taking a twenty percent hit, total. 
Now, if you’re splitting things up in addition to that, it doesn’t leave either
group with a lot to work with.  And honestly, you’re both going to find
your position in the Outpost is incredibly weakened.  Plus, you’ll be
competing with each other.  If I were you, I’d seriously rethink splitting
up at all.”

The men at the table spend another round of silence thinking
before negotiations resume with consideration to the new information I’ve
presented.  Honestly, I have no idea if Matt expects a share when property
switches hands, but it works for me.  And Matt doesn’t need to know about
it.  He’s busy right now.  With a little luck, it will never come up.

The negotiations take a while, and there are problems to
sort out far beyond financial disputes.  There are slights and hurt
feelings to smooth over in order to patch things up between the two
groups.  Turns out, I’m really good at mediating.  Before it’s all
over, I’ve managed to reunite Donegan’s men with Ren Sawyer as their official
leader, and Jordan Black as a captain with his own crew to manage.  All of
them are pleased to maintain their previous operation in one piece, and if
they’re not grateful enough about that, they’re downright tickled when I agree
to take the warehouse and five percent for now, allowing them to pay the rest
of their debt in labor.  By the time we part ways, I’m their new favorite
person.  I’m also the owner of a warehouse, a good chunk of cash, and I
have a small force ready to do my bidding.  I just have to figure out how
I’m going to use it.

***

I head out onto the streets to search the marketplace once
again for Neveah.  My ever-vigilant bodyguards trail me down the street
silently.  The sun is shining, making it warm enough that they save their
complaints for later.  They’re also strangely buoyed by the gold I’ve
promised them in exchange for their silence.  Honestly, I’m starting to
like them, so if they did complain, I might have to listen, but neither of them
speak at all.  In the market, there’s still no sign of Neveah.  I
start to wander, looking for her, but I find I’m thinking about my warehouse
and what I can do with it.  My first thought is moving in, but I know
better than to think I can hide from Matt.  There’s an idea brewing in the
back of my mind, but I need to work out the details.  I’m tired of the
misery.  Things are going to change around here for real.

My new determination brings on a curiosity about whether
there’s any weight to Matt’s claim that things will improve.  As I head
for my new warehouse, I scan the Outpost for signs of change.  For hope
that things are getting better.  And they are.  Food prices are
already going down.  Way down.  The market vendors offer items for sale
that would have been impossible to get only a week ago—oil for lamps, onions,
apples.  The cake seller has scores of cakes.  There's barrels of
rice and wheat.  And the flower peddlers are back, calling "lilies
and roses," over and over again.  The sound of my name, my real name,
makes me shiver.  I think of Jonas.  Of kissing him.  My soul
sinks into that moment like a warm bath, exulting in the brief flare of
happiness.  But inevitably the memory leads to Oscar being taken away by
the Sentry.  Me crying and screaming.  Jonas holding me back while
the metal monster ripped little Oscar out of my life forever….

Overwhelming grief brings with it the urge to run.  But
there’s no running.  I just suppress everything and stroll on, denying my
heart the right to feel all the things that it clearly feels whether I grant it
the permission or not.

As we pass the gates, a large party of men is coming
in.  I stop to watch the Sentries swing open wooden barriers that weren't
there just yesterday.  Fifteen or so men come through.  They're all
recognizable as Matt's.  They carry rifles slung on their shoulders, and
behind them they drag a litter piled with animal carcasses—deer, rabbit,
something striped.

"What're they doing with all that?" I mumble.

"Feeding us," says Taylor.

I glance at the brothers.

"We have to make up for our lost supplies
somehow," Jacob explains.  "The shipments are running again, but
there’s still all the ones Grey hijacked.  There's plenty to eat out
there.  We’d be stupid not to take advantage of it."

Hunters used to stand inside the barrier all day to wait to
fight for one deer.  I wonder how long it takes to catch them when you can
go into their territory.  I wonder if there really is plenty out there to
feed us all.  The thought is alarmingly hopeful—too good to think.  I
can't imagine a world where there is enough for everyone.  Trying to only
makes me sad.  Cautious.

"Will Matt let anyone hunt?"  I'm pretty sure
I already know the answer.

"It would be chaos," Jacob says.  "He's
put together teams to get as much as we can.  But for now, no.  It's
dangerous out there.  We still don't really know much about what's beyond
the barrier."

A little shiver moves up my spine at the thought of that
mysterious world.  "What've they found so far?"

He shrugs.  "Lots of trees.  All kinds of
different animals.  Weird stuff, some of 'em.  There's a river, not
far.  And a pond, too."

"Have you seen it?"

He gives me a look.  One that says he is unfortunately
too busy babysitting me all the time to go see things that are actually
interesting.  I give him the look right back.  Not like I asked for
it.

"What about the gates?"  I’m wondering if
Matt really needs them to keep people in, when the Sentries are there to rip
apart anyone who tries to get away.

"Security," Taylor offers.

Jacob elaborates.  "No more travelers or visitors
allowed."

"None?"  I eye the wooden structure that now
closes off the Outpost's wall.  "What do they do if someone
comes?"

Jacob shrugs.  "Turn them away?"

Taylor snorts.  "Not like anyone's coming. 
Imagine the stories Grey's men are telling.  They'll spread.  Would
you come?"

I shake my head.  "Hell no."

We start walking again.  A group of boys skitter across
the street in front of us, one of them lugging a box full of broken
glass.  The others are adding to it from the gutters.  I look away
from them, and try not to think of Oscar.  I fail miserably.  I'm
blinking away tears when I see him: Jonas.  He walks the cross-street with
his hood up, head down, hands tucked in his pockets.  I can't see his
face.  He doesn't see me.  He just walks across quickly, folded in on
himself, like he's hiding from the world.  I realize for the first time
that he must be.  He was the leader of a massive failure.  People
died because they followed him.  Are they blaming him for what happened? 
Is he hated?  Ostracized?  Is he even OK?  Whatever cost he is
paying, it’s all because of me.

I stumble onward, considering the weight of my choices yet
again.  Wondering if I could have done something differently.  If I
could have spared him this pain.  Wondering, if some other way, we could
have been together.  Even as I turn away from that thought because it
brings too much pain, I think of Apollon….  Is he dead because of
me?  Sweet, silly Apollon, with his dimples and shining blue eyes. 
The memory of him stabs sharply into my chest, bringing real, physical
pain.  I have to keep breathing.  Keep moving.  There are never
any answers.  Not any that satisfy.

I deny all the pain and block the memories and dark thoughts
as best I can.  Still, I’ve lost the will to do what I intended.  I’m
suddenly exhausted.  I head back to Matt’s rather than to my
warehouse.  When I get there, I'm still weighted by so many emotions,
despite my attempts to deny them.  Somewhere along my path, the white
tower has wormed its way into my thoughts.  I’m consumed with the fear of
never reaching it.  There is an electric jolt of panic, and after that,
rage.  I smother it along with everything else, but it doesn’t take. 
I'm seething.

When I walk inside, Matt is already there.

"I have something for you," he says, smiling.

There is a noise—a strange, squeaky noise—coming from the
dining room.

I frown, and follow him toward it.  The noise
continues.  I don't like it.

A cloth covers something on the table.  Matt removes
it.  "Merry Christmas."

I stare, open-mouthed, at the cage.  "What am I
supposed to do with that?"  The strange-looking bird inside squawks
loudly at me, cocking its rust-colored head.  Its rounded belly competes
for space with the tree branch that’s crammed in with it.

Matt shrugs like he doesn't know.  "Whatever you
want," he says.  "It's a gift.  It's yours."

My eyes move from him to the cage.  I grab it and head
toward the back door.  Matt's footsteps follow me, but I don't care. 
I fling open the door and then the cage.  On the back steps, I shake it
until the bird emerges in a flurry.  It squawks and flutters, and
eventually escapes in a frenzied chicken-like panic.  We watch it go.

Matt looks at me.

"That's what I wanted to do with it."

"OK."

I drop the cage and go back inside.

"Merry Christmas," comes Matt's voice after me.

The morning is cold.  In the alleyways, beggars huddle
together, coughing and shivering.  I stride toward my warehouse with
renewed determination.  As we pass near the Outpost gates, I consider the
possibility of getting out to see this pond.  But I don’t have time right
now, and even if I did, chances are slim to none that the guards would let me
past the gates.

A Sentry walking our way makes me forget the pond. 
Forget everything.  Jacob and Taylor stop in their tracks.  A few
heartbeats later, they're busting up laughing.

It's wearing a hat.  A weird red floppy triangle with a
white ball dangling at the end.  I watch it with an open mouth. 
Finally, I manage to say, "What the hell?"

Jacob and Taylor just shrug and grin at each other. 
I'm still gawking.  I rub my eyes and groan.  Matt is a madman.

As we walk, I think about the stack of books on the table
next to Matt's chair.  They're the entirety of what the Outpost has to offer
on "Christmas".  There are novels and picture books.  Some
are just a few loose pages.  Matt's been pouring over them every spare
moment.  So, Sentries with hats.  What could possibly be next?

Like Jacob and Taylor, I shrug it off, striding purposefully
toward my goal.  As people get out of my way, they offer me excessively
cheery and clearly fake "Merry Christmases".  I glare back and
continue walking.

The warehouse comes with a handful of scrawny rag-robed
beings shivering in the alleyway outside.  I have a better way for them to
spend their time.

"You," I say, nodding at the nearest body as I
throw open the warehouse door onto a cold, dark room, "let's clear this
place out."  As expected, there’s plenty of dirt and general filth
inside.  I make a quick round of the place, then stick my head back into
the alley.  "And you," I address my next unlikely helper,
"find some things that can be used for a fire."  I send two
others to go recruit more help.  Then I turn to Jacob and Taylor. 
"I'm going to need someone who can knock a hole in this roof." 
It’s true, I could call in a favor with Donegan’s men, or
Sawyer’s men
as I should think of them now, but I think I’ll save that for something
special.

Jacob and Taylor raise their eyebrows at me. 
Nevertheless, they come up with someone to knock a hole in the roof. 
We’re clearing away debris that used to be ceiling when Jordan Black bursts
into the warehouse, wide-eyed and breathless.  His gaze falls on me, and I
immediately know something is wrong.

“Eden,” he pants, his face pale as snow, “it’s your
friend.  Apollon.”

I run for the door, my bodyguards close behind me. 
Jordan is wiped out—he’s clearly been running around trying to find me, and now
he drags as we head down the street.  “Where?” I demand, not willing to
wait for him.

He points ahead.  “By the Rustler,” he manages between
ragged breaths.

I take off at full speed, not worrying about the people I
shoulder through to get there.  A million scenarios run through my mind,
and all of them are bad.  Jordan was clearly upset.  I saw fear in
his eyes.  I’m guessing he’s afraid that coming to find me would put him
on Matt’s bad side.  Does that mean that Matt has Apollon after all? 
And if he’s bringing him out now,
why
?

I fly around the corner by Canson’s store onto the main
street, where I skid to a halt.  The Sentry with the red hat stands before
the Rustler.  Apollon is gripped in its huge metal hand.

The sight is too much, immediately driving cold fear into my
spine.  Those crushing robotic fingers may as well be wrapped around my
own ribcage.  I can’t breathe, feel like I’m going to be sick.  But I
make myself move toward the Rustler where Matt is just stepping outside, still
in conversation with the hawk-nosed woman I saw him meet with not long after
the executions.  He glances at the Sentry as if it is an annoyance, wraps
up whatever business he is doing, and watches the woman leave.  Only then
does he notice my approach.

I somehow manage to make it all the way to him.  I want
to rush to Apollon, but I know who holds the power here—the only person who can
release my friend.  In a daze, I stare at Matt’s face.  I can’t seem
to make myself speak.  I stop beside him and turn to the Sentry.  To
Apollon, who is pale, trembling, completely frozen in the grasp of the
machine.  His blue eyes are wide with fear and shock.  I can’t tell
if he’s hurt.  Though he’s huge and muscular as far as humans go, he’s
nothing more than a kitten in the hands of this metal giant.  His feet
dangle above the ground, just like… just like…

Everything fades as black spots swarm over my vision. 
As an invisible hand pulls all the air from my lungs until there is none left
to breathe.  Matt’s arm around my back holds me up when my legs threaten
to crumple.  I’m sagging against him, clutching his shirt as I try to
remain standing.  It takes a moment, but slowly my body and vision
recover.  A killer headache lingers in the bridge of my nose.

“Well?” It’s Matt’s voice beside me, and he’s talking to two
men standing to the side of the Sentry.  I squint to focus on them. 
They’re from the gate.

One of them shrugs, looking uneasy.  “It brought him
from outside,” he says.  “I don’t know where it found him.  It was on
patrol.”

My eyes fly to Apollon to confirm this, but he’s still
frozen with fear.  My inaction breaks.  I can’t do this.  I push
away from Matt and move toward the Sentry.  “Let go!” I’m shrieking, my
fists pounding into unrelenting metal.  “Let go!  Let go!  Let
go!!!”

Its mirrored face turns down to regard me, but it makes no
other move.

“Let go!” I demand and kick it one more time, but I know it
won’t.  Tears are pouring down my cheeks as I reach up to Apollon, trying
to touch his face but only able to reach his arms.  “Apollon,” I
whisper.  “Apollon.  Are you alright?”

He doesn’t answer but his eyes find mine.  We are both
shaking, scrambling to hold onto our sanity in the presence of this hellish
creature that brings back so many nightmares.  Apollon’s fingers are
clenched into fists pressing down on the metal hand that wraps his waist. 
I wriggle my fingers underneath his, twining our grasps together.  “It’s
OK,” I whisper.  “Don’t be afraid.”  I manage to say this even though
I’m so clearly and incredibly terrified.  I turn my tear-streaked face to
Matt.

Matt’s jaw is clenched tight, his own fingers curled into
fists.  His eyes are fixed on our intertwined hands.  He doesn’t look
at my face; just at Apollon.  “I have a lot of questions for you,” he
says.  His voice is deadly cold.

“Matt,” I plead.

He only glances at me, his gaze as hard and unmovable as his
voice.  Then he looks back at Apollon, but first, for just an instant, his
eyes flick again to our hands.  Jealousy.

I yank my hand out of Apollon’s and turn all the way to
Matt.  I stand there, between him and the Sentry that clutches my
friend.  I say nothing, but Matt’s eyes pull away from Apollon and find
me.  I can see his understanding.  His brow furrows as he considers.

I wait out the long agony of his indecision.  His gaze
hardens, flicking again to Apollon.  Then he looks at me and sighs. 
He makes a dismissive gesture with his fingers, and, as if it reads his
movement as well as his voice, the Sentry lowers Apollon to the ground.

My arms are around my friend in a flash, half-holding him up
as he stumbles.  “Are you hurt?” I’m asking.  “Did it hurt you?”

He manages to shake his head, though he’s still trembling,
still in shock.  “I’m OK,” he chokes out, and he looks past me.  I
suddenly realize what—
who
he’s looking at.

I let go of him, though cautiously, making sure he’s stable
on his own.  Not that I could really hold all of him up without
help.  I turn to Matt.  A few quick strides closes the distance
between us.  I throw my arms around him.  His body, at first stiff
with rage, relaxes against me.  I take his face in my hands and gaze into
his eyes.  “Thank you, Matt,” I whisper.

Whatever displeasure was left in his expression melts as he
gazes back at me.  His face clouds with tenderness.  He leans toward
me.

And I can’t.  I can’t do this.  I turn my face
away, down toward the ground.  “I have to go,” I stammer, needing to
retreat.  But Apollon.  Does he need help?  I look toward him
again.  Only he’s not there.  My eyes dart around as I search for
him, and there… just his back, retreating away down the street.

Home.  He’s going home.  …And how I long to go
with him.

I glance again at Matt, who looks like a child who has lost
his favorite toy.  “I have to go,” I say again.  But I can’t risk
that he’ll think I’m going after Apollon.  “We were in the middle of
something,” I stutter uselessly as I back away.  A half-explanation at
best.  I turn on my heel and head for the warehouse.  Jacob and
Taylor, always waiting for me, follow along.

My insides are all mixed up, and I still want to be sick,
but with great effort I remain calm on the outside.  I try not to think
about all the questions, though the task is almost impossible.  There’s
plenty of work to do on my project.  I immerse myself in it, finding it to
be soothing and reassuring.  By the afternoon, my plans are well under way
and I’m more capable of thinking about them for real.  I head home,
fixating myself on the knowledge that the project will continue, and tomorrow
we'll be on to the next phase.  Even if I’m stuck here, even if I can’t be
with my family, there can be something that’s important—something that holds
meaning.  And in the end, I’m thankful.  My friend is alive. 
What else could I ask for?

When I walk into the parlor, Matt is reading in his
chair.  It instantly makes me think of Apollon, and the pain of missing
him comes swarming back, intermingled with a current of relief.  I look at
Valentine while I surreptitiously blink away tears.  The pig gazes up at
me and snorts.

Matt grins, sets his book aside, and climbs to his
feet.  He gestures me into the dining room.  Clearly, we are not
talking about what happened this afternoon.

This time, I recognize the sound before I see the creatures
that make it.

I stop in the doorway.  "Pigeons?"

Next to the cage, he turns and smiles at me.  "It
was the best I could do."

"Really."

He offers a shrug.  He's still smiling.

"What am I supposed to do with them?" I ask, the
same as yesterday.

"Whatever you want."  He unconsciously
glances toward the back door.

I cross my arms and consider the two pigeons at
length.  One of them has creepy red eyes.  Finally, I sigh. 
"Alright," I say.  "Let's get Alayna to make them for
dinner."

He nods approvingly.  "Merry Christmas."

***

Late at night, Miranda brings me news of our friends 
She says she only had a moment to check in, but Apollon is home now, and both
he and Neveah are doing fine.  He’s not hurt, and he’s joking as
usual.  Both of our friends seem to be back to normal.  It’s like
they were never gone.

Longing slithers over me, a snake constricting around my
heart.  I fight back the emotion and listen quietly to Miranda’s report,
nodding.  I can’t say anything because if I do it will come out with
buckets of tears.

My lack of response leaves our conversation short. 
Miranda offers a little smile and slips away out the door.  I dowse the
aether lamp, collapse onto my pillow, and let myself cry out the loneliness.

***

The next evening, it's chickens.

"Chickens?"  Matt and I stand on the back
porch and look at the cage tucked against the wall.  Three fat
chickens.  Too much to bring inside.

"Hens, really," Matt corrects, viewing them. 
He adds hopefully, "They'll lay eggs for you."

I eye him, trying to figure out what this is all
about.  Is it one of his attempts to get me to eat more?  I suspect
not.  But what, then?  Is he trying to woo me with chickens? 
Really?

"We should probably keep them in the coop with the
others," he says sensibly.

"Yes."

"They're all yours, though.”

I nod.  "OK."

He smiles warmly down at me.  "Merry
Christmas."

I mumble something unintelligible, dragging my feet back
inside.

As Alayna serves us dinner—venison steak with mashed
potatoes—I turn this weirdness over in my mind.  The best explanation I
can come up with is that Matt is trying to make me feel secure.  He's
giving me a small stock of animals I can eat from if things go bad.  Or
maybe he's lost it.

"So what did you do today?" he asks between bites
of steak.

"Turned a warehouse into a place for sick and hurt
people to get help."

He looks up from sawing his meat.  "Really."

"Yep."

He considers for a moment.  "That's a good
idea," he finally says.  "You could make a lot of money."

I chew on a bite of steak for a while.  I decide not to
tell him that everything will be free.

"Is there anything you need help with?" he asks,
finally tired of waiting for a reply.

"I've got it covered."  I don't want his
help, and certainly not his permission.

"Of course."  Wisely, he drops it.

After dinner, in the parlor, we sit in silence.  He
reads his books.  I wriggle restlessly in my half of the chair. 
Valentine snorts at me.

"See, Christmas tree," Matt says at some point,
holding up a loose, faded page from a picture book.  It is literally
crumbling in his hands.

I squint at it.  There are some funny-looking kids and
what I think is a dog laughing at another kid with a tiny tree.

Matt points at the one kid.  "This guy got a
crappy tree," he says.  "He didn't know what Christmas was
about.  Bigger is better."