Follow Me Through Darkness (10 page)

“When the testing started after the Preservation, twins were born with different-colored eyes or hair or traits. Small things that made them different,” Cecily says. She pulls a small, thin knife from her pocket and starts cleaning out her fingernails. “By the time we were born, every set of twins had a connection. Things kept secret until we escaped. They created us, and then they punished us.”

The Elders put us in this situation.

They created us
.

I wonder how true that is for Thorne and me. How true is that for everyone else with the branding? Nothing in my life, or in anyone in the Compound, has ever been real. It’s all been created. We deserve something real. Everyone does. I’m just the one who knows that I need to search for it.

Cecily looks toward the back of the room where Boris nods and places some items on the ground. “We’ve got some supplies for your journey. Food, mostly. The others have been contacted and will be waiting for you. But there’s nothing except more trouble waiting.”

“I’ve experienced the Cleaners and-”

“We have more enemies than the Cleaners. The life of a Remnant is not a simple one.”

“What kind of enemies?” I ask.

Cecily’s eye is pea-sized and bleak. There is no emotion, as if it’s only a lifeless dark marble. Empty and desolate, but not without power. For in that bleak, dark eye, I see my own fear.

“The kind that will kill you without question,” she says.

She says the words without blinking, but there’s a flash across her face similar to the one someone gets when they are remembering, reliving the past like it’s the present. I know, in this instance, Cecily knows more than she’s willing to tell us.

“Xenith didn’t prepare you at all?” she asks.

“Prepare me?”

She exchanges a look with Boris, who comes to stand next to her.

“Do you have a weapon?” she asks. I dig in my pack and show her the small knife I carry there. She laughs a short, harsh laugh that sounds as hollow as I feel right now. “He sent you to the Old World without every piece of knowledge or a weapon? He must have a death wish for you-or you have one for yourself.”

Cecily snaps her fingers, and Boris moves. There is no noise except the shuffling of Boris’s feet. Thorne doesn’t look away when I seek his familiar gaze. Whatever tension was there between us before has temporarily been replaced by something worse. Boris returns, and Cecily clicks her tongue.

“I probably shouldn’t give you this. It won’t be much of a help if you don’t know how to use it, but it’s better than nothing.” Boris sets the gun in front of me with a
clink
. It’s oddly shaped and shiny. I don’t want to touch it. I’ve heard what they can do, how they can shoot fire into people’s hearts and stop their blood flowing. I don’t reach out for the gun, but Thorne does.

Cecily touches his outstretched arm. “Can you throw a punch?”

He smiles slightly. “I’m sure I can figure it out.”

Boris, who has been quiet through this whole conversation, finally speaks. His voice is no less alarming than the first time I heard it.

“Do you run?” Boris asks me.

“Yes,” I say.

“I hope you’re fast.”

Thorne and I share a look. A loud ringing buzzes through the air three times. Cecily shuffles to her feet. “I must go. The Remnants will help you the best they can-not all, but most. Not all the camps are safe.” Her words are quick. Cecily kisses my forehead, and then Thorne’s.

“Now is the best chance you will have to go. I will leave you to find your way out.”

And she’s gone, Boris trailing behind her. Thorne and I look at each other. The uncertainty is evident in his eyes. He’s just as confused as I am pretending not to be.

Thorne sits next to me so our legs are grazing. A tingle runs through me at the slight touch. Then, his fingers entwine with mine, and with them come the familiar tingles and chills and spark, the ones that I’m so used to feeling with us. The ones I desperately don’t want to get used to living without and yet the same ones I’m uncertain about.

“I’m going with you, in case you missed that,” he says.

“You don’t even know what I’m doing.”

“Then tell me.”

I pull my hand away from his and stand, stuffing the food Cecily gave us in my pack next to the map and the book. “It’s dangerous.” I don’t look up at his face.

“I know.” I hear him shuffling beside me, and I ignore the urges to search his face.

“We could die,” I say, pulling my pack over my shoulders. I can’t steady my emotions enough to block them from him, and I can’t tell which ones are getting through. My hand reaches for the door when I feel his hot breath on my neck.

“I know,” he says just above my ear.

I turn to look at him. Our bodies are so close, and his heart is beating as rapidly as mine is. The scruff on his chin is only subtle, but in the short distance between us, I can see it.

“I can’t tell you anything,” I say finally. My hand is too sweaty, too nervous, and it slides from the doorknob.

He leans in closer to me, his arm reaching around my waist. “Okay,” he says. I inhale a breath just as he opens the door and smiles at me. “But you will.”

I start down the hallway. My heart is racing so rapidly that it could explode and all that will be left is the shell of my once-living body.

We exit the same way I entered, past the lever cherry machines and the tables. I don’t see Thorne, but I know he’s following me. He’s always following me. I can feel his questions and doubts, and I try to ignore them, though his are louder and harder to ignore than my own.

8 MONTHS BEFORE ESCAPE

THERE ARE VOICES ARGUING
loudly from the beach. It’s 2 AM, and it’s supposed to be quiet here. There’s never anyone out this late. Except me
.

And, I guess, sometimes Xenith
.

The only times I see him are the nights he happens to be here when I’m walking along the shore. I can’t explain it, but for whatever reason, his presence on those sleepless nights is calming. Sometimes we talk, but most nights I just sit on the beach, him close enough that his scent is carried to me on the wind but far enough away that it doesn’t look like anything it isn’t
.

At first, it doesn’t seem like anyone I know, but when I get closer, I can tell it’s Xenith. His blond hair is unmistakable, even in the darkness. The other person pushes him, and he stumbles across the beach. He laughs-it’s short and crisp and mocking-and then, in the next instance, I see Thorne run across the beach and tackle Xenith
.

I race toward them and push my way between Thorne and Xenith
.

“Stop it!” I yell. I pull at Thorne’s arm, sending positivity through the connection to get him to calm down. I switch my focus. “Xenith, stop!”

It doesn’t work at first, then Xenith is the one who steps away, hands up
.

“What’s going on?” I yell, my breath raspy
.

Both boys are silent, heaving in breaths of air. Xenith is the first one to talk, but only after a smug smile forms on his lips
.

“Thorne and I were just having a little conversation, but then he couldn’t handle that mine was bigger.”

I shake my head and look at Thorne
.

“He knows about us,” Thorne says. “About the branding.”

I stare at Xenith. “How?”

Xenith crosses his arms over his chest, the smile still on his lips. “Give me a challenge. Other people here may not have a clue, but I’m not like them. Plus, you two aren’t very good at hiding it. You’re like bunnies in mating season. I’m surprised you have gotten punished for public displays.”

“He’s not going to say anything, Thorne. He wouldn’t.”

Xenith and I stare at each other, a battle of wills. He’s amused, and it’s written all over his smile and the way his eyes light up
.

“You’re so sure of me, aren’t you?” he says
.

“You would’ve already,” I say. I don’t look away from Xenith. His eyes are intense on me. I know he’s not really going to say anything. I don’t know how I’m so certain, but I believe it
.

“Maybe I’m waiting for the right moment,” he says
.

Thorne steps toward Xenith. I hold my hand up against his chest to stop him, but he speaks anyway. “Don’t act like this doesn’t affect you. You know exactly what it would mean for us if the Elders found out.”

“I don’t care about you,” Xenith says, stepping into Thorne’s face
.

Thorne is silent as they stare each other down. All I hear around me is the sound of the waves, but even they are too loud for comfort
.

“It’s not about me. If you say anything, they’ll punish her, too. And then, you’ll be next. Do you think they’ll just let you keep breaking all the rules?” I look at Thorne, but his eyes are on Xenith. “Where do you go all the time? I know you’re places that you shouldn’t be. You miss town meetings, skip classes, ignore the Troopers. I think even you have limits on how much damage you can do.”

Xenith is quiet, and he shuffles nervously in the sand. “They can’t hurt me.”

“But you’d let them hurt me?” I say. Both boys look at me. It’s not Thorne I’m looking at, though; it’s Xenith. I hope there’s something else to him, something more than this boy who would threaten to expose me. That’s not the boy I know. Not the one I am friends with. Maybe he’s just saying it to push Thorne. Maybe he doesn’t mean a word of it. But knowing that he could say something- that if he wanted to, he could separate Thorne and me forever? I have no words for that
.

“Let’s go,” Thorne says, taking my hand
.

“Neely, I wouldn’t do it. You know I wouldn’t do it-” Xenith starts
.

“Don’t even talk to her,” Thorne snaps, pulling me away
.

“Neely…” Xenith pleads again
.

I yank my arm from Thorne and move back toward Xenith. I study his face, and his smile is long gone, replaced by that depth that always surprises me
.

“I don’t like games,” I say to him
.

“I’m not playing one.”

“You’re always playing one,” I say
.

Xenith doesn’t respond, and in the silence, I walk away with Thorne
.

DEADLINE: 29D, 12H, 34M

SOMEWHEREIN TEXAS

THORNE AND I HAVE
only been walking a few hours— most of them filled with silence so heavy I could almost forget he’s beside me if his emotions weren’t so loud and confused, rushing into my consciousness.

I don’t think he wants me to know what he’s feeling through the connection, but there’s so much of it all at once that it’s uncontrollable. The confusion of what I’m not saying and the anger that I’ve been alive this whole time. The worry, the wonder, the reasons
why
I lied about all of it and what I’m doing here. It’s like my whole body is convulsing between nausea and weight and heat. I can’t sort it out. And then there’s the joy. The floating and elation and soaring because I’m really, really alive. He hasn’t lost me.

The emotions all fight for his soul, for my soul, and I fear the wrong one will win it.

I try to examine other things while we walk and quiet the emotions-sort them, separate them, and figure out which ones to address-but the answers aren’t easy ones to give. I look around as we walk, examining the mingling dance of the blue and green and black in the horizon. Even in the sunlight and the blue skies, the road is an endless, depressing shade of black. Tucked among the greens, browns, reds, blacks of nature are decrepit buildings, falling apart at the seams, and broken pavement, the color faded and the cement crumbled with age. Blades of grass peek up through tiny cracks, and I’m careful to step around them. To let them live as long as possible.

“We should stop here,” Thorne says. His hand touches my arm, but then, as if he’s remembering I’m something he shouldn’t touch, he moves it away. I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt.

Thorne plops his bag down on a spot of green grass under a tree and falls down next to it. His feet stretch out, much like an animal getting ready to sleep, and he looks up at me. I cling tighter to the strap on my bag and bite my lip. We’re going to lose precious time.

“Are you opposed to stopping?” he asks, eyes resting on me.

It’s not about the waiting; it’s about the fact that we can’t even have a conversation right now. “We haven’t gone far. If we stop too much, we’ll never make it in time.”

“Where are we going exactly?” he asks.

“There’s a plan,” I say finally. I sit down with him. Not too close, in case he doesn’t want me there, but close enough that he could reach me if he wanted. Normally I would sit next to him, and our legs would dangle near each other, bump together occasionally. Not today. I don’t know where the line is between us today.

Thorne takes a bite out of a big, green apple from his backpack. The crunch of it reverberates in the air, and I can’t help but think how normal it is. How we could be in the Compound right now, him eating a green apple and me sitting beside him. How that life could’ve been mine if I would’ve wished for Thorne and nothing else. If I had never gone digging for information or fought or escaped.

If that hadn’t happened, then we could just live and laugh and share kisses under the stars. He could fish with the boats, and I could step up to serve in my father’s place without complaint. I would know nothing of the lie, have no question about my branding to Thorne, and be content. We could have a family and safety and simplicity. We could be those people who have everything they need, where life seems too simple and easy.

But it did happen.

And now I’ll never be able to wish for a simple life with Thorne and have it be enough. I’ll never be content to live in the Compound, especially not now. That can never be mine. They were transferring him. Even if we went back right now, it wouldn’t change anything. I’d still be a pawn, a tool that the Elders want to use. Thorne would still be separated from me, still be altered. I’d never be free from the uncertainty because them taking him away doesn’t help me understand what feelings are real and what feelings aren’t. It would only make it worse because I’d miss him. I’d never feel complete.