Out of Exodia (4 page)

Chapter 3 Losing Lydia

From the eighth page of the
first Ledger:

And when he heard the voice
he asked, “How many are my foes? How many will rise up against
me?

I’M NOT SO sure that the people who are
staking out the bed section of the furniture store will have it any
better than the rest of us. Who knows what’ll be crawling in those
mattresses with them.

Mira leads us to the jewelry store and
lays claim to it by parking her sled in front of the first empty
display case. Harmon joins her, waving off the young man who helped
Mira today, and beckoning Jenny and her two friends to join them.
Lydia and I follow them into the store. The women are reluctant
until Mira discovers the manager’s office in the back which has two
couches still covered in plastic as well as two lounge chairs. I
imagine we’ll be sleeping in shifts, but that’s all
right.

Lydia flops into one of the chairs and
I take the other while the Harmon and Mira unpack their stuff and
Jenny, Onita, and Marilyn go off to search out what plumbing
options might still be viable.

Lydia twirls a strand of hair and
focuses on her knees. There’s not much light coming through the
door, but there’s enough filtering in through a large window that
looks out into the store.

“
Hey.” I catch Lydia’s eye
and point. “Wasn’t that a mirror in the other room?”

She pulls herself up and frowns. “I’ll
check.” She walks out and I see her come around to the window and
touch it. I wave, but she lifts her hand to her hair and
finger-combs it. She stares at her reflection. The frown hasn’t
left her face. I get up and stand opposite her. We are only inches
apart, so close, but still she doesn’t see me. Her eyes search her
own. I witness the tears. It breaks my heart to think she grieves
so deeply for Barrett. The words of love I’ve rehearsed will stay
stuck in my throat until she puts whatever bond she had with him to
rest.

She wipes at her eyes suddenly, then
blinks, negotiates a smile, and gives a fumbling wave. She bounds
back into the room and catches me off guard. “Did you see me?” she
says. “I couldn’t see you.”

I nod and force the corners of my mouth
up.

She asks, “Why do you think they had
this window-mirror here?”

I raise my eyebrows. “To spy on
customers?”

She looks over to it and watches her
mother and the other women come up to the mirror side and do the
same hair fixing she had done, unaware that we’re
watching.

“
Funny,” Lydia whispers,
“Barrett would’ve loved this spy-mirror.”

* * *

Hundreds of the Reds are drawn to the
central concourse of the sprawling mall where Malcolm is
entertaining a multitude of children with colorful tales. He uses
the amplifier from the cloud machine, but speaks softly to answer
their many questions.

Lydia and I find a seat on a curved
bench and listen. I spot a number of people stroking figurines
they’ve stolen from one of the not-so-empty stores, round-bellied
idols, rabbit’s foot charms, small horseshoes, and crystals. My
stomach tightens, but I ignore my instincts. A man near us tells
Lydia that Malcolm is explaining about the Suppression. He’s old
enough to have firsthand experience of the early days.

His words depress me: “There’ve been
countless changes since the Suppression. The first five years were
the worst. The nuclear clouds did their damage not just to the
earth, but to people … animals … plants. You kids have no idea how
wonderful life was before everything was suppressed. Schools,
factories, churches, the internet.”

“
What are those
things?”

The child who asks has never learned
any of those words. I look around at the older faces, faces that
nod sadly in remembrance as Malcolm gives definitions, draws
wonderful word pictures of hard to imagine things.

“
But those dreams ended
with the Suppression,” Malcolm continues. “The first drought came
in 2072 and I lost …” His voice cracks. He shakes his head. “Well,
let me tell you about the first uprising. There’s a marker, a
monument, that if we’re lucky we’ll pass by on our travels. It’s
called Usala’s Rock and …”

I stop listening then and remember my
first view of that monument, what happened there, how my life
turned. I met Kassandra at Usala’s Rock. Married her soon after.
Had a son. Thought I could escape this destiny. I feel so guilty
sitting here next to Lydia. I’m torn between loyalty and
desire.

“
You’re free from that
life,” Lydia whispers, as if she’s reading my thoughts. I jerk my
head up and try to recall Malcolm’s last words.

“
What do you
mean?”

“
Aren’t you listening? He’s
talking about the real enslavement. Though the Reds have been under
Battista’s rule and then Truslow’s, it’s really the Blues that were
imprisoned by the lies. You’re free from that life now. You thought
you were a Blue, but you’re a Red.” She smiles and I want to make
everyone else disappear. Then I have a better idea.

“
Come on. Let’s look for
the twelve springs.”

I noticed one on the way in. An
artesian well that bubbled up continually. It might be hard to get
everyone to leave this shelter with such easy access to water, but
we’ll have to move on soon. Food will quickly be a higher
priority.

We explore the entire mall and find
eleven of the small wells, each expertly worked into some
architect’s clever design. A waterfall. A pond. A sprinkling system
for an overgrown garden. A picnic area. They are easy to spot since
every single one has a crowd of people around it filling buckets
and jugs. And at the pond a dozen women try to launder
clothes.

“
Where could the last one
be?” Lydia scowls. I touch her hand. She’s trying hard not to think
of Barrett, but I’m not fooled. “Outside maybe?”

We’re close to where we busted in, but
I’ve noticed that already men have forced open several exits.
Smart. I pull her toward one and we go outside. It’s nearing
sunset. We look in all directions. I hear a faint sound like water
splashing on pebbles. I point west. She spots the greener area
right away and this time she pulls me along. I suck in my breath. I
have so many words stuck in my heart. Things I want to say. To
comfort her.

I don’t know if I can say any of them.
I hold her hand tighter when we reach the spring.

“
Well, that’s all twelve.
Barrett would’ve—” She doesn’t finish. Her breath takes a little
hop over her throat. She turns toward me and all I can do is hold
her while she sobs.

The sun sinks a little lower. When she
finally steps back and wipes her face she acts like nothing’s
happened.

“
Tell me about the
Suppression.”

And I do. We sit near the spring on a
concrete bench and I tell her what I’d learned: that the new
government suppressed virtually everything in order to take
control. Communication, radio, TV, most phones. They closed
schools. Took away guns. Stopped the manufacture of anything the
tyrant, Bryer Battista, considered unnecessary. Transporting goods
was curtailed. It was politically incorrect to disagree with any of
his policies. Then there were the Suppression Uprisings. Battles. A
civil war. The nuclear fallout and the droughts were followed by
the horrible mutations. Then there were the wild animal scares. The
riots. More suppression. Some of this I learned from Barrett’s
friend, Vinn, the first time I escaped from Exodia.

I talk more than I’ve ever done before,
but throughout my ramblings I’m thinking about Barrett, too. I
wonder how long she’ll grieve for him. Probably forever.

My mouth goes dry. We spend several
seconds in a stiff silence. She doesn’t have any questions about
the Suppression, but corners of her mouth perk up just a bit and I
sense that she has something difficult to say. I want to take her
hand again, but my own have begun to perspire and the hard rock in
my chest is thumping like crazy. There’s a thumping in my ears too
and it feels like the earth is shaking. She leans toward me ever so
slightly and my shadow falls gently across her face as I move
closer too. Awkward.

And then she gasps. “What’s happening?
Is this an earthquake?” She senses the tremors that I’d imagined
were my own. I jump to my feet and look toward the setting sun. The
pounding I’d felt materializes in the west as a thousand horses
gallop our way. There are riders atop every one of them. With the
red sun behind them I can’t tell if they’re wearing Exodian
uniforms or not. Could Truslow have had enough time to replace the
army that fell just a few days ago?

We’re trapped here.
Defenseless.

“
We can’t warn the others.”
She pulls on my arm, urging me to understand. I feel her thoughts
through my skin. She’s strong. She’s quick to evaluate, plan,
strategize, but she wishes I were Barrett. They’d been through
tough situations. “We’ll act like we’re the only ones.
Lost.”

I shake my head. We both scan behind
us, making sure no one else has come outside, but I realize the
futility of such a plan–the evidence of hundreds of footprints, a
wide path that narrows toward the entrance, trampled weeds and
scuffed dirt. I have mere seconds to decide.

“
Run back. Warn everyone.
Bar the doors.”

I’m thankful for her quick
obedience.

The dust that rises behind the riders
glows red. I stand taller and wish I had Harmon’s rod. I’ve a
fraction of a hope that these are Ronel’s people coming to guide us
to the place he promised, but more likely these are bandits,
Bluezools, though I never believed they’d band together in such
numbers.

I glance back to make sure that Lydia
has almost reached the door, but two riders have come around from
either side, orange tunics catching fire in the sunset, scouts who
were sent ahead no doubt. A good plan. A better plan than any I
had. I barely leap two strides before one of them plucks her from
the ground. She kicks and screams, but a loud burst of gunfire
earns her compliance.

I run toward them anyway. The horde
behind me slows and the cloud of dust swoops over their heads and
then mine and settles on the two scouts and Lydia. One holds her
draped across his horse’s withers. He sneers and coughs out a
taunt, “Yell adios to your lady.”