Secret Worlds (549 page)

Bea says, “It could’ve been cut by someone who was starving, or needed shelter.”

“They didn’t cut any stalks down though,” reasons Nevada.

“Plus for shelter, why would they cut from the top to get in?” Armonk asks.

Blane rubs his chin. “Jan’s point makes the most sense. Mr. Axiom should never have announced that we have our own crop.”

“We don’t know that he did,” says Armonk.

“We don’t know that he didn’t,” says Vesper.

“Axiom Inc. is bringing us fortified fencing, and … other means of protection,” Nevada says ominously. “But for now, we must repair the cuts, before the sun destroys everything.”

She assigns us to work in pairs. This time, Radius works with Bea and Vesper with Jan. Nevada herself chooses Armonk, which wins him more bottle-sucking noises and snorts. Again, he ignores this, but sooner or later, if it doesn’t stop, another arrow will fly.

I’m paired with Blane. I’d ask to switch partners, but Nevada’s too stressed to ask. She had no way of knowing that Blane got aggressive with me the other day, because I’m no snitch. I’ll try to make the best of it, and stay far from his clutches.

There’s a clamor of activity—boots scraping against the floor, the
thwap
of suit closures, and clunk of masks pinging off of surfaces—as we all gear up at once. Something isn’t quite right, but I can’t put my finger on what. Then it hits me. In the chaos of the moment, I hadn’t noticed that Thorn wasn’t among us. My pulse speeds up. Where is he? Did whoever ripped the tarp take Thorn?

I ask the person standing next to me. “Radius, have you seen Thorn?”

“I don’t keep track of your brother. Ask Bea.”

“Has Thorn gone outside?” I ask her while she’s attaching her mask.

“I think I saw him earlier, putting on his suit,” she offers. At this, I sigh with relief. He does like to be first in the field. He’s probably beaten us there.

Dashing out, I call his name. No answer, but the field is huge, and Fireseed’s wide, plush leaves absorb sound. I will myself not to panic.

Once I’m out from under the porch, I see that the tarp is a mess! Someone’s ripped three new gashes in the section near the porch alone. Uneven pieces droop down like torn tent flaps after a sandstorm. Already these gaping wounds in the structure have raised the temperature enough to heat up my suit.

Blane and I are assigned to scout the far western quadrant. This field is twice the square footage of my old compound that housed hundreds, and more oblong. I follow Blane as he parts the Fireseed leaves, their profuse growth forcing us to bushwhack our way through. More than a few times I have to remind him not to crush the plants underfoot in his emphatic push forward. He grumbles at this, yet seems almost chummy when he says, “Impressive show with that elixir you gave Armonk. What did you put in there, Cult Girl? A witch potion?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Name’s
Ruby,
by the way.”

He pulls back a thorny section of plant so I can pass. “So, it’s true you take drugs.”

“No!”

“Someone saw you. Do you like getting high?”

“I take nothing to get high, or for entertainment either.” This much is true. “What vice do
you
have?” I add, in an echo of Bea’s sentiment from the other night.

He laughs as he presses forward, crushing more Fireseed saplings. “Being too good at playing bodyguard.”

“What’s that mean?” That he’s more violent than I’ve already witnessed?

“It means I take my job very seriously.” He raises his brows in a way that chills me.

I’m tempted to ask him if he’s ever killed anyone, but I’m not sure I could handle the answer. With his massive biceps, trunk-like limbs and giant’s hands he could squeeze the life out of someone without even trying.

By the time we travel almost the whole quadrant I’m thirsty and my belly’s growling because Nevada had us work before breakfast. I’m sweating hard under my suit. I hate to admit that the flex and release of Blane’s substantial shoulders under his burn suit is mesmerizing me. So much so, that when he stops in mid-step I hurtle right into him. With a half-grin, he steadies me, while at the same time raising an ear and tapping a finger to his lips. What?

Why didn’t I hear it before? A distinct sawing reverberates off of the tarp and echoes dully through the leaf cover. Then it stops. Blane gives me one of his brooding stares, and then mouths Stay Here.

Before I know it, he’s forging madly ahead, destroying leaves and stalks as he goes. I almost scold him again, but he’s warned me to stay quiet, and something about him warrants attention, no matter how off-putting he is.

Huzzah, Fireseeders!
booms the Stream implant in my head. It scares the living day out of me. I forgot all about that implant. It blares on.

The Axiom contest is heating up! A high schooler from Baronland South has already finished his project. He’s keeping it under wraps but suffice it to say that colossal projects win colossal prizes. So keep those projects moving along. Only two weeks before we pick the finalists who will travel to Vegas-by-the-Sea.

Brought to you by Crab House Delights, where a Faux-Crab feast is only a melted butter dish away. Children eat half-price on Fridays.

It’s daunting enough hanging out in this dense jungle alone without being startled by the darn Stream. In vain, I peer through the leaf canopy for a glimpse of Blane. All I see are star-shaped flower heads and arching stalks, like a forest of red mirrors, until I’m disoriented. What if Blane runs off and leaves me here? Would I find my way back through this rustling labyrinth? Reaching in my pocket, I palm my compass, thankful for small, simple things.

It’s been a long ten minutes, when out of the morass, Blane shouts in great, accusing blasts, “I caught you, crazy! You’re in for it.” My heart thunders with a terrible sense of dread. “Ruby, get over here now,” Blane commands. Shocking, he’s used my actual name. I bound toward him blindly.

Coming to a small clearing, I witness a horrifying sight. My brother Thorn has climbed high in the branches of a thick Fireseed stalk. He’s brandishing one of Nevada’s carving knives, and the shards of another clumsy gash in the tarp dangle down from above, clearly and utterly Thorn’s own handiwork. Blane has trapped him by the ankles, and is keeping him there.

I’m as speechless as Thorn ever was. I wish we’d never come to The Greening. Clearly, it’s driven my brother insane.

“Thorn, what are you doing up there?” I ask stupidly.

“Speak up, bastard!” Blane yanks on Thorn’s legs. Still Thorn makes no sound, but I see from his contorted red face and mouth pressed flat that he’s in pain, yet stubbornly and determinedly holding his own. Why is he cutting these holes in the tarp? He’s always had a reason for his various irrational behaviors before, like the time he stayed out in the Fireagar caves until sundown. Using one word—“guard” he explained that he needed to protect them. It made no sense until the next day when a poacher tried to steal half an acre.

“Stop pulling at my brother,” I yell. Blane doesn’t listen. Instead, he wrenches Thorn from the branches and grips him tightly around the waist. “You’re ruining our chances of winning the contest,” Blane shouts at him. “Destroying our livelihood. I should strangle your—”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare!” Running over, I try my best to pry Blane’s monstrous hands from Thorn’s waist. Blane’s eyes are distant, bulging, frightening. “Let him go. Stop!” My face is up against his, no doubt I’m spitting on him in my fury.

Blane snaps into focus long enough to loosen his grip. Thorn falls to the ground, wheezing.

Now that I know my brother is safe, my own rage is released. “Thorn, you’re ruining things!” I exclaim. Rushing forward, I kneel down next to him. “Why are you doing this? Tell me, right now. Give me a signal.” His eyes are shut and he’s rolling back and forth the way that he does to comfort himself.

“Give you a signal?” Blane bellows. “Give you a flipping signal? What kind of nuts are you people? I’ll force the destructive cretin to talk.” With that, he scoops Thorn up like an oversized sports ball, and plunges him headfirst through the field, with me struggling to keep up.

The punishment is swift and clear. Thorn is no longer allowed out in the Fireseed field. He is under house arrest, quarantined on second tier until we head up to class in the morning, which was when he apparently made his slashing forays. Not only that, Nevada is planning to boot us out of here.

“We can’t afford chaos at The Greening,” she threatens. “I always suspected your brother was too young to fit in here, and I was right.”

“Sleep on it, please,” I plead. “We’ll be good. I’ll talk sense into him. I’ll watch him more carefully.” Not so sure I can, if Thorn’s gone off the deep end, but I’ll try.

“No promises,” she warns. “I’ll give it a day or two.” Nevada only allows me to speak to Thorn for a few minutes. It’s clear by the way he hugs himself as he rocks that beneath his determination he’s terrified. He’s only a kid, but clearly Nevada doesn’t trust me now, as if she thinks we’re plotting like she used to do in her ZWC group. Why we would plot this type of destruction when we’re in dire need of shelter is a mystery to me. Obviously we need the contest money as much as the next person here.

I sit on the floor next to Thorn, in the room he shares with Radius. He’s still rocking. His hair is matted with sweat, and I can tell by his dirt-striped face that he’s been crying.

Nevada is stationed in the hall, so any correspondence with Thorn must be full of stealth. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy about Thorn and I plotting. Now undercover communication will be a necessity.

“Why? Tell me why?” I whisper, so close to his ear that strands of his hair tickle my mouth. “One sign so I know you’re not …” I catch myself about to say ‘mental’. He’ll clam up worse if he feels criticized. “One clue, that’s all. Please, Thorn?”

He pauses in his movements. That’s how I sense he’s registered my desperate words.

Nevada peeks in. “You done in there?” This prompts him into rocking again.

“A few more seconds, please.” I try again, more urgently. “Thorn, tell me! I won’t be able to talk with you again for a while.”

He stops rocking, and presses his damp, round head against my ear. “Food,” he murmurs.

Miracles! I guide his chin up gently until he’s looking at me, and pantomime bringing something to my mouth. He nods solemnly and then looks away. I know it makes him uncomfortable to look at someone for long. It’s painful to him. Food. He said food! My faith in his sanity’s restored, but what does he mean? I dare not ask because Nevada’s walking in.

“Time to go downstairs, Ruby,” she says.

I feel the prick of tears.

“
Now
, Ruby.”

I press Thorn close, inhale his little boy scent of dirty hair and something irrepressibly sweet. That’s how I imagine the ocean waves too—blue, buoyant, briny yet sweet. I rise to my feet and reluctantly leave. Looking back over my shoulder I see him already swaying again behind the closing door.

Now, he’ll be trapped in his shut-in world even more than he already was.

Food—food for what? Food for us, for the Fireseed? Food for the Fireseed
.
That seems right. Don’t know why but it does.

What kind of food for the Fireseed? I thought it survived on basically nothing.

It takes all day to repair the rips nearest the perimeter, which are most vulnerable to invasion and theft. My arms throb from the effort of holding the tarp steady above my head, as I sew with my other hand. At least Blane is respectful. He doesn’t tease me or even make obnoxious comments about Armonk. I’m more grateful than it makes sense to be.

At dinner, though, hatred pours out as fast as water from the pitcher.

“We should toss your brother out to the lizards,” Vesper spits.

“Hurl him through one of his own holes in the tarp,” Jan suggests.

“Send him to a loony bin in Vegas-by-the-Sea,” Vesper adds, as she spears a hunk of beetle loaf, and drops it on her plate.

“Make
him
sew up all of the rest of the holes,” says Radius. “Why should we slave away at fixing them if we didn’t even cut them?”

“Better yet,” Vesper’s eyes narrow at me, “get his sister for what he’s done.”

“She told him to give her a signal,” Blane tells his comrades as if I’m not even there. “Why would she do that?” He gazes at me. “Are you two working as a team to trip us up?”

“Well,
are
you?” Bea leans over the table and stares at me with her chalk blue eyes. It hurts most that she would question me.

“Of course not,” I insist. “I’m trying to get answers, just like you.”

“That kid can talk, he’s faking being mute,” Jan claims. “He’d talk if I shook him.”

“No,” I say. “That was the problem in the first place. He’s had the voice beaten out of him.”

“I’ll beat it out more,” warns Jan.

“The hell you will,” says Armonk.

“Defending the loon?” Jan sneers.

“Enough!” Nevada finally demands order. Though I get the distinct impression that her sentiments lie at least in part with the others.

The image of Thorn with Radius scares me. Normally he’s the mildest of the guys, but tonight he’s surely angry at Thorn. I dare not pass by their room though. So that night, I toss under the covers, worrying. My various stash bags are attached to my belt because I don’t trust anything to the Project Room right now. In her bed across from mine, Bea is already snoring lightly. I’m thoroughly exhausted too, from all of that fieldwork. As disturbed as I am by Thorn’s actions I might even be able to sleep on my own tonight. I need to try. I’ve got to stop taking Oblivion powder, deal with my nightmares some other way.

Sinking gratefully into my pillow, I brush my flyaway hair behind me and curl up into a comfy ball. My eyes drift lower, lower, and I fall into a dark reverie.

I’m back under the tarp. Through the holes that Thorn cut, sneak men in pearl blue ships. They hover in the Fireseed fields, waiting, waiting for someone to steal. They don’t say this, but somehow I know. Dozens of them hover in great ships that drone—