Taken (8 page)

I tell her about Maude, the voice, the blue light coming from her room. I tell her how Maude has become another mystery, like the Heist and Wall, that is too unnatural to trust.

“Please go home and sleep on it. We can talk in the morning,” Emma says. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I’ll feel the same way tomorrow. I can’t stay here any longer, Emma. It’s all wrong and I need answers. If they come in the form of death beyond the Wall, at least I’ll know for sure that nothing exists outside this place.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” She’s close to tears now.

I analyze every aspect of her. The way those large eyes pinch together in the corners, the exact angle of her eyebrows, the placement of that mark on her cheek. I want to remember these things. It’s the last time I’ll see them. More lasts.

“You don’t have to understand,” I say. “I’m doing it for me, because that’s what I do. We talked about this on our very first trip to the lake. I think about myself, my needs, and I act on them. I need the truth, all of it, and I’m going to get it. I can’t spend my entire life not knowing.”

“Gray, please. Please don’t be that selfish.” She grabs my hand in desperation.

“I have to do this,” I say. I’m not sure if this is really true. It feels it, though. Every ounce of my body screams that this is the only way, and that’s all I need. Those feelings have always been enough to justify action.

“Gray?” she whispers.

“If I survived the Heist, what’s to say I can’t survive the Wall? I’ll come back. After I get some answers. I promise.” And then I grab her face and kiss her before she can argue. She kisses me back, her hands gripping the base of my neck. This figures, that when I finally manage to connect with Emma, I am running in the other direction. Before her lips can change my mind, I break away. She stands alone, her nightgown blowing about her shins as I sprint home.

I pack my bag with food and water. Gather my bow and arrows. It is mindless work, like my body’s been preparing for this moment my entire life. I am calm, free of nerves. I feel nothing—nothing but the warm rain that pings against my skin as I leave my house, a torch in hand.

The trailhead lies quiet and somber before me. As I stand in its mouth, lightning snakes through the sky, illuminating the town I leave behind. I admire it for the last time, holding the torch overhead. It sizzles in the lightly falling rain. And then, without looking back, I shoulder my pack and head north.

PART TWO

OF WALLS

TEN

I’VE NEVER BEEN ANXIOUS IN
the woods before, but tonight nerves find me. It’s not because of the dark or the constantly rumbling thunder or even the reality that I am trekking toward what for all before me has been death. It’s the answers, calling to me from beyond the Wall. Blaine would say I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have. Maybe it takes going crazy to face the truth.

When I reach the Wall, it is more ominous than I remember. I press a hand against it. The stone is cold, and the surface smooth, like rocks in a riverbed. I look up, past the rain that drips from my eyelashes, to the top of the towering structure. A flash of lightning brightens the sky; for a split second, I can make out the figure of a lone crow. He is perched on the Wall, his feathers slick and glistening in the rain.

Something moves behind me, bolting through the brush. I squint through the rain, but my torch reveals only flickering raindrops. I turn my attention to the tree, a massive oak whose limbs grow close enough to the Wall to serve as bridges, and begin the climb.

It’s slow going with the torch, but I need it. I climb higher than I ever have before, past the point I’d clambered to as a child in hopes of glimpsing what lay beyond the Wall. I reach a branch that stretches out toward the top of the stone shelf, and shinny across it, my legs doing most of the work. Soon I am crouched atop the Wall, staring into the black void that fills the space on the other side.

There is nothing to make out beyond the structure, not even with the torch. It is a thick black fog, a nothing so dense and heavy that if you awoke within that murky space you might think yourself dead. I sit there for a few moments, breathing heavily. My heart pounds stubbornly against my ribs. I try to calm it but can’t.

For a moment, I consider climbing down the tree and returning to town. I must be crazy, thinking I can do this. No one survives the Wall. No one. But then again, just days ago I believed no boy survived the Heist. And the answers are waiting, on the other side. All I have to do is climb over.

The crow beside me ruffles his feathers, annoyed by my panting and indecision. He cocks his head, caws at me with a shrill screech, and then, as if to show me how simple it is, soars effortlessly into the dark void. His black feathers blend seamlessly with the empty air. I stare for quite some time at the space into which he vanished.

I follow the crow’s example in the end. I wedge the torch in my bag so that my hands are free and shift my body over the edge of the Wall. The opposing side is as smooth as ours. There are no crannies or footholds to aid in my descent. I hang from my arms, lowering myself as far as possible, before dropping to the ground.

My knees buckle when I land, pain jolting through my ankles and back. I retrieve the torch and straighten up.

I can smell smoke in the distance. I hold the torch before me, hoping to see something, anything. Slowly, the darkness begins to fade. It’s melting away, changing, as if setting foot on this side of the Wall has made the space visible. It is still nighttime, but I can finally see, the flames from my torch lighting the world around me when just on the other side of the Wall this space was forever dark. There is indeed grass beneath my feet. Pebbles and brush. It’s another forest, much like the one I’ve just left, but there are no trees growing near the Wall; they have all been cut down. I shudder at the sight of their stumps, which are cut almost as smoothly as the surface of the Wall itself. No ax could chop that flush.

Things are still coming into view, morphing and transforming in the air, when another waft of smoke reaches me on a gust of wind.

I hear a shuffle to my right. It grows closer.

I drop the torch and ready my bow, aiming into the unknown. This is it, coming. This is what killed all the others.

A figure emerges from the shadows, and my heart plummets to my feet. Nothing could be worse than this, more terrifying. Emma has followed me over the Wall.

ELEVEN

I STOOP TO RETRIEVE THE
torch before it goes out in the wet grass, and then I stand there, my mouth hanging open. Emma takes advantage of my silence and races toward me. She’s wearing pants and a well-made jacket. There’s a bag strung about her shoulders. She’s thought this through, deliberately followed me.

Her arms link behind my neck. I hug her and kiss her hair, which is wet with rain. She’s saying something, but the words are muffled, her face pressed into my chest. And then the initial shock of her arrival wears off. It sinks in, the severity of her actions. I grab her shoulders and push her away from me.

“What is this?” I demand.

“Gray,” she starts, reaching for me, but I slap her arm away.

“No, seriously, Emma. What were you thinking? Why did you follow me here?” I’m almost certain now that the movement through the brush earlier was her tailing me.

“I . . . I wanted . . . Well, fine, Gray! It’s nice to see you, too.”

“That’s exactly it, Emma,” I spit back. “It’s not nice to see you at all. How could this possibly be nice? I have a chance here, but you, you’ll be like all the others. Am I supposed to like that?”

“I’m not dead yet,” she retorts.

“Well, it hasn’t found us yet. It’s going to happen, whatever it is, and there’s nothing I’m going to be able to do to save you.” I want to tell her to leave, to climb back to where it is safe, but the Wall is too smooth to scale and the lack of nearby trees has her trapped.

“Maybe I don’t want to be saved,” Emma continues. “Maybe I’m here because I want the truth, too, no matter the cost. What you’re feeling right now, that drive for answers, I’ve had it my entire life. Why is your seeking the truth any more justifiable than my wanting to?”

“It’s justifiable because I actually have a chance.”

“That’s really two-faced,” she snaps.

“I don’t care!” I shout. “I escaped the Heist. I don’t know how or why, but maybe that same magic will spare me here. You don’t have that chance.”

Emma bites her lip and looks down at the grass. It’s quiet for far longer than is comfortable and when she finally speaks again, her voice is soft. “There’s nothing for me back there anymore, Gray. The two things I want, answers and you, are now on
this
side of the Wall.”

I hear Emma say this, and know that I want her, too, but in a more dangerous way, in a way I’ve always been afraid to admit, maybe even to myself.

I love her, and
love
is a word too heavy for couples to exchange in Claysoot. It is rarely spoken, and when it is, it is passed solely between parent and child. Feeling so strongly about someone your own age is nothing but foolish; the Heist shatters all relationships, regardless of their strength. It won’t ruin us, though, not when I’ve beaten it. But this world beyond the Wall, what happens to all the climbers . . . that could.

“Gray?” Emma is still waiting for my answer. She looks so pretty, even with her hair growing wild in the humidity. I can’t stay mad at her. Not here, not when there’s no guarantee we’ll both make it. I want to tell her the truth, to speak that word, but it feels clumsy on my tongue.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “for yelling.”

She nods. And then I’m kissing her, because it’s easier than forming words. Her lips taste like rain, and I want her closer, even though I want her far away, safe behind the Wall. When we finally break apart, the storm is faltering.

“I need you to promise me you’ll listen from here on in. Any order I give, even if it sounds weird at the time, just trust me, okay?”

Again, she nods. “I promise.”

We drink some water and then I lead the way, moving through the dense woods and away from the smoky scent that continues to ride the air. I have an uneasy feeling that should we meet its source, Emma will meet her doom.

We left Claysoot so late in the evening that it isn’t long before dawn penetrates the overhead canopy. We squint in the light, continuing until the trees open onto an empty field. It’s much larger than the clearing in Claysoot’s woods, and free of stones and dirt trails. It’s almost inviting, and because of this, I grow suspicious.

A breeze whips through the meadow and the smoke again reaches us. It smells thicker, more pungent. I thought we’d been moving away from it, but now I’m not so sure.

“What’s that?” Emma whispers, pointing ahead through the meadow.

At the far end, where another line of trees begins, is the faintest hint of a structure, a building perhaps. The hairs on my forearm rise.

Answers.

We make our way into the field carefully. I lead, pausing whenever I hear a foreign sound or get a bad feeling. Slowly, the shape reveals itself to us.

It is indeed a building, a narrow, skinny thing that has long since been deserted. Parts of the roof are failing, and the front door swings aimlessly on the breeze. There’s something odd about the place, though. Even in its state of decay, it is too perfect. You can tell its frame was once meticulously aligned, its windows uniform, its roof even. I think of our homes in Claysoot that, while built with care, are flawed and imperfect. Whatever hands made this building were extremely skilled.

Or not human.

“Maybe there’s people,” Emma says. “Come on. Let’s go see.”

I grab her wrist and pull her to my side. I can tell the place is abandoned, and has been, for sometime. “I think we should wait a minute.” There’s an odd feeling creeping over me. I suddenly feel as if we’re being watched.

“I always knew there had to be more, out here, beyond that Wall,” Emma says. “Gray, you know what this means, don’t you? Someone has been here. People! Just beyond Claysoot. Maybe this is where they came from, the originals. Or maybe the adults were here when the storm hit, and the children got stuck inside!”

I don’t know what I expected to find on this side of the Wall—a gaping black hole through which I’d drift forever, perhaps—but this place changes everything. There is life beyond Claysoot, life and earth just like there is inside the Wall.

“Come on, let’s get a better look,” Emma urges again.

I want to, so badly. I can feel the answers pulsing in the air before us. They reach for me, soaking over my skin like the warmth of a strong fire, but they cannot outshine the doubt that fills my mind. I can still feel invisible eyes on us and I look around the field, almost hoping to find an intruder to shoot.

We are alone.

When I can no longer fight the desire to know, I agree to Emma’s request and we head for the building. Once inside, I twist a rusty bolt to secure the door and we take to exploring.

The place has a finished floor, like Maude’s house in Claysoot, only it is not wood but some smooth material I have never seen before. Even under a layer of dust and grime, you can tell it once shone brightly, reflecting light and movement. We also find a sink that spits rusty water from a pipe at the turn of a handle, and there are odd branches hanging from the ceiling that flicker light about the room when Emma presses something on the wall. The place is magical. I’m now certain it was built by something other than human hands.