The Wanted (20 page)

Gus actually laughed, well sort of. He held his stomach and coughed with a short smile on his weary face.

We watched the group dig in the frozen ground with sharp, metal implements, retrieving roots and putting them in the basket. When they finished, they got up and were escorted back inside. Just as the last man passed through the gate, I watched as a tall, lean woman, her bones jutting from her skin, offered the basket to the soldier. He rifled through it, took out a handful of roots, and then he pulled cash from his pocket and offered it her. She shook her angular head, and the man fished out some extra coins, dropping them in her basket. She bowed her head and walked inside.

My mouth hung agape, the cold freezing my lips open. What we’d just witnessed, apart from being contradictory, was extraordinary. This place was different in a way I could never have imagined. These people had some independence.

Desh tapped my chin, and I closed my mouth.

“You all right?” he asked, his tone more joking than I’d heard in a while.

“Um, yeah, just surprised,” I answered, my eyes scanning the top of the walls of the Palma compound, coils of razor wire crowning the wall. We didn’t need that kind of barrier in Pau. No one ever tried to get over the wall. The concrete also looked damaged and patched in places. I ran my hand over my jaw; the stubble was now long enough to be more of a sketchy beard now. I stared down at my other hand, pressed into the mud, and thought,
Rosa would have loved to see this.
And then I pushed the thought behind other things.

We retreated from Palma, creeping backwards slowly until we were at the blackberries, and then we moved quickly into the forest to a safe place. The big question pulsing through the whole group was—did this change our plans?

Pelo grabbed my arm excitedly.

“Did you see that? It’s change. Things are changing…”

I turned to face him, avoiding his eyes, my mouth not wanting to even utter her name. “From what I’d heard, Palma was always a bit different to the others.”

Gus joined us. “What have you heard?”

Desh stared down, his memories pushing up from the dead-looking ground.

“Clara, this was Clara’s home,” he muttered.

I didn’t want him to say it, Clara led to Rosa, and thoughts of her led me into darkness. A picture of her, slumped against a tree after Clara died, entered my mind, her thin arms wrapped around her tiny body, wearing nothing but her underwear as I washed her clothes of Clara’s blood and wished I could wash her pain away with it. She didn’t shake with cold, she didn’t cry—her eyes were two wells of nothingness, empty of feeling, like Rosa had left her own body.

I wouldn’t have thought it possible but my feelings for her deepened in that moment. The way she loved her friend Clara so fiercely and the fact that she took it that hard when she died, made me love her so much.

I took a step back from the conversation and watched, unable to contribute anything useful as Desh explained who Clara was and what we knew of Palma. The Spider filled in some of the blanks, but he also said the gate was new.

“You ok, friend?” Elise asked, her eyes sincere, her hands hovering over my shoulder but not touching me.

I swiped the air like I could clear the vision like smoke. “Bad memories.”
And good memories and everything I’ve lost rolled into one
.

“Things have changed a lot since the retrieval mission,” Matt said. It became apparent our intel was pretty outdated after only twelve months.

The Spider from Palma smiled wide. “I didn’t know it would change this much. But I’m happy to see it!”

We listened. We voted. We decided it changed nothing. We would do the same as we had done in the other towns.

That night.

JOSEPH

The clouds moved in. Thin ones that weren’t about rain. They just kept the small amount of warmth from the day in.

The atmosphere at the camp was more relaxed than normal. Maybe we were getting used to it or maybe it was because we had more hope with this particular mission. Either way, we sat on rocks or in the dirt, surrounded by brittle trees with dresses of thorny bushes, making our plans. Some of the men pulled out their precious flasks and offered them around as we jumped from foot to foot, trying to stay warm. There could be no fire tonight as we were so close to the compound. Small battery lanterns or torches sat by people’s feet.

Gus flashed a warning stare in our direction as the flask flew around. “Take it easy, men. We still have a mission to complete.”

Olga stood up, flask in hand, and pushed it at Gus’s face. “Just one drink, Gus. It won’t kill you.”

She was braver than I was, but then, that wasn’t hard. We held our breaths. No one talked to Gus like that. He stared up at the patch of sky above us, the branches encroaching on the view, and swore. Snatching the flask from her chubby hand, he gazed into the opening. He sniffed it once, and his face relaxed. Raising the flask, he said, “moy syn,” and took a large swig. I watched him roll it around in his mouth and swallow it like it was a spoonful of honey. Man, he was a tough guy.

I leaned towards Matt and asked, “What does moy syn mean?”

Matt glanced down and I noticed he was flexing his injured hand, testing his fingers. They seemed sluggish.

“It means my son, Joe,” Matt whispered sadly.

“Oh.”

When the flask came to me, my head was already dark with memories: Cal’s crazed eyes when I’d burst into his hospital room, ready to tear him apart, a fan of perfect, dark-brown hair, blood. But I also thought of Gus. Most of the time, I forgot he was a father too, that he had lost both his children. He was just Gus, strong, gruff, and unemotional. I didn’t pause for long before I placed the flask to my lips and drank. The harsh liquid burned down my throat like charcoal-flavored acid. I coughed and spluttered while the older members of the group laughed at me.

I wiped my mouth and let myself smile, my eyes stinging with tears from the burning fluid. The alcohol pooled in my stomach and created an unfamiliar, warm sensation. The darkness got darker, shrouding my memories in a wavy fog and putting me in the present. I liked the feeling.

I passed it to Matt, and he declined. “Not a path I can go down again,” he muttered, still staring at his hand. I shrugged and took another small sip. It didn’t taste as bad the second time. Elise watched me from across the circle of Survivors and Spiders, curiously, with a small smile playing on her lips.

Matt stood. “Now as you know, poor Ansel was supposed to be the accompanying Survivor for the Palma mission.” Everyone bowed their heads. It seemed so long, though it was only weeks ago that Ansel was killed by those brutal men on our journey to the Superiors’ compound. Matt cleared his throat. “I would volunteer but… my hand…”

I jumped up, the sudden movement causing me to sway a little. I forced my body to straighten, to look confident, competent.

“I’ll go.” I was desperate to keep that distraction going, focus on the action outside of my brain, not the destruction going on inside.

“But you’re wounded, Joe,” Desh said, shaking his head as he hugged his body against the cold.
That’s never going to change
, I thought.

I made eye contact with Gus. “I’m fine, I feel perfectly fine,” I told them and myself. Moving closer to Gus, I talked in a hushed, pleading tone directly to him. “Please, let me do something.”

He groaned, and then his head fell into a begrudging nod. “All right, boy,” he conceded.

I clenched my fist and pumped it at my side. This would be a good thing for me. I blinked up at the stars, peeking out between branches that looked like spidery veins tangling across the air. A door was opening, but I had to close one first.

The Palma Spider stood and held out his hand. “My name’s Nafari,” he said, his strong handshake out of proportion to his small size. He looked up at me with almost black eyes like buttons and grinned. “My friends call me Naf.”

I shook his hand and returned his smile. “Ok Naf, where do we start?”

He threw his head back and laughed, his voice was deep and roaring, like an engine.

“I said my
friends
call me Naf.” He poked my chest with his brown, scarred finger, which hurt. “We are not friends… yet.”

I shrugged and forced a smile, which gradually became less fake as I stared into his strong, rebellious face. “By the end of this mission, I’ll be calling you Naf.”

He slapped his leg. “Oh, I hope so!”

“So Nafari,” I said, annunciating every syllable carefully, “where on the wall do you think we should place the bomb and the video?”

His eyes were as round as the moon, but more intense, brighter. “We are not going to place the bomb on the outside. We are going to stroll right in and we’re going to blow the gates open from the inside.” He swung his elbows dramatically and raised his legs up high, doing his strolling impression while he laughed.

My face froze in disbelief, which made him laugh harder.

“Don’t worry. Trust me,” he said through giant, white teeth. One tooth was missing, a black square punched through his mouth. He grabbed the flask and licked his lips before drinking. “This is going to be fun!” he garbled with a mouthful of alcohol.

The others didn’t argue. We had let the Spiders run each mission. They were the experts on their own towns after all.

The videodisc seemed heavy in my pack. Even though it only weighed about two hundred grams, its importance and my responsibility dragged me down until I felt like my feet were making deeper impressions with every step. Now that the alcohol had worn off, I felt less brave and more nervous. Nafari slapped my back, his springy steps making me even more tense, and began to push me through the gap in the blackberries.

“Let’s go, big man!” He laughed as he threw me a colored shirt to pull over my camouflage one.

Pelo and Desh waved me good luck as I turned around one last time. Matt and Gus had already told me to be careful a dozen times and were now packing.

We were swallowed in thorns and rustling leaves.

“Now, you remember what we practiced?” he whispered as we moved through the briar.

I nodded my head more times than necessary. “Yes.”

We burst through the other side and made our way to the dirt road that led right up to the gates. Our feet un-quiet, strolling casually or, in my case, trying to look casual and looking more stiff and edgy.

Nafari’s head swung from side to side like he was looking for something as he sauntered towards Palma under the light of the cloud-shadowed moon. Suddenly, his upper body darted down and he snatched up a discarded basket. It was rotted and crusted with dirt, a large hole worn through its side. He pressed the hole against his body and poured the frozen berries we had collected into it. He did it swiftly, never breaking his gait, brushing the dust off as we moved.

The cloud cover made it hard to see the road, but above the gates, two lights streamed over the opening, giving us quick illumination as they flicked on and off when the guards walked in front of sensors. I slowed as we approached. Those giant guns slung over their shoulders would make a hole in me the size of Nafari’s basket.

Nafari clipped the side of my head and yelled, “Hurry up! See, they’ve already closed the gates. Idiot!” He smacked me again, almost having to jump up to reach the top of my head. I flinched and ducked as his palm slapped my skull.

“Ouch,” I growled.

“It has to look realistic,” Nafari murmured under his breath as he grabbed my shirt and dragged me towards the gate.

I held my breath as they raised their guns and one of the guards shouted, “Stop!”

Nafari ignored him and kept walking. And I braced myself for a bullet.

“Stop!” the guard screamed, his voice peeled of aggression, sounding afraid.

A warning shot fired at our feet, dirt and gravel spitting at our knees. I leaped into the air like I could avoid it.

Nafari shot me a glare with his moon-like eyes and then turned to the guards, swearing at them, waving his fist around in anger while I tried not to gawk in horror. “Is this what I get for spending my outside time collecting berries for Ursra?” He cursed again, and the guards lowered their guns in confusion.

Nafari kept storming towards the gates, dragging me with him, blaming me for slowing him down.

By the time we were at the gate, the guns hung slack across the guard’s stomachs and the looks of puzzlement and almost apology on their faces had me struggling not to laugh.

“Are you going to let me in or what?” Nafari asked, his tone so convincing and demanding.

The guard paused under the lights. We stood still for so long that they turned off. When he moved to get his keycard, the lights clicked back on.

I kept my head bowed, my eyes narrowed.

“Wait,” the guard paused, flipping the card over in his fingers. He pulled a scanner from his holster and held it out. “Your wrist, please.”

Nafari rolled his large eyes and stuck his wrist out. The barcode was there, but a thick, red line ran across it, making it unreadable. I took a deep breath. This was it. We were going to be gunned down. My muscles tensed, ready for the fight.

The guard stared down at the red mark, his scanner shaking in his hand. He made eye contact with Nafari, who smiled wide.

“What’s taking so long, man? I’m cold and I’ve got a drink with my name on it waiting for me inside,” the other guard snapped, jumping from leg to leg and rubbing his arms.

The guard holding the scanner pressed the trigger, looked at the screen, and said, “Nothing, let them in,” without giving me a second glance.

The iron gates opened with a creak, and we were inside. Walking fast, but not too fast. Once we were out of sight, Nafari pulled me into a gap between two buildings and pressed me against a wall.

“What the hell…?” I started to ask. I had so many questions that I didn’t know where to start.

“Sh!” Nafari grinned in the dark, his white teeth glistening like they were painted on. The black gap looked solid.

“But… how?”

“Let’s just say, our resistance has a few officials in its pockets,” he whispered, his voice whistling, his face slanted in shadow.

I swiped my forehead with my shaky hand. “I can’t believe it. Nothing like that would ever happen in Pau. I was sure we were going to be shot!”

I took a wobbly breath. Palma was more than just a
little
different.

He nodded, I think. His teeth moved in the dark anyway.

“I think they’re getting just as tired of fighting us as we are of fighting them. We threw cans, they took them away. We threw bottles, so they took them too. If all we’d had was the spit on our tongues, that’s what we’d throw.” I watched his dark lips pass over his teeth and listened to a true rebel. “Now we are forced to scavenge for food because they keep taking every potential weapon from our hands before we even use them. Our biggest problem has been access to decent weapons and large enough explosives. This,” Nafari said, patting the bomb in his pack, “will change everything. Come on.” He pulled me away from the alley and into the main street.