World Of Shell And Bone (19 page)

“There’s no need for violence,” I say, staring straight into Moon’s eyes. “These people have done nothing wrong. They didn’t know I was in their camp. I’ve been hiding.”

Several of the Nukehead men turn to me as if to argue, but I shake my head at them. This isn’t the time to be brave, or noble, or honorable. These are the end days; from this point on, we do what we need to survive. Principles for our children’s lives: to me, it seems a fair trade.

Moon chuckles at my obvious lie. “Don’t you worry, Vika. I only want to talk. As long as these
things
don’t do anything rash, my men won’t either.”

I nod. “Alright. Then let’s talk.”

Moon has one of the Maintenance men check my pockets. He takes my pistol and we head to a nearby tent, the previous excitement in the air now replaced by fear and tension. Ceres grasps the back of my shirt, but Nurse Carina comes forward and gently detangles her fingers. Cupping the soft curve of her cheek, I look into her golden eyes.
It’s going to be alright. You’re safe.

When we’re alone, I look at Moon. “What is it you wish to know?”

Moon folds her arms and arches an eyebrow. “Right to business? Aren’t you the slightest bit curious how I’ve come to be here? Me, a zero armband, with all this power?” She chuckles. “After you left and we realized what you were, Miss Adams was only too eager to let me join the special program the Escorts developed to stop all of you Rads. And now I’m eligible to emigrate, just like that.” She walks up to me slowly and puts a finger under my chin. I resist the urge to back away. “Your terrorist group was involved in those uprisings in the Asylums. All that time we worked together, and I scarcely knew you after all. Little snake.”

I don’t respond.

“What a slap in the face to the great Mathilde Cannon.” An amused smile spreads on her face. “So tell me, Vika, who else from that group of Rads is here in this camp?”

I continue to stare at her. “No one. They all died when your guards attacked the bus.” A blinding flash of pain steals my breath away as I recall the last time I saw Shale. An image steals into my brain, unbidden: me ripping Moon’s throat out with my teeth. It would happen so quickly she’d stand there, still and quiet, until it was too late, until her green uniform was stained a warm, wet crimson.

Moon sighs, as though she’s disappointed in me. Her gaze has a peculiar reptilian quality to it. Has it always? “You know I’m talking about the team that attacked
after
the ones on the bus were taken care of; the Rads who actually infiltrated the Toronto Asylum. I’m sure they’re here with you.”

Once again, I remain silent. A child cries somewhere outside.

“Looks like you have quite a few little ones in camp here.” She plays idly with a stick she picks up off the floor of the tent.

“Yes,” I say carefully.

“Hmm. It would be heartbreaking to see them all die.”

I tense. Once again, I see myself with my teeth on the tender skin of Moon’s throat, but even as I consider it I know my injured foot will slow me down. I cannot risk acting rashly if there is a chance she might escape. “We’re armed. And we’re not afraid to use our weapons.”

Moon laughs, a throaty, robust chuckle. “Neither are we, my dear. Not to mention, our casualties won’t be mourned nearly as hard as yours.”

“You have to believe me. I have no information about the whereabouts of the other Rads.”

“I have to believe you?” She arches one green eyebrow and snaps the stick in two. “After you lied to me the entire time we worked together? You must be joking.”

“I did it for my sister,” I say, forcing my voice to be strong. “I had to rescue her. You don’t know what it was like in that Asylum for the children—”

“You’re boring me now.” Moon stands up and the two halves of the stick fall to the ground. “If you won’t tell me willingly, I’ll have to make you, I’m afraid.”

I hobble after her, my skin tingling like it does before a bad acid rainfall. I’ve made a mistake. I should’ve chanced it, should’ve acted when I had her alone. She’s speaking to a Maintenance worker by the time I emerge from the tent. I open my mouth to tell the children to run, but before I can, the Maintenance men have grabbed four or five each, regardless of whether they’re Nukeheads or Asylum escapees.

One of the children they have is Alexander. I stare at his tiny open mouth, at his impossibly small fists as they beat against the Maintenance man’s muscled arm. I know he must be screaming, but I cannot hear him. Sound is distorted in the space between him and me, it seems, or perhaps I’ve been exiled to an impenetrable vacuum.

I watch as a Nukehead mother tries to wrestle her child from the man who has him, but she’s pushed to the ground effortlessly. I see her motioning to him wildly, I know she must be speaking, but I can’t hear her either. I look around me in wonder. How is this happening? How have the madness and violence followed me like twin dark stallions, charging effortlessly through any barrier of happiness or hope I try to construct?

“You will all calm down!” Moon orders through a megaphone. Her tinny voice pushes against my eardrums, and just like that, I’m jarred from my reverie. “Calm down or we’ll kill your children right here in front of you!”

The throng of bodies around us falls mostly silent, with some of the younger children in the crowd still whimpering as though they can’t help it. Moon, the Maintenance men with the children, and I are in the center, while the rest of the refugee camp presses in around us in a loose circle.

“Good. You can follow orders, at least.” Moon smiles and looks at me. Still speaking into the megaphone, she says, “Now, Vika, have you changed your mind?”

I glance at the captive children helplessly. Their fates rest in my hands, but I feel as though I’ve been thrust into a game whose rules I don’t understand. How can I make her see I don’t have the answers? “I don’t know—I really haven’t the slightest idea where the other Rads are.”

Moon quirks her mouth and turns to the Maintenance worker who has Alexander. The boy’s big eyes drip tears and his chest hitches with every breath.

Pointing one long green fingernail at him, Moon says, “That one.”

The Maintenance man puts one hand on Alexander’s forehead and the other one on his chin. He means to break his neck. No, I think. No, no, you can’t, he is so close to freedom, to the rest of his life.

Somewhere behind me, Sara screams, breaking my paralysis. I stumble forward. “Wait! Stop!”

Moon looks at me. “Are you ready to talk?”

I shiver so hard my teeth clatter against each other. “Yes. Yes, I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

When Drew stands propped up by two Maintenance men, delirious and talking to hallucinations, I feel only cold anger and revulsion. Not one small part of me is guilty for throwing him to the wolves so callously. I think back to only weeks ago, when I’d felt such outrage at finding out the truth about the Asylums. Drew is far from an innocent victim, but he’s still unable to protect himself against attack at the moment, incapacitated by fever and injury. Am I really so different from those who made a living torturing our children? I am just as willing to assist in the torture of another human being to keep myself and those I love from coming under fire. Perhaps in being hurt by Drew, I’ve lost some of my humanity too. The thought only fuels my rage.

“So this is your fellow fugitive and former Husband?” Moon chuckles as she prods him under the chin with her megaphone. He moans loudly. “He doesn’t seem to be in very good shape.”

“He’s injured,” I reply. “Please…be careful with him.”

“If he cooperates with me, he’ll have nothing to worry about.” She smiles at him. “Now be a good boy and tell me who gave the second group the order to infiltrate the Asylum.”

Drew glares at her, his eyes glassy from fever. “Bl…bloody government bitch.”

Moon’s smile disappears. She nods slightly at the Maintenance man on Drew’s right. The man’s face is passive as he sticks an electric prod into Drew’s mangled shoulder. Drew screams terribly and convulses, but the men do not let him fall. His head slumps forward and he drools onto the ground, thick ropes of blood and spit and mucus.

“Let him go!” I shriek, hoping that I can carry on the charade long enough to give some of the Nukeheads a chance to plan an escape.

Ignoring me, Moon speaks to Drew. “I’ll give you another chance because I’m in a magnanimous mood today. Who ordered the second attack on the Asylum? Was it Tomas?”

Drew’s head jerks up. He looks past Moon at me, and the madness in his eyes is staggering. “Vika? Vika…can’t…get away…” His head lolls on his shoulder.

“She won’t be getting away because you refuse to cooperate,” Moon says, misunderstanding his words. She nods at the Maintenance worker again.

This time the man places Drew’s upper arm on his knee. Pressing down with one hand, he uses his other one to hyperextend Drew’s elbow. There’s a loud cracking sound and Drew shrieks, his face draining entirely of color. Even I blanch at the brutality of it.

“This is just the beginning, Shale,” Moon says, walking slowly to me. She produces a knife and holds the point to my eye. “You keep denying knowledge and we’ll do things to Vika you’ve never even heard of.”

I step back, my palms sweaty, my breath short, and run into a Maintenance worker’s chest. There’s no way I could maneuver around him, even if I wanted to run.

Drew lifts his head and looks at me, venom on his face. “Kill…kill the…bitch. Kill Vika.”

Moon withdraws her knife and, spinning around, cocks her head at him. “What?”

“He’s delirious,” I cut in, as Drew’s head lolls once again. “He’s running a temperature and—”

“Or perhaps that was his one moment of clarity. Have you been lying to me?” Moon approaches me and flicks her knife open again. “Shall we find out, love?”

I still and time slows down again, details crisp and hard-edged. A glint of muted sunlight sparks against the blade of Moon’s knife. Behind me, the Nukeheads discuss something in a crescendo of anxious, whispered voices. I feel a flutter, deep in the pit of my stomach. The baby, kicking? I reach a hand down in wonder and the moment, suspended in a silver bubble, shatters.

There’s a sudden cacophony of sound and it’s approaching quickly. A chorus of honking, beeping, and squealing tires assaults my ears. The crowd of people, including the Maintenance workers and Moon, all jerk their heads toward the bedlam.

I want to see what’s happening too, but my priorities are crystal clear. If there’s something I’ve learned, it’s that time can be a cruel teacher. It doesn’t wait for you to learn a lesson, to fully absorb it before it lurches on to the next one. I let Moon get away once before in the tent because of my indecision; I cannot make the same mistake again.

So, while everyone is distracted, I use the opportunity to smash Moon’s nose with the heel of my hand. As she falls, I snatch the knife from her and swiftly slit her neck. She gurgles out her life’s blood, staring at me with disbelieving eyes which, I am sure, mirror my own. Despite what legend might have us believe, death is not proud, it isn’t fanfare and trumpet blasts. It is quiet but unassailable, absent one minute and absolute the next.

A Maintenance worker tries to stop me, but a Nukehead man steps between us. The next instant, the Maintenance worker falls aside, the top of his head missing. Blood and chunks of flesh lie splattered on the ground. The Nukehead turns to me—it’s one of Reyes’ men. “Go. The Sympathetics here now. Take ’s many children ’s you can and get on the bus. Drive to the port and get on a ship. Don’t look back.”

The Sympathetics. I don’t stop to rejoice or ponder their arrival. I simply stumble in the direction he points, grabbing children’s hands as I go. He’s right—there’s a whole fleet of buses and cars that weren’t here just moments before. Men and women in navy-colored jackets and pants hop out and begin to spray down Moon’s people with weapons of every kind.

Their faces are impassive, hardened. I want to scream, ask them where they’ve been and if they know what we’ve all been through, waiting for them in this camp in the middle of nowhere, covered in desert sands, pickled in anxiety. I want to tell them the stories of each of the children, of what they’ve had to endure, Lynx and Alexander and Ceres—I stop midstride.

Where is Ceres? My heart is stricken with fear as I notice children being trampled, as I watch them separated from their parents in the panic of the moment.

“Ceres!” I cry, as I continue to shepherd children in the general direction of the bus. “Ceres!”

“Vika!” I turn my head toward the sound and see Nurse Carina, her forehead cracked open and gushing blood. She’s holding two young children and thrusts them at me. “Take them!”

“You should come with me,” I say, setting the children on the ground with the others. “Come on, we’re getting on a bus!”

“I can’t,” she replies, shaking her head and stepping away. “I have to stay until the last child leaves.”

“But—”

“Ceres was headed to the buses,” she continues. “Take care of her and the baby.” She turns and melts into the teeming, bustling, screaming crowd.

I grab more children as we walk, my eyes roving the crowds for my sister. Finally I see her, standing near a bus, tears streaking her face. She looks impossibly young, lost, and alone. I’m about to shout her name when I see Lucas, the Nukehead boy she danced with, go up to her and take her hand. And my sister, my beautiful little sister, instead of shying away or going limp, smiles up at him. It’s a sad smile, a broken thing, but it’s there. She’s there.

I rush toward them, urging the children to hurry. As I get to Ceres and wrap my arms around her, Reyes brings me Lynx, Sara, and Alexander. “Take them too,” he says. “And keep them safe.”

“Won’t you come with us?” I ask. “Please, Reyes. We can all get to safety together.”

But he shakes his head, as I expect him to. “My duty is here.”

I put my hand on his, briefly. “Thank you for everything.”

He nods and the crowd swallows him.

We scramble onto the bus, Ceres holding the back of my shirt with one hand and Lucas’s hand with the other. She comforts some of the crying children effortlessly, as if she’s been doing it all her life.

I close the bus doors and scramble into the driver’s seat just as one of Moon’s people begin to bang on it. Behind him, a Maintenance man aims his acid gun at the doors. But we are too far gone, too close to escape. I realize I’ve entered dangerous territory, where freedom is so near I can steal the breath from its lips. If I’m not careful, it’ll dance away once more, laughing and shaking its head at my foolishness. I press the gas pedal and we lurch into motion among the masses of people trying to eviscerate each other. Even with the doors closed, I can hear the screaming.

“Where’s the port?” I feel a fit of hysterical laughter coming on. “I’m supposed to get us all to the port and I don’t even know which way it is!”

Sara seems to understand my strange reaction. “I know the way,” she says, rubbing my back. “It’s alright, Vika.”

With every mile the bus’s tires swallow, I breathe just a little easier, my lungs expanding centimeter by minuscule centimeter. I let myself believe that perhaps Sara is right. Perhaps it
is
all right, at least for the moment.

Getting out of the camp was harder than I’d imagined. Carcasses littered the ground, and without stopping to see whether I was driving over Nukeheads, Asylum children or the enemy, I pressed the gas pedal and pushed us ruthlessly toward freedom. Sara sat in the seat next to me, her face calm, her eyes unblinking through it all. Alexander had his face in her chest. His shoulders shook, but he cried without a sound. Behind me, I could hear Ceres and Lucas, stand-in parents now, telling the smaller children that they were safe, that the bad men couldn’t get in, that I wouldn’t let them.

I wouldn’t let them.

The amount of faith they’ve placed in me, in my cowardly soul, staggers me. For even now, even as I’ve taken on the responsibility for all of these lives, my bones ache with fatigue and my every nerve shrieks with fright. I want to sleep for days, to float away until this is all over, one way or another. But I keep my hands on the steering wheel and my foot on the gas pedal.

After a while, the people in my rearview mirror, the Maintenance workers and the Sympathetics and the Nukeheads, are replaced by sand and dirt and lonesome bushes. The children fall silent, some asleep, some paralyzed from the trauma of what they’ve witnessed. I hear Ceres begin to hum.

I drive.

The port takes me by surprise. It appears out of nowhere an hour or two later, its crates and loads and people materializing like oases in the desert. It is a throbbing, pulsing entity with a life of its own. People race around, loading and unloading the ships with boxes and crates. Crowds hang from the enormous gray ship’s decks and spill out on the docks, walking, moving, seething. Not a moment is wasted between one action and the next, everyone moving in a synchronized dance. Turn, step, swivel, turn, step, and repeat.

As Sara, Ceres, and I step off the bus, I stand watching all the people for just a moment. Are they keeping busy because they’re just as afraid as I am of what lies ahead? Are they secretly waiting, like me, for the giant hand of Fate to come roaring down from the sky and wipe us all out in an attempt at a clean slate?

Are we dreaming?

But then I’m moving again, leading the others forward. At the ramp that connects land to vessel, we’re handed vouchers and identification cards by a man with a kind face and a wooly beard. A Sympathetic or perhaps a Rad? I know not to ask.

“Your ticket,” he says quietly. “From now on, you are the person on your identification card.”

We nod, and he motions for us to board the ship. Just like that, we’re allowed on.

I push past the hoards of people waiting for their futures to begin. I want a glimpse of New Amana from the ship; the golden view that so many have betrayed their children for, have lied and maimed for, have died for. My hands close around the cold metal of the railing and my eyes sweep the horizon. Past the bustling people on the dock, I see sand and scraggly trees, resigned to their fate here in the land of the dead. A slow mist seems to be encroaching, as if patting the empty land, seeking those fleeing.

I wait for Moon’s people to come bursting through, Maintenance men like tongues of flame in their orange attire. I wait and wait. But no one comes.

As I inhale the aroma of sea water, testing what it will feel like in my lungs for the next few weeks, Ceres squeezes my hand. I smile at her, my eyes wet.

“Can you believe it?” I ask. I want to ask her if she misses our mother. If she wonders, as I’m wondering now, where the woman who birthed us is. Has she managed to get away? Or has she barricaded herself in her apartment, ready for the end of the world?

Ceres shakes her head, her eyes round. In one hand, she clutches the conch tight. She’s kept it safe even through the turmoil we’ve all just been through. I realize, then, that some questions are best left unasked. I cannot be thankful for my sister here with me and ponder my mother’s safety. I made a choice that day I got on the bus with Shale. And if I had to choose again, I’d still choose Ceres. I’d choose her every time.

“I know. I’m having trouble believing all of this myself.” I see Sara and Alexander a few feet away, their foreheads resting together as they watch the water. Lucas stands near them, lost in his own thoughts. “I think we all are.”

I lift my eyes to the other passengers on board, a thought about our new lives brewing in my brain, when I see him.

Broad shoulders, short black hair, and deep brown eyes staring straight at me.

The ship’s horn bellows. Our journey is about to begin.