Текст книги "The Wanted"

Автор книги: Lauren Nicolle Taylor

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

ALEXEI

The decking creaked underfoot as I reached out and pulled down a handful of evergreen. Crushing the needles in my hand, I lifted them to my nose.

Apella, darling, we wanted this life. And now I had to live it without her. It seemed… unfair, sometimes… empty.

Apparently, this place used to be a ‘ski chalet’. An old chair lift hangs overhead, frozen in time. It boggled my mind to think of the lives people led before, both fascinating and frightening.

Faded pictures of families long gone hung on the timber walls. Dressed in shiny suits and holding black sticks in their hands. I missed my reader. You’d understand. To me, it was like an appendage. I remembered ‘skiing’ from the archives. People would shoot down snow-covered hills wearing long shoes. It looked terribly dangerous.

Two very different pairs of arms wrapped around my legs. I felt joy. Joy and then guilt. I didn’t want to move on. But these boys, these beautiful children, they forced you whether you wanted to or not.

I bent down and opened my hand. “Smell this.”

Hessa pushed his whole nose into the pine, green bits sticking to his chubby face. “Mmm.”

But Orry, he had so much of his mother in him. He stood back, looked up at me with those incredible eyes, and squinted suspiciously. I moved closer. “It’s ok, Orry. It’s safe.”

He poked it with his finger, swirled it around in my palm, and lifted his own finger to his nose. I couldn’t tell if he liked the smell or not; he didn’t smile or react. Hessa tried to pull on Orry’s arm. Orry shrieked, but then he laughed. They tumbled about on the deck play fighting. They can laugh. I was so glad that after everything they’d been through, they could still laugh. But they needed their parents.

I need you, darling, but I’m coping. I knew my role, and I was doing my best to fulfill it.

Orry shouted, and I heard crunching in the snow. I knew it couldn’t be them, but I always hoped.

“Reeeeen, reeeen!” Hessa waved frantically at Careen as she marched up the hill, three birds slung over her shoulder.

I tell them about you every day. I tell them about Rosa, Joseph, and Deshi every day too. Our adopted family. My biggest fear was that they would forget them. I wasn’t so worried about Orry. But Hessa hadn’t seen Deshi in more than six months. There was a time when I would have done anything to be called Father or Dada. Now, I dreaded it. I bowed my head in silent prayer.

I had to believe they would come for us.

Careen climbed the stairs and threw her prey on the deck. She pulled up a chair, selected a bird, and began plucking the feathers. I cringed a little at her ruthless efficiency when it came to butchering. But then, she’d kept us well fed this past month. I took the boys inside to spare them the gore.

Careen blinked up at me, her hood falling down to reveal her sad eyes. “Any change?”

I shook my head. “Sorry, no, he’s not worse, but he’s not getting any better. He’s…”

She put her hand up to silence me. I stopped talking and ushered the boys inside.

I kneeled down to them and said, “Who wants to help me turn the lights out and light the candles?”

They jumped up and down and followed me, giggling and jostling each other, playing with the switches. We only had a small amount of solar power we could use every day.

I moved to the bedroom door and knocked. No answer. I turned. “Boys stay here.” They nodded and ran to play on the stairs.

Pietre lay so very still. I dipped my head down just to check he was breathing. He was, barely.

I’m praying to you, Rosa. I know you’re the one I need to count on, the one that’s so stubborn, strong, and willful that you’ll get here.

We need you.

ROSA

I don’t know this girl. This girl is younger, stupider… she’s losing her grip on what she’s learned like a kite not tied to its spool. The string unwittingly unraveling as the colorful cloth gets caught in the wind and soars into a cold, blank sky.

Torture was over for the day, but was I in for more?

Denis closed the door and leaned his back against it, locking it with a swift flick of his fingers behind him. I drew a sharp breath as I started to worry that this had been a trick. I was an idiot to fall for the line. He’d just wanted me to threaten Grant, catch me out. Then I’d be thrown into a real prison. Not this pretty cage. Not that it mattered—the containment, the lack of freedom was the same. I was a bird clipped of her wings wherever they put me. I imagined bars and grime, placing my hand to my throat. No, they would just kill me.

Denis’ movements were unconsidered, brief, which was odd for him. His eyes had the intensity of a sun flare. He took a large step towards me. I glanced around, wondering where he had shoved me so suddenly. I shouldn’t have just let him take me. I should have fought. The room was darker in color than mine. Heavy, black curtains hung from the windows, the bedspread black and white stripes. It was a very masculine room. A music player rested on the bedspread. I was in Denis’ bedroom.

I shuffled backwards, my hands reaching out behind me and finding a desk. Two computer screens startled to life when I knocked something.

He stalked closer and closer, until he was hovering over my bent back body. He wet his lips and spoke. “How do we kill my father?”

I wasn’t relieved. Tears pooled in the corner of my eyes. Could I be a murderer?

I think I’d wanted it to be a trick. I had wanted this decision to be definitively ripped from my hands.

I glared up at him. “Back up,” I said flatly.

Suddenly realizing how close he was, how scary he was acting, he jumped back and unrolled himself like a poster, slotting back into his controlled persona once again. When he carefully sat on the edge of his glossy bed, I sighed, in a shivery, dreading way, and told him how to kill his own father.

“When I was, er, revived, there was one step Grant seemed to be unaware of, one that my friend Deshi made sure I had here.” I tapped my hand. “I’m sure Deshi wanted me to hide it, and I did.”

I swear Denis flinched at the mention of Deshi’s name. “Did you… know him?” I asked slowly.

He shook his head and flicked on a lamp. “Not very well but we worked together for a short time towards the end of construction on the healer. Dad wanted me to take it over when… um…”

“When they terminated Deshi?” My anger pulled and played with me. The reasons stacked up as to why I should do this.

Denis nodded.

“So you know how the healer works, but you didn’t know about the final step you must take before healing is complete?” I asked, suspicion putting a block between my words. Trust.

I hesitated. This was a big move. One I wouldn’t be able to retreat from. “I don’t know…” I mumbled, struggling with whether to tell him or not. It was my only leverage. Could I hand it over to him?

He shuffled forward on the bed until his knees nearly touched mine. I leaned away, my back anchored to a squeaky computer chair. “You can trust me on this. I want things to change. Neutralizing Grant is the first step.”

Neutralizing. We weren’t tying his hands behind his back—we were plotting to kill him.

I shook my head back and forth slowly. “And what will happen to me when it’s done?” I was scared of the answer. I wanted it too much.

Denis’ face was earnest, a murdering, earnest face. “I am his successor, and I will have the authority to release you.”

“And my family?”

“Rosa, if we pull this off, I will make sure you are free. Your family and everyone you care about will be safe from harm. You will not have to live in the Woodlands. You can go where you please.” He widened his arms and spun them around like the whole world would be mine. If I did this one horrible thing, the whole world would be mine.

How could I be certain he was telling the truth? I needed something from him, a guarantee. Him bouncing up and down like excitable child was not enough. I needed…

“Tell me a secret,” I said, pointing at him. “Tell me your darkest secret and then maybe I’ll know I can trust you.”

He stopped twisting and suspended his excitement. His eyes dark, sad. He stood up and paced back and forth on the plush carpet. He turned to the wallpaper and ran a finger down the golden stripes. His voice sounded young, cracked with apprehension.

“I’m in love,” he murmured as he pressed his forehead to the wall.

I scoffed. That wasn’t a deep, dark secret. “So?” I snapped.

He turned, his head still resting against the metallic paper, the lamp lighting his face all kinds of sad and scared. “I’m in love with Deshi.”

“Oh.” That was a deep, dark secret. Grant would never allow it.

I checked his eyes, looking for the lie, but all I saw was regret and restraint. I recognized it in Deshi; it took him a long time to relax and be himself. He still struggled with it now.

I moved and sat on the bed, and Denis sat next to me, causing me to bounce up on the mattress. “Your father doesn’t know that once the procedure is complete, you only have fifteen minutes to take the voiding pills.”

“What will happen if he doesn’t take them?”

I squeezed my hands together, wishing there was another way. “He’ll die fifteen minutes after leaving the machine.” I didn’t know what would physically happen to him, only that it was horrific. When I’d asked the doctor after my first time in the healer, it was reflected in her avoiding eyes. It would not be a nice way to go.

Denis tapped his chin and turned to me. “This presents a rather large problem.”

Before I could ask, a knock at the door interrupted us and we were told to get to dinner.

“Where are we going?” I asked Denis anxiously.

After another very tense dinner with Grant and his family, Denis had leaned down towards Grant and whispered something in his ear. I’d strained to hear it but couldn’t pick up anything. All I knew was it couldn’t have been good because of the way Grant turned his head and smiled at me. It made me shiver with ripples of terror.

Now we were hastily striding down the hall and entering the elevator. “Denis, what the hell is going on?” I shook his arm.

The guard next to me raised an eyebrow.

“Dad and I thought you should visit our holding cells. We think you need to be a little more grateful for your current living situation,” Denis said, his voice dipped in sarcasm.

I wanted to ask him questions, like what was the large problem? Did he not think my idea would work?

The door slid open, and Denis held out a small, black piece of plastic the size of a coat button. He pushed on it and one of the cars blinked its lights and beeped at us. I stifled my mild hysteria enough to be excited about riding in a car. Denis opened my door for me and the guard shoved me inside, bumping into me as he pushed his way into the backseat.

“Kinesh, you can ride in the front with me,” Denis said, eyeing us both through the rearview mirror. Kinesh grunted and got in the front seat, throwing a black sack at my face.

“Put this on,” he growled.

I looked to Denis, who nodded slightly. Doing as I was told, I put the sack over my head. I sensed the car taking off and found the armrest. Music started blaring from the speakers and drowned out the gravel crunching under the tires.

I sank into my chair and waited.

Grant’s eyes kept floating to the top of my thoughts. The way he smiled like he knew a delicious secret and was dying to tell me. I pictured the smile melting off his face as he died in front of me. The feeling was completely frightening. Because I enjoyed the vision. I was scared of it, but I wanted it just as much.

JOSEPH

I followed Nafari through the outer ring of Palma where old people sat together on their porches, talking, drinking, and pointing at the stars. Someone began to sing and other voices joined in. A guard yelled for them to stop. They did for a moment, and then they laughed and started up again. Palma was where the Superior’s iron grip was loosening. The people were not as afraid as they should be. It was only when a warning shot was fired into the air that the old men and women ceased their music.

There was defiance around every corner.

I glanced back to see pipe embers floating in the dark, lighting up the worn faces, mischievous eyes that shouldn’t be so bold. My heart felt less heavy, my hope more realistic.

We got to the gate, and it was already hanging open. I didn’t ask. We passed through every gate easily and were in Ring Four.

Drums like bells, is the only way I could think to describe what I heard.

It was about eight o’clock. At this time, in Pau, everyone was inside, doors locked, curtains closed. Guards always patrolled the streets, but there was never anyone to catch.

Not here.

Soldiers guarded the streets but they had to wind their way through the groups of people—the children playing in the street, the parents sitting on their lawns, clustered in groups, clapping along to sounds I’d never heard before.

I watched as a soldier tried to stop a man from dancing. They warned him, he bowed, and stopped only to start again as soon as their backs were turned. It was only when they grabbed him and dragged him off that people calmed. But then we’d turn the bend and more music and dancing continued. They were clinging to what little freedom they had and risking their lives in the process. I kept tightening my jaw to stop my mouth from falling open.

Nafari relaxed more and more as we passed through these groups. Some people he knew or seemed to. He joined the dancing for a moment, and then side stepped out and kept walking. I kept my distance but found myself relaxing just a little too.

We walked up the path of a plain, standard-looking house. Nafari turned and said, “Wait here,” in a sinister voice.

He turned the knob and went inside. The room was dark, but I could hear voices.

Turning around, I ran my eyes over all the Palma I could see. I took it in and held the possibility of it in my heart. They were bright. Color hung off the people like dumped paint. But they wore it well. They were more ready for this than any other town. I patted the disc in my pack. The firework would go off soon.

Nafari came back quickly; he was still talking as he passed through the door, bobbing his head and talking in a strained tone. “Yes, yes, all right, woman.”

A woman’s voice muttered in the dark. I couldn’t quite make out the words.

“Who were you talking to?” I asked as I watched Nafari kick off his shoes and swing himself up into the palm tree that grew in the front yard, leaning towards the roof.

Between grunts and heavy breathing, he said, “My wife.” Then he chuckled as he paused and held out his hand, beckoning me to follow.

I took off my shoes and climbed after him, my soft feet getting cut up on the rough bark. The tree struggled under my weight but luckily, it just leaned closer to the roof. Nafari held out his hand, and I grabbed it. The palm tree sprung back into place as I met the roof. “How are we going to get down?” I asked, my skin prickling from sweat and the cool wind that ran over the tin roof.

“We jump.” Nafari jumped high and landed firmly on his feet, while the roof vibrated from his impact. His wife shrieked and swore inside the house. The door swung open and a small, dark woman with her hair swept into a colorful rag stomped down the path with a bag on her back. Nafari watched her leave in silence.

I put my hands out to steady myself and followed him to the apex where we sat down to wait. Nafari placed his hands down on either side of his body and leaned his head back to gaze at the stars. He sighed, the sound like an empty water tank.

“Do you miss your wife Rosa?” he said, his round eyes still staring at the sky.

I miss her like someone performed open-heart surgery on me and forgot to sew me back up. They cracked my chest and left me that way, gaping and in danger of infection.

“I’m not married,” I replied.

He punched my arm. “The way you stare at her face in the sky. How you feel about her in here,” he punched his chest, “you are joined even if you’re not married.”

I know.

“Have you missed your wife?” I asked, desperate to change the subject. At this, he laughed hoarsely, a whistle coming from his gappy mouth.

“I don’t miss her. We are not joined. We are married, but I don’t love her. We were forced to marry. The one thing I do miss is our child.” His head fell between his knees. “I don’t even know where she is or if she’s alive.”

“What was her name?”

“Zawadi.”

“Beautiful,” I whispered.

“It means ‘gift’.” Nafari clasped his hands tightly, and quiet floated between us for a few minutes.

“Joseph, when we start the playback, I will run to the gate. You can stay here if you want.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m coming with you.”

He nodded.

We stared up at the sky and waited for the firework.

I placed the disc on the chimney of Nafari’s home, my finger hovering over the play button. Once I pushed it, we had five minutes before it started.

In Pau, on Signing Day, everyone was forced from their homes. Kids stood in their pajamas in the street, shivering. We lined the sidewalk like mannequins arranged to look awed. The firework went off, we clapped, and then we were told to go back inside.

Here, the firework popped and shot into the sky. I watched the streets for the peoples’ reaction. But they continued to talk and sing as if nothing had happened. Shuffling around their fires, their hands and faces reddened from warmth. No one even looked up.

I pressed the button on the video disc, and we skidded off the roof.

Nafari took off running.

Just as we passed through the first gate, the playback started. I didn’t look up tonight. I followed Nafari’s dark form through the streets, the lights catching us in quick snapshots of action. My legs burned to keep up with him. He was a small ball of muscle, fast and determined.

“If you want to see your girl, look up,” Nafari urged, barely panting. I couldn’t answer; I was so out of breath. I just shook my head, which he couldn’t see. I couldn’t look at her now. Whatever this was, this risk, this action, was keeping her under my thoughts. It was making it easier to smile, easier to laugh. I wasn’t ready to give up on that. So I had to keep moving. She would slow me down.

By the time we reached the next gate, the streetlights were flickering on and off. Noise was building. Voices, wails, broken glass.

Halfway to the last gate, the lights went out permanently.

People streamed past us. Angry people carrying boards and shards of glass. A woman pushed past me to get through the last gate and slashed my arm with a broken bottle. I put my hand to my bicep, glanced down at my blood-covered fingers, and stopped.

I lost Nafari in the crowd.

I knew where he was going, so I kept on towards the gate, the swarm of people thickening around me. The angry shouting was a mix of oppression and freedom forcing its way out the end of a bottle, squeezing and then bursting.

A shot fired.

Emergency lights flooded the Outer Ring with amber light.

I thought, This is where it stops. Fear would stop them. But people followed the shot, poured over the soldiers holding the guns until suddenly they were the ones putting their arms up in surrender. I watched one soldier, still holding on, blinking desperately, moving his gun frantically back and forth as he was forced against the wall. A woman stepped towards him, her palm up.

“Put your gun down. We don’t want to hurt you,” she shouted.

I started running towards her. I don’t know why. Before I had even taken two steps towards them, there was a crack and she crumpled. The people surged towards the soldier, and he was swallowed by tearing arms and grieving screams.

My heart knocked on my chest wall, reminding me I had to find Nafari. My eyes scanned the area near the gate. There he was, pulling his pack from his back. He plunged his arm into the bag and a shot rang out. His arm jerked and fell limply to his side. I could do nothing, only twenty meters from him, but about a hundred people deep in the crowd. Doggedly, Nafari gripped the explosive with his other hand.

I searched for the gunman and found him, hiding behind a brown, velour lounge that had been dragged into someone’s front yard. I swam through the crowd to get to him as he lined my friend up in his sights.

This bomb was about to go off. I could see it in Nafari’s steely eyes. I could get to the gunman and stop him from firing at Nafari or I could try and clear the area of innocent civilians.

We hadn’t expected this. This amount of people, this response.

I screamed, “Clear the gates! They’re going to blow up the gates!” Over and over, as loud as I could.

People started to move away from the great iron gates. They pulsed and surged backwards, spilling over furniture and soldiers. The smells of sweat and copper-tasting blood filled the air, mixed with a waft of smoky, fragrant spices I’d never smelled before. The gunman aiming at Nafari was lost in the sea of people.

The crowd pushed me back until I was pressed against the front wall of a house.

My eyes picked out the tip of a gun still aimed in Nafari’s direction. It shot again, hitting him in the leg. My heart dove into my feet. I couldn’t stop this. I was going to watch him die.

“Nafari!” I screamed as I pushed against the crowd and tried to get to him.

His eyes found me. He put his hand up, stop, and yelled, “Call me Naf!” Then he grinned and turned away. He pushed the button twice for instant detonation, and the air around him flashed white.