by Stacey Mac
The four council members are waiting silently, and they stand as we approach.
As they rise, I stop automatically, a muscle-memory response. Superiors don’t rise for anyone, and if they do, you have to show them how godly they are by standing at attention. But before I can salute them, Dean places his hand subtly into my back and urges me forwards.
One of the council members actually smiles at me. “You really are from Galore, then. Aren’t you?”
I don’t smile back at him. I swallow, coming to stop before the table, and the council members sit. The woman to my left has a mug that she holds in her one and only hand. Her other arm disappears at the elbow.
The one who smiled to me earlier now clears his throat. “Let’s get right to it, shall we? So that we can clear the tension in here.” He chuckles to himself. His short, white beard, quivering. He has a soft face, a calming one, and I don’t trust it. “What is your name?”
“Tessa.” I say, a little blunter than I meant to.
“Your full name?”
“Contessa G0016-”
“No, dear. Not your code, your name. I’m old. No way I’m going to remember numbers and letters and all that garbage.”
“Contessa Tyrell.”
“Well, Miss Tyrell, we need to interview you to figure out whether you’re suitable.”
“Suitable for what?”
I hear Dean groan quietly somewhere behind me, and I slam my lips together.
White beard raises his eyebrows. “Suitable for Resolute. Galore may think we are a pack of children who take nothing seriously, but believe me when I say that if there is even one nagging thought in our minds that you might harm one of our citizens, we will toss you back out the way you came.”
I clasp my hands together in front of me, and nod once.
“Why did you leave your militia?” The other man at the table asks abruptly. He is younger than the first, rougher, too.
“Because…” I sigh. The reasons are too enormous to utter them in this tiny place, so I say: “because I didn’t want to be with them anymore.” It isn’t untrue.
“That much is obvious to us, I want you to explain why you chose to defect when you did. Are you running from a crime you committed, for example?”
Huh. I suppose I am. It isn’t the reason I am here though. I look into the eyes of the council members, one by one, and behind each of them, I realise slowly, is simmering fear. They’re afraid of me.
No, they’re afraid of Galore. Terrified, actually.
They should be.
I feel Dean behind me, like the waves of energy exuding from him are tangible.
In Galore, weakness is distasteful. Not pitiable, but shameful. We are a sleuth of bears, devouring our young when deemed ineffective to strengthen the probability of survival. Weakness is systematically flushed away from a young age. If cowardice still exists after all efforts have been exhausted, it is usually discovered, one way or another.
Perhaps, though, a little weakness couldn’t hurt. If this is a test to determine if I’m a threat, then a little frailty might persuade them to let me stay. And I have to stay.
“They took my parents,” I tell them. “They took almost everyone over the mountains. I think they’re planning something big… and…” I let my words tremble here, just a little. “And I don’t want to be a part of it. I’m not a soldier. I’m a grazer. I don’t know how to kill people.”
Not true, of course. I’m a murderer.
White beard sits up straighter at this, “Ah, but unfortunately, dear. In this climate, everyone will have to be a soldier eventually.”
I nod my head morosely, and say nothing.
“I wish I could tell you that you are safe here, Miss Tyrell. But I don’t want to mislead you. This is hardly a sanctuary.” He rubs his forehead, letting his eyes fall to the table, like what he is saying is difficult for him to admit.
“Some of our fronters mentioned that you asked for Dean when you arrived,” says the one-armed woman. “Did Dean tell you to come here?”
I press my lips together firmly, only now realising the true predicament I placed Dean in yesterday. “No,” I say firmly. Another lie. “But I did hope that he would help me.”
“And what is your relationship with Dean? I must admit, I find it rather odd that you would ask for one of our trainers, no less.”
“I have been training her, and others, in Galore for the past few months,” Dean says behind me. His voice is quick and sure.
The woman huffs indignantly, “Dean seems to be making a habit of attracting strays.”
I frown, confused.
“Well, Miss Tyrell,” White beard says, “Ordinarily we would be welcoming you into Resolute, but your timing is awful. Your old militia is planning an attack on Resolute, and so, we are in the midst of preparations.”
“To fight?” He can’t possibly think he’ll win.
“To evacuate,” he says, rather grimly.
I nod my head sadly, hoping he believes it.
“Our trainer, here, has been rambling on for hours about how valuable you would be to Resolute. And I assume he isn’t talking about your grazing expertise, though you’d have me believe you are nothing but a shrinking, orphaned violet.”
I blush involuntarily.
“I do believe you when you say that you aren’t a threat to us, and so, it seems, does Mr Mason. My name is Jeb Longreach. You are welcome here, but we expect you to contribute just as we all do, in one way or another. And right now, all hands are preparing for our departure.”
I nod, relief making me grin stupidly. Finally, I glance back at Dean, and though his expression is still serious, his eyes look softer.
“Dean, she’s your responsibility,” Jeb calls. “You might want to be careful. I’m not sure your comrades will be so thrilled about our decision. Tread lightly.”
With that, the council members all turn back to each other and begin other discussions that don’t involve me. The unknown fronter nods once at Dean and walks casually from the chapel. Dean looks at me, and inclines his head towards the door. I follow him out.
And just like that, I become Resolute.
“Well, that was easy.” I tell Dean, once outside. He walks faster, turning to grasp my arm above the elbow as he does. “Woah,” I protest, “What’s the matter?”
“I’m going to get you out of here before anyone sees you.” He continues on briskly, leading me around potholes in the ground that I might fall into.
“Why? Dean, stop for a minute. Stop!” I yank my arm away, planting my feet. “What’s going on? I’ve been approved? Right? Why does it matter that anyone sees me?”
Dean turns to me impatiently, and tries to grab my arm again, but I step away from him. He rolls his eyes. “Can I at least take you out of sight? Then we’ll talk. Come on.”
“No,” I say, a petulant child. “Let’s talk now. Why are you so jumpy?”
He growls, and comes nearer. “I’m trying to be careful. Galore is about as fucking popular around here as tuberculosis, and I want to make sure that no one tries to do anything stupid when they find out that you’re staying.”
I snort. “It’s not like I came with a battalion behind me. What are they so afraid of?”
“You don’t get it. You being from Galore makes them see you as an enemy. Most of the sector are telling ghost stories about Galore brutality. They have been for years. I can’t just stroll up and introduce you to my friends. I have to be careful.”
I sigh, suddenly, awfully tired again. I unfold my arms. “Fine. Where are we going?”
“You are going back to the holding cell. I have a shift to complete.” Again, he reaches out to take my arm, but I slip out of his hand.
“What? But…do I have to go back there?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Yes.”
“Why? I mean…I know why, but isn’t there somewhere else I can stay? That cell feels like a dungeon.”
His other eyebrow raises with the
first, and he smirks, “Scared of the dark?”
I frown at him, but say nothing.
His face turns skyward and his eyes close while he thinks, looking more irritated by the second. And maybe I am being stupid, but the thought of spending more time alone in that room with my thoughts for company feels punishing.
“Alright,” he says. Taking my hand harder this time, lest I slip away. “You can stay at my place.” And he leads me forwards once more.
*
Dean’s place is a ‘place’ in a literal sense, but definitely not in a four-walls-and-a-roof sense. Actually, it’s a large hut. And by large, I mean that it could probably sleep more than four people.
In fact, it sleeps six. At least, that is how many camp beds are set out inside the timber and mud construction. Two hammocks set in the middle of the space, four beds along the outside, against the slanted walls. If you could call them walls, which I don’t.
Dean has to duck to enter, but once inside he can straighten. He heads directly to the opposite side of the hut, towards the farthest camp bed and pulls the blanket back.
“Stay in my bed, okay? I mean it. Don’t get out. Don’t go outside. I share this room with five others, and they’ll be back here tonight, but not until later. There’s a party on tonight. I should beat them back here.”
I laugh incredulously. “A party?”
“Yeah. Not really of importance to you, though, and I’m supposed to be guarding the gate right now, so can we focus?” Frown lines etch along his forehead.
My lips tighten. Being chastised by Dean has the odd effect of making me want to argue, just to spite him, which would be counter-productive. “Sorry,” I say tersely. “I’ll let you leave.”
He nods and walks towards the exit, almost passing me, but seems to think better of it, and backtracks. He lowers his lips to my cheek quickly, tingling my skin, and then he leaves.
I make my way slowly to Dean’s bed, feeling strangely nervous before I slip in between his blankets. I’ve never slept in a boy’s bed before. And this particular bed is distinctly boyish. The flattened, uncomfortable pillow smells so unlike my own, a million miles away. It is sweet and smoky and unyielding. The smell of him is everywhere. My smaller shape is dwarfed in the imprint of him on the thin, worn mattress. I smile to myself as I feel the dips and hollows that fill his body, and feel both perverted and content simultaneously.
I should be thinking about dangers both in Resolute and beyond the gate, about the imminent evacuation, about whether Dean is actually worried about my safety, or just embarrassed.
But I don’t. Instead, I fall suddenly to sleep.
I dream that I’m running again. Running the way I did when I ran for survival. The forest is ahead of me, Galore is fading over my shoulder, and I bolt, desperately, desperately. There is the fronter again, the same as last time. He stands before the fallen tree trunk, preparing to fire at me, and I know that I have to do it, it has already been done, after all. I lift the gun that until now, I didn’t know I carried, and I fire, and fire, and fire.
He falls, a perfect replay, slowly, and then all at once. And I run on. In reality, I know that I leapt over this tree trunk and kept going. I kept going until I reached Resolute. But this time, I don’t want to. Instead, I stop. I go to him: the stranger-fronter. The one who waved smugly to me. I see the exit wound on his back, puncturing his uniform, the blood spreading. I place the sole of my boot on his shoulder, and roll the body over, letting it flop ungraciously to the ground. And now face up, I see the vacant eyes of my father, worried, even in death.
A scream builds and explodes from me, and every organ in my body works to proceed it, and before it can end, there are hands shoving me too hard, and I fall.
*
The fall wakes me, but not quickly enough. Before I can collect consciousness properly, I am urged onto my feet again by forceful hands. Some on my collar, some on my back. The room spins in the darkness, and I blink and gasp and yell all at once. A hand smothers my mouth mid-yelp, and I reflexively bite down on it as hard as I can, tasting blood.
I hear a cry in protest. A male voice, cursing vehemently. And in the darkness I see the swing of the punch before it collides with my stomach.
I curl forwards over the fist, the wind escaping from my lungs in one, fast rush. I splutter violently, and another hand folds over my lips. This time, I am too desperate for air to bite it.
“You absolute bitch. You took a chunk out of me, Scum!”
I squint up into the face above me. The dark obscures him well, but I can make out the long nose, the protruding eyebrows, and let’s be honest, if your ugliness can be silhouetted in the dark, then you must be pretty fucking ugly.
There is another one standing next to him. And two restraining me from behind. I can make out none of them, I only know that they are also male, and bigger than me.
I struggle, uselessly. My lungs are still devoid of proper breath, and the hands that clamp my arms down are wildly strong.
The one that I bit still mutters and groans, while the one that stands beside him starts instructing, his voice quiet and urgent. “Hurry up. Let’s go. Make sure she stays quiet. Knock her out if you have to.”
I can’t let them knock me out. I know what they could do to me if I’m not awake to stop them. I immediately stifle my groaning. Feeling helpless as I allow them to walk me from Dean’s hut. They take me out into the night, and away from the fiery glow that still burns somewhere ahead. Instead, the men lead me further into darkness, in between huts constructed closely together, so that I stumble over stakes and timber posts. They stop a short way away from the huts, shoving my back up against a crumbling concrete wall.
“If you scream, I will knock out your teeth. Understand?” says ugly.
Angry tears slip over the fingers of the man who holds my face. I nod, and he lets go.
The four of them stand around me, blocking any escape route. “We’ll make this quick, Galore. You are not welcome here. Believe me when I tell you that no one cares if Jeb tells you differently.”
I look from one to the other, anticipating another gut shot, but none come yet.
“You’ve got a choice here, girl. You can leave, or we can make your existence here feel like home was a fucking spa retreat. Up to you.”
The grotesque one stops talking, and nods to one of his lackeys.
I gulp loudly, wondering if I shouldn’t just scream and take my chances, but I don’t get time to make up my mind. One of the larger men thrusts a hand around my throat and punches my jaw with the other.
I hear a crunch, and white spots burst in my vision. I’ve done enough hesitating up until now, and it has cost me already. Without thinking it through, I place both hands around my attackers wrist and bare down, thrusting the heel of my foot up and then out, connecting with his knee.
He half collapses, pulling some of my hair with him, and I cry out, but not as loudly as he does.
Ugly suddenly swears impatiently. “For fuck’s sake! I’ll do it myself.”
He closes the space between us within a second, and I place my hands up, ready to deflect a punch. But instead, he places his hands around my waist and throws me hard against the wall again, making my head snap back and collide with it.
His stale breath warms my nose, enters my mouth. It smells alcoholic and murderous. “This is for that bite, girl. Say hi to those Galore scumbags for me.”
I squint, preparing for the next blow, determined to be the one who delivers it. I jerk my head back and bring it forward. I hear it crack on impact with Ugly’s skull.
I know that it wasn’t hard enough, but oddly, I feel him fall away from me. I open my eyes and feel them roll as I slide downwards, unable to find which end of the world to stand up on.
And then I see Dean. He has Ugly at his feet, and a gun trained to his forehead. The others are backing away from him quickly, one with a bleeding mouth.
“Bad move,” I hear Dean say, and then I watch distantly
as he pummels my attacker’s face, again and again, and I close my eyes so that I don’t have to watch.
*
I am in a different room. I only know this because of the light. The holding cell light was dull. This one shines brightly, and unnaturally.
A face swims above me.
“Tess, look at me.”
I am. I am looking at you. There is literally nothing else in the world I’d rather see.
“She’s smiling. Tess? Are you awake now?”
I am awake. Isn’t that obvious? Why do you sound so angry? Everything’s fine. Great, even.
“Rooks, what’s wrong with her? She looks like a maniac.”
I feel my face turn downwards in a frown, and it hurts in a distant way.
“That’s better,” Dean says, and his eyes relax a little.
Rooks’ face appears, hovering beyond Dean’s. “Tessa? You took some pretty good knocks to the head that made you black out. I’ve given you some morphine, to help with the pain.”
Morphine. I’ve never had morphine before. I hear a quiet giggle, and realise a second later that it came from me.
Rooks looks concerned. “How hard was she hit, Dean?”
“Hard enough.” He looks even angrier. I hate that look.
“Don’t,” I say, surprised when I hear my voice ring around the close room, “I’m all good.”
Dean’s eyebrows rise. “You’re all good?”
“Yeah. We should go to bed.”
He grins, reluctantly so, like he’s trying not to but can’t help himself. “That’s kind of presumptuous of you, why don’t you take me to dinner first?”
I laugh raucously, and Dean’s worried face returns, the smile gone. “How much morphine did you give her, Rooks?”
“You know, I’ve never had morphine,” I say seriously.
“You don’t say.”
“We should go on a date sometime,’ I tell him, only the words don’t come out as fast as I want them to, and also my eyes keep shutting, even when I tell them to stay open. “A real date. Not climbing onto trains or going for runs. We should do something fun. Like fishing.”
