An Outcast and an Ally

by Caitlin Lochner

  “I’ve been worse.”

  Jay watches me quietly for a moment. Then he stands and holds out a hand to me. “Let’s dance.”

  I laugh in surprise. “Dance? Why?”

  “Do you need a reason to?”

  “It’s just really sudden. Besides, I’ve never danced before.”

  “Me either.”

  “But you think now is the time to try?”

  “I think it might as well be.”

  I laugh again as I take his hand and let him pull me up. “Lead the way, Major.”

  He starts to hum as he pulls me back gently by the hands, away from the little plot of vegetables. I recognize the song. It’s one of the last pieces we played together on the piano in Central. Something that might as well have been a million years ago already.

  For someone who’s never danced before, Jay’s pretty good. I think. I don’t really have any experience to go off of. But he leads me back and forth steadily, and lifts my hand in his to twirl me around.

  I find myself laughing again. “You sure you’ve never danced before?”

  He laughs, too. “I’ve only ever watched. My father would occasionally host parties involving dances, but I never wanted to join in. I did see enough to get the gist of it, though.”

  “Well, that’s a shame for everyone else at those parties.”

  “You’re a little awkward at giving compliments, you know.”

  I sigh dramatically. “I know. It’s not in my nature.”

  We both laugh and keep moving back and forth, back and forth, and I think that I could stay like this forever. Being gently led by Jay, his eyes softening as they meet mine, his hands warm in my own. For just this moment, nothing else exists. There is no exhaustion, no war, no worry over a friend whose grief is inconsolable. Just the two of us, dancing to a hummed tune from another life.

  15

  ERIK

  NOTE TO FUTURE self: I am not cut out for babysitting. Gabriel laughs as a bunch of five- and seven-year-old brats run around the small cluster of battered tents and leaning plywood homes we’re playing tag in. They dart in and out of places easily. And I trip trying to catch up to them. Just when I think I’ve caught one of them, he darts out of range and slides into the space formed by a sheet of metal leaning against one of the wooden structures. An opening way too small for me to fit in.

  “Why don’t we play a new game?” I groan.

  “Can’t, can’t!” one of the tinier brats says. She dances in place as she points at me, giggling. “You’re it!”

  “Yeah, but I’ve been ‘it’ for the last ten minutes. You guys are just too good at this.”

  “You should give Erik a break,” Gabriel says to the little girl, who’s clearly the leader of the group of about ten kids. Gabriel looks like he’s trying not to laugh. Again. “He’s old, you know. He can’t keep up with you. Why don’t you all play ball for a bit?”

  “I wanna play ball!” one of the boys says. His hand shoots into the air like he’s in class. “Playing with Erik is boring. He’s no good at tag.”

  “Hey!” I say, feeling a little offended. “I was just going easy on you.”

  The boy sticks his tongue out at me. But then one of the girls scoops up a nearby ball with barely any air left in it and they all scamper off to play a different game. They make sure to stay in sight.

  I sigh as I sit next to Gabriel on the ground. He’s still trying not to laugh, but he’s so obvious about it. He’s doing that thing where he holds his hand over his mouth to hide his smile, as if I wouldn’t see it in his eyes and the curve of his eyebrows. His cane rests in easy reach. He’s gotten thinner these past few months. Hunger scrapes at my own stomach in a way I can’t remember ever feeling. The Order’s been successful in almost all of their raids so far, which is good for them and the sector, but means less supplies for the rebels. Including food. I can’t remember the last time I ate and felt full after it. Or even just not hungry anymore.

  “Is it really that funny?” I lie on my back with my hands propped behind my head so it’s not resting on the solid rock ground.

  “I can’t help it,” Gabriel says. His hand drops and I can see his smile full-on now. My chest lightens. “You, the formerly battle-hungry second-in-command of the rebels, then soldier, playing with little kids. And failing at it.”

  Normally I hate it when someone compares the current me to my past self, but I laugh. It is a funny contrast. “If I’m doing such a bad job at it, I’ll just stop helping you babysit, then.”

  “As if. You know the kids love you.”

  “Yeah—love to mock me.”

  “That’s basically the same thing for them.”

  “I guess you’d know as the standing full-time babysitter,” I say. For the past few months, I’ve taken any excuse I can get to hang out with Gabriel. But a big part of his job as a noncombatant is to watch the younger kids while older rebels are out in the field. So if I want to be with him, it means I’ve got to spend time with the brats, too. Which isn’t all bad. They can be annoying, but they’re good kids. Most of the time.

  Spending too much time with them just increases my guilt and anxiety, though. I’m selling out the people they think of as family—big brothers and sisters who’ve been taking care of them. When some of those rebels who I know often take care of the kids don’t return from a raid, I have to keep my distance for a week or two. There’s also the fact that I don’t know what will happen to all these children once this war is finished. If the sector wins, what will the High Council do to them? I can’t imagine they’d just let them go free. How can I protect them? And if the rebels win, what kind of world would they grow up in?

  No. We’ll figure something out. The sooner we finish this war, the sooner they can eat full meals, be actually safe, and have better lives. Lai could bring them into the Order. She’s said so before. But I can’t help them until this war is over. That’s why I need to keep spying. The kids’ safety is the most important—right? This will be better for them in the long run, won’t it?

  “Something on your mind?” Gabriel asks. He’s looking at me curiously and I realize I don’t know what kind of expression is on my face.

  I hesitate. I don’t like lying to him, but I say, “Some more of my memories returned last night. Well, pieces. Nothing clear.” It started happening a month ago. Dreams that feel too real to be dreams. For the most part, it’s been more like sensations than anything. The image of a dark back alley that didn’t look like the architectural style of Sector Eight’s buildings. The taste of a drink I didn’t recognize, laughing with a dark-haired, copper-skinned someone who seemed somehow familiar. The smell of blood. It’s honestly worse than when I didn’t remember anything. All these little things with no context are driving me crazy. There isn’t any way for me to figure out what they mean, and I don’t know why they’ve suddenly started coming back, either. They hit at random, with no apparent connections between the memories. I hate it.

  “Ah,” Gabriel says softly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” I’ve told Gabriel before how frustrating it is, so he gets what I mean without me having to explain.

  “I’m still sorry you’re going through that. It must be hard not remembering anything.”

  “I used to think that,” I say. “But you know, recently, I’ve been thinking maybe it’s a good thing I don’t remember. I mean, I was able to become someone totally different, right? And better, I think. I’m definitely glad I’m not war-hungry anymore. It doesn’t sound like I was exactly happy before, either.”

  “And now?”

  “Huh?”

  “Are you happy now?” Gabriel asks.

  I watch him as I think about it. It’s true that guilt and anxiety crush me every time I report to Lai or collect intel for her. But it’s not like that stuff is constant. I also get to babysit with Gabriel and joke around with Cal. Yeah, this situation in general isn’t great, but I mean it when I say, “Yeah. I t
hink I am happy now. I mean, I’ve got you, don’t I?” My face feels hot, so I quickly add, “And Cal and everyone else, too, I mean.”

  Smooth. I’ve been wanting to tell Gabriel about my crush on him, but between stabbing him and all his friends in the back, not being sure if he’s interested in guys, and my not being sexually attracted to people or wanting physical intimacy, there are way too many obstacles. And as if that wasn’t enough, he still remembers the old me. There’s no way he’d be interested in being with someone like that.

  I don’t have the guts to look Gabriel in the face and see if he caught my slip. But his voice sounds the same as always when he says, “I’m happy when we’re together, too. You’re pretty bad at looking after kids, and you’re bad at being honest, too—like, really bad.” I grimace. “But you’re an amazing artist. Your ability to create beautiful things is breathtaking. You genuinely care about others. You give your all to support your friends, and you try to do good by everyone. I like that about you. I like a lot of things about you.”

  I finally manage to meet his eyes. His slanted smile is softer than usual. It makes my heart pound painfully. I almost say something—I’m not sure what, maybe a confession of my feelings or that I’m not nearly as good as he thinks I am—but then the little ringleader of the kids calls, “Erik, Gabriel! We’re gonna arm wrestle, come referee!”

  The moment shatters. Gabriel laughs. His expression is back to usual, all private gentleness gone. “We better go join them, huh?”

  “Guess you’re right.” I don’t know if what I feel is disappointment or relief. I rock myself to my feet and offer Gabriel a hand up. Since he’s been overdoing it so much with his gift lately, he needs all the help he can get. He takes it. His hand is so hot I think it’ll burn me. Even once he lets go, I still feel where our skin touched.

  * * *

  I walk down a dark hall, totally sure of where I’m going and what I’m about to do—I just can’t remember exactly what either of those things are right now. At the end of that hall, Cal and Joan wait for me.

  “Come to see me off?” My voice echoes around us, weirdly hollow. “That was nice of you both.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” Joan says. When I walk closer to her, she holds out her hands and I take them. Her fingers twine through mine.

  “It’s our first raid—our first attack against the Etioles,” Cal says. His eyes shine in the dark, solemn and maybe sad. “Of course we’re worried about you.”

  “What, you think I can’t handle it? This is me we’re talking about.”

  “Which is exactly why we’re worried, you arrogant show-off,” Joan says. I roll my eyes and she squeezes my hands.

  “It’ll be fine,” I say. “You’ll see. Everything will go just as planned, and before long, we’ll have wiped every damned Etiole out of existence.”

  My eyes snap open. It takes a while for them to adjust to the dark—and for my heart to slow down.

  I’ve never had a full memory like that come back to me. It’s only ever been snippets. But that was so clear. It felt like it was actually happening. What’s going on? Why now, when I’ve just been getting scraps for the last month? Why that memory?

  Well, no going back to sleep now. What time is it, anyway? It’s hard to keep track when you’re stuck underground.

  Once my eyes adjust, I can pick out the details of my room. I haven’t changed anything, so everything looks just like it did when I disappeared from the rebels. Drawings wallpaper every surface but the floor, everything from furniture to doodles to sketches of make-believe cities and grand, ambitious buildings that’ll never exist. There are sketches, paintings, drawings in ink and charcoal—everything. Just like back at Central, wooden furniture and tiny models of buildings crowd the room. A miniature city is tucked underneath a large table in one corner.

  The room is nice. It’s everything I would’ve imagined my former room to be, complete with drawings and models in my own style. But I don’t remember any of it. It feels like I’m sleeping in a stranger’s room, in a stranger’s bed. Seeing a stranger’s memories.

  I wonder for the millionth time what happened to all the furniture I left back in my and Jay’s room. We were always talking about ways we could dump it all on other people, but we never did get around to it.

  The thought of my old roommate makes my heart sink. I wish I could talk to him again—something I would’ve never imagined I’d think three months ago.

  I need to get out.

  It must be pretty late because no one’s around when I walk through the main office’s halls. I should go back. I’m already under suspicion, and probably from more people than just Devin at this point. If I’m caught wandering around at night, it’ll only look bad. But I can’t stand the thought of returning.

  I stop in front of one of the meeting rooms and push the door open. I don’t care about the actual room; I cross through it to get to the balcony. The air isn’t that different from inside the building. All the air is stale down here. But it’s nice being in such a big open space. From the balcony, I look out over the city sleeping in the darkness. It’s only three stories down, but it feels so much farther away. Fires are lit in some parts of the town, either guards or early risers. I can’t make out details from here with barely any light. The whole uneven collection of random furniture and makeshift shelters looks like a long, huge monster sleeping in the night, just waiting for the right moment to rear up and bare its fangs.

  “What are you doing up at this hour?”

  I turn to see Joan leaning against the open balcony door behind me, arms and legs both crossed, but not threateningly. I didn’t even hear her come up behind me.

  I face the town again. After that dream, I don’t really know how to talk to her. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Is that so?” She joins me at the balcony’s twisting iron railing and rests her elbows against it, hands dangling over the empty air. Watchful, silent. I don’t ask why she’s awake.

  “This reminds me of a dream I had,” I say. “You and I were standing on a balcony just like this, and you said the night was approaching. I mean, I thought it was a dream. Hoped it was a memory. It came before you guys told me I’d been a rebel.”

  “Well, it wasn’t just a dream.”

  I grip the railing and lean back. “I’ve been having a lot of not-just-dreams lately. You were in the last one, you know.”

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “Were we…?”

  “Sort of. Not really.”

  “Wow, that makes things a whole lot clearer. Thanks for the enlightenment.”

  A corner of her mouth quirks up. “It wasn’t romance—not really. We were never physical, and there were never any feelings of love between us, either. We tried. I think we both wanted there to be something. But we were just two broken people trying to find comfort in being with someone else who was broken.”

  “Is there really something so wrong with that?” I can’t remember ever being in a relationship. I don’t actually know how it works. But that doesn’t sound so terrible to me.

  “There’s nothing inherently wrong with it,” Joan says. “But it wasn’t real for us. When I met Paul, and you and I broke things off, neither of us were worse off for it.”

  “You left me for another man?” I ask with pretend insult. “That hurts, Joan.”

  She smirks. “Maybe you should’ve learned how to treat your partner better, Erik.”

  “Ouch, Joan. Ouch.”

  There’s something different between us now. I’ve never tried to joke with her before tonight. She’s definitely only ever used a brisk, businesslike tone with me until now.

  “Hey, Joan,” I say. “Will you tell me about how the rebels started? How did we all end up here?”

  She hesitates. Cal’s told me tons of stories, hopeful they’d spark something in my black hole of missing memories, and always patient when they didn’t. But I never wanted to ask him how it all started. I was too afraid. But now tha
t my memories seem to be coming back, I want to know. I need to know.

  “Well,” she says, and her hands clasp each other over the railing as she leans farther over it, “it was just you and Sara at first. The two of you picked me and Cal up off the streets, and for a while, it was just the four of us. We didn’t know where to go from there. You and Sara were serious about wiping out the ungifted. Me and Cal, I think we both just wanted a place to go. I know I couldn’t have cared less about making war against the sectors at the time. The four of us eventually left the sector to explore Outside, try to find a place we could live in peace. We found the underground tunnels by chance. When we went back to recruit more gifted, you and Sara helped Devin out of a fight, and he came along worshipping the both of you.”

  A laugh stumbles out of me. “Devin used to worship me? You can’t be serious.”

  She shakes her head, eyes never leaving the city below us. “It’s true. He used to idolize you, just like he does Sara now. When you and I sort of became a thing, he was disgusted. He said you’d become weak and started to resent you. After your disappearance and then reappearance on the sector’s side, things only got worse.”

  It’s too hard to imagine. All of it.

  I don’t know if Joan can pick up on my anxiety, but she keeps going. “Eventually, Gabriel, Sara’s old friend, came to find us. And as word of us spread, more Nytes came to join us, trying to find a place to live without fear. Some of them wanted to fight. Some didn’t. But we got to the point that we could finally organize actual resistance. We started with the raids and—well, you probably know the rest from there.” Her eyes soften. “But the four of us—you, me, Sara, Cal—no matter how many people we gained, it was always us. We used to joke and spar together and talk about how one day, we’d make a world where the gifted could live freely.”

  Her eyes rise to meet the solid ground above us, hiding us, protecting us, crushing us. “But you know, Erik, I never wanted to kill all the Etioles.” Her eyes fall again, and her voice with them. “If we weren’t so dead-set on total elimination of the ungifted being the only way to gain peace for Nytes, would Paul have had to die? He was so kind. He never wanted to hurt anyone. He always told me he wished the rebels would try a more peaceful approach, but I ignored him. I thought he was just too much of an idealist to understand—I thought this war, at least, was necessary, if not killing every Etiole. But now I wonder. What if we had tried something different? What if instead of an ambush, we really had tried to negotiate peace at that meeting with your team?” Again, her eyes rise almost unconsciously upward, like she’s looking for a light that she’s forgotten isn’t actually there. “Would Paul have lived?”