A Time to Die

by Nadine Brandes

  Chills sweep my skin.

  He slumps against the wall. “I still remember my Numbers and . . . and I think you should know . . . I zero-out soon.”

  My world falls upon me like the darkness stealing our sunset. I can’t move. His voice echoes in my mind like a holler from a mountaintop.

  Zero-out . . . zero-out . . . zero-out . . .

  My voice doesn’t work. I can’t even muster a whisper. My mouth forms the words, “How soon?”

  Jude squints and scans my face. His grip tightens.

  I take a shuddering breath and my voice breaks. “How soon, Jude?”

  He stares, and, for a brief moment, his chin quivers. “Please . . . please don’t ask me.”

  36

  000.086.07.55.19

  “Mrs. Newton?” The creak I heard at her bedroom door turns into shuffled footsteps down the hall. My eyes are heavy and the mug of coffee warms my hands. I haven’t slept all night.

  Jude has Numbers.

  I’ve grown up around people with Numbers. Everyone had a Clock, but I’ve gotten so used to the idea of Jude’s mystery time I started to imagine he had indefinite Numbers.

  Mrs. Newton peeks into the kitchen wearing a thick tan robe that reaches all the way to the floor. “That was you. Good sunrise, Parvin, you’re up early.” Her tone is kind, but her brows crease. “Is everything okay?”

  “I need . . . help.” My voice trembles on that last word. “A lot has happened the past few days and I need to talk to someone.”

  “Of course. Do you mind if I grab some coffee?”

  “No.” It’s like my mornings with Mother . . . only kinder. The memory pinches.

  She sits across from me with a steaming ceramic mug and takes my hand. “What’s wrong, dear one?”

  If I don’t start speaking now, I won’t be able to. “My meeting with the Preacher yesterday didn’t go too well. He told me life has no meaning. Then I came back and Jude took me to see the sunset and to talk. He remembers his Numbers. He wouldn’t say what they were and . . . I don’t know what to do. The way he said it sounded like he’ll zero-out any moment. Why would he tell me that? What good does it do?”

  She releases a long breath. “Maybe he was trying to prepare you.”

  “But . . . he can’t die. I was just beginning to wonder if we were going to develop a relationship in my last days.”

  She tilts her head and smiles in a sad way. “Oh Parvin, why would you let this stop you?”

  I gulp a swallow of coffee. It’s weak and too hot. What can I say? That I don’t want to commit to something that’s sure to tear my heart into pieces? “I . . . don’t want to lose him.”

  Her thumb rubs across my clenched knuckles. “Losing people is a part of life. But you must love them as deeply as you can before you lose the chance.”

  Choked emotion stills my heart. “I don’t know how to love.”

  She allows a soft laugh. “Love is a choice. And, while you may not notice this yet, you’ve already chosen.”

  A burden crumbles from atop my heart. I have? The way Mrs. Newton says this sends the message that she’s proud of me. She’s happy for me. I think . . . I think I may be happy too, despite the recent dampenings.

  “And the Preacher was wrong, you know. Life isn’t meaningless.”

  “I know. I was discouraged.”

  “Did nothing good come from your meeting?”

  I look out the window. The sky is lightening with the sunrise. It’s not red yet, just a cold pale blue. “I realized I’m a fool for seeking answers from a man. God’s been with me all along and He’s the only one who can guide me with true answers.”

  Mrs. Newton leans back, sliding her hand from mine. Is she uncomfortable? I guess I don’t know where she stands with the whole God-thing. Is she afraid I’ll indoctrinate Laelynn with my beliefs?

  “Um . . . and the Preacher offered me his resources, whatever that means. I think it was more of a joke. He suggested we help the other Radicals sent through Opening Three.”

  She meets my eyes with a startled glance. “We? You and me? But what can we do?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m not even going back to that side before I zero out.”

  A door down the hall opens. Mrs. Newton and I clamp our lips shut. Footsteps head toward the bathroom, then toward us. Jude steps into the kitchen. “Good sunrise.”

  “Good sunrise,” we reply.

  His eyes are weighed down by sleeplessness. Heavy. Dark. I stare down at the table. What will he see in my eyes if I look at him? What might I say?

  “May I join you?”

  I stand. “Actually, I was going to go change. I have a simulation with Wilbur today.” My room is my safe haven and I close the door with a soft hand. I pick up my NAB and open the journal button. It’s time to let Skelley Chase—and some others—know where I stand before I say good-bye and focus on life in Ivanhoe.

  “I don’t know what I’d do if I returned to the West,” I whisper to the journal. “Ivanhoe has become a type of home for me. I’m comfortable here. It will be a nice place to zero-out. I’m not coming back.”

  After sending it, I click on Hawke’s contact bubble. This will be a much harder message to send.

  ~Hello Hawke,

  ~Let me start off by thanking you for all the help and encouragement you’ve provided since I met you. You have been an unexpected friend.

  My throat tightens, but I continue on.

  ~It’s time for us to say good-bye now. I’m not coming back to the East. I’m staying in Ivanhoe until I zero out. Jude zeroes out soon, too, I think. I’m realizing . . . I may love him. Or I may be on the road to love. I’m not sure. I’ve never loved anyone before. But I cannot communicate with you anymore. I think it upsets Jude, it confuses me, and it’s not fair to any of us.

  ~I will miss our communication. A lot. Which is why I must stop it. It doesn’t feel right for me to continue it. After this message, I am deleting your contact information. Please don’t reply.

  ~Farewell.

  000.086.02.21.04

  I enter a simulation in Wilbur Sherrod’s newest suit, Inkling. It stimulates the activity of my brain and helps me use more brain cells, which should stimulate deeper thinking in the face of problems.

  “This one’s a bit different.” Wilbur pointed to a round light on the underside of my wrist. “When this starts blinking, ye have one minute before the suit needs rechargin’. It’s a new feature.”

  The simulation begins with me standing at the top of the cliff in the doorway of Opening Three. I’m assaulted by the memory of falling. I look out over the wide expanse of space, glancing at the plateaus a hundred feet to my left and right. If only I could reach them instead of climbing down to the wolves.

  “We have to jump, you know.”

  I spin around. My insides freeze. “Reid?”

  He’s tall with disheveled hair. Solid. He opens his arms. “My little Brielle.”

  I launch myself into his embrace. “How did you find me?”

  “Followed you through the Opening.” He releases me and brushes back my hair. I smell his scent of forest and travel. It’s been so long. “Now, we need to jump before the door closes.”

  I turn back to the cliff. “No, we can climb down.”

  “What’s the point? The wolves are down there.”

  “I know how to get past them.”

  He comes up beside me. We stand shoulder to shoulder. “And then what, Parvin? Then what do we do?”

  I know what he’s asking and a hollow chasm opens in my stomach. Where would I take Reid if we survived? And not just Reid, but the rest of the Radicals coming through? Even if they all walk through the wolves and survive, they have no place to go.

  “You see? They need your help.” He stands on his tiptoes and spreads his arms wid
e, inches from the edge.

  “Stop.” I grab his arm. “What are you doing? I’ll help you.” The moment I say the words I’ll help you, ideas blast into my mind like a flash flood. One after the other, so fast I can’t even separate them to focus on a single thought. Visions of bridges, tight ropes, safe houses, helpers, stairs, ladders, maps, parachutes, Wilbur’s suits, Hawke, the Newtons, the Preacher, resources.

  A blinking light catches my eye, stifling the flow of ideas. My wrist light. What did that mean again? I let go of Reid’s arm to hold the light closer. He leans forward and falls in slow motion.

  “No!” I scream, reaching for him. I catch his arm and he yanks me off the edge as the door closes on my foot. We hang there, suspended. My joints stretch.

  “Let go,” he grunts. “It’s my Clock, Parvin. Let me die.”

  “No!”

  The lights in the simulation room blast away the scene. As with all the other simulations, reality comes swooping in and stirs my emotions with a rod of ice.

  This one was bad, yet exhilarating at the same time. I didn’t realize how much I missed Reid. I didn’t realize how many ideas I could have in such a short course of time. I need to leave. I need to think.

  I walk out.

  Wilbur removes the stickers. “Report?”

  “The suit worked. Wilbur, it was amazing. I had so many ideas. So many thoughts on how to save Radicals and somehow cause some change.”

  “So it was good?”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, but it’d be nice if you made the suit last a little longer.”

  He shakes his head. “There are too many rules fer this one. This suit is only fer unique users, otherwise people can get addicted.”

  “I guess I’m lucky I got to test it, huh?”

  “Yes, ye are.” He claps his hands together. “I’ll get the reports from the computers. Ye can be done fer today. Return the suit to the lab.”

  I do as he says, contemplating my interaction with Reid while riding the motorcoach to Mrs. Newton’s. There it was again, Reid claiming in my subconscious that the Clock is his. I can’t continue to ignore this possibility.

  If I do survive the Clock, what would I keep doing? I would have indefinite time. I could save more lives—help Radicals using one of the billion ideas that zipped through my mind during the simulation.

  When I come to Mrs. Newton’s house, dressed again in my own clothes, neither Jude nor Willow is here. A sigh of relief escapes me. Laelynn skips into the entry. Her blond hair is a ratty mess of clips, curls, bows, and a paper crown.

  “Neighbor!”

  “Hi, Laelynn, where’s your mom?”

  She points to the kitchen. When I enter, the warmth of cooking hits my face. “Mmm, what are you making?” I peek over Mrs. Newton’s shoulder. A pot is filled with what looks like white maggots and vegetables.

  “Rice.”

  I scrunch my face. “Is it food?”

  She snickers. “Yes, it’s from China. Just because they got hit with a meteor doesn’t mean they disappeared. Apparently the East has been missing out on some great trade.”

  “Interesting.” I set my shoulder pack on the floor and wrap her in a tight hug. “I’ve had an idea!”

  She places a lid over the pot. “For what?”

  “Helping Radicals.” I don’t bother explaining my simulation. Instead, I launch into my flowing thoughts. “The Preacher gave me access to his resources, and I intend to take him up on that offer, whether he meant it or not. We can send some builders to the Opening to make a bridge from the Wall to the plateau that you and Laelynn crawled to. We can create a station of sorts with travel equipment and a map to Ivanhoe or the Ivanhoe Independent line. Then instead of Radicals dying or fighting for survival, they can step into a new life. Like what you and I have! What do you think?”

  “Well, I love the idea of saving lives. Then no one would have to fall off that cliff . . .” She trails off. Her fists clench.

  I reach for her. What does one say? None of my words can bring back her husband and daughter.

  She shakes her head. “I’m fine. It’s tragedy, but Laelynn and I are still here.”

  She meets my gaze. Something in her eyes sends a message of strength. I always viewed Mrs. Newton as soft—much softer than Mother. But now I realize they both carry a unique strength. Maybe it’s mother-strength.

  “The Radicals will need a place to stay when they reach Ivanhoe.” She raises an eyebrow and a grin creeps onto her face. “I’ve been thinking of this a lot lately—how to help other Radicals who come along. There’s a mansion up for purchase on the other side of the Core. It would make a perfect halfway house.”

  “I knew it! I knew I could count on you.”

  We’re going to do it. We’re going to save lives.

  000.079.23.07.33

  A week passes with no word from Hawke or Skelley Chase. I relax and grow more confident in my new goal. I purchase and copy maps of the West for the Radicals while Mrs. Newton meets with the Preacher. She has special access to him, I guess, because of his initial help. I’m glad she doesn’t have to bargain for a meeting and waste trade tickets. Willow hunts outside of Ivanhoe so she can trade furs to help us with our quest.

  I share my plan with Jude. It’s strange speaking to him with the new knowledge I have of his Clock. The topic doesn’t come up again, but I feel guilty for not treating him better. If I’d known about his Numbers earlier, would I have stayed with him and Willow when the train came? I want those weeks back. I can’t seem to remember the conviction I felt when I left them behind.

  I’ve given up thoughts of Jude’s invention helping Radicals. The one time I brought it up, he said, “People are allowing themselves to place time above life. If we make life without a Clock more common, people will be more open to adopting the children.”

  How could I argue when Laelynn—physical proof to his argument—stood in the other room? Jude is so passionate against sharing his invention. I’m glad God gave me a new idea to save Radicals. Besides, problems on the East aren’t my concern anymore. My new life is here, in Ivanhoe.

  Jude and I talk a lot more. I’m more patient. Every time I feel like losing my temper with him, I remember he may zero-out soon. I don’t have time to argue with him, like how I never had time to argue with Mother. I always should have sought more patience. Now is my second chance.

  I still haven’t revealed my feelings of possible love. What would I say? “Hey, Jude, I think I possibly love you.”

  Oh yeah. That’ll impress him.

  One morning, the sun rises behind thin clouds, burning away the light drizzle that welcomed the dawn. I wander down into the living room and curl up on the sofa. I pull Reid’s journal out of my pack on the floor.

  My eyes smart. I hold it close. It smells nothing like him. In fact, it smells old from the Dregs water. Fishy. I haven’t looked through it since I found it thick with water and now I want to see if I can decipher any of the blurred entries. It’s too hard to stare at smudged pages and know I’m missing out on so much of Reid’s life. I’ve only scribbled notes on the first few pages.

  As I’m on the brink of cracking it open, my NAB lets out a muffled pop! I contemplate ignoring it, but curiosity urges me find out who sent the message. Part of me hopes it’s Hawke, but another part—a stronger part—hopes it’s not. I don’t like being conflicted. And if he can’t accept my silence, I will have to be harsher. I don’t want to be harsh.

  I slip the NAB from the folds of my shoulder pack. Still lemon-scented. Yuck. When I open it, I breathe a relieved sigh. It’s from Skelley Chase. Is he angry I’m not returning?

  ~Parvin, can I count on you or not? Have you read The Daily Hemisphere lately? People suspect you’re not real. They think I created you. If you don’t return, there’s no proof any of your survival matters or exists. Is that what you want? -SC


  I haven’t touched The Daily Hemisphere since Jude arrived in Ivanhoe. Maybe that’s why life in the East feels like a distant whisper. I’ve immersed myself in life here. It’s become my new home, but his newest message irritates me. It’s not my job to convince people I’m real.

  But why are people doubting? Do they think I can’t do what I’ve done? I type a quick reply, too tense to dwell on this new information.

  ~Mr. Chase, I’m not returning. I’m sorry. This is my new home. You of all people know my time is limited. I have new things to do on this side while I can.

  How could people think I’m not real? They have my emotigraphs, my pictures, my . . . story. Does this mean they’re not doing anything to help Radicals? Maybe that’s their excuse—it’s too hard to fix the Radical system, so they write me off as a fake.

  Skelley Chase’s response arrives and I tap the message bubble so hard a jolt of pain zings up my finger.

  ~Parvin, you’ve turned rather unreasonable and selfish. You really want to do this? Neglect your family? Go back on your readers? Go against our agreement? More Radicals will die if you don’t return. You’ll never be remembered. – SC

  His message encourages me, which I’m certain wasn’t his intent. He doesn’t know I’m going to save Radicals on this side. He can’t see the stacks of maps and instructions I’ve handwritten. He can’t see the bridge sketches Jude helped me make.

  I’ll be remembered on this side. And my family will remember me. They’ll know I tried. I was called to save lives in the West.

  ~Yes, Mr. Chase. I’m doing this.

  He’s going to have to accept the fact he can’t have everything he wants. He can’t control me any longer. I hardly finish my motivational thought before he responds.

  ~I can’t let you. People on this side need to know you’re real. This X-book we’ve created is powerful and I can’t let you hinder that with your selfishness. If you don’t return before the end of your Clock, then I will have your brother killed.

  37

  000.079.06.19.44

  Have your brother killed . . . have your brother killed . . . have your brother killed . . .