Fragile Remedy

by Maria Ingrande Mora

  He was never going to let anyone get hurt because of him again.

  Reed ducked his head out from a bunk built with pieces of old desks. His hand rested gingerly over the bandage at his belly. “Nate.”

  Nate lit up inside, like he’d set a tangle of wires singing with electricity. He’d tried to keep his mind off Reed. Otherwise, he would have obsessed—wondering how he was healing, what he was doing. Now his fears and relief jumbled together senselessly. He stumbled and slapped his palm against the wall for balance, certain he’d float out into the whistling wind.

  He wanted to blame this foolishness on having fed Reed, but it was more than that. Being close to him again made Nate’s bones feel like they’d settled back into the right places.

  Reed reached a hand out. “Sit down. You look green.”

  “I missed the move.” Nate gestured around the room vaguely before taking Reed’s hand to sit on the bed beside him. The thin mattress creaked. His legs trembled.

  “I missed most of it too,” Reed said, barely audible over the hum of the wind. “Brick, take Pix to Sparks’s bunk.”

  As Brick led Pixel away, Nate’s stomach sank faster than it had when he’d seen the sickening view. Reed didn’t shoo the others away unless he had something serious to say. In a gang as tight as theirs, it was better to keep everything out in the open.

  “Pixel said you got sick and passed out.”

  “I guess I’m no good with blood.” Nate forced a weak grin, gaze caught on the pink stain on Reed’s bandage. He dug his trembling fingers into his pocket, heart skipping a beat until his callused fingers found the delicate chain knotted up around the small pendant. “Here,” he said. “You found it for her. You give it to her.”

  Reed’s eyes widened. He slipped the pendant under his blanket. “Thank you.”

  “Thought I sold it?” Nate asked, lips pressed together in a flat smile he didn’t feel.

  “No. I . . .” Reed shook his head. “They said you saved me with chem—medicine—from Alden.”

  “I did. Are you mad?”

  “Of course I’m not mad you saved my life, Nate.” Reed exhaled a sigh. “I’m sorry I put you in that position.”

  “You didn’t get yourself stabbed for fun.”

  And it was my fault.

  Reed’s bare shoulders twitched. “How did you pay for the medicine?”

  “Alden still owed me,” Nate said, sharp and frustrated. He didn’t want to talk. He wanted to take Reed’s hand and feel the thrum of his pulse.

  “You tinkered for him that much? Enough to save a life?”

  “You don’t believe me?” It was easier to push back than admit he was probably dying, and he’d made it worse by helping Reed. Nate looked around the room, willing the conversation to end. If they wanted the hideout set up, everyone needed to leave him be and let him tinker while he still could.

  “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?” Reed watched Nate closely, his pale eyes glittering.

  Nate exhaled hard and pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “It’s complicated with me and Alden.”

  Reed frowned. “How complicated? If you’re . . . if you’re still with him, Nate, you know I’d pay that no mind.”

  Nate coughed out a laugh before he could stop himself. “I was never with him.”

  “You can’t blame me for thinking it,” Reed said. “I’ve seen how he looks at you, like you’re a heap of food. And you’re there often enough.”

  Another hysterical, tired laugh bubbled out of Nate. He was unraveling from the bones out. “I’m sorry,” he said, breathless.

  I’m scared.

  “If you keep secrets from me, I can’t keep you on,” Reed said.

  Nate studied his callused hands. Reed only meant well for the others. He was being reasonable. Any sane man would take one look at Nate’s half-crazed, stifled laughter and send him packing.

  But it hurt. He was trying so hard, and nothing was going right, and he was getting dangerously close to giving up—something no one in the Withers could afford to do. That was the path to the stillness.

  He would be no good to any of them after that.

  Nate’s eyes heated, and he closed them tightly, fighting the swell of emotion that threatened to crumble him in front of Reed and the others. “He doesn’t give me chem, Reed,” he choked out. That, at least, was the truth. “I wish you’d believe me. I’m not—” His voice broke. He wasn’t a fiend. But what difference did it make?

  “Nate.” Reed leaned into him, skin warm and soft. He pulled Nate’s face to his shoulder. “It’s been a hard few days for all of us.”

  Nate muffled a sob against Reed’s warm shirt. “I’m trying.” He was trying harder than Reed would ever know. He shook, struggling not to pour snot and tears all over Reed.

  Reed had never held him like this before, arms strong and certain—warm hand stroking his back. Nate didn’t want to let go. But he lifted his face, wiped his eyes, and showed Reed that he could smile without any more blubbering. This wasn’t about affection. It was necessity. Each one of them had broken down crying at one time or another.

  “You need a meal.” Reed dragged his thumb across Nate’s cheek. “We saved most of the food, and Brick got the stove set up. There’s stew on.”

  “I need—” Nate choked to a halt. His face heated where Reed’s thumb skimmed away tears. Vicious loneliness tore at his insides.

  Is this what Alden’s hunger feels like?

  Reed gave him a long look and held very still, as if lashed down by the thread of distrust woven between them.

  “Stew, it is, boss,” Nate said, forcing a smile. He stood. “You can . . . I’ll start going through what we brought over and see if I can’t get a few trip wires hooked up to a siren before night falls.”

  “Pixel’s organized your things. Have her help you,” Reed said. “There’s not much else to keep her busy here.”

  Nate followed the smell of meat to the little cook pot in the corner. He couldn’t stop thinking about the tightness around Reed’s eyes—wariness he couldn’t blame on Reed’s wound.

  That night, the wind grew cold, and they huddled around the stove to share a bowl of thin stew. The crank-light cast long shadows.

  “I walked around the rest of the floor, made sure everyone knows we’re no threat to their spaces,” Reed said. “No one’s fond of the Breakers up here.”

  Brick passed the bowl to Pixel. “Surprised anyone said that right out.”

  “I’m not.” Sparks laughed. “Reed might as well be a Servant for the way folks take to him.”

  Reed ducked his chin, a shy grin dimpling one cheek. He was good at a lot of things, but taking compliments gracefully wasn’t one of them.

  Nate shivered from more than the chill. Sparks nudged him with the stew bowl, and he took his turn, determined to quit staring at Reed’s mouth.

  “More kids than I expected ’round here,” Sparks said. She caught Pixel’s eyes lighting up and smiled. “I’ll take you with me down a couple of floors where they’re teaching letters tomorrow.”

  Nate touched his boot against Pixel’s. “Only if she helps me finish the ductwork in the morning. We’ve almost got it, right, Pix?”

  They each took only a few bites, saving the most for Pixel, who finished it without complaining about the bitter taste and chewy dried meat. For the first time since Reed had gotten hurt, it felt like family again.

  Sparks took the empty bowl from Pixel and wiped it clean. She glanced up at Nate. “I found a bunch of rubble down the hall. If Brick’ll haul it for me, we’ll build a little wall for you.”

  “Yeah.” Brick snorted. “So you can get from one side of the room to the other without crawling like a bug.”

  Nate’s legs were still weak from getting close enough to the edge to smell the rancid latrines one
floor below. He ducked his head, eyes gone hot with a startling rush of relief. “Thank you.”

  Once Sparks and Brick got the wall up, Nate’s heart stopped jumping around behind his ribs every time he stood up. He spent days rewiring the electricity in the narrow crawlspace.

  “Think you can fit in there?” he asked Pixel, aiming a crank-light at the ragged tear in the ceiling.

  “Better than you can!”

  He gave her a leg up, and she scrambled into the duct without a look back. “Stay on this side.” Nerves gnawed at his bones. He didn’t like the thought of her making her way near the edge.

  Her small hand darted out from another hole in the duct, two frayed wires tight in her grip. “Found some more torn-up ones.”

  Nate handed her the pliers, and she twisted them together and crimped the edges without checking with him first.

  Reed walked up, bumping his side gently. “She’s really learning.”

  “I didn’t teach her that. It comes naturally to her.” He tracked her progress by the fall of dust from the ceiling, occasionally calling up to check on her. She was quick and sure, only answering when she needed a bit of wire or sticky rubber remnants. “She’ll replace me in no time,” he said with a soft laugh.

  He glanced aside and caught Reed giving him a strange look.

  Just after nightfall, the room’s solitary light fixture flickered to life, bathing them in a pale glow. It wasn’t much brighter than moonlight, but even Brick burst into quiet applause. Pixel climbed out of the ductwork, jumping down into Sparks’s arms. She shook dust of out her hair and grinned like she could power a thousand lights.

  As the others celebrated, telling quiet stories in the light, Nate curled up in his bunk. Sleep refused to come. The alarm system wasn’t enough. He needed more trip wires and a better lock once they scavenged or traded for a decent door.

  It wasn’t like Alden would know where he was or send someone after him, but Nate couldn’t stop thinking about the promise he’d made. Alden would surely expect to be fed by now—or soon. Even if there was a problem with the Remedy supply.

  Nate couldn’t bring himself to find an excuse to go. Not until he had to.

  He couldn’t bear the thought of Reed questioning him.

  For now, there was no reason for him to leave the bank. The neighborhood was crammed full of crowded residences. They wouldn’t find anything to scavenge without breaking their rule: never lift from people’s homes.

  Once Reed declared himself well enough for a night out scavenging, Nate sketched crude pictures of the tech he’d need to put together a battery to keep their basic trip-wire security running.

  “We have to hoard power for the night,” he said, tracing the edges with a charcoal twig.

  “Is that a cat?” Brick asked.

  Sparks shook her head. “It’s a star driving a ship. Right?”

  Nate frowned and traced the lines again. “No. Look. The circuits go this way. I can’t do the colors right, but they’re—”

  Reed covered his hand, pinning it to the ground. A silent laugh shook his shoulders. “They’re playing with you, Nate. It’s clear enough.”

  Nate jerked his hand away and flung the twig against the wall. It splintered and fell in pieces. “It’s serious! You need to find this. You need to find it soon!”

  Reed stared at him. “All right. We’ll find it tonight.”

  The girls looked at each other, stifling laughter. He couldn’t blame them. Here he was, acting like a prickly batch of explosives.

  When they left, Nate went to his bunk and rubbed his forehead with his rough fingers.

  “Teach me how a double switch works,” Pixel said, crouching in front of him. She held a new rag doll—a scrap of blanket with hair made of wire.

  “Not right now.”

  “Why? You’re not resting.” Her lips pulled into a scowl, and when he realized she was mimicking him, a tired laugh escaped his chest.

  “All right. Get Sparks’s tweezers and help me get these stitches out of my head.”

  Pixel’s fingers were gentle and sure, and she babbled softly while she worked. Each thread tugged eerily in his flesh, but it didn’t hurt.

  He tuned her out, too unsettled to focus.

  The stitches made him think about Alden. He should have pressed for answers. A problem with Remedy. What did that really mean?

  He wouldn’t have to wait long to find out.

  By the end of the week, his head spun every time he stood up. He tried to focus on his tinkering and not the way his body weakened like a fraying wire.

  Satisfied with the security system and lights, he set to work on the ticker system. He crammed into a gap in the interior wall, trying to find the old information system cables that transmitted to anyone with a ticker and a live wire.

  Transmissions came from all over—official notices and alerts from Gathos City, gossip and serialized stories from locals broadcasting with salvaged equipment. A few dogged broadcasters gave regular reports on incoming food deliveries from Gathos City and pockets of violence within the Withers. And once in a while, the Breakers put out recruitment calls, promising anyone clever and quick a better job than the workhouses could offer.

  Nate didn’t care about any of that. The gang needed a working ticker so Reed could gauge the relative safety of scavenging on any given night.

  It took Nate an hour, but he finally found the cable and gathered enough slack to lower it down the wall to the ticker they’d set up on a rickety shelf. He climbed out of the space and took an uneven step, breathing hard and sneezing from the loose plaster and mildewed insulation in the wall.

  He sat cross-legged on the floor and carefully connected the ticker to the wire. It flared to life in his hands. Words scrolled by, almost too fast for him to read.

  Reward for GEMs. Safety guaranteed.

  “You ought to go rinse off before you finish that up,” Reed said at his shoulder.

  Startled, Nate dropped the ticker to the ground. He grimaced at the fine dusting of pale pink all over his skin and clothes. “You’re right,” he said, scratching his itchy neck. “Next time, I’m wearing something over my face. I think I breathed in a decade of dust.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Reed said. “Sparks says I’m clear to get this mess clean with water, instead of getting wiped down like a babe.” He grabbed a bath sheet from the corner of his bunk and pushed his bare feet into his boots.

  They took a slow pace up the stairwell. It smelled like dirt and piss.

  Reed walked with a hitch, more careful than pained now that he’d healed up decently. Nate, sneezing and breaking into short fits of coughing, lagged behind.

  “There’s a family up near the roof growing a few pots of herbs,” Reed said when Nate stopped and held the rail to catch his breath. “Sparks saw it. I don’t know how they manage it.”

  “Seeds are hard to come by. But you can grow in water and gravel, if you know what you’re doing.” Bernice had kept a little herb garden on her windowsill. The leaves had been weak and pale, but they’d tasted better than anything her food vouchers were good for.

  “You should see if there’s something that could clear that cough up,” Reed said.

  Nate recalled being ill once as a child, and the rancid taste of bottled cough medicine. With the memory came a brief rush of images—his mother’s expansive greenhouse full of dark-green vines, a fountain that gurgled clear water, a window stretching from floor to ceiling, and the silver pillars of Gathos City crowding the view.

  “Did you ever live anywhere but here?” he asked, dazed by the sharp memory.

  “Are you trying to change the subject?”

  “I’d have better tactics if I meant to do that,” Nate said with a faint smile, climbing the stairs again. It seemed like ages ago that he’d brought home peaches to make Reed smile.
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br />   Reed walked beside him, staying close. “I’ve always lived on this end of the island. When I left my mother, I didn’t go far.”

  Nate wasn’t sure if Reed meant far as in distance or far as in trade. The idea of Reed prostituting himself as his mother had was too foreign, too impossible to consider. Unsettled by the ugly thought, Nate slipped his hand into Reed’s.

  Reed stilled for a breath and kept walking, squeezing Nate’s hand. “I can tell you’ve been all over the Withers,” he said. “The way you talk, there’s something different about you.”

  The sound of running water and laughter washed down the stairwell as a door opened and slammed shut the floor above them. Reed stopped walking and shifted to face Nate, standing a stair below so that they were almost eye-to-eye.

  “Must be from my aunt,” Nate said. “She raised me. She came here from Gathos City before they closed the gates.”

  “I bet she had good stories.” Reed let go of Nate’s hand to reach past his ear and loosen the tie that held Nate’s hair out of his face. It swept forward, sticky against his face.

  “Now you’re trying to distract me,” Nate said, shaky, caught in the snap of goose bumps along his skin. He leaned into the brush of Reed’s fingers.

  “I wish I could,” Reed said. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Nate’s.

  Nate froze, struck still by the tenderness of it. Reed’s knuckles brushed against his ribs with a halting touch that tickled.

  It was so chaste and honest and careful.

  And Nate was going to sneeze.

  “Reed.” Nate caught his wrists and stilled him.

  Reed drew away, searching Nate’s face with a worried gaze. Before Nate could explain, he doubled over and sneezed into his elbow.

  “I’m itchy and gross.” Nate sidestepped Reed with a thin laugh. He wanted nothing but more kisses. Wanted. He shook with it, feverish inside. “Let me get clean.”

  Reed continued climbing the stairs as if nothing terrifying had happened, but his voice was hoarse when he asked, “Any soap up there?”