“If I saved my dad ten years ago like I should have, or if I'd remembered anything about what he did to me when he injected me. If I'd listened to you earlier and never gone to WPN, if if if. There are so many ifs, and all of them touch on me in some way. Maybe no one thing is my fault, but it’s hard to shake the feeling that if I had done better in any way, this might have gone down differently.”
He leans against a tree trunk. “You can't live your life like that. You can't change the past, none of us can.”
“I know that, but I can't help thinking about my parents, and how I might have been doomed from birth.”
Wesley slides down next to the tree and pats the ground next to him. “What does that even mean?”
Of course he doesn't get it. “Your dad loves you and he loves your mom, and he's a little hard on you maybe, and you have struggles, but he has his crap together. He runs Port Gibson as well as he can, serving others and providing for you guys.”
“I guess so.” Wesley's eyebrows draw together. “But what does that have to do with—”
“Your mom's a great lady, too. Dedicated to your dad and to you. She spends all her time working to better the lives of everyone in Port Gibson.”
“I won't argue with you there. My mom's the best.”
“My mom, on the other hand, is a mess. She lets her husband beat her, and she chose him over her own daughter when she had a chance to do the right thing. Not to mention, she left her first husband and got pregnant in the process. No one knows for sure whose baby I am.”
“You could get a blood test, you know. We've lost a lot of tech since the Marking, but I'm sure Job could test your blood or hair against Solomon's. Or his own, for that matter.”
I throw my hands up in the air. “I don't know whether I even want to know. My options are a wife-beating, sadistic and probably sociopathic dictator who undisputedly annihilated hundreds of thousands of government workers to grab power, leaving millions and millions without guidance or resources. He uses God to suppress his people, for heaven's sake. Or, if door one isn't appealing enough, behind door two, I have a mustache twirling scientist who developed a virus, and possibly released it. That virus wiped out the majority of the population of the Earth over a period of just a few years. Don't even get me started on how he almost certainly stole me from my mom, and potentially my dad to spite them, and kept me in hiding for six years. I've been over it a million times and I honestly can't decide which father would be worse. I'm leaning toward David the name-changing Thomas-wannabe-Solomon, but Donald Carillon slash Donovan Behl is a disturbingly close second. Taking a kid who isn't yours. . . I mean. These are my options for parents, Wesley. How could I not be profoundly messed up?”
Wesley takes my hand in his and squeezes it. “You aren't your parents. You're nothing like any of them actually, other than the scientific brilliance bit.”
“You haven't met her yet, but I'm the spitting image of my mom.”
“Wow, she's good looking. If you end up saving Sam and reuniting in a blissful sea of romantic contentment, it's good to know I have options. . .”
I slug his shoulder and he winces and rubs it. “Go easy on my gorgeous body, lady. You already broke my heart.”
“Knock it off,” I say.
He shrugs. “All I'm saying is, that fake kiss yesterday was about the happiest I've been since. . . Well, since the day I got Marked. Which should've been a crappy day, if you think about it. Instead it's one of my best memories.”
“Doesn't hurt that you didn't actually stay Marked.”
He shakes his head. “I didn't know then that your blood would save me. I thought my life was ending, and I still walked around smiling like a moron.”
“Until I didn't show up at the tree.”
He shivers. “That was a cold few days. I waited two full days, you know, even though at that point I was grasping at straws. I'd have waited a third, but I heard some guards talking. They said you weren't Marked even though I was. I'm selfish enough that it was a very low day.”
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the tree. “I'm sorry I hurt you Wes.”
“No.”
When I open my eyes, Wesley's face is only a few inches from mine. He pokes the space between my collar bones with his finger. “You're lugging around this Santa Claus sized sack of guilt. I won't have any part of it. I refuse to allow you to add me to that burden.”
His blue eyes, full to the brim with care and concern for me, crack a corner of my heart I didn't realize was still intact. I’ve felt nothing but pain for so long, the idea of feeling something good pulls at me, tugging and tugging. A few weeks ago, Wesley was my world. A few weeks ago, he was the only thing I wanted.
I move toward him slowly, so slowly, and this time he's the one who has the opportunity to pull away, or to stop me. He doesn't take it either. When I press my lips to his, his large hands grab my shoulders and pull me up to my knees, bringing our bodies together from mouth to knee.
He deepens the kiss, and I moan.
A throat clearing behind us brings me back to my senses like a curtain thrown back in a dark room at mid-day.
“Pardon me if I'm confused here, but weren't you just in the pits of despair over my brother's absence?”
I feel the full force of Rafe’s contemptuous scowl before he turns on his heel and heads back toward the van.
I collapse forward, hands clasped, arms pressed against the cold ground. “I really am just like my parents.”
Wesley puts his hands on the back of my shoulders and tugs me back up. “You aren't, and that's the problem.”
“What?”
“You're one of the best people I know Rubes, but you're seventeen. It's too young to know who you are yet, much less who you love to the ends of the earth. You've been through a lot in the past few weeks, and you blame yourself for all of it. That's why until further notice, my lips are off limits to you.”
I know Wesley's face well, probably better than I know my own. He's smirking, but he's serious too.
“What are you talking about?”
He shakes his head. “You kissed me because you feel guilty and you're trying to punish yourself by ruining your life. I should’ve pulled away, because you only kissed me to inflict pain. I'm selfish enough that I ignored what I knew, because I wanted to kiss you.”
I shake my head. “I wasn't punishing anyone.”
He grins, but his eyes don't look happy. “You still don't see how fantastic you are, and until you do, until you want to kiss me because you think we'll be epic together, I'm locking these babies up.” He pretends to turn a key over his lips and tosses it over his shoulder.
“You're crazy. Besides, when he hears about this, I doubt you'll need to worry about Sam anymore.”
“See? What you just said proves my point. My favorite thing from Before was fireworks on the Fourth of July, and that kiss we just shared, that was better for me. My heart is all aflutter, and you're only kissing me to ruin your life. I love you, Ruby, I swear I do, but that's messed up.”
He stands and walks back to the van leaving me to stew.
Somehow, I managed to upset three guys with the same kiss. The one I kissed, the one I'm going to have to tell about the kiss, and his long lost little brother. Ugh. When I reach the van, I climb into the row behind Wesley. It's a more comfortable place to sit, stinky kids or not. At least none of them psychoanalyze me.
The sun passes mid-day and begins its descent. Rafe's plan is to have two crews of ten on either side of the meeting spot, just on the mainland side of the 45 bridge over to Galveston. The problem is, WPN randomly places trip wires on the 45 leading up to the island. To avoid them, I’m afraid we'll be doing a lot of walking. Sam and I missed them by accident when our car ran out of gas the last time I came down. We're hoping to avoid them intentionally this time.
“Hey Todd,” I ask, “how will you know where to stop the caravan?”
“I've seen them placed as close as twenty mi
les from the entrance to the bridge,” Todd says. “Once we get just past the furthest I've seen, we'll hide the vans. We'll go the rest of the way by foot. We have until tomorrow morning to reach our places, because that's when fake Ruby and fake Wesley are gonna drive the last fifteen miles.”
A fifteen-mile hike in one day?
I groan.
Rafe smirks. “It's gonna be fine, princess. You'll see.”
I always wished I had a little brother or sister, but I'm really starting to hate him. Maybe I wasn't so deprived after all. After we hide the vans, we all grab backpacks with basic supplies, first aid, and camping gear.
“Let me take that one.” Wesley's voice surprises me, since I figured he was still mad.
He takes the bigger bag from me. Each pack has a sleeping bag, but the larger ones hold tents too. “It's heavy and you've been giving blood lately. You shouldn't try to carry it. You can share with me, and I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”
I probably ought to insist on carrying my own, but I'm tired just thinking about fifteen miles, and I really don't want to sleep under a tent with kids I don't know. “Thanks.”
The first few miles aren't so bad. My heels are calloused by now, and they don't bother me a bit. But my pack is heavy even without the tent, and eventually my shoulders start to ache. The sun beats down on us, and when we take a break around the halfway point, I take off the new blue jacket Wesley gave me and knot the sleeves around my waist.
Last time I made this trip, Sam and Rhonda practically ran circles around me. Wesley's in almost as bad of shape as me. He's panting in between swigs of water. “You need to drink.” He points at my canteen. “We'll refill tonight, but if you don't drink enough...”
I haven't needed to pee in seven hours so I know he's right. “I know, my blood matters, my plasma matters, volume depletion, blah blah blah.” I yank my canteen over and take a drink. “I hate being some kind of blood bag for everyone. I feel sorry for cows.”
“Cows?” Wesley cocks one eye.
“I'm sure when they don't make enough milk, farmers are like, 'here, drink, eat, rest up. Try to do better when I come juice you in the morning.' I know exactly how they feel.”
Wesley glances down at my chest and chuckles. “You do, huh?”
I throw my canteen at him.
He catches it, which isn't very satisfying.
“My point is, I miss people wanting me for, I don't know, for myself I guess.” Which sounds idiotic. I mutter, “Not that anyone did.”
“I always wanted you for you. I still do.”
I blush. “You know what I mean. I wish my dad didn't make Tercera, and no one died, and that I had nothing to do with the cure.”
Wesley nods. “Hopefully we can leave the world a better place for our kids than our parents did for us.”
“I sure hope so. I don’t think we could mess it up worse, at least.”
Before he can badger me to drink any more, Todd shouts for us to get moving again.
The last five miles are horrific. Only watching Wesley struggle keeps me going. His bright red face, hair soaked through with sweat, and dragging feet inspire me. If he can keep going, so can I. When inspiration strikes, I can't help myself. I scoop up a handful of pebbles and stuff them in my pocket. Every few hundred yards I toss one at his leg or his arm. He brushes at his extremities like he's been stung every time, glancing around spastically for the culprit.
It gives me something else to think about, until he catches me doing it just as the sun's setting.
“You little punk. I should've known it was you.” I have no idea where his energy comes from, but he takes off chasing me. I've got zero left in my tank, so I barely run twenty steps before I'm winded.
His hand swings out at me and snags my arm, and he spins me around toward him. My body crashes into his, but he doesn't go down. The setting sun's rays bathe his face in golden light, his hair falling over his eyes, his strong jaw jutting out in defiance. “You owe me an apology. This hike was hard enough without thinking an army of disappearing cockroaches were trying to eat me.”
“Disappearing cockroaches?” I shudder. “Thanks, now I won't be able to sleep at all.”
“I'll protect you from them. I mean, didn't you see my moves? I'm gifted, clearly.”
I think about him, jumping right and left, swatting at the air, and spinning around to see where the pebbles were coming from. I giggle.
“You think it's funny?” His head leans down, moving closer to me, his arms holding me tight against him.
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Yeah, it was funny. Thanks for distracting me.”
“I'll distract you anytime, any place.”
A shiver runs down my spine, and I realize I shouldn't be standing here, not now. Not with Wesley. I stiffen up and step backward. “I think we're getting close. We better not fall too far behind, though.”
I jog to catch up with the others, but now I'm intensely aware of Wesley jogging beside me. When we finally reach a spot Rafe and Todd agree on, I practically collapse where I'm standing. I offer to help Wesley put up the tent, but when he shakes his head, I don't press it.
“You two are sharing a tent?” Rafe lifts his eyebrows, but doesn't offer any other opinions.
If I maintain a careful distance between Wesley and me while we eat dinner, and if I lay my sleeping bag down as far from his as I possibly can, even if it's only ten inches away, well, I hope he doesn't take offense. At least he doesn't comment.
The only good thing about walking fifteen miles is how exhausted it leaves me. Even plagued with doubts about seeing Solomon tomorrow, and guilt over kissing Wesley, I drop off to sleep minutes after I lay down.
I dream about Sam again that night, stuck in a room with a black door. I bolt upright in the middle of the night, but before I can lay back down, Wesley's sitting up next to me, one arm thrown over my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I nod wordlessly.
“Bad dream?”
Another nod.
He pulls my sleeping bag next to his and pats it. I lay back down and go to sleep, back to back with Wesley. I don't remember any dreams after that.
Dawn, as usual, comes too early. My eyes burn a little bit when I wake up, either from exhaustion or the campfire smoke, I can't tell. We're all up and headed for the bridge right on time. We find a good spot, behind an old house on the bay, and settle in to wait.
It’s not too long before the truck Solomon sent his messenger down with drives up to the edge of the bridge. Of course, now it's loaded up with my decoy, the Marked girl named Amanda, and fake Wesley, actually a kid named Robbie. Wesley taps his fingers on the side of the stilts of the house while we wait.
I don't know what Solomon will do when he realizes they aren't me. The muscles in my neck tense up, and I use my left hand to massage them. I hope Amanda and Robbie aren't shot because of me. Shooting the messenger seems like something he'd do.
If he sends people to seize them, there isn't a lot we can do, either. We can pursue, but we'd be headed right into the lion's den if we do. No, Rafe will make me stay here either way. If I knew Solomon a little better, I'd have a closer guess, but I have no idea what nefarious plan he's laid in place.
Eventually a single, red pickup truck heads down the I-45. I can't hear what anyone's saying from here, but a man climbs out of the truck after it stops and approaches Amanda and Robbie. He knocks on the window. He talks to them, and then gestures wildly. A moment later, a woman in black pants, and a thick black coat with the hood up climbs out of the car. She crosses to the truck and waves her hands around wildly too.
Amanda passes her walkie talkie to the woman. I guess they've discovered she's not really me.
I hear the distinct bleeping noise of the call from the walkie talkie.
“Rafe here. Over.”
“Rafe,” a familiar voice says over the walkie, “My name is Josephine Solomon. While I understand your reticence to trust us, we meant no harm to any of you. We v
ery much mean to honor our offer. Whether you believe us or not, I'd very much appreciate the chance to speak with my daughter. Is that possible?”
Rafe holds the walkie out to me, but his eyes are full of questions. The biggest one is, do I want to talk to her?
I don't quite know the answer. Part of my heart lurches at the sound of my mom's voice. I'm surprisingly glad she's okay. I worried Solomon would kill her when she went back. Another part of me, though, that part rages. Sam may not be dead, but she didn't know about his miraculous healing powers. My own mother didn't care whether she caused my boyfriend's death. She was in such a hurry to abandon me and rush back to her abusive husband, she didn't care who she hurt. The broken hearted part clashes with the furious part and I freeze while my heart locks up in a stalemate.
Rafe beeps the walkie. “I've made the request. I'll let you know her answer in a moment.”
I appreciate that Rafe never rushes me. He doesn't even look at me. He leaves me this choice at least. Eventually pragmatism wins the day, and I reach for the walkie.
“Hi Josephine.”
“Ruby, darling, I'm so happy to hear your voice.”
As conflicted as I felt when I was trying to decide whether to talk to her, once the conversation starts, anger and bitterness grab the wheel. “Wish I could say the same.”
“I'm sorry, so sorry sweetheart, that your friend was injured in the confusion.”
I roll my eyes. My friend? And injured is such an insufficient word to describe being shot six times in the chest and left in a pool of his own blood. “We have a counter offer to present.”
Silence for a count of ten. “What do you want, Ruby?”
“I'll give your abusive husband what he wants.” I refuse to call him my father. I will not. “I'll give him a blood sample, straight from my arm if you insist on seeing it, and in exchange I'll take Sam and your assurances there will be no Cleansing. In other words, you'll return my boyfriend to me, the one who survived your brutal and unprovoked shooting. I don’t even want to hear about the miraculous nature of your healing, as I'm sure you know it had nothing to do with his survival. But giving my boyfriend back, and agreeing not to butcher hundreds of thousands of innocents isn't really enough for what you want from me.”
Sins of Our Ancestors Boxed Set Page 38
