by Amanda Thome
“Very funny. Honestly, it was so stupid. I’m an idiot.”
“I’m fine, I knew you’d save me.”
I had to save him, without him I’d be lost. A part of him knows that too. It hits me just how exhausted I am. I lower his head and lay in the mud next to him, holding him close. It feels right, like our bodies fit perfectly together.
Water rushes over the rocks and swells form along the water’s winding route. A twig snaps underfoot of a passing animal as the sun crests to its highest peak. I take it all in, both him and our hillside and imagine never leaving this moment. We could just stay here forever, maybe become part of the ground. All I want is to hold him and hold onto these moments, to pluck them from time and keep them forever. His voice interrupts my thoughts.
“We should go.” He says.
I don’t want this moment to end but he’s right. We need to leave to get the weapons collected, returned, and home before curfew. The entire right hemisphere of my body has fallen asleep making rising to my feet practically impossible.
“I’m sorry I didn’t do your challenge” I say brushing the mud from my legs.
“It’s fine. It would’ve been boring compared to yours. You know, since no one was supposed to die in mine.” His hands comb through his hair, “I can think of a way you could make it up to me though.”
“Nice try Garrett.”
“Man, you’re frigid.” He grins, the corner of his mouth draws at his dimple.
I roll my eyes before we separate, running towards our supplies. I move as fast as I can gathering my equipment. I break the tree line, hands full of weapons when I see him already waiting at the platform. Even after almost dying he still beat me.
We ride the shuttle in silence. Small beads of sweat break across my forehead, the supplies feel heavier than yesterday. I try my best to hide the trembling in my arms. Just as they begin to give out the shuttle stops. Unlike yesterday we don’t race to be the first at the attendant. The mood is different now.
“Scan card,” It’s the same spider-eyed man from yesterday. “Needs?” He barks at me.
“Nessa…. I mean Vanessa Hollins. Returning leap-testing weapons sir.” His eyes dart to his clock. A look of annoyance crosses his face.
“Cutting it close.” He says curtly.
We’re only allowed to have training weapons for twenty-four hours. A minute longer would’ve resulted in a mark against our families. After what the educators told us about life in the pre-divide, I understand why Central controls all weapons.
We glide up the hill toward the station, neither of us talking. On the shuttle home Garrett stands close. I can hear his gentle breathing in my ear. My brown hair flutters, tickling my neck when he exhales. Without touching him I feel heat radiating, like he’s reaching out to me. The shuttle stops at his sub. I shift to get out of his way just as his hands land on my shoulders. He squeezes them, it’s like steam where he touched. I glance to look at him; my unruly hair covers my eyes.
“See you tomorrow Nessa.” He brushes the rogue hairs from my face, tucking them behind my ear.
That night I still feel his touch across my cheek. It’s not normal to spend so much time thinking about someone, or actually trying not to think about one person. His body, his touch, his everything keeps me awake until at last I fall asleep. Once again I dream of him.
Chapter 12
Emma’s tossing body abruptly interrupts my dreams. I follow her into the bathroom as she crouches over the toilet. My free hand strokes her shaking shoulders.
“It’s ok Emma. I’m here, I’m here.” I collect her long blonde hair, holding it clear from her face.
“Nessa I…” She’s cut off by another surge of wrenching vomiting. Her tiny body quakes under my arms. Wave after wave lays assault to her insides.
Most of the night we alternate from the toilet to the floor. Emma can hardly open her beautiful eyes that are now rimmed with red. It’s been at least an hour since the last wave hit and I scoop her tiny body from the floor, carrying her to bed.
“First light’s almost here. I’ll take the shuttle to education and tell them you’re sick. I’ll let Garrett know I can’t come today but I’ll be home right after” I reassure her.
He’s only got two days left until his leap but Emma needs me more.
“No, I’ll go. I’ll fall behind if I don’t.”
Education’s supposed to be every citizen’s top priority but I never thought she took it as seriously as she should. Maybe she just hid it, or maybe she’s finally seeing how important it is.
“I’ll get the lessons from the educator, we can do them together.”
I watch out the window until the light over the eastern hills severs the grey landscape, releasing me from curfew. I close the creaking door as quietly as possible and enter the cold December air. It constricts like a vice on my chest. I force my breaths around its icy grasp. The rhythmic left, right of my legs pumping warms my body until I can finally empty my mind and become a vacant vessel. My breathing becomes less erratic as I pump my legs toward our hillside.
I sprint through the sub-two neighborhood and automatically turn left, leaping across the fallen tree that’s been unhurriedly rotting since before I was born. I’ve taken this route almost daily since I was six. It feels like home to me. I hop foot to foot across the scattered rocks that lay at the base of the log.
I keep running through the canopy of trees along my trail that’s been pounded down from years of travel. I memorized every rock, stump, and tree along the way years ago and my body responds automatically. I cut through the thick forest until I see the glittering water of the river peak through the trees. Garrett isn’t here yet.
Our hillside’s open, all except for the oak tree that stands just left of center. Countless days I’ve sat on the hill gazing at the tree in awe. The dark arms reach in all directions; some wind and curve upwards while others dip and twist toward the ground to hover just above the red soil. The soil gives way to a massive trunk that I could lay at the base of and be hidden from sight.
This tree’s the reason Garrett and I chose this spot. It provides shade in the summer and shelter from howling winds and heavy rain. For years we’ve tied messages to the low hanging branches for each other. I tie my brief note to one of the sagging arms knowing he’ll look here once I haven’t made it to the hill.
I have to hurry if I’m going to catch the shuttle to education before class begins. I clear the tree line crossing the log as the shuttle approaches the platform. I duck my head letting my chin nearly hit my chest, I swing my legs fast racing to the platform. I leap onto the shuttle just as the doors seal shut.
There’s a sea of blue when I arrive at education. Blue clothes, bags, even blue socks. I make my way through the sea to find Emma’s educator.
“Nessa Hollins. Emma’s sister,” I say with a hint of unease.
Educators have always made me marginally uncomfortable and I’m certain she hears it in my voice. She looks slightly annoyed by my presence and probably offended by my unkempt dress and hair that’s mixed with mud and leaves from my run to the hill.
Educators are always immaculately groomed with white clothes pressed and unpolluted, they’re Centrals. They know what lies beyond the wall. At days end they take the hovercraft across the barrier and return to a life I can’t imagine.
“Yes, Miss Hollins?” Her dark perfectly shaped brows sit over her fair green eyes. Her black, shoulder length hair falls to the side as she asks her question.
“Emma’s unwell today, ma’am. I’ve come to collect her assignments.”
I try rushing through our awkward interaction and wait while she collects and organizes a stack of lessons. Tucking them into my bag I dash from the education building, relieved to be free from the white walls and judging eyes.
Darting through the streets back to Emma, I can’t help but recall my first day of education so many years ago, when I walked home in my grey uniform. It only takes thirty minutes to ru
n the route now. Once I round the corner to our sub my mind switches to Emma. I sprint twice as fast up our walkway and reach the door, swinging it open.
“Nessa?” Her voice is weak.
“Hey, little miss. How are you?” I stare at her, curled into a tense ball.
I try comforting her. I crawl in bed arranging the grey sheets over our heads. She rolls to me half smiling. I sing to her while her eyes flutter open and closed in a battle to fight exhaustion.
“Sleep Emma. I’ll wake you soon,” I say between songs.
She lets sleep conquer her. I hold the covers above us and partly sing, partly hum as images of my mother and Garrett flash through my mind. I picture Mama holding me, her soft voice a hum. Mama fades into the background and I imagine Garrett with me, surrounding me in his arms. I let my attention and voice wander for the better part of the morning before I find the heart to wake her.
“Emma, it’s time to wake up.” I comb my fingers through her hair, coaxing her awake. She yawns, stretching her limbs in all directions. She stares at me through refreshed green and gold eyes. “Let’s see what we’re learning today,” I usher her out of our room to the open table. I pull out the stack of papers. Her eyes fly wildly open and alert.
“All of those?”
“Yes, it’s not bad really. We have to learn moon cycles first.”
“Why?” She asks with a hint of whine to her voice. It makes me want to laugh.
“Because it’s what the educator gave me. Plus, moon cycles are important to know for farming.” She gives me an absent look. “For instance, harvest moons are in September and October, the moon is so full and bright that it casts light into the darkness letting the farmers reap until late in the night. Or May is the planting moon. Everyone should know when to plant and when to harvest, even if you don’t become a farmer.” I poke my bony finger at her stomach, making her giggle. We spend the better part of the morning learning the different moon phases and cycles.
“Full, waxing gibbous, first quarter…” On and on she repeats, proving she has them memorized.
“Ok show off. Let’s move on.” I smile at her across the table. I pull out her skills lesson, “It says you’re supposed to work on trapping today.” She curls her top lip in a sort of snarl. Skills instruction’s never been her favorite but it’s mandatory. “You’re learning the twitch-up snare today.” She cocks her head, giving a disgusted look. “I hope you’re feeling better because we have to go outside to do this.”
I fold her in my arms, hugging her before we dress in our warm blues. We march towards the woods bordering our home. Emma snaps nearly every branch that litters the forest floor.
“In case you were wondering, hunting isn’t your thing,” I mutter over my shoulder. “When you’re tracking and hunting you have to be quiet. Animals have a keen sense of smell and hearing. Each branch you break takes you a step further from reaching your prey.”
“Ok.” She says, focused on my words.
I give her more instructions, “Look for signs of animal activity. It can be broken twigs, foot-prints, even flattened blades of grass showing where animals have bedded down. Once we find an animal trail we’ll begin construction.”
I look over my shoulder, her eyes scour the ground. We walk through the thick forest sweeping the land in a diagonal pattern. She lifts and lowers her feet gingerly, her eyes focus on the ground in the duel task of finding an animal trail and avoiding making noise. I haven’t heard a twig break since I told her miles ago.
“There!” She shrieks with excitement. Her eyes land on an animal trail.
“What kind of animal is it?”
“Rabbit?” Her response sounds more like a question than an answer; obviously she isn’t confident.
“You’re right. Why did you say rabbit?” I patiently wait several minutes for her to piece together her reasoning.
“The trail is low to the ground… The tall grass is unbroken and larger game would’ve broken the tall grass or even the twigs. Also look,” she points to the tracks, “two long prints in the back for the hind feet and two small in front. Definitely a rabbit.” She finishes with a smile.
“Exactly right. Okay Emma, now we need to cover our scent.” She shoots me a puzzled look. “We have to coat our hands and trapping materials in mud from a creek bed.”
Her puzzled look turns into one of pure disbelief. I imagine the thought of voluntarily covering her skin in mud is absolutely preposterous to her, but she eventually agrees. We walk through the woods to the nearest creek. I stare at the mud, tracing my eyes around the swirling shades of brown. Squatting down I sink my hand into it, mixing the colors and lifting them to my arms. I’ve covered the right half of my arm when I feel a cold splat against my thigh. Emma’s hit me with a muddy projectile. My eyes turn to hers. She’s laughing, her dirty hands point at the matted mud she just threw at me. I reach deep into the brown, retrieving an overflowing handful. Cocking my arm back I aim and fire, throwing the projectile at her. It slaps her hard against her shoulder. This means war.
Her next mud rocket lands square against my jaw. Wiping the mud away I fling the excess back to the ground. I pause, deciding my next move. I could end it here, maybe tell her we’re wasting time. Or I could follow my automatic response and teach her a lesson. I grin in just the wrong way, giving my choice away. She tries to run but she’s no match for my long legs. I catch-up to her, tackling her. She emerges, face and front of her body covered in the thick brown filth. For a second I’m terrified she’s going to be furious, worried she can’t handle my retaliation. She stares at me shocked and then breaks into hysterical laughter, her body shakes as she folds over, grabbing her waist as she laughs. Her slick hands slide down the front of her thighs and she nearly falls face first again. Within ten minutes we’re layered with mud, laughing uncontrollably.
We head back to the rabbit trail, along the way I teach her which twigs to use for the snare. “Don’t use the green ones” I bend down snapping a green twig in half, exposing thick syrup. “The sap will adhere the materials together and once that happens your snare’s useless.” Emma nods as she absorbs my instructions. “We need two forked sticks, one long, one short,” I instruct.
Within five minutes she’s back with two textbook sticks. We crouch together as I show her how to position the forked sticks along the rabbit path. It takes Emma close to an hour to mimic my snare but eventually she’s mastered it.
“Let’s try it out” I say. She looks at me like I’ve grown three heads.
“But that’s against the law. We aren’t hunters…we’d be poaching.” She says.
“I know silly, I meant we’d set it off ourselves.” Game’s only for the hunters, everyone knows that.
I lay on my belly in front of the noose. I know where the snare is but we’ve concealed it so well that I have a difficult time finding it. I run a thick branch through the noose and just as it would with a rabbit, the snares triggered. The branch goes flying into the air. It dangles, swinging like a pendulum. For a moment my mind morphs it into a rabbit and I recognize that our snares are effective and deadly. I hear Emma hooting and hollering behind me. She leaps in the air doing some silly celebratory dance. I teeter on my heels for a few seconds, laughing at her display.
“Alright, alright. Let’s head back, third line’s coming and we both missed the first two.”
She stops her little jig. Freezing momentarily the same way a wild animal does when you first stumble across it. I lunge for her and just like a startled creature, she takes off. We race home to clean our mud-coated bodies. We weave and dance between the trees as we chase each other. It carries me back to times with Garrett. Days spent chasing each other by our streambed. It usually started innocently, a simple game of describing clouds would morph into a foot race in no time. I’d see a rabbit while he’d see a groundhog, before we knew it we’d be arguing and ultimately end up chasing each other around.
I run now with Emma in front of me, twisting her way through
the brush, her hair swinging all the way to our front door, right up to the bath.
The dried mud forms crevices along the length of our skin. We look like scaled brown beasts as we stand in the bath. Flakes of mud drop to the tub from our furious scrubbing. We dress, giggling as we leave the house and our tub coated in a layer of filth.
We walk to the pavilion where all meals are prepared and delivered. It’s a large faded grey and blue rotunda just a short jog from home. Each sub has their own pavilion where three meals a day are provided. The food’s always simple but its filling and nutritional. Central designs a balanced diet plan so nobody has to worry whether they’ll eat, or be distracted with preparing food like they did pre-divide. When I was young I’d imagine eating the way they did pre-divide. If I focused all my energy I could smell the food cooking, the smell of hot meats and vegetables drifted through the house, permeating. My ears would perk-up as I’d hear pots and pans scraping and Mama shuffling. I always pictured Mama there, making dinner and singing to herself. She was already dead but she was still in my imagination. She’d sit with us, we’d eat together in our own home, like a real family.
Four lines run through the left hemisphere of the pavilion where we eat. There’s a line for citizens five and younger where swarms of children in grey grab at food haphazardly. Then there’s our line for the school aged citizens six to sixteen, all of us wearing blue.
I glance to my right toward the third line looking for Papa. My eyes trace the trail of green uniforms until I find his worn face. Sensing eyes on him he lifts his head, meeting my stare. He signals to a table in the corner, I nod. The hunters must’ve taken down deer for tonight’s meal. The retirees in black dish the venison onto our plates in appropriate proportions. I smile and nod as I go down the line collecting dinner.
Emma and I take our seats next to Papa. His worn face reminds me of the mud we rinsed from our skin earlier, the wrinkles wind through his face like the crevices the mud made just before it flaked off.
