Reaping

by Makansi, K.

Her head rolls to the side, and she releases my collar from her grip to gesture weakly at her neck. I follow her hand to the side of her neck, where I can see thin lines of white, scarred flesh. It looks like a brand. I lean over her to look at the pattern more closely and realize it’s the stylized image of a dragon.

  Evander Sun-Zi. The Dragon.

  “I will not give him the pleasure,” she says, her voice barely more than a breath. Her eyes are rimmed with red, but clear as she stares blankly up at me. Her hand goes limp and falls against her shoulder. I press my fingers against her neck, checking her pulse. It’s there, but barely. She hasn’t got long. I glance around. I don’t have much time left before the soldiers come back, unless Jahnu has somehow taken them all out. But it’s better not to count on that.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Lila.”

  “Which Farm?

  “Doesn’t matter now,” she whispers.

  “We could try to find them. Tell them.”

  “Too dangerous. Best to let them be....”

  “Lila,” Kenzie says, “we have to go.”

  She nods weakly.

  I take her hand and squeeze against her slack fingers. But her eyes are already closed. I stand, reluctant to leave her to die here, alone. But she’s made her choice, there’s nothing more we can do.

  Kenzie turns to run back to the trees, and I follow, listening for sounds of conflict in the distance. Who shot that soldier? Who put an arrow through the heart of a highly trained Sector soldier and then disappeared?

  An arm shoots out from behind a tree to grab mine, and my heart skyrockets. I whirl and pull my Bolt up, squeezing the trigger to fire—and then I see Firestone’s matted curls, his narrow eyes.

  “What happened? Why didn’t you bring her back?”

  “She ate doll’s eyes. She’ll be dead in minutes.” I cast my eyes back towards the clearing, now invisible through the smoke and trees. “Her name was Lila.”

  “We need to move,” Kenzie says. “We have no idea how long the soldiers will be distracted.”

  “Don’t want to join the growing body count,” Firestone says, with rare urgency in his drawl. “We head to Normandy. Put as much distance between them and us as possible.”

  Firestone leads us at a jog through the woods, though his steps are clearly laden with pain. We reclaim our packs and set off at a run, our feet heavy and tired in the dead leaves, no doubt leaving a trail bold enough for a child to follow.

  “Who shot that arrow?” Jahnu asks, wondering aloud as we jog.

  “Maybe it’s better we don’t know,” Kenzie says.

  “You don’t think it was someone from the Resistance?” I ask.

  Kenzie shoots me a withering look. “You think we use bows, Vale? Technology from before the Great Wars? Our weapons may not be Sector-issue, but they’re functional.”

  “We use bows to hunt,” Jahnu interjects, ever the peacekeeper, “but they’re bulky, and we’ve never trained with them for combat.”

  “Outsiders, I’d say,” Firestone pants, his voice thick. “Only folk I know who can shoot an arrow like that.”

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “Met a few of ’em when I was living in the woods,” he says. “Caught me some game a few times when I was damn near starvation.”

  After another twenty minutes of jogging, we slow to a walk. Firestone asks Jahnu to lead through the dark undergrowth. We set our biolights as the twilight fades to black and the dull green shadows guide us through the woods.

  “Did you know anyone at Waterloo?” I ask finally.

  “No,” Kenzie responds. “I know a few people stationed at Teutoburg and Alamo, but that’s it.”

  “You don’t know anyone else?” I ask, surprised.

  “Of course not,” she responds curtly. “The fewer people we all know, the fewer we can betray if any of us gets caught.”

  The fewer we can betray. Of course they would operate in secrecy, protecting their members from each other, protecting the group from the individual.

  I focus on running despite my worn and tired limbs. It’s better than remembering how I tried to get Remy and Soren to betray their friends and families, everything they fought for, in the cell where I kept them as prisoners. It’s better than remembering Lila and her dragon-shaped scar, her son taken from her. It’s better than remembering my mother, calling on Chan-Yu to kill Remy, a teenager, a former friend, her son’s first love.

  With strength born from the injustice of everything the Sector has done, I pick up my running pace, following Firestone. I drown my exhaustion in anger. One foot in front of the other, I run through the sweat and smoke and blood.

  4 - REMY

  Winter 33, Sector Annum 106, 08H05

  Gregorian Calendar: January 22

  “Remy?” Something prods my shoulder. A finger, likely, to accompany the voice. I open one eye. There’s a hazy mug of steaming, orange-colored liquid floating in front of Bear’s nervous, worried face. For all my sullen fatigue, the smoky, woody aroma is tempting, and I know he’s trying to be helpful. I sit up, throwing the meager blankets off of me.

  “What is it?”

  “Rooibus,” he says.

  “Roy-what?”

  “It’s a kind of thé,” he responds, using the Old French word for tea. “Hodges made some. Well, actually, he said it’s not really tea, which is why there’s no caffeine in it. But it’s supposed to be ‘energizing,’ or something, was what he said.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure.” Bear smiles, and it lifts my spirits. He’s so anxious to please. After everything that’s happened between us, it still surprises me that we’ve become close.

  After all, I put a knife in his best friend’s neck.

  It’s something to admire, that he was able to forgive me so quickly. Of course, he didn’t have much choice if he wanted to stay alive. He could have taken his chances alone in the Wilds, but he wanted to come with us. To the Resistance. But what astonishes me is that he doesn’t just tolerate me. No, Bear seems to admire both Soren and I, for reasons neither of us can discern. We’ve talked about it, the way Bear follows us, eager, so earnest, so kind. How did he get that way? After everything he’s been through? After everything we put him through? Neither of us have come up with a good answer.

  “Everyone else is getting breakfast,” Bear says. “They put Soren on mess duty this morning. You should have seen him trying to flip flapjacks.”

  I choke on my tea, laughing.

  “Did he get any of them?”

  “Not a one. Luckily they didn’t land on the floor. Finally Zoe had to take over.”

  “Who’s Zoe?”

  “The girl who works the comm center here.”

  I nod, slurping at the weird orange drink, letting it cool as I sip.

  “Bear,” I ask, hesitantly. “Has anyone said anything more about…?” About my father, I want to ask. About Waterloo. About Vale and Firestone and Kenzie and Jahnu.

  He shakes his head, and avoids my gaze.

  “Want to come eat?”

  Unlike last night, when the need to eat was physically overpowering, the idea of food right now feels vaguely repulsive. Hodges gave me two sleeping draughts after telling him I’d been having trouble sleeping. Now, I’m groggy and a little off, even slightly nauseous. Maybe that means I need something in my stomach. Or maybe it means I need to sleep off the effects of whatever was in those draughts.

  “What time is it?”

  “Eight.”

  I shake my head.

  “Thanks for the roy-bus, Bear, but I’m going to try to get a few more hours of sleep.” The last thing I want is get up and face the day, the unanswered questions, the nightmares I managed to escape in the night. I give Bear my bravest smile, trying to reassure him, it’s okay, I’m just tired, without telling him how much deeper the ache goes.

  When he’s gone, I heave a sigh of relief, and close my eyes, sinking into my deepest sleep in months.r />
  A few hours later, I feel fingers tracing circles on my back. Spirals, really, like the swirls in a snail’s shell. I smile, almost against my will. Soren. I find myself leaning into the shapes, into his touch, like a cat scratching its back against the corner of a wall.

  “Hey,” he says. His voice sounds like echoes in a tunnel. I face him, open my eyes to his icy blues, lit as if by a flame when he smiles.

  “Hey there,” I say. I watch the way his eyes crease, the way his mouth wrinkles at the edges. He leans down to kiss me, and I let him. His hands are cool against my skin.

  “You’re quite the sleeper,” he says. “Everyone here is very impressed. Zoe said no one’s slept so well at Normandy since the victims of the Famine Years.”

  He’s referencing the number of people who were buried here. A kilometer away from Normandy, there’s one of the largest mass graves found since the Religious Wars.

  “I’m glad everyone thinks I have a lot in common with dead people.”

  He laughs.

  “At least you’re getting some rest. We all needed it.”

  “I’ll add ‘good at sleeping’ to my list of skills, the next time I’m petitioning the Director for a good mission.”

  “If she’s—”

  He stops short. If she’s even alive, I finish silently. If she, or my father, or Rhinehouse, or anyone else from Thermopylae and Team Blue, are still alive. I swallow hard and clench Soren’s hands a little more tightly.

  “She is. They are. I know it.”

  Soren crawls over and lies down in the space between the wall and me, pulling me to him. I snuggle up against him, eliminating the space between us as he wraps his arm around me. It would all be so much simpler if I could let go. If I turned toward him, kissed him. I know he would yield to me, each body curving into the other. Instead, I stare at the ceiling and wonder where the others are.

  Where Vale is.

  “You missed the morning briefing,” Soren says, breaking the silence. His voice sounds faraway, like maybe it’s coming from underwater.

  “I didn't know there was one.”

  “Yeah, here at Normandy it’s so small, they just get everyone together over breakfast and talk about the day.”

  “Did I miss anything important?”

  “Just that they’ve gotten word there’s a group of travelers set to arrive today.”

  I sit up abruptly, looking down at him.

  “Why didn’t you mention that earlier?”

  Apparently their intel came from someone who’s not always trustworthy,” Soren says, placating me. “And even if it is true, there’s no guarantee.…”

  “That my father’s with them,” I finish for him. I glare at the wall. I want to see him again so badly, just to know he’s alive, just to know I’m not the sole surviving member of the Alexander family, just to have someone else who can grieve with me.

  “Yeah,” he says, after a moment.

  “What about you? Did you get any sleep?” I ask, chastising myself to remember that it’s not all about me. Soren used to accuse me of being self-centered, of thinking only about what I’d lost. I like to think I’m beyond that now.

  “Not much.”

  I pull away from him and stand up, pulling on my clothes.

  “I’m going to get some food.”

  “Finally,” Soren says, smiling again. “I was worried you’d starve in here.”

  I look down at him. “You coming?”

  “Your bed is so warm.” He pulls the blanket up to his face. “And it smells like you. Mind if I stay here for a bit? Maybe I can get a nap in.”

  I smile at him, reach down and touch his cheek, then bend down as if to kiss him. Instead I whisper in his ear. “Don’t slobber on my pillow.”

  He whips the pillow off the bed and whacks me on the head. “So romantic,” he laughs. Whatever else we have, we’ll always have the teasing. It used to be mean-spirited, or at least I thought it was, before the raid, before the capture. Now it’s a connection to our shared experiences I hope we never lose. I leave him to the bunk and shield my eyes as I step out into the brighter light of the halls.

  It’s strangely comforting to be back underground, in tunnels lit by biolights rather than sunlight. It feels like home. I wind my way through the halls, taking a few wrong turns and at one point bumping into a tall, slightly oversized man who looks as if he probably has his own stash of Hodge’s special cookie butter. He redirects me cheerfully toward the mess hall. For all that there are not many people here, the tunnels are sprawling.

  “Remy!” A voice calls as I almost walk past the open door. I turn into the room, the small round wood tables and wicker chairs of the mess hall. Bear’s waving at me, grinning, as he stuffs a thick slice of bread slathered with jam into his face.

  “Hungry?” I ask.

  “Thif food if ’ood.”

  “I guess,” I say with a smile. It occurs to me that Bear’s never really had real food. All his life, he'd been fed OAC MealPaks, and then he lived on foraged food and who-knows-what else for a month or so in the Wilds with Sam. When we finally made it back to Thermopylae, we barely had time to say hello before we were driven out again. And then we subsisted on stores of millet, amaranth, and barley, dried vegetables, and smoked jerky at the rendezvous. We were all pining after good food, then. In a way, Bear was lucky—he had no idea what he was missing.

  “What kind of jam is that?”

  “Gooseberry,” he says.

  I stick my tongue out.

  “What even is that?”

  “Some kind of wild berry they got around here. Adrienne says they got loads of it. Jars and jars and jars. Gave me a whole one for myself.”

  The happiness etched into his face tells me this is probably the first time he’s ever been given anything to keep for himself.

  I grab a slice off the wooden breadboard in front of us and spread on a thick layer of jam. I glance over to the food preparation area, where I realize there’s a surprising amount of clatter. Two unfamiliar men are busily clanking pots and pans, chopping vegetables, and whisking various liquids in giant bowls. The sweet, smoky scent of roasting meat is wafting around the room, but I can’t see where the smell is coming from.

  “What are they doing?” I ask Bear quietly. He swallows an enormous chunk of bread before responding.

  “Adrienne gave the order this matin to prep a good meal for if the others show. From Team Blue.” Like my father, I think. “Got some kind of pig in the oven, even. No one’s sure they’re coming or not, but if they do….”

  A smile creeps onto my face. They’re preparing for a celebration that may not even happen. Everyone—not just me—is hopeful, eager to see the others return, safe and sound. It’s reassuring, as always, to remember that I’m not the only one with the heavy weight of uncertainty on my shoulders. Others share my pain, my anxiety, my loss.

  I take a seat beside him. “Any word from … the rest of our team?” Vale’s sea-green eyes flash before me. I blink the image away.

  Bear shakes his head.

  “Zoe and Eli’s been tryin’ to contact them again. But they say no one’s there.”

  I finish my bread in silence.

  “Tea?” Bear pushes the mug he offered earlier toward me.

  “Thanks, Bear.” I take a long drink. The tea isn’t hot anymore, but it’s rich and earthy.

  Hodges walks in and stops at our table.

  “How’s Miah?” I ask.

  “Physically, he’ll be okay after another day or two of rest. I was just coming in to brew him another cup of tea. Mentally, he’s in good spirits. Worried about his friend, of course. Valerian. But keeping me plenty entertained. In fact, he said he feels like a new man. That if he’d lost all this weight before your trek, he probably would have beaten you here.”

  I laugh and wonder how Miah does it. How he keeps such a positive attitude.

  “Now, tell me how you’re doing? I missed you at the morning meeting, so I’m assuming my
sleeping draughts helped.”

  “Slept like a baby.”

  Did you get something to eat?” he asks me.

  “Bear just introduced me to the wonders of gooseberry jam.”

  “It’s a revelation, isn’t it?”

  “Soren ate almost half a jar ’imself,” Bear says, the corners of his mouth purple and gleaming with jam.

  “What's the drill today?” I ask.

  “Aside from cooking, not much.” Hodges nods at the man and woman in the corner, who seem to have calmed down a bit from when I first walked in. “We’re waiting to see if anyone shows up. But otherwise, it’s a day of rest.”

  Just when I’m about to retort that there’s clearly plenty we could be doing, a pair of hands squeeze my shoulders, thumbs kneading into my shoulder blades. I look up and see Eli’s curly, messy hair, his dark green eyes under butterfly lashes.

  “A little lower and to the left, please.”

  “I was starting to think your mattress had taken you hostage, Little Bird. I was planning a daring raid to rescue you from its clutches.”

  “You weren’t far off,” I say with a smile. “Fortunately, I’m perfectly capable of rescuing myself.”

  “That you are,” he says, “but sometimes we all need a little help.” Eli gives me one more squeeze and sits down next to me.

  “Any news?” I ask.

  “Nothing. Yet.” He fixes me with a fierce gaze that says don’t give up hope.

  The moment of ensuing silence is interrupted when, from down the hall, we hear someone running and hollering. I jump to my feet, hope surging through me like an inferno.

  “The Director’s here!” she pants. Her face, darker than mine, glows with excitement. “I just keyed her in!” I can’t breathe.

  “Is anyone else with her?” Eli demands, reaching over to lace his fingers tightly with mine.

  “Yes!” she exclaims. “Adrienne is meeting them now. They’re coming. You’ll see.” I want to run, to follow her as she turns down the hall, back the way she came, but I can’t bring myself to move. Eli’s grip tethers me to reality, as the question thunders in my brain: will my father be with them?

  Noises fill the hallway. I hear that familiar resonant voice, and the air whooshes away from me as if I’d been stuck in a vacuum-packed bottle and someone just popped the cork. Too much is happening at once. I see my father’s lined face, covered in a dusky grey beard. His eyes, so tired, so happy, welcome me as I collapse into his arms. Chaos swirls around us, but we’re in our own world, clutching each other. There are no words. There’s no need.