by RaeLynn Fry
“You said Wasteland.”
“Hmm?”
“You said Wasteland instead of the Further.”
“Oh,” I shrug my shoulders, it's no big deal. “That's what Adami and his people call it. I guess it just stuck with me.”
Journey hasn't opened her lunch sack to eat, and she's busy looking at her finger nails. Something else is definitely on her mind.
“Spill it,” I say.
“Hmm? Oh, it's nothing.”
I shrug my shoulders and take another bite of my celery.
“I think you're spending too much time with Adami.”
I bite my tongue in surprise. “Ouch!” I hold the side of my face and pinch my eyes shut with the sudden piercing pain. I open my eyes when it's passed and look at my best friend. She's still staring at her fingers, but the lines in her face are hard and sure. “I don't think I heard you right.”
She looks at me, her eyes steel. “You heard me just fine, but I'll say it again.” She takes my hands in hers, celery and all. “I think you're spending too much time with Adami, and I think it's unhealthy. I think it's improper for him to be staying at your house, now that he's awake, and I've already mentioned to Eta that she should have him stay at her place. You lost Kavin and you clung to Ethan. Now Ethan’s gone and you’re obsessed with Adami. It’s not healthy.”
I rip my hands away from her fingers and glare at her. “You did what?!” The yard goes quiet as others turn to witness our conversation. I lower my voice. “That was not your place to do that. Adami is fine with Papa and me, and that’s where he’ll stay.”
“What if he wants to go to Eta's? What if he needs the space that her job would give him?”
“If that were something he wanted, then I wouldn't stand in the way, but it's not.”
“How do you know? Have you asked him?”
“I don't need to; I know he wouldn't want to.”
“See, that's what I mean. You've hardly known him two weeks, and you're talking about him like you've known him all your life. Like he's your Pair. And he's not.”
“I don't need reminding that he's not my Pair, Journey.” She thinks I'm obsessed.
“That's not what I mean.” She sighs and talks a little softer, with more kindness. “I'm just afraid you're getting too close and that you’re going to get hurt. You don't know him. None of us know him that well. I don't want you to get hurt when he leaves.”
“Oh my gosh, you think I'm falling for him or something, don't you?”
Her cheeks turn a little pink. “That's the way it's looking to everyone on the outside.”
“I don't care what it looks like to everyone on the outside; I've never cared about that. Adami is a good guy, and I enjoy being around him. He's the only one that gets me right now.”
“I get you.”
“No, you don't. The fact that you’re trying to talk to me about this nonsense proves that. You’re my best friend, and we get each other every other day, but right now, he's the only one that gets me the way I need. I like spending time with him.”
“Karis, I don't trust him. There's something about him I can't put my finger on. I just think you should cool it with him for a while.”
“You're not around him enough to be able to say 'there's something about him', that is completely unfair.”
“Unfair or not, I know what my gut is telling me.”
“This is ridiculous, Journey. Papa trusts him and so do I. What you're saying is insulting. So, if you don't trust him, then that means you don't trust my judgment in people, and you don't trust me.”
“Now you're the one that's being completely ridiculous.” Journey throws her hands in the air.
“No, you're just jealous. I'm going inside.” I pick up my sack lunch and leave my friend behind.
Ethan
The first thing I notice is the burning thirst in my throat is gone.
The second thing I notice is that my wrists are tied down. And so are my ankles.
I try to stay calm and gather as much information as possible. Freaking out never helps a situation.
I'm lying on a mattress, soft beneath my back. The bindings against my skin are covered in something light and pliable so that they don’t dig into my skin. I twist my head from side to side to take in the space. As I do, the bed squeaks like a rusty door.
The walls are covered in yellowing wallpaper covered in peeling flowers. Bits of the wall beneath can be seen—where the ceiling meets the wall and down by the floorboards. The wooden slats have holes in them where it looks like something has been gnawing away at the wood. The wall directly across from me has a freckling of pits in its flesh about the size of a marble each. The spread covers the area of about three feet. The pattern looks like the spray of a shotgun.
Everything is dusty and old looking. There's a rickety old dresser on the wall with the buckshot. The right side slopes gently down, but not enough to have the items on the top slide around. There's faded and peeling pale blue paint. In the worn parts I see more faded and peeling paint, but it's white. Through that, bits of the natural wood comes through. It's been recycled, reused, and repainted. There's a chipped white vase and bowl. Stone. I recognize it from my schooling from when we were going through the history of Before.
There's a nightstand on my left, closest to the door. On that is a stub of a candle and a Bible, the leather cover worn and soft; I can tell just by looking at it. The title is almost faded, but I can make out the H in the first word and the LE at the end of the second, in gold lettering. The rest of the words are just pale indentations in the leather.
The house around me creaks in protest as feet pad along the corridor outside my room. It’s so old, even soft movement make it groan in pain. I close my eyes and wait for the door to open. To my surprise, it does so silently.
“I know you're awake, so you can stop pretending,” the voice is as worn as the furnishings in the house, and a bit deep for a female. “The bed screamed out when you moved.”
“What if I was just tossing in my sleep?” I say finally, opening my eyes and looking at my warden. She's an older woman, but it's impossible for me to tell exactly how old. Her skin is as worn as the leather on the bible, and it's a dark tan. Lines are creased deep in her face, but only around the corners of her eyes and the outside of her mouth—as if aggressive smiling, and a lot of it—dug out the trenches. Similar to how ruts are worn on familiar roads one travels every day.
“Not likely,” she says.
She reaches into one of the two front pockets in her apron. It's threadbare but clean and crisp, a faded red with white checkers. Underneath that she wears a pale yellow dress. I can see the pads of her fingers (she's gotten closer to me), and they're calloused and cracked.
She pulls out a couple of hairpins and secures some loose grey and brown strands back into her bun. She dusts her hands off and puts two fingers to my throat right below my jaw, no nonsense.
“Why do you say that?” I ask, her fingers warm against my skin.
Her brow wrinkles as she frowns. “Shhh.”
She looks down at the slim watch on her opposite wrist and takes my pulse. Her lips move as she counts out the seconds. She sweeps her hand away quickly, efficiently. Whatever she counted out, she must be pleased with—no, not pleased, content would fit her better.
“The injection they give cargo put you all out like death itself. No movement until you start to come to.”
“Cargo?”
“It's what we call the lot of you that come to us. No sense on getting to know any of you on a personal level.”
She walks over to the dresser and pours some water into the big basin, dipping a towel into it. Everything she does is with purpose and with the most efficiency possible. She dabs at my neck and face, cooling my temperature I didn't know needed cooling. That's when I notice I have no blankets covering me and I'm quite warm, sweating even a little.
“You mean, there are more of us?”
“About two to thr
ee a month or so. Sometimes more. Sometimes less.” She places the inside of her wrist on my forehead and waits. “Fever’s gone.” She stands up and grabs the hem of my shirt.
“Hey, wait.” I try to protest with my arms, but they're tied pretty tight. It's as if she doesn’t hear me. She lifts my shirt up to my chest, her eyes roving over my stomach. “If you go for my pants, I'm going to have to insist you untie me so I at least have a fighting chance.”
Ignored again. “No rash,” she says as she goes back to the dresser. “You won't have any adverse reaction to the drug.” She pours a glass of water for me, puts a straw in it and bends it for me to take a drink. I drain the glass in seconds.
“What drug?” I don't think I feel any different than before. Slightly dehydrated, but not noticeably different.
“Keeps you lot under control.” She takes the glass from my hands and stands up. She's going to leave me. But I need more information.
“Who took us?” I sputter out.
“Not for me to say. I just get you back to normal.”
“But you do know who they are.”
She puts her hands on her hip, not out of annoyance, though. I think it helps her to better assess me. “I'll be back to check on you later.”
“Where am I?” I say a bit too quickly. “What is this place?” She ignores me and puts a thin blanket over my legs. “Where's Dhevan?”
She puts her hand on the door knob.
I get out a few more questions before she leaves the room. “Untie me? Food? How long am I here for?” I sigh, laying my head back on the deflated pillow. My voice is flat and resigned. “How about I stay tied up in this bed and wait for you to next come back for me?”
I see a smile creep across the profile of her face. “And the big one said you were simple-minded.”
Karis
I'm mad for the rest of the afternoon, which really helps me get a good chunk of my quota out of the way. The chatter from the old hens is barely noticeable, but I do hear them talking about a third person who’s gone missing so far this month, and their various theories as to what’s going on.
At the end of my shift, I stuff my garments in the appropriate bins and dash out of the room and to my locker. I don't want to see Journey. In her typical fashion, she'll try to talk to me about what happened at lunch and I don't feel like hashing out something that isn't even worth arguing over. She's wrong and that's that. She's just going to have to figure that out for herself; I'm done wasting my breath trying to explain it to her.
I take my secret Mark out and press it against the sensor, being careful to hide what I’m doing. When the metal door springs open, I jam the Mark back in my pocket.
I jerk open the locker door and pull out my duster, punching my arms through the sleeves. I button it up and put my hat, scarf, and mask on. I kick the locker shut on my way out. I'm almost through the doorway when I hear my name being called from behind me. I try to ignore it, but they're persistent.
“Karis!” I turn around to find one of the male workers chasing after me with a piece of paper in his hand. “You dropped this.” He hands it over to me and turns back towards the row of lockers.
I turn it over in my fingers, looking it over. I didn't have any papers or notes in there this morning. I roll my eyes and shove it into one of my pockets. A note from Journey, blah blah blah. I'll read it when I get home.
Adami is sitting at the kitchen table when I walk through the door, eating one of Eta's meat biscuits. “Where's Papa?” I ask and take the seat next to him.
“Out.” He slides over a plate. “Said he'll be back before Curfew.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
Adami shakes his head and shoves the rest of the biscuit into his mouth. Papa's been disappearing like this, lately. Since Ethan and Dhevan left, actually. He's hush-hush about it and deflects any questions I shoot at him.
“Sew a lot of socks?”
“And underwear.”
He nods.
“Sleep a lot?”
He nods. “Picked up the house a bit, too.” That's one of the things he's been doing for us, since he can't really go outside during the day. And I've got to say, the small space has never been cleaner.
“I'm going to check on more filters tonight. Want to come?”
“Wouldn't miss it.” He jerks his chin up at my biscuit. “You gonna eat that?”
I push the plate back towards him. I can never handle more than one bite, although right now I didn’t even take that much. I don't find them as appetizing as Adami. Maybe it's because I know what goes into them. “Help yourself.”
“What's for dinner tonight?”
“Vegetable soup. I'll put part of the chicken we have in it to make the broth more flavorful. I think we still have some salt left, too.”
“Sounds amazing.” He smiles at me. “It's wash night, too. Jeret already gathered his things, but if you want to bring yours down, I'll add them to the pile.”
I nod, Journey's words distracting me. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You feel the need to ask me that?” He puts his hand between my neck and my shoulder and squeezes. “You're tense. What's up?”
“Do you want more space than what Papa and I have here?”
“What do you mean?”
“I dunno, it's a small house, and there are a lot of people here. Eta's gone all day on rounds and she lives alone. Would you be more comfortable there, where you have your own space and can be yourself more? Ella can come here, with us.”
“Is this your way of saying you don't want me around anymore?” His eyes hold a hint of uncertainty.
“No! Not at all. I'm just thinking of you. I don't want you sticking around here because you feel obligated to, or anything like that. You're a grown man, you can do what you want. That's all. I wanted you to know that if you want more space, that's totally okay with me.”
“I’m more at home, and more myself, with you than I could be with anyone else in the world. I will stay here as long as I can.”
I let a smile lift my cheeks. “Good.” I stand and go to hang my mask and duster up, taking the paper out of my pocket as I do so.
“What's that?”
“Ugh.” I sigh and toss him the folded piece of paper. “A note from Journey. We got into a fight today at lunch. She's either apologizing or scolding me more. I can't bring myself to read it, either way.”
“I'll do the honors.” He clears his throat and opens the paper, then frowns. “This is a very weird apology and an even weirder scolding.”
“What's it say?”
“6895-A South Point for answers. Midnight.”
“What? That doesn't make sense.” I hold my hand out. He hands over the note. I read it. “This isn't Journey's writing.”
“It looks like a man's.”
I look up at him. “Who gave this to me? What does it mean?”
“Well, whoever sent it thinks that you need answers and that 6895-A South Point is where you get them. Is that a person or thing?”
“I think it's an address. There's a South Point Place in one of the poorer areas of Neech, near the market. It's just beyond the Gate for the lowest Caste quadrant.”
“A quadrant that you normally wouldn't be able to get into.”
“Exactly. So the person who gave you this note knows that either A, your Mark no longer prohibits you from crossing Castes, or B, you have that extra piece of skin in your pocket.”
“Or C, both. Hold on.” I hurry upstairs and come back as quickly as I can. When I return, I have with me the first note I received. I smooth it out on the table next to the one with the address on it.
“The writing matches,” Adami says. “Do you know who sent this?”
I nod slowly. “I think it’s Bak.”
“The Black Market Artist we're trying to track down?”
I nod again.
“But, how did he know you were trying to find him?”
“The witch?”
&nbs
p; “How did he get it into your locker?”
“Does it matter?” I say. “He wants me to go to this address to meet him and get answers.
“And you're not going.”
I stop. “Yes, I am.”
“Karis, it could be a trap. For all you know, Akin or the Corporation is setting this whole thing up. You can't go. That's not an option.”
“Adami, it's not your decision to make. I need to go for answers. Besides, if it is a trap, I'll just be taken into the Inner City sooner than Akin originally planned. He's not going to hurt me or let anything bad happen to me. He needs me.”
“Arrogance is a dangerous thing to wear. Everyone is replaceable. Especially to Akin and the Corporation.” His words are strong and bitter. “And what about your family? So you just end up going to work for him sooner than anticipated. Ever pause and give any thought to what he might do to those you love as punishment for ignoring him? For forcing his hand? He gave you rules to follow, yes? That he would come and get you when he was ready for you?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“You would be defying the rules he's laid down and you would be publically waving that in his face. He doesn't like to be challenged or embarrassed.”
“You say that like you know him personally.”
“Men like him are all the same. They can't be trusted, especially with the things they want.”
“We agreed I needed to have as much information on my side before going back into Dahn. This is part if that information I need. This could be one more weapon I add to my arsenal.”
“Oh, yeah, right next to that tab of someone else's skin, right?”
“Right up next to it, tight and cozy.”
“I don't like this.” He's pouting a little, but mostly he's worried for me. It makes me smile. “I can't go with you to protect you if something should go wrong.”
“I can't not go.”
“The odds of this being from the Corporation are high, since you've been poking around their business. I mean, don't you find it extremely odd you get this mysterious note right after you Comm in a bunch of Guards from a booth in the Black Market?”
