by Amy Boyles
Cities were strange places. As soon as the sun passed twilight, everyone bolted for their homes. Houses became individual forts with steel bolts and wooden barricades locking doors up tightly. Inside shutters were closed and locked, and everything sat entombed in silence save for the crickets and occasional howl of a coyote.
Reds ran nightly patrols in the city. Going out meant risking arrest. The only people brave enough to face that threat were rebels and thieves—and few people wanted to encounter either one. Thieves held murderous intentions for anyone who wasn’t a soldier, and rebels—well, to be seen in the vicinity of one automatically made you guilty by association in the eyes of the reds.
So, trapped inside a small house in Corinth and satisfied that nothing was outside, I blew out my candle and settled into bed. Exhausted from the day's events, I awoke startled at the feel of a hand over my mouth.
“It's only me. Don't be afraid.”
Branthe. What the hell was he doing here? And why the hell was he sneaking into my room at night? I nodded. He released my mouth. I pushed myself up on the bed, resting my head on a pillow.
“Don’t be afraid?” I hissed quietly. “You almost scared me to death. I should have you arrested for breaking in here.”
“Would you do that?”
I huffed in annoyance. “Maybe.” After a long pause I added, “No.” The bed creaked as he sat atop it. I bunched my knees under me to make room for him. “What are you doing here? You left without a word earlier today.”
“Yes,” he said, “I’m sorry about that.”
“Apology accepted.”
“I wanted to see how you’re doing with all this.”
“And that couldn’t wait until morning?”
As my eyes adjusted, I saw him scratch his chin. “I want to keep my visits here to a minimum. It’s not good for your family to be seen with me.”
“So it’s better to risk being caught by a night patrol?”
“Do I hear worry in your voice?” he asked, his tone full of humor.
“Perhaps. Don’t get used to it,” I replied sharply.
“So you don’t think I’m all bad.”
“I didn’t say that.”
He sighed. “I guess it was too much to expect that your attitude would soften toward me. After all, I am a rebel—which is one strike against me. And I did kidnap you—that’s two strikes, right?”
Was he flirting? “You mean, not all rebels are kidnappers?”
“Oh no, we’re all vagabonds and kidnappers, believe that. But not all of us make sure we place our kidnapped victims back with their families.”
“Oh. I get it. Am I supposed to thank you for that?”
He shifted on the bed, causing it to creak. I hoped my parents didn’t hear. “Of course not. That’s a tall task for someone as sassy as you.”
“I’m not sassy,” I countered.
“Of course not. Arguing with me definitely proves you have no sass.”
I sighed. “Thank you for reuniting me with my family.”
“I didn’t say that to make you thank me,” he said with what sounded like genuine sincerity.
He may have been poking fun at me throughout our conversation, but I sensed he really didn’t want my thanks. It was something he would’ve done anyway, no matter what. “Don’t worry; next time I won’t thank you so readily,” I said smartly.
“I have no doubt. Anyway, I'm sorry your brother's role in this came as such a shock to you.”
Yes. This was a topic I wanted to pursue. “How did you meet him?”
His face cracked into a smile. “A rebel never tells another rebel’s secrets. We met through others; that’s as much as I can tell you.”
“I see. More secrets.” Here I implied that he never told me his name. To be honest I grew tired of asking him. If he wanted to tell me, fine. If not, fine.
“Ah, this again.”
“Never mind. I don’t care anymore. Back to Colvin. I figured we all have to fight for something. He might as well fight for what’s right instead of going along with what’s wrong.”
“For once you sound like a reasonable person,” he teased.
I ignored the remark and instead focused on the sound of our breathing as it filled the room. His white shirt, partially hidden by a dark cloak, lay open at the chest. Part of me wanted to reach out and touch his flesh, feel the rise and fall of his breaths.
“There was another reason I came to see you.”
Because you wanted to kiss me? I couldn't help it—it was the first thought that came to me. There was no reason why that should be the singular thought in my mind, but it was. Then I realized why…I’d spent too many years idolizing him. Throughout my childhood, the myth and mystery of this man had only grown, strengthening until he wasn't merely human anymore—he was much, much more than that. To have this phantom of the rebels in my room, all alone, at night made the workings of my brain whirl in the direction of seduction.
It really wasn't that far-fetched. He was handsome and intriguing and probably chased after by a thousand women every day. Yes, I thought sarcastically, sign me up for that list. Let me be number one thousand and one, nothing other than a thoughtless conquest in the dead of night.
No thank you.
“What’s the other reason you're here, in my room, under cover of darkness and without my parents’ permission?” I asked.
He chuckled. Then one of his fingers found my cheek and traced it to my chin. “My intentions aren't surreptitious.”
“No? Your actions are.”
“Anna, it's very risky for me to go out during the day. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a wanted man.”
His finger still rested on my chin. For a moment I imagined what that hand would feel like on my breast. I'd had a boy's hand on my breast before. One boy's hands in particular had touched more than that, but he was dead now. A patriot loyalist killed in a skirmish outside Franklin.
The feel of someone else's hand and the pleasure it brought wasn't new to me, but neither was it fresh in my mind. And I wanted it to be fresh. I wanted it now, so I forced the thought away, hoping it would disappear.
“I know you're a wanted man. I'm well aware of that.”
His finger trickled down my neck.
He sighed. “While you're in the city, you have to keep your visits outside to a minimum.”
“What?” I almost shouted.
The finger covered my lips. The bed groaned as he leaned forward. He smelled of spiced soap. That was a luxury, to be sure. I was used to castile soap, and unless you had herbs to perfume it, it smelled like very little. Branthe, on the other hand, smelled of cloves and lavender. It made me jealous to inhale it on him.
“For your own safety, you have to stay indoors.”
“For how long?”
“Until the reds stop looking for you and you’re able to move away with your family.”
I huffed with annoyance.
“Those are the rules.”
“I don't understand.”
He touched the top of my head as if I was a child he was saying good night to. “They can recognize you. Though ordinary citizens only have papers, the government still uses pictures. They have the technology; they just won't give it to us. Believe me when I tell you they know exactly what you look like. Any of the officers in town could recognize you in an instant, and you'd be back in the arms of Mann. That’s why I made you keep your head down today.”
A metallic taste filled my mouth. “Well, I don't want to go back to Mann.”
“Me neither,” he mumbled.
There was something in the way he said it that made my ears perk up. Taking a risk, I reached out and touched him under the throat. His smooth skin beckoned to me. His heartbeat pulsed beneath my fingers, and the intimacy of the moment woke my body.
Though I wanted to run my hand down to feel the lines of his chest and abdomen, I stopped myself. I felt that if I went any farther, he would stop me. But I could've been wrong. It wou
ldn't be the first time.
He squeezed the hand that rested at his open collar. “Stay safe. If you must go out, make sure there are plenty of people about. That way you'll be just another face in the crowd. It'll lessen your chance of being recognized.” He responded as if I hadn’t touched him at all.
As much as I didn't want to, I acquiesced. “Yes, sir.”
The bed creaked as he rose, and in one, two, three steps he crossed the room and escaped out the window before I had a chance to say good-bye.
Eleven
“If you promise to do exactly as I say, I'll take you outside,” Colvin said several mornings later.
Crossing my heart, I replied, “I promise to do exactly as you say.”
His eyebrows rose in disbelief, but his words were true enough. “All right. First things first. You must stick to me like glue. No matter what.”
I nodded.
“Secondly, don't look any of the reds in the eye.”
This was new to me. “Why not?”
He pulled a pouch of tobacco from his pocket along with a packet of papers and proceeded to roll a cigarette. When he finished, Colvin struck a match against the rough stone of the fireplace.
“That isn’t good for you, you know.”
He held the burning stick to the end of the tobacco-filled treat. “Anna, I only get tobacco once a month, if that. I think I'll be okay.”
“Suit yourself. But if you get cancer, the government isn't going to do anything about it.”
With a quick pucker of his lips, he blew out the match and tossed it into the fireplace. “That's the least of my problems. Anyway, as I was saying—or not saying since you decided to talk about my personal habits—we believe, but can't verify for certain, that the reds have some sort of face-recognition technology. It looks like a very small eyeglass that's only worn over one eye. Have no doubt that they possess a picture of you and that if you make eye contact with one of their soldiers, your face will be screened against a database of thousands. Don't make eye contact.”
My mind whirled to a man in red with a contraption made of iron and glass discreetly placed over his eye like a monocle. As he looked from face to face, a computer behind the glass scrolled through thousands of faces and names, trying to match each to a rebel.
I positioned the cloak over my shoulders and pulled the hood well up over my head. “Well then, are you ready to go?”
“Where is it you wanted to go again?”
“Anywhere," I replied, exhausted of being stuck in the small house with only my parents as company, for Branthe hadn't returned since that first night and probably never would.
“There's an old church near here. It's mostly ruins now, but the stained glass is something to see.”
“Won't they think it odd we're going there?”
He shook his head and dashed the cigarette against the hearth. “Not at all. Lots of people go there, though they're mostly beggars.”
“Beggars?” The alarm in my voice must've amused him, for Colvin smiled.
“Don't worry. Where I'm taking you, none of the beggars ever go there.”
“Why's that?”
He smiled secretly. “You'll see.”
Great. Just what I wanted. A surprise in the midst of all this. “All right. Let's go.” Colvin didn’t make a move to leave. “What are we waiting for?” I asked impatiently.
He pulled on his own cloak and replied, “Nothing at all. Absolutely nothing.”
Twelve
It was easy enough to keep the cloak over my head and my face down. That was no problem. The hard part was keeping my expression stoic as I witnessed what life in a city had become.
A large line of people, at least two blocks long, formed outside a storefront. The building was nondescript, a simple black face with large-paned windows. We were in the old part of the city, where the buildings were smaller and dingy compared to the new city, where everything was tall and made of marble, or so my brother said.
“What are they lining up for?” I asked, turning toward him just enough to make eye contact.
He leaned close to me. “What do you think? Their daily food ration. A few of them might have room in their yard for a garden, but most of them either don't know how to plant or didn't grow enough food to keep them.”
“How does it work?”
He pushed a strand of blond hair back from his forehead. “You show papers proving how many are in your household, and you wait. Sometimes you get one loaf of bread, sometimes they throw in a block of cheese. Sometimes it's only flour. It depends.”
“So everyone's accounted for,” I mumbled.
“Now you get it.” He smirked.
“How many of those are in the city?”
“Food stations?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Lots. Almost everyone goes to one every day. You only receive enough food to last until the next day. So you find yourself back in line early in the morning.”
“So even if you wanted to leave the city, you couldn’t,” I said mostly to myself.
Colvin leaned in. “Right. You’d run out of food before you made it very far. Most of these people are so far removed from working the land that they have no idea how to even start. That’s how the reds exert control. They keep the masses completely dependent on the handouts. No one asks questions because they’re too hungry. They’re always searching out the next meal.”
We walked in silence through the crowd, weaving past the steady stream of people. Since water got heavily rationed, I’d only taken washcloth baths for the past week. Needless to say, a coat of grime layered my skin, making me feel endlessly dirty. But as I watched the crowd, I quickly realized even that was a luxury. Most of these people lived in a constant state of filth. They sported dirt-matted hair, neck folds full of grease, and soot around the corners of their eyes.
They merely, or was it barely, existed. If I didn't hate the reds before, now I despised them. This wasn't freedom. It was being chained to a system that kept you dependent on the government for food, shelter, everything you needed. It was grotesque.
The crimson coat of a guard caught my attention. He stood in the doorway of a building, scanning the crowd. I wanted to see if one of those monocles was rooted onto his eye. I knew I shouldn’t. I’d been warned to keep my head down, after all. But curiosity is a funny thing—it seems the things we’re most interested in tend to be the most dangerous. Children, for instance, are never interested in the mundane. They want to know what that blazing fire feels like or how deep the well is—things that, of course, can hurt or even kill.
Such was the same with the red. I didn’t need to know about the monocle; I simply wanted to. And this man wasn’t complying. He faced the opposite direction, his attention drawn to another part of the crowd. That made me want to see the truth even more. I mentally willed him to turn toward us.
My heart sped up. Colvin's warning about not being seen drummed in my head. I just needed the red to look a little more to the right, but not at me. Definitely not at me. That could be a problem, and I wasn’t looking to create problems.
An older man, a crumpled tricorn hat atop his head, staggered toward us. His unfocused eyes stared at me. No, past me. I tried to avoid his gaze. His teetering advance continued, drawing my attention. As I made to pass him, his hands shot out, clutching my cloak. He yelled something incomprehensible and fell to the ground, taking me with him.
A crushing mob surrounded us, as if they instinctively knew one of the weak had fallen and it was their singular opportunity to scavenge what they could from him. At the same time, the guard I'd been eyeing saw everything. He pushed against the wave of people, coming straight for us. It was my chance to see if he wore the stupid monocle that diverted my attention in the first place…he wasn't. Not a bit of glass or iron to be seen anywhere on his face.
Hands unhooked the man from my cloak and pulled me from the crowd. They pawed at him, searching for anything of value. Alive and breathing, albeit
moaning, the man thrashed about aimlessly.
“Let's go,” Colvin said, grabbing my arm.
“But he needs help,” I argued.
“Are you a doctor? You can't help him.” He tugged me through the throng of people.
Within minutes the event became a distant memory as we wound through streets that had transformed from dirt to cobblestone. Now deep in the city center, if I'd been forced to find the way back on my own, I never would've made it.
“This place is a maze,” I said.
“Nah. You get used to it,” Colvin replied.
“Yes, I guess you know your way around.” I gave him a look that said, Especially since you’ve been living here as a rebel. He grinned sheepishly.
Just when I thought we could go no farther into the heart of the city, I saw the church.
Two great spires jutted into the heavens like fingers forever trying to touch God. Between them, clad in gray stone, lay a rose window constructed of fuchsias, blues, golds, greens and whites. Though broken in a few places, most likely by vandals throwing rocks, the majority of the window remained perfectly intact. For a moment, I stood and gaped. It was beyond beautiful. It held an indescribable majesty.
“Want to go in?” Colvin asked, smiling.
“Yes,” I said breathlessly.
We picked our way past scattered stone blocks and debris and climbed up the steps to the entrance. Colvin pulled on the great oaken door. It didn’t want to budge at first. But after a few tugs, the bottom scraped against the ground, as if grudgingly relenting to give up its secrets.
I peeked inside to see a mess of rubbish and scattered pews. A dark spot sat in one corner. It was the fire pit, probably used by the homeless he'd told me about. Speaking of which…
“Where are the beggars?”
“Oh they're not here during the day.”
“So you were just trying to scare me.”
