by Susan Kim
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said. “You?”
“As long as you’re there.”
“Me, too.”
They were about to kiss but were interrupted by a voice across the street.
“We about ready to go?” Rafe called. Esther could feel Caleb wince at the word “we”; Rafe had barely lifted a finger over the past three days. Still, her partner managed to keep his tone steady.
“Just about!” he called back. Then he turned to Esther. “I got to help the others load their wagons. Where will you be?”
She thought for a moment. She still had to salvage what usable supplies and household goods she could find in what had been their home. “We need more water. But first, I’ll make a last check of our place.”
It wasn’t easy.
The building was unrecognizable. Esther had to rely on all of her senses as she picked her way across the precarious wreckage, trying to extract anything of value without bringing the rest of the structure crashing down. It was like a deadly version of the game she remembered from her childhood, the one in which you had to pick a thin plastic stick out of a pile without disturbing the others. You had to move very slowly, and above all you had to concentrate.
Even so, Esther paused every few minutes to glance up at the sky.
Early that morning, she had built a strong fire on the highest surface she could find, a towering pile of rubble down the street that had once been a looted clothing store. Once the flames were hot enough, she had fed them with damp news-paper and a wet log, which caused black smoke to rise high into the sky.
This was how she and Skar communicated—or at least, how they used to communicate when they still saw each other nearly every day. Esther needed to see her friend one last time, to tell her of their plans, and to say good-bye. As she balanced on the remains of their home, she repeatedly checked the sky, gazing with growing frustration toward the horizon where the variant camp lay.
So far, there was nothing, and Esther was forced to return to the task at hand.
As agile and light as she was, she very nearly killed herself when she tried to work free a firebowl, and when she attempted to pull a stack of dusty rain ponchos from beneath a ceiling beam. The mountain she was standing on began to shift; she only managed to leap off, clutching the valuable raingear, before it collapsed with a roar and settled anew.
Her job was nearly done. Although it wasn’t much, she had managed to extract a few essentials, white with plaster dust. Clothing. Cooking supplies. Food like salt and honey. A few knives. A precious firestarter, bright purple, small as a thumb, and halfway filled with fuel.
For the first time, she took a moment to study the wreckage of the building that used to be called STARBUCKS COFFEE.
It was a disorienting sensation.
Much of it had been reduced by the earthquake to an alien landscape of broken beams, brick, glass, and mounds of plaster. Yet although the roof had collapsed, there were entire sections of their old apartment that had been left nearly intact and were now exposed, incongruously, to the open air.
It gave Esther an odd feeling to see pieces of her life on display like that, under the yellow winter sky. A part of the living room wall was still decorated with a colorful poster for something called SKYY vodka. The kitchen table was half crushed by a wooden beam; yet it was set with a flowered tablecloth, and a bowl and spoon, as if the user had just stepped away. The bookshelf, her late sister’s prize possession, tipped backward against a pile of bricks. While covered with broken glass and a heavy dusting of dirt and plaster, most of its contents were in place.
It took Esther a moment to identify what she was feeling, and when she did, it surprised her.
She was homesick.
Prin was the only world she had ever known, and many of her memories were not happy ones. She had fought with Sarah for years, only reconciling when her sister was ill. She had been Shunned by the town and sent away to die. Yet the thought that she would never see Prin again—as ruined and messed up as it was—made Esther tremble. She saw herself running down its streets, hiding in its fields, playing in its hot sun. There probably wasn’t an inch of town she hadn’t walked in, smelled, touched.
Now she found herself gazing at the books.
Caleb had told the townspeople that there was no room for frivolities or anything but the barest of necessities; and certainly, a book seemed the very definition of useless. Furthermore, neither she nor Caleb read much and, in truth, could barely spell.
Even so, Esther found herself clambering over the wreckage one last time, this time to grab a book at random from a shelf. The title of the one she chose, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, meant nothing to her. Yet knowing it had once belonged to Sarah comforted her somehow and she slipped the slim volume into the back pocket of her jeans.
She turned to scramble her way onto the street. As she did, her heart leaped to see someone standing there, waiting.
It was Skar.
She sat motionless astride her black bicycle, still wearing the strange daubs of red clay on her neck and arms. Like all variants, she wore no dark glasses or head covering to protect her from the sun, so Esther could see her expression. Aloof, she was frowning with confusion.
“I came as soon as I was able,” she said. Then she abruptly gestured at the wreckage. “Is this all because of the earthquake? Are you and your people all right?”
Esther balanced on a pile of rubble and jumped off, landing by her friend.
“It messed up the town real bad,” she said. “So many were killed, maybe half. We’re okay, though. How bad were you hit?”
Skar shrugged, as if the subject was of little interest. “Three of our people were lost. And several of our houses and much of our supplies. But it could have been much worse.”
Skar paused. Then her reserve faltered as she noticed the wagons parked along the main street.
Other townspeople were moving in and out of their destroyed homes, carrying supplies which they handed to others, who then loaded them in waiting wagons. As Skar took it all in, her expression changed to one of worry, and that made her appear oddly childlike.
“What’s going on?” she asked. For the moment, she sounded like her old self again.
“We’re leaving Prin today,” Esther said. Then she swallowed, hard. Saying the words made them real in a way they hadn’t been before. “There’s nothing left for us here.”
“But your signal. I thought you were only—”
“I know. I . . . I just wanted to say good-bye.”
There was silence. And then Skar, distant and cold for so many weeks, recoiled. For an instant, her face crumpled as tears, the first Esther could ever remember seeing her shed, filled her eyes.
Then with a brusque movement, she recovered, rubbing her face dry with a forearm.
“Thank you for letting me know,” she said. She spoke stiffly, although her voice caught.
Esther seized her by the elbow. “Come with us.” She had no idea where the words came from; yet as soon as she spoke them, Esther realized they were a mistake.
Skar jerked her arm back, as if offended.
“I’m sorry,” Esther stammered. “It’s just . . . I’m really going to miss you. I can’t believe I’m never going to see you again.”
Skar’s expression softened. Then she extended her hand, placing it lightly over Esther’s.
“Me, too,” she said.
Then she pushed aside the nylon pouch across her chest. Skar fiddled with something at the base of her neck. Then undoing it, she presented to her friend.
It was the braided-leather choker she always wore.
“I’ve had this since I was little,” she said. “And perhaps it will help you remember me.”
Esther took the necklace, still warm from Skar’s touch, and closed her fingers around it. Then she slipped it into her pocket for safekeeping.
“Thank you,” she said.
If Esther could have had her way, she and Skar would
have spent their final afternoon roaming through the fields and talking, the way they had for so many years. But now, there was no longer any time; there was too much work to do. Skar helped Esther secure belongings in the back of their wagon. They lashed everything down with elastic cords, stretchy pieces of rope that were covered with braided nylon and ended in sturdy hooks tipped with white rubber. They packed with care, piling the items close together and then compressing them even further.
When they were finished, there was a final task: collecting more of the town’s most precious resource. An hour later, the two girls were at the spring located beneath Joseph’s former home, a hotel on the far side of town.
Esther, with her sneakers off and jeans rolled up to her knees, stood in the achingly cold water, filling one plastic gallon jug after another and handing them to Skar, who replaced their caps. Working together, the two had already loaded one wagon, child-size and made of red metal, and were nearly finished with the second. Both were attached to the girls’ bicycles, which stood side by side.
The afternoon sun was strong, and Esther took a moment to dip her hands into the icy spring and lift them to her lips to drink. Taking off her sunglasses, she undid her red hood and leaned forward, plunging her head under. The effect was exhilarating and when she emerged, water running down her face and neck, she let out a whoop of sheer pleasure. She shook her head like a dog, so the drops flew.
Skar laughed, too, and jokingly held up her hands to guard against the unexpected shower. Esther bent low and slapped her hand across the spring’s surface, sending up an arc that splashed the variant girl.
“Hey!” shouted Skar.
Then she too waded in and began churning up a counterattack. Laughing and shouting at the cold, the two girls thrashed at the water, dousing each other and getting soaked in turn. It was an epic fight, one in which all of the day’s weariness and tension, unspoken and unyielding, seemed to be swept away by the bracing water and their shared screams of laughter.
Finally, the two waded to dry land. Still panting, they sat together, attempting to wring out their sodden clothes. It was no good. Esther yanked handfuls of dead, sun-bleached grass from the ground beside her and tried without much success to wipe herself dry. Laughing, she turned to her friend to offer her some, as well. But what she saw made the words die on her lips.
There were dozens of bruises and welts.
Multicolored and vivid, they stood out on Skar’s flesh, where the concealing clay had been washed away. One radiated from her upper chest like a spider’s web of broken capillaries and blood vessels. A large handprint, tinged purple and yellow, circled her soft throat, and others dappled her arms like bracelets, the mark of individual fingers dark and distinct. A bruise across her shoulder seemed recent: It was an angry red, and its swollen welt glistened with fresh blood.
Esther let out a cry.
Skar, unaware of what her friend had seen, turned to her with a quizzical expression. When she saw the open shock on Esther’s face, she gave a start, as her hands flew to cover her throat and arms.
“Skar,” said Esther. She found she could barely speak. “What has he—”
“No,” interrupted Skar. She sounded panicked. “This isn’t what you think. I’m too clumsy and fell when I was hunting.” But her face flushed at the obvious lie as she tried in vain to scrape up more mud with which to cover herself.
“Don’t,” said Esther.
She took the variant girl by the wrist. At her touch, gentle as it was, Skar winced, her face contorted in pain. As she let go, Esther realized with a sick feeling why her old friend had been avoiding her embrace all those times.
Skar gave up trying to cover herself. Instead, she drew her knees up to her chin and buried her face in her hands.
“Please don’t look at me,” she whispered. Her voice was muffled.
Esther crouched by Skar. “You can talk to me,” she said.
Skar wouldn’t take her hands from her face. “Only if you look away,” she said so quietly, Esther could barely hear the words.
Esther turned and stared across the spring to the ruins of the old hotel behind them. Then she listened as her friend began to speak.
It was not easy for Skar, being partnered. She had not known what her responsibilities were, for no one had ever explained them to her. Like all variants, Skar had been born with qualities of both sexes and chose her gender when she turned ten. A circle tattooed on her upper arm announced her decision. Yet she did not realize that being a girl would mean changing her behavior. For it soon became clear what was expected of her.
It started shortly after their partnering ceremony. Tarq had been gone all day, with no word of where he was or when he was returning. Skar, who had caught and cooked a rabbit for their dinner, ate half of it by herself and went to bed alone. But she was awoken when he pulled her out of bed, striking her across the back. She was not a good partner. She had not kept the food hot, had not waited for him to return, and had not cleaned their home sufficiently. Skar apologized; she had not known, and said she would try harder in the future.
But that was only the beginning, for it seemed there was nothing she could do properly. She could not hunt enough to fill the larder; she was too silly and undignified, like a little girl; she was not sufficiently respectful in his presence. As his partner, she was forbidden to socialize with others; this included her brother. She was not even allowed to mention Esther’s name in his presence.
“So you see, it’s all my fault,” Skar said, her voice almost inaudible. “He gets impatient with me, but it is only because I am such a poor partner.” She laughed, but there was no mirth in the sound. “I’m sure this is common with silly girls everywhere.”
The whole time, Esther had said nothing. Now she spoke, anger flashing in her dark eyes.
“It’s not,” she said. “Being partners doesn’t mean only one person doing all the work and the other making all the rules. It means the two of you are there to help each other. As equals.”
“But what if you make a mistake?”
“Then you apologize. But everyone makes mistakes.”
Skar shook her head. “And Caleb has never punished you?”
Esther blinked. The idea of Caleb lifting a hand to hurt her was something she could not even imagine. “No,” she said, “never. In fact, he’d never hurt anyone. At least, not anymore.”
“Maybe you’re lucky, then.”
“It’s not a question of luck. It’s just not right, what he’s doing to you. He’s your partner.”
She turned to face Skar and was struck by the utter hopelessness in her friend’s face.
“Yes,” Skar replied in a low monotone. “We are partners. We made a vow.” She held out her arm with its partnering scar, which wound its ornate way past the bruises and welts. “So you see, there is nothing I can do.”
Esther took both of her hands in hers.
“Yes there is,” she said. “You can come with us. They say in Mundreel there’s plenty, enough for everybody. You can join us.”
For a moment, Skar looked undecided. Then her brow clouded and frowning, she shook her head once.
“No,” she said. “I just have to try harder, that’s all. If I do, Tarq will not hurt me again. I know he won’t. He loves me.”
“But—” Esther started to say before her friend cut her off.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” she said. “I knew you wouldn’t understand.” Then abruptly, she stood.
“Skar—” said Esther, scrambling to stop her. But Skar had already unfastened the wagon from her bicycle and had one foot on the pedal.
“Farewell, Esther,” she said. Once again, she had resumed her mask, her face expressionless and detached. “Safe travels. And I hope you think of me sometime.”
And with that, she took off down the road and disappeared.
By the time Esther finished bringing all the water, Caleb was hitching bicycles, two across, to their crude wagon. Nearby, Kai played by him
self in the shade of an oak; a cloth harness kept him loosely tethered.
As she unloaded the water, Esther didn’t have the heart to mention Skar. Instead, she handed the jugs up to Caleb in silence and he placed them in rows, counting under his breath. When they were finished, the two of them unfolded a heavy plastic tarp and dragged it over all of their belongings. The threat of an unexpected shower was constant, and they couldn’t risk rainwater contaminating their supplies.
Caleb secured the tarp with elastic cords. Then the job was done.
Esther looked around. She saw Eli, Rhea, Rafe, Silas, and others familiar to her, all getting ready to go. Yet someone was missing.
“Where’s Joseph?” Esther asked. No one knew, and for a moment she felt a flicker of panic.
Then she heard the mewing of a cat.
She followed the sound until she reached the back of another wagon, covered by a drawn tarp. Behind it, her friend huddled amid a welter of clothing, books, and supplies. He carried a green nylon pet carrier which held the tabby he called Stumpy, the only one of his cats left after the earthquake. He was clutching a ticking desk clock and a tattered oversize book called Rand McNally Road Atlas.
“I hope this is all right,” he said in humble tones. “That I’m here, I mean. I can’t ride a bicycle. And being out in the open makes me feel . . .” His hands fluttered in agitation.
Esther just stared at him, feeling her usual blend of exasperation and affection. She knew that others were looking at Joseph, too, and not as charitably; they were probably wondering why he got special treatment. Joseph could take care of Kai, Esther thought; perhaps it would all work out for the best.
“I’ll pull him,” she announced, closing the subject. She had a quick word with the owner of the wagon, who was happy to trade places with her.
Astride his own vehicle at the head of the line, Caleb was waiting. Then he turned in his seat and glanced at Rafe, who nodded. He gave a piercing whistle that echoed down the abandoned streets of Prin.
And with that, the journey began.
The afternoon sun was shining brightly. It revealed what looked like a trail of ants, working its way down the thin, gray line that once had been the interstate highway. Only these weren’t insects but a caravan of people.
