Glory

by Maureen McGowan

  I stumble and fall, my hands slamming on the stone floor.

  She stops before reaching the end of her rope. I scramble back on all fours, fighting to catch my breath. She could have attacked me with that bone. Broken it and stabbed me. Bitten me. Hurt me in countless horrible ways. Yet she didn’t.

  She extends the bone toward me like some kind of macabre offering. I recoil, then realize she’s offering to help me stand.

  I grab the bone and she pulls, stepping back as I rise to my feet.

  “Thank—”

  She charges forward again. “Dust. Need dust.” I back out of her reach and press against the metal bars.

  I forgot. The one thing she asked for. The thing I know she needs to survive, and I forgot. I will my heart to slow down. “You need to earn it. Tell me what you know.”

  Her eyes glow and her shoulders drop as the bone falls to the floor with a clatter.

  I look into her eyes and we’re connected in seconds. Her mind is like a tangled web. She’s confused, upset, in pain.

  “Who turned you into a Shredder?” I ask.

  “Hospital,” she says, then raises her hands to her temples. Hurts. No. Stop, I hear her think.

  In her mind, I see flashes of rooms, of lab coats, of a mask filled with dust being strapped to her face. I sense a knife cutting her arm, a flame burning her foot, sandpaper being scraped over her skin. I tremble.

  “Why did you come here?” I ask. “How did you find the settlement?”

  President Kalin, she thinks. Find the girl. Bring the girl. The President needs the girl.

  I gasp and blink, breaking the bond. Am I the girl? The Shredder cries out and crouches, cradling her head and rocking, moaning. Is that why she recognized me? Maybe she’s not Arabella’s mother.

  “What does she want from me?” I ask.

  She scrambles away. “Don’t hurt me. Need dust. Please.” Phosphorescent tears stream over her cheeks, and my chest tightens. It seems like it hurts them, when I listen to a Shredder’s thoughts.

  “Who told you where to find me?”

  She bangs her head against the floor.

  “Stop that!” I pull on her shoulder.

  She swings one of the bones and strikes my leg. Throbbing pain shoots through me, and I back away.

  I’m not going to get more out of her now. Not until I bring her some dust.

  Her breaths are quick and loud, and her moan is rough, nearly rasping. Does she need water? No, Shredders don’t drink. That’s why their flesh resembles dried rat meat. That, and they revel in smearing their victims’ blood on their own skin.

  At least that’s what we were taught in GT, but who knows if that’s true, given all the lies.

  I find a metal bowl on the shelves and wipe out the grime and rust with the hem of my shirt. I pour in most of the water I have left, then put the bowl on the floor inside the cage. Using a bone, I push the dish until I’m sure it’s within her reach. The bowl scrapes on the stone, but she doesn’t seem to notice. I close the cage door and replace the lock.

  If she does drink the water, will she need something for waste? I find a plastic bucket, ignore the grime at the bottom, and set it inside the cage.

  Scanning the shelves again, I spot something wrapped in thick plastic on the very top shelf. I reach up on my toes to take it down. It’s a book.

  I tuck it into my jacket, then head up the stairs.

  “What’s that?” Drake asks, and I snap the book shut.

  I slide it under my blanket. I took a long nap when I got back, and since then I’ve been sitting on my bed reading.

  “Are you feeling better?” Jayma asks, and I nod.

  Drake’s eyes open wide. “Is that from the ruins? Did you go back there without me?”

  He looks hurt. I pull out the book. “It’s a journal kept by a boy who was trapped down there. One of those who died.”

  “A boy?” Jayma gasps and sits on the bed next to me. “Who?”

  “His name was Jason and he was our age.”

  “What happened to those people? How long were they there? Who trapped them?”

  Her cheeks drain of color and she grabs my hand, waiting expectantly. Drake, on the other hand, stands with his legs wide, arms crossed, eyes accusing.

  “You were going to show us the journal, right?” Jayma looks at my brother. “She wasn’t going to keep it a secret.”

  I keep a firm hold on the book. “You’re the one keeping secrets, Drake.”

  “What?” He tips up his chin.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  His shoulders snap back. “I told you. I don’t know.”

  I narrow my eyes. “I don’t believe you. And it’s not like you’ve never lied to me before.”

  He looks down and his shoulders slump slightly. That was a low blow. I pat the bed on my other side. “Sit. We can read the rest together.” Later, when Jayma’s not here, I’ll press him more about Dad.

  He sits beside me, and I open the book not far from the end. The writing is messy and hard to make out in spots.

  “A: 4, D: 17,” I read aloud. “I think that means four alive and seventeen dead. And these markings”—I point to the corner of the page—“I’m pretty sure they mean that he wrote this 94 days after they ran out of food and 417 days after the cellar door was blocked.”

  “Cellar?” Drake asks.

  “That’s what the room in the ground is called,” I tell him.

  Jayma slides closer to me, and I can feel her tremble as I continue to read: “Sarah died in her sleep last night. We put her with the others and the smell . . .”

  “Can you imagine?” Drake cringes.

  I nod, then continue: “I sit at the top of the stairs most of the time now, pushing, yelling, fighting for a breath of fresh air, but the cracks are too small. When the wind blows, or there’s an earthquake, dust comes in and Kevin tries to pull me down off the stairs. But what’s worse? Breathing a little of the dust, or the stench of our dead families and friends?”

  I turn to Jayma and she’s even whiter now. “Are you okay?”

  She nods and rubs her shoulder where she was shot.

  Drake grabs for the book. “Who locked them in? Who put the rocks on the door?”

  “It’s probably faster if I tell you instead of reading. Okay?”

  He nods, and Jayma’s grip on my hand tightens.

  “Ouch.” My fingers are nearly crushed.

  “Sorry.” She releases my hand. “I forgot my strength.”

  “No worries.” I shake out my fingers. “Nothing’s broken.”

  I back up on the bed, lean against the wall, and cross my legs. Jayma and Drake turn sideways to face me.

  “There were five families in there at first,” I tell them. “When the dust clouds came, they didn’t know what was going on and could only guess, because none of their communication devices worked anymore. They were called cell phones. A lot of other people headed for what they called ‘the city’ to get news, but these five families decided it would be safer to stay where they were. So they went to the cellar to wait out the dust storms. The adults took turns guarding the door from the outside: two at a time.

  “Above ground, the air was clogged with dust, and all they had were paper masks. The first to die was one of the dads.” My guts twist. “His mask tore. Jason was down in the cellar, so he could only describe what he heard: the shouting and screaming, the sounds of a fight, and what little his dad told him afterward. But it’s clear that the first man to die choked on the dust and almost killed Jason’s dad, trying to take his mask.”

  “That’s terrible,” Jayma says. “But at least he didn’t turn into a Shredder.”

  I go on. “When Jason’s dad came down that day, he was different. He was sullen and would barely talk about what had happened to his friend. In one journal entry, Jason says he saw his father dragging a knife over his arms, like he was trying to cut himself. Jason figured the knife was dull, but when he checked the next day, it was razor
sharp. It was like his dad couldn’t be cut.”

  “A Deviant,” Drake says, and I nod.

  “Jason was interested in science, and he guessed that something in the dust flipped a switch in his dad’s DNA. Something had activated a dormant gene that gave him this strange new ability. But his dad wouldn’t talk about it.”

  My voice is hoarse, and Drake hands me the water from the shelf near my bed.

  “Jason’s theory’s not that different from what we learned in GT,” he says.

  As I gulp, the cool liquid spreads through me. I hand the cup back to Drake. “There are pages and pages of entries—I haven’t read them all yet—but at some point, one of the moms got dust madness. One day, when she was on guard duty with her husband, she nearly killed him. She would have except that Jason’s dad shot her.”

  “Jason saw that with his own eyes,” I tell them. “And then the man attacked Jason’s dad for killing his wife, but when he tried to stab Jason’s dad, they all learned the truth about his super-tough skin.”

  “What did they do?” Jayma whispers. Drake reaches across me to take her hand.

  “Sounds like they fought about it. A lot. Trying to figure out what it meant.”

  “Who put the rocks on the door?” Drake asks.

  “Jason’s dad.”

  “Really?” Jayma gasps. “He trapped them? All those people? His own son?”

  I shift on the bed. “He figured that, since he’d already been changed by the dust, he was the safest outside. But no one trusted him anymore—not even his wife—so he decided to live above ground from then on.”

  “All by himself?” Jayma asks, and I nod.

  “But why the stones?” Drake presses.

  “He didn’t do it at first. In fact, he stayed away and was rarely spotted. Then one day, between guard shifts, when there was no one else up top, he moved the rocks onto the door. Everyone screamed and tried to push up, but he called down to them that he was doing it to keep them safe. That he’d take all the guard shifts from then on and would let them know when the danger passed. Jason talked to his dad through the door every day for weeks. But over time, his dad’s voice changed. And then one day, he never came back.”

  “Dust madness,” Jayma says.

  “Sounds like it. They banged on the door. They shouted. But the door never opened again.”

  “Not until we opened it,” Drake says.

  “Why did his dad leave?” Jayma asks.

  “He was afraid that he’d kill them,” Drake replies.

  “Why do you think that?” I ask.

  “Jason’s dad was the one who saw the other man go crazy, right?” Drake clears his throat. “And if he was up top a lot, I’ll bet he saw Shredders. He was afraid that he’d change. He was afraid that if he didn’t leave, he’d move the rocks and attack his friends and family.”

  Realization hits me. “He trapped them. He killed them. But he did it hoping to save them.”

  The cabin door opens. “Here you are!” Cal’s cheery voice is so out of place, it’s like he arrived from another planet. “Come on! We’re going to be late.” His bruises are the only evidence, on the four of us, of yesterday’s battle.

  I slide forward to stand, and my legs feel shaky. I really need some sleep. “Late for what?”

  “For the banquet,” Cal says. “There’s a feast planned. To celebrate the return of the FA unit and the treaty with Fort Huron.”

  Still sitting on the bed, Jayma leans forward, her head in her hands. Drake gets up and crouches in front of her. “A party sounds like fun.”

  She lets him pull her to her feet, and they walk toward the door.

  “Come with us, Glory,” Drake says.

  I sit back down on the bed. “You guys go ahead.” I feel compelled to read the rest. I want to read every word Jason wrote.

  Drake comes back to sit next to me. “If you don’t go, neither will I.”

  “No.” I pat his leg. “You go. Have fun. I’ll talk to you later.”

  He puts his arm around my shoulders. “You’re my sister. We’re family. And we need to stick together. I see that more than ever now.”

  My brother looks so serious, and my love for him floods through me. He’s right. Nothing good will come of my sitting here alone.

  “Okay, let’s go.”

  Chapter Eleven

  LET’S DANCE!” JAYMA grabs my hand. All around us, people are dancing and shouting and laughing. A few of the women are wearing dresses dyed cheerful colors, and a small part of me wishes I still had that dress that Mrs. Kalin bought me—the only pretty thing I’ve ever owned.

  Music fills the Assembly Hall from the players gathered on a raised platform. It’s not like we never heard music inside Haven, but it was always quiet, slow, gentle, not this raucous sound coming from violins they call fiddles, and guitars, and drums fashioned from barrels and metal pots.

  “With everything going on, why is everyone so happy?” I ask.

  “It’s a celebration.” Jayma smiles as if no other explanation is necessary.

  An alliance with Fort Huron doesn’t sound worth celebrating to me. Then again, I’ve never told Jayma what Burn and I went through in that place.

  “But what if a whole army of Shredders or Comps comes tonight?” I say.

  “Why would Comps come?” Jayma’s brow furrows. “If Management takes over Concord, will they expunge the Deviants?”

  “No. That won’t happen. And no one’s going to kick us out of Concord.” I feel bad. There’s no reason to ruin her night. “And now that some of the FA is back, they can defend us. I’m worrying for no reason. Tonight is a party.”

  “That’s more like it.” She grins. “And don’t forget—I’m super strong now.” She gives me a stern look. “If you don’t cooperate, I can make you dance.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I let her drag me a few feet toward Drake and Cal, who are deep in conversation.

  Cal misses his younger brother, and with Dad away, it’s nice to think that Cal might provide a big-brother figure. Drake needs that, especially after being so isolated for those years when his legs didn’t work.

  They see us coming. My brother bounds over and takes Jayma’s hand.

  “Drake, can I talk to you for a sec?” I ask him.

  “Now?” He flits his eyes toward Jayma and then stares at me, like I can’t take a hint.

  I can, but this is more important than his crush on my friend. Sighing, he walks with me to an empty corner.

  “You never answered before.” I step closer. “Do you know where Dad is?”

  Drake’s body stiffens. “I told you. He’s on a mission.”

  “In Haven?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Then where?”

  “I’m not sure.” He looks away.

  “You know more than you’re saying.” I’m glad my dad’s not in Haven, but he could be lost or hurt. “What if he’s captured by Shredders?”

  “You worry too much.” Drake squeezes my arm. He looks at me as if he’s the older sibling, not the other way around. “Dad can take care of himself.”

  “Where do you think he might be?”

  “I don’t know, okay?” Drake snaps. “He goes off sometimes. He could be anywhere. But he always comes back.”

  “He’s done this before?”

  Drake walks away and pulls Jayma out onto the dance floor.

  I follow. “Why did you let Dad leave?”

  Drake ignores me. Copying the other couples, he clasps Jayma’s hand and holds it high, placing his other hand at her waist.

  “I don’t know how to dance,” she says, her cheeks pink.

  “Don’t worry.” Drake grins. “I’ll teach you. It’s easy.” Like he knows any more than we do. He pulls her closer, and she laughs as he spins her around to the beat of the music.

  Cal steps up beside me and leans in. “Mademoiselle, may I have this dance?” His blue eyes catch the light from the lanterns hung in the room’s center.

>   “You don’t know how to dance,” I say, but his smile is infectious.

  “How do you know?” he asks. “Maybe you’re not the only one who’s been keeping secrets.”

  I look down.

  “That was a joke.” He rubs my arm. “I shouldn’t have said that. I get why you couldn’t tell me you were a Deviant. Really.”

  I raise my gaze to meet his. “When did you learn to dance?”

  “It doesn’t look that hard. Come on.” He grabs my hand and tugs me forward, holding me the same way Drake’s holding Jayma. He watches the others for a moment. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  He steps forward—onto my foot. “Sorry.” He steps back and looks down at me sheepishly. “Are you okay?”

  I nod and grin so he won’t feel bad.

  “Maybe this won’t be quite as easy as I thought.” One of his eyebrows rises.

  “Let’s try again.” I slide my fingers across his shoulder. “Dancing can’t be more complicated than our hand-to-hand combat classes in COT.”

  “Good point. And this looks like more fun.” Looking down, he steps forward again. I step forward at the same time and our heads knock together.

  “Ouch.” He takes his hand from my waist and strokes my cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.” He looks so disappointed in himself.

  “You’re doing great. We’ll get the hang of it.” We look over at an adult couple who are nearly galloping around the room in tandem, weaving in and out of the others.

  “How do they do that?” Cal grips my waist more tightly, then tips his head to the side. “This way first, okay? Step-hop-step. Then the other way.”

  He studies the other dancers, obviously counting in his head, memorizing the moves. The festive lanterns cast highlights in his blond hair, and I look up at the face that starred in all my best dreams—until I met Burn.

  I look down again.

  I wish this could be easier. I wish that I felt nothing around Cal or nothing around Burn, so that my way forward would be clear. But when I think about either of them, all I ever feel is confused.

  Without my old stack of secrets between us, there’s nothing left keeping Cal and me apart. Nothing keeping me from being his girlfriend again. And without the formality of Haven’s Human Resources Department stamping our union as valid, the idea of committing to Cal feels more real, more substantial.