Forget Tomorrow

by Pintip Dunn

  Well, we do have a connection. Just not the one I envisioned.

  I hear you, Jessa. I fling the thought out to the night. I hear you, and you don’t have to worry. I’m going to help you.

  How? All of a sudden, the stars seem to close in on me, trapping me in a cage of diamond-hard points. How will I help her? She’s there and I’m here. We live in two different worlds.

  It’s better this way. I’m more dangerous to her than FuMA. They only want to study her. A future version of myself will kill her. Why tempt Fate by returning to Eden City?

  The old arguments rise, but even as the words echo in my head, something feels different. No nausea wells up inside me. No crushing despair pushes down on my shoulders.

  This is no way to live—cowering in Harmony, spooked by the future at every turn. Look at Angela. Look at Zed. They’re so paralyzed by a future that hasn’t happened, they can’t even allow love into their lives.

  Fate can go to Limbo and back. I might tempt her by returning to civilization. But that doesn’t mean I have to give in.

  My lungs fill with the cold night air, and the stars snap back into place. I know who I am. Logan’s showed me the girl I could be. It took coming here, away from everything I’ve ever known, to figure that out. I’m not a killer. That future Callie who plunged a needle into her sister’s heart? That’s not me. I don’t know what her justification was, but no reason is good enough to do what she did.

  This is my choice. My decision. I will not hurt my sister. And I’m not going to let anybody—not FuMA, not the future, not even Fate—tell me differently.

  Gripping the buckskin around my shoulders, I walk into the night, across the village square toward Mikey’s hut.

  My sister needs me, and I know what I have to do. I’m going back to Eden City. I’m saving my sister, even if I have to conquer Fate in order to do it.

  34

  The cliff face rises in a vertical wall, pocked with a thousand crevices, ridges, and unsightly bumps. “Give me more rope!” Logan yells.

  From the ground, I belay a few feet of rope, as he scrabbles up the wall like a crab. His foot slips, and a cloud of pebbles and dust cascades down the cliff.

  My heart stops. An instant later he regains his balance and finds another foothold, and my heart starts beating again. I’m trying to be brave, I really am. But I didn’t argue with Mikey until I lost my voice just so I could watch his brother plummet to his death.

  That’s why we have equipment, Logan explained. To stop a fall in midair. In theory, we will only fall twice the distance to the last “protection,” which is what Logan called the metal wedges he jams into the rock as he climbs.

  I let more rope out, ignoring the friction searing my palms. The sun’s a full hand’s length above the trees now, but I shiver when the wind blows against my damp clothes.

  Early this morning, we rowed down the river in the boat, with the current instead of against it, traveling in a matter of hours the distance we covered in our two-day journey out. I’ve never felt anything like it—the wind rushing over my hair, the water from Logan’s oars spraying my face. Best of all, we flew across the water as if we were gliding on air, as if Logan’s vigorous rowing might catapult us straight into another realm.

  I returned to earth long enough to pay attention to Logan’s technique. If all goes accordingly, it will be me steering the boat in a of couple days, with Jessa as my passenger. And that, unfortunately, is the extent of my plan. Break into FuMA. Rescue Jessa. Row down the river. Here’s hoping the rest of the details fall into place when the time comes.

  Above me, Logan stretches, grabs, and leaps. He’s three quarters of the way up the cliff face. Is it my imagination, or are his arms shaking?

  I grip the rope and plant my feet. Beads of sweat break out on my forehead. This is exactly what Mikey was afraid of. This is why we argued for so long. If Mikey had come in my place, there would be no question whether he was strong enough or skilled enough to anchor his brother. But Logan claimed I could do it. He insisted that he trusted me.

  I blink, and my throat closes up. How much do I owe him, when all is said and done? It’s one thing to offer moral support. Another thing entirely to put his life on the line.

  An insect buzzes around me, landing on my slick forehead. I blow upwards, dislodging the fly without taking my eyes off Logan’s diminishing form.

  “You can do it,” I chant under my breath. “You can do it. You can do it.”

  And then, a few minutes later he does. His feet claw up the rocks, kicking more dust into the air as his body disappears into the glare of sunlight. A short while later, he pokes his head over the edge and waves.

  It’s my turn.

  My arms ache. My thighs burn. And I’m not even halfway there.

  I find two steady footholds and hug the wall, gasping for breath. Sweat streams down my body. The air smells dry and dusty. It feels as if I’m inhaling tiny rock particles.

  Somewhere above me, Logan’s belaying the rope. Every inch he gives brings me closer to him. Every foot I climb also brings me closer to saying good-bye.

  “Fine,” Mikey had relented, fixing me with his stare. “You can take my place. But on two conditions.”

  I shot a quick glance at Logan. We’d been sitting on the woven mats for what seemed like hours, and tingles marched up and down my calves. “What?”

  “First, if you find anyone in civilization who’s changed her future—not partially or halfway, but someone who’s managed to stop her entire future from happening—bring her back to Harmony. I want to prove to Angela it can be done. I’d like to convince her it’s safe for us to at least adopt a child. Maybe even Ryder. He needs parents, and he and Angela already have a strong bond. I want her to feel like she has options.”

  I nodded. “Of course. And the second?”

  Mikey looked from me to his brother. “I need both of you to promise me that once you get over the cliff, you’ll go your separate ways. Logan has nothing to do with you or your mission once you get back to Eden City. Is that clear?”

  I wanted to leap up and scream. No. We just rescinded our good-byes. You can’t rip us apart again.

  But our reunion was always temporary. Nothing’s changed. Logan was never mine to hold.

  “I promise,” I said.

  And then Logan, after a pointed look from his brother: “I promise.”

  It was the inverse of a marriage ceremony, with Mikey as the judge. Our vows to stay apart.

  Pushing the memory away, I leap and grab the next handhold, bringing my face even with a metal wedge. Working it with one hand, I yank up, and the wedge slides out smoothly, even though it’s virtually impossible to pull down. Hooking the protection on my harness, I climb toward the next one.

  One limb at a time. Hand, foot, push, other foot, other hand. Rest. Repeat. It’s excruciating work, but the closer I get to the ledge, the more my mind drifts to my last few days with Logan. The way he looked as he held out the venison for me to eat. The calluses on his palm as it brushed along my skin. The feel of his lips when he kissed me for the first time. I want to roll these details up in a memory and send them to myself, over and over again.

  They say you can get better at anything with practice. I don’t think I’ll ever be any good at leaving Logan.

  I jam my fingers into a crevice, and a fingernail rips off. It’s my fourth one today, and this one breaks a little too close to the skin, so that blood wells up along the tear. But it doesn’t matter because I’m pulling my waist over the ledge, and it squeezes the breath out of me. Logan hooks his hands under my arms and pulls me up.

  I’m back in Eden City.

  “Well,” I say. “I guess this is it.”

  The words taste bland in my mouth, as if they’ve been said before. And they have. Not on this patch of dirt that ends in midair. Not with a roaring river on one side and a thicket of woods on the other. But they’ve been said, between the two of us, a short while ago. Even the new scenery
cannot convince me I want to relive that moment ever again.

  “Let’s not say good-bye.” I gesture at the stretch of trees and rocks that slope away from us. “Let’s turn our backs to each other and walk down the hill in opposite directions.”

  He adjusts the backpack on his shoulders. “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “Sure. Go down this path and I’ll be in the woods behind the FuMA building.” I lick my lips. “I’m not going in tonight. I need to rest and plan. And I’d like to see my mother.”

  “So you’re going home?”

  “Thinking about it.”

  He grimaces. “They might be watching your house. They’ve probably been staking it out ever since we broke out of detainment.”

  The wind skims along the earth, blowing leaves and twigs over the cliff. The sun has fallen behind the trees, and it feels like we’re standing on the precipice between two worlds. A strong wind, or a single choice, can blow us to either side.

  I take a step down the hill. I choose not to leave my future to a frivolous breeze. “Okay. I won’t go home. But don’t worry about me. I’ll find some place to spend the night.”

  “At least let me walk down with you,” he says.

  It would be so easy. I could agree, and once we’re down the slope, I could beg him to come with me. Just a little while longer, I would say. Mikey would never have to know. I need you.

  But I will not make this harder than it already is.

  I put my hand on Logan’s cheek. “You’ve done so much for me.” My fingers begin to tremble. I pull my hand down and curl it into a fist. “Let me do something for you.”

  Without another glance, I turn and walk away. I hear his footsteps behind me, and I start running. The slope magnifies my speed, and I’m falling, skidding, sliding down the hill.

  Branches crisscross over my head like a jumble of firewood. It’s getting darker by the minute, and the dense cover of trees blocks what little light there is. Winding my arm around a tree trunk, I come to a stop, panting. Is Logan still following me? I look up the hill. Nothing but shadows and leaves rattling in an invisible breeze.

  My fingers tighten on the bark. Don’t be ridiculous. There is nothing creepy about the woods. They’ve been my home for days and nothing bigger than a squirrel has ever popped out to scare me.

  Taking a deep breath, I force myself to start moving again. I spot a fallen branch and yank it out of the bushes. See, this is just like the woods around Harmony. I poke the stick into the ground and hoist myself over a rock. The scent of pine surrounds me, and small creatures scurry in the nearby bushes. Nothing to worry about.

  I hop over a log, and two things happen at once.

  My foot gets caught in a rock, pitching me onto the ground, and a red and black dog bounds toward me, barking at the top of his lungs.

  His ears droop, and the skin around his face sags like the loose skin of an extremely old person.

  My heart jumps into my throat. It’s a bloodhound, the same kind of dog that tracked me through the forest on my seventeenth birthday. The kind that can follow a scent that’s days, maybe even weeks, old.

  I’m right back where I started. FuMA’s got me once again.

  35

  The bloodhound pants six inches away. Drops of saliva glisten on his tongue and his stale, damp breath wafts around me.

  My heart drums so fast the beats almost overlap. Do dogs eat people? And if not, will he take a bite out of me anyway?

  I push down against rock and begin to crab-walk away from the bloodhound. My ankle screams, but the dog doesn’t care. Broken bones are easier to gnaw.

  The bloodhound advances, and I choke back a sob. This is it. All of my running, and I’ve come full circle to the morning of my seventeenth birthday. I’m going back to Limbo.

  All of a sudden, an object floats through the air, hovering in the space between the bloodhound and me. What on earth? It’s a stick, a broken branch, really, with dead leaves still clinging to the wood.

  The stick twitches back and forth in front of the bloodhound’s nose. When it has the dog’s attention, the stick shoots through the air away from me, and the hound scampers after it.

  I blink. Since when do sticks have minds of their own?

  “Are you okay?” Gentle hands skim over my body, checking for injuries.

  I turn, and every muscle sags in relief. “Logan! You came back.”

  “I never left.” His fingers land on my ankle, and I suck in a hiss of pain.

  “Was that you with the stick?” I ask between gritted teeth. It’s the first display of his telekinesis I’ve seen.

  “Yeah. We’re lucky he likes to play fetch,” he says. “Can you stand? We’ve got to get out of here.”

  I grip his arm and pull myself up, but my ankle throbs the moment I put weight on it. “I think I’ve sprained it.”

  Twigs snap and the leaves rustle. I whip my head around just in time to see the bloodhound crash through the brush again. But this time, he’s got a human in tow.

  He doesn’t look like a ComA official. Instead of a uniform, the man wears water-resistant pants and a black mesh shirt. White whiskers sprout beneath heavy jowls, and his nose is shiny red, as if he’s rubbed it raw with a tissue.

  But he’s carrying a Taser. It has a short barrel and metal plating. And it’s pointed right at us.

  The man looks us over, taking in our scratched-up arms and my injured ankle.

  The Taser swings. I jump, landing right on the sprain. My vision wavers with the pain, but I don’t dare cry out in case the sound makes his trigger finger jerk.

  “You kids better come with me.” He lowers the Taser, but his feet are set shoulder-width apart. He’s not moving until we do.

  “Um.” Logan winds his arm around my back, supporting me. “She can’t really walk.”

  “Then carry her.”

  Logan and I confer with our eyes. I don’t want to go with this man, but the Taser limits our options. Logan bends down, cradling an arm beneath my knees and another under my shoulders. A moment later, I’m in the air.

  The bloodhound takes off, barking. The man gestures for Logan to follow the dog, and then I’m bouncing through the woods.

  “You comfortable?” Logan whispers. His neck pulses next to my cheek, and he twists his body left and then right to shield me from the worst of the brambles.

  “Hanging in there,” I say.

  He smiles a little at my joke, and we fall silent as we move through the forest, the questions stirring the air between us. Who is this guy? And where is he taking us?

  Presently, we come to a squat building next to a large plot of cleared land surrounded by a chain link fence.

  “Inside,” the man growls.

  Logan lowers me to my feet and helps me hobble over the threshold. A utilitarian sofa with triangular cushions is covered with dog hair, while a pair of indoor shoes waits by the entry. An old-fasioned glider made of wood sits in the center of the room. The bloodhound leaps onto the chair, shaking it so violently it almost tips over.

  “Have a seat,” the man says as he changes into his indoor shoes. “Let’s have a look at that ankle.”

  My eyes widen. He’s going to treat my injury…before tasing me? Or does this mean he plans to let us go?

  I sit on the sofa. The man digs his fingers into a small jar of salve and smears it on my ankle. “This stuff is like magic. You’ll be walking in no time.” He peers at me and then blinks. “Betsy here didn’t scare you, did she?”

  The bloodhound barks, jumping off the glider and trotting over to her owner.

  I cough. “Her name is Betsy? Did you know she’s a dead ringer for a ComA hound?”

  “She should be.” The man screws the lid on the salve and gets to his feet. “I’m the one who breeds them.”

  Logan and I exchange a glance. “You work for ComA?” he asks.

  “I’m not one of them, if that’s what you’re wondering,” the man says. “My name’s Potts, and I
sell ComA my hounds. No more, no less. I don’t snitch to them, and they don’t do me any favors.”

  Betsy wanders over to a plant and begins nosing through the soil. Potts snaps his fingers and she dashes back to his side again.

  “I’ve seen them patrolling around the city, every night for the last week or so. Looking for vagrants trying to get around without using their IDs. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “No, sir,” Logan stutters. “My girlfriend and me, we were hiking in the woods, and we kinda got lost.”

  “Hmmm.” Potts rubs his face. His hands leave behind a sticky residue in his whiskers. “Isn’t it a school day?”

  “We skipped,” I say. “We’re about to turn seventeen, and we wanted one last day together before we get our memories.”

  Logan slides his hand around my back. My heart drops. I forgot about the tattoo on his wrist, right under his plant bracelet. One glimpse of the hourglass and Potts will know I’m lying. As casually as I can, I shift forward, shielding his wrist with my body.

  “That’s very interesting.” Potts settles his large body onto the glider. “Because you see, I’ve been hearing rumors that some people might be disappearing off the grid. Running off to live in some community hidden in the woods. Don’t know if it’s true or not, but I’ve got to tell you, ComA’s been awfully interested.”

  “That’s just a tale,” Logan blurts out. “Like that community in the mountains. I’ve heard talk about it for years, but it doesn’t really exist.”

  Potts narrows his eyes. “Are you so sure about that, young man?”

  “Well, yeah,” Logan says. “Why would ComA allow a hidden community to exist all these years, without doing anything about it, if there was any truth to the rumors?”

  “Maybe because this community was never ruled by the ComA government. Maybe these mountain people have been living together, in their way of life, even before the Boom. They want nothing to do with us and our technological ways, so maybe ComA sees no cause to get rid of them.” Potts folds his hands over his belly.