The Offering

by E. R. Arroyo

  Not releasing his vice-like grip around me, his lips finally slow. Both of us panting, Dylan lays his forehead against mine, eyes closed, jaw still tight. He shakes his head a fraction of an inch. “You infuriate me. Do I do that to you too?”

  I nod, my head still swimming. His hand leaves my back and lands on the stack of letters. Glancing at them, I shake my head. “You had every right to feel that way.” I take a deep breath. “Nothing you said about me in those letters was any worse than what I already think of myself.”

  He rakes a hand over his face finally backing up a little. “You weren’t mad about this?” His eyes flit down to the papers, brows furrowed.

  I shake my head.

  He works his jaw side to side. “Well, I guess I just don’t understand you then. I assumed that you and I being together meant that you didn’t leave me at night to go to him.”

  “Dylan—”

  “I give nearly every waking minute to this colony. To these sick and hurting people. I’m happy to do that. I want to help them.” He’s pacing the room now. “If I have some ability or knowledge that might somehow make a difference, I want to share that.” He stops, faces me. “But I’m afraid I have to be a little selfish where you’re concerned. Because you are the one thing I am not willing to share.”

  “Dylan, I told Tyce that I don’t want to be with him.”

  He grimaces. “I don’t think he got the message, doll.”

  “He is really hard to get through to.” It’s an excuse. I know it.

  Dylan presses his fingers against his forehead, the muscles in his arms tight. A beat later, he relaxes. “I’m not stupid, Cori. Clearly you care about him and that’s fine. But you can’t have us both. Not like this.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to make up your mind.”

  I nod, looking at the floor, an ache swelling in my chest. I thought I had made up my mind but I haven’t followed through. Dylan’s right.

  “You’re still angry?” I ask. A dumb question.

  “Yes,” he thunders. So loud and harsh that I flinch.

  “I’m sorry…” I tell him, shaking my head. I’m still reeling from the hot and cold extremes of the last five minutes.

  He runs his fingers across his eyebrows as if smoothing them out. Takes a deep breath. “Did anything … happen between you two?”

  My stomach clenches, the last remnants of joy from Dylan’s kiss evaporating. Full disclosure, I tell myself. “Before you came to The City I kissed him.”

  He stares at his open palm, frozen midair. After a moment, he moves back to the counter a few feet to my left, crossing his arms.

  “Once,” I tack on, as if that makes it better.

  He swallows hard. “And after I came to The City?”

  “He tried to kiss me last night. Before you found me in the hall.”

  “Tried to?”

  “We were interrupted.”

  “So you would have?”

  “No.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose, gently shaking his head. He cracks his neck then looks up at me. “You have to make up your mind, Cori. Let me know when you do.” He turns his back to me, busying himself with some vials on the counter, whatever he’d been searching for before long forgotten.

  “I already have. I told him last night that I only want you.” I stare at his back for a moment, my stomach sinking. My body yearning to be close to him again, I step forward. He tenses when I touch his waist. I slide my hand around his abdomen, urging him to turn toward me. And he does, looking down at me with smoldering eyes. “I’m sorry,” I tell him.

  Something unreadable flickers across his eyes before he exhales a heavy breath. In a moment, he envelops me in his brawny arms and lifts me from the floor. He nuzzles my neck and I completely relax into him, all pretense gone now. Finally.

  “I’m sorry for the messes I’ve made,” I whisper. “For everything.”

  “We’ll fix it,” he whispers, his voice husky. He pulls back, peering into my teary eyes. Then our lips reunite. And it melts me.

  * * *

  Giving Dylan a few minutes to finish up his work, I step out of the small laboratory in the makeshift medical building and head down a narrow hall. I find Marsiana holding a mop looking into an open door. I faintly hear a few babies crying as I approach her. Whatever she’s looking at, she’s fascinated by it. I call her name softly and she doesn’t react.

  Stepping up to her, I peer inside the door and find what her eyes are locked on. A nursery with lavender colored walls, six women from Mercy, and more than a dozen babies. Some sleeping, some in the arms of women. There are a couple of cribs and several other random things being used as bassinets. The baby closest to the door is snugly bundled in a dresser drawer.

  The babies don’t seem sick at all. But I notice there aren’t any of Antius’s women in with them. Probably quarantining them off as a precaution.

  I glance at Marsiana again. The look on her face is so peaceful.

  “Hi,” I say.

  She looks up and a small smile tugs her lips upward. She has purple circles under her eyes and her cheeks are kind of hollow looking. Her dark hair is pulled off her face but it’s a tangled mess.

  Her gaze drifts back into the nursery. “I used to wonder what it would be like to be a mother. A real one though, not the kind we had in Antius. The kind that actually gets to keep her baby.”

  “Maybe you can someday.”

  A lady brushes past us with cloths in her hands. She steps into the room, briefly looking at us each in turn before she closes the door behind her.

  Marsi takes a step toward me and it’s horribly unstable. She leans on the mop for support. Her other hand is pressed to her side where she’d been injured.

  “How are you?” I follow her as she attempts to mop the floor. I get what Max was saying about her trying hard to help but mostly for her own benefit, and even that’s debatable. No one in Antius was ever allowed to be useless, so it’s impossible for her to simply be a wounded patient. I wish she were getting better by now. I wish they all were. But the infections are keeping their wounds from healing.

  “I’ve seen better days, but I’m happy to be up and moving around. It’s better than some other people.” She tips her head toward two women hobbling down at the far end of the hall using each other for support.

  “Why are they so skinny?” After I’ve said it I realize Marsi is just as thin.

  “They’re lucky to hold much food down.” She begins moving again, this time leading me into the open area where most of the Antius women stay. They all look horrible.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” I’m being awkward, like I don’t know how to relate to Marsi anymore. She’s no longer a captain and I’m no longer her pupil. She’s a deathly ill, self-appointed janitor, and I’m the big mystery standing between her—and the rest of them—and finding a cure.

  My hand drifts to the back of my neck as I take in the room. My mouth slightly open, any possible words I could say remain unspoken. Caught in my throat.

  I begin to feel nauseous as the realization hits heavily. I know this is exactly what Dylan wanted me to see when he confronted me. He was here the whole time seeing these women wither, seeing them suffer, while I was off in The City pretending none of it was going on. Pretending there was nothing I could do. I back up, pressing my hands against the wall, using it for support as my eyes start to burn.

  Dylan finally comes out of the lab where I’d left him, smiling until he notices the look of anguish on my face.

  “It’s good to see you,” I tell Marsi, my throat dry.

  “You too.” She tries to smile.

  It’s heartbreaking—she’s barely a shadow of the woman she was before. She was strong, determined. Now she’s weak and merely surviving. Barely.

  I brush past Dylan on my way to the exit. I push through the door, panting by the time I reach the lawn. With the sting of my father’s death fading and the guilt I�
��ve battled since the day we returned from fighting Antius subsiding, I can finally see things a little clearer.

  I want to find answers for these women. And for Mercy’s infected soldiers. Like Max’s son Jason. And I’m still holding out hope that some of the things Dylan uncovered at the Burke building will help.

  Dylan doesn’t say anything as he waits for me to calm myself down. I take a few deep breaths wiping moisture from my cheeks. I sigh. Dylan reaches for my hand, a tender expression on his face. I nod, putting my hand in his and letting him lead me into the main building.

  He’s a smart guy—he knows what’s going on in my head, and what I’m trying to work through right now. There are a hundred things he could say, knowing I’m vulnerable, but he says nothing. And I love him all the more for it.

  Dylan and I grab breakfast then find Karen. When I got up earlier, I left Tyce groggy on the rooftop without an explanation and haven’t seen him since. I’m surprised we both slept through Dylan climbing up there, as big as he is. Regardless, Tyce is probably not happy.

  Karen doesn’t look happy either. “Spoke with Henry.” She frowns. “He’s not willing to get involved again. And I can’t blame him. We’re going through a lot here.”

  I draw my hands to my head, rubbing my tired face. “What about the council? Taking a vote? He didn’t even speak to the others. He can’t decide this himself, right?”

  I happen to spot him walking by and I go to him.

  “Henry, please hear me out. There are lives at stake here. Young and innocent ones.”

  He props his hands on his hips, shooting Karen an irritated look as she moves to catch up to us. “There are always lives at stake. That’s the world we live in now. And we can’t be responsible for everyone. We’re a small colony. We lost men. The other colonies lost men. Corinne—we’re still grieving. And we’re still dealing with the last group of people we rescued.” He hooks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the makeshift hospital.

  “This is different.”

  “How?” Henry’s tone sharpens, grows angry. “How exactly is it different? You lost your own father, for Chrissake! When is it enough? How much blood must we spill for it to be enough for you?”

  I stare at him, completely stunned. Heat courses through my body as tension builds in my chest and my cheeks flush.

  “Have you looked around you? Have you looked at the faces you pass in this place? I’m starting to think your father meant more to us than he did to you!”

  Henry is reeling back with his hand on his jaw before I even realize I’ve swung at him. The pain in my fist is nothing compared to the look he gives me after. Dylan’s arms wrap around me, hauling me the other direction.

  Karen says something I don’t even hear, her voice scolding me with words I’m too angry to decipher.

  “When’s it going to be enough, Corinne? When will you stop?” Henry shouts.

  I try to wiggle free of Dylan’s grip, but he hefts me under one arm and drags me away. I abruptly become aware that everyone in the area is looking at me—a spectacle yet again. All I want to do is shut down like before and tuck tail and run. Hiding had been so much easier than this.

  “I’ll stop when it’s over,” I call back to Henry. “When it’s over,” I whisper, collapsing in Dylan’s arms.

  He plops me onto something soft and I bury my face in my arms, drawing my knees up to my chin. A door slams and his weight settles beside me. I peek at him through my arms. We’re on my father’s bed. I sigh.

  “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you what you just did ruined any chance of him helping us.” Dylan clasps his hands in his lap.

  “He wasn’t going to anyway.” I pull my ponytail out and run my fingers through my hair, rubbing my scalp to ease the tension. I can’t believe I punched Henry. My father would be ashamed of me.

  He shakes his head. “Well, I hope you feel better now that you’ve gotten that out of your system.”

  “Look, can you not talk down to me?” I get up to pace the room.

  “Talk down to you? Where did that come from?” He rises and stalks toward me.

  “I don’t know if you’ve noticed but this is all a lot to deal with. I don’t need a lecture. You’re not my father.” My eyes locate the hole in the wall. The one Dylan made.

  “Sweetheart,” he snarls, “the last thing I want is to be your father. But I’m not going to watch you make a fool of yourself and say nothing.”

  He waits for a response, but I don’t give one. He groans.

  “You’re better than this. All this anger … you and I both have good reasons to question authority, but Henry is a good man and he deserves respect. You punched him in the face, Cori. In front of everyone. You don’t even realize how hard you make it for yourself. You don’t fit in because of things like this. These people used to love you.”

  I pause, not knowing how to answer. His shoulders relax. Dylan pulls me against his chest, speaking against my hair.

  “It was a horrible thing for him to say… I’m sorry.”

  “What am I supposed to do now? What do you do when you’ve built your entire life around fighting? Around running?” I collapse onto the bed again, curling up on my side.

  “You can’t fight a war solely because it’s in your nature to fight,” he says.

  “What am I supposed to do now?” I repeat, exaggerating each word. My voice drops to a whisper. “Am I supposed to garden? Wash dishes? What?”

  Dylan sits beside me with his hands on his knees listening to me prattle on.

  “Am I supposed to tell Tyce to figure it out on his own? Even though it’s my fault they took his daughter?” I sit up. “No, I won’t do that. If Henry won’t help us I’ll find another way. And if you’re against it too, then I guess I’ll see you when it’s over.”

  He takes my hands in his. “I said I’d follow you anywhere and I meant it. I understand you feel responsible, even though you’re not, and I’ll help you anyway I can.”

  “You will?”

  “Haven’t I always?”

  I smile a little. “Where do we start?”

  “Let’s talk to Max.”

  * * *

  When we find Max he isn’t happy.

  “First of all, I can’t believe you punched Henry.” Max looks down at me from the bed of his truck where he is unloading trade goods from Delilah.

  “I promise I’ll apologize.”

  “You gonna punch me too if I don’t hear you out?” He hands a basket of fruit to Dylan, who sets it on the ground. Max’s face is stern. If I didn’t already know, his expression alone would convince me I’d screwed up. Badly.

  I take a deep breath. “Antius has kidnapped twenty people from The City and killed three in the process. This isn’t the first time they’ve terrorized The City and won’t be the last. They are still the ones who killed Mercy’s trade convoy. They are still the enemy we fought but didn’t defeat. And they can still come for us any day. Doesn’t any of that still matter?”

  Max hands Dylan another crate. Stops, pulls a cloth from his pocket to wipe his brow. Even in combat, I’ve never seen Max angry and it’s killing me to see him this way now. Especially knowing I’m the cause.

  I take another step closer to the truck. “The only way to protect this colony and The City is to go after Antius again. And finish it.”

  “Helluva speech, doll,” Tyce says, appearing out of nowhere.

  I glance over my shoulder. Next to Tyce, Dylan’s body has tensed, his face struggling to contain his apparent disdain. And his fists are clenched. Great.

  “I’m disappointed,” Max tells me, taking a quick breath. And it stings to hear it. I admire him. “And I do appreciate the heartfelt explanation…”

  I stop breathing, waiting for the blow. I don’t know if I’ve lost him—I can’t do this without Max.

  The anger in his eyes shifts, softening just a bit. “But I was on board the minute you arrived in Mercy.”

  I exhale the breat
h I was holding. I climb onto the truck bed and hug him.

  “The City’s changed you, hasn’t it?” he says softly.

  “I guess it has.”

  “Young man, will your men fight with us?” Max hops down and takes a step toward Tyce.

  “Course they will. We ain’t got enough, though.” Looking at him—really looking at him standing next to Dylan—I notice the stark differences between the two. Aside from the depth of Dylan’s skin tone compared to Tyce’s pallor, Dylan’s height and build have Tyce easily overshadowed. And Tyce’s grit, his pure testosterone and aggression, make him seem so young in comparison. But I know for a fact he’s deadly too. I’m still not sure how it would turn out if one of them started a fight. I need to make sure that doesn’t happen.

  “That’s okay, son. We’ll find more.” He stretches his hand toward Tyce and they shake on it.

  Dylan’s eyes are unfocused as he stares off to the side working his jaw. When Max looks to him he snaps out of it and forces a smile. Max pats his shoulder.

  “Well then,” Max says, taking a basket from the stack. “Let’s assemble ourselves a militia.”

  Tyce, much to my surprise, grabs a couple of baskets himself and follows Max. Since he’s buddied up to Max I assume he doesn’t want to talk.

  When they walk away, Dylan releases a heavy breath.

  “Are we going to be able to do this? All working together?” I ask him.

  He cracks his neck. “It’ll be fine,” he says stiffly, taking my hand.

  Together, we head inside to Dylan’s room. He starts packing a bag.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t think we’ll be here much longer.” He takes his neatly folded clothes out of the top drawer, organizing them into piles on the bed. When he has emptied his drawer he loads the items into a duffel bag. An extra pair of pants, a few shirts.

  Next he grabs the book at his bedside. I pull the folded papers from my back pocket. “Do you want these back? I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I’m sorry.”