by Dan Krokos
Noah is about to say more, but he’s staring at Peter funny. Then I see it—something is sticking out of Peter’s neck. Peter reaches up to touch it, then his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses onto his back. His head thumps against the dirt.
“Cover!” Noah says.
I react instantly, backpedaling and curling around a tree, crouching low, holding my staff at my side. Noah and Olive have disappeared. I breathe slowly through my nose and let my eyes scan the trees for any threat. They keep straying to Dr. Tycast’s body, which still leans against the tree trunk a few feet away.
And Peter—oh God. The initial reflex has faded and now I see him with the dart in his neck. It could be poison; he could be dead. I fight to keep my breath even. I can’t lose it now, not out here, with all of us under attack. My scan of the trees just shows leaves and more leaves.
Noah grunts. Then I hear the sharp crack of wood against wood. I burst from my hiding spot and step onto the dirt path with my staff held close. Noah stands ten feet away. In front of him, between us, is someone wearing a black bodysuit identical to ours, down to the little scales. A cowl covers her head. I can only tell it’s a girl from the shape of her body.
Behind Noah is an exact clone of the first black suit, a male; since he’s facing me, I see his scaled face is featureless except for two smoked lenses over the eyes. Both suits hold staves like Noah, only theirs have knives on the end. Why do we have the low-end model?
Noah parries a front attack from the girl, then takes an unblockable hit in his back from the male. He groans, stumbling forward. Olive bursts from the tree line, her staff a spinning blur. I’m on the black-suited girl, who’s had her back to me all along. My staff comes down on top of her head and she screams behind her mask.
The cheap shot doesn’t slow her, apparently, because she spins toward me, sweeping her staff low over the ground to take out my legs. I jump as it passes under me, and since I’m already in the air I plant a semi-solid kick on her chest. She staggers back, knocking into Noah, who engages the other black suit with Olive. The continual crack and slap of wood rings outs like a drumroll. The girl trips over Noah’s leg and falls into an awkward somersault.
If this is the Beta team, why are there only two? I watch Olive thrust the end of her staff into the male’s chest; he goes down with a violent grunt. The girl takes a whole second to stand after her tumble. Against the three of us working together, she has no chance.
I want to laugh, but something isn’t right. It shouldn’t be this easy. I glance over my shoulder to check on Peter, and see it isn’t.
Two other black suits stand over him, another guy and girl. I catch a glimpse of eyes before the guy’s lenses darken. I remember those eyes. Pale blue, too blue—almost fake. Before I can remember anything further, both of them are on me. I snap my staff from side to side, picking off their thrusts and blunt slashes, but they’re as fast as I am. One of them reaches out, holding a dart identical to the one in Peter’s neck. I jerk my head back before it can prick me, but the movement unbalances me. A blade cuts through my jeans, scrapes the side of my knee.
I’m falling.
Noah catches me. He doesn’t hold me for long, just enough to break my fall. Then he slashes back and forth again, driving the black suits away. Olive sneaks in behind them and heaves Peter up. She wrestles him over her shoulder and slips into the forest. Behind me, the first two black suits stagger upright, dazed. The girl clutches her head.
“Noah, come on!” I don’t wait, just sprint into the trees and run and run and run. Noah’s feet pound the dirt behind me. Our only chance is to lose them. A dart pierces a tree trunk five feet ahead of me. I flow around the trunk without losing speed. The forest is a green blur, and the only sound is our feet landing lightly on dead leaves and dirt. I zig and zag and Noah keeps pace and I know we have to escape together. I think we’re losing them. A few more twists. Whatever I am and whatever we’re supposed to do, it doesn’t end in this forest. It can’t.
The river roars up ahead, and I coax a little more power from my muscles. I’m not even breathing heavily. Part of me feels alien because I don’t know what I’m fully capable of. My body seems to have its own memory, one still intact.
The speed burst carries me through a tangle of branches to open ground that ends at a gray-brown river flowing right to left. With the next step, I leap from the bank and soar over the river, straightening my body into a dive, thrusting my hands out in case the murky water is shallow. I cut into the rushing water and submerge. I’m lucky—no bottom found. The current tries to push me to the surface, but I pump my arms and legs, fighting to stay under. The cold water stings my eyes and nose; I can’t see anything but brown.
A hand closes over my wrist. I jerk away. See a T-shirt through the murk.
Noah.
I blow out my air so I don’t bob back to the surface and reveal our location to the suits. Noah keeps his hand tight around my wrist. Bubbles surge around me. My chest grows tight. It’s so much harder to hold your breath when there’s no breath to hold.
Noah orients himself over me, and we scrape along the bottom. I open my eyes and see him through the haze of dirty water.
I have to go up.
I have to break the surface and fill my lungs.
But I don’t know how far we’ve traveled. Maybe not far at all. If we surface now, they might see that we didn’t cross the river. I should have kept running.
I jerk in Noah’s arms. I’m drowning, I know it. Can’t hold my breath any longer. I pull free, fighting and clawing at him, anything to make him let me go. I have to reach the surface. But his hands hold me tight, and for one sick moment I think he’s trying to kill me. A rock on the bottom scrapes my neck hard, and as my lips part to gasp, Noah puts his mouth on mine. He blows his hot breath into my mouth just as I inhale. Just in time. My lungs still burn, but not as badly, and I can take it. Here, scraping along the bottom of a river, lips on my once-boyfriend who gives me his air, I realize I’m not going to drown, not yet. He keeps his lips on mine, allowing me to give a little back. Then his mouth isn’t just on mine, it’s moving. He’s kissing me. And I’m kissing him. We forget about breathing. A phantom memory hits me—
I unlace my shoes on my bunk. We’ve just finished a workout, a run followed by thirty minutes of sparring. A layer of chilled sweat covers me. Noah stretches on the floor in front of me, shirtless. His muscles are lean and hard, more compact than Peter’s. The ridges in his abs make sharp shadows.
I’m tugging on my laces when Noah grabs my leg and pulls me off the bunk. I catch myself with my hands before my butt hits the floor. He pulls me on top of him.
“You’re all sweaty,” I say.
He has a bruise on his cheek from where I failed to pull a punch. Peter and Olive will be back soon. Our relationship is still secret. We hide it from them because everything the four of us do, we do together. We aren’t ready to change things. Noah is patient. Tension grips both of us, because Peter and Olive could come in at any second. He pulls me down for a kiss and I taste the sweat on his upper lip.
“I wanted to tell you something,” he says.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“I’m in love with you. I love you.”
I stare at him for a moment, this boy who grew up as my brother. We watched each other grow into weapons, into something so honed we’re afraid of what our bodies can do. Every moment worth remembering was spent with him.
And now he says he loves me, and I know I love him too. So I say it.
“I love you too.”
The memory fades quicker than it comes, and we’re still under the water. Even as panic threatens to overtake me completely, I have time to feel the loss. The love I felt in the phantom stays with me. It’s real. And yet . . .
He took it away. He threw it away.
So why can’t I leave the feeling behind?
This is the first memory I feel like I can claim. I’ve accepted the other phantoms as
true, but this is different. Heavier.
The breath is gone now, enough of it escaping that we’re left clutching at each other, on the verge of drowning. Mindless panic swoops in. I have to get free. I break away—he lets me go this time—and kick once to the surface. Cold air hits my cheeks as Noah splashes up beside me. I spin around, gasping as we float downriver, swallowing great lungfuls of air that taste so good. The banks seem clear, no black suits in sight. But no Peter and Olive, either.
I sink lower in the water, hiding the parts that don’t breathe. I taste the dirt in the water, Noah’s breath and kiss. I’m afraid to look at him.
We drift. Neither of us says a word.
We pretend it’s in case the black suits are still near.
13
We don’t talk after we’re out of the water, not right away. We’re on the bank, hidden by an outcropping of rock. A kind of cave that’s open to the sky. I strip off my long-sleeved T and wring it out, shivering, until the sun warms me through my armor. Water beads on the scales like glowing pearls.
Noah stands at the edge of the rock shelf, pretending to scope out the banks upriver.
Before I can stop, I say, “You know, if you hadn’t stolen everything I am, we would still be together.”
Noah stiffens but stays quiet. I watch the tendons flex in his jaw. I’m not sure why I said that; I don’t have to punish him. At the same time, it feels good to see his regret. His doubt. He can’t take back what he did. So what’s a little hurt feelings over my lost memories?
“You’re still you,” he says, now looking the opposite way down the river. “Same old Miranda. Your memories don’t make you who you are.”
I search for a comeback. Pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin on them instead. I reach behind me and squeeze water out of my hair. It feels gritty and slick with river mud.
My mind keeps going back to how familiar his lips felt, how I recognized his kiss. And I can’t help wondering exactly how familiar he is with me. I don’t know what it was like to be with him all the time, or what we’ve done together. The kiss didn’t stir up forgotten memories for him either; according to just about everyone, we were together a week ago. It was probably normal to him. I find myself jealous; he has that over me, he can know everything about our past, and I can have only glimpses.
So I ask just before I chicken out. “Did we have sex?”
I feel myself blushing as the seconds pass.
Finally he smirks. Not exactly what I want to see at the moment. “No. Phil said it was forbidden.”
Suddenly I remember the dream-memory of Noah in my bed. I told him No, but can’t remember why.
Noah looks pained for an instant, just like Peter had before digging out my tracker. Peter. Here we are trading barbs instead of searching for Peter and Olive.
He crouches, keeping his eyes on the tree line upriver. His voice is quiet.
“Phil taught us most of our hand-to-hand combat skills, some swordplay too. He said our power came from within, that sex would diminish it, and also ruin whatever relationship we had as a team. Shaolin monks figured out the power thing a long time ago. He was probably just saying that to keep us in line, but we were too competitive with each other to risk it.” A pause. He pivots on the balls of his feet, half-facing me. “Not that you didn’t want to.”
My neck prickles with sweat. I look away. “Well I don’t now.”
“You remembered,” he says. “When I kissed you under the water, you remembered a little what it was like with me. I could feel it in your lips.”
“Whatever I felt doesn’t matter.”
“Yes it does.”
“No, because whatever was between us is reset. I don’t know you.” I stand up, fighting to keep my voice down. “Why did you do it, Noah? Why did you think you had that right? We grew up together. You knew I could take care of myself. You knew I’d want to stand by you guys and figure things out together.” I can only assume that last part is true. If it’s how I feel now, it’s how I would’ve felt then. I would’ve wanted that chance, the choice to fight beside them.
He stares at the rock under our feet, unfocused, like he’s trying to decide something. He rises from his crouch and walks to me.
“What is it?” I finally ask.
“What if I said...what if you gave me permission? What if I’d asked you, and you’d said yes?”
“Said yes to erasing my memories?” No. No way. He’s lying.
He takes my hands and rubs his thumbs over the backs of my knuckles. I want to pull away, I even try a little, but Noah holds me fast. He’s closer now, only a foot between our faces.
“Remember?” he says. “You have to. Try to remember. We were on the train. Do you remember the train?”
I picture a train in my head, the one we surfed at night. Nothing else comes. I want him to be right, but I don’t see it.
“I asked you a question. If I had to do something, something you wouldn’t like, something you’d disagree with, but I believed would keep you safe, and me safe, so we could stay together. I asked you that, and I said, Would you trust me?”
Finally, falling into his eyes, the memory comes.
We’re in a train yard, on top of an old rusted car off the tracks. We snuck out again. To my right, a train rumbles past, wheels scraping down the rails. The metal vibrates under us. I’m nestled in the crook of Noah’s arm, on our backs as we look up at the stars. He’s been distant tonight, distracted.
I turn into him more, draping my arm over his chest. His hand strokes my hair, tracing a line around my ear.
“What’s wrong?” I finally say.
“Nothing.”
“Noah,” I say.
After a while, he sighs. “There’s something I have to do.”
“What is it?” My right ear is over his heart. I hear it pound a little faster.
“It’s something awful, and unfair, and selfish. But I think it might be the right thing. For us.”
“Okay. So tell me.”
“I can’t tell you. I can’t.”
I get up on one elbow, looking down at him. He tilts his head toward me. I lean down and give him three slow kisses. “You can tell me anything,” I say.
“I can’t,” he says. “But I need you to trust me. I need to know if you can trust me to make a decision. A hard one. I guess what I’m asking is, Would you trust me?”
I kiss him one more time. The train disappears down the track. The rumble fades with it.
“I trust you,” I say.
Back in the present, tears run down my cheeks. “If I’d known...” I say. The memory ended abruptly. I have no idea what happened after. If I just agreed, or if I pried for more information...
Or if I trusted him, exactly like I said.
“You trusted me,” Noah says. He wants some sign of forgiveness or understanding, I’m sure. And part of me wants to give it to him. I just don’t think I can yet, or what it’ll mean when I finally do.
I wipe the tears away. We can’t do this now. Our friends are out there, who knows where, and they need us. A trip down memory lane doesn’t make our problems go away.
“You made your choice,” I say with as much finality as I can muster. And he did. Trust or not, I never would have agreed to stripping my identity. But remembering what happened, it’s harder to be mad at him.
He looks upriver again. The banks are still clear, and I’m done waiting to be found. I run to the edge of the rock and jump onto the bank, throwing my damp shirt over my shoulder. My jeans stay on in case we make it back to civilization.
The stones shift and clap under my feet, too loud. I pick my way along the shore, hoping I can find my friends before the sun goes down.
“That’s what people do when they’re in love,” Noah calls after me. “They make crazy decisions. They do what they think is best, and sometimes it turns out to be a mistake. Miranda.” I stop. And turn. He stands on the rock above me.
“Just tell me you won’t hate me fore
ver. Tell me it’s not over between us.”
I want to say the words. I even think them. It’s over. Because how could it not be? But all I can say is, “I don’t know. Please,” before starting up the bank again. The sadness is in my chest and the only thing I can do is walk. I slip into the trees for cover. Eventually Noah catches up and we walk side by side in silence.
He finds something else to talk about. Something obvious. Something that saves us from discussing any memories or declarations of trust. “You know, we don’t have much time left on those shots.”
“So I’ve heard,” I say. “You didn’t happen to snag any when you left the first time, did you? Because that would be really convenient.”
“I did...”
We make it another ten steps without him elaborating. I duck under a low branch.
“But,” I say.
“But I lost them in our escape. We had to fight one of Tycast’s security. My bag, it... Well, it spilled, and...”
My mouth falls open. “So if Peter hadn’t found you, you guys would’ve lost your memories too.”
Noah’s hand brushes mine on the forward swing, but I can’t tell if it’s intentional. “We would’ve come back before then. But the shots we brought gave us time.”
“And you didn’t invite Peter because...”
“I told you why.”
“But you trust him now?”
It feels like we’re wandering, but we’re not. We’re taking a roundabout route, back the way we came; considering how long we were in the water, we know Olive and Peter have to be in this direction. I wait for Noah to answer while my eyes flit over the trees. Dead leaves coat the forest floor, crackling underfoot. It’s hard to see footprints in the low light.
“Noah,” I say.
“Sure. I trust him.”
I look at him. He stops and I stop. The corner of his mouth turns up in a forced, uncomfortable smile. Then his eyes narrow, and I feel it too.
A fear wave. It’s weak, but with the now-familiar scent of roses. And it seems like I can feel what direction it’s coming from.
