Dissidence

by Jamie Canosa

  I offer him a brief smile, but I’m just too tired to respond. I don’t remember falling asleep. One second I’m watching Connor trying to get comfortable beside me, and the next I’m waking, sprawled out across the leafy ground, and the sun is beginning to set. Connor is nowhere to be seen.

  The unmistakable sound of a twig snapping sends me into a crouch, my muscles all coiled and ready to flee at the first sign of trouble.

  “Connor?” No answer. “Connor?”

  The rustle of fallen leaves, the cracking of tree branches, all undeniable sounds of movement, coming consistently closer, one step at a time. Whatever it is, it’s coming straight for me.

  Chapter 11

  “Connor?” My voice is barely more than a whisper as I strain my eyes to see through the dim light.

  I’m busy mentally conjuring up some ten foot tall snarling beast with horns and fangs and razor sharp teeth. So what if I can’t think of a single creature with all—or any—of those attributes? That doesn’t stop me from nearly giving myself a heart attack.

  “Right here.”

  I take a deep, steadying breath, and almost immediately my relief is clouded by anger. My fists clench at my sides, and the only thought running through my head is that the next time I get locked up it better be for something worth it . . . like murder.

  “Sorry, I went to look for something we could eat, and you know what I found?”

  Once again my feelings shuffle, and apparently hunger outweighs even anger. “Please say food.”

  “Well, yeah actually, but there’s a pre-war town not far from here, too.”

  I’d intentionally tried to steer us further upstream from the development just for safety’s sake, but I’m guessing it can’t be more than a quarter mile away even now.

  “Where do you think I got the water bottles from?”

  Connor stares down at the bottles on the ground beside the stream like it’s the first time he’s really seeing them.

  “Huh.” Articulate. “Wait, you’re telling me you went into the town?” Sherlock himself.

  “Well they weren’t growing on the trees, Connor.”

  “Are you crazy? Do you know how dangerous that was? There could have been . . . You could have been . . .”

  “I know, but what was I supposed to do? I had no way to get the water back to you, and it’s not like I could bring you to the water.”

  Connor stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the one with the dehydrated brain cells here.

  “What did you find to eat?” I ask him, just to break the tense silence stretching out between us.

  “These.” He grudgingly holds out a handful of mismatched berries of varying colors, and sizes.

  Something Sal once told me about some berries being poisonous comes to mind. Eating random berries we just found growing in the forest seems like an exceedingly bad idea, but the hollow ache in my gut demands that I at least take a look. I root through the pile, examining one after another until I find one that looks familiar. I pluck it out of Connor’s hand and inspect it more closely. Sure enough, it’s a blueberry. Just like the ones we used in some of our muffins back at the bakery. I lay out some leaves on the ground, and spread the remaining berries out to look over. In the end, I’m left with a small pile of blueberries and raspberries that I am certain are safe to eat. They’re delicious, flavorful and juicy. Not at all like the frozen ones we had in the colony.

  By the time we’ve finished our tiny meal, night has fallen, and we decide to wait it out. When the sun’s first rays pierce the eastern horizon, the water bottles are refilled, and Connor has already collected some more berries to take along with us. Turning his undershirt into a sort of sack, he strips the bushes clean, and ties them securely to his belt loop.

  ***

  Days pass on foot, and nights asleep on the ground beneath a dense canopy of leaves. Nothing changes, not the routine, not the scenery, not anything. We’re continually careful not to wait so long to seek out sources of water again, and with the help of the water bottles, it ceases to be an issue. The berries last for a while, and we find a few more bushes along the way to replenish our supplies. It’s not exactly a three course meal, but at least they keep the grumbling in our stomachs to a minimum.

  By the fifth—or is it the sixth—day I’m convinced we must have gone off course. The colonies don’t seem small enough to miss from the inside, but when compared to the vast open spaces between them, you start to realize how insignificant they really are. I’m worried we managed to walk right past colony D without ever seeing it.

  We’ve been at it for over seven hours already today, and my entire body is shaking. Rather than a lack of water, this time it’s caused by an excess. The wind was blowing in dark clouds when we set out this morning, and the air has gotten steadily cooler as we’ve walked. For the past three hours or so, we’ve trudged through a relentless downpour. I keep telling myself that it can’t last much longer without flooding the entire planet, and yet it continues to fall. If this keeps up, maybe we can turn some of these trees into an ark, and float our way to colony D. My clothes are saturated and sticking to me in uncomfortable places, my shoes slosh with every step I take, and my entire body feels about a million times heavier than usual.

  The wind is still whipping. Add that to the icy cold rain, and I’m completely frozen. My knees are stiff, and if I don’t keep flexing my fingers, they’re in danger of freezing up entirely into some kind of hooked claws. I’m shivering so hard I’m not sure how I’m still moving. Connor doesn’t appear to be fairing much better beside me. For a while early on he tried to shield me from some of the rain, but after an hour, or so, it became apparent that nothing was going to help, and even he abandoned the effort.

  “Let’s call it a day, Girlie. There’s no reason to get sick. No need to push it.”

  He’s wrong. I do need to push it. I need to know we haven’t been walking all of this time for nothing. I need to assure myself that we’re still on the right track, and not completely and utterly lost as I’m beginning to fear. But he’s also right. It’s not worth getting sick over a few hours of foot time, especially out here on our own. I nod my agreement because I’m pretty sure my jaw is frozen shut, and we start looking for a place to spend the night. After a substantial hunt, we find a tree with foliage so thick it actually manages to block most of the rain like an enormous umbrella, and Connor parks himself against the trunk.

  “Come here. Get under here.” He grabs my arm, and tugs me down beside him.

  I pull my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, trying to work out some of the frostbite in my extremities. Connor’s warm arm wraps around my shoulders, and I feel more than hear him laugh as he scoots closer to me. Up close, his muscles are even more defined through his sopping shirt. His shoulders are broad, but solid, and corded muscles extend down his arms. I guess that’s what happens when you spend all day every day swinging a pick for as long as he has. Pressed up against my side, his whole body is actually radiating heat. How does he manage that? I wonder if it feels like he’s hugging an icicle.

  “You’re freezing.” His hands rub vigorously up and down my arms. Yep, definitely an icicle. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  His warmth is slowly seeping into my body, and making the urge to shut my eyes nearly impossible to fight.

  “I’m tired.” I slip the words out through an extended yawn.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t sleep just yet, Girlie. I’m not sure it’s good to sleep when you’re this cold.”

  Sheesh, overreact much? I’m not that cold. I seriously doubt I’m at any risk of freezing to death here, but I’m just too tired to argue.

  “Why don’t you talk to me for a bit, while you warm up?”

  “What about?” I mumble, still only making a minimal effort to keep my eyes open.

  “Anything . . . what’s our plan once we reach D?”

  I huff a laugh. He wants me to plan? I can bar
ely force a coherent sentence through my chattering teeth.

  “Where will we go first?” Connor prods.

  “The archives building, I guess.” I stifle another yawn, and try to shift away from Connor’s side, but he holds me firmly in place with his heavy arm. I give up the struggle, and snuggle back in. “That’s where Peter works . . . he’ll know what to do.”

  “What about your parents? Don’t you wanna go home, and tell them what’s happened?”

  I shift again, this time succeeding in putting a miniscule amount of space between us, suddenly uncomfortable but more alert. “My parents aren’t in colony D.”

  “What? I thought that’s where you’re from?”

  “It is.”

  “Then where are your parents?”

  I root around my fatigued brain for an easy way out of this conversation, but besides faking sleep—which he won’t let me do anyway—I’m coming up blank. With a weary sigh, I resign myself to the truth. “My dad died . . . three years ago.”

  “Oh . . . I’m sorry.” Connor sounds genuinely remorseful when he says it, not like those people who say it just to have something to say.

  “My mom was paired with a new mate when I was fourteen. She was sent to live with him, so for the past couple of years, it’s just been me.”

  “Unbelievable.” He sounds angry, and I glance up at him, confused. He is angry. “Losing one parent, that’s awful. But for them to send your mom away when she was all you had left, that’s just . . . it’s . . .” He seems to be at a loss for words.

  “It’s not a big deal. I survived just fine on my own.”

  “It is a big deal. You shouldn’t have had to be on your own. It’s not right.” Resentment is rolling off of him in waves. “Those bastards just have to have their say in everything. They don’t give a damn about the lives they’re affecting at all.”

  I want to know what has inspired such indignant outrage, what happened to him to make him so angry, but I’m quickly losing my battle with consciousness. The chill seems to have drained out of my bones, and the goose bumps on my arms have receded, so I risk laying my head on Connors shoulder. The tension in his body immediately eases under my touch.

  “Besides,” I yawn, “if my mother knew about any of this, it would probably give her a heart attack. She always got so worked up every time I opened my mouth around her.”

  Connor shakes with quiet laughter. “Well, I can believe that.”

  He pulls me closer again, tucking me against his side. “Go to sleep, Girlie.” His arm still wrapped around my shoulders, he gives me a slight squeeze before resting his chin on the top of my head.

  I don’t require much convincing. His chest is unyielding beneath my cheek, but in a comforting sort of way. Despite everything, I feel safe as I listen to his steady breathing. My eyes seem to close of their own volition, and I cease to fight the pull of sleep as I continue to leech the warmth right out of Connor’s body.

  ***

  It must be near dawn. Toward the horizon the sky is beginning to illuminate a pale pink color. The rain has stopped, but I can still hear the rhythmic pitter patter of lingering raindrops falling from the leaves above us. The birds are beginning to stir from their day long hibernation, and calling to one another to announce that the coast is clear once again. My head rises and falls steadily with each of Connor’s quiet breaths, telling me he too fell asleep. I can’t blame him. Yesterday was exhausting. When I stretch, a weight shifts near my hip. Connor’s arm is wrapped around my back and across my waist, holding me close. Despite my still damp clothing, I feel warm. Really warm actually. I squirm out from under his blanketing embrace, and Connor wakes with a drawn out yawn.

  “Mornin’, Sunshine.” Connor grins when I roll my eyes at him. “Sorry I fell asleep.”

  “We survived.” I shrug. I’m beginning to wonder what exactly is supposed to be out here that’s so scary.

  The sun inches into the sky little by little, and as it rises, so does the temperature. When we’re certain we won’t freeze to death in our wet clothes, we peel ourselves off the ground, and head east once more. Everything, the leaves, the grass, the bushes, everything seems to shimmer as the sun reflects off of the billions of raindrops still clinging to every available surface. It’s beautiful, like being inside a kaleidoscope. There’s something almost magical about the forest after the rain. It keeps me entranced as we trudge on.

  At some point, I think we’re supposed to turn north, but I haven’t the slightest idea when. Lori was supposed to be our navigator. Thus far, I’ve been following Connor’s lead. The terrifying thought that maybe Connor has only been following my lead this whole time occurs to me just as we near the top of an incline, and it springs into view. A tall, chain link fence.

  Chapter 12

  Every colony has one, or so I’ve been told. Although I’m not entirely sure what exactly it’s supposed to be protecting us from, considering that after nearly a week of hiking through these woods the scariest thing we laid our eyes on was maybe an owl. The only thing the fence is effectively keeping out at the moment is us.

  “How are we going to get in?” Not to state the obvious or anything but . . . “We can’t exactly just knock on the main gate.”

  “We follow the tracks.” Connor states this as though it should have been obvious, which, if I had really thought about it, I guess should have been. The trains are the only way in or out of the colony, so if we follow the tracks, we ought to be able to slip in through the station. At least one of us has given this some thought.

  It isn’t difficult to locate the tracks. A swath is cut through the woods, opening enough space for the supply trains to move easily between colonies . . . or between the work camps and colonies. It’s evening by the time we reach the cement platform where passengers and supplies are loaded and unloaded from the trains. It’s usually heavily guarded whenever a supply train rolls in, but considering we haven’t seen one all day, the station looks nearly deserted. From where we sit, crouched in the brush just south of the platform, I can make out two armed guards, but that’s all, and neither of them look particularly interested in what they are supposed to be guarding.

  Connor and I agree to wait until nightfall before trying to sneak inside, but I’m finding it difficult being so close and yet so far. The last time I was in my home colony, I stood less than fifty yards from where I am now, right there on that platform with Peter. He was begging me not to go, and I told him I’d write. I wonder what he thought when he never got my letter. I wonder what he’ll think when he hears everything I have to tell him now.

  “Sit still, would ya? You’re starting to make me crazy.” I hadn’t even realized I was bouncing on the balls of my feet until Connor spoke up.

  “Sorry.” I settle back down beside him, trying to contain myself. I just can’t wait for this nightmare to be over. “You think it’s dark enough?”

  “I guess so. Besides, if we stay here any longer, I think you may explode.” Connor chuckles quietly when I whack him on the arm.

  “Let’s go then.”

  The platform is nothing more than a slab of cement protruding about four feet above the tracks. Getting up there should prove interesting. I slap my hands down on the platform, and I try to haul myself up using every last ounce of upper body strength I possess. The effort is laughable, as evidenced by Connor’s suppressed amusement. Apparently, all that time swinging a pick did absolutely nothing for my muscle mass.

  The guards are about twenty feet away with their backs to us. Connor motions for me to put my foot in his hands, and then hoists up me, effortlessly, onto the platform. A moment later, he’s pulled himself up beside me. Sticking as low to the ground as possible, which is much easier for me than Connor, we rush towards the edge of the station.

  Rather than risk the clatter of taking the three metal stairs, we opt to leap to the ground. Of course, I land with the grace of a bull in a china shop, twisting my ankle, and nearly toppling over, if not for Connor’
s swift arm wrapping around my waist to hold me up.

  “Where are we headed?” Connor asks once we’ve made it a safe distance from the station and the prying ears of the guards.

  “It’s too late to find Peter at work, and I don’t think we should go to his house.” Just because Peter wouldn’t turn us in, doesn’t mean his parents wouldn’t.

  “So what, go look for him tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, we can try to catch him before he goes into work in the morning.”

  “What about tonight, then?”

  When we hit the next street I realize that, without even thinking about it, my feet have been leading me home.

  “We can go to my house.”

  I’m not even sure it’s still my house. After a pairing, houses are always reassigned, but a girl can hope. Keeping our heads down and sticking to the shadows, we move into the residential district. When we turn onto my street, I’m suddenly overcome by the urge to sprint to my front door and kiss the welcome mat. When did I get to be so sentimental?

  The windows are all darkened, at least that’s a good sign, and we sneak around back. It’s hard to make out anything as I peer through the window, but once my eyes adjust, it’s obvious that the house is still vacant. Finally, something’s going our way.

  I back out of the way as Connor shimmies the window open, and then helps me climb inside. After he follows me in, we shut it as quietly as possible behind us . . . and freeze. One question still remains: What about the cameras? We know they’re here, even if we can’t see them, but are they still functioning now that the house is empty? It makes sense for them to shut the cameras off, but there’s too much at stake to count on them starting to make sense now.

  If nothing else, my trial taught me one thing, that there are at least two rooms they can’t see. Motioning to the stairs, I move as silently as I can to the second story, and into my bedroom with Connor close on my heels. Breathing a sigh of relief, I shut the door behind us, and flop down on my queen-sized bed.