Dissidence

by Jamie Canosa

  This used to be my parents room, but after they were gone, I figured why let the master bedroom go to waste? In my mad dash to get everything I owned packed up, I must have overlooked the bedding I was sleeping on. The sheets are still tangled at the foot of the bed, but at least they’re here. I wonder what happened to the rest of it. Doubtful they’re holding all of my boxes in storage for me somewhere. The idea of some government crony rummaging through my belongings turns my stomach.

  “Sooo . . .” Connor is still standing near the door eyeing me and the bed. The one bed. “I can take the floor if you want.”

  “Don’t be stupid.” I sigh. “It’s big enough for the two of us, and it’s not like we haven’t been sleeping next to each other on the ground for the past week.”

  “You sure?”

  “How many times did you let me use your bed back at the camps? I can at least share mine with you.”

  Without needing any further encouragement, Connor flops down on the bed beside me and sighs loudly. “Wow, this feels great.”

  I can’t help but laugh at the goofy grin on his face.

  “Do you think we can risk a shower?”

  Connor twists to face me, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

  “The hall . . . do you think there are cameras in the hall between here and the bathroom?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He thinks about it for a minute before adding, “I’m guessing we’re going to have to take that risk sooner or later anyway.”

  Not two seconds after he finishes speaking, I feel the pressure in my bladder and sigh. He just had to put the thought in my head. I guess now is as good a time as any. “I’m going.”

  “All right. Just be quick about it. You don’t wanna get caught in the shower if a bunch of security officers show up at the front door.” Connor laughs like it’s a joke, but it immediately becomes a legitimate concern for me.

  I race down the hallway, barely daring to breathe, and slip into the bathroom. It’s difficult to see what I’m doing in the dark, but I’m not about to risk turning on a light. Fumbling around, I manage to get the water to an acceptable temperature, and slip out of my filthy uniform. There isn’t any soap or shampoo, but the hot water alone feels marvelous. I can just imagine the weeks’ worth of dirt and grime washing from my body. I stand there as long as I dare before nerves over take me and I shut the water off. No towels either. Fantastic. I wring out my hair as much as I can, and find a forgotten loose hair tie in the medicine cabinet over the sink to tie it back in a sopping wet ponytail.

  The idea of putting my dirty clothes back on skeeves me out, so I slip back into my undergarments and hope that it’s dark enough to conceal the rest of me. I use the bathroom sink to scrub the other garments as clean as I can without any kind of soap, and then drape them over the shower rod to dry.

  “About time, I was just . . .” Connor trails off midsentence as I rush back into the bedroom. Apparently it’s not as dark in here as I had hoped.

  “Shut up. I washed my clothes in the sink, and they’re drying. And stop staring at me!”

  He immediately shifts his eyes to the floor, clearing his throat several times before speaking again. “I’m gonna go in now.”

  “All right.” I’m still hovering near the door, afraid to get any closer to the bed in my state of undress with Connor still sitting on it.

  I slide out of his way as he moves past me. He never lifts his eyes from the floor directly in front of him, but I can still see the amused grin playing on his lips. The moment he’s out the door, I dive into the bed and pull the sheets up around me. I hear the groan of the pipes as he turns the water on, but I never hear it turn off.

  ***

  My eyes feel like they’ve been glued shut, my entire body aches in rebellion at the idea of moving an inch, and the bright morning light is piercing my retinas even with my eyelids closed. What time is it? I roll over, fully expecting to be greeted by my cat clock’s smiling face, but the nightstand is bare. Everything comes rushing back, and I shoot upright, the sheet pooling around my waist. I glance down at myself. I’m still only wearing my bra and underwear. Beside me, I hear Connor groan, and I snag the sheets, pulling them back up to my chin. He rolls over in his sleep, completely uncovering himself. He’s laying there beside me in nothing more than a pair of black boxers. Oh, wow! Without a shirt on, his muscular form is even more remarkable. Connor is ripped, but not in a scary meathead way. In a very . . . impressive way. His light hair is flopped over his forehead and partially covering his eyes. I have the sudden urge to brush it back, and shake myself, realizing I’ve been staring far too long. Who stares at people while they’re sleeping, seriously?

  Climbing out of the bed before Connor can catch me embarrassing myself, I hurry to the bathroom. After surviving last night, I’m feeling more confident about the upstairs in general. My clothes are still slightly damp, but I can live with that. I slip the matching gray pants and t-shirt on, and head back to the bedroom, determined to wake Connor so we can get going.

  “Connor.” I nudge his arm, but he doesn’t respond. “Connor!” I shove him harder and this time he grumbles something unintelligible at me. “Connor, get up. Let’s go, or I’m going without you.” This gets his attention, and he forces his eyes open to look at me.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find Peter,” I tell him, exasperated.

  “Not without me, you’re not.”

  “Then get up!”

  “All right, all right. I’m coming. Keep your panties on.” A lopsided smirk splits his face, and I groan in defeat. I’m never going to hear the end of last night.

  “Can we just get going already?”

  “I’m going,” he yawns, dragging himself out of the bed with exaggerated effort.

  “And, by the way . . . you’re naked,” I tease.

  He glances down at himself. “I’m not naked.”

  “Close enough.”

  Connor shoots me a crooked grin, and somehow I feel like this has been turned around on me.

  “Oh, just go get dressed so we can get out of here,” I huff, and I can hear Connor laughing all the way down the hall.

  ***

  We reach the archives building just in time. After squirming out the second story window in my bedroom, and lowering ourselves from the overhang to the ground—not as easy as it sounds—we join the flow of early morning pedestrian traffic headed for the business district. I watch one after another employee file into the building, none of them Peter. My nerves are just about shot by the time the crowd starts dwindling. Peter’s never late for work.

  A short guy with dark hair around our age is racing up the street in a desperate attempt to make it to work on time. I vaguely recognize him. I think his name is Paul, or Phil, or something. He went to school with us, and I’ve seen Peter talking to him now and then. Slipping into his path, I intercept him before he can duck into the building.

  “Hey, have you seen Peter?” I’m shooting for nonchalant, but don’t really pull it off.

  “Huh?” His eyes keep flicking between me and the door, clearly trying to decide if he should just blow me off.

  “Peter . . . have you seen him.”

  “Oh, uh, no . . . Peter moved, didn’t you hear? He went to live with his mate.” Paul / Phil tries to sidestep me, but I move with him.

  “What do you mean he moved, why would he have to move?”

  “I don’t know. Listen, I can’t really talk right now. Sorry.” He attempts to slip past me again, and this time I let him.

  “So, where is he?” Connor asks as I rejoin him near the statue of some guy on a horse. I have no idea who he’s supposed to be. All I know is he’s butt ugly. You’d think if they were going to make a statue of someone, they’d at least make him look good.

  “Girlie?” Connor prods, dragging me back from my wandering thoughts.

  “He’s not here,” I say the words, still not entirely sure I believe them.

  “What
do you mean he’s not here? Where is he?”

  “I don’t . . .”

  “What did he say?”

  “Connor,” I snap. I can understand his anxiety. It wasn’t just me we were counting on Peter to save, but at the moment, it’s just aggravating. “Can we save twenty questions for later? I have to think.”

  “So, what are we going to do now?”

  “I still have to find Peter.” I didn’t realize how invested I was in this plan until the words pop out of my mouth.

  “How are you supposed to find him if you don’t even know where he is? Is there anyone else you can ask?”

  “There may be someone.” My stomach is in knots just thinking about it, but what choice do I really have?

  ***

  The bakery looks exactly the same. Same plate glass window front wall, same display cakes, same steady stream of customers pouring in and out. Funny how life just goes on without you. It’s impossible to see who’s behind the counter because of the morning glare, but I hope to hell it’s not Marcus.

  “Okay, are you sure you want to do this?”

  “Why not?” Connor shrugs, but it’s hard not to notice his tense posture.

  “I’d go in, but if Marcus spots me, we’re done for.”

  “It’s fine. How complicated can it be to ask the guy at the register if his name’s Sal, and then tell him you’re out here, waiting for him?”

  I just shrug, knowing that if things don’t go the way I’m hoping they do, it could get very complicated. Crouched behind the wide oak, I hope the evil demon spawn boss from hell, Marcus, won’t see me. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t really that bad, and maybe most of the animosity between us came from my side, but anyone that efficient at torturing me with human interaction on nearly a daily basis for over three years must be at least loosely related to the devil. There’s not a doubt in my mind that he would call security in a heartbeat if he knew I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.

  “Kaleigh?” I jump a mile, half expecting to be faced with Marcus and a squad of security officers, but it’s just—

  “Sal!”

  “What’s going on, Kaleigh? I thought you went to live in E? What are you doing back here?”

  “It’s a long story, Sal.”

  “I took my lunch break, so I’ve got thirty minutes. Make it quick.”

  I launch into the Cliffs Notes version of my life over the past month, glossing over the details, and focusing mainly on explaining the work camps since Sal seems to be having the most trouble with that part. I can’t say I wouldn’t be skeptical, too, if I hadn’t lived it myself.

  “So you broke out of the work camp and came back here?”

  “Basically.”

  “Now what? Are you going to tell the authorities?”

  “I think they already know.” I point out the obvious cautiously, giving Sal the time he needs to process and accept what I’m telling him.

  “Oh, right. Huh . . . wow.” Sal’s staring off into the distance, clearly stunned, and obviously not focusing on the problem here.

  “Sal, I need to find Peter.”

  “He’s not here.” Sal tells me, suddenly snapping back to attention now that we’re on a topic he can handle.

  “I know. Where is he? Why did he have to move?”

  “From what I’ve heard,” Sal gets this gleam in his eye, just like he always does when he’s about to spread a good piece of gossip, “his mate has some kind of disability, so she couldn’t move. He had to go to her over in colony L.”

  Sal goes on and on about everything everyone has ever said about this ‘mate’ of Peter’s, but I don’t hear a word of it. Colony L. Peter was sent to colony L. But, not to meet his mate. Lori mentioned that she’s worked there before. Worked. Peter’s in a work camp.

  Chapter 13

  The look on Connor’s face tells me he’s reached the same conclusion. I let Sal go on, refusing to interrupt him, refusing to burden him with any more of the truth. We’ve already shared too much of that with him. When I finally pull myself back together enough to focus, I realize Sal’s staring at me.

  “Huh?”

  “I asked, when’s the last time you ate something?”

  “Oh, uh . . . the other day.”

  “Stay right here.” Sal’s gone before I can form a thought coherent enough to stop him.

  A few minutes later, he’s back with a paper bag, which he shoves into my hands. Inside are two cinnamon raisin bagels, my favorite. “I have to get back to work before Marcus comes looking for me. Is there anything else I can do to help?”

  “I . . . um . . . I need to get to colony L.” I spit the words out before I can think too hard about what I’m saying.

  Connor stares at me like I’ve completely lost it, and maybe I have, but I refuse to acknowledge him.

  “You’re serious about finding him, huh?” Sal asks, sounding amused, sheltered by his blissful ignorance. “I may be able to help you with that, actually. Marcus has me in charge of supplies now. There’s a train headed down that way tomorrow. I’m going to be dropping off a bunch of crates with our shop logo for them to fill with our order. Our grain comes from somewhere down near colony L.” I’m pretty sure the grain comes directly from colony L, but I don’t bother correcting him. “If it’s really that important to you, I can probably sneak you on in one of those.”

  “That would be great, Sal. Thank you.” Again I force the words out in a rush before I can change my mind.

  “Meet me at the station at dawn, then. We’ll have to have you loaded up before the train arrives.” I consider hugging the man, but it’s just too weird, so I thank him one more time before he excuses himself to go back to work.

  Once we’re alone, the tension becomes unbearable. Connor just stares at me for several seemingly endless minutes, and I can see his emotions as they scroll through his eyes one after the other . . . confusion, hurt, anger, outrage. Then his mouth presses into a firm line and he glares at me.

  “What the hell are you thinking?”

  “Connor, I . . .”

  “You know what colony L is. I saw it on your face, so please tell me, what are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking my friend is in trouble. I’m thinking it’s my fault, and he needs help. I’m thinking I’m not leaving him there to rot.”

  “You’re thinking of going back into a work camp. After we just got out of the last one. That is the stupidest, most . . .”

  “Enough!” I shout, and Connor freezes, apparently stunned by my outburst. “I know it’s stupid, and idiotic, and a huge risk. I know that, all right?”

  “Then why do it?”

  “Because . . . I have to.”

  “No you don’t. We can just disappear. Try to blend in here, or go back out into the woods. We could crash in one of those pre-war towns for a while. We could make it work. This . . . this is suicide, at best. You know what they’ll do to you if they find out what you’ve done?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I tell him quietly.

  “It matters to me.” His voice softens. His whole face has softened.

  “It doesn’t matter if they kill me for trying this because I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t. Can you understand that?”

  Connor takes a deep breath, and shuts his eyes. He appears to be counting to ten, trying to hold back whatever it is he really wants to say. When he opens them again, he only nods.

  ***

  That night, before going to bed, we agreed to sleep in shifts. Without the aid of an alarm clock, it seemed like the best way to ensure we didn’t oversleep, but when Connor finally wakes me, I can tell I’ve been sleeping a long time . . . too long. Panicked, I sit up in bed and look around the room. It’s still dark.

  “What?” Connor laughs. “Thought I let you oversleep? I thought about it,” he admits with a shake of his head. “This is by far the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

  “It’s the only one I’ve got,” I tell him, rubbing the sleep from my eyes
and still trying to orient myself “What time is it?”

  “It should be dawn soon.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

  “I wasn’t tired.” His words may have been slightly more convincing had he not yawned them.

  “Uh huh.”

  “Besides, I like watching you sleep.”

  “You know that’s creepy, and I’m never going to be able to sleep again now, right?”

  Connor just smirks, and tosses me my folded pants. I opted to sleep in at least the shirt last night. Good thing, since apparently he’s a nighttime perv.

  “We’d better get going if we’re gonna meet your friend.”

  I yank on my clothes, and once again, we climb out the rear window. As we walk through the predawn mist, I wonder what Connor will do once I’m gone. Will I see him again when this is all over . . . if it’s ever over? I glance up at him beside me. He’s staring straight ahead with a stubborn set to his shoulders. He still doesn’t like this plan. To be honest, I’m not a huge fan of it myself, but at least he isn’t going to try and stop me.

  As we head toward the station, the sky starts turning the early morning colors of sunrise: pink and pale blue. It’s beautiful. The last time I made this walk, it was with Peter. I should have listened to him then. I should have trusted him. I guess my problem is that I don’t really trust anyone, not entirely, anyway. I have this habit of thinking of people as stupid in general—not that I’m any better than the rest of them. The only thing I’ve got going for me is that I know I’m doing something stupid when I do it . . . like right now.

  “You’re here. I was beginning to think you changed your mind.” Sal’s standing on the vacant platform beside a stack of wooden crates. “You still can, you know, change your mind.”

  “No, Sal, I’m not changing my mind, but thanks for your help.”

  “Well, then we’d better get you loaded up before anyone sees you.” He kicks a crate near his feet that can’t be any larger than three foot by three foot. It’s going to be a tight squeeze.