CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THERE’S NO MORE mention of my being special, and I don’t bother to tell the commander how very wrong he is—unless he deems murderers special.
The commander takes Dad forward to walk with him, and every few minutes my father glances over his shoulder, like he expects Drake and me to vanish. Burn still hasn’t said hello.
The hair at the back of my neck remains on alert, as if it’s expecting Comps or Shredders or some unknown danger to leap out at any moment, but nothing scary happens and I have to admit that the atmosphere here is more welcoming than hostile. As we pass, people stare, but we also get nods and smiles. As we descend farther into the Settlement, my neck hairs stand down, the tightly bound muscles in my shoulders unfurl.
Near the bottom of the hill, where the land flattens and the town seems to spread out forever, Drake, Gage, and I are ushered into a building that’s made of stones piled up on each other. The building has windows—with real glass!—and I can’t resist walking over to a window and running my fingers over its surface. So smooth, so hard, yet virtually clear. A few bubbles are scattered inside the glass, and as I move my head to the side, I notice that in some places the glass bends slightly from within, distorting the stones of the building across the street.
The room appears to be a restaurant, but not like the ones in Haven. Here you can sit down to eat and drink. Although I’ve yet to see any food, the mere smell makes my stomach cramp and scream to be filled.
“Hungry?” my father asks. He puts his hand lightly on my shoulder and, for some reason, his tiny gesture sparks tears at the back of my eyes.
He should hate me. He must hate me. How could he not hate me? And yet I can’t find evidence of hate in his words or actions.
Not waiting for me to answer, Dad guides us over to a long bench that looks like it was made from half a trunk of one of the pine trees. After we sit, a man, with a round face and even rounder belly, sets a large black pot at the other end of the table. Steam, carrying the most delicious smell that’s ever hit my nose, rises from the pot and my stomach twists and growls.
The man returns with a stack of bowls. My eyes almost leap out of my head as he starts to ladle liquid, with big chunks of white and green and orange, out of the pot.
“What is it?” Drake asks.
The man laughs as he passes the bowl to the woman at the far end of the other side of the table. “Soup. Chicken and vegetables.”
“Chicken?” I’ve heard the word but can’t remember where.
The man makes a noise that sounds like tut-tut and then passes a bowl to my side of the table. My eyes widen, realizing that everyone’s passing the bowls down. The first bowl will end up in front of Drake, and the second bowl will be mine.
My father, sitting next to Drake, turns to us. “A chicken is a small bird. Its flesh is good to eat and it lays eggs that are tasty, too, and a good source of protein.”
“But,” I say, “there are no living things Outside except Shredders and rats.” I smile at my mistake. I know better now, yet can’t stop reciting what I’ve always been told.
“Oh, you poor kids,” the man serving the soup says.
The man next to me pushes the bowl of soup in front of me. My head snaps back at the scent, then my nose is drawn down to the liquid. I could satisfy my cravings by merely inhaling the scent from this glorious and mysterious concoction.
My father picks up his spoon and dips it into the liquid in his bowl. He blows on the broth to cool it, and then puts it into his mouth. It’s not my first broth, but I’ve never seen soup filled with so many marvelous things and I’m glad for Dad’s demonstration, letting us know it’s okay to eat.
I dip my spoon in and stir, awed at the bowl’s contents. There are chunks of what I now recognize as meat, and I lift a spoonful with one of the orange-colored chunks. I look up.
“Carrot,” my dad says without me having to ask, and I try to reconcile this bright disk with the dried gray cubes I’ve had in my rations.
I slip the spoon into my mouth and the heat of the broth instantly warms my insides, as if it has flowed more places than just down my throat. I bite down on the carrot. The fresh, sweet flavor jumps on my taste buds. Trying another bite, I discover that chicken tastes a lot like rat—except better—and it’s tender, easier to chew.
“Eat up,” says the man with the pot. “There’s lots more where that came from.”
I continue to spoon the food into my mouth, savoring every taste, and I wonder if there will ever again be a time in my life when I’m this happy.
“Drake, you can sleep over here.” Dad points to a mattress against the wall and close to what he’s already told us is a stove that’s used not only for cooking, but also to heat the cottage during winter months. “And Glory, I rigged a curtain for you here so you can have some privacy from us boys.” He pulls back a sheet of blue fabric hung on the other side of the room, to reveal another mattress, raised up off the ground on a legged platform and covered by a clean lavender blanket.
Without even thinking, I dash toward it and run my hand over the blanket’s soft nap. “It’s beautiful.” My father’s beaming, and a rush of memories wash over me. Memories from before our lives fell apart.
Before I ruined our lives.
For my eighth birthday, Mom gave me a new blanket made from scraps she’d salvaged in the factory. It wasn’t as soft as this one, but at the time it was the most luxurious thing I’d ever seen, never mind owned. The Health & Safety people used it to wrap Mom when they took her body away.
I sink to the small rug in front of my bed and bury my face in the edge of the blanket.
My father sits on the mattress and pulls me up from the floor and into his lap. I resist but his hug transfers warmth and comfort—comfort I don’t deserve but accept.
“Why did you do it?” I ask, my voice shaking. “Why did you sacrifice yourself for me?”
He squeezes me more tightly. “You’re my daughter. I would do it again in a heartbeat.”
“I’m so sorry.” Pain constricts my throat and pinches my temples. “I know it’s not enough just to say it, but I’m so, so, so sorry.”
“Oh, Glory.” He hooks his finger under my chin, trying to look into my eyes, but I won’t let that happen, not when I’m feeling so much my eyes sting.
“This is the last time I want to hear you apologize,” he says. “It wasn’t your fault. I won’t hear another word about it.” His words are stern, but his tone isn’t and I press my cheek into his shoulder.
Drake crosses the room. My dad rises, setting me down, and the three of us embrace.
“I’m so happy our family’s together again,” Drake says.
A lump clogs my throat. “But Mom—”
“Nothing,” my father says. “No one can tear our family apart. Not again.”
There’s a knock and Dad lets us go. He opens the wooden door a crack, enough so I can see who it is. The commander nods at my father, who shakes his head sharply then steps outside, closing the door behind him.
“Do you think everything’s all right?” Drake asks but I’ve run out of reassurances.
A few minutes later, my father returns and tells us that he has to leave for a meeting. He suggests we get settled and take a nap. The second that Dad leaves, Drake crosses to his mattress, plops down on his belly, and falls asleep on top of his blanket. I drape mine over his sleeping body, smiling at his splayed legs as he lies as peacefully as a baby.
I’m tired, too, but my mind is moving so quickly I doubt I could sleep. I don’t want to leave Drake alone, but this place seems safe and I’m curious about the Settlement.
When I open the door, I’m temporarily blinded by sunlight and raise my hand to shield my eyes. Burn’s standing about twenty feet away, leaning against the wall of another house and staring at me. Heat traces through my body and I’m not sure if it’s anger, or surprise, or something else entirely.
He crosses over. Once he’s nearer,
his body shades mine from the sun, but I keep my eyes trained on his chest. He’s taken off his signature long coat and several layers of clothing, and even though his T-shirt’s several sizes too big, it can’t hide the definition of his muscular shape. Cal seems like a distant memory. A distant bad memory, and I let myself imagine a life here at the Settlement. A life with my father and brother. A life with safety and security. A life with Burn.
“Hector will be gone awhile,” he says. “Want me to show you around?”
“Yes, please.” This is exactly what I want and I’m surprised that I don’t want to be left alone to explore. Perhaps I have changed over these past days, become someone different—a person who accepts help and trusts others. Here I almost believe it’s possible to do that and survive.
He looks down. “You aren’t afraid?”
“Of what?”
“Of me. What I did to those Shredders.”
“No.” Maybe a bit. “Is that why you ignored me before? Because you thought I’d be afraid?”
He stares at the ground.
“Burn, you saved my life, saved my family.”
His head snaps up, but he quickly looks away to face the road. “What do you want to see first?”
“Where are the chickens?”
“The chickens?” He looks at me like I’m nuts, but then he nods. “I forget so few people in Haven see the agricultural factories.”
A grin spreads on my face. “And we don’t have chickens.”
“Yes, you do. But only Management gets to eat them, and they segregate the farm workers assigned to the chicken coops.”
That might explain a few unexplained disappearances. “Do people who recover in the Hospital go to work in the coops?” Whatever coops are.
“No,” Burn says sharply. “One of the main goals of the army is keeping Haven employees out of that Hospital.”
“Do you know what happens in there?”
“We have our suspicions.”
“Jayma’s brother died in there.” I touch his arm. “What do you think happened to him?”
“You don’t want to know.” His expression turns grim. My hand drops from his arm.
“I do want to know.”
“It’s classified.” He turns to face down the street, and I resolve to keep asking until I have answers. But right now I’d rather focus on happy things, on the Settlement, and forget Haven and the Hospital exist.
Burn continues to answer my questions as he shows me around the Settlement, and I’m shocked to discover there are animals beyond chickens at the farms. Animals I thought were extinct—cows and pigs and goats.
He explains how, when the dust fell, some people managed to protect not only themselves but their animals, and have been carefully breeding them since. I ask more about the Shredder wolf we ran into, but Burn doesn’t really have many answers, except that humans and animals react to the dust in a similar way. A little is okay; too much is bad—causing either death or the madness of addiction.
When we reach the water’s edge, he jumps onto a large rock and reaches down to help me climb up to join him. From there, we sit and watch as the sun starts to set.
“What do you think?” he asks, his voice low.
“It’s wonderful.”
“Not exactly paradise but we get by.”
I don’t know what paradise means, but it seems to me as if getting by here would be easy. Once again, I dream of the future. “What will I do here?” I ask. “Am I too old for GT? Are there training centers? When will I be assigned my work placement?”
He laughs. “You just got here. Why worry about that?”
“Just wondering.” I want to flesh out my dreams of a new life. I want to fall asleep tonight imagining how it will be. Plus, I don’t think I can take any unexpected disappointments. If life here will be even close to as tough as it was in Haven, I want to know now.
“You can do whatever you like,” Burn says. “What do you want to do?”
I turn to him, confused. “What do you mean by ‘whatever I like’?”
“You can look after chickens, help in the fields, work in one of the factories, or the mill. The hospital is always looking for smart people willing to train as doctors.”
I suck in a sharp breath. “There’s a hospital?”
“Yes—but here they actually save people’s lives.”
I’d like to look into his eyes to figure out what he’s thinking, but emotions rise in my chest. Although they’re all warm and happy emotions, I don’t want to risk hurting anyone—ever again.
“What do you do here?” I ask, and then realize I already know the answer. “You’re in the army, right? Will you be gone often?” I wish Burn didn’t have such a dangerous job, and sadness seeps into my heart. I push it away.
He leans back. “I’m not sure anymore.”
“Why?”
“It’s hard for a wanted kidnapper to keep a low profile.”
I look away and drop my head down. Someone else whose life I’ve ruined.
“You okay?” Burn asks and even though I’m filled with emotion, I risk turning toward him. His eyebrows have drawn closer together.
“I’m fine.” I shake my head and smile.
“Good,” he says and, although I’m looking right into his eyes, he’s not showing any signs of physical pain.
Filled with happiness, I reach up to cup his cheek. His breath hitches. Heat grows in his eyes and his breathing accelerates like he’s been running. Worry flashes inside me but I know I haven’t captured his lungs; that’s not what’s heightened his breathing. I know I’m not hurting him, not like that. There’s no telltale stinging behind my eyes, and while I’m aware of Burn—very aware—I’m not locked on to anything inside him, not with my curse.
Hope floods. Maybe I can control my curse. Or maybe good emotions don’t bring it on. I’ve never been certain. Maybe it’s not crazy for me to hope that one day I’ll find love.
Stretching, I lift my lips toward Burn’s. He tenses but I trace my lips over the rough surface of his, nibbling along them with small kisses, coaxing his into action. His large hands trace up the sides of my body, like he’s afraid to hurt me, or lose control, and yet his gentle touch ignites trails of pleasure and joy.
My fingers drift over his T-shirt and he’s so warm, so hard, and my body sparks inside and grows lighter like I’ve returned to the lake and I’m floating, drifting free as his hands slide tentatively, carefully, tenderly.
I lean closer, pulling him toward me, my hands on his broad back. I need to show him how much I want this, that I’m ready, that I want to be kissed—really kissed. I draw back to look into his eyes. He doesn’t need to be afraid. I won’t hurt him.
The instant our eyes meet, his hand lifts and wraps around the back of my head, then his lips capture mine in a strong kiss. He tastes salty and hot and I can’t believe I thought kissing Cal felt good. This is so much better. Sensations ignite that I can barely describe, and although Cal is technically older, it’s like Cal is a boy and Burn is a man.
His lips grow demanding, his touch bold, tracing over my back, my hips, my legs, pulling me against him. His back muscles flex under my touch, almost like they’re expanding.
My eyes snap open. He is expanding. His eyes are still full of the heat I saw earlier but they’ve darkened. The tenderness is gone—completely gone. He lunges and presses me back against the surface of the rock.
I try to shout, but my mouth’s covered by a kiss so aggressive it’s as if he’s trying to steal my air, trying to inhale me, consume me. Pinned between the cold stone and the heat emanating from Burn, my body implodes with fear.
I struggle and push, but he presses against me with too much force. I grab his head in my hands and push back, hoping he’ll look at me, recognize me, realize what he’s doing. He lifts his head but his expression fills me with terror.
In it, I see nothing of Burn. His eyes have darkened, his skin has thickened and his expression has turned his featur
es grotesque, like the gargoyles hanging from the lower parts of some of the oldest surviving buildings in Haven. It’s like Burn’s not there at all. He’s been replaced, taken over by a monster. A monster that kills.
But I’ve caught his gaze. My curse comes to the rescue and I focus hard on his eyes, keeping him trapped. His blood races quickly through his veins, like it’s running from fire, and I take hold of the closest organ—his brain—and tighten.
Roaring, he pushes back from me but doesn’t let go, and anger joins his animalistic expression, twisting his once handsome features. Fires rage in his eyes, but in spite of his physical strength, the one thing he can’t do is break eye contact. I’ve got him.
I don’t want to kill him. But if I don’t, he might hurt or kill me.
Dizziness takes hold and my focus fades. If I pass out while he’s this monster, he’ll rape me, kill me. My mind floods with anger almost like it’s coming directly from Burn. I can’t let anger win. I’m losing control.
Don’t hurt me, I think. Burn, it’s me, Glory. You don’t want to hurt me. I don’t want to hurt you.
His face contorts and twists, and I imagine a moment of lucidity in his eyes, a moment of recognition. I pray that I’m right.
Taking the risk, I release his gaze and he leaps off the rock and races into the twilight.
Drawing my knees into my chest, I rock, trying to stay conscious, trying to reconcile what just happened, trying to sort through the roller coaster of sensations inside my body. Burn’s transformation isn’t just about getting bigger and stronger—he turns into an actual monster. The Burn I know wasn’t there.
I was crazy to think he could ever be mine.
I’ve always assumed my curse would keep me from finding love, but in this case my Deviance isn’t the problem—Burn’s is. He becomes far too dangerous.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE NEXT MORNING I wake tired and bruised, but I hear Dad and Drake talking on the other side of my curtain. Realizing I’m finally safe from the Comps and Shredders, realizing our family is together, soothes my physical pain. Too bad it can’t wipe my memory. This time, I wish my curse had triggered a memory-zapping blackout.
Deviants (The Dust Chronicles) Page 21
