by E. R. Arroyo
The climb down is easy, but I slip a few times and my hands sting when I catch my grip again. Once I’m about four feet off the ground, I give up the shimmying and just let go, landing hard and dipping forward to catch my balance.
I move out of the way while Dylan climbs the last of the distance down, and he doesn’t jump until he’s a foot off the ground. Immediately, he drops to his knees, his hands extending across the street. His head dips between his arms while he breathes heavily. I rub his sweat-covered back to comfort him.
The rest of the bridge is a breeze by comparison, and eventually it leads us onto a street that goes through an area with tons of houses, seemingly crammed in side-by-side in rows. Most are piles of rubble, with a few that are fire-damaged beyond repair. Dilapidated chain-link fences barely stand, and the sidewalks are crumbled.
About a block later, the neighborhood ends abruptly with pure destruction. Rubble and debris litter the ground as far as the darkness allows us to see, and literally not a single building still stands before us. The devastation takes me back, reigniting the pain I felt when I found the family with the little girls. It’s only when Dylan takes my hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze, that I keep moving. With The City behind us, we head straight out from the bridge like Tyce instructed.
“You sure about this?” Dylan finally asks after starting to speak and stopping about a hundred times.
“About what?”
“Going where the guy said.” I notice he doesn’t use Tyce’s name. “I don’t know if we should trust him.”
“He said the same thing about you.” I take the opportunity to rest, and hunch down, steadying myself with my fingertips on the ground. Crossing the bridge has taken a lot out of me, but I can’t say that’s the only thing slowing me down. “Usually I can tell when people are lying to me. And I don’t think he was.” I look at him to see how he’ll respond. But he doesn’t. “What was it you said when we were up there?”
He considers it for a moment. “‘Wherever you go, I will go.’ It’s from the Bible.”
“You’ve read the Bible?”
“Yeah, I...saw it on your device when you had me fix it, and I was curious. I had a Bible on my reader, too.”
“How does the rest of it go?”
“‘Don’t ask me to leave you and turn back.’” He kneels beside me, copying my posture. “‘Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God.’ Ruth said it.”
“It’s lovely.” I push some dirt around with my fingertips, staring blankly into the lines I draw absently. It occurs to me that this dirt likely consists of more than just that, so I stop.
He kneels beside me. “Why didn’t you stay with them?”
“They would’ve killed you.”
“Is that the only reason?” He looks at the dirt I’m no longer drawing in.
I look at him. “I don’t know.”
“Well, whatever the reason, thank you. You’ve saved my life too many times. And you don’t owe me that.” I’m either too distracted to decode his message, or I simply don’t want to.
“You’re welcome.”
We quickly find the train tracks, but a massive pile of earth just past them catches our attention. It’s dark, so it’s hard to judge its size. We climb the steep incline and when we reach the top, we’re stunned.
A crater as far as I can see. I have no idea how deep or wide it is. Something moves against my hand that I think is Dylan but when I look over, he’s not close enough to touch.
I bat something dark off of my hand and a slimy residue remains. A gag rises in my throat and I shift back on my heels to get away from whatever it was. I realize too late that the mound is too steep for me to lean back on and I begin to tumble downhill.
I roll end over end for several yards, then I finally slam into something hard near the bottom. A tiny pile of dirt shifts and falls onto my face along with several slimy creatures. I bat at them, choking and gagging on dirt and air. One of them touches the edge of my lip, and I go completely hysterical. I run as far as I can from the crater, peeling the bugs off one-by-one, my skin stinging with each.
I stop when I hear my own feet sloshing and instinctively drop into ankle deep water, splashing it on my face. The water stings, and it smells like chemicals. I scream and yank my shirt off. I use it to wipe the moisture and slime off of my face, then tip my head upside down and rake my hands through my hair savagely to get the bugs out. Two fall out and slip into the earth.
Dylan grabs one from my neck and yanks it off, lobbing it a few yards away. I gag so many times, I wish I would just vomit.
I don’t know what those were, but they’re far worse than the hard bug in the woods. I keep batting at my hair, unconvinced I’ve gotten them all out.
“The water,” I pant. “It’s toxic.”
“Yeah, I can smell it. I think it’s because we’re so close to an impact site.”
I shoot him a strange look.
“Where a bomb hit.”
“Oh.” That makes sense.
I stand up straight and take a step toward where I dropped my shirt, feeling dizzy. My throat is tight. When my knees go limp and almost hit the ground, Dylan catches me. I quickly become groggy and my thoughts are jumbled. I can’t remember where I am.
“I chose you,” I mutter. But I don’t know why I say it. He bends over to pick up my shirt but doesn’t bother putting in on me. He just walks with me in his arms.
“I know, Cori.” His voice comes soft as a whisper, but I don’t think he’s whispering.
“I chose you because...because...” I can’t hold my own head up, so I lean into his shoulder. “The whole world is cold and dead. You’re the only thing that’s warm.” I lay my hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat. His warmth.
He speaks but his voice is muffled, and I can’t hold my eyes open any longer.
Chapter Seventeen
Dylan shakes me. “Wake up, sweetheart.” He kisses my forehead. He wobbles a bit, like he’s dizzy, and I know the feeling. He kneels, setting me on the ground in front of him, where he slides my shirt back over my head and guides my arms into the sleeves. Is a toxic shirt better than no shirt?
“I can’t.” I try to force my eyes open, wishing I didn’t feel like a rag doll. Bright lights shine on us, and I crack one eye open. A vehicle approaches and comes to a stop several yards in front of us. My eye closes, and I can’t reopen it.
“Don’t shoot.” Dylan’s voice. “We’ll surrender, just please, don’t hit her. She’s been exposed to contaminated water and some kind of insects.” I’ve been hit on the head far too many times to remember. Who’s he talking to?
I hear a plink, something hitting the dirt nearby, and I shift with Dylan’s movements, I guess he’s holding me again. He picked me up when I was soaking in that water, so if I was exposed, so was he. How is he awake, then? I just want to sleep.
I feel the gun tugged from the back of my pants and I hear it hit the ground as well. What is he doing? Why is he disarming us?
Another set of arms grabs me, and I groan as I’m yanked from Dylan.
“Don’t hurt her,” he snarls, but his speech is slurred. I hear clicks and squeaking and then an engine. I hit the cold, metal floor of the vehicle, and the vibrations pull me right back under.
When I wake, my wrists are cuffed and chained to the center of a table. My head lies sideways on my own arm, and I’m seated in a chair. The room I’m in is very small, just large enough for this table and a little room to walk around it. An empty chair waits for someone across from me. I wonder who.
I hear a voice yelling from somewhere else in the building, and I get the distinct impression that it’s Dylan. Maybe he was right, and Tyce led us to enemies. I shake my head and lift it from the table.
I look up at a piece of mirror on the wall afraid that my face will be poisoned beyond recognition. To my relief, my face is fine. Just a long, red burn mark on my jaw.
/>
The door opens, admitting a man with graying hair and earth-toned clothes. He shuts the door and sits across from me. “Welcome to Mercy.”
I lift my hands and set them down to make the chains clink against the table. “Show much mercy these days?”
“Not to Antius spies, usually. But then again, you are alive.”
“I’m not a spy.”
He clears his throat, lacing his fingers and setting his hands on the table between us. “We don’t show much mercy to anyone from Antius. You tend to not return the favor.”
“I’m not from Antius.”
“There’s no sense in lying. We know you are. We know a lot about you, actually.”
I sit up straighter. “No, I came from there, but I was an orphan. They’ve had me for ten years, and I finally escaped. That’s why I’m here.”
“That’s a really nice story.” He mocks genuine interest, then returns to his stone-faced facade. “Where you come from, they assign numbers. Do you have one?”
“Yes.” I grit my teeth.
“And?”
“1206. Others my age have lower numbers, but I didn’t arrive there till I was seven, so--”
“All right, 1206. Why don’t you tell us how you got here.”
His hands never leave the table, his expression doesn’t change. I think he’s done this before.
“Us?”
He glances over his shoulder at the mirror, which I realize must be see-through from the other side. How many of them are watching me?
“We were directed here by a friend in The City.”
“Hmm.” He raises his eyebrows. “Antius spies surviving The City folk...well, that’s unheard of. So you’ve got that going for you.”
“He said you would be kind.” I wiggle my wrists in the cuffs.
“Well, that wasn’t his place to say; however, we have been kind to you. Your current situation is for our protection.” He takes a breath, shifting gears. “The boy you’re traveling with--”
“Dylan.”
“Yes. Don’t interrupt me. 862 escaped with you? Was he also an orphan?”
“Yes, Dylan escaped with me. And no, he was born in Antius.”
“Mmhmm.” He nods.
“But he’s not like them. Is he okay? Can I see him?”
“No.”
I don’t hear him screaming anymore, but I did. I think of all we’ve been through and try to imagine what it must take to make someone his size scream.
“It doesn’t sound like you’re being very kind to him, either.”
“You’d do well to just cooperate and let us worry about who to treat kindly. But I assure you, kind or not, we are being more than fair.”
I lean forward so I can reach my forehead with my hands, and push the hair away from the sweat pooling there.
“Your people...” I grit my teeth when he lumps me in with them. “Slaughtered our last trade convoy and took everything they brought with them.”
“I know.” What am I saying? This isn’t going to help.
“You do?” he asks, unable to hide his surprise.
I squeeze my eyes closed, kicking myself for speaking up. “I was there. I saw it happen.”
“I see.” He takes his hands off the table and sets them in his lap.
“Is there anything you can tell us about that day?”
I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t want to talk about this. I have nothing to say. Nothing to say. “Yes.” I swallow, but my throat is dry. I should ask for water. “It was my first mission. I was planning to run away if the opportunity presented itself, but everyone was armed.”
“Including yourself?”
I nod. I glance at the mirror, thinking the people on the other side probably hate me. They’ll never be able to look past the Antius in my history. How do I make them see? “Jacob didn’t bring everything that was agreed on. Your men argued that they wouldn’t complete the trade unless we gave them all the meds they asked for. So...” Flashes of gunshots and blood-stained pavement overwhelm me and my breath catches. I try to choke back a sob, but it escapes me. I lay my forehead on the cold metal table as my tears fall into my lap.
“They started shooting, and I saw a kid running. I tried to follow him, thinking he could lead me somewhere safe, but they caught me, so I pretended to shoot him.” Shut up, Cori. Shut up! “But I missed by at least a yard. And I left him the key so he could get back safely.” I finally look up, my eyes wide. “Did he make it back? Is he okay?”
The man stands and taps on the glass. A woman enters with a cup of water and sets it down beside me. I look her in the eye, “Did he make it? Please.”
She looks at the man, as if for permission to tell me, but he waves for her to leave, and she does.
He didn’t make it. And they think it’s my fault. They think I was a part of it. I lower my head again as another sob overtakes me. “They killed them because of Nathan, because Nathan is cruel. He’s a monster and he’s killed everyone who ever cared about me. Why didn’t he just kill me?” I cry so loudly it echoes through the room and I don’t even try to hide my face anymore. I look at the man. “Why didn’t he just kill me?”
He just stares at me, his expression unchanging.
“1206, are you a trained member of Nathan Burke’s army? Are you or are you not a soldier of Antius?”
“My name is Cori.”
“1206, are you--”
“My name is Cori!” I scream at the top of my lungs. Nathan would love this. I’m finally broken, he’s just not here to see it. I sob more and scream my name over and over until the man leaves the room. I don’t notice if he even shut the door, not that it matters. I can’t hear anything but my own voice.
“My name is Cori. My name is Corinne Francis Cole. I am not 1206. I’m Corinne Cole. I had a family, and they died. I’m not from Antius. I’m not 1206!” My voice goes hoarse over a hollow sob, and no more sound comes out.
I pull against my shackles, knowing they won’t budge but unable to do anything but feel helpless. I bury my face between my elbows and sob then jerk on the chains even harder. I kick the chair out from under me and pull the table so hard it slides. I scream at the glass, “Just let me go. I’ll live in the woods.” I remember Dylan and correct myself. “Let us go. Please.”
The door swings open and an arm wraps around my waist from behind and holds me away from the table while someone else unlocks my cuffs. I thrash against whoever’s holding me, elbowing him in the nose. The other man grabs my legs while the first one lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing, and carries me down the hall. As we pass an open door, I see Dylan hunched over in the floor while someone comes out, closing the door between us.
“Dylan.” I thrash harder against my captor, reaching for Dylan, but they take me farther down the hall. The man pushes through another door and drops me on the floor next to a drain. A woman with a gun stands over me, and fires up a shower head, soaking me with freezing cold water. I lay in it unmoving, while the men leave the room. This woman must be tough if they’ll leave me alone with her. I don’t want to test her.
“Clean yourself up.”
I stare at her through water that splashes off my eyelashes. I don’t move an inch.
She kneels, not letting the gun go too slack in her grip. “The boy made it back.” Mercy, I think. I meet her eyes, grateful to finally know. “Please. Clean yourself up.”
I think maybe it’s a trick, but I can’t come up with a possible reason. I expect the woman to lose her cool and shoot me, or hit me with the butt of the gun. But the woman doesn’t move. And her expression looks genuine.
She eyes a bar of soap, and I grab it slowly. I try to lather it on my hand just as the water starts to warm up, just a little. I rub the lather over my face, trying to wash away the poison from the wormy bugs and the toxic water. I reach under my shirt and rub the bar over my armpits.
The woman finally stands, I guess realizing that I’m cooperating. She turns her head to the sid
e so she’s not looking straight at me, so I undress and finish cleaning up. When I get all the suds out of my hair, the lady turns off the shower and offers me a towel.
I wrap myself up and follow her down the hall, noticing her hand never leaves her gun. In a small room to the right, the woman shuts the door and puts her gun in a holster on her hip. “My name is Karen.” She pulls clean clothes out of a dresser and lays them on the bed.
“Thank you.” I dress myself quickly, surprised at myself for not being shy in front of her. I’m just too tired to care. Too broken.
She sits me down in a chair in front of a mirror and begins to comb out my hair.
“You don’t have to--”
“I know.” She smiles. This woman is tender. She’s kind. But I can tell she’s still tough. There are small patches of gray at her temples, but otherwise her hair is a deep brown color, and her green eyes are bright and wide.
“Do you like it pulled back?” She holds up an elastic and it reminds me of Antius women, so I shake my head and she leaves it down.
“We’re going to go back to the interrogation room. We don’t want to hurt you. We just need you to keep cooperating.” What I was doing back there, they considered it cooperation? Bizarre. I almost laugh.
When we arrive at the interrogation room, the same man as before is there, along with a new face, a lady even older than Karen. I never saw many gray-haired people in Antius. I wonder what happens to them when they get old.
They seat me in the same chair, which they have set back in its place. But they do not cuff me. I cross my hands and set them in my lap.
“What’s your name?” I ask the man.
He clears his throat. “Henry.”
“Hello, Henry.” I look at the woman. She locks eyes with Henry.
“I’m Nicolette.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Nicolette.” I think of Karen’s advice to keep cooperating. I’m trying. Really trying. This has to work out; I have nowhere else to go. Well, Dylan has nowhere else to go. I could go back to The City. But I can’t think like that.
