The Ark

by Laura Liddell Nolen

  The adrenaline that had flooded through me during the brief fight was tapering off fast. Isaiah’s mask filled my vision, swimming before me. “No, Isaiah, please. Let me go.”

  His voice was velvet in my ear. “Now, you know I’m not going to do that. You can’t stay out here, is all. I sent them to retrieve you, but you’d already gone. Can’t blame that boy for leaving you, though. Or for shooting. He’s a good enough soldier. Carried out the mission, anyway.”

  “Isaiah, my family! Please, my family.”

  At this, he stopped. “Your family.”

  I nodded weakly. “I love the Remnant. But I don’t want this war, Ise.” I continued to struggle in his arms. It did no good. “This is wrong. Too many civilians.”

  I could almost hear his face tighten behind the mask. “They should have thought of that, Char.”

  I fought for words and the strength to speak them. “But my family. They’re out there.”

  “This the same family that left you to die in that prison cell? Don’t sound much like family to me.” He huffed down another flight of steps. His grip was gentle but unyielding, and I lacked the power to fight him.

  Time passed like some kind of shiny, slippery eel, impossible to grasp. I opened my eyes, and we were crossing through the door to the cargo hold. I opened them again, and the bright primary colors of the bins slithered around me.

  I found that my legs could work. I began to kick.

  “Now, stop that. We’re almost home.” Isaiah’s voice, like his grip, was firm and gentle at once.

  I’ll never be home, I thought.

  Isaiah stopped to turn his face to me, as though he could see me, and see through me. As though he could read my thoughts. I saw that his mask had come off, revealing the tension and concern that knotted his forehead. He spoke slowly. “I gave you a home. I thought that’s what you wanted. I gave you a family, Charlotte. You belong with us.”

  “Family doesn’t shoot each other! Family wouldn’t—” I kicked again, hard—“kidnap me!”

  Pressed against his chest, I felt him stop breathing.

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?” he said quietly.

  “You stunned me!”

  “I’m blind, Char! I was stunning the girl.”

  “I’m not sure I believe that.”

  “That I’m blind?” he asked sarcastically. Disgust replaced the concern on his face, but his voice betrayed only sadness. “She shouldn’t have stunned you. I was rescuing you.”

  “No. I never asked you to do that.”

  “Look here. We reprogrammed the Noah board. We’re overriding Central Command. There’s a war on, baby. And you’re picking the wrong side.”

  “You’re shutting down life support for everyone but the Remnant. What if the Commander won’t surrender and everybody dies? I have to find my family.”

  “Your family?” he scoffed incredulously. “Take it from me, little bird. That word only means something when they want it to. I’m the one who broke you out of that prison!”

  A long, cold moment passed in silence, and I knew that we were through shouting at each other. Our anger had abandoned us, along with whatever other things we’d been nurturing, slipping away into the darkness like a shadow.

  I steeled my voice and spoke as deliberately as I could. “I’m not coming with you, Isaiah.”

  He looked like I’d slapped him. His voice was low and quiet, and it betrayed a world of pain. “I can’t let you leave, Char. You know too much.”

  “I’m going to my family, not to Central Command. Please, Ise. Let me go. Just this once. For old times’ sake.”

  He remained frozen for another moment. Then his head moved back and forth once, a weird little shake, as though finally computing what I was saying. He set me down, and his voice matched his robotic movements. “I hope you think of me when you’re gasping for air, and how I tried to give you a place to breathe. How I tried to save you.”

  “No one can save me, Ise. That’s what I keep trying to tell everyone.”

  He turned to leave, and his hands clenched and unclenched. To my surprise, I saw that his neck was still tense. I had been wrong about his anger leaving him. It had been outweighed, briefly, by his pain, but that was no longer the case, judging by the tightness of his mouth.

  He spoke one last time, without looking back to me. I knew, as surely as I could feel my own heartbeat, that every word was the absolute truth, and that his mind would never change. “You’ve betrayed us, Char, but we’re still going to win. If you survive the battle, don’t come back. When we find you again, you’ll be arrested, and tried for treason by the Remnant itself. You are our enemy now.”

  Twenty-eight

  I must have run. I must have banged on my family’s door, identified myself. I must have waited, breathlessly, for my father to decide whether to let me in. But I don’t remember any of that.

  I only remember seeing him standing there, looking much the same as he had on Earth. He was a bit grayer than I’d realized, a bit thicker around the middle. He was older. Maybe he noticed I’d gotten older, too. We’d had so many of these wordless encounters on Earth, when he’d been away on an extended, work-related trip, and he’d come in the door to find me curled up on the couch. Or, during the years I was inside, when Mom would drag him to visiting hours. We’d weigh up each other’s little changes, update our mental image of each other, and continue on our separate ways.

  But we weren’t on Earth, and everything had changed.

  My dad.

  He just looked at me, like he had to decide whether to know me or not.

  Actually, that couldn’t be right, since the last thing he’d said to me was, “I can’t know you anymore.” The words burned through me every time I remembered them. Which was way more often than I liked to admit.

  I looked around the room, because eye contact sharpened the sting.

  I immediately wished I hadn’t. His room was different from Eren’s in a million ways, and not just because it was designed for a family instead of a single person. The beds were built into the walls, with an enclosure like a tiny garage door over each one. Then there was a small living space that ended abruptly, with a counter containing a microwave, sink, and toaster. Pressed leaves, carefully mounted on clean white paper, adorned the walls. That was West’s work. My mother’s picture was taped to the wall next to the bunk.

  It was a home, my family’s home, and there was no place in it for me.

  The pain of this realization washed over me slowly, relentlessly. Our home on Earth was gone. My mother was gone. And here was a home I’d never be a part of.

  I sat down, right where I was, in the hallway. My arm and leg hurt so much.

  My father stared a moment longer, then surprised me by crossing the room to extend a hand out into the hallway. I surprised myself by taking it. My father’s glance alighted on the laser burn on my thigh, but he simply led me to a chair in silence. A metal chair in the kitchenette, not a seat in the living space.

  Once I was again seated, the next thing I noticed about my family’s bunk was that it wasn’t as nice as a room on the Guardian level. There was no ambassador living here. I wondered how that felt to my father, who’d always been important in some way or another.

  Only then did it occur to me that West wasn’t there.

  Dad continued to stare at me. A long time ago, in another life, I might have felt angry at him. Why couldn’t he just love me, the way he loved West? But my anger had burned off somewhere in space, like a candle whose wick got too short, its flame suffocated by its own melted wax.

  I turned back to my father. “I don’t have much time. They’re looking for me.”

  My father looked away. I believed, then, that I would never recover from that moment: not because he was ashamed of me, exactly, but because he no longer cared enough to hide it.

  And then, it hit me. I had said everything I could possibly say to him. I had already apologized. Everything was different, but n
othing had changed.

  “Where is he?” I asked.

  Dad stared back, blankly. He looked so tired.

  I was tired, too. I made a vow to myself, then and there. Our sick little ballet was over. I would no longer try to be his daughter. He would no longer have to listen to my pleas for forgiveness, or for anything else, for that matter.

  When I spoke, my voice conveyed a strength I didn’t feel, alongside a harshness I wished I could conceal. “You need to find him as soon as possible. Where’s your emergency kit?”

  His gaze slid back to my leg. Something strange crossed his face—something I hadn’t seen there before. I couldn’t read it. I leaned in, forcing my mind to ignore the pain for a few more moments, so that I could focus.

  “Dad. Is there any way to communicate with other citizens? Do you have a comm device in here? You need to find West. Get ahold of your emergency kit. You’re about to need it.”

  My father finally spoke. “Why are you here, Charlotte?”

  To my chagrin, I flinched at the coldness in his tone. It was mixed with some other emotion I couldn’t place yet.

  I told myself again I wasn’t here to make nice. I was here to warn them, to try to save them. “The Ark is about to be attacked. You’re going to need everything in the emergency kit. Especially the oxygen.”

  He looked away from me. “Okay.”

  “Okay?” I repeated, confused. “That’s all you have to say?”

  “To you? Yes.”

  One by one, my emotions had been stripped from me. I could no longer feel sorrow, or pain, or even my old standby, anger. There was numbness deep inside me, and I gave it full rein to my heart, hoping it would protect me. I had the sensation, suddenly, of being composed of nothing more than flesh between skin and bones.

  The man before me was nothing but the same.

  He clearly wasn’t going to respond, so we were done.

  I stood and turned to leave.

  But my father had one last move.

  “Char. Do they still call you that?”

  I stopped, answered carefully. I did not turn back. “Depends on whom you ask.”

  He scoffed. I continued walking.

  “Wait. Char.” He tested my name again, clearly conflicted about using it. “He’s gone.”

  I turned to him. A faint sense of dizziness crept into the back of my skull.

  “What do you mean, gone? Gone where?”

  “He ran off to find the Remnant.”

  “You know about the Remnant? Then you have to believe me—”

  “Everybody’s heard of them. It’s Central Command’s best trick yet. It gave people hope back on Earth. Made them think there was a chance. Keep them from rioting in the streets.”

  “It’s not a trick. The rumors are true.”

  My father scoffed, began fiddling with a pen. It clicked in and out, in and out. He glanced around the room, then toward the door. Click, click. Click, click. I shook my head in disbelief. My father was nervous. And chatty, like he wanted me to stay at the table. Normally, he couldn’t wait to end our conversations.

  Suddenly, I understood the look on his face. It wasn’t just nerves, or exhaustion. It certainly wasn’t anger. It was guilt.

  I shook my head in disbelief, surprised at how shaky my legs were. He looked at the door again, cementing my suspicion into a dense brick that pulled me down, down, into the space beneath the ship.

  “Oh, Dad. You told them I’m here.”

  My mind snapped into survival mode.

  I made my father nervous. That was good; I could use that.

  The next thing I planned to use was the stunner Isaiah had thoughtfully let me get close enough to steal as he carried me. Old habits and all that.

  I slid it out from its hiding place in my sleeve, ignoring my father’s look of disgust.

  “You’re not going to use that.”

  I looked at him. “I’m absolutely going to use this. Not on you, obviously.”

  He looked at me as if to say there was nothing obvious about it.

  I knew my dad wouldn’t want any part in the confrontation, other than his hand in bringing it about. He’d never put much stock in physical struggles. As far as I knew, which, admittedly, wasn’t very far, he’d never even been to a football game outside of an election year.

  So I could count on him to stay out of it.

  That left at least two guards I’d have to fight. I doubted the Commander would spare more than that if he knew the Remnant was about to attack. I kept my father talking while I searched the room, mainly because I needed to know if he moved from his seat at the table while my back was turned.

  “So he’s gone to fight the Remnant single-handedly.” I jerked open a bed panel and found a tab marked “Emergency Kit—Family.” I pulled, and a box fell onto the mattress.

  My father scoffed from his position at the table. “Hardly.”

  “I thought you said he—”

  He carefully avoided saying West’s name, and it hit me that I’d done the same. “Your brother thinks they’re starting a war. He wants to fight with them.”

  I regarded my father, who finally met my eyes. His gaze was accusatory. Unlike mine, his anger had not yet burned away in the time that had passed since the OPT. Or it was new anger, nursing new wounds.

  “You must be joking,” I said.

  “I wish.”

  I rifled through the kit, snatching up the three long, deflated oxygen helmets. “Well, he’s right.” I slid one flattened helmet into the shirt of my uniform, where it couldn’t be pierced by a bullet, and tossed the other two to my father. “And it’s not a bad place, assuming they make it through the battle. Do you know if he found them?”

  “What do you mean, he’s right? What battle? What kind of nonsense—”

  “Dad, he’s right. About everything.” I took a position near the door, stunner ready. “The Remnant exists. They have a code that will stop life support on most of the Ark. They’re planning to—”

  The door sucked open.

  The guard entered the room, armed with a gun. My father’s eyes widened, his hands raised. His mouth opened, a silent O of disbelief.

  From my position behind the guard’s back, I had the advantage, barely, as long as I didn’t blow it. The guard was armed. He meant business. I shifted, trying to get a useful angle, and extended the stunner toward his exposed neck.

  The guard was much faster.

  He grabbed the stunner and jerked it away from me. He flipped it in his right hand, aiming the gun at me with his left. The stunner flipped in the air, and its handle landed in the guard’s waiting grip.

  My mouth went dry. “Jorin.”

  His face twisted into its familiar sneer, and I felt my stomach turn to liquid. “Magda. Or should I call you Miss Turner?”

  I raised my hands slowly. “Okay, okay. I surrender.”

  Jorin’s sneer took on a hint of a smile. “I think not. I think maybe you give me a little trouble first.”

  CRACK. The stunner sparked, and I backed into the wall next to the door panel. When my back hit against it, a stupid, helpless whimper escaped my mouth. I doubted I could survive another stun.

  He took a step forward, crowding out my view of anything else, and I crouched down, covering my head with my arms. I wished there were some other way to die. I wished Jorin’s awful sneer weren’t going to be the last thing I ever saw.

  Instead of a jolt to my neck, he started with a blow to my face. I fell sideways, already halfway to the floor, and hit the ground. My vision blurred, but I saw a streak of red against the cheap blue and brown carpet.

  The stunner sparked again, but he still hadn’t used it on me. Jorin grabbed my collar, clearly enjoying himself, and slammed the back of my head into the wall.

  “Where are they?”

  I looked back at him. Some part of my mind understood the question, but most of it was preoccupied with absorbing the pain in my jaw.

  At length, he raised the st
unner.

  I shook my head. “No,” I garbled, my mouth filling with blood. “I told you before. There’s no one else.”

  “That’s not what you told your boyfriend.”

  CZZAACKK. The room ceased to exist, replaced by a field of darkness and pain splintered by lightning. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I wouldn’t have to go back to being conscious. I relaxed, relieved of every burden I carried, and surrendered myself to whatever came next.

  What came next was the last thing I expected.

  CRACK. My father’s voice floated across the black field on which I lay. “Aagh! No!”

  CRACK. “Please, stop! Aah!”

  I shook my head, but only my dream-head responded. In reality, I must still be lying on the floor of my father’s bunk, immobile.

  “AAH! No!” That was definitely my father screaming.

  Breathing. Breathing came first. I pressed my chest in and out as hard as I could, and found myself leaving the comforting embrace of darkness. A bright light split my vision, and I felt my lips move, just barely.

  The pain came next. It was unbearable, relentless. But my father’s desperate shouts didn’t stop, and I forced my eyes to focus.

  I was flat on my back, looking up at the ceiling. Somewhere above my head, Jorin must be stunning my father.

  Beside me was a chair. It took me a moment to realize that it was oriented correctly from my perspective, so it must be lying on its back, too. I moved, and my neck began to protest, followed by the rest of my body.

  I pressed onto my hands and knees, heavily and clumsily.

  At the sound of my stirring, Jorin turned back to me.

  We remembered the gun at the same moment, but I was about eight feet closer. I beat him to it, barely, pointed it at his chest just as he loomed over me again, and fired.

  Jorin fell.

  In my first bit of luck that day, he didn’t land on top of me. I was glad; it probably would have knocked me out again.

  I yanked the stunner from his grip and scrambled away from him as fast as I could.