by Jessica Dall
“Jack.” The man eyed her with interest.
“Didn’t think that was on the list.” Dahlia frowned.
“Nickname for John,” Ben said, tensing more the longer Jack watched her.
“Interesting.” Dahlia didn’t look at Ben before looking back at Jack. “Did you escape from your camp too?”
Jack nodded. “There’s one a few days walk from here.”
“Are you out here alone?” Ben studied Jack, like a guard checking out a dangerous prisoner.
Jack finally met his eyes. “I don’t know, are you?”
“No,” Dahlia said. “There are more a little ways back.”
“Dahlia,” Ben hissed.
“What?” she copied his tone.
“Let me handle this.”
“Yeah, because you’re the one with the oratory skills.”
“How many?” Jack asked.
“How many on your end?” Ben returned.
The man considered them for a moment. “Dozen or so. You?”
“About the same,” Ben said.
“Little less,” Dahlia said, getting another look from Ben. She sent him one back.
Ben sighed and looked back at Jack. “Lia, go get the others.”
“You trust me to find my own way back?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m flattered.”
“Go,” he said sharply.
She raised an eyebrow at his tone.
“Dahlia.” Ben finally turned to look at her. “Go.”
“You go.” Dahlia shook her jeans out a final time before sliding them on. “I’m getting dressed.”
“Go ahead.” Jack smiled. “I won’t let anything happen to her until you get back.”
Ben’s hands tensed and then released as he looked at Dahlia. She pointedly ignored him. He turned back to Jack. “I’m not going far.”
“Didn’t think you were,” Jack said.
Ben hesitated another moment, sending Jack a cautionary glare before moving off.
Jack looked back to Dahlia. “Washing your clothes?”
“Too many days in them.” Dahlia turned to wring out her shirt.
“Green.”
“What?” She looked up.
“You’re shirt,” he said. “It’s green.”
“Yeah,” Dahlia said. “It is.”
“You aren’t a guard, I think was my point somewhere in there.”
“Ah.” Dahlia smiled. “Indeed. I’m not.”
“Cartographer?”
“Cartographer?” she repeated.
“That’s green isn’t it? Cartographers?”
“Oh, no,” Dahlia said, backtracking. “They wear green, but it’s really more of a pastel. Emerald green is doctor. I’m a physician.”
“That’s handy,” Jack said. “You know, one of my guys hurt his ankle a little while back. It’s still hurting...purple.”
“Bruised you mean?”
He appeared surprised and nodded.
“I’ll take a look if you like.”
“Great,” Jack said. “Do you have many women with you?”
“No,” Dahlia answered. “Just two guards.”
“No more straight women?”
Dahlia shrugged. “Just me.”
Jack looked her over, a curious expression on his face. “How’d you end up here then?”
“With the men? Or in New Zealand?”
“Either,” Jack said. “Both.”
“First is a long, long story. Second...short answer is we stowed away on an airplane.”
“Where are you from originally?”
“Mid-Atlantic sea board.”
“North America.”
“Where that would be,” she agreed.
“Thought you didn’t sound local.”
“Sound?”
“I have an ear for accents,” Jack said. “They’re pretty much a nonentity at this point, but depending on where you grew up, you can sound a little different.”
Dahlia considered his observation. “Interesting. I’ve never thought about it. Or traveled for that matter.”
“So, why are you here?”
“In New Zealand?”
He nodded.
“Some people have revolution on the brain,” she said, giving up on drying the shirt and pulling it on.
“You know, we have some soap if you actually want to wash.”
Dahlia’s eyes widened as her head popped through the top of her shirt. “Really?”
He nodded.
“That would be great. I was happy enough to be warm again, what with crossing the equator and all...”
Jack grinned at her comment. “Right, you were having winter on the other side of the world.”
“Oh yeah.”
Jack looked to the forest, his hand sliding nearly unnoticed towards his hip. “Think your friends are coming?”
“What?”
“Someone’s coming this way.”
“How do you know that?” Dahlia stared at him, puzzled.
“You can’t hear them?”
“I guess the forests make me hearing impaired.” She looked behind her.
“Might be something you want to work on.”
Chapter Twelve
Jack’s camp was not far from Des’ preferred spot. To Dahlia, after growing used to the forest, this camp looked like civilization. Perhaps every man in the clearing had escaped from somewhere, but the New Zealanders had done so with style. A group of well-made tents surrounded a small cooking fire, and a pot held over the top indicated no shortage of food. A few of the men around the circle had cushions underneath them as they sat on the ground. They had even managed a small laundry line strung between the two tallest tents.
All of it made Dahlia feel she had joined the wrong group. Jack called for his people to introduced themselves including one named Benjamin.
“How far have you come?” Benny, the other Benjamin, passed around some of the stew he had made.
“Counting the thousands of miles by plane?” Des looked up.
Dahlia tuned out. She had listened politely as everyone introduced themselves to each other. She was now more than ready to sleep.
Jack touched her shoulder. “Did you want to wash up? We have that soap, and Paul says he grabbed some clothes last time he was finding food that might fit you.”
“New clothes? Seriously?”
He nodded.
“Yeah.” She scrambled to her feet. “Thank you.”
He led her to one of the tents they had erected at the camp. “Paul’s great at grabbing stuff. We’re miles from town, but people go camping up river a little bit. Here, take your pick.” He held the flap open.
She looked at the rack of clothes. “How’d he get all of these?”
“I told you. He’s good at grabbing things.”
“Including a metal clothing rack?”
“He has mysterious powers.”
Dahlia nodded, pushing them apart. “These are even my size.”
“I’m telling you. Mysterious powers.” He picked out a shirt and handed it to her. “I bet this would look good on you.”
She frowned.
“What?”
“I can’t wear that.”
Jack looked at it. “Why not?”
“It’s blue.”
“And?”
“Royal blue.”
“I still don’t see the problem.” Jack smiled and held the shirt in front of her. “It would look good with your eyes.”
“Only legislators wear royal blue.”
Jack chuckled. “I think if we get ourselves caught, you wearing the wrong color shirt would probably be the least of our problems.”
“True,” Dahlia conceded, pulling off her old shirt. “You wouldn’t have a new bra for me in there, would you?”
Jack pulled something out. “Don’t know if it’s the right size.”
Dahlia took it, checking the tag. “Eh, close enough. Biggest thing is it’s clean.”
He watched her set the new
shirt and bra on a chair nearby and unhook the bra she wore to stand in profile.
She slid it off, pausing for a second. “I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable? I’m still getting used to people caring when I take my clothes off.”
“No problem.” Jack found a new pair of pants and underwear. “These should be about the right size.”
“Thanks.” Dahlia hooked the new bra behind her back and took the clothes from him. “Did you get these tents from the campsite too?”
“Not like we brought them with us from our camps,” Jack said.
“Right.” She smiled sheepishly.
“Have you ever been to a camp? Our camps I mean.”
Dahlia shook her head. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”
“Not sure what pleasure there is to be had at any of them.”
“I didn’t mean—”
He waved the rest of the sentence away. “Some women left to go hiking a while ago. I imagine they were rather confused when they came back to find their tents gone.”
“I’d imagine so. It traps the heat though doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s why we tend to stay outside during the day,” Jack said.
“You know, it probably would have been smart for me to actually wash myself before beginning to change.” She paused, halfway out of her pants. “I’m just going to get these dirty right away in my state.”
“There’s another pond not far away,” he said. “A deeper, cleaner one.”
“You’re very accommodating here.”
“We’ve been living here a while. We tried to make ourselves comfortable.”
Kicking off the old pants, Dahlia then picked up the new clothes he had given her. “Point me in the right direction.”
“I’ll show you.” Jack held the tent flap open for her. The voices around the campfire sounded louder and engrossed in whatever was being discussed. Jack nodded the other direction, allowing Dahlia to follow him. They walked in silence a little ways.
Jack cleared his throat. “So you and Benjamin...”
“Ben?” She looked at him.
“Your Benjamin, not ours.”
“Ben.” Dahlia nodded. “What about him?”
“Are you and him...?”
“Are we...?” she prompted.
“Together,” Jack finished.
Dahlia frowned. “Together for what?”
“Like a relationship.”
“You mean like marriage?” She paused for a moment. “Heather’s been meaning to explain the whole marriage concept to me.”
“It’s like that, but less serious,” Jack said. “It’s more a trial for marriage.”
She tried to find the right word. “Monogamous?”
Jack smiled and seemed to find that funny. “I suppose.”
“Well then, no.”
“So you aren’t...anything.”
Uncertain what he meant, she hesitated. “I feel like I’m not really following this conversation...but then again, that’s been a pretty common occurrence of late. Anything what?”
“Like...” Jack paused, continued again slowly, “Like, anything more than normal friends.”
“Not sure you could even call us friends.” Dahlia gave a derisive laugh. “Why do you want to know?”
“I was just wondering. You were out in the woods alone...”
“He has a habit of following me around.”
Jack nodded, looking more or less pleased. “Almost there.”
* * * *
After the third of the younger boys had disappeared into the forest, Ben got up. The sound of them shuffling in a grove of trees just outside a clearing was easy enough to follow. He stood behind them, looking over their heads into the clearing. A still pool with running water on either side sat in the middle, illuminated by the moon.
Ben coughed, making the boys jump. “Go back to camp.”
“But...” one protested.
He gave them a look that left no room for argument. They might not have been from his camp, but he was still in charge. He waited for them to leave before moving out of the clearing.
Dahlia jumped. “Mother of...you know, I really shouldn’t be surprised. Every time I try to wash... Should I just send you a bulletin?”
“You don’t need to. You’re always washing.” Ben crossed his arm. “I didn’t even know you were here. I followed the mass migration of camp fifteen year olds.”
“What?” She frowned.
“Didn’t you see the group of younger guys out there using you washing up for a peep show?”
Her face didn’t change.
He shook his head. “You really need to be more aware of your surroundings.”
“I need to start getting used to people caring what I look like naked.” She moved towards the bank, the water dropping below her waist and then knees as she got closer to shore. “Toss me my towel, won’t you?”
He held it out. “Where’d you get a towel?”
“Paul’s apparently a master cat burglar.” Dahlia took the towel and wiped herself off. “We have clothes, towels, soap...do you want to wash up? You could use it.”
He crossed his arms. “Trying to get me to take my clothes off.”
“You’ve uncovered my cunning plan.” She tossed the towel back at him and picked up the clothes. “Don’t flatter yourself. Shirt off, maybe. Anything below that really isn’t the most attractive part of a man.”
He didn’t respond, watching her pull the clothes on. “It isn’t green.”
“What?” She looked up.
“Your shirt. It isn’t green. It’s what, black?”
“Blue.” She pulled it on. “Apparently a legislator went camping recently.”
He looked at her, watching her tie the shirt around her waist, the neckline reaching relatively low on her chest. “You look good in it.”
She looked at him cautiously. “Thank you.”
“I mean...” He shook his head. “If we need to sneak in anywhere, you being dressed as a legislator is going to help.”
“How does that arise from I ‘look good in it’?” Dahlia frowned.
He pulled off his shirt. “You have soap?”
She handed him the bar, before crossing her arms. “I’m starting to think you have a pathological need to act like a jackass.”
“It’s what I was supposed to do, wasn’t it?” Ben took the soap, took off his pants, and jumped into the water, swimming out deeper before she could respond.
* * * *
The cooking fire burned low, but was still more than visible in the growing darkness. Dahlia stood back in the darkness, watching for a long moment. If circumstances had been different, it could have been a peaceful place—like the small grove of trees all the girls had used to play in while still in Silver.
Of course, the men around shattered that illusion. Only men, it seemed. Des was nowhere to be seen, and Heather... Dahlia’s eyes swept the clearing. Off on the far side, Heather’s distinctly feminine shape was just visible, sitting on a cushioned stump someone had fashioned into a chair.
Not far off, some of the younger men grouped together, whispering. She suspected any woman fascinated them.
Dahlia allowed herself to smile, moving along the tree line outside the camp, before cutting towards the stump. She took the brush Heather held. “Let me.”
“You’re going to brush my hair?” Her sister twisted to look at her.
“I won’t hurt you.” Dahlia smiled. “I used to do it for all the girls in my dorm back in Rose.”
Heather smiled a little sadly and turned back to face front. “Right, you actually had a normal school life.”
She began to brush gently. “You made it through most of the Rose curriculum, didn’t you?”
“Yeah,” Heather responded, “but for most of it I was trying to convince myself that I wasn’t attracted to girls. Des and I actually met while we were in Rose, you know.”
Dahlia only hesitated a moment. “Were you...doing what
ever, in school then?”
“We had this, instant connection,” Heather said. “That was fun to try to ignore. No matter what we did, we just couldn’t seem to stay away from each other. We managed to stay together when they sent us away.”
She nodded, beginning to try to work the brush through the knots in Heather’s shoulder-length hair. “Can’t say I ever even thought about lesbians while I lived in the dorms.”
“It seems most people don’t.”
“Then again...” Dahlia laughed to herself. “I didn’t consider a lot of things before I ended up here. It’s been sort of a crash course in alternative thought.”
“I imagine the whole thing with Ben isn’t making things easier.” Heather turned her head slightly to look at Dahlia.
“There is no ‘thing’ with Ben,” Dahlia insisted. “Hold still.”
“Are you sure?”
“Really.” She frowned, pushing Heather’s head back forward. “I’m sick of that being all anyone asks about. Can we talk about something else?”
“But that’s what sisters do, isn’t it? Talk about relationships?”
“Maybe in your neck of the woods.” Dahlia paused, trying to work a particularly difficult knot out with her fingers. “I’m still a little foggy about the whole relationship concept.”
“What about it?”
“All the levels, mostly,” Dahlia said. “But that’s not important.” She worked out another knot. Then, she began twirling the waves around her finger to make curls. “You have beautiful hair. I think you should grow it out.”
“We’re not allowed to,” Heather said. “Nothing that hit the shoulders.”
“Well, I’m not allowed to wear blue.” Dahlia smiled at her. “You know, we’re not that different in size. I bet some of the clothes Paul stole would fit you. If you want to get out of that ugly grey thing.”
“What if I like this color?” Heather raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t think it’s physically possible to like that color,” Dahlia answered.
“Heather smiled and stood. “Do you want me to plait your hair for you? It’ll keep it out of your face.”
Dahlia nodded, handing Heather the brush and switching places. “Do you think...?”
Heather started to work the brush through her hair. “Think what?”
She clicked her tongue once. “I don’t even know what I was going to say. I...What it like was, I suppose.”
“What was what like?”
