“It actually isn’t,” he said. “I’ve had similar thoughts….” He paused long enough for me to hear my heartbeat roaring in my ears. “About you.”
My mouth went dry, and my hands balled into fists at my sides. I had to be strong. He had just drugged me. He had conned his way into my quarters. Who knew what he truly wanted from me?
“That’s never going to happen,” I said, steeling my gaze before I turned back to him.
“Only in your dreams, right?” he asked, grinning.
“You’ve got three minutes left,” I barked, anger blossoming anew in me.
“You’ve heard of Brula, right?” Henrick asked, looking at me as if not having heard of Brula was even an option.
“The regent of this entire sector?” I rolled my eyes. “I grew up on a farm, not under a rock.”
“She’s more than just a regent,” Henrick said. “She’s been sitting on that throne in the center since the fall of the old world. That woman has held a firm grip on this place for one hundred and fifty years now.”
He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. Brula was the regent of this sector, the witch designated with the task of running our entire way of life. Yes, she was different from the rest of the original sixteen, at least according to the tales I’d heard from records that existed before the world divided. But only because she didn’t die.
Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Her body died as one might expect, but she would just hop into the skin of a chosen holy sacrifice—a vessel they called it—and she would live anew through that person.
Over and over again.
So, for as long as this sector has stood, it had done so with Brula at its helm. She was the regent, the only one we had ever known, the only one we would ever know.
Brula the Eternal.
For all we knew, we might be the only sector with one of the original sixteen still looking after us.
I shook my head. “Okay…? So Brula has always been our regent. What’s your point?”
His eyes narrowed. “She’s a dictator, Razz. Can’t you see that?”
“Is this a trap or something?” I asked, backing away from him. Anyone worth her bread knew it wasn’t prudent to speak ill of the regent. Did Henrick actually think I was going to just spout off at the mouth with the slightest provocation? And, if so, why? What did he have to gain out of it? “I’m loyal to my sector, Henrick.”
“Really?” he asked, the look on his face betraying as much disgust as curiosity. “Because the images floating around in your brain say differently. They say you’re a free spirit. That you think for yourself. I think they’re right.”
“I can think for myself and still respect this sector,” I said flatly.
“Have you ever thought about your loyalty, Razz?” he asked, moving closer to me.
I pushed him backward. “I think you should go now.”
“Anyone can say they’re loyal to that totalitarian monster, Razz. But have you actually thought about why?”
“I’m not—”
My communicator rang, the long and low beep that meant I was receiving a message from Sector Patrol.
Regent save us. They’d heard our conversation.
I shot Henrick a look that would have chilled a sunlit garden. My heart fell flat in my chest, and my breath grew silent and seldom.
I was frozen in place as it rang again.
I couldn’t move. The fear was too much.
Henrick walked over. Before I had the presence of mind to stop him, he pressed the blinking button to answer the call.
“Razz Coleridge?” asked the voice on the other end—an official-sounding man with a distant and indifferent tone.
“Razz Coleridge?” he repeated when I didn’t answer.
Henrick gave me a nudge, knocking me out of my self-indulgent fear.
“Y-yes,” I answered sharply. “This is me.”
“I’m afraid there’s been an occurrence at your homestead, and it is my duty to make you aware of it.”
“Occurrence?” I asked, confusion evident in my tone. “At my homestead?”
“I’m afraid so,” he answered. “Fifty-seven minutes ago, a distress call was made from the farm which housed your upbringing. Fifty-four minutes ago, emergency responders were dispatched to attend to the cause of the distress—a large fire that quickly spread across the land. Forty-three minutes ago, the aforementioned responders extinguished the flames, saving around three hundred acres of useable farmland. Thirty-six minutes ago, responders were ushered into the burned ruins of your childhood home. Twenty-nine minutes ago, they recovered the charred bodies of your birth parents, Norma and Alaric Coleridge.”
“B-bodies?” I choked out, my heart racing out of control. The news washed cold through my body. I could hardly breathe. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. “My parents are dead?”
“Correct, Ms. Coleridge. Please try to keep up. I have a lot of calls to make tonight. There is the matter of your parents remaining minor daughter, one Gemma Coleridge.”
“Oh,” I exclaimed. “Gemma! Is Gemma—”
“Your sister was able to escape the blaze unscathed. As is the custom in such cases, I can either leave her in your custody or deliver her to Sector Housing for Minors. You have five minutes to grieve and make up your mind. At the end of that time, please speak your decision clearly into the mouthpiece and—”
“I’ll take her,” I said quickly, tears forming in my eyes. “I want my sister. I’m coming right now.”
“Understood. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Coleridge, and, as always, the sector is sorry for your lo—”
I hung up the communicator and grabbed my coat.
“Where are you going?” Henrick asked.
I blinked, having completely forgotten he was even here. “To get my sister,” I said, blinking back tears. “You can show yourself out.”
“You can’t do that,” he said, grabbing my arm.
I yanked away from him. “Oh, I most certainly can.”
“It’s a trap, Razz,” he said. “Can’t you see that?”
Power coursed through me as though it were begging me to release it. “Get out of my house before I break you in half,” I said, my mouth trembling.
Henrick stared at me for a long moment before nodding. “Okay,” he answered. “I will go. But please—be careful.”
And with that, he left, leaving me behind to drown in grief, uncertainty, and tears.
Chapter 6
When I was a child, I used to think I had lived a hard life. We all did. In the Dustlands, we always said we got the short end of things. The people in the center didn’t know what real work was. They didn’t have any idea what it took to make a real Dustlander.
They didn’t know what it was to get up before the sun did. They had never milked a cow or tended to a crop in the dry season. They didn’t deal with early frosts or scorching heat.
But I did. I was a Dustlands girl. I knew hardships.
At least, I thought I did.
As I rode toward the commune station in the dead of night with my mind rushing in every direction but the good ones, I realized I knew nothing of a hard life.
I had been sheltered. Babied. I was coddled by my parents and cared for by people who knew what they were doing.
And now those people were dead.
This was real hardship. Now I knew it, and I would never not know it again.
“Ms. Coleridge, we’re almost there,” Meerina, my center-appointed grief consoler said as the transport began to slow.
She didn’t have to tell me that. I would know these hills anywhere. I saw them in my dreams at night. They were in my heart. They were part of me.
Of course, she didn’t need to be here at all.
I’d told the tall, gaunt woman as much when she showed up, stopping me in my tracks on my way to the transport station. I wasn’t some wilting flower. I didn’t need a stranger to hold my hand as I made my way back to my decimated
family home, back to the life I had left behind just a few days ago, foolishly thinking it might still be there when I got back.
But this was standard sector protocol, especially for those manning the wall. We had the most important jobs in the sector, after all. Our mental well-being couldn’t be at risk.
Still, I had no idea how this woman was supposed to help. She was cold, distant, and more than a little off-putting. Not that it would have mattered. The nuns of the High Arc could be sitting beside me, and it still wouldn’t have done much to lighten my mood or move my thoughts from the tragedy that swallowed my life.
The transport pulled to a stop. As was customary, everyone waited for me to depart first. It was one of the few perks of being in mourning.
I hated this, the way they were looking at me. Pity dotted their eyes and superficial concern painted their faces.
These people didn’t know me. They didn’t know what any of this felt like.
But one person did, and I was dreading seeing her more than I could have ever adequately explained.
I cleared my throat as I stepped off the transport. Meerina settled beside me. I took a deep breath. The warm, damp air of the Dustlands filled my lungs, tickling them in a familiar way that—until this moment—I hadn’t realized I’d forgotten.
I was back home, even though my home was gone.
The transport station was empty, save for Meerina and myself. That wasn’t strange. No one came out here. Even the passengers riding along with us were all likely headed out to the farther reaches of the Dustlands, where outposts and platoons set up their camps just outside the border of the center—the last line of defense to protect the center.
No. This was a farming community. No one came here who didn’t live or work here. And, aside from me, people who lived here didn’t usually leave.
A pang of guilt shot across my chest.
Maybe this wouldn’t have happened if I had never left. Maybe I could have stopped it, and my parents would still be alive, instead of in some holding room waiting to be laid in the ground.
“Our liaison will meet us shortly,” Meerina said, settling beside me and looking into her sector-provided communications device. “Your sister will be in tow if I haven’t been misinformed.”
“I want to see my house,” I said, swallowing hard.
I wanted to see Gemma more than anything, to let her know she wasn’t alone, and that, while things would never be the same for either of us again, I’d never stop working to make sure she was okay.
But there was also something else. Fear had blossomed inside of me, grown with doubt and uncertainty. What if I couldn’t do this? What if I failed my sister? What if she was better off in sector-approved housing, being cared for and educated by foster services until she was old enough to be sorted into the workforce?
No. I shook my head.
She was my sister. I could do this.
Meerina cleared her throat. “We both know that isn’t possible, Ms. Coleridge.”
“I’m sorry. What?” I asked, turning to her.
“Seeing your homestead. It simply isn’t something that I can arrange. First of all, it’s been roped off to avoid the fire spreading or any looters that might wish to steal from what is now considered to be property of the sector.”
“There are no looters here,” I scoffed. “Or anything worth stealing. Or even anyone to steal it from.”
I was as angry as I was hurt, but the pain showed more than the fury, both of which went largely ignored by Meerina.
“Secondly,” she said, “it is my understanding that the entirety of the property has been reduced to rubble and ash. To put it simply, there isn’t anything to go back to.” She frowned. “I do understand that sometimes closure can be cathartic and necessary for the healing process to begin. So, perhaps when you return to your housing module, I can arrange some virtual reality specs so that you might tour your house the way it was. Why, I could even allow you to say goodbye to your parents. Digitally, I mean.”
“No!” I said sharply. “No.” I swallowed hard. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I’ll make a mark of it,” she said, her voice far too chipper. “Now, if you’ll follow me to the procrastination center, we can wait for your sister to be brought to you.”
“You mean the bench?” I asked, glaring over at her. As she nodded, something my father used to say sounded in my head.
Center people are always using five-bolt words when a safety pin of a sentence will do.
He would never say that again. He would never say anything again.
The grief washed over me anew, and it took all I had to push it back down.
“Be strong,” I muttered to myself. “Be strong for your sister.”
“Can I interest you in a trivia game to pass the time while we wait?” Meerina asked, pushing the media pad in my direction. “Might I suggest ‘The Many Triumphs of Brula’ to start with? If you get ten correct answers in a row, Her Magnanimousness appears on the screen to congratulate you herself. It’s quite thrilling.”
“Have you ever actually known anyone who’s died, Meerina?” I asked, narrowing my eyes to near slits while I looked over at her.
“Personally?” she asked. “My own family was blessed with extraordinary genes. Even my grandfather lived to be ninety-six before he was tragically hit by a bus.” She shook her head. “Not that you can blame his genes for that. No. The fault there lies squarely on the shoulders of the center’s traffic committee. Those signs are notoriously hard to read.”
“Well,” I said, trying to keep my breathing calm and steady, “just the same, when you lost him, did anyone ask you to play this stupid trivia game? Because that’s the second-to-last thing I care about right now.”
“Second to last?” she asked. “What, pray tell, would be the last?”
I glared at her, eyeing her up and down until she finally realized I was talking about her.
“Oh, I see,” she answered, straightening up and scooting away from me. “I’m afraid I’ll have to make a note of that in my report.” She swallowed hard. “Protocol and all.”
The next few minutes were quiet. I lost myself in thought until I had no idea what time it was or how long I had been waiting there.
Meerina’s communicator buzzed to life, startling me from my mental funk.
“She’s here,” Meerina answered flatly, careful not to make eye contact with me. “Your sister will be escorted through the South gate in precisely thirty seconds.” She stood. “The next transport leaves in fourteen and one quarter minutes. You and your new dependent are expected to be on board when it does. If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you now. Once again, the sector is very sorry for your loss.” She shoved the media pad back in my face. “If you’ll sign and date at the lines, I’ll be on my way.”
I traced my name along the perforated lines with my finger.
“And this one,” she said, motioning to one I’d missed. “It validates parking.”
Rolling my eyes, I signed the form and watched as the person who had to be the sector’s worst grief consoler walked away and stepped back onto the transport.
Barely a moment later, my sister came into view.
Where I was a near carbon copy of our mother, my sister held enough of our father’s features that my heart ached all over again when I saw her.
A month away from sixteen, she looked even younger as she stepped toward me on the terminal. She had her hair twisted in a ceremonial braid, and she was draped in black linen—also a tradition here in the Dustlands.
Her face—round, red, and stained with tears—stretched as she saw me. She tried to hold back more tears. Like me, she wanted to be strong in the face of all of this.
Unlike me, she didn’t have to be.
I rushed her, scooping her up into the first hug I had gotten since I left home, standing on this very terminal. Her body went limp and shook as she sobbed against my chest.
“It’s all right, Gem,” I s
aid, but I knew it wasn’t. “It’ll all be all right,” I repeated, although I knew it wouldn’t.
My hand stroked her braid, the way Mother’s did anytime either Gemma or I were sad.
It was a small thing, but it shook me to my core. I pulled my hand away and let it hang in the air.
“It’s not right,” Gemma said, pressed against my chest. “It shouldn’t have happened like this.” She pulled away from me, a rare fire stoking in her bright blue eyes. “I’m going to make them pay, Razz. I swear on the regent. I swear on the sector and the people in it. I’m going to make them pay!”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, pulling her forward. I waved her own grief consoler away and sat her down on what I could once again simply refer to as a bench.
She crumbled down into herself, tears forming again behind her eyes.
“It was a fire, Gem,” I said. “An accident. Nobody is to blame. I read the reports.”
“Then you read lies!” Gemma’s words turned up into a snarl. “I was there. I saw it. It was a fire, sure, but it wasn’t normal. Fires aren’t alive. Fires don’t chase you!”
I could barely understand her through her tears.
“You’re not making any sense,” I said, trying to keep my voice low and calm even though both of our grief consolers had taken their leave, leaving us as the only two people in the terminal.
“That’s because it didn’t make any sense,” she yelled. So much for trying to keep her calm. “It was nowhere and then everywhere. How many times have you watched Father tend to things around the farm? Didn’t you think it was strange when you heard it was a fire? Even younglings know better than to let a fire spread. Father grew up on that farm. It was in his blood. It’s in all of our blood.”
I couldn’t disagree with her on that point. Father was a masterclass farmer. I heard stories of him working the combine when he was little more than an infant. It did strike me as odd that he would meet his end by such an easily preventable accident. But what were the other options? Certainly nothing that made any sense.
“People make mistakes all the time,” I said, once again trying to keep myself calm. “Even Father. He was only human, Gem.”
Under: an Adult Dystopian Paranormal Romance: Sector 5 (The Othala Witch Collection) Page 5
