by Astor Penn
I tell her none of this.
“Where were you all this time?” I ask. “In the camp? Did the hazmats take you there from the river that day?”
She doesn’t answer for a beat, looking over my evasion of her question, but I have to know. Did Wyles tell the truth? Was Raven ever in that horrible place, sick and delirious before she got better and was taken away?
“Well, yeah. I remember being surrounded, and they used some kind of gas on me. Then I woke up in a tent with an oxygen mask and an IV. Told me I’d been sick from aftereffects of the gas. I stayed in that tent for several days before they let me out. Then they marched me across from one tent to the gates of the camp you saw. They had guns on me. Despite one of them nursing me back to health, I was sure they were marching me to my death.
“I thought you were dead,” she adds quietly. “I didn’t have to ask myself who I’d choose if you ever showed up. The question didn’t even cross my mind.”
“I’m sorry.” I risk saying it. She takes a step closer but stops. It’s an approach you’d try with a startled animal.
“So? What happened to you?”
I think that despite all the obvious comparisons of my stay in the center to a prison or a concentration camp, I have no physical evidence left on my body. No tattoo or brand burned into my arm. I’m not a number. I wasn’t even a name to many of them. Barely was I human to the worst of them.
It wasn’t long ago I sat in that decaying place with rotting hope, but already it’s faded like a dream. Maybe it was a fever-induced dream. Maybe I’m lying out there somewhere, dying, and these are my last moments, creating a world where I saved not only myself, but everyone else—just a hero complex, too young to ever do anything about it.
“I don’t really know. I’m sorry.” I say it once more because I can.
It’s getting dark again; we’ve already walked an entire day through. “We should get moving. Go a little farther and see if we can find some kind of natural shelter for the night.”
“That’s all I’m going to get?” She hurriedly picks up her pace after I set off. “Did you hear me? I thought you were dead. I knew you were headed right for a trap. There’s no way you got away from them. So what happened? You couldn’t have outrun them, you couldn’t have fought them off.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that.” She snatches my hand as we walk. She tries to yank me to a stop, but I keep moving, dragging her with me. I will keep us both alive. Move. Live.
If I face her now, I will crumble. It will only take one long look, and it’ll be done. I don’t dare face her. I don’t dare stop. I’ve come so far. I’ve done it almost exclusively on my own, and I won’t let any one person ruin me now.
She will ruin me. I think I knew it when I first saw her. I don’t have the courage to let it happen.
“Look at me.”
I can’t.
“Stop. Just for a moment.”
But I march on. “Who’s holding who back now? Can you keep up or not?”
“What happened to you?”
I stop, quite literally, cold in my tracks. The fire is gone, and I can’t take another step forward. Her fingers on my arm, nothing but ice. When I turn to face her, I feel lost because she was my anchor. I thought I knew who she was, who I was, but I feel on the opposite side of the equation now.
“I could ask you the same thing,” I say. “Weren’t you the girl who threatened to kill me less than a minute into our acquaintance?”
My voice is not kind, and for a moment she looks angry, but then she cracks a smile, softer than I’ve ever seen before. She shrugs.
“I know how to win hearts, huh?” She slides her fingers down my arm into my hand, watching me closely. I give her nothing. “Look, I don’t mean to corner you into anything. You don’t have to tell me everything. I just assumed you were in that camp today for me.”
“I was there for you. What else would I have been doing there?”
“I don’t know—saving your own neck?”
She’s not looking at me, as if she’s shy—as if she’s someone else entirely. I can’t let my chill creep into her, so I take her hand in both of mine and tug her closer.
“No. Every word I said was true. I came back. For you. I don’t think I’d be alive if not for you.”
“Yeah, I did such a good job keeping you from walking into that trap.” She looks over again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you walk away.”
“I wouldn’t have let you stop me.”
“No.” She tilts her head, skims her touch along my back to feel the hilt of the knife tucked there. “I don’t think so. You’ve changed.”
Things don’t need to be said. “So have you.”
“For the better, I hope.”
“I don’t know. Guess I’ll find out. It’s just us now.”
She nods, and I turn to march us on. There’s infinite space in front of us and some in between us. We can go anywhere, and we can close that which is between us.
And she does. When I stride forward, she pulls me back. “Just one last thing,” she says.
It’s falling—literally. I stumble against her short stature and crash right into her. She doesn’t mind that my chin headbutts her face; she pulls me down by the collar of my coat and pushes up onto her toes until she’s kissing me.
It’s the best kiss. Maybe because we know it could be the last, maybe because we hope it’s the beginning. It even feels like the first time; we could be two completely different people kissing. Strangers.
“We need to move,” I say finally. Pulling apart to look at each other is slow, measured. I can’t tell when the kiss ends, because as soon as it does, it doesn’t. It’s all a daze the likes of which I never knew in all my fever dreams.
“There’s life out there,” she says.
“I think you’re right.” Now I can smile too. I haven’t told her anything, and I may not. The threat we run from may be gone, but we’ll keep running, because that’s what we’re good at. That’s why we’re here. Raven and I.
There can be no thought of my part in the news; there can be no celebration of good news; there can be no news at all. Somehow, the words, no matter what time they would come, now or later, would be a betrayal, despite my unconscious and involuntary part in it. I know the hatred Raven would feel, and now that her hand is in mine again, I will keep it there by any means necessary. I know what that entails now. There is a knife at my back, a knife on my thigh. She has wire in her free hand, not barbed, but it cuts her skin when she flexes her hold.
We’ll go to my old home, and if it’s no longer a home, we’ll go wherever we want, wherever is free, and fortunately, there is a lot of free space. There is a lot of road in front of us, and I don’t know who or what will be at the end of it.
“Don’t let go, okay?”
“This time, I won’t let you go on your own.”
And she doesn’t.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A VERY humble thanks to anyone who had the slightest hand in making this novel a reality—first and foremost, everyone at Harmony Ink and Dreamspinner, but also my peers and teachers through the years and my friends and family for their support and acceptance. There are too many people who make us who we are to properly recognize or even realize!
The earliest readers of this story deserve a special thank you: Jim, Nancy, Sarah, Susan, Tricia, and Brenna. Without your input, the story would not be what it is, and without your friendship, it may have never been finished or even started. Thank you.
About the Author
ASTOR PENN is a writer and lover of fine teas, soaps, and poodles. After studying film production at NYU, she moved back to the St. Louis area where she currently resides with her girlfriend, hedgehog, and cat. In addition to keeping up with gay culture, Astor also enjoys traveling, French bakeries, and building the perfect wardrobe.
You can keep in touch with her via Tumblr (http://astorpenn.tumblr.com/) or Twitter (https:
//twitter.com/astorpenn).
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