by Pintip Dunn
But when? Is there ever a good time to have a hole punched through your heart?
I blink back the tears, and the door creaks open. A young woman peers out. I remember her from the medical facility. She has the same flaxen hair as Brooklyn, but instead of pigtails, it’s tied in a knot at the base of her neck.
“Yes?” she asks. “May I help you?”
I give her my best harmless smile. “We met at the medical facility. I’m Princess Blanca’s sister, Vela—”
“I know who you are,” she interrupts. “Are you here about my baby? Are we moving back to the facility?”
There’s so much hope in her voice, so much desperation. I know in this instant the council was right to push Blanca. Yes, feeding tubes are an inspired intermediate solution, but they can’t give the patients back their lives. If the council doesn’t come up with a better answer, if the Fittest families don’t relent, little Brooklyn may not see the age of three. Hanoi may not live past the year. “I’m sorry. The council’s still trying to straighten things out. How’s Brooklyn doing?”
“Awful.” She pushes away a strand of hair that’s dislodged from her knot. “I’m on her every second, and even then, she pulls out the tube ten times a day. She’s driving me crazy!”
“And you’re her mother? Camden Dorset?”
She nods, her shoulders rising preemptively, as if she expects me to criticize her. She’s young, in colonist years, to be a mother. It’s not uncommon for Aegis to bear children this early. We only have thirty years to live, after all. But most colonists, with their longer life spans, don’t have babies until later in life.
“I’m looking for Brooklyn’s father,” I say.
“Her father?” she echoes, her voice as blank as her face.
“Yes. Zelo Hale? Does he live here?”
Her eyes narrow, her lips tighten. If this conversation disintegrates, I have no doubt who will throw the first punch. “I have no idea who you’re talking about. I’ve never heard that name before.”
“Maybe he’s an uncle, then? Or a friend? My sister saw him visiting Brooklyn at the facility.”
“You have the wrong place. Sorry.”
She tries to shut the door, but I stick my foot out. The door slams into it, crunching my shoe between metal and doorframe.
Ow. A supernova explodes in my head, and I swear I hear bones crack.
But at least the door doesn’t close.
“Who is it, Camden? Is everything okay?” a familiar voice asks.
The door opens again, and Zelo appears, wearing a form-fitting blue shirt and pants. He doesn’t look like the disciples of the Temple, with their wardrobe of flowing clothes. Nor the other candidates, with their uniform sweats. He looks exactly like who he is: a regular guy…and a father.
He does a double take when he sees me, maybe because I’m hopping on one foot and cradling the other one in my hands.
“I’m sorry.” His eyes ping-pong between me and Camden. “Can I get you anything? Ice? A bandage, maybe?”
Camden crosses her arms. The only thing she’s sorry about is not shutting the door harder.
“I’ll be fine. I could sit for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.” Before he can come up with an excuse to turn me away, I limp across the threshold, clenching my jaw with each step.
We move into the main room, and Zelo pulls the couch out of the wall. A vase of bright, blooming azaleas sits on the window ledge, and small puddles litter the floor.
Brooklyn stacks building blocks in a precarious tower. Her feeding tube lies on the ground, as silent and insidious as a snake, dripping out the nutrients that should be going inside her.
“Brooklyn, no!” Camden snatches up the tube and attaches it to the port in the little girl’s stomach. A small pool of liquid remains where the tube lay. “What did Mummy say? You have to keep in the tube.”
“Make you!” Brooklyn smashes her tower with so much force the tube falls down along with the blocks. Camden blows the hair out of her face and reattaches it again.
“That’s her new favorite phrase,” Zelo says, helping me to the couch and sitting next to me. He half laughs, half sighs, as if he doesn’t know whether to be frustrated or proud. “We’re at our wits’ ends.”
“Is all that liquid from her formula?” I count the puddles. Four…five…six…
“I have to leave the puddles there until the end of the day,” Camden says. Her shoulders are in their defensive position again. “That way, I’ll know how many nutrients she’s lost. When she cries at night, I need to know if she’s hungry.”
“Do you have enough formula bags?” I ask.
“The facility sent us home with a month’s supply. Only two days have passed, and she’s already gone through a week’s worth.”
“I’ll make sure you get more.”
Camden’s lips tremble, but no sound comes out. It’s as if she can’t bring herself to thank the enemy. Without another word, she scoops up her daughter, along with the portable stand, and leaves the room.
“You may not be able to tell, but she does appreciate your generosity,” Zelo says. “We both do.”
We. Our. This whole visit, Zelo’s been talking in the first-person plural. Back at the shuttle, during the trials, it was all “I” and “me.” Language that suggested he was alone in this world. When he clearly isn’t.
“So, you have a baby,” I say.
“Yes.” His voice is resigned, as if he knows he’s past the point of lying.
“And Camden? Is she your wife?”
“Girlfriend.”
“I’m guessing you also didn’t receive a message from God. And he didn’t tell you to die for the King.”
He ducks his head. “I didn’t lie about my entire background. The part about growing up at the Baby Unit, the origins of my name. That was all true. I even prayed at the Temple for a short time, when I was feeling particularly lost. But I didn’t tell you the whole story.”
I study his flat nose, the horizontal eyebrows. This boy I thought I knew but didn’t. I built up his image in my mind. How much of my deception was fueled by his lies, and how much by my own need to believe? I wanted so badly to find the perfect candidate. Not only so I could save Carr, but also so I could sacrifice a boy without feeling remorse. The old Zelo fit every criterion.
“Why did you lie? Can you tell me the real story now?”
He sighs and picks up a rag doll lying by his feet. Tiny holes—the kind a toddler’s teeth might make—puncture the doll’s skirt. “When Brooklyn was born, we didn’t have many pills. I was working a double shift at the glasshouses, and we still didn’t make enough to feed her. Baby nutrition pills cost twice as much as adult ones. Did you know that?”
I shake my head, guilt slithering through my heart. I should’ve known. If I’m to be the ruler of this colony, this is the kind of information I need to have. My father has kept me too sheltered. The moment I’m selected as the Successor, and even if I’m not, things are going to change.
“She cried constantly. The only time she would stop is when we gave her a pill. When the effects of the pill wore off, she cried again. You didn’t have to be a genius to figure out she was hungry.”
His fingers tighten around the doll, and he stares into its opaque button eyes. “I started stealing from the glasshouses. Fruit, mostly. Bananas, avocados, peaches, pears. Soft foods that were easy to mash up. A different place every day so I wouldn’t get caught.” He looks up. “Brooklyn was happy for the first time in her short life. We didn’t count on her body developing a resistance to the pills.”
“That’s why you were competing to be the Fittest? So Brooklyn can eat real food?” My voice is faint and far away. Because that’s the same reason Carr chose to compete. The exact. Same. Reason.
He nods. A single tear drops onto the doll’s button eyes, so it looks like she’s weeping, too. “You should’ve heard her crying, Princess. Her sobs weren’t the brash screams you hear from most babies. She was so weak her cries sounded mor
e like musical notes. The saddest song I’ve ever heard.”
My chest squeezes. The room is silent, but I can hear the haunting melody of her cries in my mind. The helplessness pools in my gut, the kind that makes you antsy and scared and determined all at once. And I know I would’ve done the same thing in his position.
“I’m sorry I lied.” His shoulders move with his breath. “But I knew there was no way you would deem me worthy if you knew who I really was. A liar and a thief.”
All of a sudden, I’m certain Zelo had nothing to do with Astana’s death. I was wrong about him, but not that wrong.
“If you’re a liar and a thief, then so am I. The council forgave me for stealing food. And my motivation wasn’t even as good as yours.”
I take the doll out of his hands and wipe the moisture from her eyes. So that’s it, then. He’s not a boy on a mission from God. He has a family. A daughter. I want to save Carr, but not like this. Even my love for him doesn’t extend to ripping a father from his child. “Take care of your family, Zelo. I’ll do everything in my power to make sure Brooklyn gets well.”
I get to my feet and limp to the door.
“Wait, Princess,” he calls. “Why did you come?”
“No reason. No reason that’s important anymore.”
“You found something, didn’t you? When we last spoke, you said if there was a mistake, you would find it.” His eyes blaze with the zeal I’m used to seeing in the old Zelo. Only now, I know the fervor isn’t for God. It’s for his daughter. “Tell me. I was willing to lay down my life for your father. You owe me at least this much.”
He’s right. I came this far. He deserves an explanation. “The files were wiped. We’re trying to reconstruct the data using the candidates’ silver discs, so that we can determine if CORA made a mistake. Only one disc is missing. Yours.”
He jumps off the couch, his arm swinging wide and knocking the vase of azaleas to the floor. “I’ll get the disc for you.”
“No, Zelo. I didn’t know you had a daughter. Camden and Brooklyn need you.”
“They need me to save Brooklyn’s life,” he says fiercely. “You will not take this chance from me, Princess. This opportunity is my right as much as any of the candidates’.”
My heart throbs in a way that’s all too familiar. The council made me administrator of the Trials. Not judge, jury, and executioner. It’s not my place to determine whom CORA may consider. Or is it?
“I don’t have a death debt to redeem.” His voice lowers, and I realize he must be a lot closer to Carr than I realized if he knows this much. “But I have a daughter whom I love very much. You gave Carr the chance to save his sister. Please, I’m begging you. Give me the chance to save my baby.”
What do I say? What can I do? He’s right. I did give Carr the chance. How can I treat Zelo any differently?
My head pounds with all the choices, but I don’t need to make any decisions. At least not yet. “Get the silver disc. Let’s see what CORA says.”
“Thank you, Princess.” He seizes my hand and licks it. And then frowns at the spilled vase on the floor. “I need to pick up this mess before Brooklyn eats a leaf and gets sick.”
“Go ahead. I’ll clean it.” I kneel on the floor, the pain in my foot faded to a dull throb. “Where did these flowers come from, anyway?”
“Denver sent a vase home with each patient, as a memento of Astana. All the patients in the pool loved her, you know. He said azaleas were her favorite flower.”
“They were.” My heart heavy, I begin to gather the leaves and stems. So sweet of Denver. So thoughtful. I’ve been so consumed by my own grief, I haven’t thought to check on my cousin. He must be devastated.
“Will he be taking over the task, now that Blanca’s been red-celled?”
I jerk, and I cut my hand on a piece of the vase. “Why would he do that?”
“He seemed to be running things, that’s all. Camden had an exit interview with him before she left, and he said he would be in touch.”
Running things? Exit interviews? Denver’s supposed to be mourning my best friend’s death. I would think he’d be locked in his glasshouse, surrounded by his flowers and his memories. Not conducting exit interviews.
“I’ll get that disc for you,” Zelo says and disappears into the corridor.
I barely notice him leave. I pick up a delicate bloom. A drop of my blood falls on the petal, and I watch the stain of red spreading across the pink.
What’s going on? My cousin must be grieving in his own way, determined to find a solution in honor of Astana. But he pulled himself together pretty quickly. I lost two days in the Banquet Hall, doing my duty so I wouldn’t think, wouldn’t feel. In order for Denver to conduct exit interviews, he’d have to go straight from the TCU to the patient pool.
I look down at the azalea. The petals flutter in the air. The movement comes from the trembling of my hand. I know that. But I feel as though the flower’s trying to tell me something. What?
Zelo comes back into the room, carrying a filigree silver box. “I knew there was a reason I kept the disc in a safe place.” He lays the box on the table and lifts the lid.
We stare at the crushed velvet cloth. And nothing else.
“Where’s the disc?” I ask.
He shakes his head, a crease between his brows. And then his head snaps up. “Oh, dear Zeus. Camden has it.”
Chapter
Forty
We check the three rooms of the living unit. No Camden. No Brooklyn.
“I don’t understand,” I say. “They were just here.”
Throughout our conversation, I heard feet padding down the corridor. Toddler shrieks and giggles. Or at least, I thought I did. But maybe my imagination’s filling in the blanks of my memory.
Zelo strides to the front entry, where the door has been left open a couple inches. “The door clicks when it closes. She didn’t want us to hear them leave.”
“Where would they go?”
His face turns winter-sky white. “The river. Dear Dion, she’s going to throw the disc in the river.”
He’s out the door before the words exit his mouth. He dashes up the corridor and scuttles down three stories of steps cut into the rock.
I do my best to keep up. Did I think my foot was better? The scream along my bones disagrees.
“Where’s the river?” I get out between pants.
“Right behind the Slag.”
We hit the line of trees, and Zelo charges straight ahead. I’m assaulted by both the swing of branches and the smell of eucalyptus. Any other time, I would’ve stopped and let the smell transport me. Now, the scent is nothing but a wall through which to crash.
My foot catches on an exposed tree root, but I don’t have time to fall. Branches scrape off the first layer of my skin, but I don’t have time to feel. We run and run and run. I hear the river before I see it, a sustained roar of currents crashing over boulders.
We burst onto the shore, and I glimpse the long, unending line of water. It winds through the entire north end of our bubble. Despair fills me. How will we ever find her?
But Zelo seems to know where he’s going. He heads to a cluster of boulders and slides down the back. There Camden sits, her back hunched, cradling Brooklyn between her legs. The portable stand holding the bags of formula is wedged in a rock, but the way the little girl’s wiggling, she’ll knock it over any second.
“Where’s the disc?” Zelo kneels before his girlfriend. “Oh please, baby, tell me you haven’t thrown it out. Oh please.”
Camden looks up. Tears scratch down her dusty cheeks. She slowly lifts her hand and uncurls her fingers. Inside glints a silver circle.
Relief presses me up against the boulders.
But it is short-lived.
Even as I watch, Camden pulls her hand back and launches the disc into the river. Zelo grabs at the air, but it’s too late. The disc disappears into a gush of white foam.
“It’s gone,” Camden says, her voice as
grim as her face. “You’re no longer in the running to be the Fittest. You’re not leaving us.”
“Watch me,” Zelo says and dives into the icy current.
I hesitate. If the disc is gone, CORA won’t be able to redo the calculation. I won’t have to make a hard decision. And I won’t be able to save Carr, either.
Staying on the shore would be the coward’s way out. Whatever else I may be, I’m not a coward.
An instant later, I jump in after Zelo.
…
The water swallows me up, uncomfortably cold, and my feet squish in the mud. I open my eyes underwater, and they sting, as if someone’s poured oil and vinegar into them. But I can see, and that’s what matters.
I surface for a breath. The water rushes against my collarbone, and the current pushes me down the river. Already, Camden is a figure in the distance.
I dive back under, twisting my neck as I try to look at every rock and vegetation that rushes by. Zelo is twenty feet downriver, and I hope he’s doing the same. Our only shot is if the disc gets wrapped in some weeds or stuck in a cranny between boulders.
The water pushes me too fast. I don’t have time to examine every moss and algae. Plus, I have to surface for precious seconds in order to breathe. I need to orient my feet in front so I don’t smash into boulders. All of this takes time and focus from my search.
What are you doing? My lungs scream. This is hopeless. Utterly hopeless.
But then, as I’m rushing past two boulders in a V formation, something gleams at me. It could be a shiny rock. The scales of an iridescent fish. Maybe the trick of the sun lamps on my wishful eyes.
I turn my body and grab at the underwater tree roots. My first grasp isn’t strong enough, and I slip farther down the river. I lunge again, both hands this time. Something sharp nicks my forearm, and the water turns cloudy red.
The roots hold.
I drag my head above the water. “Zelo! I see something! I see something!”
He must hear me. His entire body jerks, and I assume he’s attempting the same maneuver as me.
My arms throb. My muscles ache. I’m not sure I can feel my toes. But I grit my teeth and painstakingly drag myself, hand over hand, up the river.
