Outliers_A Post-Apocalyptic Dystopian Novel

by Kate L. Mary

  “There is nothing you can do,” I said, and wiggled out of his grasp. “Trust me.”

  I started to walk again, and as always he followed.

  “Will you never tire of chasing me?” I asked after a few beats of silence.

  “I told you I never would.”

  I glanced his way out of the corner of my eye. “Why? Why me?”

  “Do you not know?” Bodhi turned so he was facing me, walking sideways, and the crooked smile he shot me penetrated the wall around my heart. “Because you are better than every other woman in this village. Smarter and stronger, and braver too. I knew it when we were five years old and you went into the woods with me. I have always known it.”

  Heat flared at my cheeks and I looked away. “I am nothing special, Bodhi.”

  “You are everything to me, Indra.”

  I stopped walking, finding myself staring at him in shock. He did not blink, and he held my gaze, totally unashamed that he had said those words.

  “One day you will decide to let me catch you, and when I do, I will never let you go,” he finally said. “For now, I will give you your space.”

  He turned away but I stayed where I was, watching him, still unable to react to the things he had just said. For years Bodhi had been open about his intentions, about wanting to marry me so he could take care of me for the rest of my life, but he had never been as open as he was just now. Had never been so close to confessing his feelings to me.

  I started walking again when Bodhi disappeared from view, making my way to Ronan’s hut. Now that my insides were a tangled mess of emotions, I was more anxious than ever to get back to my family.

  The boy answered the door when I knocked. His skin was as freckled as mine, and the dark shadows under his gray eyes had no place on a child so young. Knowing that I was about to take some of the burden from his shoulders helped push away some of my guilt at not offering the job to one of the dozens of other boys I knew, and the sound of one of his younger sisters crying pushed the rest of my remorse away. By the time I let Ronan and his mother know why I had come, I was confident in my decision, and I was able to accept their enthusiastic thanks with almost no guilt.

  “You will have to leave the village very early tomorrow,” I told him. “But you can travel with Mira and me until you learn what your hours will be.”

  “Will we be going through the wastelands?” he asked, and I was unsure if the energy in his voice was from fear or excitement.

  “We travel the borderland between the wastelands and the Lygan Cliffs. It is safer, but there can still be trouble. You will have to be on alert.” I took a deep breath then. This was the hardest part, preparing the boy for what he was about to face without scaring him. “Just as you will need to be inside the city. You must listen very carefully to what I tell you, Ronan. Are you listening?”

  The boy’s eyes had gotten big, but he nodded.

  “While in the city you must obey any order the Sovereign or Fortis give you,” I said firmly. “No matter what. Do you understand?”

  He nodded again, this time so hard that his shaggy brown hair flopped across his forehead, covering the passage markings above his right eye. “Yes.”

  “You are just an Outlier in there,” I continued. “Which means you are nothing. You must not speak unless spoken to. You do your work and never question anyone or talk back. You never take extra food, even if it is to be thrown in the waste. You must never touch any of the Sovereign’s belongings unless they tell you to, and even then there will be times when you are punished. No one escapes the wrath of the Sovereign forever. But if you do your best and listen to what I have told you, the reprimand will be minor.” I held my hands out so he could see the welts lining my palms. “Larger crimes bring severe punishment. Floggings. Death. Remember that the Winta pride ourselves on being moral and trustworthy. Do not bring shame to our tribe or it will follow you into the afterlife.”

  Ronan was still listening, his eyes as big as they had been when I first began, but I felt as if I needed to make sure he understood that it was not all bad. That even though he would be whipped a time or two, this job would mean a better life for his family.

  “The job is harsh, but you will be paid well. You are given food rations every day to keep you strong, and at the end of every week you will be given more to bring back to your family. Grain, fruit, and vegetables that the Sovereign grow in special buildings within the walls. Things that we cannot get in the wilds because the soil does not allow it. This will not always be an easy job, but it will be worth it if you think you can follow the rules. Can you?”

  “I can do it, Indra. Thank you.” Ronan’s eyes were still wide when he nodded, but they were also full of sincerity, and I felt certain that he was taking my words to heart. That he understood what was at stake.

  “You are welcome, Ronan.” I stood to leave. “Be sure you are ready to go at sunrise. The trip is long and we cannot be late.”

  6

  Ronan was true to his word, and the next morning I found him waiting for me at the edge of the village.

  He was chipper on our way to the city, seemingly undeterred by the numerous warnings Mira and I threw his way, both about the dangers we could encounter on our walk and what he would face inside Saffron’s house. He remained animated until the wall finally came into view, but even then I was uncertain if it was from fear, or because the sight of the massive stone structure overwhelmed him.

  I understood his enthusiasm even though I no longer shared it. As a child, the idea of going into Sovereign City, even as a servant, had been enthralling. I had never seen the walls, it was much too dangerous to travel the borderland for no reason, but I had heard them described dozens of times throughout my life. My mother had started training me for the job at a young age to ensure that I would be ready, something I did not think much of until years later when she fell sick. It was as if she had known even that far back that she would be called into the afterlife much too early.

  It had taken less than an hour inside the walls for me to realize that I was not as blessed as I had thought, though. Yes, we were lucky to have the position, but with the job came great sacrifice. More than I ever could have imagined. I had no doubt that Ronan would be faced with the same epiphany before long.

  We showed him where to stash his weapons when we reached the end of the borderland, knowing that he would most likely be on a different shift and therefore not travel with us after today. I warned him yet again to never take a weapon into the city, praying that he heeded not just this, but all the warnings I had showered him with during the long walk, and then we set off again.

  The Fortis village made Ronan uneasy like nothing else yet had, and as I compared him to the hulking men we passed, I understood why. He was small enough that I was certain he could be crushed under the boots of some of these men if they decided he was in need of being stomped on, and once again I found myself whispering instructions to him. Warning him to keep his head down, to never look one of the Fortis in the eye if he could avoid it. To do everything he was told without question.

  When we arrived at the House of Saffron, I escorted the boy to her office where the mistress inspected him as if he were a strip of meat she was considering serving to important guests. Ronan stood still during the whole procedure, doing as I had instructed him and saying nothing unless addressed directly, and for his restraint I was grateful. If he messed up on the first day not only would he lose the position, but I might also be punished for bringing him into the city. My hands had mostly healed thanks to Adina, but receiving a whipping on top of the welts from yesterday would no doubt tear the skin this time around.

  “He’s a very small child,” Saffron said with a frown, and then looked at me. “Is he hard working?”

  The way she talked about the boy as if he wasn’t even present made me grind my teeth, but as usual I swallowed my annoyance down.

  “He is very hard working,” I told her. “His father died last year and Ronan
has been providing for his mother and two younger sisters by foraging in the forest all day. He gets up before the sun and is awake long after it has set.”

  “At ten?” Saffron nodded in approval. “That is very impressive.” She waved to him as she turned away. “Very well. You may escort him to the kitchen so the housemaid can get him a uniform.”

  I curtsied even though Saffron was no longer looking at us, careful to keep my head down when I said. “Thank you, mistress.”

  “Thank you, mistress,” Ronan repeated obediently.

  We left the office, the boy trailing behind me, and I caught sight of the guard who had asked me if I was okay only the day before. He was standing by the front door, staring at me with dark eyes that stayed focused on me the whole way across the room. Despite the fact that I usually avoided looking at the guards, his expression was so intense and his gaze so engrossed that I found myself glancing back every few seconds, shocked each time I did because he was still looking at me.

  It happened again later in the day, during lunch service this time. I was serving the potatoes when I happened to look toward the Fortis lined up at the back of the room and found the man watching me with an identical expression in his eyes, his gaze just as unyielding as it had been earlier.

  The behavior continued throughout the meal, putting me so much on edge that I had a difficult time keeping my hands from shaking as I cleared the dirty plates. Why did he insist on staring at me? Was this a new occurrence or something I simply had not noticed before now? I had never paid much attention to the men and women charged with guarding the family, but I knew for certain that this man had been working in the house as long as I had. Perhaps even longer. Like the Outliers, the Fortis were born into their positions, and he had probably replaced his father in the house. Unless there were extenuating circumstances, the Fortis rarely came into the city before their eighteenth birthday, and usually around twenty years of age. This man had to be several years older than me. Twenty-seven, perhaps older.

  I would have asked him why he was staring at me if I had been braver, but I was not. Not only had I been trained to never talk to the Fortis, but I was also Winta. In my village, women were considered weak, and putting myself in a dangerous situation was out of the question. Especially when I had no father or husband to protect me.

  Days passed and the situation remained the same. Even worse, once I noticed the Fortis man it seemed as if I was always on the lookout for him, wondering if he was standing in the shadows watching me pass or staring at me during meal service. When the guards came into the kitchen to have their daily lunch, I found myself torn between wanting to avoid looking in his direction and wanting to know if he was watching me yet again. It unnerved me, thinking about having this man watching me.

  The Fortis despised Outliers almost as much as the Sovereign did, although in a much different way. The Sovereign saw us as beneath them. They looked at the markings on our skin, at the shaved heads and piercings of the Huni tribe, and the Lygan teeth the Mountari often decorated their skin with, and they saw savage customs. The Fortis, however, hated us for sport. They took joy in brutalizing any Outlier they came into contact with in the wilds, raping our women and beheading our men. It was a game to them, just as picking on our vulnerabilities inside the walls was. I was well aware of the brutal reputation the Fortis had, as well as the fact that it was justly deserved, and that reputation was exactly why the attention I was getting from the guard in Saffron’s house concerned me so much.

  Despite my worries, the man who persisted in watching me whenever we were in the same room together never gave even the smallest indication that he was dangerous. He never threatened me or tried to corner me, or even threw insults my way. Other than the day he had asked if I was okay, he never even spoke to me.

  Weeks passed and I began to forget that he watched me so intently. Ronan had fallen into his job effortlessly, providing more for his family than he ever had before, and even Lysander seemed pleased with the boy’s efforts. My time working in Saffron’s House returned to normal, and I concentrated on working hard and keeping my head down, not wanting to draw attention to myself. It was the easiest way for an Outlier to get through the day inside Sovereign City. Work and do as you were told until it was time to leave, so that was what I did.

  Ronan had been working in the house for nearly a month when a special dinner was held in honor of Lysander’s impending marriage. His future wife was a waif, an anomaly among the Sovereign, and so thin she would have been at home in an Outlier village—assuming she would have survived even one night outside the walls, which I doubted. There were so few of the Sovereign, and with no new blood being introduced into the gene pool, small or sickly children became more common with each passing year. Although this woman was the worst case I had ever seen. How she would have two healthy babies I had no clue, but I knew it would be expected of her.

  The Sovereign had run out of space to expand decades ago, and population control was closely regulated. Since both Lysander and his wife had come from a one child family, they would be expected to have two children of their own. The alternating generations kept the population from exploding while ensuring that the Sovereign would not die out anytime soon, and it was closely regulated and strictly enforced.

  By contrast, Lysander was as plump as his father. His small stature contrasted with the roundness of his frame, making it seem as if he would topple over with even the smallest shove, and yet when he had his sights set on something, or someone, he moved with a lethal quickness that could have rivaled a lygan. His round face, often sweaty, was already as waxy-looking as his parents’ and had taken on a yellowish tint that was common among the men inside the city. Too much drinking I could only assume since that was how most of the men spent their days.

  While Lysander ate his meal, Ronan stood dutifully at his master’s side. Lysander probably did it on purpose. Anyone could tell just by looking at the boy that he often went without at home, and the sights and smells of the food were no doubt torturous for him. Lysander had inherited his mother’s love for inflicting pain; only he had no qualms about showing it. Saffron at least had enough breeding to hide hers. For the most part.

  I circled the table with a bottle of wine, pouring more into any glasses that needed refilling. Lysander waved his meaty hand to his half-empty glass when I walked by and I stopped at his side.

  When his hand touched the back of my leg, I refused to react. Not when it moved up, not when it cupped the curve of my right buttock. Not when his fingers delved deeper, so deep they would have found a home inside me if not for the folds of my skirt. The small tremble of my hand was the only thing that gave me away, but even that was controlled. No, Lysander had never gotten me in the pantry a second time, but this was a common occurrence in Saffron’s house.

  “Indra,” Saffron called from across the table.

  Her son’s hand fell away.

  “Mistress?” I replied as I took a step back, putting distance between Lysander and myself.

  “My son tells me that his new Hand is doing very well. As always, you have done an excellent job. Thank you.”

  “I am pleased that you are happy,” I said, and then with my eyes cast down, I returned to my spot at Mira’s side.

  The statement was a power play for Saffron and had very little to do with Ronan or me. Stateswoman Paizlee just so happened to be the mother of Lysander’s future wife—whose name I still had not caught—and Saffron was letting her political loyalties be known. Their children may be getting married, but supporting the Stateswoman’s new bill was out of the question.

  “You’re lucky to have such good help.” Paizlee dabbed at her mouth with a cloth napkin. She was a good decade younger than Saffron, and as round as a woman in her position was expected to be. “It hasn’t been the case as of late, I’m afraid to say. The Outliers have become increasingly unreliable. They see their positions as a birthright and have therefore taken them for granted.”

  “
Isn’t that what they are?” Lysander asked through a mouthful of food. “A birthright?”

  Both women looked at him before glancing at his soon-to-be-wife. She was staring at her hands, which were folded neatly in her lap. She was the most silent woman I had ever seen within the walls of the city. It was her complacent personality that had no doubt led Lysander to choose her as his bride. Bastian may have been satisfied to drink his days away and leave the important decisions to Saffron, but Lysander was nothing like his father. He liked control.

  “No.” Paizlee dropped her napkin on the table. “These people have no rights, least of all birthrights. We allow them to keep the jobs in the family because it’s easier for us. We know the mothers spend their evenings teaching their daughters, which means that by the time they come here they already know the rules. Isn’t that how it was with your girl? What was her name? Idina?”

  “Indra,” Saffron corrected her. “And yes. She came to me three years ago well trained and ready to work. Her mother, Dichen, prepared her, so when she arrived it was only a matter of giving her a tour and handing her a uniform. The transition was flawless.”

  “Precisely,” Paizlee said, pointing at the air to emphasize her point. “As it should be. Unfortunately, too many Outliers now look at it as a position they cannot lose, and they’ve become lazy and insolent as a result.”

  My back stiffened and Mira shot me a look. I had never met a single Outlier who was lazy. People who slacked off in the wilds died. We were nothing like the Sovereign, who would be unable to brew a cup of coffee if not for us.

  Paizlee continued her rant about how ungrateful Outliers were while the rest of the room ate and drank in silence. Bastian was well on his way to consuming an entire bottle of wine by himself when he waved for me to refill his glass. Across from him, Paizlee’s round husband, whose name I was even less sure of than I was his daughter’s, was just as bad.