Captives

by Jill Williamson

  “What do you have in mind?” Naomi asked.

  “We start by sending Levi a message,” Jemma said. “I need some paper and a pen.”

  Shaylinn tuned out. Jemma’s letter to Levi wouldn’t reach him before her appointment in the morning. She read her summons again and closed her eyes. God? Is this what you want for me? Why?

  Someone sat beside her on the couch. Shaylinn opened her eyes. Mia.

  “I think you’re so lucky,” Mia said.

  Shaylinn scowled. “You’re such a liar.”

  “You’re going to be famous. Everyone is going to worship you. And I’m not lying.”

  “Then trade places with me.”

  “I already asked. They said our numbers are based on our biology or something like that. Nothing can be done. But they said we’ll all be pregnant within the next six weeks, so it won’t be long.”

  Shaylinn stared at the summons again. Tomorrow. No, it wouldn’t be long at all.

  Shaylinn sat on her front porch, knitting a hat for her baby. Her belly was huge, the perfect table for her project. It wouldn’t be long now, and they would be a family of four.

  The children ran past the porch, giggling, holding fistfuls of dandelion clocks, loose seeds drifting behind them.

  She watched them run, her heart light and free and very full. They ran straight to their father, jumping up and down at his feet and begging him to blow, blow.

  He did, and the seeds danced in the air to the laughter of the children, bringing a wide smile to Shaylinn’s lips.

  She woke as if someone had gently nudged her shoulder. It had been only a faceless dream, yet she felt calm and peaceful. Is everything going to be okay, God? Could it be true?

  CHAPTER

  23

  Omar pressed the down arrow and stepped back from the elevator to wait, staring at his scabbed knuckles as he pulled his hand away. It had felt good to hurt Levi—to dominate him for the first time ever. But it hadn’t taken long for the thrill to turn to guilt. Skottie and Charlz had taken Levi to the medical center and told Omar that Levi had gotten a second X for assaulting an enforcer.

  They were trying to comfort him. But Omar knew that Levi’s anger was justified. He scratched at the smallest scab on his middle knuckle. If only no one had died. If only the enforcers had come to Glenrock peacefully when Omar had told them to.

  No matter how Omar tried to shift blame, it always came back. He was responsible for many deaths. His father and uncle … nine men total, two women, a child, and possibly more.

  “What are you doing?” a velvety voice asked.

  Omar whirled around and saw Bel, his red-headed neighbor, standing behind him. She was wearing a short gold dress that draped off the edges of her shoulders and clung to her body like it was trying not to slide off. Square nets of gold and black metal dangled from her ears. And she wore black boots that came up to her knees. There were no feathers in her hair today; she’d straightened it into a silky red curtain.

  He liked that Bel never seemed to mimic everyone else’s styles. Skottie had talked Omar into buying a lot of black clothes because he could mix them with the color trends and still fit in. Today, he was wearing shiny black pants and a stiff red shirt that buttoned only halfway up.

  “Could I paint you?” Omar asked, bolder after several nights out with Skottie and Charlz. “Your portrait, I mean.”

  She blinked her thick, dark lashes. “Walls! You move kind of fast, don’t you?”

  “I’m an artist,” Omar said. “And you’re beautiful. It would be wrong not to paint you.”

  The elevator dinged. Omar jumped. Bel laughed, her shoulders trembling with the movement. Omar wasn’t sure if she was laughing because he’d asked to paint her or because the elevator had startled him. He stepped toward the open doors, but Bel caught his hand and pulled him back. The elevator closed.

  Her lips curved in a slow smile. Still holding his hand, she lifted it toward her face and examined his knuckles. “You got into a fight.” She kissed each scrape, then released his hand. “I hope she was worth it.”

  Omar couldn’t breathe. His hand seemed to tingle, which had to be his imagination.

  “You meeting a femme tonight?” She withdrew a purple metal vaporizer from her purse, put the end to her lips, and breathed in.

  “No.”

  “You’re an outsider, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice hoarse as she held in her breath.

  “I’m a Safe Lands national.”

  She turned her head, blew out a stream of bright green vapor, and fixed her gaze back to Omar. “But you were an outsider, right?”

  “I’m that obvious?”

  She laughed again. “Yes.”

  “What am I doing wrong?”

  “I wouldn’t say wrong. You just look so healthy. And lost and lonely and … intense. I’m Belbeline, or Bel, by the way. But I guess you heard my friends call me that already. What’s your name?”

  “Omar Strong.” He pressed the down button again.

  “Where you headed right now, Omar Strong?”

  “To a club.”

  “I’m going to need a little more than that. Which club?”

  He was meeting Skottie and Charlz at Ginger Oak again, but a girl might not like that. He shrugged. “First one I come to.”

  She clicked her tongue. “Oh, that’ll never do. Come with me tonight, trigger. I’ll be your guide. What’s your stim?”

  Omar glanced at the purple vaporizer delicately balanced between her long, pale fingers. “I like beer.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Do you have a vaporizer?”

  “No.” Skottie kept telling Omar he should get one, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever they held.

  “You’ll need a good one.” Belbeline squeezed his arm. “Are you really of age?”

  No. But Omar said, “Yeah.”

  “You look so young, you blessed thing.”

  “You look young too.”

  “Flattery will get you … exactly what you want, I imagine,” she said, giggling.

  He grinned, not knowing if he was supposed to reply.

  “For a guy who asked to paint me, you’re still a bit of a neo.”

  He stiffened, not understanding her criticism.

  “But my, you have a quick temper. Don’t be so serious. I’m teasing you. Stick with me, and I’ll take good care of you tonight, Valentine.”

  The elevator arrived then. In the lobby, Belbeline called a taxi, which carried them to a dance club called Blue Heaven. Omar tapped Skottie and told them not to wait for him.

  As the taxi slowed to a stop outside the club’s entrance, Omar could hear the thump of bass inside the car. “It must be really loud inside,” he said, watching the way the blue lights pulsed in the night sky.

  “It is.” Belbeline slid across the seat and opened the door. She said something to him with a wink, but Omar couldn’t make out the words.

  He followed her into the dark interior, where the sound intensified until the beat was like a physical force, almost pushing him back to the entrance. At first he couldn’t see, but his eyes slowly adjusted.

  Shards of colored light slashed from the ceiling across the dance floor. Squares of light dotted the dance floor, and those dancing on them seemed on fire, while the rest of the crowd appeared as fragmented limbs and faces, their bodies lost in the darkness until the colored light cut across them.

  Belbeline took his hand and pulled him through the bouncing mob, past bare skin, long legs, black leather, red dresses, a cloud of perfume, and couples whose bodies were tangled together. Some girl’s hair slapped his face. A guy brushed up against his side. It wasn’t possible for Omar to not touch someone. Skottie and Charlz had never taken him anywhere so … fast.

  Belbeline released his hand and spun around. Blue light slashed across her face, highlighting her features. She smiled slowly, swayed, moved her feet, grabbed the sides of her skirt and swished it around. Omar’s stomach seemed to slide down one
leg of his pants and onto the floor as she lifted her arms over her head, shaking out her curtain of hair. This was not how people danced in Glenrock.

  She moved closer and put her hands on Omar’s waist. He hugged her close, liking how she felt in his arms. They danced through several songs, moving in time with the mob. Omar felt connected, included. This was all he’d really wanted: a beautiful woman to choose him.

  She leaned close and yelled in his ear, “I know something that will really make your night wild.” She tugged him by the hand through the crowd.

  Omar would have followed her anywhere.

  They left the dance floor and walked down a narrow corridor, up a flight of stairs, and down a wider hallway. The walls were painted black, lit by twinkling lights that zigzagged along the ceiling.

  “Where are we going?” he called.

  “Somewhere more quiet,” she said.

  Halfway down the hall, Bel stopped at a door, knocked twice, paused, then knocked five more times. The door swung in, revealing an imposing man in jeans, a black jacket, and dark sunglasses. He stood beside a black podium that held a SimTag pad.

  Belbeline set the side of her hand against it, her other hand still clasping Omar’s. “How are you tonight, Dag?”

  “Decent.” The man looked at Omar, then down at the pad, then up again, and Omar swiped his fist as well. The man gave him a nod. “Enjoy.”

  “We will.”

  Belbeline led Omar into a dark room clouded with vapors that smelled sweet and minty, and of something else that tickled his nose. The room was filled with small tables and chairs, couches, oversized pillows, and recliners in black and silver that were arranged on either side of a low, two-sided glass bar that stretched down the center of the room and glowed brightly with blue light—the only light in the room. The barkeep stood on a floor that was lower than the one Omar was walking on. Dozens of people sat vaping, talking, kissing.

  Belbeline walked to the bar and set her vaporizer on the counter. The purple metal tube rolled a little over the glass. She spoke to the barkeep. “Give me my usual, and vape me with a five. Pink, strawberry, grass. And my man here, I’m going to buy him a PV. You have a silver bullet?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, fill it with grass … a two. Black. No flavor. And get him a —” She looked at Omar. “A black velvet to start.”

  “You got it.” The barkeep held out a pad, and Bel pressed her hand against it.

  “We’ll be in the corner.” Belbeline took Omar’s arm and led him to the far side of the room, where they claimed a black leather sofa and a tiny square table. “Girls where you live probably don’t dress like us or dance like us, huh?”

  “Uh, no.” He laughed, trying to picture Shay in Bel’s dress.

  “You and I, Omar … We’re going to have so much fun together.”

  Omar ran his fingers over the scabs on his knuckles, wondering what kind of fun Belbeline had in mind. It didn’t seem fair that so many were dead because of him, yet here he was with this beautiful, friendly woman. He’d expected God to punish him for what he’d done, but his life here only seemed like a reward.

  That bothered him more than he cared to admit.

  The barkeep arrived with a tray. He set two glasses on the square table before them. One was a goblet-like glass filled with clear liquid; several olives rested inside. The other glass was tall and thick, filled with two stripes of dark liquid and froth on top. He also set a silver plate between the glasses. The vaporizers sat propped on little indentations in the plate, Belbeline’s purple vaporizer and a thick silver one. “You guys behave, now.”

  “Oh, we will.” Belbeline reached for the glass with the clear liquid. She took a sip, then set the glass back on the tray. She pushed the other glass toward him. “Find pleasure in life.”

  Omar picked up the glass, which was cold in his hand, and took a sip. His top lip sank into the froth, and the liquid below was cold, fizzy, and had a bitter, creamy taste. It also tasted smoky, a bit like unsweetened chocolate, but it seemed like some sort of beer. He started to put down the glass, but Belbeline set her hand on his arm.

  “Don’t give up. Give yourself a chance to get used to the taste.”

  He took another sip, liking the way the drink seemed alive and whispering.

  Belbeline picked up her vaporizer and took a long breath. “Since you’re so sweet, I bought you one,” she said on an exhale, her words hoarser than normal as a pink cloud of vapor seeped from her lips. “It’s a personal vaporizer. Most people call them PVs.”

  “Thanks.” Omar wasn’t certain he wanted one, but it did seem as though he was the only national without one, and the guys had wanted him to try it. He wasn’t sure what was holding him back. “But what are they for?” Omar had watched an entire show about it and still didn’t know.

  “Whatever you need, or want,” Bel said. “You can vape anything. People take their meds this way. Some also like to vape stimulants.” One side of her mouth quirked up. “There are all kinds of juices from plain flavors, which is like candy, to harder stuff. You order a hit level, which is how powerful the vape will be. And if you want, you can also ask for color, which will color your fog.”

  “Fog?”

  “Your breath when you blow out.”

  Omar stared at the silver tube. “So what’s in mine?”

  “I got you grass, only a hit level two. You ever tried marijuana?”

  “No.” Some people in Jack’s Peak smoked marijuana. And Omar had heard stories of Jordan’s grandpa smoking it. “It wasn’t allowed in our village.”

  “Well, everything is allowed here. And grass will help you relax, so we can go downstairs and really dance.”

  Omar swallowed, embarrassed by his hesitation. He’d much rather go back to the dance floor now. “Don’t you smoke marijuana, though? I guess I don’t understand how a vaporizer is different.”

  “Smoking is against Safe Lands law. It’s unhealthy, and it gives you bad breath. Plus it can start fires. Vaporizers don’t even have a smell, unless you get flavor.”

  Was that why marijuana was bad? Papa Eli had never said why. Perhaps the Safe Lands had found a way to eliminate all the dangers. Doubts nagged him, but would it hurt to try it once?

  Omar picked up the silver tube, wanting to please Bel. “How do you do it?”

  Belbeline snatched the vaporizer from his fingers. “I’ll get it started for you. New PVs don’t work quite right at first.” She put her lips around the end and took a few quick breaths. The tip lit up bright blue with each draw. With almost no emotion on her face, she blew out a quick puff of black vapor, sucked longer, then blew out a long stream of vapor that felt cool as it hit Omar’s face. “That’s better.” She handed it to him, a ring of red lipstick around the end of the silver tube. “Now you try.”

  He put the end into his mouth and sucked. Nothing happened.

  “Push the button,” Belbeline said.

  He tried again, this time pushing the small circle on one side. Hot air filled his mouth and burned the back of his throat. He opened his mouth and croaked, “It’s hot.”

  “Take shorter breaths until you’re used to it. They have cold PVs too, you know. They’re kind of fun if you want chilled vape.”

  Omar took a short breath, and the hot moisture filled his mouth like breathing in steam from the sauna. He held it there, not sure what to do. He swallowed and choked.

  “Don’t swallow it, dim. Breathe it all the way into your lungs.”

  Omar tried again. The hot air passed into his mouth, down his throat, and filled his chest with a slight burning.

  “Now blow it out,” Bel said, her sapphire eyes more like black diamonds in the low light.

  The stream of vapor came out in a black plume, like a curl of smoke from a dirty chimney. He smiled and tried it again.

  Belbeline inhaled on her own vaporizer, and exhaled a bright pink stream into Omar’s black one. He laughed, and for a while they simply sat and blew vapor
at each other.

  The nerves in Omar’s body began to tingle, even behind his eyes. He could feel his heart thudding in his chest, faster, it seemed, as if he’d been running. “Did they turn up the music?” he asked Belbeline, who was fishing an olive out of her drink.

  “That girl is waving at you.” Belbeline put the olive in her mouth and tucked it into her check. She nodded over Omar’s shoulder. “Do you know her?”

  Omar squinted across the dark room. Mia sat at a little round table with two men and a woman. Mia smiled, spoke to one of the men, then stood and walked toward him.

  Lights seemed to flash as Mia came over. Omar squinted against the brightness and leaned against the sofa, feeling like he could melt into it. His arms prickled like static was in the air.

  Mia stopped before their couch, her posture straight as a lamppost. “I just wanted to say that even though the way you did this was wrong—that people shouldn’t have had to die—I do agree with you. Life here is better than it was in Glenrock.” She glanced at Belbeline. “Who’s your friend?”

  Omar turned to look at Belbeline and remembered that she’d wanted to dance.

  “I’m Belbeline Combs.”

  “Are you a dancer?” Mia asked.

  The sound of Belbeline’s laugh warbled in pitch from high to low and back to high. Omar winced and shook his head to get rid of the sound.

  “Right now I task as a masseuse at the Highland Grove Spa. I’ve also tasked as a barista. I love to dance, but just for fun.”

  The olives in Belbeline’s glass reminded Omar of tiny frogs sticking out their tongues. He snorted, trying not to laugh.

  “Well, you’re pretty enough to be a stage dancer,” Mia said.

  “Thank you …?”

  “Mia. I’m from Omar’s village. I’m here with Rand MacCormon. He’s a piano player for Maroz Zerrik and Nelessa Kade.”

  “I’ve seen their show. They’re amazing. And Rand is quite the Valentine.” Belbeline ate another olive. “He and I go way back.”

  “Oh.” Mia’s smile faltered. “He took me to a steakhouse. The food was so good!”