by Simone Pond
He chuckles lightly. “Hasn’t stopped you before.”
“Point taken.”
“Remember when we were younger, and you fell into the pool?”
“I try not to.”
“I remember it like it was yesterday. When you fell in, I tried running for you, but I tripped on something. You were splashing around and right before you went under you looked at me.”
“So what are you saying? That I wanted you to be the last thing in my sights before I drowned?”
He laughs. “I jumped up and dove into that pool faster than lightning, but your brother had already gone in after you.”
“That’s so sweet. You’re my almost-hero.”
“The thing is, you didn’t need to be saved. You could swim.”
The memories are blurry like looking through a smeary window. I don’t remember being able to swim. And if I did, why on earth would I just stop and let myself sink to the bottom? Did I have a death wish even back then?
“I don’t remember being able to swim,” I say.
Before Noah can defend his story, footsteps come crunching up through the woods, and Roman enters the clearing. He’s wearing casual trousers and a shirt with a loose-fitting cravat, looking far more relaxed than at the party. He smiles, reaching out his hand to assist me to my feet. I’m shocked when he pulls me in for a hug, but I pat his back like we’re old chums.
“You made it,” he says cheerfully.
Noah frowns, not nearly as pleased to see Roman as I am. He gets up and stands next to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder like I’m his property. I pat his hand and politely remove it. We have business to conduct. No time for a pissing match.
“Where are Johnson and Harper?” Roman asks.
“We had some difficulties along the way,” Noah’s voice is sharp, and his eyes remain steady.
“Did you lose them in Midway?” Roman asks.
Noah’s posture stiffens, and he lifts his strong chin. “How do you know about Midway?”
Roman’s eyes shift from Noah back to me. “I heard it on the Wire.”
I step between the two, trying to ease the tension. “Johnson got swarmed south of Midway, but Harper’s recovering in—”
Noah grabs my hand and squeezes tightly to shut me up. “Why are you so interested in them?”
“Look, you can simmer down. I want to make sure I’m not walking into a trap. Leo said four of you total. I only see two.”
Not wanting this to get messed up any more than it already has, I take over the conversation in a polite manner. “Of course, that’s totally understandable. Sorry. We’ve been through the mill. We’re exhausted.”
Roman glances at my wrist. “I see your brother has put some fire under your ass.”
For some reason, this enrages Noah. I can’t hold him back when he moves in and shoves Roman.
I grab his arm and pull him aside, while Roman straightens his cravat. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
“This doesn’t feel right.”
“Please, Noah. We’re so close.”
Roman taps my shoulder to get my attention. “We should get going. Your brother is expecting you. He’s itching for those safe house locations.”
“I’m coming too,” Noah says boldly.
Roman shakes his head. “That wasn’t part of the plan. Just Kalli.”
I grip Noah’s hand, pressing my fingers into his palm. “I’ll be fine. Just wait for me here. If all goes well, I’ll be back later tonight. Our DODs will be fixed, and we can go back home. Right, Roman? That’s the deal.”
“That was the agreement.” Roman grabs my arm forcefully. “And it’s time to go. You don’t want to keep Achilles waiting.”
His voice is so cold, an icy chill slides down my neck. Noah’s right, something is off. I start digging into my backpack for the gun, but Roman yanks my backpack away and swings it over his. Noah lunges toward us, but Roman grabs him by the collar and slams him into a tree, then whips out a gun and aims at Noah. Everything stops, even the breeze coming off the water. Noah must not notice the gun, because he springs at Roman again, and Roman fires, knocking Noah to the ground.
“Noah!” I scream, racing over to him.
But Roman grabs my arm, stopping me. He points the gun at me. “We’re leaving. Now,” he orders.
Shock is racking through me. Noah was right about Roman. He wasn’t to be trusted. I was so blinded by my obsession to see my brother, I couldn’t see the truth. I feel like a fool.
“I can’t leave him here. He’ll die.” I try going back for Noah, but Roman presses the barrel of the gun deep into my shoulder blade, forcing me to walk away. I want to pound his face until he’s spitting blood. Kick him senseless. But that will only make things worse, and I’ll never get to that island. And my DOD will run out. And everything up to this moment will have been pointless. As much as it turns my stomach, I have to obey him. Noah has medical supplies in his backpack, and hopefully he can take care of himself until I get back.
We leave Noah on the ground. I glance over my shoulder, and he smiles with a nod, but I can see the pain in his eyes.
“Keep walking,” Roman grunts with a shove of the gun.
I try suppressing every bit of my seething rage. “You don’t need the gun. I already made a deal that I’d go to the island and hand over the safe house locations in exchange for more time.”
“We’re not going to the island.”
I stop walking and turn around, making sure I heard him correctly. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not taking you anywhere near the island. I’m taking you somewhere nice and quiet, and you’re going to give me those safe house locations.”
“But what about my brother?”
“Let’s keep your pain in the ass brother out of this.”
Truth hits me like a javelin to the gut—Roman isn’t working for the resistance or my brother. The bastard is working alone. He lured me into a trap. I’m not panicked, though I should be. It’s clear he wants the safe house locations—enough to risk his life by going up against my brother—and I happen to have them locked in my head.
“So you’re double-crossing Achilles and the resistance? That’s quite diabolical of you,” I scoff.
Roman grabs the scruff of my neck, pushing the gun into my side. “I should just kill you.”
I crack a smile. “I agree. But you won’t. You need the locations, and they’re all up here.” I gesture toward my forehead. “If you kill me, you’ll never get them.”
“I’ll beat them out of you.”
“Doesn’t matter. After tomorrow, I’ll be dead.”
“Foolish girl. I’ll keep extending your DOD and torture you on a daily basis until you hand them over.”
My knees buckle a hint. A grin appears on his statuesque face because he enjoys torturing people. “Well, I better tell you the truth then. I don’t have the damn locations. I just said that so Achilles would fix my DOD,” I lie.
Roman throws my backpack to the ground and rifles through the contents. “Why don’t I check to make sure.”
“You can look all you want, but you won’t find anything. I don’t have the locations. You might as well take me to the island and let my brother deal with me.”
He guffaws, shaking his head. I start to go at him, but he lifts his gun and continues emptying my belongings onto the ground. I’m glad the code Harper gave me is tucked away in my back pocket. But I still need the fingerprint jellies or I’ll never get inside the server room. Roman takes out The Portrait of a Lady and tosses it into a puddle of mud. I guess I’ll never know how the damn thing ends. Next to go are the gun and my knife, which he flings into the bushes, leaving me weaponless. He examines the case containing the fingerprint jellies, and my heart seizes up.
“What do we have here? I’m going to assume they match your brother’s fingerprints. What were you planning to do, Miss Kalliste? Break into the server room?” He snickers to himself.
I don’t answer him, but I whim
per when he holds a lighter to the case, melting the fingertip jellies.
“Looks like you really don’t have the map. So I’ll have to count on your memory to get those locations.” Roman chucks my backpack into the bushes in a huff, then resumes shoving me down the path.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I’m overdue for a promotion. And your brother needs to go. If I turn over locations and you, well, I’m set for the next few years.”
“Where are we going?”
He remains silent as we walk down the path until we finally reach a field where a rust-encrusted faded green helicopter awaits. It looks like one of those old military models I’ve only seen on special occasions, like when the President of the North comes down to meet with our President to discuss policies. Only this one doesn’t have any doors. I’d almost prefer a boat.
Roman hoists me up and shoves me inside. He uses his cravat to tie my wrists together. He starts up the engine. The propellers are deafening. We take off and begin to head toward the water—in the opposite direction of the island. I think about Noah bleeding out under that oak tree. I think about my father getting swarmed when he’s no longer able to work. I even think about poor Knack, struggling to extend his days for the rest of his short life. My plans have been thwarted, leaving me nothing to lose. Since I’m pretty much doomed, it makes perfect sense to go after Roman as he’s manning the controls. I wrap my bound hands around his neck and strangle him. He releases the steering controls to pry my arms away.
“You’ll kill us both!” he yells.
“Take us to the island!” I squeeze harder.
The copter bounces and jerks all over the place, while Roman’s choking and coughing. I keep holding on until he flips me forward; my body slams against the windshield with a loud crack. He grabs the controls and straightens out the metal flying machine. I’m dizzy and nauseous, my heart thrashing in my chest as I slide to the floor in a heap. While I’m gathering myself, I notice a smaller gun tucked into a strap on his boot. I grab it and roll out of his reach.
“Turn this thing around and take me to my brother,” I yell with the gun pointed at the back of his head.
He jerks the lever. The copter jumps, causing me to lose my balance. I fall down and slide across the floor until my legs are dangling off the side. The wind beats against my boots. I make the mistake of looking down. We’re right above the water. The damn water. But we’re not that far from the shoreline. If I can get him to go lower, I might be able to jump. The copter levels out, and I get myself to standing, aiming the gun at Roman’s leg. I pull the trigger, and he lets go of the controls and reaches for his other gun. He fires at me and misses. The copter starts to swirl. I look over the side, we’re getting much closer to the water. I don’t wait for him to fire his gun, I take a deep breath and make a leap of faith.
The fall is fast and soundless, but when my boots hit the water the noise booms through my bones. Down I go. I want to stop, but without the use of my hands I can’t slow my momentum. The water is deeper than I anticipated, and I keep rapidly descending. The air in my lungs turns sharp and violent. I’m about to release a breath, but then I remember the dream I had on graduation day. If I can reach the bottom, I can use the ocean floor to propel myself back up to the surface. Hopefully. I hold my breath a little longer, my cells throbbing relentlessly. Finally, I hit the bottom and boost myself upward. I kick like a savage and try to make the best use of my bound hands. I release tiny bits of air along the way and fight not to breathe in any water. My chest burns, and my lungs are begging me to draw in just one teeny tiny breath. I’m about to heed the call, but I see the sunlight glinting on the surface and kick harder, forcing myself to the top where I break through and gasp for air.
The crests of waves carry me with the current as I float on my back like a dead fish. I stay on my back and use what little energy I have remaining to kick myself toward the shore. When I get to where the waves are breaking, I don’t have the energy to fight them and get pummeled all the way up to the sand. But I’m on solid ground. Struggling to my feet, coughing and choking, I get my bearings and take off to go find Noah.
30
(still 2 days remaining)
Noah’s slumped up against an oak tree, passed out. Blood saturates his shirt all around his left shoulder and chest. I fall to my knees and shake him.
“Wake up!” I yell.
“Easy there,” he mutters.
I kick his backpack over to him. “Quick, find something to free my hands.”
Noah roots through his bag at a snail’s pace until he takes out a knife to cut through the silk cravat cutting into my wrists. Once my hands are free, I slit open his shirt and rip it off.
“Skipping the first date and just going for it, huh?” he teases.
“Not funny. You’re hurt.”
The bullet hole is a clean shot through his left bicep, but he’s lost a lot of blood. Using the remains of his shirt, I make a tourniquet and tie it around the top of his arm to slow down the blood flow.
“Thank goodness the bullet went straight through. You’ll be okay,” I tell him.
“Why am I the one who keeps getting hurt?” He grins, letting me know he’s going to be okay.
“Probably the same reason I keep ending up in water. Murphy’s Law.”
“Or just shitty timing.”
I roll my eyes at his pun and pour a slew of astringent over the entry and exit wounds.
Noah howls, kicking at me. “I’m starting to think you enjoy torturing me.”
I smile and say, “Payback for all the torture in high school.”
“Right about now, high school seems like a million years ago,” he says with a little misty-eyed smile.
“Don’t get all maudlin on me, Noah Brenson. We don’t have time for tearful reflection.”
Using the needle and nylon thread from the first-aid kit, I begin suturing up the wound. He doesn’t make a sound, though I know he must be in pain. After he’s stitched up, I apply some antibiotic gel and secure a bandage.
He admires my handiwork. “You’re getting surprisingly good at this stuff.”
“Pshaw! This is nothing compared to my miraculous escape,” I boast, feeling quite proud of my death-defying leap from the sky.
“Should I ask?”
“Let’s just say, you’d be impressed.”
Noah’s quiet as he stares at me with a slight grin warming the pallor in his face. My cheeks grow hot under his gaze. “Thanks for coming back for me,” he says, reaching out to touch my chin with his working arm.
“We still have to figure out how to get to the island. And you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“I’d rather risk bleeding out than getting swarmed.”
“I thought you said that Achilles won’t send the flies because of your father.”
“But we still need to fix your DOD. I can’t bear to see you go out like that.”
Noah has a point—it’d be a shame to be taken out by flies after all we’ve been through. I study the map. “Harper said there’s an outpost south of Darien somewhere along the Altamaha River where we can get a boat to the northern tip of the island. That’s our best option. Actually, it’s our only option.”
“Well,” he looks at my wrist, “we should probably get going.”
I take a clean shirt from his bag and carefully help him put it on, then pull him up to standing.
“This last part is gonna be brutal.” I look at the map again, memorizing the route, and then take a match to it … just in case Roman decides to come looking for me. I have no idea what happened to him after I jumped to the water. I don’t want to know.
“What are you doing?” Noah shouts. “How will we get to the outpost without a map?”
I tap my head. “O ye of little faith.”
The hike is slow going, mostly because I keep stopping to monitor Noah’s injury. But we keep plodding along, Noah humming some old tune I can’t recognize. I’m grateful he’s filling
the space with something other than my heavy breathing. I’ve never lived so much life in so few days. So many firsts. Leaving the grid, taking a train, tasting my first kiss, jumping out of a helicopter. It’s been so wonderful experiencing life rather than struggling to keep things afloat. Most Short-Timers have never taken a vacation or watched a sunset without the nagging worry of working to gain more time. But for what? Living longer to keep slaving away? It’s a vicious cycle. One I’m hoping to break.
We come up out of the woods and walk up to the Altamaha River—a rushing beast of rapid waters. But I’m not intimidated. The water will get us to where we need to go; it’s no longer something to be feared.
“You okay?” Noah asks.
“Absolutely.”
He’s shocked by my laissez-faire attitude.
“Let’s find that outpost,” I say.
We walk along the riverbank to a tumbledown wooden shack. An old man with a frazzled white beard and hair to match is perched in a rocking chair on the rickety front porch. He’s puffing on a pipe, the smoke billows around him in reins and swirls. He gives us a toothless grin accompanied by a curt nod.
“Howdy.” His voice is coated with gravel.
“Afternoon, sir,” I say, smiling politely.
“Name’s Bob. What can I do you for?”
“We need a boat.”
Bob puffs on his pipe, releasing a cloud into the space between us. I keep from choking over the spicy scent burning my nostrils. No need to insult his cheap tobacco.
“Ain’t got no boats for rent no more. Everybody who took ‘em out never made it back.” Bob coughs, then takes another drag off the pipe.
“Would you consider chartering us down the river?” I ask.
Bob scratches his beard, pondering my question. “Where ya headed?”
“We need to get to Jekyll Island.”
An eruption of crackly laughter comes from Bob as he slaps his knee, rocking back and forth in the chair. The threadbare planks holding up the porch creek so intensely I’m afraid we’ll fall right through.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“If the river don’t eat you alive, the ocean will.” He laughs some more.
