Finding a tube of antibacterial cream, I tossed it in the bag. I had no idea if it was expired or not, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.
Nate was waiting where I’d left him, his gaze glued to the archway. I thought I saw relief on his face when I walked back in.
“I got some stuff in here that I think will help.” I placed the backpack on the island, leaving it open so he could peer inside. “But here’s the deal.” I waited until his gaze lifted to mine. “I know you’re probably going to argue with me, but if you want this stuff to help your friend, then I’m coming with you.”
His mouth opened.
“I trust you, Nate. Obviously, since I just let you into my house, and I hope you can try to trust me. I haven’t told any of the community leaders here about you.” That wasn’t a lie. “And I am more than willing to help you, but I need to see who’s hurt. You say it’s not bad. I have no way of knowing that, and not knowing that is going to get to me. So, that’s the deal. I’ll even throw in some canned food and bread. Take it or leave it.”
I felt incredibly adultlike in that moment, even though Nate couldn’t have been more than four or so years younger than I was, but I sort of wanted to pat myself on the back.
Nate shifted his weight from one foot to the next, his little jaw flexing. Several long moments passed, and then he said, “Deal.”
I was so surprised I might’ve needed to sit down.
He didn’t look remotely happy when he’d agreed, but he’d agreed, and I wasn’t giving him a chance to change his mind. I quickly grabbed some canned green beans, some kind of sausage, and bread.
“If you do anything to scare the others, they’ll bolt,” he said when I faced him. “They’ll stop trusting me, and they can’t survive out there.”
“I won’t do anything. I promise you that.”
Nate blew out a ragged breath. “Aren’t you worried that I’d hurt you? That someone else will? You don’t know me. You don’t know who I’m leading you to.”
The fact that he was asking that lessened any worry that I did have, but I met his stare as I zipped up the bag and reminded myself that I was, in fact, a badass Trojan. “I won’t let you or anyone else hurt me, Nate. If anyone did try to, I can promise you that will not end well for them.”
His eyes widened a little, but then he nodded. “Okay.”
Slinging the straps of the backpack over my shoulders, I smiled. “Okay.”
* * *
How Nate moved in and out of the community quickly became obvious the moment I realized he was leading me through a maze of cramped alleys in between abandoned homes, toward the same road Eaton lived on and all the way to end of it.
Hidden behind a car, we watched a Luxen patrol the chain-link fence that separated the community from a wooden area and the city.
The moment the Luxen had disappeared out of view, I looked over at Nate. “You know their schedule, don’t you?”
He nodded. “It’s like intervals, give or take a few minutes.” He rose. “Follow me.”
The fact that some kid without the aid of a watch could figure out exactly when the guards would be in a certain area was more than a little concerning. Filing that away to discuss with Luc when he returned, I followed Nate in the moonlight, across the cracked road and over a small patch of overgrown grass. Nate led me straight to a section of broken fence that was partially obscured.
Another thing that needed to be addressed.
We hurried through the trees, my eyes adjusting to the scarce moonlight. I had no idea how Nate was able to navigate, but I imagined it had a lot to do with repetition. He tripped a few times, though, over exposed roots and uneven ground.
The moment we cleared the woods and I could see the looming city, my stomach tumbled.
“This used to be a public park,” Nate explained as he strode forward, the weeds reaching his hips. “There were trails and stuff, and a lot of people used to run them. They’d have concerts here sometimes.”
Dead lampposts rose out of the grass, and every so often I’d see a shape of something underneath grass that might’ve been a bench. “Did you go to them?”
“Some of them.”
We reached the end of the park, and I could feel the ground change under my feet, shifting from grass to cement. What I guessed might’ve been a parking lot had been converted into a temporary campsite. Tents sat every so many feet, some half-collapsed and others rippling in the wind. A chill swept down my spine as we walked past them and onto one that must’ve been a busy street at one time.
Cars sat untouched in the middle of the road, some with the doors wide open and windows blown out, while others looked virtually untouched with the exception of the wear and tear of the years of exposure. Papers and pieces of cloth drifted across the street, stopping only to be caught by the wind once more and carried toward darkened storefronts. I kept picturing a pack of wild dogs erupting out the shadows, but that didn’t happen as Nate led me down a street.
Tall, dark shapes stretched into the night sky, silent and foreboding, but for a moment, I could almost imagine dozens of lights glowing from windows of the skyscrapers, the hum of traffic and people going about their lives.
And I thought of home.
My heart squeezed. I tried not to think of my old life, one in a bustling city full of sound and people and normalcy. Or at least the facsimile of normalcy, but seeing what had become of Houston made me wonder if there would be more cities like this, and it made me miss … before. Not that I wanted to go back to being blind to what was happening or to who I was or to be without Luc, but there was a simplicity that I missed, along with my friends and …
Mom.
A knot of emotion lodged in my throat. God, I missed her, and those feelings hadn’t become any less confusing or easier to deal with. I hated her and I loved her. Just like I hated my fake life in Columbia but also loved it.
“Are you okay?” Nate’s voice broke into my thoughts.
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Why?”
“You look like you’re about to, I don’t know, cry or something.”
“Would that make you uncomfortable?” I teased.
“Uh, yeah.”
I grinned. “Then I won’t do it.”
He tugged on the hem of his shirt as he glanced over at me. “But you’re sad?”
“A little,” I admitted. “I used to live in a city. Not as big as this, but it just made me think of home.”
“Why aren’t you there now?”
That would take all night to try to explain. “People were trying to hurt me and my friends. My mom was killed, and this was the only place we could go.”
“Sorry about your mom.” He looked away. “Why were they trying to hurt you and your friends?”
Unable to get too deep into why, I said, “Do people need a reason?”
“No.” He sighed. “So, you’re hiding.”
“Yeah, I am.” I paused. “Like you, I guess.”
He nodded as he came to a stop, and I looked across the street at a square, one-story building that seemed out of place in between the taller, larger buildings. “Used to be a church. Like one of those small ones, but it had been converted into a place for people whose homes were destroyed in the invasion. Had a lot of beds,” he explained. “It’s one of the places we stay in.”
“There are others?” I asked as we crossed the street.
“We have a couple of places.” He walked ahead, stopping at the door. “They’ve probably already seen you out here.” He nodded at one of the dark windows. “And they’re probably hiding, so just don’t say anything at first. Okay? Let me do the talking.”
Heart rate picking up, I nodded and nearly held my breath when the door creaked open and Nate stepped in, motioning for me to follow. It was almost pitch-black inside the small reception room. Even with new extra-special Trojan eyes, I had a hard time making out what the shadows were stacked up against the wall, and it smelled like musk, people, and burned wood.
Nate walked down a narrow hall that opened up into a wide space that once had to be used for religious services. The altar at the back of the room was a dead giveaway, and so were the few remaining pews pushed along the sides of the room. Candles glowed from the altar and the makeshift tables scattered about the rumpled cots. Blankets and old newspapers covered the windows. There was a steel barrel in the center of the room with some kind of wire grille over the top of it. Beside it was a stack of pots and opened cans. I spotted what might’ve been creamed corn, and I caught the scent of burned wood. This was how they were heating their food.
I wasn’t sure if burning wood in here was healthy, but they were probably too afraid to light a fire outside.
“It’s okay,” Nate spoke out loud, walking forward. “She’s a friend who has been giving us some food and stuff. She brought some stuff with her now. Her name is Evie, and she’s safe.”
As he spoke, my gaze zeroed in on the pews against the wall. There was maybe a two- or three-foot gap between the seat and floor. The space was black, but …
“You all can come out. I promise you.” Nate stopped, scratching his fingers through his hair. “She’s not going to do anything.”
There was a soft scratching from under the pews, but no movement.
Nate turned to me, sighing. “Show them what you’ve got.”
Nodding, I slid the backpack off a shoulder and unzipped it. I started pulling stuff out—peroxide, cotton, food, water. I placed them on one of the tables.
“Jamal? Nia?” Nate called. “Come on. We don’t have forever.”
There was silence, and then from the darkness of one of the doorways behind the altar, a boy stepped out. He was a little taller than Nate, but as he drew closer, I pegged his age to be around Nate’s. There was either dirt or a bruise near his eye that darkened the rich brown skin. A second later, another one stepped out of the door, and this one was a girl, holding a hand to her thin pink shirt. Tiny wisps of hair had escaped her braid. Her light brown skin looked a little flushed as she inched forward, coming to stand behind the boy named Jamal. She, too, looked no older than Nate.
“What are you doing?” asked Jamal in a hushed voice. “You brought her here?”
“I know, but she wanted to help, and she’s cool. She’s not like them,” Nate answered, and I kept my face blank. “She brought some stuff for your hand, Nia.”
The little girl glanced at the table, but she didn’t move.
I took a step back from the table but remained quiet. Three sets of eyes tracked my movement, and I believed many more had done the same.
“It’s okay,” Nate repeated. “She hasn’t said a word to anyone.” He drew in a bigger breath. “I told you guys about her. She’s not like them.”
Movement to my left drew my gaze. Out from under a pew, a tiny body unfolded itself. It was a girl, a small one who couldn’t have been more than five or six. Her shirt was several sizes too big, nearly doubling for a dress over jeans. “Creamed corn.”
I blinked.
Nate sighed again.
The little girl crept closer, and I saw she clutched something in her arm. It wasn’t a doll or stuffed animal. It looked like a small blanket. “You gave us creamed corn.”
“I did.”
She lifted the blanket to her chin. “I like creamed corn.”
“I brought some more. It’s on the table.”
The little girl glanced at Nate, and when he nodded, she rushed past the cots to the table. One grubby little hand snaked out, snatching up a can.
“That’s green beans,” I told her, slowly walking over. The little girl didn’t run as I picked up the creamed corn. “Here you go.”
She dropped the can straight onto the floor and took the other can, holding it to her chest. Then she turned and raced toward Nate. I bent down, picking up the can, and when I rose, my heart about stopped.
And it definitely broke a little.
Kids all but piled out from underneath the pews, most of them not much older that the little girl. Some were older, closer to Nate’s age, their too-slim bodies having been bent into God knows what kind of contortions to fit under the benches. All of them were wary, their eyes bouncing around nervously like Nate’s had at the house, and not a single one of them looked all that well. They were too thin, too pale or gray, and too dirty, and there was too many of them. My gaze darted over the faces. There had to be … good God, there had to be almost twenty? Maybe more? Because some moved into smaller groups, shielding the youngest among them, so it was hard to count.
I wanted to cry.
The knot that had been in my throat had lodged itself in my chest as I glanced over them, but I kept my emotions locked down as I exhaled roughly. I focused on Nia. “Are you the one who’s hurt?”
She lifted a shoulder. “It’s just a scratch.”
“But scratches get infected,” Jamal said.
“Does that happen a lot?” I asked.
Nate glanced down at the little girl. “Sometimes. We mostly get lucky, though.”
Mostly. I swallowed. “I brought rubbing alcohol and peroxide. There’s some cotton swabs here and some ointment. Nate said you had bandages?” Clean ones, I wanted to add.
“We do.” Jamal answered as the others watched silently. “Is that aspirin or something?”
I nodded. “I think it’s ibuprofen. I thought you guys could use it.”
“Yeah.” Jamal stared at the bottle as if it were a hundred bucks sitting there. “We can.”
Nia started forward then, and I didn’t dare move as she picked up a bottle. “This is gonna hurt, isn’t it? I mean, it’ll fizz and burn.”
“Maybe a little, but I think that means it’s working.” Happy she was speaking to me, I decided to push my luck. “Can I see your hand?”
She glanced down at her hand and then slowly extended it toward me. She uncurled her fingers, revealing a thin, ragged slice across her palm.
“Is it bad?” asked Jamal.
The cut wasn’t deep or wide, but the skin was an angry red around the wound. “I don’t think it’s bad, but I’m not a doctor or anything. My mom was, though, and I remember once her mentioning when there’s an infection, you’ll see lines sort of streaking out from the wound. I don’t know if that’s always the case or not.” I looked up, wishing I had paid more attention when Mom had randomly talked about medical things.
“There’s no pus or anything coming out of it,” Jamal said. “I’ve been checking.”
“And I’ve been keeping it cleaned,” Nia said. “Trying to at least.”
“That has probably helped.”
Nate had walked over and unscrewed the lid off one of the bottles. “Let’s get this over with.”
Without further ado, he splashed some of the peroxide over the cut. Air hissed between Nia’s teeth as the liquid immediately fizzed. We left it like that for a few moments, and then she let me dab up the liquid with a cotton ball. Nate moved on to the alcohol, which may have been overkill, but I had no idea. I tried to asked questions while one of the other kids appeared with a pack of unopened gauze. How long had they been here? How old were they? Was anyone sick? All I got were noncommittal answers or shrugs, but as the other kids got closer, I saw that others had bruises on them. Some on the arms. Others along the jaws. A few had split lips.
I looked to Nate as Jamal carefully wrapped Nia’s hand. “What’s up with all the bruises and stuff?”
Jamal’s hand halted for a fraction of a second, and then Nate said, “Some of them fight. We’re all like a family, though.”
“A dysfunctional one,” Nia muttered.
“Maybe you all should, I don’t know, not fight so seriously?” I suggested.
Jamal cracked a grin. “Sounds like good idea.”
“Were all of you in group homes?” I asked.
“About half of us. Some were homeless, I think. There were more, but…” answered Jamal, trailing off. He cleared his throat. “Some kids got sick, y
ou know. Or there were accidents.”
Pressure clamped down on my chest. “There were more kids who died?”
Nia nodded. “Yeah, and there were others—”
“Shit,” Nate whispered at the same second a very deep, very male voice boomed.
“What in the hell are you doing here?”
32
The kids scattered.
They rushed back to the pews, all except Nate, who remained by my side as a man stepped out from the dark doorway Nia and Jamal had walked out of earlier.
And the moment my eyes locked with the man’s, I didn’t like him. It wasn’t an irrational response. There were reasons, starting with the fact that he was a grown adult, somewhere in his thirties, maybe older, and he was by far cleaner than all the kids present. Not a speck of dirt on his pink cheeks or on the ball cap that was pulled on over his head, and his flannel shirt and undershirt looked as if they were in far better condition. He also didn’t look nearly as thin as any of these kids, which caused warning bells to go off one after another for me. Most importantly, I had a feeling if I made a bet that this man didn’t do the runs for food and supplies, I’d win.
And how in the world could an adult sit by and let children run around, retrieving food and supplies?
“What in the hell do you think you’re doing being here?” he demanded again, kicking aside cots and blankets as he strode forward. The man was definitely human, that much I knew.
The Brightest Night Page 39
