“Vi.” His eyes are remorseful, his features drawn into sadness. I don’t care. “You do realise I’m sorry, don’t you?”
I turn away from him. “It doesn’t matter.”
“I missed you,” he calls after me, but he lets me leave.
I run straight into Miya at a junction where one large tunnel turns into three smaller ones. At the sight of her my breath hitches and my emotions smother me. Miya has her arms around me within a heartbeat. I’m stunned for a second that Miya is hugging me, and in a public place, but Timofei’s words repeat in my mind, stealing my thoughts, and I swear I can hear his voice perfectly. I missed you. I want to strangle him.
My chest shakes with sobs but no sound comes out of my mouth. I won’t let it.
“Come on,” Miya says in a voice both soft and strong, “let’s go back to our room.”
I nod and let her guide me away.
I’m going to tell her. I’ll tell her everything about me—all I’ve ever done, all I’ve ever been. I’ll tell her about Timofei and my past as an Official. I’ll tell her about my family and how they never wanted me, not even as a child. Everything that I am keeping inside this mind.
The only thing I’ll keep from her is my growing confusion about her. I love her, of course, but I need to work out what kind of love it is. In time, when I know what I feel, I’ll give my last secret to her.
***
Honour
09:13. 06.10.2040. Forgotten London, Edgware Zone.
Yesterday I spent the full day with Branwell, who tells me to call him Bran every two minutes. We have a pretty good idea of where we’re going to start searching for Tia and Bennet. The only thing we haven’t worked out is how we’re gonna do it.
Horatia is somehow the easier of our sisters to find, since we know where she went. We plan to go with The Guardians when they evacuate Forgotten London and find someone who’ll take us to States on one of the cargo boats. I’ve always known that you could get smuggled into the Cities if you felt the need and if you had enough credits. But that’s the problem—money.
Once we’ve found my sister, after countless days, weeks, months of searching States’s capitol, Washington Town—where the ‘adopted’ citizens live—we’ll attempt to get the bracelets to work again.
Bran thinks that after we’ve left London and The Guardians’ base the bangles might change, that wherever and whenever Branwell needs to go might change. He thinks it’ll take him to Bennet, or at least he hopes it will.
“Honour!” Dalmar shouts into the dining room. He looks agitated. He rushes over and takes me by the elbow before I’ve even finished my breakfast. I grab a piece of green fruit from a bowl as he hauls me out of the room.
“Okay, what’s going on?” I ask and take a bite of the fruit. It has a weird, grainy texture but I’ve had worse. Way worse.
“Can’t tell you with this many people around. A meetings been called.”
“And they want me?”
“Not exactly. But I want you there, and you deserve to know about this since you helped us with the letter. No one will question your presence, don’t worry. Everyone knows you now.”
“I’ve noticed.” The stares I keep getting are starting to unnerve me.
Dalmar smirks. “You give them hope. That’s why they’re so interested in you. Everyone here wants to leave this town, and as soon as possible. You’re a symbol of that becoming a real feasibility.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Really, Dal?”
“What?”
“Big words this early in the morning? Do you have to?”
He rolls his eyes in exasperation. “You’re the key to our escape, to our survival.”
Under my breath I say, “You’re all going to die.”
“You don’t get it. Honour, the people here have grown up underground. Some kids haven’t ever been aboveground. This is all they know. But now that you’re here the things they’ve dreamed of their whole lives—getting out of this base, getting out of Forgotten London, living outside—look possible.
“You brought the letter with its warning. You got past the border. You break the rules the Officials set. You were born into the rebellion.” He draws in a sharp breath. “You stand for everything we believe in. You’re a hero here. And now that you’re in the base everything is moving, and fast. Everyone can feel it—a revolution is in the atmosphere. And that might not be all your doing, but you were the catalyst to the chain of events.”
I stare straight ahead as I walk. “All I did was mess up a load of times and follow you here.”
Dalmar sighs and opens the door to the meeting room. “You’re an idiot,” he whispers as we take our seats. I pick at my nails and wait for the meeting to begin.
Strangely enough, Timofei is leading it this time, not Alba. She sits in the front row, straight-backed and serious-faced as Timofei stands tall up front.
“Right,” Timofei begins and the hushed conversations between Guardians stop at once. “I’m not gonna mess about, I’m just gonna tell you. We’ve received anonymous information from someone inside the military base. They say that the new Strain, along with the other Sixteen Strains, is produced and kept within a vault in Underground London Zone. It also tells us that the Officials are preparing the new Strain for release, which could mean that the release date has been pushed forward from the deadline The Unnamed gave us in his letter. This could be for a million different reasons, but it’s most likely because The Unnamed’s letter was old.”
His eyes sweep over the Guardians as he talks. “The information lists the address of the vault where the Strains are being kept and the passcodes that we will need to access them.
“We’ll need at least three technologists to go with a group of fighters to this vault to destroy the Strain. If we can get rid of it before it’s released, we will be able to save hundreds of lives and an evacuation may not be as vital as it is right now.”
A woman in the front row raises her hand. “If we already know the passcode to gain entry, why do you need technologists?”
“To blow the whole thing up,” Timofei explains with a flourish of his hands. “And to find a way to contain the vault within a vacuum so that we don’t expose every civilian accidentally. It’s possible that instead of destroying the new Strain, as well as The Sixteen Strains, we could set them free. That is what we need the technologists to figure out a solution to.”
“I think we can do that,” the woman says after conferring with the people sat around her.
“Thank you,” Timofei breathes gratefully. “Any more questions?”
A man in his twenties raises his voice. “Who is the sender? You must know who it is.”
Timofei straightens up, his whole posture defensive. “Whoever they are, they’re talented at hiding themselves. They sent the message through military computers and left no trace whatsoever. I think we’re more than likely dealing with a corrupt Official.”
“And how do we know it’s not a trap?”
“Ah.” Timofei smiles. “They listed a number of facts about us and our purpose—information they wouldn’t know if they didn’t have a Guardian contact. And they left a nice message telling us how out of hand and despicable States and their President has become. They also said that if we don’t put a stop to it they’ll kill them all from the inside. I’m inclined to trust their information.”
“Words,” the man mutters.
“I’ve read it too,” Alba speaks up, “and, like Timofei, I trust this informant. If it turns out to be an ally of the military I will take full responsibility.”
The man closes his mouth and shoots a glare at Timofei as I realise two things. One; not many people are willing to trust Timofei’s judgement but they’ll trust Alba in a heartbeat. And two; people are jealous of Timofei, maybe for his close relationship with Alba or maybe for another reason.
Timofei seems okay to me. He took me in and gave me safety and a home.
The people filter out of the room after t
hat and, unlike last time, Dalmar doesn’t wait to speak to Alba afterwards. I wonder how long he’s known his mother, but I don’t ask him. I get the feeling that he wouldn’t talk about it even if I asked.
***
Miya
12:02. 06.10.2040. Forgotten London, Edgware Zone.
For some reason our physical training session for today has been cancelled. Yosiah seems to be happy with this, but I’m not. I’m irritated. I want to learn as much as possible as quick as possible. After a long argument with Yosiah I had the revelation that I wasn’t as good at fighting as I thought I was, and that in a real fight I’d more than likely get screwed up. Or killed. Getting a decent hit on someone every so often is miles from being trained in combat.
But instead of learning how to fight, I’m sat in a common room glaring at the wall. At least the room is empty besides us. Yosiah’s sat on the floor with his back against the sofa, a book in his lap and a frown on his face.
I allow myself to watch him while he’s distracted.
His callused hands glide across the page and his eyes follow every sentence. He’s reading about the history of The Guardians again. His dark hair falls forward from where he’d tucked it behind his ears but he doesn’t push it back. He carries on reading with eager eyes and tracing fingers.
He shakes his head at something he reads. Then he says, “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” I reply absently.
“Watch me. I’m not very interesting.”
My heart jolts and my stomach flips. How does he know that without looking at me?
“I don’t watch you,” I scoff.
He turns his head, raises an eyebrow, and he knows I’m lying.
“Oh, go back to your book,” I huff. I mess up his hair with my hand.
Instead of doing as I say, he closes the book and turns to face me in one swift movement. It annoys me how graceful he is. I could never move like that.
“Seriously,” he says. His face is close to mine and I can see the question in his eyes. “Why do you watch me?”
I shrug. “Because I can. Because—I don’t know, Siah. I don’t know, okay?”
His voice and his face soften. “It’s all right. It doesn’t matter.”
“If it didn’t matter you wouldn’t have asked.”
He smiles his trademark half-smile. “It’s nothing important. I … wondered if you needed to watch me.”
I don’t say anything.
“Because,” he goes on, “if you did, you wouldn’t have to wait until my back was turned. I don’t mind.”
“How generous of you,” I sneer, feeling more and more uncomfortable.
“I didn’t mean it that way.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Miya, you don’t talk about what you’re feeling. You don’t say anything. I don’t know if you’re uncomfortable here, of if it makes you apprehensive, or if it scares you. I don’t know because you don’t tell me, and I understand that it’s not you to talk about your feelings, but … I’m just saying that if everything being strange and unknown here makes you feel lost, or fearful, or anything at all—” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if watching me is something you do because you don’t know anything else here and you need to remind yourself that you do know something—that you have me. I’m trying to say that if that’s why you watch me, you don’t have to hide it.”
For once, I feel like crying. I didn’t think that was why at all. But now that he’s said it I’m wondering if a tiny piece of me wasn’t watching him for that reason. I thought I was looking at him for no specific reason, but now I’m not so sure. Do I keep looking at him to remind myself that he’s really here, that I’m not alone? How is it that Yosiah knows me better than I do?
My fingers twitch and I want to reach out and hug him. I don’t, though. I mess his hair up even more and I smirk.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
He narrows his eyes and flicks hair out of his face. “You can’t fool me, Miya. You know that.”
I snort. “You trying to say I’m some poor little princess, all lost and alone inside the big bad Guardians’ base?”
“No, you’re the big bad Miya lost inside the poor little Guardians’ base.” He crawls onto the sofa and pulls himself up beside me. “You’re still lost, though.”
“So are you,” I reply defensively.
“Yes, I am. And that’s why I watch you when you don’t realise it, like you do with me.”
The rough fabric of the sofa is suddenly interesting to me. “I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t want you to. I try to stay strong for you, but that seems a bit pointless now—since you saw me upset yesterday. You stay strong for me, too, don’t you?”
I nod once.
“Stop.”
I mutter, “I’m not going to burst into tears because you say I can.”
He laughs and shifts closer. “You can cry on me, though, if you ever need to.”
“I’ll bear that in mind.” I don’t tell him that I wanted to cry a few moments ago.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re so stubborn.”
“You’re one to talk,” I retort. He rests his head against mine and glares at me.
“I’m not stubborn.”
“Oh, please,” I laugh loudly and push him away. He falls off of the end of the sofa and grabs my arm, dragging me with him to the floor. “You’ll pay for that,” I whisper, deadly.
His eyes are lit up. “Oh no. Did I pull you down with me?”
“Dick.”
He shrugs and the movement alerts me to how close we are. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this close to Yosiah before, not even when I rolled towards him in my sleep when we used to live in the shed. My legs are around his waist, my chest against his. My eyes and his are only millimetres apart. I’m irrationally nervous all of a sudden but I don’t drop the scowl from my face.
Yosiah glares back and then he kisses me fiercely, years of frustration coming out in one second. This can’t happen though. I’ve seen what women like me are to men—a one night affair and something to be disposed of in the morning. I won’t let Yosiah dispose of me, and I won’t lose him. Not after everything we’ve been through.
I catch myself returning his kiss and drag myself away. “Bad idea,” I whisper from a safe distance.
“Agreed,” he breathes. His eyes aren’t in focus. “I’m sorry for kissing you.”
I stare at the ceiling. “Sorry for kissing you back.”
“It’s okay. Shall we … never speak of this again?”
“Yep.”
“Good. Great.” He stands and rushes towards the door. He stops dead in the doorway and turns. His eyes are panicked and my heart beats harder. He thinks he’s lost me. Idiot.
“We’re still friends, you giant moron,” I say, and I watch relief fill him. He nods quickly, grins, and runs from the room.
14:34. 06.10.2040. Forgotten London, Edgware Zone.
“This is gonna hurt like a bitch, isn’t it?”
I watch the team of doctors prepare the test that will determine if Yosiah and I are immune to The Sixteen Strains. There are vials to hold samples, plastic tubes, glass jars that have different coloured liquids in, a technical-looking machine that hooks into a computer, and a lot of needles. It’s the sight of needles that has my breath getting stuck in the back of my throat. I hate them. I absolutely hate them. A shudder of fear rips down my spine at the thought of one going into my skin, not for the first time.
“Not much,” a guy answers my question, walking over the threshold. I can tell he’s a Guardian by his white clothes. He looks at Yosiah with a mixture of wariness and longing and I know who he is straight away. He must be Timofei. He’s not bad looking, and the scar on his lip makes him look tough which is something I usually respect, but this is the man that made Yosiah want to cry. I hate him instantly. The revulsion helps distract me from my fear of needles.
“Didn’t realise this was a public showing,” I snipe. Yosiah bites
his lip not to smile.
“It’s not,” Timofei replies. “Nobody else in this base knows how to administer the test. I’m the head medic.”
“Brilliant.”
He chuckles and helps the other Guardians set up the machine, putting the clear tubes into some kind of port. “You don’t like me, do you?”
“Nope.”
“Has that got anything to do with you, Vi?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. My eyes narrow to slits. Not only does this guy know Yosiah from his past, from before me, but he knows his name—his real name. Vi what though? I need to know. I grip the chair beneath me with white knuckles.
When Yosiah and I met we were both on the run. It was dangerous to tell anyone who we were, so we gave ourselves new names. I’ve never known Yosiah’s birth name and he’s never known mine.
“Miya can think for herself,” Yosiah says. His voice is pleasant, but I can hear the undertone of it. It’s not what he’s saying as much as what he’s implying: that Timofei can’t think for himself, that The Guardians think for him. He’s playing dirty. This is a side of him that I rarely see. I like it.
“Evidently,” Timofei murmurs and I tilt my head so fast my hair whips my face.
I say evenly, “What’s that supposed to mean?” My anger is rising, despite my level tone, and I’m pretty sure Yosiah sees it.
“Uh-oh,” he says under his breath.
“I only mean,” Timofei says, “that you’re not exactly quiet, or subtle. Your ability to think for yourself is clear in your brash nature.”
“Brash?” I’m of the chair and on my feet.
“Miya,” Yosiah says warningly, but his warning is half-hearted, “don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Timofei asks. He turns to look at Yosiah, giving me a perfect shot on the side of his face. He doesn’t see my fist coming until it connects with his cheekbone.
He falls back against the wall and looks at me with a satisfied look. I don’t know what he thinks he’s proven, or what game he thinks he’s won, but he hasn’t. If he thinks me punching him will turn Yosiah against me he clearly doesn’t know him, or us.
Calmly, I sit back in the chair and put my arm pointedly on the arm rest. “Are we gonna get this test over with, or what?”
The Forgotten Page 24
