The Forgotten
Page 37
Miya
00:13. 10.10.2040. The Free Lands, Southlands, Northey Island.
When I was first on my own after my mum kicked me out, I had nightmares every night. They were always about losing Tom and Livy, and usually a shadowy figure snatched them away from me. I know that must have been a subconscious image of my mum, and that losing my brother and sister was less about them being taken from me than me being taken from them, but at the time I couldn’t make any sense of them. The loneliness and the cold and the hunger of being homeless messed with my head. All I knew was that something evil had taken my siblings and I had to get them back no matter what it cost me. I tried so hard in those dreams to get to them but no matter what I did, they’d pass right through my fingers. Every night I woke up shivering, sweating, and crying on whatever floor I’d slept on that night. Gripped by a terror that bit deeper than any other fear.
This nightmare was nothing like the old ones.
This nightmare was worse. Now I have more to lose.
After my heart has given up hammering at my ribs, I sit up and take stock of the people around me. Olive sleeps on her side, one of her hands curled into a fist under her chin and her eyebrows lowered into a scowl. I don’t know what creature is haunting her dreams but she looks ready to kill it. I pull my jacket closer around my sister’s shoulders to keep out the cold and glance at Tom. He’s flat on his back, his limbs thrown so far out that he takes up three times as much room as Livy. The jacket that’s meant to be covering him is rumpled beneath him and the thought of Siah wearing a very creased jacket tomorrow makes me smile.
And that’s when I realise he’s gone. Yosiah.
He should be beside me, laid on his side with his long legs sprawled over the grass, but he’s nowhere near. The long grass is flattened and rumpled so he must have lain here at some point, but not anymore. My gut squirms, something like acid clogging the back of my throat. Has he run away again?
I shove up from the floor on clenched fists, my joints creaking from all the walking of the past few days. With a glance to confirm that Livy and Tom are still sleeping, I set off walking in a random direction. The circle of land is small enough that I have to run into Siah at some point. I think about swinging my fist into his face. It makes me feel better at first, but as I trample the wild grasses, my thoughts seep in their poison.
What if he’s gone for good this time?
What if he’s found a better offer?
I stomp faster and faster, gritting my teeth as I follow the edge of the water. Eventually, I spot two dark shapes on the ground. One of them must be Siah, out for a nice walk and a chat with whoever the hell that is. Nails bite into my palms as I clench my hands tighter. I thought I’d lost him when Forgotten London was destroyed. I thought he had died. He must know what this disappearing act would do to me, what it would make me think.
I snarl his name, not bothering to hide how pissed I am. Siah leans heavily on his right leg, clearly unsteady, which lessens the heat of my glare a little. With the sharp tip of my fury gone, I’m floored by relief that he’s still here. Alive.
“Have a nice stroll?” I snap. It’s as calm as I’m going to get.
Yosiah sighs under his breath but the empty silence of the island gives nothing to cover it up. I aim a sharp look at him as he changes our direction, leading us back to the camp site.
“It’s too exposed here,” he mumbles. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Missing the Guardians’ base?”
He shoves his hands in his jean pockets. “Missing our shed.”
That draws wistfulness from me. It might have had more leaks than I have fingers and been falling apart but the shed that we lived in for more than four months will always be home. It’s the only shelter we’ve had for longer than a few days. “It was a great shed,” I say, softening. My forgiveness is plain in my voice.
He’s silent for the rest of the walk but I think I see a smile playing about his mouth in the hazy light.
I weave around the sleeping bodies of Guardians, scanning them until I find my brother and sister. I lie quietly beside Livy as Siah half-falls to the ground. I’m not gonna point it out to him, but his limp has gotten worse since he jumped off that train back in F.L. The urge to touch Yosiah slams into me, my stomach flopping. I press my palms together to keep them from reaching out. I might desperately need to know he’s still here but I haven’t stopped fuming at him for walking off without telling me.
Honour wandered off earlier tonight as well but I heard him tell his sister he was leaving, even though she’d never speak back. Siah should have done that too, told me. I need to know exactly where he is. I need to know he’s not running off on some suicidal mission. I need—
I need him to get better. I need his leg to heal. I need him to stay alive, here, with me.
“I thought—” I can’t get the rest of that sentence out. It feels like a giant lump of emotion is stuck beneath my voice box.
I take a slow breath and shut my eyes. If I can’t see Siah’s face I won’t know when the guilt crosses it. I don’t want to say this, to make him feel worse about everything, but he has to know. He can’t keep walking away without telling me. And I can’t keep having a heart attack every time he’s more than a metre away. “You left—and you didn’t say anything. And I thought—”
Heat pushes into my skin from where his hand has sought my wrist but I roll out of his reach. I can’t let him touch me. I won’t be able to hold the tears back if he does.
“I’m sorry.” His whisper barely disguises the way his voice cracks.
“You left me on that train and I can’t … I can’t forget that.”
He repeats his apology and he sounds so wrecked that I open my eyes to look at him. I needn’t have been so worried about seeing his guilt; I can’t see his face at all in this darkness. I can only place where he’s laid because he obliterates a cluster of stars. But the clouds must shift because moonlight falls through the night, quick and without warning. It highlights the intense expression that’s taken up residence on Yosiah’s face.
For a second I mistake it for anger, but I know what anger looks like on Yosiah. His jaw clenches, his eyebrows cut deep black lines of disapproval, and his eyes—his eyes burn hotter than a solar flare. But now? None of those signs. Just this steady, fixed stare that has my heart jumping. I frown at him for what must be half a minute, and then I realise I’ve seen him look this way before.
I skitter away from him, pulling my knees to my chest as a barrier.
Yosiah chews his lip, then says, “I’m not leaving you. Ever. Just so you know.”
I bite down on my tongue because the words that want to pass my lips are something neither of us wants to hear.
“Shut up,” I say instead. Siah’s exhale sounds like relief. I chance a look at him and find the intense look gone. My body deflates. My ribs give a half-hearted ache as I sink back into the grass, facing away from Siah just in case he gets that look again. He doesn’t touch me or move any closer but I know he wants to. I see his heated expression behind my eyelids and have to make an effort to keep my breathing regular.
Siah asks, “Are you still angry?”
“Very.”
“Still scared?”
My face automatically shifts into a glare even though he can’t see me. He’s overstepped and he knows it. I am, though—still scared that I’ll lose him. “Yes,” I surrender.
“Can I hug you?”
I snort. “If you want to lose your arms.”
He mutters a harmless curse. The grass whispers as he shuffles closer. My body relaxes, Siah’s proximity a comfort blanket, even as my mind flares with alertness. If he puts his arms around me I might give him a black eye.
“Do you think the Officials are looking for us?” I ask to distract him.
“Yes.”
“Do you think they’ll find us?”
“Yes.”
My inhale is sharp. “And then what?”
�
�And then we’ll kill them.” His finger brushes the back of my neck. I’m sure he’s following the scar I have there. I have to fight simultaneous urges to shiver and to flee.
“Miya?” I hate the tone of his voice.
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Still no.”
He huffs, removing his touch. “How are you feeling about your mum?” Now I really want to thump him. “She must have been killed by the collapse.”
“Thanks genius, I hadn’t worked that out for myself.”
He’s silent, probably thinking his quiet will coax an answer out of me. I make myself borderline comfortable and focus all my energy on going to sleep.
I’m not going to talk about this now. Or ever.
***
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