Citizen: Season One | Uncured Series

by Maggie Ray

  That's why I've been brought here.

  22

  Outside, dusk has begun to fall. George has pulled up a chair close to mine. I can tell he feels sorry about this.

  Cee and Markai have left and come back a couple of times. They’re sitting at the table again, with their papers, only this time I can tell one of them is a map, but that’s the most I get a glimpse at.

  Markai has smoked another three cigarettes, but only halfway, and he keeps flattening them to the floor when he’s finished. It’s as if he wants to leave evidence.

  I turn to George, holding up my hands. My wrists are still wrapped in rope and my fingers have turned an unsettling shade of white. It’s been like this for so long, I can scarcely feel them anymore. I’ve tried wiggling them to keep a little circulation going, but too much moving only makes the rope bite deeper, ready to tear the skin.

  “How much longer are you guys going to keep me tied up like this?” I ask.

  George ignores the question, as though afraid of it.

  I try something else. “My stepfather must be worried.”

  “We’ll take you home as soon as it’s dark out,” Cee says from across the room. She’s getting impatient, too. She’s been glancing at her smart-watch every few seconds, like a nervous tick.

  The mounting anxiety is getting to all of us.

  Finally, there’s the familiar strike of the match from across the room, and I expect Markai is lighting up again, but this time he’s got the flame aimed at the pile of papers. I watch the fire dance as he makes them all burn, erasing their plans from existence.

  They’ve been studying them all afternoon. Committing them to memory, I realize.

  Cee glances at her smart-watch again. “You can take her to the truck, George. We’ll be behind you in a minute.”

  We do as we’re told. On our way up the stairs, we cross paths with Sloane. She looks at George, but never at me.

  “Has she talked?” she asks, but when he says nothing, she laughs. “I guess not.”

  “You’re just on time,” he says.

  She nods. “I was told not to come a minute sooner.”

  She continues down, while we go up. Outside, the night air is cool brushing against my skin. George guides me to the truck, one of the generic models. Most vehicles look alike, but this has to be one of the most common ones.

  They’re making sure not to stand out.

  George opens the hatch into the back and helps me in. Sideways seating and black-tinted windows. The two seats at the end are crowded with stuff, luggage and supplies it looks like, so I settle into the next available spot. My hands are shaking inside their bindings.

  “We’re going to take you home,” George promises, but the way he keeps saying it makes me think they aren’t.

  He buckles me in, because I can’t do it myself, then gives me a brief squeeze of the shoulder, a silent apology. I know he’s only doing that for Rory’s benefit, so I don’t thank him.

  Cee and Sloane show up soon after. They all climb in and shut the hatch, which means Markai must be in front. I can’t actually see him, because the partition is shut.

  After a minute, the truck starts with a sigh, almost completely silent, undetectable in the night.

  My heart drums against my ribcage. I can’t shake the feeling they’re not going to let me go.

  Once we’re on the road, Cee nods to George. “You can untie her.”

  I guess she doesn’t think I’ll risk jumping from a moving car. She happens to be right.

  George cuts the rope with a pocketknife and I actually gasp from the relief, quickly rubbing my sore wrists. The skin is red and raw, close to bleeding.

  George drops the rope to the floor, like he’s ashamed of it. It coils at our feel like a snake going to sleep, its job done.

  I study the tinted windows, trying to make sense of where we are and where we’re going, but it’s practically impossible to make sense of anything. We’re going too fast, everything outside is a dark blur with no shapes.

  I can tell when we’ve been driving for too long, though. “You’re not taking me home.”

  Cee glances at me. “We can’t let you out here, someone might see. We’ll let you out a little further.”

  George frowns. “That’s not what you said.”

  The uncertainty in his voice should alarm me, but I'm calm instead, resigned.

  Cee smiles, a fake one. “It’s safer this way. For all of us.”

  Sloane still hasn’t acknowledged me. Does she know something? No one wants to look their victim in the eye, if they can avoid it.

  I turn a pair of accusatory eyes onto George, but he just pats my knee, like that’s going to help.

  A spit of anger flares inside me. “Just let me out, Cee.”

  Her expression goes blank. That rehearsed smoothness all uncureds are used to wearing. “No.”

  “Just let her out,” George fights for me. “It’s late, there’s no one around to see.”

  “It’s passed curfew. She’ll get caught and she’ll probably tell them everything, just like she did last time.”

  I grit my teeth together. “I never told them anything.”

  This time, the corner of her mouth turns up. “I guess we’ll find out when we get to the checkpoint.”

  We hit a bump, which sends us jostling in the back, knees bumping. The panic slams into me so hard and so suddenly, I almost throw up—almost spill all my nerves right onto the floor.

  “Cee.” George is still trying to reason with her. “I don’t think we nee—”

  “This is your fault, too.” She narrows her eyes at him. “If we go down, she goes down with us.”

  Sloane is actually smiling, all serene-like, not a care in the world, and I feel a chill scratching at my spine.

  George leans back into his seat. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, so low I hardly catch it.

  Outside, the road has changed. It feels rougher. We must be headed away from the main roads.

  I stare at my hands in my lap, small and helpless. They still feel fuzzy from the hours of low circulation, like they're still not quite attached to me, but at least they’ve started to return to a more normal color.

  With nothing left to do, I think of my life. All the pieces come together in my mind, the many people who helped shape who I am. My parents and Sara. Rory and Corinne.

  I think of my stepfather, too. He offered me a home when I didn’t have one, and although he was always a quiet presence, he was a secure one.

  Of course, there’s Alexei. The image of him is sharp in my mind, all pointy around the edges, like a weapon.

  Falling for the enemy, that says a lot about a person, but I don’t regret it. I only regret not saying goodbye when I had the chance. Instead, I stood like a petulant child at the window and watched him leave, as if that would somehow make him stay.

  I try to imagine things had turned out differently—try to imagine if we lived in a different world. I picture what the moment would have been like, if I'd gone outside, chased him down the path. How do you say goodbye to someone like that? I try to fill in those blanks, the words I didn't say.

  My mind is just on the edge of it, the words are within reach, I can see their outline in the darkness.

  I love you.

  But then the truck suddenly lurches to a stop, jolting us in our seats, and the words are ripped away.

  The partition slams open and Markai's voice reaches us in the back. “There’s a peacekeeper blocking the road.”

  In a split second, Cee is already unbuckled and reaching under the seats for something. “Just one?”

  “Just one.”

  She pulls an object out and it flashes silver in the dark. I know what it is instantly, even though I’ve never seen one up close before, only in movies.

  It’s a gun.

  I gape at the thing and wonder how they’ve managed to find one. It must be old, they've gone out of production a long time ago.

  She tucks th
e weapon into the back of her pants and pulls her shirt over, keeping it close but out of sight. “George, you get out first. I’ve got your back.”

  He does as he’s told—I guess we know where his true loyalty lies—and moves towards the hatch, throwing it open and stepping out into the night. The cold air blows in, a big rush of it sweeping against my face, smelling of forest. Dampness and moss.

  There’s nothing out there but a long dark road and thick woods on either side. This is the road that leads to the checkpoint in the outskirts of the collective.

  Cee hangs by the door, ready to make a move. I unbuckle myself to get a closer look, but I don’t get far. Sloan throws her arm out to stop me, clotheslining me hard across the chest. It’s the first time she’s acknowledged my presence.

  George only takes a few steps before we hear the peacekeeper’s voice, cutting through the night.

  “Stop there,” the voice commands. “Hands up.”

  Chills run up and down my arms. I recognize him immediately.

  I don't know who I'm afraid for, but I'm afraid.

  George lifts his arms, as instructed, and turns half a circle to face the voice. Seeing him like that, so exposed, I feel a surge of protectiveness—a surge of pity. George is one of my remaining connections to Rory, now that she's slipped away from us. The love she had for him, and that I once had for him, make it impossible for me to hate him.

  It's the only reason I kept quiet, the reason I didn't tell Alexei everything.

  George and Rory have melded together in my mind, their love uniting them. I know everything he does is for her.

  So it might as well be Rory herself standing out there on the road.

  In the dark, there's the rising sound of boots approaching, until Alexei finally steps into my line of vision, and it’s like the world bottoms out, seeing the two of them head to head. Alexei's got one hand on his holster, the paralyzer gun at the ready. His eyes quickly assess each of us, one by one. When they land on me, I suck in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t linger.

  Cee is still hanging by the door, her hand inching towards the back of her shirt.

  “Look,” George says, trying his best to sound authoritative, “we don’t want to hurt you.”

  Alexei ignores that and gestures ahead, towards the checkpoint. “They’re waiting for you.”

  There’s a beat of silence. The wind picks up and whips at us. Alexei's black coat fills like a sail, clapping like a cape. Even sitting inside the truck, I shudder.

  George plants his feet, his brow lowering to cast dark shadows over his eyes. “What?”

  “They know you’re coming. If you keep going, you’ll be arrested.”

  George looks unsure. All he does is shake his head.

  Cee starts to climb out of the truck, one hand still near the gun, her frame visibly twitching with impatience. Her feet hit the ground with a smack and she sticks her chin out. “What are you talking about?”

  All three of them are now standing on the road, like three points of a triangle.

  Alexei faces her. “You’re headed into a trap.”

  “Why should we believe that?”

  “I'm just trying to help.”

  “We thought you were cured,” George speaks up, trying to sound defensive, in control, but there’s an edge to it—a weak edge. Like he feels guilty and he wants to redeem himself for what they did—for what they tried to do to him.

  Alexei cuts a glance in his direction, blue eyes taking on that sharpness that they do, even in the dark. “To be honest, I’m not sure the cure is real.”

  The rest of us fall silent, struck by this confession, but Cee only barks a laugh. “Even so, why would you help us?”

  He breaks eye contact with George and looks up into the truck, at me. “I'm not here for you.”

  With a rush of determination, I shove Sloan out of the way and climb down from the truck, but the second my feet hit the road, Cee whips towards me.

  The mood changes in a quick instant—a sharp curve into different territory. I’m not sure what she thought—that I was making a move or what—but her face twists, caught between a sneer and something else, her eyes taking on that usual mania of hers. She reaches for the gun, but she’s too slow, untrained. Alexei is like a machine. In a flash, he has the paralyzer raised and aimed at her chest, a little red dot glowing through the dark, marking the spot.

  Cee freezes. From my angle, I can see the outline of the gun beneath the fabric of her shirt and her hand wrapped around the handle, fingers tight.

  “Alexei,” I hiss, a warning.

  He doesn’t react. He’s got his sights locked on Cee, on her arm held behind her back, and his finger held over the trigger.

  “Alexei, don’t,” I try again. “Please.”

  There’s still no reaction, not yet. Long seconds tick by.

  Finally, something in his expression unravels. Slowly, almost too slowly, his muscles begin to uncoil, like a hunter moving in reverse.

  “They didn't hurt you?” he asks.

  “I'm fine.”

  As soon as the words have left my mouth, he takes his finger off the trigger and draws the paralyzer gun back, replacing it in its hostler.

  Time slams to a standstill. I push my way forward, and this time, no one tries to stop me.

  When I glance in her direction, Cee is frowning, as though she doesn’t understand—as though she can’t believe I’ve disarmed the enemy with nothing but words.

  George is quicker to recover. He grabs for my arm when I pass, pulling me to a stop. “Where are you going?”

  His voice cracks.

  I plant my feet, resisting against his powerful grip. “I’m not going with you.”

  He blinks slow, a mixture of confusion and surprise, as though seeing me for the first time. He probably is, and I feel a pang of pity for him.

  “Let me go, George.”

  He doesn’t. We struggle for a second, and in the corner of my eye, Alexei reaches for his holster again.

  This time, Cee has enough time to pull the gun out, and the sound of the shot is like a bomb going off in the night, thunderous and powerful, clapping against our eardrums.

  23

  Nobody moves. I forget how to breathe. Panicking, I search for where Alexei’s been shot, waiting for the inevitable to happen, but there’s no blood, no trace of pain. He’s not even moving. Then I notice he’s looking at the ground, and I follow his line of sight.

  The shot landed on the road. She missed him by inches.

  Did she miss her shot, blinded by panic, or did she do it on purpose? Did she just want to scare us?

  I suck in big gulps of air, relief shuddering through me, and rip free from George’s grip. He doesn’t try to resist this time. I slip away effortlessly and cross the remaining distance to Alexei, placing myself between him and the others, as though I’m the protector now.

  Alexei reaches out and draws me close, as though it's the most natural thing—as though everything is shifting into its proper place.

  When I glance behind me one final time, Cee is watching us with wide eyes. She’s dropped her hand to her side, the gun still held in it. From the look of her, I’d say it was the fear that made her pull the trigger.

  “They’ll be coming now,” Alexei warns. “You need to move quickly, if you don’t want to get caught.”

  Cee just nods, the shock still frozen on her face.

  No one stops us as we turn away and face the night.

  ∆∆∆

  We walk fast, with nothing but the strips on the road to guide us. When headlights appear on the horizon ahead, Alexei grabs me and pulls us into the trees. We press ourselves into the shadows and wait for the car to pass.

  It drives slow, close to a crawl. Whoever is inside is shooting flashlights into the night, clearly searching for something. They’ve definitely heard the gunshot.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen to the others, but I can’t worry about them now.

  We
tuck ourselves behind a tree and Alexei holds me tight against him. My ear is pressed against his ribcage, and through the layers of clothing I can hear the drumming of his heart.

  The beam of the flashlight cuts the dark. The fuzzy glow of it wraps around the edges of every tree and bush, hunting for its prey.

  When the beam hits our spot, every muscle in my body tightens. I hear Alexei stop breathing.

  It feels like a long time—too long—before the light shifts away again.

  I don’t exhale until the car has moved on, my muscles cramped from staying still. I start to pull away, but Alexei locks his arms around me.

  “Wait,” he whispers.

  I do as I’m told. After a second, I can make out the sound of footsteps. Someone is still out there.

  It’s hard to tell which direction they’re coming from, since I have to strain to hear over the rushing in my head, but there’s no flashlight this time, so maybe it’s not a peacekeeper—maybe it’s one of the rebels.

  The sound of the footsteps rises and then fades.

  Alexei still has me pressed against him, his body heat keeping me warm against the cold night. We wait an extra minute, just to be safe, and finally we unfreeze. He clutches my hand in his big one and we hurry back to the road, walking as quickly as we can.

  The crunch of the dirt beneath my boots is startling, like it might give us away, and we don’t talk, too afraid of anyone else being out there. The forest feels like it’s full of monsters, and I keep picturing eyes in the dark, glowing as they watch us.

  Except when I check, there’s nothing.

  We come to a fork in the road and Alexei steers us to the left. He picks up the pace and I struggle to keep up, exhaustion clinging to my limbs, all the emotions of the day catching up to me.

  Ahead of us, a black car materializes in the dark, parked on the side of the road. Alexei drops my hand and reaches into his pocket for something. He presses a button and the car unlocks.

  We're moving fast now, Alexei is rushing me forward, his hand at my back. Safety is within reach. There isn't time for anything else.