Eden (3 page)

Chapter 3: Safe

Don't worry.  This book is safe.  Promise.

It's just a little guide for you, to help ease you back
into the swing of things.  Some important information you need to know.

It's not about me.  Not about you.  You'll find politics,
contacts, and important facts.  You won't find your past.

You'll need to study it.  The sooner, the better.

Jonas and I let out audible, simultaneous, trembling sighs. 
I'm shaking like an addict on a crash.  A glance reveals that he is, too.  I
snap the book shut and try to steady my hands, but it's not working.  He pries
it from my fingers—I can't seem to let go—and tosses it behind us onto the bed.

"Right."  He wipes his hands down his thighs,
takes a deep breath, and stands up, but he doesn't seem to know where he's
going.  He makes it partway to the door and turns back.  Pacing it is.

I shake myself and stand up, too.  I need to get out of
here, but we're supposed to be resting.  And truthfully, I'm scared to death of
facing anything outside.  I have to fight down a sudden longing for Apollon—I
want nothing more than to talk, to spill my soul in a slur of confusing words. 
Apollon will understand.  He
always
understands.  But I have no idea
where he is, and the thought of going out there on my own to find him is far
too intimidating.  Worse is the sudden realization that I haven't seen him
since we got here.  I haven't even seen him since that morning on the road. 
What if he didn't come?  What if he decided to stay behind?

I'm almost hyperventilating.  My hands are threaded through
my hair, pulling.  Suddenly remembering myself, I force deep breaths.  There's
no way Apollon wouldn't come with us.  I'll see him soon.  I just have to be
patient.

I risk a glance at Jonas.  He's still too busy pacing to be
bothered with me.

"God, I'm hungry," I suddenly blurt out, and head
toward the kitchen-end of our apartment.

"Me too," Jonas says, fast on my heels.

We tear into the cabinets like ravenous wolves.  I'm not even
sure I'm really hungry, but I'm
hungry
, if that makes sense.  We've
completely abandoned our earlier reverent treatment of the apartment.  Maybe
breaking its sacred hold on us will help with this
thing
that's getting
at us.  I sure as hell hope so.  At any rate, we tear through cabinets with
real cups and plates, frying pans, bowls, and everything in between that we
could possibly need.  There's not any food.  Just empty cupboards where the
food probably was before.  I suppose it's been a while, and they must have
thought it would spoil.

"Bingo," Jonas says, taking something to the
table.  I spin around and see that he has a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. 
Clearly his definition of
hungry
is the same as mine.

I kick out a chair and join him as he sits down.  His hand
is still shaking as he pours.  I snatch my glass and gulp the liquid inside. 
He downs his, too.

I sit back and take a deep breath, feeling the slow,
comforting burn of the alcohol.  There's a pause in which we look at each
other.

"Another reason not to stay here," Jonas says. 
"Look at us.  We're both complete wrecks."

My eyes flash wider for a second, recognizing the truth of
his words.  I look at the bottle and manage a smile with a tilt of my head. 
"But the whiskey's good." I'm a little breathless.  I meet his eyes
again and my eyebrow goes up.

He reaches for our glasses and the bottle.  As he pours, he
says dryly, "I suppose I've missed having a flushing toilet."

We take this drink a little slower, sipping at our glasses. 
I'm sure neither of us really wants to be drunk... even though, in a way, we
do.

"I have a reason to stay," I say.  "At least
for a little while."  I'm not sure if the whiskey's already talking, or if
I just want to be able to tell him some small slice of the truth.

Now his eyebrows go up.

"You... probably won't like it," I admit. 
"So I'm not telling you what it is.  Not yet.  But I'm not leaving until
I'm ready."  I meet his eyes, now.  "And I think you already know how
stubborn I can be."

He sighs.  "Then I guess I'm stuck here, too."

I swallow, and I say it, though it might be the hardest
thing I've ever said.  "...You don't have to stay, just because of
me."

Jonas just narrows his eyes at me, his chin dipping down. 
He lifts his glass and swallows the rest of its contents.  "You're my
family.  If you're staying, I'm staying."  His glass comes down on the
table, solid, like his words.

I give him a little nod, finish my drink, and find that I
actually am tired.  Without a word I go to the bed and crash.

***

I'm laying on my stomach, flipping through the pages of the
book that Lily left us, trying to commit some of its contents to memory.  It's
a lot of names and places, and to be honest, it doesn't mean much to me.  So
far I've figured out that Miami is made up of a bunch of different tribes—not
all that unlike the gang-type structure we've seen in other cities we've passed
through.  Only, this seems a bit more solid, I guess.  She's even sketched out
a map of the territories.

We're in Wynwood, kind of in the middle of the city.  Our
tribe's territory isn't that big, compared to some of the others, but it looks
like we have a lot of allies.  Before I can wonder too much about what,
exactly, that means, I'm obsessing over the tribes marked with black,
six-pointed stars outlined in red.  There's something ominous about the symbol,
and I can't help but think that that's not coincidence.  Those tribes mostly
stretch in an east-west line across the middle of the city just below us.  A
little too close for comfort, if you ask me.  I spend some more time flipping
through pages, looking for an explanation, but when I don't find one quickly, I
turn back to the map.  There are a few territories that seem to be doing their
own thing.  But then there's what looks like a third large alliance
encompassing a lot, but not all, of the southern tribes.  And another tribe or
two here and there.  A handful of areas marked "No Man's".  A tribe
called Flagami, on the far western side of Miami, is exed out.  I frown at the
map and glance up at Jonas.

He's passed out on the couch, still sound asleep.  One arm
has fallen off the edge and hangs toward the floor.  His face, turned toward
me, is a bit smushed, but he looks peaceful.  I don't suppose either of us
slept well on the road.

I decide to let him sleep.  There will be plenty of time
later to point out oddities and analyze maps.  For now, I turn the page,
scanning vaguely.  I can't really concentrate, so I keep turning.  The light
coming through the window is growing dimmer, so I shift slightly toward it. 
Page after page.  Before long, I'm not just flipping, but turning big chunks of
pages.  I sigh as I turn over the final page.  Notes that just come to an end. 
There's no goodbye.  I can't help but find that symbolic.  Now I'm wondering if
I'm disappointed that she left me this—a
safe
book, as she called it.  I
suppose I thought that coming here would mean finding myself, as much as I deny
that I want to.  I sigh, letting the disappointment drain out of me, and run my
fingers over the sketch on the inside of the back cover.

It's kind of cute—a little book, open.  More a doodle than
anything else.  Turns out, Lily was a doodler.  There are a lot of random
doodles on the edges of the pages, here and there.

"Anything good?" Jonas mumbles.  I look up to see
his sleepy, blinking eyes fixed on me.  I must have woke him with my sigh.  But
he lays still, like he might just close his eyes and drift back into his
dreams.

"It's pretty boring," I admit.  There's a hint of
bitterness in my voice.  What did I expect?

"I knew you'd go for it first thing."  He sits up,
stretches, and yawns.  Who knew a yawn could be so sensual—the muscles in his
arms revealing themselves, the tiny peek of skin at his belt as his shirt
lifts.

I open my mouth to say something back to him when a
thunderous noise shakes our building, sending us both jumping to our feet.

"What the hell?"  Jonas is already to the door,
throwing it open, running down the stairs.

I'm right behind him.

We emerge into the open air on the terrace to see a
billowing cloud of smoke rising from a few blocks away.  People are running,
scrambling.  There's some sort of semblance of organization to their motions. 
Most of them are toting large, automatic rifles.

Jonas stops, turning, taking it all in.  For a second, I
think he's looking for a weapon.  My stomach lurches.  I'm so sick of all the
bloodshed, but it looks like Miami offers no escape.  Jonas grabs me by the
arm.  "Go back inside."  Clearly he does not mean to follow his own
advice.  I look up at him and start to shake my head.

"
Both
of you go back inside."  It's Kobee,
striding by us carrying... is that a rocket launcher?  "You'll just get in
the way."  He marches on without so much more as a glance at us.

Not far behind him is Spec.  "He's right," he
says, not taking the time to slow down as he passes us.  "Don't worry. 
We've got this covered."

Jonas and I watch them march off, down the stairs to the
street.  When we look at each other, I realize that we're both doing the same
pose—annoyed faces, tapping fingers.

Jonas looks me over and cracks a grin.  Then he grabs my
hand.  "Come on."

We jog toward the stairs and take them down two steps at a
time.  We really have no reason to be inserting ourselves into a battle—and I'm
pretty sure that neither of us want to be in one again—but it's a small,
glorious act of defiance.  Maybe we don't even have to get into the battle. 
Maybe it's just the little escape....

Jonas pulls me onward, and we run down the street toward the
billowing black smoke.  I take stock of the weapons in my possession as we run—the
knife that Coyote Dan made for me, and another small blade, stuck in my boot. 
I'm not really equipped for a battle involving automatic weapons, and neither
is Jonas.

I think we're still at least two blocks away from the
ratt-a-tat-tat of the main fighting when a puff of air bursts against my cheek,
displaced by the bullets that just missed me.  Jonas' arm slams into me,
knocking my breath away, taking me down to the pavement before I even have time
to react.  We're on the ground, and whoever is firing at us emerges from behind
a wall.  Scanning across the broken pavement as I roll, I just see boots and
legs running across to the other side of the street.  Jonas flicks his arm; his
knife plants itself in the man's shoulder.  Crying out, stumbling, our attacker
makes it to the opposite wall.

Jonas turns to help me up, but I'm on my feet and rushing
our enemy.  At the corner, the man is barely hanging on to his rifle—he would
have lost it already if not for the strap over his shoulder.  He's trying to
reach the blade that sticks out of his flesh, but he hears my footsteps
slamming toward him.  He whirls, bracing the gun on his hip and aiming it
straight at me.  I dive for his ankles just before bullets blast.  Jonas
screams my name.

My dive carries me into a belly slide. I wrap my hands
around the guy's ankles and pull with all my might.  He flies backwards, his
gun spitting bullets into the air.  Trying to get up, he twists and kicks at me
simultaneously.  I reach down, grab my knife, and sink it into his leg.  He
shrieks.  Blood flows around my hand.  Then Jonas is there, planting a solid
kick on the guy's chin.  His head cracks when it hits the pavement.

Jonas is panting, wide-eyed as he helps me sit up.  My shirt
is bloody.  "Did he get you?  Did he get you?" Jonas whispers
frantically, checking me over.

I brush his hands away, wipe the blood off on my pants, and
sheath my knife.  "I'm fine.  Except that I think I made hamburger out of
my stomach."  I frown as I lift my shirt to examine the road rash.

Jonas stands up, takes a step back, still panting and
staring at me.  "You scared the hell out of me," he finally says.

I toss him a look.  "You'd think you'd be used to it by
now."

Then there's the grin, and his hand, firm around mine,
helping me up.  That's when we hear it.  Metal on pavement.  Footsteps.

"Run!"  We both mouth it at the same time, and
we're tearing away down the street, not even sure how far away the Sentry is,
if it saw us, if it's after us.  The only real question is
did it see us
? 
We're both on the execution list.  Any Sentry that finds us will kill us.  Or
at least try.

We skid around a corner, and there's a door.  Jonas
shoulders through it and shuts it, quietly as possible, behind us.  Wherever we
are, it's dark inside, and we're likely to hurt ourselves or make a lot of
noise trying to go anywhere.  So we huddle together in the dark space, trying
to breathe as quietly as possible... listening to the sound of everything
outside.  More booms shudder in the distance.

After a long span of minutes, I'm convinced the Sentry
wasn't after us... or at least if it was, something else distracted it.  God
knows there's plenty of stuff happening out there to get erased for.  The
Sentries must have piles of offenders.

"I think it's OK," I whisper to Jonas, tipping my
head up to the dark shadow of his face.  Only then do I realize how we're
clinging to each other.  How his arms hold me tight against him, my fingers
twisted in his shirt.  And how I really don't want to pull away.

He hesitates, too.  We're just standing there breathing. 
And I want more than anything to tell him the truth and let whatever happens
happen.

"Jonas," I whisper, my fingers tightening in the
fabric, "I—"

His lips press suddenly against my forehead, silencing me. 
"Don't," he whispers, and he starts to draw away.