Evolution (28 page)

He offers a little laugh.  "George," he says
so softly I barely even make out the word.

I wait for a while, until he goes on.

"I guess," he says.  He glances at me
sideways, then says, “Don’t think it was you.  People die.  They just
do.  How many people have we seen die?”

There is a moment of silence as I start tallying in my head.

He looks down.  “I would have done the same
thing.  Apollon, too.  It’s not that.”

I nod, swallowing.  Though I already sensed this from
him, the words are helpful.  The doubt… the questioning.  They are
easier to put away with spoken words of reassurance.  But if it’s not me…
not death…  “What is it then?”

He takes a moment.  "It really got to me. 
George and... the other kid."  He hesitates.  "I wasn't
prepared for all this."  His voice drops off huskily at the end.

I'm frowning in the darkness, not sure, exactly, what he
means.  I think he's trying to put voice to the unexplainable feelings
that are chasing around inside of me as well.  It's like something is
there, and it's trying to get out.  But you don't know if you want it
to.  You don't know if it's even safe.  The whole thing with George's
attachment to Jonas was just eerie.  In the end, George willingly went to
his death for us.  No small thing.  Pretty monumental, if you
consider that he was little more than a stranger to us.  But that’s just
it.  He wasn’t.

Realizing the unknown without being able to access it is
difficult at best.  A man gives his life for you and you don’t know
why—just that you probably should be far more broken over it than you really
are.  Traumatized by more than guilt.  By
loss
.  But it
wasn’t just George.  I saw the look on Jonas' face when that dying boy
said his name.  He was shocked straight through to the bone. 
Somehow, knowing everything we do, we still never saw that coming.  That
one name was like cement pouring between us, a bond fixed by the hands of
Fate.  We were chasing my memories... and we found Jonas'.

Jonas' eyes flick to me now.  Is he thinking the same
thing I am?  Do we fight against Fate, demand our freedom to be who we
choose?  Or do we give in?  Am I really two different people? 
Or am I just me, standing here, with just him?

He turns his whole body toward me now, and I think he's
going to step forward, but he doesn't.  He shifts his weight.  Is he
holding himself back?  "You're not just trying to save the Outpost,
Eden."  My name, on the end, sounds like a reminder. 
"Everything has gotten so far away from that, now.  I don't know if
we'd ever get back there, even if we wanted to."

For just a moment, visions of Outpost Three flicker through
my mind.  I miss it, however flawed it was.  I miss home.

"These towers," he says.  "They're not
about saving anyone.  Not about Sentries.  They're like
this:"  He holds out his wrist to me, and though I can't see it in
the darkness, I know exactly what he means.  His scar forms a compass that
points south.  "They're about finding you," he says, and his
voice goes much softer.  "And really, Eden, I don't know if that's
what you want at all."

After a moment, I clear my throat and find my voice. 
"Does it even matter if I want it?" I ask.  "You do. 
You've been waiting for these answers for a lot longer than I have.  If we
don't try to find out where my memories lead, we may never find
yours."  It takes me a bit before I can say the rest.  I push it
out.  "Clearly our pasts are intertwined.  If we thought of it
that way, we might have better luck."

There is a long silence while he studies me.  I don't
know how well he can see me here, but I put on my best poker face and wait.

He turns halfway away from me, murmuring something I can't
make out.  He's shaking his head.  "It doesn't matter," he
says.  "You were right before.  I don't know if I want to be
told who to be, either."

A little stab of pain jolts through my chest at those
words.  I push it away.  "So..." I finally manage,
"what are we going to do then?  I mean, where do we even go?"

Now, he throws me a smile, turning his face to me. 
"I think we should let Fate decide."

I laugh, feeling suddenly and strangely OK.  "Good
ol' Fate."

Just like that, our conversation is clearly done.  We
turn and walk side-by-side back to the campfire.

Jack is still counting his nuts.  Probably for the
third time at least.

"I'm so exhausted," I mutter, kicking the corners
of my sleeping roll to flatten it out.

"No kidding," Apollon agrees.  He climbs up
and begins unrolling his own blankets.

Jonas unfastens his blankets from his pack and walks toward
a clear place, but he stops, his eyes on Jack.  Of course.  Jack
doesn't have anything.  "Here, Jack," he says softly, tossing
the blankets to him.  "Use these."  Then he turns to me and
smiles.

My heart, without permission, starts flapping around like a
bird with a broken wing.  I do my best to ignore it and concentrate
instead on folding my covers back.  That doesn't stop Apollon from somehow
catching my eye.  His expression is cautionary, a reminder.  I ignore
that as well.  There are far worse things than sharing a pack with
Jonas.  Far, far worse things.  We all settle in, and I'm nestled in
the crook of his arm, and I fall asleep thinking that wherever Fate takes us,
however much we’ve been through in the past, it will all be just fine so long
as we're together.

Even the nightmares are not so bad with Jonas’ arms around
me.

The river is wide.  Unfathomable in its strength and beauty. 
The water sweeps away, moving, moving, and I know there is no way we will ever
cross it.

Jonas and I stand at its edge, staring.  There is
something about this much water.  Something about the power of it that is
consuming.  We're breathless.  Silent.  Remade into children.

Apollon, on the other hand, is whooping joyfully. 
"Look at this!"  He skids down the muddy bank to get closer to
the water.  Jack is right behind him, a bundle of tension.  His eyes
dart up and down the water, over and over again.  He talks to himself in a
quick, low voice.

Apollon throws open his arms to embrace the view. 
"Holy hell," he says, "who knew we'd get to do the Huck Finn
thing?"

Jonas and I look at each other, eyebrows raising.

"I guess there's only two options, now," I say
softly.  We're not crossing, so we can walk upriver, or downriver. 
Upriver is kind of back the way we came.  I'm torn between trying to go
back and going on.  But I don't need to make that decision, because,
apparently, it's already been made.

"We need some logs," Apollon is saying, his blue
eyes shining with excitement, dimples twitching.  "It won't take
long, and then we've got a free ride as far south as we care to go." 
He glances at Jonas when he says this.

Jonas takes in a long, deep breath and looks at me.

I push back the clawing panic and nod.  "Fate has
spoken."

A fleeting smile passes his lips and I can't help but feel
warm inside.  Those smiles are so rare.

"Good 'ol Fate," he says, and turns away to help
Apollon.

In moments, they are dragging fallen logs to the river
shore, making a little pile of them.  Jack perches on one of the logs,
slightly in their way.  He keeps count of the logs they bring.  I
stand to the side and watch it all uncertainly, arms crossed.  Eventually,
I decide I really don't want to think about where all this is going and I busy
myself passing out the last scraps of the squirrel we had for breakfast.

The boys finish their log pile and lash the logs together
with rope from our packs.  By early afternoon we have a flat pallet that's
big enough for all of us to get onto.  Apollon dusts off his hands and
grins.  "All aboard."

At this point, I can no longer avoid acknowledging the
inevitable course of our actions.  I find myself suddenly shaking my head
at my tall, blonde friend.  "If you think I'm getting on that and
floating down that river, you have another thing coming.  I'll walk, thank
you."

"No one's walking," Apollon insists, but really,
he looks like he's going to enjoy this argument.

I want to throw something at him already.

"You're getting on this raft one way or another,"
he smirks.  "We can do it the easy way or the hard way."

I glare at him, arms crossed.  "Don't you even
think about it, you big oaf."

His smile widens wickedly and he steps toward me.

I start to dodge away, but I don't have to.  Jonas is
between us before either of us can go anywhere.  He gives Apollon a
speculative look—not sure what that means—and then turns to me.  He takes
both my hands in his, holding them lightly.  Oh, god, I know this routine. 
I try to look away before he meets my eyes with that deep, serious Jonas look,
but I'm too late.  He's got me before I can even think of escape.

"Eden," he says, and his voice is so soft I feel
myself melting.  I want to scream at him that this is not at all fair, but
part of me offers myself up as a willing victim.  He doesn't even need to
continue.

"You... are not... very nice," I manage to get out
in utterly calm criticism of his manipulation, meeting those gorgeous green
eyes.

He smiles and laughs, looking away, and that's just worse,
because I really believe it's sincere.  How often does Jonas smile or
laugh, and this, outright and broad, is so amazing.  His laugh and his
smile are deep inside my soul.  I groan, closing my eyes.  The pain
is almost real.  I slip my hands from his and trudge forward, as if a
prisoner, to get on the stupid-ass raft.

"I just want to point out," I snap, turning back
to them, "that you both are going to be the death of me.  And if we
die, it is in no way or shape my fault."  I point my finger
accusingly at Apollon, who laughs.  "This is your stupid idea. 
And you."  I swing my finger to Jonas now.  "You're worse
than him.  You're both idiots.  We're all going to die."

Of course, Jonas and Apollon are both chuckling away,
finding this all entirely too amusing.  But I can hear Jack, beside me,
whispering "We're all going to die.  We're all going to
die."  This does not help my feeling of impending doom.

At least my two friends are, at times, gentlemen.  They
insist that I get onto the deathcraft while the rest of them remove their boots
and roll up their pant legs to wade into the icy water.

"Don't you dare let go," I warn them, and they
think it's great fun.  All
I
can think about is all of us
drowning.  I don’t imagine that Jonas, Apollon, or Jack know how to swim
any more than I do.

Amazingly, the raft floats.  The river's current
catches it quickly, and the boys have to scramble to get on.  Apollon
immediately takes charge of his long stick, using it to guide us, or at least
to look like he's guiding us—I don't believe it.  Really, this river is
going to take us wherever it damned well feels like.

The water propels us into the wide span of river.  I'm
on my knees, fingers grappling for a handhold on the logs beneath me.  The
sense of motion is dizzying, terrifying, much like the first time I rode in a
vehicle, but worse.  This brings with it the knowledge that I am utterly
out of control.  That none of us are anything more than a speck of dirt
being washed from the world's eye.  Surely everyone else shares this
realization, but we all deal with it differently.  Jack seems to hide
inside himself, refusing to look at his surroundings.  He counts his nuts,
head practically buried in his bag.  Jonas curses softly under his breath,
but remains standing, feet planted, bracing himself, face to the wind. 
And Apollon, overgrown boy that he is, stands on the forward edge of the craft,
arms spread to the sky, whooping and hollering in giddy abandon.  For just
a moment I consider shoving him in.  But then Jonas and I are exchanging a
look behind him—a look of shared affection—and we're laughing.  And I
realize that I have never felt so free, or so alive, as now, with every choice
given over, and the possibility of death lapping around me like a many-tongued
beast.  Logic might say our quest is out of control, our purpose ruined,
but our hearts are high,  and here is a moment of mad bliss.  Only an
instant later, Jonas and I are at Apollon's sides, with our arms and voices
reaching to touch a sky that in turn embraces us with possibilities.

***

Hours of drifting on an endless current have made me
sleepy.  The sun is bright, and its reflection off the water has burned
our faces.  Luckily, our winter clothing helps to shield us from the
sun.  I'm lounging back on the raft, now, trying to ignore Jack. 
He's chattered incessantly since we've been on the river.  There's no end
to his counting, except the brief interludes when it is interspersed with the
haunting whisper, "We're all going to die."

Apollon gives me a lazy, haughty look.  "You're
the one who said it first."

I scowl at him.  "So," I mutter.  Then I
throw my glare at Jack, who sees it, but pretends he doesn't.  He starts
counting his nuts again.  I'm about to rip the whole bag from his hands
and throw it into the water.  Instead, I clamp my jaw and take a deep
breath.  I can't count backward in my mind, because Jack's numbers would
only infiltrate my attempt at inner peace.  I turn away from him and look
out over the lolling river.

I must truly be tired, because I nod off despite my
frustration.  When I wake, I have the sense that I'm still in a
dream.  The water passes by my face, painted in the reds and golds of the
setting sun.  Jack is still muttering, but above him I hear Jonas and
Apollon, chattering away.  The rise and fall of their voices, of laughter,
seems to hover over the water.  I lay still for a long time, listening to
them, though their words don't quite penetrate my sleepy awareness.  It's
more the sense of nearness, the quality of tone, a dialect within the voices,
but separate from the words themselves.

I quietly roll onto my back and look at them.  They're
sitting side by side on the front end of the raft, unaware of me.  Faces
turned slightly to each other, I can just see the hint of easy smiles down the
curve of their cheeks.  Their shoulders and backs are loose, without
tension.  Everything about their manner is relaxed and free.  They
share a brotherhood as well as a friendship.  This is a place where Jonas
is happy.

Laying here, listening to him, I realize for the first time
that I have no idea who he is.  That he has always been closed off to me,
except in brief, rare moments.  All the time I've known him, we've had
reasons to shut each other out.  We've been struggling to survive, yes,
but we've also been absorbed in our own heads—dodging distrust, trudging
through grief.  I've wanted to know Jonas—even thought I did.  But I
know Apollon a thousand times better, because he doesn't hide himself from me. 
And now, with a glimpse that awakens a new longing in me, I find myself
remembering Apollon's warning as we sat around the campfire in the cave. 
Of course I should heed it.  Of course I should listen to the advice of my
friend, who does know Jonas.  Who truly believes he will break my
heart.  Why then, does that seem like so much to ask of myself?  I
close my eyes, sighing.  The remaining sun plays across my eyelids. 
I remember, for some reason, Apollon saying "I didn't know you were a
pyromaniac."  I groan and rub my eyes.  Then they're looking
back at me, and I have to pull myself out of my thoughts and pretend to be
normal.

"You're not getting raft-sick, are you?" Apollon
asks as I sit up and face them.

"I'm fine.  Hungry.  Any chance of
food?"

"Probably not," Jonas laughs.  “We'll need to
get out of this river."

I look longingly toward the shore.  On one side the
land is above us, a low cliff.  The other is heavily wooded.  A good
place to hunt, I imagine.  We could even build a fire and find a place to
camp.  "Think we can actually get out?"

"Sure."  Apollon goes for his long
stick.  The rest of us start paddling with pieces of wood that they heaped
on the raft before we left.  It only takes us an hour or so to get close
to the edge.  When we're not too far off, we pass something on the
shore.  All of us peer into the twilight to make it out.  It looks
like a building—falling apart.  More ruins, maybe.  We stand silently
on the raft and watch it go.  Then we resume our paddling, and maybe
another five minutes or so later, we make shore.  We drag the raft up onto
the bank and secure it, then scout the nearby area for a good spot to build a
fire.

The trees are dense, here.  There's no sign of
life.  But while we are building the fire, Apollon climbs up into a tall
tree to have a look around.  He's up there for quite a while.  We
stand below, deciding not to light the fire until he gives us the all clear.

Finally, he comes down.  "Nothing," he says,
dropping to the ground.  "No lights for as far as you can see in any
direction.  I couldn't really make out the forest, but there's got to be
something up there.  We should hike back and check it out in the
morning."

Jonas nods and stoops to light the fire.

I squint across at Apollon.  "What took you so
long up there, then?"

He just smiles.  "I was looking at the
stars."

I glance up, but the tree canopy covers the sky from here.

He tugs me by the arm and I follow him back down toward the
river.  Above us is a swath of open sky.  The dark is growing around
us, and above, the stars are brilliant.  They have never seemed so huge or
so close.

I glance at Apollon, and he's just looking up.  His
eyes flick to me, and I expect some quote to follow, but he says nothing. 
Just looks back at the sky, his eyes full of wonder.  Some things, I
suppose, demand silence.

Moments later, we walk back up the bank, humbled by the
world around us, feeling small.

"I used to read because the world wasn't big
enough," Apollon whispers to me as we go.  Anything more than a
whisper feels wrong in this hushed place.  "But now I know that there
could never be enough books to hold all this world."

I meet his gaze with a knowing smile.  After everything
we've seen—everything that we never expected to see—I am only just beginning to
have the idea that maybe this is only a glimpse.  Maybe this is only the
start of our adventure.

When we get back to the fire, Jonas is gone.  Jack has
an armful of new nuts, and he's adding them to his bag.  Counting.  I
suppress a growl, throwing a look at Apollon, who widens his eyes.

"Jonas must've gone hunting," Apollon says, and
busies himself with setting up the rest of the camp.

We clear away some fallen sticks and unroll all our
bedding.  Apollon rummages through his pack until he finds some medical
supplies.  He pulls out some catgut and a needle. 
"Perfect," he says, holding them up like a prize.

I squint at him from across the fire, looking
confused.  "Are you hurt?"

"Nope."  He doesn't bother to explain to me
what he's doing, but he works for a while on bending the needle into a u-shape.

I peek across at his work occasionally, but honestly, I'm
not sure I want to know.  I just hope none of us needs to be sewn up
anytime soon.

It's not terribly long before Jonas comes back, carrying a
rabbit by the ears.