Feedback (16 page)

“Becky,” I said again, and she turned.

“Don’t think that I don’t appreciate what you’re doing—what you did,” she said, fighting the tears in her eyes. “I do. You saved my life, and you’ve taken care of me every minute.”

She paused, and I wanted to say something, but I could tell there was more to come. And I could tell I wasn’t going to like it.

“I told you I trusted you,” Becky said, now looking away so I couldn’t see how fast the tears were coming. “But you don’t owe me anything. If you had run for the truck, you wouldn’t have been abandoning me—you’d be helping me. You have bigger things to do. You’re strong and healthy and you need to get us out of here.”

I exhaled, long and drawn-out, giving me time to think. Time to calm down and not just snap back. “I meant what I told him,” I said. “I’m not leaving without you.”

She spun back to face me. “Well, you know what?”

We stared at each other for several seconds as she fought for words.

“What?”

Becky took a breath.

“There are more people here than me. And I don’t want to be the reason you’re not helping them.”

She turned and stepped through the willows. I followed. The green barracks were visible now, and the back of the commissary. Some of the kids were on the road, but it didn’t look like they’d seen us.

“Just …” she started. “Just … forget it.”

“Becky.”

She didn’t stop, but she was still having trouble walking. I stepped in front of her.

“Look,” I said, my voice beginning to shake, “I’m sorry I didn’t run to the truck. But I couldn’t leave you alone. You trusted me.”

Becky pulled her hood off and brushed her unkempt hair from her face. “You’re acting like this is some kind of debt. Like you owe me something.”

I started to speak, and she stopped me.

“I’m going to see Carrie and Curtis,” she said. “They’re going to help me, and you’ll be free to do whatever you need to do.”

“That’s not what I want.”

She shook her feet—they had to be freezing—and then looked back at me. “Well, so what? You can help people—you’re the only person right now who can—and you’re not doing it. And I don’t want it to be because of me.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Let me help you get back,” I said.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No—”

I tried to take her hand, but she pulled away and shot me a dark look.

“Benson, I didn’t trust you because I liked you. I trusted you because you earned it. You never stopped fighting, and you were trying to help, trying to convince all of us.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but she held up a hand to stop me.

“I’m holding you back,” she said finally. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“But—”

She turned away from me, head down. “I don’t know how else to say it, Bense. I don’t want to say it.” There was a long pause. “I just can’t trust you anymore. Not when we’re together, at least. You’ll do better alone.”

I watched her walk the rest of the way across the field. I didn’t know what had happened. She hadn’t understood, and I didn’t know how to explain myself.

I didn’t want her to have to take care of herself. I wanted to help her.

I sat down on a broken log and waited, making sure she made it to the dorm. There wasn’t a door anymore, but a girl met her on the steps—I couldn’t tell who it was—and took Becky by the arm.

What was I supposed to do now?

Was it time to escape? To pack supplies and brave the forest? Maybe it wasn’t as scary as I’d thought—we’d spent the night outside. Maybe I could do it.

But I didn’t want to do it without Becky.

I was freezing—my feet and legs were shaking. I didn’t have any real desire to go back to the fort, but that was where my dry clothes were, so I headed over. As I got close, I expected to see something, some sign of what had just happened there—blood, maybe. But the only thing that looked out of place was the debris from the gate.

At first glance, nothing looked different inside, either. A few people were on the boardwalk, and someone had started a fire in the pit. But there was complete silence. Harvard was in the courtyard, standing alone, gazing motionless up at the sky. Mouse, still in her pajamas and bare feet, sat on a bench, her legs pulled up to her chest. She was rocking slightly, eyes closed. Walnut sat on the edge of the walkway, and he looked up when I passed. Neither of us said anything.

Lily’s door was closed, and I knocked. The old wood rattled.

I had to do something. And maybe Lily could help. Lily wouldn’t have waited for Becky—she would have run for the truck. She’d have gone for help.

There was no answer. I knocked again.

“She’s not here.”

I turned to see Jane. She wore the same thin coat and jeans as when I’d first seen her in the barn, and her short hair was matted from sleep. She walked up to me, looking closely at my face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

She touched my forehead with one finger, gently tracing a line over my eye. “Does that hurt?”

“I didn’t realize anything was there.” I touched the spot and felt a tender bruise. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You look cold,” she said, and turned toward the fire pit, where a few others were gathered. She nodded for me to join her.

I followed. Harvard was still staring at the sky. I wondered if he was going to lose it. I had a hard time thinking anyone missed Birdman—but it’s not like Harvard was the nicest guy, either. They were a good fit. Mouse, too.

Jane and I sat on the edge of the boardwalk, close enough to feel the heat. I stretched my legs out, edging my cold feet toward the fire.

“Mason liked you,” Jane said. “A lot.”

I nodded.

“He was lonely,” she said. “I mean, his dupe was. But the real Mason felt it. You changed that.”

“I hardly even talked to him since I got here.” I glanced over at her. She’d been watching my face the whole time, studying me. She smiled a little, and then turned to the fire.

I took off my damp shoes and propped them on a rock to dry out. Steam rose off my socks as I held my feet up to the heat.

“Mason tried to escape this morning,” I said.

Jane was plainly shocked.

“He tried to electrocute Iceman,” I said. “That’s why Isaiah’s body was moved to the river.”

Jane narrowed her eyes. “Why would he do that?”

“He was trying to help me—kill Iceman, then I take the truck and leave.”

One of the other girls spoke. “You knew about this?”

I shrugged. “He told me maybe five minutes before Iceman showed up. I didn’t have time to do anything.” It was a lie. I knew Becky had been right. I could have done something.

“Iceman wasn’t electrocuted,” one of them said.

“No,” I said. “It didn’t work.” I didn’t even know whether that was true. It might have knocked him out for a minute, maybe more. He was soaking wet—maybe he’d fallen in.

“Did Mason ever tell you where he was from?” Jane asked.

“New York, I think.” I pulled my socks off and laid them on one of the rocks surrounding the pit. My feet were white. I sat on the dirt, closer to the fire.

Jane climbed off the boardwalk and sat down beside me. “He wasn’t from New York,” she said. “He just told people that. He was a runaway. He grew up on a farm. Arkansas, I think.”

“Really?”

“He wanted to get out of here more than anybody,” she said. “He actually has a family somewhere.”

“I thought Maxfield didn’t take kids with families.”

Jane shook her head. “They take people no one will miss. He’d been on his own for a long time—maybe a year—when he ended up here. He was depressed. Before you became his roommate, we all were worried Maxfield would kill him, like Dylan.”

I looked back at the fire. One girl stood and put another log in the center. The fire licked it, surrounding it with bright yellow flames until the edges turned black and the log was just another part of the blaze.

“They can’t keep this up,” I said.

The other girl spoke. “Look where you are. They were here a hundred years before we showed up. And they’re going to be here a hundred years after we’re gone.”

Harvard, who was far enough away that he probably couldn’t hear us, laughed.

The girl pointed at him. “You know what’s happening to him?”

I watched him. He was still staring at the sky, a grin on his face.

“A nervous breakdown?”

She rubbed her hands over her face and stood. “Feedback.”

I looked at her, and then back at him. This wasn’t like when Shelly was getting feedback. She had to sit down, looked like she was fighting a bad headache. Harvard was in a trance, or high.

“They started,” Jane said. “A couple others, too, during the night.”

“The school’s using dupes again?”

Jane sighed. “That’s what we’re here for.”

“I should have run,” I said.

“What?”

“Mason told me his plan. I should have gone faster.”

Jane didn’t respond.

I stared into the fire. “I’m going to leave.”

Her voice was small. “When?”

“As soon as I can pack.” I pointed over at Harvard. “I need to talk to him, too.” I still hadn’t heard whether he’d discovered anything during the dissection.

“It’s not safe out there,” Jane said.

“Safer than staying here.”

I was trying to convince myself that I was going because I had a duty to go. That this was still about Becky’s trust, about the calls of the wounded at the fence as they urged me to run for help.

But the truth was, I wanted to leave now because everyone would be safer when I was gone.

“Birdman used to say that the point of the fort was for escape,” Jane said, leaning forward and stretching her hands toward the fire. “He’d tell people that we had all the security here because we were planning something. But he wasn’t. He never was.”

“So why did he keep it so secure?”

“Paranoia,” she said. “Whatever else Birdman was, however he acted, he was scared. I mean, he could get in fights and intimidate people, but he was terrified of Maxfield. He hated having them in his head.”

“But …” I said, and then couldn’t think of anything to say.

I watched as Harvard sat down, the otherworldly smile still gleaming on his face.

“Some people like it,” Jane said, noticing where I was staring.

“Like the feedback? Why?”

“Depends on what’s going on. Everyone likes it if it’s good—you can’t help it. But sometimes even the bad stuff is better than being here. It’s like living another life.”

I wondered what Harvard was seeing. Was he back at the school? Was Maxfield repopulating the school with dupes so they could bring in a fresh batch of humans for their tests?

I remembered my first day there—how excited I was as I drove up. It was the nicest school I’d ever been to. Well maintained, everything worked, good food. Looking back, I realized the problems seemed easy. I wanted my freedom, and the gangs were hurting people, but no one was dying. There wasn’t the constant suffering like there was here.

I looked back at Jane.

“You know what I liked about you?” she asked. Her voice was quieter, more guarded. She massaged one hand with the other, gazing at her fingers like they were suddenly very interesting.

“My amazing ability to get into trouble?”

Jane smiled. “I’ve been here a long time, and you’ve seen what it’s like. It’s tolerable, and sometimes it can even be fun, but most of the time it’s just boring and depressing. I loved my dupe. I loved her life, and I looked forward to the feedback. And when you showed up, well … I had a lot of feedback while you were with me. It was like I was always at the school.”

I stared at her. Her eyes were tired and her face bore all the marks of years of manual labor and exposure to the elements. But she was happy. No, it was more than happy. Content. It was an emotion that I didn’t know if I’d ever felt, a state I’d never been in.

I kissed her.

Her lips were soft and warm, and she turned and leaned into me. I touched her face, my hands on her freckled cheeks and running through her hair.

She put her hands around my shoulders, pulling me closer.

I wrapped her in my arms, kissing her cheek and then holding her tight against me.

But when I opened my eyes, pulling back to kiss her again lightly, something was wrong. It wasn’t with her. She grinned back, the happiest I’d ever seen her. The contentment from her eyes was now written all over her face.

But something was wrong with me. Because when I leaned back to look at her, I was almost startled. Like I didn’t expect it to be Jane. Like I didn’t want it to be her.

“If I remember right,” Jane said, our faces only inches apart, “I should probably watch my back about now.”

I smiled, though I could feel my stomach dropping. I looked behind her. “All clear.”

“Good.” She pulled me close and laid her head on my shoulder.

I let out a long, tired breath. “I have to say, I’m impressed. You’re the first person I’ve ever met who can joke about how she was beaten to death.”

She laughed and turned again to face the fire. I put my arm around her waist, pulling her against me as we watched the flames. But it still didn’t feel right, and I knew exactly why.

“I need to ask you something,” I said.

She took a breath. “I wish it could wait.”

“I don’t think it can.”

She put her hand on mine. “Don’t do this again.”

“What?”

Her tone was serious now, the life and contentment gone. Even her hand felt cold. “When you kissed me before—when you kissed my dupe—it didn’t end well.” She laughed quietly. “And I’m not talking about being murdered.”

“You tried to get me to stay,” I said.

There was a long pause. After several seconds, she finally spoke. “I’m glad you didn’t stay there. I’m glad you came here.”

I nodded, trying to think of what to say next. I liked Jane. I liked her a lot. But she wasn’t Becky.

“So ask me,” Jane went on, a slight edge in her voice.

“I don’t know what to ask,” I finally said.

Lily appeared at the gate, walking into the courtyard carrying a shoe box. As she approached us, she raised her eyebrows and smiled. Then she reached into the box, pulled out something wrapped in cellophane, and tossed one to each of us.