Guardians (12 page)

Then she let out a gasp.

Flustered, Saith tried to cover up the baby again, but it was too late. Michal, Esther, and everyone else had already glimpsed the child. In that moment, they could tell it was not an infant, but a little boy, a toddler tiny for his age. Even so, that was not what Saith had been trying to hide all along.

It was the glassy stare. The cheeks flushed with fever. And worst of all, the lesions, purple and the size of a thumbnail, scattered across the child's face and arms.

The boy had the disease.

No one spoke for a moment.

Then everyone except Esther and the strangers stood up as one, some chairs scraping on the carpet and falling to the
ground. Their faces pale and drawn with fright, they stumbled backward from the table in their haste to get away. Skar yanked Kai by the hand. He knocked over a plate that broke with a dull smash, and Sarah, bundled to Michal's back, woke with a start and began to cry.

Esther had seen the ravages of the disease; they all had. The sickness spared no one, not the smallest child nor the strongest teenager. A single drop of water could kill the healthiest person within days, bringing with it the familiar bone-crushing fatigue and headaches, searing fever, and telltale sores. Soon, delirium would set in. The suffering the illness brought was so great that death often seemed to come as a relief.

Her hood pushed back, Saith gazed up at the others with a look of defiance and sadness.

Then she met Esther's eyes. “If I said,” the girl said, her voice husky, “you wasn't gonna let me near.”

She was right.

Everyone was terrified of the sick. The custom was to drive them away, to let them die on their own, for the healthy feared that they too would catch the disease from breathing the same air. Even now, Silas and Michal were each pressing an arm to their faces in an attempt to cover their mouths.

Saith lifted her chin and stared at Esther in open challenge. Esther didn't blame her; the girl had no hope or chance left. She even found herself smiling at the other's stubbornness, which reminded her of her own.

“You make us go now?” Saith said.

From where she still sat, Esther could feel the heat radiating
off the child in Saith's arms. “No,” she said. She had not planned her answer; in fact, she was almost as surprised by it as Saith seemed to be. Then she made up her mind and turned to the others. “They're staying.”

A look of concern passed among her friends. Even Skar looked doubtful. “Esther—” she began. Stubborn, Esther shook her head.

Esther knew what it was like to nurse the dying. She had done so several times, first with her sister, Sarah, back in Prin. Then she had taken care of two of the adults from the District, sponging them off to give them some relief from the fever, propping them up so they could drink sugar water from a spoon. It allowed the ill a modicum of peace and even comfort. It was, she felt, the least she could do.

In all three cases, no one else dared to come near the sick except Joseph, and even he did so reluctantly, wearing a scarf wrapped around his mouth and nose. Yet Esther had taken care of them all and had even buried her sister after she died.

And she had not grown ill.

Her friends, she knew, were aware of this. And yet they were all still frightened, as if rumors were more persuasive than reality.

“There is nothing to fear,” Esther said.

Yet none of them volunteered to help her.

She would do this by herself.

Esther gave Saith and little Gera their own room, across the hall from her own. Then she set about fetching a bucket of water, clean bedding, and some of her clothes. Because no one
else would help, little Kai carried some towels and contributed one of his stuffed animals, a tattered creature with a long nose and oversize ears. He seemed fascinated by the other boy and even reached out to pat him on the stomach.
He was,
Esther realized with a pang,
the same age as Gera
.

Late that night, Esther came back by herself to see how the two were doing. Saith was already fast asleep in a pile of blankets, her dark hair vivid against the white pillowcase. Gera lay next to her, still wide-awake. His dark eyes, enormous in his pale face, glittered as he gazed up at Esther, his breath quick and ragged.

Esther reached down to touch his forehead; the fever had subsided a bit, as she knew it often did at night. On an impulse, she leaned over and picked him up. As light as he was, he clung to her with surprising strength. Esther settled herself on the ground with care, sitting close to his sister so she wouldn't be frightened if she awoke and found him gone. Then she rocked him in her lap, brushing his hair back from his forehead with a gentle touch.

It was how she soothed her own children when they couldn't sleep, and once again, it worked. Within moments, Gera's eyelids fluttered shut and his breathing grew soft and even. And still, Esther continued to stroke his face.

She awoke with a start; she wasn't aware she had fallen asleep. The room was filled with the pale, gray light of early morning and as she stretched her limbs, she found she was stiff from having spent the night curled on her side upon a hard floor. She realized Gera was no longer in her arms and that the
bedding next to her was empty as well.

“Saith?”

Then Esther saw her. On the far side of the room, the girl stood motionless in the receding gloom, gazing out. When Esther drew next to her, she saw Saith was staring at the deserted city with unfocused eyes. The girl was clutching Gera, and even before Esther could ask, she saw how rigid the child was.

She knew the reason.

Esther hesitated. For a moment, she thought of comforting Saith, of opening her arms and enfolding the grieving girl in an embrace . . . for she too knew what it felt like to lose those you loved. Yet she noted Saith's silence, her proud and stony profile, and her dry eyes.

I suppose she needs to mourn in her own way,
Esther thought. And so she slipped away without a word, closing the door softly behind her.

Back in her room, Esther stood gazing down on her own children, both sound asleep. She was overwhelmed with emotion: not just love but gratitude for the luck that had kept them both safe so far. Yet it struck her for the first time that, in fact, luck had very little to do with it.

Kai and Sarah were healthy for two reasons: because they lived indoors and had plenty to eat and drink.

Gera hadn't. And now he was dead while they lived.

It was as simple as that.

Esther had barely known the boy, had only held him for a few hours, yet she could still feel the warmth of him in her
arms. He was a child who had lived such a short time and then died, leaving someone to grieve alone. A great sense of sorrow and anger filled Esther at the thought of all those who suffered: not only the sick, but those who were left once they had gone. As she herself had been.

And then something odd happened: Esther discovered that she was forming words within her mind. She could hear them as clearly as if she were addressing someone next to her.

If you let me
, she thought,
I promise to help as many as I can
.

She had no idea to whom she was speaking. It wasn't the memory of Caleb or her sister, Sarah. It wasn't even her mother, who existed as only a fragment of a memory. She was addressing something bigger, a force that lived in the earth and trees and sun, an invisible power that lay far beyond human experience, one that could make sense of light and dark, day and night, life and death.

The words brought Esther peace, a feeling she had not known in a long time. She suddenly understood that she was strong, much stronger than she had grasped. It had been one thing to feed a few hungry people. Now she realized that she could make a bigger commitment, a grander plan.

She would no longer concern herself with Gideon; from that moment on, whatever he did would be his affair. Instead, Esther would focus only on the problems she could do something about, things that were within her control.

Of course, it would take not only work but shrewdness and patience, qualities she had in short supply. When she tried to calculate how many beds they could fit on the floor below
them and how they would bring the sick and injured back to the District, her mind reeled at the size and scope of her vision.

Yet Esther had faced seemingly impossible odds before; from experience, she knew that what she lacked in practical knowledge she more than made up for in resourcefulness and a stubborn will. All she needed was the slimmest trace of hope. Then she could not be stopped from doing what she knew in her heart was right.

As if she could understand, Sarah laughed and babbled as she awoke, her tiny legs kicking.

T
HE DAY OF TRADING AND WORK WAS OVER
. F
ROM A HIGHER FLOOR,
Gideon stared down at the crowds.

Outsiders continued to stream into the District each day, carrying Gleaned goods and pockets full of glass pieces. The more people came, the higher the prices went up. Sometimes Gideon had them raised on the same day, even as he lowered the amount paid for labor and Gleaned goods. Gideon was fascinated by how compliant the visitors were, how readily they agreed to whatever was demanded. He knew that sometimes they purchased things simply because someone else wanted them. And that person only wanted them because
Gideon had assigned them a high price.

Gideon was aware that the amount of glass was finite. His people had carried the entire mountain of oddly colored fragments from the garage; there were no more left. Yet by paying the same glass out piece by piece and then receiving it back the same way, he was able to generate not only a steady stream of new items coming in, but also an endless supply of labor.

It was,
he thought,
magic
.

Yet he knew that the system was fragile.

He had seen a temporary slowdown in produce from Esther's garden and heard rumors of some kind of pestilence. It hadn't lasted, but what if it had? People only wanted worthless trash—a lamp that needed electricity, a useless coat made of dark, sleek fur, a heavy wristwatch with hands that wouldn't move—when their bellies were full. His entire system depended on a steady supply of food and drinkable water.

At the moment, trading in bits of glass was a novelty. But all it would take was someone to question what was going on. If enough people refused to play by his rules, the entire structure would collapse within days.

Gideon began to think ahead. He had to find something else to sell.

From the far end of the hall, he saw a figure stumble toward him.

It was a boy making a great effort to walk but weaving nonetheless. Gideon thought that the person might be suffering from the illness and as he made a sudden lurch toward Gideon, he intended to ward him off.

Then he realized it was Eli.

Gideon's underling staggered back a step. As he blinked, a confused look of recognition crossed his face. “Gideon,” he said, as if to himself. He tried even harder to affect a rigid and proper posture, but it was impossible.

Gideon sighed. There were no sores or lesions on Eli; he didn't appear to be dying. He was only acting as he had since they had dealt with Aras: irresponsibly.

After the blind boy had been eliminated, Eli had been transformed. Now he behaved in an odd and absent manner, and his skin and clothes gave off a sharp, unpleasant aroma. For some reason, he had gone from being a trustworthy, even exemplary helper to someone Gideon couldn't depend on in the least.

Today was a new low. As Eli fell forward and clung to Gideon, Gideon averted his face to avoid the noxious odor coming from the boy's mouth.

“Sorry,” Eli kept saying. “Sorry, sorry.”

Gideon pushed him away and Eli stumbled back. A look of discomfort crossed his face. Then without warning, Eli buckled at the waist and proceeded to vomit all over the marble floor.

Gideon backed up, appalled. He turned his face to avoid the miserable spectacle, but nothing could keep the stench from invading his nose. He felt the shaky touch of Eli on his arm and he recoiled in disgust.

“Please,” Eli said in a raspy voice. “Help me home.”

Gideon refused to touch the other boy or let him grab hold. Instead, he deigned to walk to one side as Eli felt his way along the hall to his room. Once inside, Eli collapsed face-first onto
his mattress, one arm hanging limply onto the floor.

Gideon prepared to go. Then he noticed that the other boy was reaching under his bed, scrabbling for something, which he pulled out. It was a rectangular glass bottle, nearly empty save for an inch or so of brownish liquid that sloshed near the bottom.

Gideon stared at the object and finally understood. He had seen this kind of drink in the past, a rare commodity that was fought over whenever it was found. The few times his Insurgents had drunk it on the outside, it had made them loud and foolish, not to mention incapable of work. Gideon couldn't fathom why anyone would deliberately put himself at such a disadvantage; he had refused to even touch it. To him, it was as dangerous as the stuff Aras had smoked.

“Want some?” Eli asked.

Gideon shook his head. “It poison.”

Eli shrugged. Then he uncapped the bottle and finished it off. “You should try it,” he said. “It feels nice. Only I reckon you don't like to feel that way.” Eli snickered a little.

Gideon ignored the barb, something the old Eli would never have delivered. Instead, he looked down at the boy with new interest as Eli struggled to screw the top back onto the bottle.

“Why you want it?” Gideon asked. “If it make you sick?”

Eli stopped and thought for a moment before responding. “It makes me feel so good, I don't remember I feel bad.”

Gideon took this in. “Where it from?”

“Bet you'd like to know.” Eli said the last to himself, his tone
again snide, but Gideon heard.

“Yeah,” Gideon said seriously. “I do.”

He loomed over the other boy, his eyes cold. Eli looked up at him and, for the first time that night, seemed afraid.

Minutes later, a shaky Eli was leading Gideon down to the basement and an inconspicuous-looking door, not far from the garage. Using a key ring that he had stolen from the adults who had once run the District, Eli unlocked it. Inside was a large, windowless room filled with stacked wooden crates, each containing bottles.

“They drank it at dinner.” Eli's intoxication seemed to be wearing off; now he was ashen faced and bleary. “I saw where the old people kept it.”

The labels all had different, unpronounceable names, but one word stood out: “proof.” Gideon began examining the crates, counting the bottles they held. There were at least eight hundred, he reckoned, and took a moment to jot down a few numbers in a notebook he always carried in his back pocket. Then he turned to the other boy.

“How much you give to have it?”

“You mean glass?” Eli seemed confused. “For a bottle?”

“No.” Gideon made a quick calculation, holding up a flask and guessing how much it contained. “For a drink.”

Eli furrowed his brow. “I dunno. As much as I had to.”

Gideon smiled to himself. It was uncanny: Eli was always of help, whether he intended it or not.

“Here,” Gideon said, and held out the bottle. “Take it.”

Later, after Eli had passed out on his bed, Gideon slipped
the ring with the collection of keys from the snoring boy's pocket.

He could,
Gideon thought,
make much better use of it himself
.

If she learned of it, Esther would disapprove, of course. So he would be careful: A select number of customers would be invited at first, and after that, others by word of mouth.

The more Gideon thought of it, the better he liked the idea. Creating a forbidden air would heighten the value of what he was planning. The basement, after all, was a place of darkness and shadows. Where better to create a place where people could enjoy a disreputable pleasure?

Once they paid for it, of course.

The hallway that lay beneath the one Esther and her friends occupied was identical in its layout. The nine rooms were spaced evenly along the outside of a rectangular corridor, including a large office with double doors made of golden wood. Sealed windows along the inner wall looked down on the atrium below. Although the air tasted stale and dust clung to the furniture after decades of disuse, the carpet was soft, thick, and comfortable to lie on. After Esther had helped push the desks and chairs against the walls, she and her friends brought down armloads of blankets and pillows.

Each room, she figured, could easily hold three people.

Esther had remembered where Saith and Uri lived. When she went back the next morning with supplies, she was relieved to find that people began to open up and trust her. In fact, it soon became painful having to choose among them, for this
time, she could have easily brought many dozens back. Still, she decided to keep her focus on those in the direst condition. Working with Silas, she began transporting the sick and the frail to the District, one or two at a time.

By the third day, all of the spaces had been taken.

Most of the Outsiders had injuries, wounds that most likely had been brought about by Gleaning buildings that were dilapidated and unstable: broken fingers and ankles that were swollen and red, deep gashes on the arm or leg that wouldn't heal. Still others were wracked by ailments that refused to go away: a rattling cough, stomach pain, fever. Esther tended to the ill early in the morning, cleaning their wounds as best she could and fetching them water. After working in the garden, she would bring down a meager lunch, usually vegetables and either porridge or flatbread she had prepared. Then she would come again one last time before bed, to provide supper.

To feed so many new mouths, Esther knew she couldn't rely on the rooftop farm alone; any sudden drop in supply would have brought unwanted attention from Gideon. Instead, she filched what she could and tried to augment it by dipping into their emergency stores. Each time she went into the closet, however, she deliberately kept her eyes down; she couldn't bear to see how quickly she was working her way through their precious reserves. At some point, they would run out altogether and she would be forced to find a way to deal with it. But for now, there was enough, and that was all that mattered.

Usually, Esther took her own meals with the newcomers. At first, she did it to save time, but as the days passed, she
began to enjoy their company. With regular food and care, the Outsiders became less timid and savage seeming.

Esther was especially glad that Saith had blossomed under her protection. No longer remote, she had grown vivacious and sweet natured, always flattering Esther and making the older girl laugh. Soon, the newcomers would be well enough to decide what to do: to leave the District or join the others in working the garden. Secretly, Esther hoped Saith would stay.

Only a handful of the strangers had the killing disease. Although Esther now understood that it was impossible to catch it from simple face-to-face contact, she knew that the others weren't convinced. As a result, she kept the dying together, in a separate room at the end of the hall. She couldn't save them, but at least she could offer regular meals, some comfort, and a safe place to sleep for their final days.

One morning, as Esther entered one of the sick rooms, she recoiled at an unfamiliar smell, unpleasantly sweet and heavy. The odor seemed to come from a young girl she had brought in two days earlier, one whose leg was badly cut. As she did with all such injuries, Esther had wiped off the gaping wound to clean it as best she could, then wrapped it in an old T-shirt. But now when she undid the cloth, she was appalled by the swollen skin, the yellowish discharge, and the angry, red-edged flesh.

“You need to clean it.” Esther was surprised to see Joseph standing at the doorway, watching. Up until now, no one from upstairs had ventured down to see what was going on, much less offer a hand. Her old friend sounded apologetic, as if
interrupting. “If you don't clean a cut properly, it gets infected.”

“Infected.” Esther had no idea what the word meant. Yet she was desperate. She followed Joseph upstairs, where he headed to the supply closet. There he rooted around until he came up with an oversize plastic jug that sloshed when he lifted it.

Doubtful, Esther took it from him. She was familiar with the clear liquid, which was labeled
HEINZ DISTILLED WHITE VINEGAR
. From experience, she knew that it was sharp tasting and unpleasant. It could be drunk without ill effect if there was nothing else around, which was the only reason they kept it on hand. Still, Esther wasn't exactly sure what he expected her to do with it.

“Use this to clean her leg,” Joseph said. “And anyone else who's bleeding.” He seemed serious, and so Esther shrugged off her uncertainty and brought it downstairs.
It was,
she thought,
worth a try
.

Yet from the shrieks of the girl moments later, Esther wondered if Joseph knew what he was talking about. The vinegar seemed to burn the flesh and her patient struggled and kicked, sobbing with pain. But the discomfort faded quickly and Esther was soon able to rebandage the leg. To her relief, the strong smell helped to mask the stink.

Esther didn't expect anything beyond that. Yet to her shock, the next morning she found that the swelling had gone down. By evening, the wound had clearly begun to heal.

Esther found Joseph in his room, reading by torchlight. He was so intent he didn't notice her, and, accustomed to his ways, she kept quiet and crouched to let his cat, Stumpy, smell her
hand and rub against her. After a few moments, he glanced up and saw her.

“How did you know that?” She didn't waste time in small talk. “About the vinegar, I mean. How did you know it would work?”

“Oh.” Joseph was startled by the question. “I read it.” He spoke as if that explained everything.

It was only then that Esther, baffled, glanced at the books that surrounded him. Joseph used every available space for the reading material he had been able to gather over the past few months. He even slept under a table that was piled high with dirty and mildewed volumes, newspapers, and magazines. To Esther, they were not separate items but a single, indistinguishable mass.

In Prin, Joseph had owned a library that was many times the size of this one. Her sister had also owned books; when Esther was little, Sarah had read aloud to her charming and mysterious stories of fairies and talking animals and children going on magical journeys. When they left Prin, Esther had brought along one of her sister's volumes: a battered copy of
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
. Hearing Joseph read the story had been one of the few pleasures of their difficult trip.