Half Lives (29 page)

Tate and I both blinked at the volume and force of her voice and hunched away from her.

‘Whoa there, Baldy,’ Tate said and raised his palms in surrender. ‘It’s not that big a deal. No need to get your panties in a ball.’

‘What are you making?’ I asked Tate, giving Marissa a chance to calm down.

‘Nothing. Just something. You know,’ he said, and picked up a peanut-butter-flavoured power bar. I had to give the kid credit. He’d kept himself busy with poker initially, then
his own brand of queenless solitaire and, more recently, with some top-secret project he was constructing near his tent where the main tunnel dead ended. He didn’t complain much. Because he
was the youngest and had lived a sheltered and privileged life, I’d expected him to crack first, not Marissa.

‘You know you only get half a bar,’ Marissa said, eyeing the power bar in his hand.

‘Yeah, why? You want to split it?’ he asked.

‘OK,’ Marissa said, and clutched her D&G to her chest. ‘We can eat this in my room. We’ll have to pray first.’

Tate looked at me with a panicked expression.

‘Have you been saved, Tate?’ Marissa grabbed a fistful of Tate’s shirt. ‘Well, I can save you.’ She had a wild look in her sunken eyes.

‘Um, well, I don’t know,’ he said as Marissa led him into the tunnel.

Maybe it was his turn to take one for the team. Marissa needed a project. Maybe saving Tate would save her too. I thought of that first day and Tate’s comment about us having to repopulate
the earth. An image of a baby with Tate’s head and Marissa’s muscular body flashed into my mind. If this was the future of the planet, we were going to be in serious trouble.

I should have talked to her, tried to help her. But I didn’t know what to do. Every time I reached out to her it only seemed to make her more irritated. So I did what I always did and
ignored it. I guess Chaske and I both did. It was easier, but it wasn’t right. Maybe nothing could have saved her, but I felt seriously guilty later that I didn’t try hard enough.

GRETA

G
reta’s scream seems to circle the mountain. She looks out over the valley below and can’t believe her brothers and Da don’t hear
her.

She screams because that’s all she can do. She struggles against the vines binding her outstretched arms and legs to this wall-sized thicket. Thorns dig into her back. The pain
cloaks her almost desperate fear.

How could she have been so stupid? She’d let her feelings for Beckett cloud her judgment. Da sent her on a mission and she let a few kisses become more important than the future
of her people. She will never make that mistake again. Maybe she’s been outwitted by a beautiful boy. Maybe Beckett was the bait in an elaborate trap.

Greta screams again out of helpless frustration. She throws her weight forwards so her body is like a sail snapped taut by the wind. She projects the shrill sound at her captor. He
doesn’t even blink.

‘Shut up,’ he growls, and slaps her across the cheek. The force slams her into the thorns. The vines that bind her shred the skin around her wrists and ankles. She bites
her lip and stifles a scream.

She glares at the tall, bony figure looming over her. He wears a loincloth like Beckett, but that’s where the similarities end. He is sharp in the way Beckett is solid. Hate
radiates from him the way peace flows from Beckett. He has painted his body with ash. His bald head is pink and raw from the sun. Maybe he is the creature her brothers saw. If so, she hopes they
will find and destroy him.

The monster speaks. ‘You shouldn’t be on my Mountain. No one is allowed on the Mountain unless I permit it.’ So he is Beckett’s leader. Da was right to be wary
of these mountain people. ‘Beckett can’t save you now.’

‘My people will come for me.’ She tries to squash the tremor in her voice.

‘Let them come. I’ll leave you here as a warning to anyone who dares to climb my Mountain.’ The monster laughs. That sound is worse than his shouts, worse than his
fist, worse than the blow that knocked her unconscious and allowed him to capture her.

He loops a vine around her neck and the thorny thicket. She thrashes about but he presses his body against hers. The thorns puncture her skin. He pulls the vine so she can barely
breathe, and he smiles at her struggle. He ties the vine and walks away, still laughing.

Greta flails like a fish flapping on sand, but every move strangles her. When he is out of sight, the sound of his laughter echoes in her ears. She looks out to Vega and feels the
hopelessness of her situation. All she can do is sob. She hates herself for crying but it’s not sadness. Her tears are hot with anger. The thorny brambles of the thicket vibrate with her
rage.

‘Greta.’ She hears her name whispered as if it’s coming from the hedge.

‘Greta.’

‘Beckett?’ Her tears ebb as hope sneaks in. She may not die here. There may be time for her to warn her people.

‘Is Finch gone?’

He must mean the monster. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m coming to save you,’ Beckett says.

His words trigger more anger.
He’s saving me?
Her head and heart battle. She cares for him, but she must think of him as her enemy now. This monster is one of his
people and more like him are attacking Vega.

She sees his silhouette through the thicket about ten feet from where she is tethered. He starts tearing at the vines with his bare hands. Every shift of the thicket causes more
thorns to dig into her body. She doesn’t flinch. She welcomes the pain to focus her, to claw out the part that wants to fall into his arms.

‘Let me help.’ Another figure appears beside Beckett. They snap and splinter one vine after another, creating a gaping wound in the hedge.

Beckett slips through the opening. Greta recognizes the girl who follows him through.

‘Hurry,’ the girl says. ‘Finch could come back at any moment.’

Beckett gasps when he sees Greta. She looks down at her body. Her pale white skin is swirled with yellow and green bruises. She tries to contract her body. She feels ashamed at what
the monster did to her. She should have fought harder.

Beckett gently and methodically unties the knots at her wrists and neck. The girl is working on her ankles. She’s ripping the vines free. The vines feel like blades slicing her
skin. Her wrists have what look like bangles of blood.

When she is free, she tries to push past them. She has to get to Vega. She only walks a few feet before she collapses. Beckett’s arms are around her before her body hits the
ground. She wants to struggle but suddenly her body is weak. Beckett lifts her in his arms and she curls into him. The girl holds open the gap in the thicket, and Beckett carefully manoeuvres
through. She should object – but she doesn’t have the strength. When Greta’s hair gets tangled in the hedge, the girl picks it free. Beckett keeps looking over his shoulder. He
shifts her higher in his arms. She remembers what it was like to kiss him and mourns that she will never feel that way again.

While Beckett carries her up the Mountain, the girl does her best to mend the thicket. Beckett lays Greta gently on the muddy ground. He brushes her hair, sticky with rain and blood,
from her face. She feels a rush of affection for him. She wants to kiss him and forgive and forget everything that separates them. But she can’t. She made a terrible mistake choosing this boy
over her family. She must build a thorny thicket around her heart.

‘Thank you.’ Greta bows her head. ‘Both of you.’

‘That’s Harper.’ Beckett gestures to the girl. As he sits next to Greta, she thinks she can feel him battling against his urge to hold her too. She looks at Harper
and realizes how much they look alike. There’s something between her and Beckett. She can’t quite figure out their relationship. They are close. She can see it in the way they worked
together.

‘She can’t stay here,’ Harper says, and faces Beckett as if Greta is not even there.

Beckett glares at Harper.

‘Well, she can’t,’ Harper insists in the tone that reminds Greta of when she was a little girl and her brothers wouldn’t listen to her.

‘I’ve got to warn my family,’ Greta says, and tries to stand. She falls back hard on her butt.

‘Greta will stay with us,’ Beckett tells Harper. ‘I don’t want anything to happen to you,’ he says to Greta.

Greta hates it, but he’s right. She couldn’t make it down the mountain right now. She needs to gather her strength and plan her escape.

Beckett gets to his feet and reaches out a hand to both of them. ‘I think we should keep moving.’

Harper refuses his hand and adjusts the strips of cloth that cover her.

Beckett helps Greta up. She leans on him and he half carries her.

‘Where are we going?’ she asks as they head up the mountain. The pain is slowly subsiding.

‘I think the only way to go is up,’ Beckett says. ‘Maybe we can find a vantage point to see what’s going on and then decide what to do next.’

As they climb higher, the terrain unnaturally and abruptly flattens. The ground is covered with tiny pebbles. Greta has spotted Lucky keeping pace with them.

‘Is this some sort of road?’ Greta asks, bending over to catch her breath. She’s not used to mountain life, always standing at an angle. She’s exhausted, but
she will not show them weakness.

Harper twists left and right, stretching her athletic body.

‘We’ve never been up this far,’ Beckett says.

‘You live on the mountain. You never leave it, and you’ve never been this high before?’ Greta can’t believe what a limited life they’ve led.

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Harper responds for Beckett. ‘We should keep moving.’

A few steps more and they all see it at the same time. Rising from the path is a barrier constructed of rock. The rock wall seems to circle the mountain.

Greta plucks a stone at arm’s height. Rocks cascade to fill the empty space. ‘What is this?’

Beckett walks straight up to the wall. ‘The Great I AM was here.’

‘Who?’ Greta asks.

‘The Great I AM.’ Beckett says it again as if it should mean something to her. He runs his hands over the sun-warmed rocks. ‘Can’t you feel it?’ Beckett
shivers. He strokes the rock and bows his head and closes his eyes.

‘Beckett—’ Greta starts but Harper quickly interrupts.

‘Can’t you see he’s Saying?’

‘What?’ Greta asks. They have the same words but these people use them in such peculiar ways.

‘Don’t you Say?’ Harper asks.

It takes a second to understand what Harper means. ‘You mean pray, like to some higher power?’ Greta laughs in one quick burst. ‘People used to do that but look
where it led. Their higher powers led them to destroy everything.’ She shakes her head at Harper and her naiveté. ‘There’s no one to help people like us.’

‘What do you mean, “like us”?’ Harper asks, and strides towards her, chest out, fists clenched. ‘I’m not like you. I’ve never been like
you!’

Harper shoves Greta, then she stops and looks at her fists as if they’ve acted out of her control. Even with their faith in a higher power, they still use fists. Greta itches to
shove her back and then knock her to the ground and make her pay for the sins her people plan to commit against Vega, but she doesn’t. She might feel powerful and satisfied for the course of
the fight. When it was over, she’d still be held hostage and her people would still be in danger.

‘I’m sorry if I offended you,’ Greta lies, trying not to make matters worse. ‘But you look more like us than them.’ She gestures to Beckett.

Harper crosses her arms high across her chest. ‘I may look like you, but I’m a Cheerleader in here.’ She pounds her fist on her chest.

Greta shrugs. What do their riddles matter? They are so different from her people. They pray to something unseen while Da preaches that they and they alone are masters of their own
fate.

‘We’re on the path,’ Beckett says when he opens his eyes.

‘You mean the Great Ian’s path?’ Greta asks, trying not to laugh. She walks the perimeter of the wall, away from Harper.

‘The Great
I AM
,’ Beckett corrects. ‘The Great I AM marked this Mountain as sacred. We have guarded it for generations.’

‘Why?’ Greta asks, kicking at the pebbles. ‘Why
this
mountain, say,’ she points, ‘not that one over there.’

‘We don’t choose what’s sacred . . .’ Beckett falters. Greta imagines that no one has ever asked him these questions before.

‘Don’t you get it?’ Harper shouts. ‘You are a complete and utter Tristan. Show her.’ She locks her arm around Beckett’s. He tries to resist, but
Harper shows Greta the birthmark on Beckett’s wrist.

‘No, Harper. Don’t.’ Beckett is twisting away. ‘Please,’ he says, giving up the fight.

Harper releases him. ‘You will never understand.’

Greta is standing well out of their way. ‘Won’t understand what?’

‘Can’t you see who he is?’ Harper says. She extends her arm parallel to Beckett’s. Greta can see a thin scar that’s the same as Beckett’s
birthmark. ‘He’s our Cheer Captain. He was born with our sacred mark. He is a descendant of the Great I AM.’

‘Is that true?’ Greta backs away. She doesn’t know him at all. ‘Are you some sort of spiritual leader?’

Beckett nods ever so slightly. All this time she thought he was just a boy.

‘The Great I AM has chosen him to lead us,’ Harper continues. She moves between them. ‘He must protect the Heart of the Mountain.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Greta asks, bobbing her head back and forth to get a line of sight around Harper.

Beckett brushes Harper aside and looks Greta in the eyes, but she can’t stand what he’s become. When she looks at him, she suddenly sees a stranger. She looks away.

‘Because of that,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘That look in your eyes. I’m not just Beckett any more.’

‘Let’s go,’ Harper says, and stomps off.

He looks different to Greta somehow, now that she knows what he really is. How can he believe in someone he’s never seen? It all sounds so ridiculous.