Outcast: A Corporation Novel (The Corporation) (34 page)

My hands and feet are numb from the ropes and I can't feel my fingers. My back and neck are stiff and sore from being in this position for what has probably been far too long. And all the blood is pooling in the top of my skull. I'm being held upside down. Something is pressing into my gut and lower ribs. A shoulder, maybe. I'm being held over someone's shoulder and the bumping rhythm is their gait as we walk. I try to shift my weight to try and relieve the discomfort of my position.

“This one's awake,” my ride says.

“Stop.” That voice is far away. Behind me, somewhere.

“Dhevan,” I try to say as loud as I can. It comes out as a gravely whisper.

There's rustling and movement. Nothing threatening, but it's noticeable all the same. “Put him down,” the voice that ordered us to stop says.

There's a grunt and I'm heaved backwards, to the ground. It's a disorienting feeling, that kind of movement, with no visual point of reference to ground oneself with. My back hits first, none too softly, followed by my head. The contact jolts my teeth.

“Hold him,” the voice says.

Grips like vices grab both of my wrists, two more grab my ankles. It's a useless effort by them; I don't have the energy to move a finger, let alone my entire body to fight them.

“Stop…wait…” I say. “Please.”

But they don't care. There's a jabbing pinch in the bicep of my right arm. A needle. They're giving me something.

Darkness fills my veins and travels through my body, relaxing each part it touches. It's only seconds before it makes its way up to my brain and I'm granted the blissful unconsciousness from before.

Day eleven

Ethan

I don't know how long I've been passed out for before I feel something tugging at my arm. The material that was around my eyes is gone and we’re not moving any more. I pull back from the pressure on my forearm, not having the will to even open my eyes. I try to roll back, deeper into the depression against whatever hard structure it is that I feel at my back. The tug comes harder now, more of a pull, yanking my arm, and with it my body, from the cool protectiveness of my shelter.

Great. The wild dog we chased off has come back to seek revenge. I crack my eyes open, but all I can make out are two dark blurs. He's brought a friend. What happened to the group that took us from the training camp? Could this be them? Lack of food and water have left me not only without any strength, but without the desire to fight back. I just hope my death is swift.

With a flop, I'm pulled out of my sanctuary and onto the hard ground, where I lay, lifeless. I have the image in my mind of the time I saw Dhevan help birth a calf. I hear low, guttural noises passing back and forth between the two beasts. Then, I'm pretty sure I hear one of the sounds strike a familiar chord inside my head. I listen harder.

“Is he dead?” one voice says.

“Almost. We need to get him back.”

“I’ll get the smaller one.” Then, there are hands all over my body, lifting, pushing, hoisting, and shoving. I leave the ground and am draped over another shoulder. I still don't have much strength.

“Look,” the other one says, in a lower voice. I feel weighted stares being passed between the heavy silence. My arm is dropped. “Let's get him back.”

Dhevan
. I try to speak, but my tongue and lips won't cooperate.

Karis

Every waking minute I'm not at work or doing chores, I'm spending with Adami. He's a fascinating person who understands every nuance of my being.

We talk about nothing and everything. I'm getting to know him better than I know any other person in my life. I know what will make him laugh, what will make him think. I know that he detests (one of his favorite words)—the porridge we eat in the mornings, and what he loves—Eta's meat biscuits. He has a soft spot for Sai, and if given the opportunity, will always babysit her and hold her every moment he’s with her.

He has a way with Kerick and I know Ajna, if he ever gets the opportunity to meet him. He respects Papa, and Papa respects him. They see each other as equals and laugh and converse easily with each other. He looks comfortable and at ease in our living room, tending the fire, or just sitting on the couch, watching a Bulletin.

I think, at another time, he could have had a life here in Neech and been happy. And while he would be content with that life, I also know he would always be looking for more. Always searching for what else he could do to push himself, challenge his instincts and brain, make things better. He and Ethan would get along that way.

I can see Adami with a girl from Neech, settling down and starting a family of his own. But then I remember, he has his own family, in Nagar, and he misses them. I can imagine how much they miss him.

Whenever I think about him leaving to go back there, my heart aches and my stomach clenches, knowing he won't be around forever. In the days since he's been awake, Adami and I have grown very close. It's hard to explain, and no one really understands it. Papa thinks we like each other in a way I know we don't, and Journey is jealous we have something she and I will never be able to have.

I sit on one of the steps out in the lunch yard at the Factory and try to put it into words in my head. There was a hole in my soul I never knew existed. I never knew it was missing until Adami showed up. And when he woke, it was only then I realized how big the chasm was and that he fit perfectly in it.

He's a part of me, now, and I know he feels the same way about me. We've talked several times together about this strangeness we experience with each other. I’m one hundred percent comfortable around him and trust him with my life, and he’s the same with me. I could fall asleep in his arms as comfortably as I could in Ethan's, but I know I would always be able to come back to those arms, no matter what; and I feel that with Ethan, there’s a line for both of us, that if crossed, could never be uncrossed.

Adami is my soul mate. Not in a lovesick way, but in a very practical, knit by the fabric of the universe kind of way. For some people, it's hard to swallow, for others, it's like breathing air. It just is.

I smile to myself, satisfied with my self-explanation when Journey sits next to me. “Hi.” She has something heavy on her mind, I can tell by how she says the word.

“Hi,” I say. I've forgiven her for siding with Dhevan, what seems like forever ago. We never specifically talked about it, because we didn't have to. We know the other needs a few days to think and calm down before they come back to their senses, and life goes on as it always has. “Busy?”

“Always. You?”

“Always.” I take a bite of my rubbery celery. With how cold it's been getting, it should still be crisp and fine, but for some reason, it hangs down in a soft arc.

“Are you worried about the boys?” she asks.

I reach out and pull her to my side for a hug. I kiss the top of her head. “Only every moment I'm awake. But they're strong. And they're smart. I'm sure they're okay and close to wherever it is they're going.”

“You really think that?”

“Actually, I really do.” I give her a small smile and take my arm back.

“What do you think they'll find out there?”

“I really don't know. Maybe others like Adami? He said there are points of nourishment out in the Wasteland. Some underground streams and small animals. Vegetation is rare but it's hardy, and it can sometimes be what keeps you alive.”

“What if they don't know how to find underground streams?” There's an infinitesimal hitch in her words.

“Dhevan's, like, the smartest land guy I know. He'll know how to read the earth and find water, if it's there. I have no doubt we'll see them again soon.”

“You said Wasteland.”

“Hmm?”

“You said Wasteland instead of the Further.”

“Oh,” I shrug my shoulders, it's no big deal. “That's what Adami and his people call it. I guess it just stuck with me.”

Journey hasn't opened her lunch sack to eat, and she's busy looking at her finger nails. Something else is definitely on her mind.

“Spill it,” I say.

“Hmm? Oh, it's nothing.”

I shrug my shoulders and take another bite of my celery.

“I think you're spending too much time with Adami.”

I bite my tongue in surprise. “Ouch!” I hold the side of my face and pinch my eyes shut with the sudden piercing pain. I open my eyes when it's passed and look at my best friend. She's still staring at her fingers, but the lines in her face are hard and sure. “I don't think I heard you right.”

She looks at me, her eyes steel. “You heard me just fine, but I'll say it again.” She takes my hands in hers, celery and all. “I think you're spending too much time with Adami, and I think it's unhealthy. I think it's improper for him to be staying at your house, now that he's awake, and I've already mentioned to Eta that she should have him stay at her place. You lost Kavin and you clung to Ethan. Now Ethan’s gone and you’re obsessed with Adami. It’s not healthy.”

I rip my hands away from her fingers and glare at her. “You did what?!” The yard goes quiet as others turn to witness our conversation. I lower my voice. “That was not your place to do that. Adami is fine with Papa and me, and that’s where he’ll stay.”

“What if he wants to go to Eta's? What if he needs the space that her job would give him?”

“If that were something he wanted, then I wouldn't stand in the way, but it's not.”

“How do you know? Have you asked him?”

“I don't need to; I know he wouldn't want to.”

“See, that's what I mean. You've hardly known him two weeks, and you're talking about him like you've known him all your life. Like he's your Pair. And he's not.”

“I don't need reminding that he's not my Pair, Journey.” She thinks I'm obsessed.

“That's not what I mean.” She sighs and talks a little softer, with more kindness. “I'm just afraid you're getting too close and that you’re going to get hurt. You don't know him. None of us know him that well. I don't want you to get hurt when he leaves.”

“Oh my gosh, you think I'm falling for him or something, don't you?”

Her cheeks turn a little pink. “That's the way it's looking to everyone on the outside.”

“I don't care what it looks like to
everyone
on the outside; I've never cared about that. Adami is a good guy, and I enjoy being around him. He's the only one that gets me right now.”

“I get you.”

“No, you don't. The fact that you’re trying to talk to me about this nonsense proves that. You’re my best friend, and we get each other every other day, but right now, he's the only one that gets me the way I need. I like spending time with him.”

“Karis, I don't trust him. There's something about him I can't put my finger on. I just think you should cool it with him for a while.”

“You're not around him enough to be able to say 'there's something about him', that is completely unfair.”

“Unfair or not, I know what my gut is telling me.”

“This is ridiculous, Journey. Papa trusts him and so do I. What you're saying is insulting. So, if you don't trust him, then that means you don't trust my judgment in people, and you don't trust me.”

“Now you're the one that's being completely ridiculous.” Journey throws her hands in the air.

“No, you're just jealous. I'm going inside.” I pick up my sack lunch and leave my friend behind.

Ethan

The first thing I notice is the burning thirst in my throat is gone.

The second thing I notice is that my wrists are tied down. And so are my ankles.

I try to stay calm and gather as much information as possible. Freaking out never helps a situation.

I'm lying on a mattress, soft beneath my back. The bindings against my skin are covered in something light and pliable so that they don’t dig into my skin. I twist my head from side to side to take in the space. As I do, the bed squeaks like a rusty door.

The walls are covered in yellowing wallpaper covered in peeling flowers. Bits of the wall beneath can be seen—where the ceiling meets the wall and down by the floorboards. The wooden slats have holes in them where it looks like something has been gnawing away at the wood. The wall directly across from me has a freckling of pits in its flesh about the size of a marble each. The spread covers the area of about three feet. The pattern looks like the spray of a shotgun.

Everything is dusty and old looking. There's a rickety old dresser on the wall with the buckshot. The right side slopes gently down, but not enough to have the items on the top slide around. There's faded and peeling pale blue paint. In the worn parts I see more faded and peeling paint, but it's white. Through that, bits of the natural wood comes through. It's been recycled, reused, and repainted. There's a chipped white vase and bowl. Stone. I recognize it from my schooling from when we were going through the history of Before.

There's a nightstand on my left, closest to the door. On that is a stub of a candle and a Bible, the leather cover worn and soft; I can tell just by looking at it. The title is almost faded, but I can make out the H in the first word and the LE at the end of the second, in gold lettering. The rest of the words are just pale indentations in the leather.

The house around me creaks in protest as feet pad along the corridor outside my room. It’s so old, even soft movement make it groan in pain. I close my eyes and wait for the door to open. To my surprise, it does so silently.

“I know you're awake, so you can stop pretending,” the voice is as worn as the furnishings in the house, and a bit deep for a female. “The bed screamed out when you moved.”

“What if I was just tossing in my sleep?” I say finally, opening my eyes and looking at my warden. She's an older woman, but it's impossible for me to tell exactly how old. Her skin is as worn as the leather on the bible, and it's a dark tan. Lines are creased deep in her face, but only around the corners of her eyes and the outside of her mouth—as if aggressive smiling, and a lot of it—dug out the trenches. Similar to how ruts are worn on familiar roads one travels every day.

“Not likely,” she says.

She reaches into one of the two front pockets in her apron. It's threadbare but clean and crisp, a faded red with white checkers. Underneath that she wears a pale yellow dress. I can see the pads of her fingers (she's gotten closer to me), and they're calloused and cracked.

She pulls out a couple of hairpins and secures some loose grey and brown strands back into her bun. She dusts her hands off and puts two fingers to my throat right below my jaw, no nonsense.

“Why do you say that?” I ask, her fingers warm against my skin.

Her brow wrinkles as she frowns. “Shhh.”

She looks down at the slim watch on her opposite wrist and takes my pulse. Her lips move as she counts out the seconds. She sweeps her hand away quickly, efficiently. Whatever she counted out, she must be pleased with—no, not pleased, content would fit her better.

“The injection they give cargo put you all out like death itself. No movement until you start to come to.”

“Cargo?”

“It's what we call the lot of you that come to us. No sense on getting to know any of you on a personal level.”

She walks over to the dresser and pours some water into the big basin, dipping a towel into it. Everything she does is with purpose and with the most efficiency possible. She dabs at my neck and face, cooling my temperature I didn't know needed cooling. That's when I notice I have no blankets covering me and I'm quite warm, sweating even a little.

“You mean, there are more of us?”

“About two to three a month or so. Sometimes more. Sometimes less.” She places the inside of her wrist on my forehead and waits. “Fever’s gone.” She stands up and grabs the hem of my shirt.

“Hey, wait.” I try to protest with my arms, but they're tied pretty tight. It's as if she doesn’t hear me. She lifts my shirt up to my chest, her eyes roving over my stomach. “If you go for my pants, I'm going to have to insist you untie me so I at least have a fighting chance.”

Ignored again. “No rash,” she says as she goes back to the dresser. “You won't have any adverse reaction to the drug.” She pours a glass of water for me, puts a straw in it and bends it for me to take a drink. I drain the glass in seconds.

“What drug?” I don't think I feel any different than before. Slightly dehydrated, but not noticeably different.

“Keeps you lot under control.” She takes the glass from my hands and stands up. She's going to leave me. But I need more information.

“Who took us?” I sputter out.

“Not for me to say. I just get you back to normal.”

“But you do know who they are.”

She puts her hands on her hip, not out of annoyance, though. I think it helps her to better assess me. “I'll be back to check on you later.”

“Where am I?” I say a bit too quickly. “What is this place?” She ignores me and puts a thin blanket over my legs. “Where's Dhevan?”

She puts her hand on the door knob.

I get out a few more questions before she leaves the room. “Untie me? Food? How long am I here for?” I sigh, laying my head back on the deflated pillow. My voice is flat and resigned. “How about I stay tied up in this bed and wait for you to next come back for me?”

I see a smile creep across the profile of her face. “And the big one said you were simple-minded.”