Pulse (3 page)

The lake had been taken over by about a million weird-looking black birds with oversized web feet and white beaks. They were like prehistoric animals, slow and not very smart, barely able to fly. Once when Faith was six, she’d watched as a black car drove into the neighborhood and one of the birds had run, flapping its lame wings, across the street. The bird was two feet off the ground and moving fast when the car hit it with its grille. Faith never forgot the sound it made, a terrible
thunk
, and the way the bird flopped forward in slow motion, landing on the pavement like a bag of sand. She had been surprised to see the car keep going around the corner and out of sight.

Faith was thinking of the strange, dead bird as she walked along the lakefront with Liz, the two of them holding hands as they sometimes did. It was Liz who had first taken Faith’s hand on one of their walks at night, and it had felt tingly and dangerous that first time. Faith didn’t know for certain why they kept doing it, but she thought it was because they were both afraid. Afraid of being alone, of leaving, of waking up one day and finding that the hand they were reaching out for was no longer there. And also, there didn’t seem to be any reason not to hold hands. No one was watching. No one knew. Faith wished that wasn’t true, but it was.

“It feels empty tonight,” Liz said. “More so than usual.”

Faith knew Liz was nervous. She would talk about Noah endlessly, but it terrified her to think that Faith might find someone, might fall away from her and never return. She pulled Liz closer, bumping shoulders, and Liz smiled up at her.

“I don’t think he likes me. Why would he?” Faith asked. A week had passed, and while Hawk had become like a shadow stuck to her side, Wade Quinn had been elusive.

“Of course he likes you,” Liz said, pulling playfully on Faith’s hand. “You’re skinny and tall and blond, and you’ve got some boobs on you. He’s just nervous is all.”

“I’m glad you’re not being superficial about this,” said Faith sarcastically. “I wouldn’t want him liking me for my brain.”

“He’s sixteen. I’m pretty sure he’s not thinking about your brain.”

Faith shrugged it off, but she smiled, too. She had seen Wade in the halls and had even caught him looking at her. And he’d messaged her a totally lame but very cute drawing of a flower after seeing her wear a yellow T-shirt with a single white daisy on the front, a daisy Faith had painted onto the shirt herself. There had been a short series of Tablet messages during the week. She hadn’t said anything to Liz about the messages, and as they came to the edge of the lake where the grade school playground sat, she thought of what they’d said.

Wade:
Where do I land on a scale of 1 to 10?

Faith:
A solid 8, 2 if you’re drawing daisies. What about me?

Wade:
Eleven.

It had gone quiet after that, and she wasn’t about to turbo anything. Better to wait him out than to dive in and scare him off.

Liz let go of Faith’s hand when she saw the swings, and they both started running. Only one swing was attached on both sides, and they had long made a game of racing as soon as their feet left the path and touched the grass. The first one there rode, the second one pushed. They were evenly matched and often arrived together, each of them grabbing a chain on either side of the swing and arguing over who would swing and who would not.

“You go ahead,” Liz offered, even though she’d arrived first. “I feel like pushing tonight.”

Faith climbed aboard, leaning back and staring into the starry night. Liz put one hand on each side of Faith’s hips and pulled Faith close, then slowly pushed her away and let go, her hands empty in the cool evening air.

“How much longer do you think we can stay out here?” Liz asked, knowing it was a touchy subject.

“I don’t know. A long time, I think.”

Faith’s long hair bunched up around her face as she swung back and felt Liz’s hands on her back, pushing her away.

“I’m not so sure,” Liz said. She looked off into the darkness in the direction of the Western State, which waited for them a hundred miles away.

If Liz could have seen Faith’s expression, she would have known that Faith didn’t want to talk about leaving. She never wanted to talk about leaving. The Western State would let them stay as long as they wanted. But it wouldn’t do anything to help anyone on the outside. Help from the States had long since vanished.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we went there?” Liz asked.

“It’s not up to us. If our parents want to go, we’re going. But I don’t think they’ll want to leave for a long time.”

Faith’s Tablet buzzed in her back pocket, and she took it out, holding on to the chain with one hand while glancing at a familiar message from her mom.

Don’t stay out too late;
you know how your dad gets.

Faith was not close to her parents; none of the kids who remained were. They mostly interacted with their parents through their Tablets—little messages sent back and forth—and stayed to themselves. Faith didn’t know if this was how it had always been; but it was what she knew, and it felt normal.

“Did you see the posting today?” Liz asked, stopping the swing.

“Yeah, I saw it. There’s no way it can be that good.” They started walking again, moving toward the grade school.

Postings were video messages that arrived on all the Tablets carried by people outside the States. For Faith and Liz, their messages came from the Western State, because they lived in the western half of the country. It was a little bit like getting a note from heaven; and every time you got one, there was another glorious feature, and more friends and family were already there having the time of their lives while you were stuck on a farm in Oklahoma watching the corn grow.

“But what if it is?” Liz asked. She pulled out her Tablet as she walked, which Faith wished she wouldn’t do. “What if they really do have all the things they say they do? Sometimes it feels like our parents are just plain stupid.”

Faith didn’t answer, because she didn’t agree and she didn’t want to get into an argument. The posting had talked about new features, features you couldn’t get unless you went there. That’s what the postings were always about. Never about anything wrong with the State, only about how amazing it was. Mostly the State announced things like zero unemployment; zero crime; sources of synthetic-food, which tasted better than anything grown next to a forgotten lake full of brainless, flightless birds; the massive entertainment domes with a million things to do; the sporting events; the clean water and endless opportunities; everyone living to a hundred, some to one fifty.

“I don’t know; it always sounds so final, like heaven, but in a bad way,” Faith said.

Liz laughed.

“Have a little faith, Faith. Maybe it is like heaven, and we’re the last of the unlucky, idiot holdouts.”

“Maybe,” Faith muttered. She was going to say something else, but she came up short. She could hear movement off to her left in the darkness that sounded larger than a flightless bird.

“Who’s there?” Liz yelled, and she grabbed Faith’s hand again. Liz thought about running, because the one thing about the outside that really bothered her, the thing that always made her think twice about the idea of going to the State, was the Drifters. She’d never seen them, but she’d heard about them. Bands of people, like gypsies, rolling through empty spaces, picking up strays.

“Maybe we should go back to your place and lock the door,” said Liz. “We could listen to some music, watch some shows.”

“We’ve got weapons!” Faith yelled into the night. “Better move along, find someplace else to go. Beat it!”

There was movement again, and Liz practically jumped into Faith’s arms as she dropped her Tablet in the grass. A figure began moving toward them, hunching low, the glow of a Tablet leading the way.

“Run!” Liz yelled, leaving her Tablet in the grass as she started pulling Faith back toward the lake.

“Hey, Faith, it’s me,” a small, nervous voice said.

When Faith heard the voice, she realized that it wasn’t an adult who was hunching low—it was just a short boy. “Hawk?”

“Yeah, totally. It’s just me! Nothing to worry about. You’re fine.”

“You little urchin!” Liz said. “You scared me half to death!”

Hawk crouched down and picked up the abandoned Tablet, now in its large configuration, and held it out like a peace offering. Liz finally let go of Faith’s hand and grabbed her Tablet, holding it over her head, ready to clobber Hawk.

“Liz, don’t—he’s harmless. Just calm down.”

“You two a thing or what?” Hawk asked.

“What? Are you insane?!” Faith yelled. She glanced at Liz, who looked doe-eyed and confused but didn’t say anything.

“Whew! Okay, cool,” Hawk said. “You guys are just hand-holders. I get it; that’s cool.”

Hawk reached over and took Faith’s hand, gawking like an idiot; and Faith was so dumbstruck that she just stood there, shaking her head at Liz.

“Harmless. He’s like a frog.”

Faith had to use her other hand to remove Hawk’s grip of steel.

“What are you doing out here, Hawk? How did you even know where we were?”

“Easy! Once we’re connected I can tap into your location. You’d have to leave your Tablet at home in order to lose me, and who does that? Nobody! Pretty cool, right? If you’re in trouble, I’ll know how to find you. Like if you fall into the lake.”

Hawk pointed out into the darkness, the glow of light from his Tablet illuminating his nervous expression. “Sorry, you guys. Really, I messed up.”

He looked like an injured puppy with his mop of brown hair, and both girls lost any interest in beating him up or chasing him off.

“Do me a favor and stop hacking into my stuff, will you?” Faith asked.

“But what if you’re in trouble?” Hawk asked. “And how will I get you more jeans for three Coin?”

Liz stepped up and shoved Hawk hard on the shoulder. “No way.”

Hawk shoved Liz right back, nearly hitting her in the chest. “Yes way!”

“Watch the hand placement, Romeo,” Liz said. “And can you get me three-Coin jeans?”

“Sure I can, but you’ll have to let me hack into your Tablet first. And bonus! We can chat during lectures.”

“You’re right; he’s harmless,” Liz said to Faith. “And weird.”

Faith wanted to get to their destination and started backpedaling. She smiled as she thought of the clothes and makeup Hawk was probably going to be able to get for her for next to nothing.

“Come on, Liz, let’s let Hawk in on our little secret. It’s the least we can do.”

Liz started walking, and Hawk fell in line with her, measuring her height against his own and smelling the air around her head when she wasn’t looking.

“What are you, like, ten?” Liz asked.

“Thirteen,” Hawk said. “I’m small for my age. But my brain is huge.”

“I bet.”

They walked toward the grade school, laughing and listening as Hawk explained in complicated, incoherent detail how he had hacked into the State shopping system and gotten the pants massively discounted and shipped for free.

Even if Hawk had not been filling the air with his chirpy voice, none of them would have heard the figure dressed in black moving along the trees nearby, taking in every word.

Chapter 3
Great Story, Bro. Tell It Again.

The grade school at Bridgeport Commons had been closed for many years. The building was crawling with green ivy that covered the walls, the windows, the doors, and the roof with a thick carpet of tangled leaves. Faith and Liz went to the grade school because it was the kind of place the States didn’t have: a secret place with treasures inside. On the darkest side of the school there was a broken window covered with plywood. They’d long since pulled away the thick ivy and used a hammer to pry a small, square piece of wood away from the opening. They crawled through and, once inside, made their way through the empty cafeteria.

“Now we go it alone,” Faith said, glancing at Hawk, who looked shattered at the idea of being left behind by the two older girls.

“Not you, silly,” Liz said, taking hold of his Tablet and trying to slide it free from his hand. He’d snapped it into its small size, using its screen as a flashlight. “We don’t take our Tablets any farther than this. It sort of ruins the experience.”

For Hawk, the idea of being without his Tablet even for a few seconds went beyond his reasoning.

“I can’t go anywhere without my Tablet. I don’t do that.”

“It’s not alive,” Liz coaxed, gently tugging on the edge of the gleaming instrument. “It’s not like a pet or a brother or a girl. It’s just a Tablet. You can live without it for a little while.”

Hawk looked at the Tablet and the girl, but he was not convinced. He pulled the Tablet closer, and to his astonishment, the girl came with it. She was not letting go. Liz leaned down, her lips inches from Hawk’s, and he could smell her grape bubblegum breath.

“Give me the Tablet,” Liz whispered, and Hawk nearly fainted. “Come on, you can do it. Let it go.”

Faith was having a hard time keeping a straight face and turned away, taking her Tablet out of her pocket and setting it on a cafeteria table with Liz’s. She stole a glance at the screen, searching for a message from Wade. No message—and she felt a little sting in her heart.

“Here,” Liz said.

Faith turned to face her friend. Liz was holding out Hawk’s Tablet, which she had finally managed to pry loose. Hawk was holding Liz’s hand.

“We struck a bargain,” Liz explained, trying to downplay any meaning in the arrangement. “My hand for the Tablet. I’ll survive.”

Faith laughed and set Hawk’s Tablet on the table. She could tell that Liz was actually fine with the circumstances. The keeper of Tablets was also a hopeless hand-holder. It was a comfort, even from a geeky freshman who wouldn’t shut up.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this. Do you realize I haven’t been this far away from my Tablet since before I was born? They put it in my crib on day one! I feel like I lost a limb.”

“One step at a time. It will get easier,” Faith said, then turned in the darkness, running her hand along the slick tile wall.