Shymers (23 page)

I am in the Free Lands.

15 – Are You a Soldj’a?

Although I want to yell out in victory, I remember what the purple-haired girl said about needing to hide from the helicopters. I’m not saf
e
ye
t
. The sun has almost peeked over the horizon, and the glow of early dawn is bringing color to everything around me. The helicopters will be here soon.

My body throbs in protest when I crawl through the tall grasses. I am not able to see anything around me at this point other than the wild grass, so I blindly crawl in the opposite direction of the wall and the soldiers. Clenching my jaw tight, I refuse to cry out when the pain in my ribs becomes sharp.

The air is already different on this side of the border. There is a cool dampness to it, probably from the lack of cars, concrete and solar-paneled buildings. Although there are just as many birds in Society, the ones in the Free Lands can be heard more clearly. I tear up when it really hits me—I made it.

I am home.

All at once, a low hum vibrates through the sky. The helicopters are coming. I spring to my feet and sprint ahead. The lush, green forest comes into full view. Fire burns in my chest each time my feet hit the ground, but I manage to run faster than ever before. I dive into the safety of the forest grasses and trees just as the first helicopter penetrates the sky above me.

Everything becomes a dark shadow under the hulking metal machine when it closes in. I duck behind a large bush seconds before the wind kicks everything into the air, stirring the leaves and dirt. I cover my hands with my ears to muffle the loud chopping of a second helicopter flying directly overhead. The invasion reminds me of the day my mother was taken away.

My thoughts rush together. What if Harrison and Tayrn didn’t find the other Rebels? What if they haven’t found each other and they’re each wandering around alone? How will I ever find them? They have never been in the Free Lands before. What would look safe to them?

Trying to keep my panic under control, I concentrate on my breathing. The helicopters don’t stay long, just as Chance had promised. He said they run on some kind of crude fuel that is considered rare in Society, made with corn that is grown in greenhouses. I strain after the sound as the very last of their chopping blades fades away.

Before long, my body burns in pain from the fall. My empty stomach grumbles, and my tongue cracks with thirst. The nearest stream is at least an hour’s walk away. If Zeke had made it over with the backpack filled with food and water, I would have more energy. Even if Harrison’s plan to bring supplies into the Free Lands had worked, I would be stronger for the hike ahead of me.

Then again, if everything had gone according to plan, I would be with Harrison now.

The morning drags on, bringing an even stuffier quality of air. I move quietly through the trees and bushes, trying my best not to be seen or heard. I find a few nuts to snack on that give me more of the energy I need. While the intense temperatures of the forest are familiar to me, we always had a constant supply of water. The burning of my throat is almost more severe than the burning in my chest from my fall
.
Almos
t
.

Early evening is near when I hear the loud crack of a big tree branch behind me. I twist around to find a figure off in the distance. Diving into the nearest cluster of bushes, I wait with my breath held. A high voice cuts in and out my hearing range.

“…seriously don’t know…Shymers…”

Pushing aside a small section of the bush, I steal a glimpse. Three soldiers walk together with large guns resting against their shoulders. Their white-blond hair is all tucked neatly inside their hats, but they could not be mistaken as anything other than women with their striking features.

Before I was taken to Society, we always knew what time of day soldiers would be patrolling the area. Apparently, things have changed. I drop the leaves of the bush and dip my head lower, hoping I am well hidden. Suddenly, I feel very vulnerable.

And all alone.

I stay crouched in the brush until I’m sure the three soldiers are long gone. I peer off into the distance and realize with a pang of excitement that I am close to our last home. Between that and the diffused twilight, I find a new sense of security, making it easier for me to navigate through the forest.

Not only do I know there is a creek nearby, but I also know every dip and bend of the area. My old home is far off the path to the blackberry patch. Yet stopping to see if any supplies remain will be worth the extra time. If there are any more soldiers to come by, I will know where the best places are to hide.

When I reach the creek, it is trickling quietly. There have only been a few days of rain since I was brought to Society, and this forest looks like it hasn’t seen much either. Although the heat of the day has been much more tolerable under the cover of the trees, the mist created by the water is much cooler than the air. I quickly drink in as much as I can from my scooped hands until my stomach is full. The stop is a delightful treat.

My stomach rumbles angrily, wanting something of more sustenance. Maybe there will be some canned food left behind in our abandoned home. At least I know my fishing pole will be there. Maybe I can even stay long enough to rest. My muscles and chest still ache painfully from my fall off the border wall, and my legs throb from all the walking I’ve done.

I anxiously scurry up the last hill to climb before our house, even though my sore body screams in protest. Thoughts of all the things I may be able to find and the excitement of having something that i
s
min
e
once again fill my head. It doesn’t matter what is left, as long as it holds memories of the life I once shared with my parents.

At top of the hill, I peer down at the familiar surroundings and nearly choke on my breath.

The house is gone, burned to the ground.

“No!” I cry out, falling to my knees.

I knew that I may never see my mother again, but now the only hope I have at salvaging any physical memories of her has disappeared as well. My grandmother’s paper books…her box of keepsakes…everything is gone. I cover my face and sob. My body shakes, making me painfully aware of every injury. What have I gotten myself into? What will I do now?

All at once, my grief morphs into a stifling panic. Where are Harrison and Tayrn? What if they gave up on me and continued on? What if they discovered a way to escape to the islands as we planned?

The overwhelming sadness and realization that I may be forever alone in this swallows me whole. I settle on the ground, not caring if the soldiers find me in the morning. If I lay here long enough, maybe my body will starve to death and I will fall into a deep sleep, never to wake up.

The sun gradually drops from the sky and the night air turns a few degrees cooler. My breathing becomes slow and even until the sound of cracking wood stirs me. I dart upright with my heart beating wildly in my chest. The darkness is too thick to see much of anything.

I take back my thoughts from earlier—
I
don’
t
wish for the soldiers to find me and
I
don’
t
wish to be thrown in suspension.

But I’m trapped. It’s too dark to run. The moon is covered with a cluster of dark clouds, and everything around me is almost completely obscured. The typical chorus of nighttime bugs and even a few owls make me somewhat comforted. Although the house I once lived in is gone, the forest is still my home. I remind myself of this and slow my breathing, waiting for another plan to form in my head.

Another stick breaks loudly then there is a shift in the shadows off to my right. I whirl around, waiting for someone to pounce onto me, only to find no one there. Prickles of fear erupt all over my skin. My father used to tell me stories of ghosts that would come back to visit their loved ones. Could they possibly be real? Could it be the spirit of my dead father, trying to comfort me?

I lay on the ground with my arm under my head and hold my breath, waiting for another noise other than the pounding of my own heartbeat. Other than the sounds of the forest, it is silent.

The world around me fades slowly until I am asleep.

* * *

Something tugs at my hair. Thinking I’m dreaming, I don’t try to stop it at first. Then the tug becomes painful, pulling at my roots. I wince and bring my arm out to swat the source of the discomfort away. Once I am able to adjust to the harsh morning light of dawn, I find a pair of green eyes staring down on me.

“Are you a fai’wy?” a small, high-pitched voice asks. A little girl, two or three years old, stands over me. Her dark brown hair is gathered on top of her head and her eyes are bright and hopeful—a look I haven’t seen on anyone’s face since my return to Society.

“No.” I sit slowly to minimize the amount of pain that is about to hit me. Every one of my muscles is rigid and stiff, as if they’re made of stone. The stabbing in my chest worsens every time I inhale. My parents were given medical training when they lived in Society, and they tried to pass everything they knew along to me. Because of this, I am fairly certain that I have broken some ribs.

The little girl cocks her head to the side and rests her miniature hands on her hips. She reminds me of myself when I was younger—covered in dirt from hours spent playing in the forest and wearing an old, handmade dress in bright patterns. The thing that strikes me as most familiar about this little girl is the happy, carefree manner in which she watches me. She is not worried about death lurking around the corner, or treating people differently because their life may be considered less valuable.

She is just a little girl.

“What a’we you?” she asks, pushing her full, but tiny lips out.

“I’m Olive,” I say, holding my hand out to her.

She eyes me suspiciously. “Are you a soldj’a?”

I giggle at the adorable way she twists her words. “No, I’m not a soldier. I promise. I’m just trying to find some of my friends. What’s your name?”

She runs her teeth over her lip for a moment, still swinging her hips. “Kiki,” she finally answers.

“What are you doing here, Kiki? Are you here by yourself?”

She shakes her pretty little head and smiles. “I’m with my b’udder.”

“Stay where you are,” a male voice commands.

A very tall boy with hair so blond it looks white suddenly appears next to Kiki. His eyes are a piercing blue color like the sky, and his skin is tanned dark.
 
He wears light-colored shorts that fall down to his knees, but nothing covers his smooth chest that bulges with muscle. Other than my father and Victor, I have never seen a man without his shirt on. It’s hard not to stare.

He steps out in front of Kiki, as if protecting her from me. His eyes lock with mine and his long, thick eyelashes flutter each time he blinks. Something about him feels welcoming, familiar. Then I realize his other hand is hovering over something tucked into his waistline. The black metal looks like the end of a gun.

“Who are you?” he asks sternly. “Are you a Future?”

I look down at my body. Wearing the plain gray top and denim shorts from the orphanage and covered in mud and dirt, how he could possibly think I’m a Future? This boy with gentle eyes confuses me. It looks like he lives in the Free Lands. Shouldn’t we be on the same side?

“Ar
e
yo
u
?” I return. He may not be dressed like one either, but he has the features of one.

“Who are you?” he asks again.

“My name is Olive. I used to live…here.” I look back to where the pile of ashes rests and a new wave of sadness washes over me.

His eyes sweep over me. “Are you alone? Did anyone come with you?”

“Some Rebels helped me cross over. They said there would be someone on this side to meet me. I was supposed to meet up with a couple of friends who passed over before me. Can you help me, or not?”

“Are yo
u
alon
e
?” he repeats.

“Yes, I’m alone. For now, at least.” I scramble to my feet, trying not to let the boy see how much pain I’m in. “Look, if you can’t help me, then I’ll be moving along.”

Kiki squats to play in the dirt. She doesn’t seem any bit threatened by me, or even to have a care in the world. It’s hard not to be jealous of her. If I am unsuccessful in finding Harrison, I hope he at least gets to see a glimpse of what life is supposed to be like and how we ar
e
mean
t
to live—even if only for a little while.

The boy’s hand draws away from the object at his waistline and he sighs. “My name is Kendall. I’m here to help you. You’re the first one to come through here in days.”

More sadness sweeps through me. My worst fear has come true—Harrison and Tayrn didn’t meet the Rebels as planned. Where are they?

”How do I know I can trust you?” I ask the boy quietly. “You looked like you were considering shooting me just a few seconds ago.” My voice sounds cracked. Any moisture that remained inside of me seems to have evaporated with my tears. I am exhausted from all the disappointments I’ve been faced with and wish this boy would either help me or leave me alone.