The Earth Dwellers (36 page)

Why can’t I remember it?

I feel around with my left hand until I find what I’m looking for. Cold and solid and familiar. Metal. A gun. Three men dead because of how well I wielded it.

Before I slept I reloaded it with the last magazine. Today I’ll use every last bullet on Lecter if I get the chance.

Will killing Lecter be enough to stop the genocide? Or has the ball started rolling so fast down the hill that no one can stop it without getting flattened too? If he dies, will someone else just step in to take his place?

I close my eyes and try to sleep, but the last forty eight hours continue to spiral through my mind. Watching it in a continuous stream like this makes me wonder if it’s real. Only the pounding in my chest and head assures me it is.

At some point, the room begins to lighten, the surreal glow of real sunlight pushing its way through the window and sending a bright white line around the bedframe, just below the skirt, which hangs almost to the floor.

There’s a knock on the door and Jocelyn stirs. Then, suddenly, she scrambles up and onto the bed, dragging her blanket and pillow with her, the mattress sagging slightly toward me between the wooden slats as it takes her weight. I hear the door open.

Light footsteps. A gentle voice. “Good morning, beautiful,” Lecter says.

A groan that I know is faked. Jocelyn trying to keep her secret. That she never sleeps on the bed. “Tired,” she says.

“You were kept up by the excitement?” Lecter keeps his voice low and soothing, but there’s a piercing sharpness behind it.

“I thought we were under attack,” Jocelyn says. “The guns were so loud. I was scared. I watched the news. Why is that girl doing this?” Her question is full of innocence. It even sounds true to me, and I know it’s a lie.

“I think she’s trying to get to me,” Lecter says. I freeze. How does he…? “I think she’s from down below.” What?

“But the news said she was an unstable soldier. Post-traumatic—”

“You should know by now that sometimes the people don’t need to know everything,” Lecter interrupts.

“Then why are you telling me?”

The mattress sinks further as Lecter sits. He’s right there. So close. Is this my one and only chance? Can I shoot him through the mattress? Or could I roll out fast enough to surprise him from behind?

The mattress shifts, undulating like a rippling lake, and I know he’s moving closer to Jocelyn. Too close for me to risk trying to kill him. If I hit her by mistake…

“Because you’re special…” Lecter says. The acid in my gut roils as I picture the scene above me. Is he touching her face, caressing her, his words whispered in her ear? Has her body stiffened, or is she melting into him, her movements so well-practiced they almost look real? Are they real? Can I trust her?

My heart races as I remember the soft and familiar way she said his name—
Borg
—like an old friend or lover. Is she pointing at the bed, secretly making Lecter aware of my presence? Is he slipping off, about to shove a gun underneath the bed skirt?

Quietly, quietly, my fingers tighten on my gun.

“And because I know you have no one to tell,” Lecter adds with an arrogant laugh.

Jocelyn laughs like it’s the funniest thing she’s heard in a week. Sadly, it probably is. She hasn’t given me up—at least not yet.

“We’ll find her,” Lecter says. “She’ll be held accountable for her crimes.” His words are as cold as stone and twice as hard. And then he’s gone, his weight leaving the bed, his footsteps across the room, the door flung open, so fast that even if I’d been ready, there’s no way I could’ve risked rolling out and shooting.

The door closes, opens. Lecter’s voice again. “Breakfast will be up soon. I apologize that you’ll have to eat alone today. I’ll be conducting the search from here if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” Jocelyn says, but her words are only for me because the door is already shut again.

I let out a long breath and relax my fingers from the gun handle. So close…and yet impossibly far.

There’s silence above me. I can’t even hear her breathing, almost like she’s dead. I follow her lead, lying still, breathing through my nose.

Minutes pass. Is it safe? Just as I’m considering saying something, there’s another knock and the door opens. Under the cloth I see two feet and four wheels move into the room. “Breakfast is served,” a woman’s voice says.

“Thank you.”

The feet leave but the wheels stay.

The door closes. Silence once more.

“Okay,” Jocelyn says after another five minutes pass. “That should be the last danger for a while.”

“Are you sure?” I say. If I get caught now, it will all have been for nothing.

“No,” she says. “But they don’t usually come back to collect the cart for a few hours.”

I don’t like the way that word—
usually
—echoes in my head. Words like that will get you killed.

I roll out from under the bed, ready to dive under at the first sign that someone else is coming in. From her perch, Jocelyn watches me with interest. Her hands are clasped, but I detect a slight tremor. What did she think Lecter was going to do to her? What does he
usually
do to her? There’s that word again.

“You okay?” I ask softly.

She nods, but it’s not convincing. “We’ll share the meal,” she says, motioning to the cart. Three plates covered by silver domed lids form a triangle on a silver tray. A fork, a knife and a spoon rest beside them.

Keeping one eye on the door handle, I step to the cart. “Let me guess: one green, one brown, one yellow.”

“What?” Jocelyn says.

I remove a lid. “What?” I echo.

It’s food. Real food. Not the weird rectangular blocks of faux-food that everyone else gets. An oval of ham, pink and steaming with heat. The next lid reveals fluffy yellow-white scrambled eggs, flecked with pepper. The urge to use my hands as shovels shudders through me. Hands shaking as much as Jocelyn’s, I open the third lid. Thick bread, at least five slices, browned on one side, damp with melted butter.

I don’t wait for an invitation. Three pieces of toast are gone in less than a minute, my mouth bulging with buttery flavor and warmth. Three quarters of the eggs are next, the spoon moving ceaselessly from the plate to my mouth until I try the ham. In three bites the meat is gone and I’m chugging half the glass of water to wash it all down.

Finished, I stare in shock at the cart.

Oops.

“Uh, sorry,” I say.

“You eat like Tristan,” Jocelyn says, finally smiling for real. Her hands have stopped trembling. “It’s fine though, I’ve had enough of the food here to last a lifetime.”

“I thought you might turn me in,” I blurt out, wondering why I’m saying it even as the words spill from my mouth.

Jocelyn stares at me. “Why would I…?” Something flickers in her expression. Understanding. “Because of how I talk about Borg?”

I nod. She sighs, looks down. Is that…embarrassment? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” I say.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m screwed up. I have been for a long time.”

“No,” I say, but I know it’s true. No one could go through what she has and not be a little scarred by it. Okay,
a lot
scarred. “We’re all a little screwed up,” I say.

“Thanks for saying that,” Jocelyn says. She scoots to the end of the bed and eats what’s left of the breakfast, taking each bite slowly.

“See?” I say. “I ate breakfast like a crazy person. You’re eating normally.”

She grins, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. As she swallows the last bite, however, her expression turns serious. “I know what you’re really doing here,” she says.

Uh oh. Here it comes. The I-can’t-let-you-do-that speech. She might hate Lecter, but she also doesn’t want to see him die.

“I’ll help you kill him,” she says.

My mouth settles into a gaping “O.” “What? Why would you do that?”

She re-covers each of the three dishes, placing the used utensils neatly inside each one. Finishes the water. Dabs the corners of her mouth with a napkin. I stare at her.

Finally, she turns to me. “Because until he’s dead, I’ll never be whole.”

“Okay,” I say, wondering if I’m making the biggest mistake yet.

Chapter Forty-One

Siena

T
he Glass City’s ahead of us, but we ain’t slowing down. Not one bit. We’re charging ahead like there’s something worth charging for, like home or a hot meal or even an old friend like Perry. Not death.

For a while the black Riders kept their horses in check, so as to not outdistance those of us on foot, but the moment the dome rose up ’fore us they took off like a brush fire, riding hard on wings of dust.

What will we do when we get there? Can we break through the glass? Will ’em Glassies come out to meet us? Or will we just set there ogling our enemy through the dome, us watching ’em and ’em watching us?

As we get closer’n closer, the dome gets bigger’n bigger. And inside the glass: the city rises up impossibly tall, structures so enormous they’re like mountains. Mountains built by men and women. How can we defeat an enemy who can build mountains?

The Riders are almost to the dome when we hear the sound. A loud cry that ain’t made by man or beast. Loud and shrill and a warning from the Glassy leaders to the people.

They know we’re coming.

Tristan

Half the soldiers are laughing and the other half are pretending not to. Roc may not be able to fight, but he’s helping the cause with his jokes and banter. Keeping things light. Cracking on everyone. Me and Elsey and Tawni, and even one ill-advised shot at General Rose that drew more laughs than any of them.

“Did you hear the one about Prince Tristan and the cannibal woman?” Roc asks the group. Laughter and shaking heads.

“And don’t forget the prince’s trusty sidekick, Roc,” I say.

“Tristan cried like a baby when the old hag tried to gnaw on his leg,” Roc says.

“And Roc peed himself when she started buttering his arm,” I add.

More laughter. We’re a hit. We should’ve been comedians. What the soldiers don’t know is that we’re only half joking about the story, which was freaking scary when it was actually happening.

The transporter slows and everyone suddenly goes silent. The constant wisecracking might’ve helped ease the tension during the ride, but now it springs back like a released bowstring. Twang!

Elsey, who’s been holding Roc’s hand the entire ride from the Sun Realm, grabs my hand and squeezes. She looks up at me with earnest eyes, as green as her sister’s. A mini-Adele in looks only. “You’ll protect my mother, won’t you?” she asks.

I almost laugh, but her expression is so serious I don’t want to offend her. “It’s more likely she’ll protect me,” I say. “But I’ll do what I can.”

“Please bring my sister back,” she says.

“That’s the first thing on my list,” I say.

The doors open and the soldiers at the front shuffle out, moving faster as they spread along the dark cave beyond, flashlights flicking on like glow worms.

We follow, Elsey between Roc and I, Tawni on one side, Adele’s mother on the other. Not long ago I made the same walk, but with Adele, full of excitement and joy. How did we get to this place? Where the same journey could be stretched dangerously thin by fear and the anticipation of violence? The answer is simple: Lecter.

The bright white light at the end of the tunnel expands as we approach, until everyone is shielding their eyes with their hands. “Sunglasses,” I say.

The flashlights are turned off and put away, and dark eye coverings with long, elastic bands are clasped around the back of each soldier’s head. Even still, the sunlight is painfully bright after the artificial light of the Realms.

“So beautiful,” Elsey murmurs when we’re close enough to see outside.

“Wait until you see the night,” Roc says. “A million stars in a million places.”

“That was almost…deep,” Tawni says, raising her eyebrows.

“See, there’s more to me than tasteless jokes and ill-timed comments,” Roc says.

“Yeah, like bullcrap and whining,” I say.

“My feet hurt,” Roc says. “And if it wasn’t for my self-inflicted stab wound, I would lead this army to victory.”

I laugh and clasp his hand, pulling him into an embrace. “See you soon,” I say.

“Take care of yourself,” my best friend says.

I turn and hug Tawni. “Make sure he gets three square meals a day and doesn’t overexert himself,” I say with a grin. “He’s fragile.”

“Are you his friend or mother?” Tawni asks.

“Sometimes I wonder.” She smiles but it’s tight and forced. She’s fighting back heavy emotions.

“Bring her back,” she says.