It's night or very very early morning. Everybody is tucked away in bed, Sky has taken up residence on the couch with a blanket and a pillow. Amiah stuck a blow-up mattress beside the window in case I decide to lay down. I don't want to sleep.
I shuffle about the kitchen and living room. I find my battered sneakers by the door and a jacket that fits pretty well in the hall closet. I slip them on. The prescription bottle of Savella sits on the kitchen table. Into a coat pocket it goes, the zipper pulled shut. That's all I take. It was kind of Amiah to let me into her home, I hope she doesn't mind too much that I took her clothes. I start to leave a note on the calendar, but when the marker touches the paper I realize I only know how to write in Spanish, and not very well.
LEFT. DONT LUK.
I scratch out.
The kitchen clock reader three forty-nine as I slip out the front door.
Stars don't glitter above, too crowded out by the city lights. A slight breeze carries the night chill over the streets. It watches over me while I walk.
And walk.
And walk.
And walk.
The sky grows lighter. The roads become sparse. My fingertips are numb.
I don't stop, I can't. I force myself to keep moving, keep walking, to count the cracks in the sidewalk and recite the same four sentences until my lips are sore and my tongue is swollen. And in the moments in-between, when my eyelids start to droop and my breathing evens out, they come. Flashes of memory; Anushka, Maverick, Piper, Chastin, Elle. Falling, falling, falling, fallen. Every time I jerk awake, gasping. My eyes burn and it takes too long for the images to stop. Yana's wrist, Dieter's cracked teeth. The skin around my eyes feels raw from all the times I've rubbed until I saw stars instead of bruises.
Eventually, when the sun is over the tops of the skyscrapers, I come to an asphalt strip that snakes out of the city. The ache in my bones gets too loud to ignore then. I stop to take two pills.
More walking.
Down the asphalt snake. Towards the forest and the Compound. A roar startles me out of the stupor I've swayed into. The jolt, a kickstart to my lungs. I skitter into the ditch. Long grass itching my skin, pollen burning my eyes.
What the hell is that?
I crouch, scanning the long asphalt snake. Sun glints on something bright and quick, barreling towards me. I press myself lower, curling my hand into a fist. For a long second the world snaps into crisp, perfect focus.
Everything bright, loud, real.
A car races past, leaving a kick of dirt in its trail, the driver oblivious to my existence. I watch the shiny, oversized bullet shrink into the distance. My bones groan when I try to ease out of the crouch. Pain like knives to my Achilles' makes me wince. There's blood on the once white heels of my shoes. I guess that's what happens when you walk this long. Nothing I can do about it. I eat another pill and linger another few seconds. Then I start to feel all the blood all over my skin and the world goes blurry again.
More walking.
Stumbling along the ditch. Maverick walks with me, watching me, silent for miles. I guess I don't mind, except blood runs from the bullet holes riddling his body.
The sun sinks, turns red, and in the final moments of dim, oversaturated light, I reach the place along the road where the forest begins.
"Mav," I say, "leave me alone."
He blinks at me with cloudy eyes.
"Please," I beg. I can't look at him anymore.
He tilts his head to the side, as present as the grass and the trees I hobble towards. We breach the tree line together. A few steps in, when the trees obscure the road and blot out the inkling of stars above, I pause. Unsteady on sore feet. I take two more pills. The bottle lid bites my palm. When I look up from screwing it back on, Mav is right in front of me. I startle backwards. Heart in my throat.
"Come on, dude," I gasp.
My name is Trick.
He makes no noise as he glides closer, not a leaf rustles.
My name is Trick.
He reaches a red-stained hand towards me. Every part of me recoils, stomach churning.
"Mav," I say, "Mav, Mav."
I stumble back and the first step is the last straw. I crumble to the forest floor.
Falling, falling, falling.
And the tree branches spin up up up above my head. What time is it? What day? How long have I been wandering, dragging myself towards the only clear point in my head?
I roll to my side. Tuck my knees up to my chest.Press my hands to my ear and wait for the panic to subside.
YOU ARE READING
Ash and Cinder
Science FictionIn the year 2181, Russia began human experiments. Kidnapped or sold off by their own families, the kids of the Compound know only one thing: They belong to the Whitecoats. Hendrix 'Trick' Sanchez and his little sister, Elle, have been in captivity...
