***
Apollon and Jonas return from the marketplace with sour expressions and a smaller bag of food than anticipated. Miranda scowls at them from the table. She's been sitting there all morning, working her wires and metal, even though she knows there's no use. This is her attempt at staying sane. If she didn't have this to do, what would Miranda be like? I'm going to find out soon. I begin to make plans to keep out of the house as much as possible.
“What?" Miranda snaps at them, squinting at the bag clutched in Apollon's fist.
Apollon tosses it down on the table. "Not sure. Something's going on with shipments or something. No one seems to know exactly what, but prices have skyrocketed."
No one says anything for a while. Finally, because I'm hungry and no one else seems to be doing anything, I stand up and take the bag from the table. "I'll make lunch."
Apollon eyes me as I turn toward the stove, but says nothing. I take the meager amount of brown rice from the bag and empty it into the pan.
"Aren't you going to save some of that?" Miranda asks. She's still looking at her wires when I glance at her over my shoulder.
"No."
Now, I feel her eyes on my back. "What about later?"
I add water to the rice. "I'm hungry now. I'll go play some cards later."
"Cards," she says. "I thought that was a bad idea. Apollon said—"
"Somebody has to make some money around here," I snap, turning my head to toss her a glare. She goes red, then pale. That wasn't really necessary. I'm considering what I can say to soften it, when Jonas speaks.
"Neveah is doing OK, still," he says. "People still need what she sells, even if food is more expensive." He pulls a handful of coins out of his pocket. Squatting down beside the kitchen table, he bends out one of the wall panels underneath it, dropping the coins into a jar wedged into the space in the wall. "There's no sense in risking yourself, Eden," he says, glancing at me as he stands. "We should concentrate on gathering herbs. There's a lot in season right now, but there won't be for long. We should try to stock up."
Apollon nods. "Good idea." But he glances at me uncertainly.
It's then that I realize I need to play. Even if we stock up on herbs, if things continue to go like this, Neveah's income won't be enough. We eat in silence, a heaviness weighing over us. When I'm done, still thinking about our predicament, I take my plate to the bucket where Jonas is washing up. As I reach around him to set my plate down, I see that his sleeves are pushed up to keep them out of the water. On his left forearm, the entirety of his scar is revealed, and it is shaped like a star. Four lines intersect in the middle, with the bottom point extending longer than all the others.
He glances at me and sees that my eyes have gone wide. Sees where I'm looking. His eyebrows pull down in the middle, his eyes narrowing. I look quickly away, turning back to the others. I focus on what I must do tonight.
Later, as Apollon, Jonas, Oscar, and I walk together outside the wall, I give Apollon a look and a sideways nod.
He wanders a little way with me, and as we harvest the yellow-budded weeds, we meet each other's gaze.
"I have to do it, you know," I say.
His jaw sets, but he nods. "I will never let anything bad happen to you, Eden." If he'd said it differently, it could have seemed like some grand gesture; some foolish, self-important proclamation of masculinity. But the way it came out, so simply, so sincerely, I believe him. He's got my back.
I nod toward Jonas. "Will he be on board?"
Apollon follows my gaze, his eyes wandering over his friend warily. "He will," he says flatly, and stands, and moves to the next weed.
That evening, as I take a moment to sit in between the rain barrels around the back of our shack, I hear their voices coming from inside, pitched higher than usual, sometimes speaking over each other. I've never heard Apollon and Jonas argue, but now, in my mind's eye, I see them, facing each other down. I can't make out what they're saying. I don't really have to. Every once in a while, Miranda chimes in, but mostly it's the two of them. I visualize Neveah, sitting quietly on the couch, watching them, listening, but never saying anything. I imagine Oscar snuggled up against her, but then, I hear his footsteps crunching softly in the dirt.
He comes straight to my spot. The sun is behind me, so he shouldn't be able to immediately see me there in the evening shadows, but he already knows exactly where to find me. He sits next to me, leaning against the wall, and, for a moment, neither of us speak.
"Get tired of the bickering?" I finally ask, turning my face to him. My hands are resting lightly on my knees, my legs bent up in front of me.
He gives me a little smile. But he says, "Neveah brought home lemon drops." He opens his hand, in the center of which are two candies.
I think about refusing, but I know Oscar would rather share with me than have two for himself. I pluck one from his palm and pop it into my mouth, giving him a big smile.
He takes the other, sucks on it for a moment, then says around it, "They may be the last ones we get for a while."
I grimace at him, shrug. "We'll be OK." I wish I really felt it.
Again, we sit in silence. My mouth is filled with the taste of tart sugar, the fragrant scent of lemon oil. For just a moment, I feel peaceful. I like sitting with Oscar. Strangely, out of everyone here, he's my closest friend.
His lemon drop disappears in a final crunch and he licks his palm.
I look at him and laugh. He grins at me.
I lean in conspiratorially and say, "Hey, what's with Jonas' scar on his arm? Did he mark himself?" This is expressly forbidden by the Eighth Law of the New Covenant. Any permanent alteration of the body is against the law— from piercings to tattoos, to scarification. I know from somewhere that once, a long time ago, people decorated their bodies with these things freely. But now, any kind of mark could help you track down your past if you've been erased. This is why it's one of the Ten Laws.
Oscar's eyes widen at my mention of it. He glances from side to side.
The way he does it makes me want to laugh, but I hold back. I feel like a kid, sitting here with him, sharing juicy secrets.
He turns to me and scoots forward a bit. "I don't know," he whispers. "He never talks about it." Then he leans forward even more, hesitates.
I wait.
His face goes very serious. "It's a compass," he says. "It means 'south'."
My eyes flick back and forth as I think about it. It could be a compass, I suppose. And the bottom line extends further than the other points, aiming for all intents and purposes, southward. This seems an astute observation for an eight-year-old. I'm about to ask about it, when Oscar starts explaining.
"Jonas and Apollon came from Outpost One," he says. "That's north of here. They came south. Through Outpost Two, and then south again, to here. And whenever Jonas talks about leaving, he always talks about heading toward Outpost Four. That's directly south. There's Thunder Bay. That's east of here. It's a real city, they say. But I've never heard him talk about going there. He wants to go to Four, even though no one really wants to go there. And he wants to go on after that. South."
"Hmm," I say, mulling it over. After a moment, I say, "Do you think he did it before or after?"
Oscar purses his lips. "Why would he do it after?" he asks, logically. "Too big of a risk, for what? And it's definitely been there for a while. The scars look old."
I nod. This kid is pretty smart, I'm thinking. But I lean in and smile. "That's crazy," I whisper.
"I know!" he whispers back. We grin at each other, co-conspirators.
I'm about to come up with some insane plan to get him to ask Jonas about it, when we hear screams somewhere off to the west, and then what sounds like a gunshot. We frown at each other, get up, and hurry inside.