***
Whoever said that nothing can ever be easy was absolutely right. Jonas and Apollon spend a good deal of time arguing. Apollon says the journey would be more dangerous now than ever, and he's right. Miranda vehemently takes his side. Neveah sits calmly, her eyes moving back and forth between speakers. I perch on the end of the bed, a spectator. Oscar leans against my side. We watch, and I say nothing. I'm busy trying to keep my mind away from the memories that I can't erase. Jonas throws me a dirty look.
In the end, it's a stalemate. There are a lot of questions, and it doesn't help that Jonas has not revealed his and Apollon's involvement with Grey to the others. This annoys me, but I hold my tongue. It's not really my secret to tell.
My mind drifts away from the conversation, which has gone round in circles so many times that it's just old. Before I realize the path my thoughts have taken, I'm wondering— if the others decide to stay— will I still go on my own? The idea startles me, but with it comes the need to run. I want to go. I really want to go.
Oscar stays behind when Jonas, Apollon, and I head out to the Rustler. We walk through the streets quietly, and I consider our position. There's hardly any money left. Every day there's less, despite the small amount Neveah and I bring in. We cannot sustain ourselves here. Every day the Outpost becomes more frightening. Darker. There's not really any choice then, except to leave.
We take up our usual spots— Apollon and Jonas at the bar, and me at the game table. I'm sitting with my back to the door, which makes me uncomfortable, but I know my friends are watching out for me. The other players mumble greetings. Most of them look tired, worn down, and for just a moment I feel bad about taking their money. It passes quickly. Only Jacob and Taylor look unworried, which makes me wonder how generous Matthew is being to them for their services. The rest of his thugs certainly appear to be well-fed. But how long can that last? How long can even Matthew feed an army, when our major food source is not functioning? The shipments that flow into the Outpost like its lifeblood are slowly being strangled, cut off. Only a handful of the goods we need are actually coming through. Food has never been abundant. Things are about to get bad here. Very, very bad. I toss my coin into the pot. We have to leave. We have to run.
I half-heartedly place a bet and exchange two cards. I'm still thinking about leaving. I glance at Jonas and Apollon, who aren't talking to each other. They watch the game silently. Neither of them meet my eyes. By the time it's my turn to call, I'm resigned to the fact that I'll have to take Jonas' side in the argument that will continue at home. I take the few coins I've won, imagining what that lively conversation will be like. Miranda already dislikes me enough. She'll be livid if I speak out for the idea of leaving. Will Oscar be afraid, I wonder? Will he look at me with those wide, brown eyes like I've somehow betrayed him by wanting to take him into the dangerous unknown? Or will he jump in with his eight-year-old boy enthusiasm and innocent disregard for peril?
I toss in my next coin, and lose. I toss in my next coin, and win. But the win is less than the lose. I set my jaw and ante again. The next round is intense. My cards are good, but the others are betting higher than usual as well. I don't think they're bluffing. I eye my hand and consider. As I'm doing this, waiting on Julian Moore's bet, the low buzz of conversation around us ceases. I blink, registering the quiet. My fingers tighten on my cards, and very purposely, I don't turn around. I don't glance at Apollon or Jonas, whose tension I observe out of the corner of my eye. I focus on the game. On my cards. I watch Julian's hand deposit his coins into the pot. I consider my own cards. On the edges of my vision, I see them walk around our table— a group of seven. Their solid footsteps are loud on the wooden floorboards. They take their chairs at the table next to us; the table I am facing. And directly above my cards I cannot help but notice that Matt is sitting now, looking quietly at me, studying me. His crew doesn't talk. They're all watching our table. I ignore them. I make my decision, and raise the bet. Then I look at Lloyd, who is sitting to my other side. He falters, clears his throat. It takes him a moment, which, I suspect, has partially to do with the fact that Matthew is sitting at the next table. I catch Jacob and Taylor glancing at their boss. He gives them the smallest shake of his head— permission to stay in the game. The turns go round the table, and I am sweating. Matthew is watching me. I have too much invested in the pot. Apollon and Jonas are stone-still, but buzzing. Matt's gaze flicks to them. The potential for disaster looms over me. I force my breathing to be steady, but I'm suffocating. My brain is awash in a dizzying fog.
Then suddenly, the cards are down, and we're all scanning the hands on the table. My eyes dart back and forth. Jacob and I both have straights. Mine is one card higher than his. I've won by the skin of my teeth. I reach for my money.
"Well played, Eden," Matt says from the next table.
Now I glance up and meet his gaze briefly before focusing again on my coins. "Thanks," I say. I catch a shift of movement out of the corner of my eye— Apollon and Jonas, starving dogs that have almost worked up the courage to take a bite out of their master. I toss in the next ante before they have a chance to jump up and drag me away.
Jacob and Taylor leave the table, pulling their chairs up amongst Matt's crew. This means less money in the pot, and by the time the next hand is through, it's clear that the stakes are not worth it. Boldly, I plunk Matthew's twenty percent down on the table next to him. There seems no point in giving it to Arthur when Matt is right here. He looks sideways and up at me, a smug little smile on his face, and says nothing. I turn and head for the door. Apollon and Jonas are on my heels.
We burst into the street. I glance back at my friends. Apollon looks startled, but Jonas is absolutely fuming. I could probably cook an egg on his head right now. I pull my gaze away and keep walking.
"What was that?" Jonas mutters. His voice has a sharp edge to it.
As he falls in at my side, I look him over. Apollon is now at my other shoulder. I shrug.
"When did you meet Matthew?" Apollon asks, slowly and carefully. So he didn’t know. His face, when I look at him, shows a wariness that wasn't there before. Does he think I'll betray them to Matt?
I put my hand on Apollon's arm as we walk. "I ran into him at the Rustler one day," I tell him. I'd not planned on explaining things, but I don't want Apollon to worry. "Then Oscar broke the window of his car, but he was nice about it." I notice Apollon's eyes flick above my head to meet Jonas'. I add, "It doesn't matter anyway, because we're leaving."
Now Apollon looks at me again, his eyes a touch wider with surprise. He shakes his head slowly. "Not you now, too."
I sigh and let my hand drop from his arm. "You know it's the only way. If the others knew what I know—"
He plants his feet and stops walking. We follow suit, but the delay ends us two steps further than him. He shakes his head. "You've never been out there, Eden. You have no idea."
"I have an idea of what it's like to starve," I counter. "And whatever is about to happen here, I don't want to be part of it."
His eyes narrow. "I see what’s going on," he says. "Jonas has been converting you to his side. Telling you the grand tales of travel. Well, has he told you about the road crews?" His eyes flick to Jonas and back to me. "Has he told you about the dead-man stretches? The stacks of rotting bodies and skeletons?"
Jonas opens his mouth, clearly about to protest, but Apollon waves him off, already turning away from us. "Tell her," he says, heading away. "See if she still wants to go, then."
Jonas and I stand in silence, watching him disappear down the street and around a corner. Finally, I turn my eyes to Jonas and say, "Sounds lovely."
He snorts softly. His voice quiet, he says, "It is horrible. He's right. But like everything else, you get through it, and there's something else on the other side."
"Something better?" I ask.
He shak
es his head, the slightest movement. "Who knows?"
I lick my lips and think about this for a moment. Think about the ashen look on Apollon's face. He's afraid. That's why he doesn't want to go. I didn't think I would ever see Apollon afraid of anything. I wrap my arms around myself. "Why didn't you just go on your own?" I ask. "Just go without him?"
His mouth is slightly open, and he closes it quickly. I think he's withdrawing, but then, he says, "I couldn't. I don't think it's possible to survive out there on your own. You have to sleep sometime, and without a guard..." His voice trails off as he looks into the distance. I think he's remembering something.
I shudder. "So if Apollon didn't agree to go, you couldn't go," I say. I suddenly feel very sad for him. I know how much I want to leave, how strong the urge is to be somewhere else. I sense the same restlessness in him, and I imagine what it must be like to stay here and feel that way for what? Years?
He's still looking away, his face scrawled in muted horror. I don't even know if he's heard me, but suddenly he turns to me and says, "We could go."
"Hunh?" I say.
"You and me," he says. "We could go."
Now I'm looking at him like he's gone crazy. I want to shake my head, but something about the idea is so enticing. At last, I manage, "I'm not going without Oscar."
Again, he puffs air through his nose. "Oscar," he says softly.
I'm frowning at him before I know it, my eyebrows pulling down in the middle. "He doesn't have anyone," I say. "We're his family."
He thinks it over, then says, "Oscar could go with us."
And like that, I'm really considering the possibility. Fear's sharp knife sinks into my chest. Me, Jonas, and Oscar, in the great unknown. Only two of us to protect him. What if we fail? My heart flutters, and I think, I am not strong enough. I shake my head. My voice, when it comes out, wavers. "We need to all go. We can't just leave Apollon, and Neveah, and Miranda." And I wonder how it is that Jonas is fine with leaving Miranda.
"We may have to," he says. "We can't stay here. You can't stay here."
I frown in puzzlement. "Me?"
Jonas gives me a hard look.
"Why not?" I ask.
He sighs and looks away. "I saw the way Matt was looking at you," he says. Anger seeps into his voice again. "I told you to stay away from him. I don't know why—"
"It's not like I planned it," I protest, feeling my cheeks go red. I don't like the implication he's making. "It's not like—"
"Just stay away from him," he snaps. His gaze catches and holds mine. The cold, calm authority in the glare of his green eyes captivates me. Enough to keep me from protesting.
Finally, I move my head but not my eyes, and say, with equal coldness, "Maybe we should stay." As I say this, I realize that it is not what I want. That I have only said it to be difficult. And to change the subject.
Jonas doesn't bite. His gaze softens into amused pity, if I'm reading him right. Which I may not be. He says quietly, "Alright. If you like Matt that much."