Chapter 18: Death's Door
THE OUTPOST GATE is not guarded, at least not by humans. There's no law against using the roads. Only Matthew's men are a worry here, and there are none of them about. One thing about travel is that no one can really hide from you on the road. The boundaries can't be crossed. There may be trees beyond the line of scanner posts, but no one could take cover there. The Sentries would come and take them away. Anyone who might come after us, or go before us, has to be exposed as well.
That doesn't make me feel any safer as we walk the long, black stretch. My eyes are adjusting to the light of a half moon. I start to make out what's in front of me, but there are shadows filled with uncertainty. As we move away from the Outpost, we walk in a tight group. Apollon is at my shoulder. I move closer to him. Something about his size is reassuring, even if he is making strangled breathing sounds already. On my other side, Oscar squeezes my hand tightly. I grip his fingers, too, unable to loosen my hand. I'm on edge. This is no longer a game. Somehow, out here, where I should feel safer as we put some distance between ourselves and the Outpost, I only feel more exposed. There are no walls to hold things back, and nowhere to go if we get attacked. I peer into the tree line, wondering what lives out there, in that world with Oscar's white doe. Maybe there are things we don't know about. Things that don't like us passing through their domain.
We walk on, and I sense, somehow, that Apollon's energy is draining. I grab his hand and he glances down at me. He manages a smile, but I can tell, even through his nightglasses, that it does not touch his eyes. I forget my fears and my own aching ribs, trying to think of a way to help him. Maybe I can manage his pack and mine as well. I'm about to tell him to stop so I can try, when I see something glisten in the moonlight, off in the distance. I squint at it. I stop. Everyone stops.
"What is that?" I whisper.
For a few breathless heartbeats, no one answers.
"Run," says Jonas. I don't know where we're supposed to run to. We scatter in different directions. We can't go back. We can't go on. We can't go past the barriers.
I yank my knife from my belt and stand ready.
Scattering is our only option. It breaks up the target. Now, standing here with the vehicle speeding toward me, I realize the problem with this plan. It assumes that, through luck and strategic avoidance, some of us will make it past the obstacle. Some of us. I flip my knife around and grasp the top of the blade. The car bounces over the broken rubble, gaining air over the roughest bits, propelling itself forward. My feet are planted straight in its path. Some of us will make it. But not all of us. Not me.
I draw the knife back and fling it at the car. Apollon slams into me, knocking me sideways. We sprawl onto the ground and roll. The car screeches to a stop where I was, skidding sideways on the broken chunks of pavement. Dirt billows up around the wheels, mixing with the steam pouring off the rear engine. I stop rolling, head pressed to the ground. The doors open. Men with large guns jump off the back, where they rode hanging on to metal handles. More pour out of the car. There are six of them all together. The driver is bleeding where broken glass has cut his face. Hope surges in me. Maybe we can take them. Clutching my side, I start to roll to my feet, but then, I hear the motor. Down the road, the second vehicle, a pickup truck, is not far behind. Oscar and Neveah are sprinting away. The truck passes them. Someone throws a net. The end is attached to the truck's bed. My friends go down hard, their feet jerking out from under them. They're dragged in a tumble as the truck comes to a stop.
I jump up, but one of the men steps forward with a gun leveled at my face. I freeze. Apollon stays put, sitting in the dirt at my side.
My eyes search the darkness for Jonas and Miranda. On the other side of the truck, obscured by the heat waves bending the air around the aether exhaust, the men have their guns trained on something. I'm pretty sure that makes all of us. There's a body bleeding in the road, too plump to be either of my friends. Jonas has taken one of the men down, but it's nowhere near enough.
One of the men from the truck walks toward us as the others from his group disentangle Oscar and Neveah and herd them together with Jonas and Miranda. I'm relieved to see them up, even though they're limping. We're all alive, for now. It could be worse.
One of the nearby men gestures with his rifle for Apollon to get up. He complies with a groan. His face is turned away from me, his hair falling forward to create more shadows. I can only hope he's alright. Guilt rises in me for being stupid enough to stand in the road. If I hadn't done that, he wouldn't have had to take that fall.
"Well," says the man who has walked over from the pickup truck. I recognize the voice, and squint to see his face. He's one of Matt's men— one of the men who dragged me to Matt's house that night. He doesn't look happy to see me. "This ought to be interesting."
They confer amongst themselves, relieve us of our weapons and packs, and shove us into a group. The car speeds on ahead to the Outpost, while the rest of us partake in a forced march. The pickup follows slowly behind, guns trained on our backs.
Oscar turns his face to me, but says nothing. He looks scared, limping along, forearms and knees bloodied, small chunks of rock still stuck in his elbows. I want to smile at him. Want to reassure him. But whatever happens to us, it can't be good. I imagine we're not the only desperate souls who have tried to brave the roads rather than remain in the Outpost. They probably even have a protocol for dealing with this. But not for dealing with me. The first car has likely gone to notify Matthew himself. Whether he'll give them orders or make an appearance, I can't say. But trying to leave the Outpost under the cover of darkness is a small act of betrayal. Breaking his windshield, wounding one of his men, and killing another, is a large betrayal. Calling him my friend will not make this go away. I will either end up dead, or wearing a slave bracelet. As for the others, I can only hope that he finds them useful enough to spare.
As we march through the darkness, I picture myself on my knees, begging him for Oscar's life. I try to imagine his response, but I can't decide if he would be moved to benevolent pardon, or if his anger toward me would steady the gun in his hand. I agonize over this scenario every single step back to the Outpost, and still, I can't decide. Would it help? Would it make things worse? I've given up on the rest of us, but I need Oscar to live.
The gates of the Outpost come into sight, and there is Matt, standing before them, hands on his hips, foot tapping like an annoyed parent. I look down as I walk. I can't meet his gaze.
The men get out of the truck and move us up to him in silence. We wait. I'm too focused on the fluttering of my own heart to even look at my friends.
"What were you thinking?" Matt finally asks with a quietness that startles me. His anger will take form in his actions, not his words.
I look at him now and see that anger writhing just below the surface, thinly masked by control. Fear rises unbidden from the pit of my stomach. I've gone too far this time. I want to say something to appease him, soothe him. Beyond that, I want to be noble and selfless, take the blame on myself, save my friends. But when I do speak, hot, liquid anger spills from my mouth. "We have every right to leave here if we want. You can't make us stay and die. We choose to leave."
Matt narrows his eyes at me and says nothing. Somewhere to my right, Jonas shifts nervously. Miranda shakes her head. Apollon looks up like he's just becoming aware of his surroundings. Neveah takes a small step back, stopping because of the gun barrel wedged between her shoulder blades.
Matt looks off into the distance and licks his lips, considering. When he looks back at me, he smiles. I feel suddenly cold, like that smile has drained the blood from my body.
He says, "Of course." He steps toward me, his body language casual, a trace of the smile still there. This is Matt at his deadliest, I realize. He's completely in control. He knows exactly what he will do. I expect a gun
or a knife to materialize. I expect a revelation of my doom, but he draws it out. "I couldn't call you my friend, and then keep you from something so important to you," he says, his voice like a foot, twisting, pressing the word 'friend' into the ground. He stops in front of me, eyeing me sideways.
When he looks down, his face softening, I realize he has not stopped in front of me, but in front of Oscar. My stomach muscles tighten and bile rises into my throat. I swallow.
He smiles at me again, picking a piece of debris from Oscar's arm and casting it into the dirt. Oscar flinches. "You can do whatever you want." His gaze sweeps the others. "All of you."
Miranda's shoulders sag in relief, but she's the only one. Everyone else, like me, is waiting for the catch.
Matt says it like an afterthought: "Of course, you can't take him." He sets one hand on Oscar's shoulder. Oscar's brown eyes blink up at him. They shine in the moonlight. The start of tears?
"The roads are too dangerous for children," Matt says softly. "It's practically a violation of the Fifth Law."
I open my mouth. He looks at me. I shake my head slowly.
"Don't worry," he says. His voice sounds so kind. "I'll look after him. He won't be alone." He squeezes Oscar's shoulder, turns, and guides the boy toward the gates.
I stand there frozen for just an instant, wavering between freedom and Oscar. There is no choice. Not for me. I think the others will go, but I can't. I give my friends a small smile. "Go," I say. "Be safe." Around them, the men with the guns dissolve. My friends stand blinking, shocked.
I walk toward the Outpost. Toward Oscar, and Matt. I allow myself a few steps to mourn what I've lost, but mostly, I'm relieved to have lost so little.
There are footsteps behind me. I glance back to see Apollon, holding his stomach. Maybe the trip would've been too much for him anyway. Neveah is behind me, too. She gives me a little smile, and continues on when I pause.
Jonas' feet are still welded into the same place. Miranda stands by him, clutching his arm. Whatever he chooses, she'll go with him. Not out of love, or even loyalty, I realize, but out of fear. He is her protector, and she doesn't know how to be without him. So they will walk off down the road tonight, and I'll never see them again. My chest aches with the certainty of it.
It should upset me that they will leave and I will not. That my family will be cut down by a third. That I will miss them. Only the last thought carries any real weight, but overriding it is a small sense of victory. Maybe I'll not ever find my white tower, but Jonas will follow his compass. Maybe he'll find what he's looking for. His victory will be mine. It will be good enough. It is good enough. Only, he's still frozen in place by guilt, by responsibility. I have to set him free.
"Go," I shout back to him, startling him.
His eyes focus, finding me. He scans the backs of the others, like he's seeing for the first time, then his eyes fix on me again.
I'm surprised how steady my voice is as I raise it again to bid him farewell. "Find what you're looking for," I say. "Find it." I turn, before the tears can come, and start toward the gate.
Even as I do, I catch movement from the corner of my eye— Jonas reanimating, making the first move toward the fate that awaits him. My heart swells with a mixture of joy and sorrow, both more potent for their intermingling. I mean to keep walking, and not look. I can't help it, though. I glance back over my shoulder.
Jonas and Miranda are walking toward the gate, not away from it. His head is down, his feet trudging like they're weighted in iron shackles. Miranda still clutches his arm, her face awash in relief. Does she not understand?
To my side, Matt and Oscar have slowed, distracting my attention. Matt looks at me sideways, his face expressionless. Underneath, he's gloating. He knows he's won. I squeeze my teeth together against the anger.
Oscar glances toward me like he wants to run to me. I have to ask Matt for him back. I consider my words, but they fall away in my mind. If Oscar comes with us, he'll starve to death alongside us. If he stays with Matt, he'll have food, at least for a while. The two ideas wage war inside me, ripping at a heart already too tender. Could I let Oscar go with Matt? Wouldn't it be best for him? Only my selfishness keeps me from it. I'm starting to come around to the self-sacrifice, when Oscar turns and says something to Matt. Matt nods, and Oscar runs to me. He throws his arms around me and buries his face against me. All the tears I've been holding back pour freely down my cheeks. I sweep my arms around him, and hold on tight. Nothing else matters.
"I'm sorry," Oscar sobs into my stomach. "I'm sorry."
"No," I mumble into his hair. "Don't be. He only chose you because he knows I could never leave you."
He pulls away a little and looks up at me, blinking, like he never knew or expected the statement. A small smile works its way onto my lips, then he buries his face against me again, clinging tightly. He mumbles something that I can't really make out, but my heart translates the garble.
I close my eyes. "I love you, too."