He pushed the hair off my forehead and pressed his lips against the skin, sparking a trail of fire all the way down to my neck.
“We should go soon.” His dark eyes met mine and I saw no point in trying to pretend I wasn’t scared. He could already see it. His thumb rubbed warmth onto my cheek and his steady gaze suggested he didn’t mind my fear.
I nodded but didn’t move. I would have rather stayed in this bed with him all night, all day, all week. Forget Leb’s daughter, forget the nonexistent reservation, forget everything but his arms and smile.
But he was shaking. His fingers jerked against my skin and he rolled away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stole a quick glance at his trembling hands before reaching for his clothes.
The panic that tore through my chest took my breath away, made me press my face into the bed for fear I would scream.
“Maybe I have a smaller shirt you can wear,” Callum said, hopping off the bed and striding across the room to his closet. “Something from when I was four or so.”
I laughed against the mattress, sitting up and pushing the panic off my features. It sat on my chest, insistent, mocking.
“At least seven,” I countered. “I’m not that small.”
“Here,” he said, throwing me a light blue shirt. “That’s still going to be too big, but maybe you can tie the bottom.”
He left the room to change and I pulled on my own pants and his shirt, which came down to the middle of my thighs. I tried to tie a knot with the extra material, eventually giving up and shoving it inside my pants. I took the black sweatshirt he’d thrown over the desk chair for me and smiled as I pulled the soft material over my head.
Callum returned and put the photo screen and a small camera in a pack, along with a couple pieces of clothing.
“We can go check if my parents left any food, but I really doubt it,” he said, zipping the bag up and tossing it over his back.
The kitchen was bare except for a few abandoned, chipped plates. Callum shrugged and held his hand out to me.
“Ready?”
Never.
“Ready,” I said, taking his hand.
I glanced around one last time as we headed down the hallway and into the living room. Callum seemed to be making an effort not to look, his gaze on the floor as he opened the front door for me. The temperature had dropped several degrees from the previous night, and the evening air was chilly. Even Callum shivered.
“One stop before we cross over,” he said, pointing to the house next door. “I need to find out where my family went.”
“What are we going to do? Pop in and ask?”
“Yep,” he said, pulling me around to the back of the house. He rapped on a back window before I could protest.
The curtains parted and a human boy not much younger than us peeked through, letting out a yell and snapping them shut when he spotted us.
“Eduardo!” Callum yelled. “I just need to know where my parents and David went!”
Eduardo peeked out again, his eyes wide as he pressed his forehead against the glass to stare at us. “Callum?”
“Yes.”
“Is it bad?”
The question could have meant several things, but Callum nodded.
“Yes. It’s bad.”
Eduardo’s breath fogged up the window as he blinked in horror. “Did you escape?”
“Yes. Do you know where my family went?”
“My mom said Tower Apartments.”
“Thank you,” Callum said, taking a step back.
“Wait,” Eduardo said, pushing the window up. Callum took another step backward. “What’s your number?”
“Twenty-two,” he said, holding his wrist up.
Eduardo snickered. “Aww, that’s precious.”
I laughed and Callum smiled at me.
“Who’s that?” Eduardo asked.
“Wren. One-seventy-eight. Don’t call her precious.”
“One-seventy-eight!” Eduardo exclaimed too loudly. “For the love of Texas!”
“Thank you,” Callum said as he pulled me to his side and we started to turn away.
“Wait, wait,” Eduardo called. We faced him again and he chewed at his lip nervously. “After you died my mom asked me what I would want if I got sick.”
“What you would want?” Callum repeated.
“Yeah, you know. If she should make sure.” He made a gun with his fingers and held it to his temple.
I’d heard of it. No one had ever asked my opinion on the matter, and I found I wasn’t sure what to say. I looked up at Callum to see a similar expression on his face. He lifted his eyebrows at me in question.
“No,” I said.
Eduardo looked at Callum for confirmation, and for a long beat I thought he might disagree.
“No,” he finally said. “Take your chances Rebooting.”
“Are you just saying that because your brain is all messed up now?” Eduardo asked.
“Maybe.” Callum shook his head in amusement and Eduardo grinned.
I gave Callum a baffled look as he laughed and turned away. I’d never witnessed such a friendly exchange between a human and a Reboot.
“Do you know where Tower Apartments are?” he asked, swinging an arm over my shoulders.
“I could probably get us to the general area.” I twisted around to look at Eduardo’s closed window. “He was your friend?”
“Yes.”
“He wasn’t too scared of us.”
“Most kids are more terrified of Rebooting than the actual Reboots themselves.”
“That makes sense, I guess.”
We walked along the back of the neighborhood in silence. With every step my dread increased, the slum I had known beginning to take shape in my head.
As we approached the wall I stopped and stared. Someone had painted it, a beautiful mural of children playing and people running in the sunshine. I wanted to strangle the artist.
There were zero officers on this side of the wall. Who would want to sneak into the slums?
“Wren,” Callum said, gesturing for me to follow him.
“I’m scared.” The admission came out of my mouth before I could stop it.
He looked up at the wall. “Of going back?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe it’s better than you remember.”
I drew myself up to my pathetic little height and took a deep breath. It wasn’t like I had a choice. I had to go.
“Let me check it out first,” I said. I hoisted myself up and peeked over. I saw nothing but grass until I looked to the left, and spotted an officer stationed several feet away. “Quietly,” I whispered to Callum.
I jumped down, my feet making a soft thud. The officer turned as Callum landed next to me. We took off, but only silence followed us. The officer was either a rebel or couldn’t be bothered to care about a couple of crazy kids sneaking into the slums from the rico.
It looked familiar. The center of the slums in the distance, the medical center looming to my right, the rows of shacks to my left.
It smelled like death. The pure air of the rico was gone, the scent of flowers and grass just a memory.
It felt like home. We were in the worst area of the slums, the part I had once lived in, and I squeezed my eyes shut when I recognized a large building full of little apartments.
“Are you trying to kill us?”
My foot caught on something and my face smacked into the dirt. I gasped, pushing the images of my parents out of my head.
“Wren,” Callum said, kneeling down next to me.
My breath escaped in short gasps, like I was a human. I struggled to my knees and pressed my hands into my thighs.
Why had I agreed to come here? Why had I done this to myself?
Callum scooped me up off the ground and carried me in his arms. I put my face in his chest and tried to slow my breathing, but it still came in gasps that rocked my body.
He ducked behind the medical building and gent
ly set me down. I clutched my legs to my chest and he crouched in front of me, running his fingers into my hair.
“I don’t want to be here,” I whispered, burying my head in my knees in shame.
“I know.” He kept stroking my hair and it calmed me, my breathing slowing until my body stopped shaking.
“Tell me a good memory,” he said.
“There aren’t any.”
“There has to be at least one.”
“If there is I don’t remember it,” I said.
“Think harder.”
That seemed useless, but I shut my eyes and did it anyway. Nothing came except yelling and gunshots.
“My mom told me I looked like a monkey,” I finally said.
He looked at me in confusion. “Sorry?”
“She said when I slumped I looked like a monkey and I had a pretty face and I shouldn’t hide it.”
“You do have a pretty face,” he said with a little smile.
“So that’s sort of happy, I guess. It doesn’t make me feel bad, anyway.”
“What was she like?” Callum asked.
“I don’t know. I remember only bits and pieces of her.”
“More now?” he guessed.
“Yes.”
“Maybe that means you miss her.”
“Maybe it means my subconscious is mean.”
He laughed, leaning forward to gently kiss my forehead.
“You miss your parents,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes.” He looked almost ashamed.
“Let’s go find them, then,” I said with a sigh, slowly getting to my feet. “I need to get to Guadalupe Street to watch for shuttles soon. Adina’s supposed to be on assignment tonight.”
“Are you okay? We can rest for longer if you want.”
“We rested all day.”
“Well, it wasn’t all resting,” he said with a teasing smile that made me blush. He grabbed me around the waist and kissed me. It was true that we’d spent a very good portion of the day doing more kissing than sleeping.
“Thank you,” he said when he released me. “For coming with me. For not giving me shit about wanting to see my parents.”
“I have most definitely given you shit.”
“Then thank you for giving me minimal shit.”
“You’re welcome.”
“That way?” he asked, pointing.
I nodded and laced my fingers through his as we started down the road. There were no humans out tonight. Not a single one, which confirmed that I remembered right—there was a strict curfew in the Austin slums.
I kicked at the dirt with my boot, the wind blowing it back onto my pants. The chilly breeze slapped at me, and I wrapped an arm around my stomach and scrunched my face up against it.
My feet dragged, the sound of my boots scraping against the ground comforting and familiar.
“Do you want to stop?” Callum asked, casting an amused glance down at my feet.
“No. It reminds me—” I looked up to see the schoolhouse on my right. The three white buildings looked the same. It was bigger than the schoolhouse in Rosa, and definitely cheerier. They painted it with whatever materials they had. Someone had drawn big dripping flowers in some sort of thick black liquid.
The side of the biggest building was covered in something, and I took in a sharp breath as I remembered what it was.
“Can we pause for a minute?” I asked, slipping my hand out of Callum’s.
“Sure. What is it?” he asked, following me.
“They do a photo collage. Of all the kids who died.”
His face lit up. “You’re up there? The human you?” He bounded ahead of me.
“Probably not. I think the parents give them the photos. But I thought maybe . . .”
I stopped in front of the wall. Hundreds of photos were stuck to the building, protected behind thick plastic. Every month or so the teachers would remove the plastic and put the new ones up and we would gather around and tell stories about the kids we’d lost.
“What about this one?” Callum asked.
I looked at the lanky blond girl. “No.”
My eyes scanned the pictures, but I didn’t see my human self in any of them. I doubted my parents had that many pictures of me, and I found it hard to believe anyone went looking for them after we died.
Then I saw her.
The little girl didn’t frown at the camera, but she was obviously displeased. Her blond hair was dirty and her clothes were too big, but she looked tough. As tough as an eleven-year-old human could look. Her eyes were blue, the only part of her face that was pretty.
It was me.
I put my finger to the plastic, touching the ugly human’s little face.
“Is it you?” Callum asked, appearing next to me. “Oh, it’s not.”
“Yes, it is,” I said softly.
He squinted at the picture in the darkness. Maybe he was looking at the sunken cheeks or the pointy chin or the way she stared past the camera.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Yes. A teacher took it, I remember.”
“You look different now.”
“She was so ugly.”
“You weren’t ugly,” he said. “Look at you. You were cute. Not particularly happy, but cute.”
“She was never happy.”
“It’s freaking me out how you keep referring to yourself in the third person.”
A smile crossed my lips. “Sorry. I don’t feel like that person anymore.”
“You’re not.” He glanced at it again. “I never thought about it before, but I’m glad you’re not a human. Is that a weird thing to say?”
“No. I’m glad you’re not a human, too.” I held my hand out to him. “Let’s go.”
“Wait,” he said, taking a camera from his bag. He held it up close to the picture and snapped a shot. “You need at least one picture of her.”
He stowed the camera away and took my hand as we headed into town. The road widened as we walked past the market and shops. The center of town was a long, straight road, one I had replaced in my head with the one from Rosa.
It wasn’t the same. The wooden buildings were all painted, like they belonged to rich people with money to spare. But they weren’t painted normal colors like white or gray. They were done up with elaborate designs—huge pink flowers, orange-and-red flames spewing across doors, funky colorful skeletons dancing on the sides of buildings.
“It’s nicer here than in Rosa,” Callum said in surprise.
“Those are Tower Apartments,” I said, pointing to the three-story complex at the end of the street.
He gave my hand a squeeze. We had reached Tower Apartments faster than I had expected. I was surprised I had taken us in the right direction, much less directly there.
“They . . . could be worse,” Callum said as he looked up at them.
They could be worse. Someone had painted a sun at the top edge of the building, and little trees and sky between the apartment windows. I remembered none of that, only that at three stories, it was the tallest building in the Austin slums.
We approached the door and Callum studied the Human Occupancy Register affixed to the wall.
“Apartment 203,” he said, pointing to the name Reyes.
He pulled on the main door, but it was locked. He yanked harder, until the lock gave in and we slipped through the door.
I trudged up the stairwell behind him and onto the second floor. The walls were a plain, dingy white, the concrete floors dirty. I could hear the muffled sounds of humans talking and Callum pressed his ear to the door marked 203.
He gestured for me to come closer but I moved forward only a few feet, dread setting itself squarely in my tummy. I should have fought him harder on this.
He knocked, softly, and I heard the voices on the other side of the door go silent.
“Mom? Dad?” he whispered.
A bang erupted from the apartment and Callum jumped. I wanted to cover my eyes with my h
ands, hide until it was all over, but I stood firm.
The door opened a crack. I couldn’t see anyone, but Callum smiled. The door inched open wider.
The man holding it ajar looked very much like Callum. He was tall and lanky with dark hair that was shaggy like the old pictures of his son.
His mouth opened in shock, his body trembling. His eyes traveled up and down Callum frantically, as if looking for something.
A woman appeared behind him, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. She had the same olive complexion as Callum, although her human skin was a bit darker, and while she had similar dark eyes, hers were wide and crazy. She pressed her hand to her mouth, weird animal sounds coming from behind it.
“It’s okay, it’s me,” Callum said, his smile fading.
I sucked in a breath and for a moment, hoped for the best.
The tears could be because they were so happy to see him.
The shock could be because they never expected to see him again.
They were going to wrap their arms around him and tell him they missed him.
His father let out a choked sob and squeezed his eyes shut.
He couldn’t look.
“It’s still me,” Callum said desperately.
His mom wailed and I took a quick glance around. The human in the apartment across the hall was peering out his cracked door.
I stepped forward and touched Callum’s arm, his parents slipping into further hysterics when they saw me.
“Let’s go,” I said gently.
“Mom!” Callum exclaimed. He was on the edge of tears. “Don’t you . . .” He grabbed her hand in both of his. “It’s still me, see?”
She put her hand over her face to cry harder, trying to yank the other one from his grasp. He would have felt cold to her. Dead.
“Dad, look at me,” he said, giving up on his mom and desperately trying to get his dad to meet his eyes. “Just look!”
They didn’t look, either of them. His dad began making a desperate waving motion with his hands. His eyes darted down the hallway as he tried to shoo his son away.
“Go.” His voice was low, strangled, as he pushed his wife behind him. “If they see you here . . .”