E (25 page)

It walks around me.  Like I'm nothing more than an
object.  Like it doesn't mean to kill me.  Just walks around me, and
moves on.  I turn and watch it go.  My insides are a violent scramble
of emotion.  I stand there, breathing heavily.  Then, all at once, my
feet free themselves, and I start running.

I gulp in air, now, holding it in, trying to be still.  My
throat is thick with pain, tears building behind my eyes.  I shift
sideways, a touch.  Just enough to redirect myself.  There's an empty
spot next to me.  With all of us in this bed, we should have moved over
and taken up the room.  But the empty spot is there.  None of us
could fill it.

I'm so tired.  I may never sleep again.  I clamp my eyes
shut against the tears, but they leak out anyway.  Pointless.  I open
my eyes and lie very still.  I can hear each drop hit the mattress. 
Plunk.  Plunk.  Plunk.  I count tears like others count
sheep.  Eventually it works.  Eventually I fall asleep.

There are Sentries everywhere.  Hundreds, maybe thousands of
them.  I'm on a street, sunken into the shade between tall buildings, and
everywhere I look, there are Sentries.  Slowly, their heads rotate toward
me, their black mirrors glimmering.  They leap into motion.  There's
no time to scream.  I start running.  I sprint down the street,
dodging them.  Every corner I turn reveals more.  They join the
chase.  There is a metal army on my heels. 

I turn another corner, thinking I'm going to collapse, and the
street before me dead-ends.  But there is a door.  Rising into the
sky above the door is a gleaming white tower.  I run toward it, and
somehow, in dream time, I have a moment to slowly reach out toward the knob.

Arms grab me from behind.  I scream.  A hand closes over
my mouth.  A warm, human hand.

"Shhh," says a voice, "It's OK.  You're
OK."

Darkness falls over me.  I blink, trying to see. 
Everything in front of me is so black.  I reach out and feel the cold
metal of the door.  A moment later I realize it's our door.  Our
house.  I'm awake.  I was dreaming.

Jonas lets me go, except for one hand that steadies my
shoulder.  "It's OK," he says softly.  "Come back to
bed."

I let out a long sigh, the tension draining from my body.  I
let him guide me toward the bed.  I crawl in.  He lies down beside me
and places his arm over me.  I lie there, and stare into darkness. 
I'm OK, I think.  I'm OK.  I try to focus on his arm, and not the
whirlwind inside me.

***

It's another cold, grey evening.  We've eaten, if you could
call it that, and I'm sitting out back, despite the weather, gazing into the
dark, rolling clouds, absorbing from them the heavy feeling of loneliness that
they seem so badly to want to communicate to me. 

Jonas' footsteps scrape the ground, but I don't turn to look at
him.  It just makes me miss Oscar, and that, in turn, accentuates the
isolation.  I can only look up at the clouds and empathize with their deep
sorrow.

He walks to my side, sits down, and says nothing.  The clouds
roll and churn, and I think they might weep.  They're always weeping, and
no one ever cares to ask why. 

"So," he says.  "Sleepwalking.  That's a
new one."

His voice interrupts my reverie, sending me crashing toward the
practical.  I look at him now, feeling like I'm waking up.  Feeling
like I'm not sure where I was a minute ago.  "I feel really
weird," I mumble half-heartedly. 

He frowns, and reaches out, and touches my cheek with the backs of
his fingers.  "You don't look so good," he says.  His
fingers are cold against my skin, but soothing.  I'm glad that he leaves
them there a moment before he takes them away.

"I'm fine," I say, looking down.  I almost laugh at
my own lie.

"You're starving," he says.  He reaches into the
pocket of his hoodie and takes out a small parcel wrapped in paper.  He
passes it to me.  "Here.  Eat."

I look down at the package he presses into my hands. 
"Where..." I begin, but he's already shaking his head.

"It's for you," he says.  "You're the
skinniest of all of us.  You need it.  Eat up."

My fingers, trembling, unwrap the paper to reveal a sizable hunk
of bread.  There are raisins in it.  It's still moist.  Not
stale.  I look at Jonas.  He looks back.  Finally, I forget my
questions, and turn to the bread.  It's thick and sweet.  Almost as
good as Oscar's muffin.  I try to make myself eat slowly, but it's
impossible.  At least I manage to hold the chunk out to Jonas.  He
waves me off.  I keep eating.  For a moment, I forget everything else.

When I'm done, we sit there in the quiet.  It wasn't that
much bread, but I feel very full.  It's more than I've eaten in a
while.  The world slows down.  I lean back on my hands.  I
actually feel, for a bit, OK.

When I look at Jonas, he's already looking at me.  Part of me
wonders why he's always looking at me like that, anymore.  It's not an
admiring look.  It's far off.  Analyzing.  Like he's trying to
figure me out.  Like he's not sure he wants to.  Uneasiness threatens
to creep in, but I refuse to let it.  I cling to whatever closeness,
whatever security I felt a moment ago.

"It's that tower, again," I say, wanting to confide in
him.  "There was a door in it, and I was going to open it."

He studies me, frowns.  "Wonder what's behind it."

"Well, I guess I'll never know, since you stopped me from
opening it," I joke, absently whapping his arm.

He smiles, just a little.  And he's quiet again. 
Suddenly I want to curl up against him, rest my head on his chest, feel his
arms around me.  More than anything in the world, I want that.  But I
don't.  I look away, feeling wistful, and again, deeply lonely. 
"There were like... all these Sentries," I say, because I can't stand
the quiet.  "They were chasing me."

I'm not looking at him, but I sense his shiver.  Still, he
says nothing.

I sigh.  After a while, I glance at him, and he's looking at
me.  Again.  Still.  I'm never good at reading him, but there's
a guardedness in his expression that's hard to deny.  We look at each
other across what might as well be a chasm that reaches to the center of the
earth.  The small space between us is an immeasurable distance.  And
still sinking into me is the deep, echoing loneliness.  I close my eyes,
feeling it.  It seeps in so far that I'm sure it doesn't show on the
surface.  I'm calm, and even.  So this time, it's me that says:
"It's cold out here."  I climb to my feet, already heading
away.  "C'mon."

There's an inch of snow by the time Jonas gets home.  As he
steps inside I can see footprints past him on the path-- his footprints,
intermingled with mine.  We've been waiting on him for dinner, and now,
Miranda passes out our bite-sized meals quickly, unwilling to wait any
longer.  We dine without conversation.  My stale, hard bread scrapes
the roof of my mouth.  When I'm done, I sit there, and skim the tip of my
tongue across the skin that hangs down.  Prodding at the wound takes my
mind off of how hungry I still am.

After a while, I grow tired of the taste of blood and try to
smooth the skin back where it belongs.  I look at Jonas and say, "So
where were you?"  I imagine he'll brush me off.  He always
does. 

Today, he shrugs, still focusing on whatever crumbs are on his
plate.  "The Rustler," he says.  "Trying to listen in,
you know.  Hear some news or something."

"Anything interesting?" asks Apollon absently.

"Nah."

I set my plate aside and try for the same casual tone as
Apollon.  "Who was there?"

"Ah..." He takes his plate, and Miranda's, and Neveah's
to the bucket, though there's no point in washing them.  Apollon is still
chasing crumbs.  "Not too many," Jonas says. 
"Lloyd.  Sumter.  A couple of Matthew's guys.  Not much
going on though.  Complaining to Arthur about the price of the whiskey--
you know how it is."

"Yep," I say.  I do.  Jonas has described a
typical night at the Rustler.  Quiet.  Not much going on.  No
one can really afford much to drink.  I bite my lip.  Tonight at the
Rustler was anything but typical.  I know, because I was there, not all
that long before Jonas came home.  The place was packed because Matt was
holding court, wooing his army and possible allies with free drinks. 
Strengthening his hold on what is left.  I abandoned ship when things
started to get a little too festive.  The party will probably still be
going when dawn cracks over the horizon.  My stomach hurts.  Jonas is
lying to us.  Jonas is lying to me.  I say nothing. 

In the morning, Neveah sets out for the market, her shoulders
slumping.  Jonas is next, out the door.  I've considered following
him, but instead I wait until Apollon is leaving, and tag along.  I accost
him with questions before we're halfway down the sidewalk.  "What's
Jonas up to?  Where does he really go?  Is he still working for Grey,
too?" 

His eyes roll sideways to me as we walk, looking wide and
nervous.  "Could you say that a little louder?"

I narrow my eyes at him.  "Do I need to?"

His face hardens.  He's angry again.  Well, good. 
That makes two of us.

He stops as soon as we emerge from the gap in the wall and pulls
me to the side.  We stand in the shadow of all the piled junk, and face
off with crossed arms.  The silence builds between us.

I get tired of it first.  "Look," I say, softening
my voice, though it still sounds cool and distant, "tell me what's going
on with him.  We're supposed to be working together-- all of us.  How
are we going to survive if we can't even be honest with each other?"

The look he gives me says that he thinks my question is stupid for
multiple reasons, none of which he's going to share with me.  Quickly
following it, his face turns to stone.  Immovable.  There's not even
going to be an argument.  He says, quietly, patiently, "If you want
to know what's going on with Jonas, you're going to have to ask him." 
Then he stuffs his hands in his pockets, turns his back on me, and strides off
into the snow.

***

Halfway through the day, the sky is so close to the earth it
threatens to smother us.  Dark and roiling, the clouds press coldness onto
the already-frozen world.  Most of us retreat homeward and close ourselves
inside.  Chill air seeps through all the cracks in our little shack. 
I never realized how perforated it was, until the real cold came. 

Miranda and Jonas are discussing pointlessly how we're going to
get through the coming winter.  I have the feeling that he's humoring her,
making her feel better by participating in what can only be a futile act. 
I can't decide whether he's being kind or deceitful.  I ponder where the
difference may be while wondering how I'm going to get him away from her so I
can beat the truth out of him.  My jaw is working.  Neveah, sitting
next to me on the couch, gives me a sympathetic look.  Sometimes, I wonder
what's going on in her head.  I wish she would tell me.  I offer back
a small combination smile-frown.  She makes a noise like a laugh-- soft,
barely there.  We turn our gazes quietly back toward the other two.

There's a noise outside, and the door is thrown open.  Oscar,
bundled in coat, hat, gloves, and even snow boots, stumbles inside, brushing
white from himself after he closes the door.  He peels off the coat and
hat, then launches himself toward us, landing in a tumble across our
laps.  Neveah squeezes him close, pressing her cheek against his. 
I've got his legs and feet, so I just wait until he straightens himself and
wiggles into the spot between us.  He leans over against me, and now I get
to press my face against his.  His cheek is cold against mine.  I
close my eyes, feeling my smile move all the way through me.

Miranda and Jonas greet him with smiles, too.  Miranda pours
some hot water for him to drink. 

"I wanted to see you before the big snow comes," Oscar
says, glancing at me.

"Ah," I say.  "I think you're a little
late."  I look meaningfully at the door.

He just laughs.  "It'll be a while before it's too much
to be out in.  And I thought you'd want to know what happened last
night."

"Last night?" Jonas says. 

"When Matt got home," Oscar says. 
"After--"

"After I saw you guys at the market?" I jump in.

Oscar just looks at me and smiles.  "Yeah," he
says.  "After that."

"What happened?" Jonas asks.  He leans in as he
listens.

"Well, it was pretty late," Oscar says, "and Jacob
and Taylor came to the door.  I was supposed to be upstairs sleeping, but
I heard the knock, so I snuck out to see what was going on and listened
in."

I'm about to reprimand him, but Jonas says, "And?"

"Someone put a bomb or something in Matt's car.  You
know the solar one I hit with my slingshot?"  He looks at me.

I nod.  Jonas is looking at him, leaning forward.

"Killed Colton, and a couple other of Matt's guys.  I
didn't know them."  He shrugs, like he's not sure about what he's
telling us.  "Didn't like Colton much.  But... wow... I mean,
they killed him."

I put my arm around his shoulders and pull him close.

"What did Matt do?" Jonas asks. 

Oscar makes a noise, his eyes going wide.  "He was
pissed."

Neveah and I exchange a look over Oscar's head. 

"He kinda went off on one.  Grabbed his coat and
left.  So I don't know.  I don't know what happened after that."

"Matt didn't say what he was going to do?" Jonas asks
calmly.

Oscar shakes his head.  "Nah."

"What about when he got back?  Did he say anything
then?"

I frown at Jonas.  This is beginning to feel like an interrogation.

"I was asleep," Oscar answers.

Jonas just nods slowly, looking down.

Miranda, cautiously forming the words, speaks for the first time
since the conversation started.  "Who do you think would do
that?"

Jonas, still looking down, is shaking his head.  Oscar stares
at her.  Neveah sits very still.  Since none of them are answering, I
venture my own guess.  "Some of Grey's men, maybe?" 

Jonas glances up and meets my eyes, failing to completely hide the
alarm in his own.

***

The snow holds us prisoner for days.  Tension builds on
itself.  We're all on a short fuse.  Soon, we don't talk to each
other much at all.  Talking takes energy, anyway, and we don't have a lot
of that to spare.  Our water pump is frozen so we melt snow to
drink.  There's nothing to eat.  Not a bite.  By the time the
snow starts to melt away, I've gotten used to being without food.  The
hunger that demanded attention has faded to something of unimportance.  I
just feel weak, spacey, and dizzy.  Like I'm walking in a dream.

Sometimes, I really am dreaming.  My sleep feels drugged,
full of nightmares I'm incapable of waking from.  Full of other things
that pull at me. I can't remember them when I wake.  Then one day, the sun
comes out and the sky is a crisp blue.  The piles of snow fade into
waterlogged concrete.  I step outside, pulling my jacket around me, and
start walking.  My thoughts are scattered, disorganized.  Mostly, I'm
concerned about Oscar.  I've been thinking about what the bomb means for
him.  If Matt's men are being targeted, Matt is being targeted. 
Oscar is staying with Matt.  This is about as far as I can take the train
of thought before it tangents into some other distraction.  Always, I
return to it though.  I know it's important, but I can't seem to
focus.  I'm thinking about it for the thousandth time, wandering down a
quiet street, when I look up, and see the white tower in front of me.

I stop.  Stop in the middle of the street. 
Gazing.  My mouth is open.  I blink, and the tower's gone.  I
blink again.  There's nothing.  It's just a street.  I'm going
crazy.  Jonas is right.  Starvation is making me crazy.  So now,
I'm thinking about rats.  About finding rats.  I stumble down alley
after alley, and find none.  Maybe they don't come out in the cold, or
maybe I'm a poor rat hunter.  Maybe Fate has decided she hates me. 
Whatever it is, there are no rats to be found.  All I find is
misery.  People who are worse off than me.  Bundles of rags,
shivering.  Moaning.  So close to death.  One bundle doesn't
move when I walk by.  Not the slightest bit.  I can't look.  I
just keep moving.  About a block ahead of me, I see the pig trot across
the intersection from an adjoining alleyway.  Frowning, I wander toward
the place where it disappeared.

This is how I end up in the alleyway where, far ahead of me, I see
Jonas.  He's with some other men, and they're stepping into a
doorway.  They disappear.  I walk toward the place they disappeared
from.

Before I reach the doorway, there's a window.  I can hear voices,
so I crouch down beneath it and listen.  I recognize Jonas' voice, but I
can't make out the words.  I'm straining to decipher them when my head,
quite suddenly, jolts through with pain.  I blink, or try to blink, but
all I can see is black.

The voices swirl around me, nearer, but still muffled and
indecipherable.  I can't make sense of them for a long time.  I can't
make sense of the darkness.  Then I feel myself resolving, like someone is
turning a lens to bring me into focus.  I become aware of my body.  I
know to open my eyes.  It's dark inside, wherever we are, but any light at
all hurts my brain.  I shut my eyes tight against the throbbing. 

By my ear, something shifts.  Something cold, and wet. 
I pry my eyes open a sliver, and squint at the person next to me.

"You're OK."  It's Jonas' voice, though his face
has not quite swum into resolution.  "Just a little knock to the
head.  That's all."

"Psh," I manage weakly.  "Is that all?"

He presses the rag against my head, scooting nearer.  He's
sitting on a stool or something, looking down on me.  I'm lying on a bed,
or cot, or something like that.  It's lumpy, and I'm cold, and the
freezing rag is not making me feel any better.  I turn my head away from
it and sit up all at once, which obviously isn't the brightest idea since it
makes me feel like I'm going to hurl. 

"Easy," Jonas says, steadying me by my wrists. 
When he's satisfied I won't fall over, he rubs his hand soothingly up and down
my arm.

I swallow down the nausea and manage to get my eyes open and
focused on him.  "What the hell is going on?"

He laughs softly without smiling, and looks away.  I
wait.  He's going to tell me.  I won't let him not.

Finally, he turns back to me, his eyes moving over my face. 
He must see how angry I am, how stubborn, because a somberness sinks into his
demeanor.  He swallows.  "I'm putting together a force that's
loyal to Grey."  He waits for my reaction.

There are so many things I want to say, most of them in a very
loud voice.  But I take a deep breath and say very calmly, "The same
Grey who makes Matt look like a virgin princess?"

He purses his lips, then licks them.  "Yes."

My fists are pounding against his chest before I even realize what
I'm doing.  "What are you thinking?" I'm shrieking at him. 
"Oscar's with Matt!  He'll kill him if he finds out what you're
doing!"

Footsteps move quickly toward us from across the room, and I
realize for the first time that we're not alone.  Jonas waves the men off,
catching my hands and stopping me easily.  "Listen," he says
patiently, holding me by the wrists, "Oscar will be fine.  I'm
looking after that.  I didn't forget about him.  And anyway, Matt's
not going to find out."