Evolution (2 page)

We eat dinner at the dining room table in silence—roast
chicken, wild rice, and baked apples with cinnamon.  Jess and Alayna
quietly see to our every need, pouring whiskey for Matt, and wine for me. 
There's apple cider as well—hot and spiced—which I spend more time on than any
of the rest of it.  I'm still getting used to eating food again.  A
few bites, and I'm full.  Matt encourages me to eat more, but I shove my
plate away.  My nerves are shattered and food is the last thing on my
mind.  The only thing I want to do is run, but I can’t.  I have to
make myself play this out even though every moment is drenched in fear.

We move into the parlor, where the huge fireplace is filled
with snapping vermillion flames.  Matt sits in his armchair with his feet
on the ottoman.  I squeeze into the other chair beside Valentine, who
raises her pink snout to sniff at me, but makes no other protest.  Her
hind end is neatly covered in bandages—Alayna's work, I suspect.  I feel
sorry for Valentine, so I try not to displace her too much, though it annoys me
that a pig gets better medical care than most of the people in the Outpost.

"Once she's better, that chair's all yours.  No
pig.  I promise."

"Sure."  I'm just looking at the fire,
watching the colors move.  I rest one hand on Valentine's hairy head and
sink back into the chair.  In my mind, I try to finalize my words, but
really, I'm thinking about so many other things.  All the things that have
slipped through my fingers.  Things that are lost.  My family. 
Myself.  I breathe in slowly through my nose and try to focus on the only
thing I have left: Miranda.  What’s taking her so long?  The
restlessness swirls around inside of me.  I try to smother it, but I sigh
despite myself.

"I think we should have a talk," Matt says.

I look at him, the flicker of the fire playing across his
face.  "Yeah.  Good idea."  This is the perfect
opening.  If I can just play this the right way, then it might be
OK.  Everything hinges on this moment.  This is it.  My ticket
out of here.

He leans forward in his chair, his face very serious. 
"I know the battle was hard on you," he begins.  "I know
you're new to this.  Not used to—"

"The battle," I snap.  "The battle was
hard on me?"  I may have held back when we were in public, but nobody
else is around now.  Valentine lifts her head and looks at me, sensing my
anger.  "Don't you mean the part where you shot seven people point
blank in the head?  Is that the part you're talking about?"

Rather than the return hostility I expect, Matt looks
uneasy.  His voice is still calm. 
Actually
calm, not the
deadly calm it turns when he's about to do something violent.  "I
knew you didn't understand."  He shifts his weight.  "I had
to do it.  If I hadn't—"

"Had to?" I ask.  "Seriously, you
had
 
to?  You couldn't have just—"

"What did you want me to do?" he snaps. 
"Let them go?  The people who were trying to kill me?  The ones
who wanted to give the Outpost to Grey?  Do you have any idea how evil he
is?"

"Him?" I snap back.

But Matt's not done.  He's out of his chair and pacing in
front of the fire.  "I already let the real ringleader go. 
Jonas.  Do you think he would have let me go, if it were reversed? 
Or would he have killed me?"

I open my mouth, shaking my head, but the answer does not
come out right away.  No, I want to say.  No, of course not. 
Instead, I stutter, "Jonas was just trying to look after us.  He
wouldn't have...."

"He wouldn't have what?  Put a bomb in my
car?"  Matt gives me a meaningful look.

I stare at him with my mouth open.  There is no answer.

After a moment, Matt's gaze softens.  He moves toward
me, leans over the chair with his hands on the arms of it.  "Look,
Eden," he says, scanning my eyes, "this is the bottom line. 
Everything that happened here was complete chaos.  I put it back in
order.  It took seven lives to do it.  But that's it. 
Seven.  You don't see anyone out there on the streets going crazy. 
No one is killing each other, or looting.  They're all building things
up.  Making it better again.  And this time, it's going to be better
than it ever was before."  He retracts his arms and returns to the
fire, where he turns his back on me and stands, warming his hands.  I
stare at his back and think of what he's said.  I try to find a hole in
his logic.  But five minutes in, I'm still trying.  He has to be
wrong.  There's no way he can justify killing seven people.  But what
if he is right?

Eventually, he turns back to me and I'm still staring. 
He reads it on my face—my shock—and turns his head away, looking at the
floor.  For a long while, we’re quiet.

Finally he says, "You're new to this.  I know it's
hard."

What he means is I'm new to everything.  To life. 
I've got about four and a half months of experience beneath my belt, all of it
harsh.  But before that, nothing.  All of my memories were taken away
by the Sentries.  Again, I find myself wondering what I did to deserve
that.  Could it have been something like what Matt did?  After a
moment, I realize he's still waiting for a reply.  All I can say is,
"Could it ever be easy?"

He puffs air out through his nose, and gives no other
answer.

For a moment, I allow myself to consider that Matt might be
a good thing for the Outpost.  I want to brush the thought away. 
Discard it as craziness.  But things have been so bad.  What if he's
right?  What if they could be better?  What if, when I leave here, I
could do so knowing that all the misery will fade not just from my memory, but
from the Outpost for real?  I sit forward in my chair.  Valentine
grunts to tell me she doesn't like my wiggling.  "I believe you could
make it better," I say.  "If you only had a chance.  But
there's not.  We're still..." I lower my eyes.  "We're
still going to die.  All of us."

His eyes narrow on me, but he doesn't move.

I wait.  Let it sink in.

He clears his throat.  His voice is husky when he says,
"What do you mean, Eden?"  A subtle note underneath fills me
with caution.

I look up at him now, and let sorrow fill my face.  I
feel no real regret at the possible loss of my own life, so I think of
Oscar.  I give myself just a moment to remember what it felt like when the
Sentry carried his dangling little body away.  "We're all dead,"
I whisper, and it’s suddenly too close.  Too real.  I can see them
coming in my mind.  Hear each metal footstep.  My voice breaks. 
My words come faster. "We never had a chance against them.  I thought
I could save us.  Thought I could really go there—shut them down. 
But it's all a dream.  It's not clear enough.  And it's too late,
now.  Too—"

"Hey, hey...."  Matt slides the ottoman up to
my chair and sits in front of me.  He brushes my cheek with the back of
his hand, wiping away tears that I was not aware of.  His fingers clamp
down on mine, steadying me.  I'm shaking.

He meets my gaze, pauses.  Finally, he says quietly,
"It's not as bad as you think."

"It is," I insist.  Every word is true. 
My voice is filled with terror.  For his sake?  For all of
ours?  I've lost the ability to distinguish.  "They will
come.  They're linked.  Don't you see?  For every one that we’ve
killed, more will—"

"I know," Matt says softly.  But there is no
urgency in his voice.  No fear.  He smiles at me, and squeezes my
fingers.  "I've got it covered.  We'll be OK."

I sputter uncertainly.  The world threatens to yank
itself from under my feet.  "I can— I can still—"  I'm looking
around the room, trying to find my words.  My voice becomes calmer, but
still insistent.  "I knew how to disable them.  It's in my
head.  I can shut them down.  All of them.  If I can just go to
this place...."

His eyes scan mine, analyzing.  "I'd like to hear
more about that," he finally says.  His words are steady,
testing.  "But there's no need.  Trust me.  I've thought of
everything.  You have absolutely nothing to worry about."  And
he smiles.  His eyes search my face in concern.  Or is he studying
me?

I attempt a small smile.  My stomach turns.  Matt
is wrong.  I have
everything
to worry about.  This was my
whole plan—to force him to send me away.  To take my friends—what’s left
of them—with me.  It’s true that the Sentries are linked.  We’re in
real danger.  It should have worked.  He should have been filled with
alarm at the realization.  But somehow Matt’s beaten me to the
punch.  I’ve underestimated him yet again.

There’s a long silence.  Matt breaks into a mischievous
grin.  “Or should I say, all you have to worry about is me.”  His
eyes are smoldering as they meet mine, saturated with lust and glowing with
victory.  I blush under his intense gaze, but half of it is from knowing
that he’s seen through me.  That my surefire plan was so easily tossed
aside by my adversary.

I force myself to smile at him.  “Nothing new
there.”  I watch my fingers play on the arm of the chair.  Then I
say, “I’m not worried about you.”  It’s an utter lie, but I make it sound
good.  My lips curl into a soft smile as I look at his face.  “You
don’t scare me at all when you’re not shooting people in the head.”

His laugh is dark and sultry as he leans closer.  His
hands go to my legs, his fingers curling behind my knees.  “You’re a brave
girl.”  He tugs me suddenly a bit closer, making me grip the arms of the
chair.  “You have to be careful when you play with fire, though….”  A
smile stretches sensually across his lips.  “Unless you want to be
consumed.”

I roll my eyes, pressing one hand to his chest to fend him
off while I wriggle back into place in the chair.  Valentine snorts and
throws me a dirty look.  “You like me too much,” I say dismissively,
hoping I’m not being too bold.  But if I’m stuck here, I have to take some
risks to gain some ground.  So, though I want to jump up and run, I push
onward with words that could easily turn against me, hoping that they’ll work
to subdue him.  “You want my affection.  Not just my body.  Or
you would have made me a slave a long time ago.”

He sits back, his eyes dissecting my expression, deciding,
like a predator, what to do.  Finally, he says, “I think you’re pretty
fond of me already.”

I force a laugh through my nose, crossing my arms over my
chest, and look bored.  All the fear is deep inside.  I refuse to let
it out.  “Well, at least you’re confident.”

“Mmm,” Matt says, a noise of acknowledgement.  He’s
thinking.  I don’t like it when Matt is thinking.

“Every time I start to believe you have potential you have
to go and ruin it.”  I realize as the words come out that if anyone else
talked to Matt like this, they would probably end up dead.

He closes his eyes for a moment, making me sure that he’s
holding his temper back, but when he opens them, he’s smiling.  “Ruin it?”
he asks, as if I’ve said something incredulous.  “Last I remember, you and
I were going down, guns blazing, dying in each other’s arms.  If that’s
not romantic—”

“As I said,” I interrupt boldly, “potential.”  I meet
his gaze solidly.  “Then you ruined it by killing everyone.  And
then
you had the Sentry stalk me.”

He laughs quietly through his nose.  I want to squirm
under his gaze, but I make myself return the stare.

“Well,” he says quietly, “at least I never bore you.” 
He’s serious now.  He leans closer and touches my face.  “Everything
I do,” he whispers, “is to protect you.”

It takes me a second to find my voice.  When I do, it’s
incredulous.  "You tried to kill me!"

His hand drops and he sits back.  He tilts his head
from side to side, mouth open.  "Once or twice," he finally
admits, a grin creeping onto his face.

I rise to my feet and move past him toward the fire.

"And really," he says, coming to join me, "if
you count all the times I
should
have killed you, but didn't..."

"I don't think it works that way," I protest,
crossing my arms as I face him.

He smirks.  "What?  Like you never wanted to
kill me?"

I have to think about it, but I draw a blank, which
surprises me.  "I believe I actually
saved
your life...."

He laughs.  "Oh, you mean falling off the
barstool?  I don't know if I'd call that saving my life.  And anyway,
if it was, I repaid that favor almost immediately.  For which you thanked
me by trying to bite off my fingers."  He holds up his hand to
display the scars.

The corners of my mouth twitch.  I try to fight it back
and fail miserably.  “Then there’s the whole giving you control of the
Sentries thing,” I say, trying to cover.

Matt ignores the words and moves closer, but doesn't touch
me.  "See how much we've been through together, Eden?  How much
we've accomplished together?  We're cut from the same mold."

I stare up at him, afraid to say anything.

His gaze softens.  He runs the backs of his fingers
lightly down my upper arms, making me shiver despite myself.  "Tell
me what you want," he says softly.  "I want to be the one who
gives it to you."

I withdraw a small step—enough to make his hands go
away.  I sigh, and close my eyes, then look up at him, shaking my
head.  "I don't know."  I'm already moving toward the
door.  "I'll have to think about that."

Upstairs in my room, which happens to be directly across
from Matt's room, I close the door.  My fingers hesitate on the fact that
there is no lock.  I glance around the room, wanting to find something to
wedge in front of the door, but I already tried the chair and it wouldn't work. 
This will be my third night in this room and it is not getting any
easier.  After what happened, Matt insisted that I stay with him. 
For my protection.  Terrified, I insisted that I wanted to be with my
friends.  Now Miranda has a room down the hall.  I am not supposed to
see Jonas.  Neveah and Apollon are simply gone without a trace.  And
Oscar….  My little Oscar.

I have to push that thought away before it consumes
me.  So here I am, locked—or not locked—in this room, like a princess in a
tower.  Matt insists I'm safer here, which I don't believe and certainly
don’t feel.  I tell myself I'm here because he wants to keep an eye on me
after everything that happened.  But I don't really believe that either.

I don't bother lighting the lamps.  There's enough
moonlight coming in the window to see my way to bed.  I take off my boots,
but sleep with my clothes on.  I crawl into a bed softer than angel
feathers.   My knife, tucked beside me, is my only sleeping partner
in the spacious nest.  The pillow my head sinks into smells sweet and
clean.  The blanket is knit of the gentlest wool.  I should feel like
a princess in this tower, but all I feel is trapped.  I lay in the dark,
listening to the noises of the house.  After about an hour, I hear
footsteps on the stairs.  They stop on the landing.  I hold my
breath, my fingers sliding toward my knife.  Blood surges into my ears,
pounding against the silence, making it hard to hear anything when I need to
hear everything.  I jump at the noise of the door opening.  But it’s
not my door.  It’s the one across the hall.  It shuts again
softly.  I let out my breath, panting.  I swallow the panic, close my
eyes, and listen to the tears hitting the pillow.  Every nerve in my body
is jolted awake, and every new sound—the settling of the house, noise from the
streets—sets me on edge again.  I can't sleep here.  I'm so tired,
but if I ever sleep it will be a miracle.

I'm not sure how long it's been—a couple of eternities,
probably—when I hear footsteps running up the stairs.  I sit up in bed,
confusion and terror pulsing through my brain before the steps even lead to my
door.  Before the soft knock.

"It's me," Miranda says, and I let out the breath
I was holding in.  I draw my hand away from my knife, put my palms over my
face, and take a moment to just breathe.

"Come in," I say in my most normal voice. 
The words sound forced.  When Miranda opens the door, she gives me a
sympathetic look.

She closes the door gently behind her and comes to sit on
the end of the bed while I fumble with the lamp.  When it's finally lit, I
set it on the bedside table and turn back to her.  "Well?" 
I want to restrain myself, but I can't.  "How is he?"

She sighs, picking at the blanket. 
"Fine."  She doesn't look at me.  "His head's healing
up nicely."

I nod.  Jonas took quite a knock to the head the night
of the executions, and a beating as well.  I was too busy gaping at all
the brains splattered everywhere to see him fighting to get away from Matt's
men—fighting to go stop what I could not.  Maybe that's part of why he's
mad at me.  I was useless.  I left him there.  I didn't even
look back.  Miranda was supposed to explain to him how lost I was.  I
was in shock.  I just let myself be jostled into the flow of the night. 
Everything swam around me, dizzy, frightening, out of control.  But now,
looking at Miranda, I'm not sure she said anything of the sort.

"And?"  Why can't she just spit it out?

She shakes her head, frowning.  "He doesn't want
to see you.  And he doesn't want you to keep sending me, either."

I stare at her wordlessly while the words sink in.  I
swallow, and my throat sticks together.  "But... he has to
understand," I insist.  "If you could just make him
understand."

Miranda is still shaking her head.  "He
understands, Eden."  It almost comes out as a snap.  "Maybe
he's right.  Maybe you should just... stop."

I'm blinking back tears before I know it, which is the last
thing I want to be doing.  I look down at the blanket, and one of them
drops into the wool.  It's a big tear, too.  Hard to hide.  So I
reach for my face and wipe my eyes once, then sit up straight. 
"Sorry.  Everything has me just... emotional.  That's
all."  But underneath, my mind is racing with questions, fixated on
the impending grief of losing Jonas when I’ve only just found him.

Miranda looks uncomfortable, as if this hasn't been
distressing enough.  Not that long ago, she and Jonas were...
something.  For all I know, they might still have feelings for each
other.  Does she have any idea what he means to me?

"I just don't want him to hate me," I say
weakly.  There's so much more that I want to add, but how could I ever put
words to it?  How could Miranda, with all her memories intact, understand
what it meant to me to find a missing piece of my past?

"He doesn't hate you.”  Her voice is
incredulous.  There's a pause as she struggles for words.  "He's
just... processing.  Give him some time.  This has been hard for
everybody.  And how would you feel if
he
singlehandedly squashed
your
rebellion?"

"Not singlehandedly," I say.  "You
helped."

She gives me a smile that could also be a frown.

I feel the tears still pressing at the backs of my eyes,
tightness clenching down in my throat.  “There are so many things,” I say,
wanting to cover for the emotion that I am barely containing.  “Apollon
and Neveah….”  As if speaking the thought gives power to my worry, my chin
quivers.  I purse my lips and try to hold it all in.

Again, Miranda hesitates, eyes falling.  Her mouth
forms a straight line.  Finally, she speaks, her voice so quiet I can
barely hear her.  “Someone said that Matt has Neveah.”  She looks up
from the floor and meets my gaze.

“What?”  My vision is blurred by tears.  “Is it
true?  What about Apollon?”  Worst-case scenarios play out in a
brain-blur of horror.

 Miranda squints at me.  “You need to ask him,
Eden.  You need to get him to—”

“To what?  What am I going to get him to do?”  I
throw off the covers and stand up to pace the cold floorboards.  “Do you
think I can do anything?  Would I be here if I could?”

She watches me for a moment, then says, “You can.  You
have to.  You’re the only one who can.”

I stop where I am and stare at her, unease sinking into
me.  Neveah.  What if it’s true?  Why does Matt have her? 
Is she OK?  Apollon….  I close my itching eyes and rub them with my
thumb and forefinger.  Apollon and Neveah—either of them would do anything
for me.

“You have to, Eden,” Miranda whispers again.  I’m still
rubbing my eyes when I hear the door.  I look and Miranda is gone.

Again, I’m alone in this room.  And now the
alone
part really sinks in.

***

Dawn is just breaking.  I’ve been awake all
night.  My head is splitting and I can’t think straight.  But I catch
Matt on his way out the door.  He looks me over, his gaze showing
concern.  I must look as rough as I feel.

“Neveah,” I say.  We’re at the door, but I plant myself
a few feet away from him, out of his reach.

He closes the gap.

“Don’t.”  I fix him with a defiant glare and his hands
drop before they touch me.  His eyes search my face, trying to see what I
know.  I don’t plan on giving that away.  When I speak, I sound like
him—deadly calm.  “We had a deal and I think you’re breaking it.”

He sighs and looks away, his jaw twitching with
impatience.  But somehow, when he looks back at me he seems
unbothered.  “She’s perfectly fine,” he says.  “I was only
questioning her.”

“Questioning her?”  The confirmation that he’s got her
should fill me with relief, but I feel panic and frustration instead.  “
How
can you question her?  She doesn’t speak!”

He gives me a solid, deadpan look.  Finally, he says,
as if he’s not troubled at all by my discovery of his deceit or by my
disapproval, “My men found her hiding in my tunnels.  Who knows what she
was up to down there.  Our deal was that I would forget about things that
had happened
before.
  That was all.  Anything you or your
friends have done from that point on is subject to my judgment.”

“She hasn’t done anything.”  I feel like I might lose
it and start screaming at him at any second.  Neveah is the kindest,
gentlest person I’ve ever known, and he’s
questioning
her?  “You
can’t punish her for something she hasn’t done.”

“You don’t know that,” Matt says.  “If she hasn’t done
anything, why was she hiding?”

“Because you are terrorizing the Outpost with giant
robots!”  My voice is louder and higher-pitched.  I feel everything
about to break loose.

Matt laughs at me and turns away.  He starts to walk
toward the door.

“Let her go!” I shriek, taking a step toward him.  I
stop myself as he turns on me.  I’m not sure what I was going to do, and
neither is he.  A look of warning flashes across his face.  My fists
are clenched at my sides.  I’m trembling.  “Let her go,” I say again,
but my voice lacks the conviction of a threat.

Matt shakes his head and again turns to the door.

“I want to go home,” I blurt, sounding exactly like a
child.  “I want to go home right now!”

He turns on me, but he only looks frustrated.  “We
already talked about this, Eden.  You’re here for your safety.”

“Like hell I am.  I want to go home.”  I take a
big step toward the doorway, meaning to push past him, but Matt intercepts and
in the blink of an eye has scooped an arm around my waist and pressed me up
against the doorframe.

“You’re staying with me,” he says quietly.  The
calmness of his voice sets me on edge.  “It’s already been decided.”

I squirm against his grip.  “I didn’t decide anything.”

“Well I did.”

Struggling is not getting me anywhere, and I’m pretty sure
he’s enjoying it.  I become still, forcing myself to relax, and return his
gaze coolly.  "I don't like your decision.  Seriously." I
try to keep my voice level, though my stomach muscles are contracting in
response to the way he’s holding onto me.  "What makes you think it’s
yours to make?"

His lips curve into a little smile.  "I think I
get to make all the decisions, Eden.  Or didn't you notice that?"

I glare up at him defiantly.  "So much for that
part where we work so well together.  This is exactly what I meant about
you ruining everything.”  My anger has pushed caution away. 
"What're you going to do if I don't listen?  Put me in a box?"

His expression flickers briefly before his jaw sets. 
My whole body tenses in anticipation of what he might do.  But then his
face softens.  He leans in, his fingertips tracing lightly along my
jawline.  "No," he says quietly, hoarsely, his breath touching
my cheek  "I wouldn't do anything.  To you."

I break my arms free to pound on him, but he has my wrists
before I can get in more than one blow to his chest.  Physically
restricted from striking him, I open my mouth to tell him exactly what I think
of him.  I don’t give a damn what might happen once I say it.  “I—”

He drops my wrist to press his fingers to my lips, silencing
me, like he knows exactly what I am about to say.  With my wrist now free,
I immediately take up the opportunity to use it, but Matt says “Don’t.” 
The word, uttered softly, his gaze, requesting rather than ordering, cuts off
my response.  Confusion hits me in the chest.  My anger shifts to
indecision.

“I’ve always treated you well,” he whispers.  “You’re
comfortable here.  And you’re safe.”

Safe
.  The word drips with meaning, with
reassurance.  Part of me wants to strike out against him, but that word
scatters the last of my ill-intent.

His fingers fall from my mouth.  He lets go of my other
wrist now and reaches up to brush my hair from my cheek.  His gaze is all
tenderness, which only makes my confusion wrestle around uncomfortably inside
of me.  I’m too aware of how close he is.  Of his scent.  Of the
warmness of his expression.  The way his fingers tickle on my cheek. 
“Eden,” he murmurs, “let this go.”  He looks into my eyes for a moment
more.  Turns to leave.

As he moves away, I know that I’ve been beaten.  That
I’ll do as he’s asked.  But there is something I can’t let go, and I’m
terrified that I’ve lost when it comes to that as well.  My heart pounds
in my head, my failure weighing on me before it is even complete.  Matt is
walking away. 
Neveah
.

“Please,” I call after him, my voice strangled with
panic.  “Neveah?”

Matt stops a few paces into the street and turns to look at
me.

I force the words through my constricted throat, though I
feel like I can hardly stay on my feet.  “You asked me what I
wanted.  I want you to let Neveah go.  Leave her alone.”

An easy grin falls across Matt’s face.  “I like how
we’re beginning to work through our differences.”  He spins on his heels
and struts away.

The brief surge of hope is cut off by the crushing weight of
my total defeat.  Everything inside me protests in a knee-jerk
reaction.  Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m yelling after him,
“It’s a start!”

Matt keeps walking like he doesn’t hear me.

***

I'm wandering down the street in the early morning sunlight,
my two shadows stalking along behind me.  They don't talk much. 
Either they're not supposed to, or they're afraid of saying something
wrong.  Either way, they're not much company.  Not enough to distract
me from the worry.  I didn’t ask Matt about Apollon—another failure. 
Is Apollon a prisoner, too?  Is he even alive?  Kicking these thoughts
around inside my brain kept me busy for a while, but the pain is getting
old.  Wearing on me.  It’s not just Neveah and Apollon.  It’s
Jonas, and Sentries, and my plan fallen flat on its face.  These worries
inevitably lead to the same conclusion.  I might have to stay here. 
There are a thousand other frightening thoughts to go with it, but they're all
anchored to that one.  Staying.