Evolution (4 page)

I dodge away from my bodyguards and run for the door. 
They’re right behind me, but not fast enough.  I throw the door open and
gaze wide-eyed into the road.

Sprawled across the entire street, messily hacked off, a
huge tree splays its arms out from the opposite curb all the way to us. 
As the next noise sounds, the tree dragged into motion, a branch covered in
dark green needles swings haphazardly at us.  We tumble back inside as the
door slams shut, my back colliding with Jacob and Taylor, who step on the
others behind them.  Curses are flung all around.  We barely manage
not to end up in a pile on the floor.  The branch scrapes across the
outside of the door, rattling it.  A splintering, tearing noise moves down
the wall, making me wonder what will be left on the other side.

We right ourselves and stand looking at the closed
door.  Another grinding noise rumbles the floorboards.

Miranda finally says, "Was that...?"

"A tree." Taylor’s voice carries the awe we all
feel.

"A big tree," adds Jacob.

We stand there and look at the door.  Our eyes follow
the noises and crashes down the wall.  Then, finally, it settles. 
Whatever is going on outside has come to a stop.  I shove the door open,
its bottom scraping a pile of debris, and cautiously peek out.

Sentries are scattered up the street at points along the
branches and spine, but all are idle.  They’re
ours
.  Directly
in front of us, another team of them is clustered around the huge, splintered
trunk.  Near them, Matt is standing scratching his chin, clearly pondering
what to do next in some sort of madcap plan.  Slowly, back the way he and the
tree have come, people are starting to peek out into the debris path.  A
pool of bold onlookers is gathering at the intersection by Canson's store.

I close my eyes and count to ten.  Not going to die
right now.  I compose myself and bury all my emotions.  I still need
to talk to Matt.  And nobody else is going to do this, so…

"What's with the tree?" I holler.

Matt glances over, sees me, and waves me forward with a
grin.

I sigh and walk into the street.  Each step I take
sends chills through my feet.  This is the site of a slaughter.  Even
now, I can see the black, frozen puddles peeking from under the branches. 
Jacob and Taylor follow me part way, then linger a few feet off.  Miranda
has disappeared entirely.

Matt waits for me to get there, then proclaims,
"Christmas."

"Christmas?" I arch one eyebrow at him. 
“What the hell is that?”

He glances from me to the prostrate tree.  "It was
one of the old holidays."

Now I look at the tree, its top stretching into the
intersection and part of the next block.  "Are you going to burn
it?" I ask.  "A little close to the buildings for a bonfire that
size, don't you think?"

He glances at me, but doesn't answer.  Instead, he
moves toward the mass of onlookers.  "Get some cables and
pulleys," he commands.  "Chains.  Rope.  Whatever you
can find."  They scatter in response to his shooing motion.  He
turns and walks back toward me, eyeing me.  "What've you been up
to?"

I shrug, glancing back toward the curb, where the people
from the Rustler are still watching.  "Hanging out."  A
surge of emotion tries to work its way into my voice, but I carefully control
it.  I’m stuck.  I can’t be stuck.  I need to get out of
here.  There’s no way out of here.

"Really."  He regards his tree again.

I watch his face, wondering if he killed Pete Sumter
himself, or if he just ordered his men to do it.  Is that where he was
when he didn’t come home last night?  Nothing in his mannerisms reveals
any discomfort or guilt.  The only thing he seems to be concerned about is
his tree.

"You're not going to plant it," I say, following
him as he heads toward the team of Sentries at the trunk.  "There's
no way it could regrow.  Could it?"

"No.  We're going to decorate it."

I gaze down the street at the length of the thing.  I
can’t believe I’m standing here talking to him about this stupid tree.  I
have questions.  Important questions.  "With what?"

"I'm not sure yet."

We stand and stare at the woody carcass.  The moment of
quiet gives me time to drum up my courage.  I spit it out.  “Do you
have Apollon, too?”

He turns his eyes on me and gives me a look.

“Do you?”  I meet his gaze as coolly as possible, and
try to see what he’s hiding from me.  But Matt is good at this game. 
More than anything, I feel uncomfortable as he sizes me up.  I hold myself
very still and wait.

“I don’t,” he finally says.  “And Neveah was headed
toward the marketplace the last I saw her.”

My eyes flick past him, over his shoulder in the direction
of the marketplace.  I’m still dying to talk to her.  But I force
myself to stay and focus.  I fix him with a look that I hope will make him
as uncomfortable as his gaze makes me.  “
Did
you have him?”

His eyes narrow on me.

“Did you kill him?”  I ask the question nonchalantly,
like I can save myself from caring about its answer.

He tosses a laugh over his shoulder and steps toward
me.  I refuse to back down, but I glare at him, jaw clenched, as he
touches my arms.  His smile softens and he says soothingly, “I don’t know
where Apollon is.  If I did, I would tell you.”

“Would you?” I whisper, continuing to glare at him. 
Apollon and Neveah were together during the battle, right before they
disappeared.  Now Matt’s claiming not to have Apollon.  He kept it
from me that he had Neveah in the first place.  And he expects me to believe
him?  The problem is, he sounds sincere.  I dissect his words for
deceit.  For ways he has twisted a lie into something that sounds like the
truth.  Matt gives away nothing.  If I didn’t know better, I would
think he really didn’t know.

He reaches up to my face and tucks a lock of hair behind my
ear.  “Come on,” he says, a little smirk playing on his face.  “You
really think I have him locked up in a room somewhere…”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.  If you hurt him—”

His eyes flash a warning that cuts me off before I can get my
threat out.  We have an audience here, and Matt’s not going to let me
challenge him, especially not with the recent unease.  The words dry up in
my throat.  Matt takes my face in his hands and leans close, his words
quiet but intense.  “If I were you, I’d forget about Apollon.  He’s
gone.  And you don’t need him anymore.”

All I can manage to do at first is glare at him through the
tears that are welling up in my eyes despite my best efforts to stop
them.  When I manage words, they’re spoken quietly, for his ears only, but
that doesn’t stop them from being full of acid.  “Clearly you have no idea
what
I need.”  I yank my face away from him and stride away.

"Come on, Eden," says Taylor.  His voice has
a hint of whine in it.  "Don't you want to get home before it gets
any colder?"

I glare at him over my shoulder and keep walking.  Keep
looking for some sort of reason not to go home yet.  "I'm
helping."  I scoop up a small piece of metal sheeting that is barely
attached to a window we pass.  The one rusty nail hanging onto it squeals
in protest and lets go.  I hold the metal up and grin at him, still
walking.  As I turn away, I catch the look exchanged between him and his
brother.  Hours of wandering, and it’s the first piece of metal I’ve
touched.  Neither of them are buying it.

"Sure you are," says Jacob, who has proven to be
the bolder of the two.  "I bet that's enough to make... Idunno... a
firing pin or something."

"You know what they say.  Every little bit
helps."  We emerge into a cross street, directly into the path of a
wind gust.  I lean into it as we turn the corner, my muscles straining to
move me forward against its force.  The metal flaps violently in my
hand.  Cold, dry, and biting, in all of two seconds the air makes my ears
feel like they've been pinched hard.  Another few seconds, and they're
numb, but not numb enough to be comfortable.  We trudge a block in this
direction, then take a narrow side alley that offers considerable relief from
the wind, but not from the cold.  The sun is an hour past sinking behind
what's left of the Outpost wall, and every minute seems colder than the
last.  There's not been snow since before the executions, but this
snowless cold is worse.  Harsher.  Sharper.  It needles straight
through into our bones.  No wonder Jacob and Taylor are complaining.

"Eden," Jacob says.

"What the hell is he doing with it all,
anyway?"  I wave my metal at them.

"Dunno," Jacob answers.  "Why don't you
ask him?"

"I prefer not to."

Both of them make the same noise through their teeth.

I keep moving down the alleyway though I want to linger in
its shelter.  Still, I need to keep moving.  My toes feel like
they've been smashed repeatedly.  They're throbbing.  My fingers are
stiff and numb.  The cold of the metal is making them worse, traveling up
my arms, so I clutch the scrap with thumb and forefinger only.  I try to
focus my thoughts on the question, not on the unpleasant feelings in my
body.  Not the despair.  I refuse to shiver, holding myself tight,
though I have the idea my body is about to stage its own rebellion.  I
clench my teeth and focus.  Why does Matt want all the metal? 
Everyone has been collecting it since the executions.  Some old buildings
have been stripped down to skeletons.  Obviously, he's making something—weapons,
most likely.  I should ask Coyote Dan, not that I've seen him
recently.  I've heard his name around, though, so I know he's still
alive.  And probably busy running this project for Matt.  So what are
they making?  More big laser guns?  A few of those would go a long
way toward providing the Outpost with some decent defenses.

"You don't want to make him mad," Jacob
says.  "Freezing us all to death is bad enough, but you really don't,
Eden.  You should go home."

I throw a glare at him.  "Here."  I
shove the metal toward him. "Hold this."

"It's true," Taylor adds as they follow after
me.  "You made your point, I'm sure.  Now you should go
home."

"I don't remember asking for your opinions." 
We hit the next street, and the wind blasts into my face.  I stop and step
back.  My teeth are chattering.  I growl through them.  Wrapping
my arms about myself, I turn and regard my two companions.  Neither of
them look very comfortable under my gaze.

Again, they exchange uneasy glances, then Jacob says, very
soothingly, "It's just like cards.  All the bets are in, money's on
the table, and you have a good hand.  You just have to call.  If you
do, you take it all.  But if you get scared and fold, you end up with
nothing.  So what're you gonna do?"

I narrow my eyes at him.  "Seriously? 
Cards?"

He shrugs.

Taylor jumps in.  "Whatever crap analogy, it
doesn't matter.  Point is, you have some choices to make, and not
everybody gets them.  This is the way things are, and it's not going to
change, whether you want it to or not.  So you can make the most of it, or
you can piss everything away.  But Matt's offered you a pretty nice
option.  You should seriously have a think about it."

My eyes narrow even further.  "Did he tell you to
say that?"

They both roll their eyes incredulously.

I turn my back on them.  It's all very nice for them to
talk about cushy options, but what they're not saying is that there really is
no option.  Accept Matt happily, or accept Matt unhappily.  Is that
what they're calling an 'option'?  Because where I'm standing, it doesn't
seem like much of an option at all.  I may put him off for a while, but it
won’t last long.  Matt’s patience has a limit.  My time is running
out.  And there’s no way to escape.

I step out into the street and feel the shiver run through
my entire body as the wind catches me.  Whether they're right or wrong
about anything else, Jacob and Taylor are definitely right about getting out of
the cold.  I’ve been all over the marketplace three times looking for
Neveah.   I desperately need a friend to talk to.  But she’s
probably at home, now.  At  home, where I am not allowed and no
longer welcome.  I hold back a tide of bitterness and grief at the
thought.  In between excursions through the marketplace,  I spent a
great deal of time at the Rustler, and wasted even more time wandering around
Canson's store.  I'm running out of places to go.  More than
anything, I want to go home.  Really home.  But there is no such
thing for me anymore.

I drag my feet back toward the southeastern side of the
Outpost, where Matt's house sits prominently above the others, looking solid
and imposing, if not fresh.  It's built better than anything else in the
Outpost, as far as I can tell.  Every time I step inside I have the
feeling of being
somewhere else
, like this place belongs to a world
different than the one we live in now.  The foyer alone is bigger than the
entire shack where I lived with Miranda, Apollon, Jonas, Neveah, and
Oscar.  Six of us in that little space.  Six of us in one bed. 
But it wasn't too small.  This house, with its many rooms, feels so much
smaller.

I close the door quietly behind me, leaving Jacob and Taylor
on the other side.  Standing there silently with my hand on the knob, I
consider slipping back out again.  How long will they wait on the other
side of the door to be sure I am safely tucked in?  Muffled voices filter
through the door.  Their footsteps do not move away.

"If I didn't know better, I'd have thought you got
carried off by a Sentry," Matt's voice says from the parlor.

I sigh, walk to the doorway, and look in on him.  He
sits in his favorite chair with his feet propped up before the fire. 
Valentine raises her head to look at me from 'my' chair, and snorts.

"Alayna kept some dinner warm for you."

"I'm not hungry."  It's an obvious lie, and
it annoys him suitably, judging by his expression.  He has a thing about
me being too thin.  But most of us are, aren't we?  More than food,
though, I want to be by the fire.  Its warmth beckons to me from across
the room, but I don't even look at the fireplace.  "I'm tired. 
I'm going to bed."  I turn and leave without waiting for a
reply.  Somehow, Matt beats me to the stairs.

He stands on the first step between me and my
destination.  I stop and glare up at him.  “Move out of the way.”

“What are you going to do if I don’t?” he replies. 
“Put me in a box?”

His words are so unexpected that my anger turns to
confusion.  I narrow my eyes at him, trying to hold onto it.  “If I
had a box and a giant robot that listened to me, I just might.”

He winks at me.  “Good thing the giant robots are
mine.”

“Are you going to move out of my way?”

“You can’t go to bed without dinner.”  He fixes me with
a look that says he is no longer playing.

“I.  Want.  To go.  To my room.”

Matt shrugs and steps aside.  As I hurry past him, he
says, “I’ll have Alayna bring something up.”

I reach the landing and look back, sighing heavily.  I
open my mouth to tell him not to bother, but he speaks first.

With a little grin, he says, “Unless you prefer that I bring
it myself.”

My glance turns into an angry glare.  “Don’t you dare,”
I mutter, jerk the door open, go in, and slam it after me.  I spend the
next ten minutes pacing and fretting over the possibility that the food will
arrive in Matt’s hands, not Alayna’s.  Adrenaline surges through my whole
body.  When there’s a knock at the door, I answer it with my knife drawn.

Alayna’s old yellow eyes go a touch bigger, then look away
from me.  She hurries past me with a metal tray laden in a delicious array
of sliced meat in gravy, apple chunks sprinkled with cinnamon, and a steaming
cup of tea.  As much as I want to reject it, the food is far too
appealing.  Alayna leaves me alone to eat, and I munch in silence, trying
to forget how angry I am.  Trying to forget that I’ve lost everything.