Infraction (28 page)

I'm up and running again before I realize it,
finding my rhythm again, listening to my blood and my footfalls. I
think of my idea, the only thing that can keep my mind off of what
I've lost.

Could I get Gaea to send another sub? And could I
find more people to put on it?

I slow to a steady trot. After the weeks in the labor
camp, I've lost the endurance I gained through the months in the
woods with Jack. My arm throbs, and I'm tempted to pull out the
syringe of anesthetic. I'd better save it though. There could be
worse things ahead than slicing out a tracker just a few
millimeters under my skin. The blood pulses through me, hot and
heavy with every step, and it pounds in my wound, reminding me of
what I've lost. Again.

My sister. The settlement. Jack.

I've lost and lost for the Burn. It was the decision
I made all those months ago. Maybe five by now? I've lost count.
There's so much I've paid to be here, but is it worth it? The
answer will always be yes. Yes and yes again. My heart aches with
loss and yet that's what makes me alive. I never felt so much until
I had my feet firmly on the ground. I never knew there was so much
to feel.

I wander northeast and by the time sunlight filters
through the trees and turns everything green-gray, I think I'm
about fifteen miles away from the beach. Maybe ten or eleven from
the labor camp. I hope it's far enough to be safe.

I keep walking.

There's something driving me, pushing me on. There's
a goal that tingles in the back of my mind, but it hasn't surfaced
into full consciousness yet. I'll know it when I see it.

The sweatshirt keeps me warm, despite my breath that
fogs in front of me. I tuck my numb fingers into the sleeves, and
in a few minutes they tingle as they warm up. The ground is iced in
frost. No snow, thank goodness. Jack and I could have dealt with
snow together, but by myself it could be deadly. I know what I'm
capable of alone and I know what I can do with help. That's
probably one of the most valuable things I've learned.

I can barely make out the watery sun in between
breaks in the trees when I see the first scanner. I know they've
been here, but it's been too dark and shadowy to make them out. I
shy away from it at first until I realize there's no way they can
see me now. And I won't let them cow me with fear. That's happened
too much. Not anymore.

I walk right by the scanner without a second glance,
and that liberates me so much that I can finally smile. I start to
hum. Singing's no longer an option, of course, but I can hum. I
find my mind wandering back to a fire-lit night in the forest when
I was surrounded by friends, and Sam's lovely tenor drifted up into
the trees.
Amazing Grace.
I should be more careful, but I
suspect the agents and soldiers are concentrating their efforts to
the south. By myself I made more ground than they ever would have
dreamed.

I play the words to the song over and over in my head
as the music flows from my lips. It's a good song for humming, a
simple clear melody.

I have nothing but myself to listen to now, and
though I wish Jack were next to me, matching his stride to mine,
humming along with me, catching my hand as we walk, I feel free
knowing it's just me. It won't last long. When the grief really
hits—and it will, soon—I'll be crippled for a while. I know what
the price is for feeling so much.

When my stomach grumbles at me, I sit against a tree
and unzip the pack, rifling through it to see what Gaea provided me
with. She may not have been much of a mother, but the instinct is
still there. Energy bars and dehydrated food, water pouches,
first-aid supplies, an emergency blanket, clothes, extra underwear.
A toothbrush. Oh, a toothbrush. I haven't brushed my teeth in days.
I squeeze a stripe of toothpaste on and brush my teeth as I walk.
I've never brushed my teeth so long in my life. I hum through the
brushes, and some foam dribbles down my chin. I laugh, wipe it
away, and keep walking.

Northeast. My inner compass keeps me on course.

When night falls, I stow my pack up a tree and pull
the emergency blanket from the pack and wrap myself in it. It
crinkles but keeps me warm, and I lie listening to the sound of
wind tiptoeing through the tree branches. There isn't much animal
life out this time of year, and the woods are pretty quiet. The
wind's lullaby sings me to sleep.

In the morning I keep walking, and the trees start to
look familiar. There should be a creek just over that small hill.
When I find it, I break through the ice that's formed around the
slow-moving edges and fill my canteen. I'm close. I can feel
it.

An hour later, I find the cabin—the one Jack and I
found the sleeping bags in, the one with the rug that gave me Mary
and Dave's wedding ring. It's even more cold and barren than when
we stopped here, but to me it looks like home. I go inside and
rifle through the cupboards. Still all the same. There's a creak I
don't remember when I step on one of the floor boards, though, and
when I bend to examine it, I find I can lift it. Three other boards
come up with it, and inside the dark hiding hole, there's an axe, a
tin of matches, a can of oil for a lamp. Funny and providential
things to keep from sight. Now I can get firewood.

I spend the rest of the afternoon finding small trees
to cut down. It's all I can manage to hack down three of the
smallest, and I'm sweaty and exhausted by the time I'm done. I
don't want to leave the wood outside where it could get wet, so I
stack it neatly against the wall opposite the fireplace. The
fireplace smokes fiercely when I try to light the fire, and the
next two hours are filled with soot and bird nests as I clean out
the chimney. It stinks awful up there; there's so much excrement
that I don't think I'll be clean for a month. Once I get the fire
going properly, the cabin warms up in a matter of hours. I keep the
fire low—I don't want to attract too much attention with the smoke,
though with how high the evergreens tower over me, I don't know if
any wafts that high up.

I empty my pack and lay out my supplies. I have
enough for maybe three days. I'll have to figure out more food
soon. That'll be my first job tomorrow. As much as I want to lie
down and not move for a very long time, the rest of today is spent
with any available container I can find—two old buckets and a metal
bowl. There's a cast-iron pot hanging on a hook by the fireplace,
but it's too heavy for me to heft down to the water. I take them
all to the stream, fill them, and walk them all back. The stream is
far, and it takes me so long. I'll see if I can find water closer.
When I'm finally done my arms tremble, but still I keep moving,
trying to keep the grief at bay. I fill the pot next to the fire
and boil some water to rehydrate a meal pouch.

I sit in front of the fire on a moth-eaten
upholstered chair. I'm all too aware of the empty seat next to me.
I don't really taste my dinner. I sleep fitfully that night.

In the morning I search for food, and a gnawing
hunger starts in my stomach and then goes to my heart. I find a few
acorns, the surprising remains of government-issued supplies
(probably from a nomad stash), and a den of sleeping rabbits. I
don't know if rabbits hibernate, but they looked pretty sleepy when
I came upon their home, and I was able to snare two of them before
the rest dashed away.

The rabbits satisfy the hunger in my stomach, but the
hunger in my heart doesn't go away.

I sleep in the chair again and as I fall asleep, I
imagine Jack dozing off in the chair next to me. Here it comes, my
heart tells my brain. We're going to be out of commission for a
while.

The next morning, my eyes are dry and gritty when
they flutter open. I must have been crying in my sleep, and I have
no will to get myself out of the chair. Instead, through the slits
of my eyes, I watch the last of the coals burn down in the
fireplace and feel the cold creep into the cabin again. My stomach
growls.

I don't move.

By midmorning I hear a heavy thump outside. I turn my
head just enough to look out the window, squinting against the
white brightness. It snowed last night, and heavy, wet hunks of
snow fall off the roof and onto the ground. I should feel more
about the surprising beauty something so cold and deadly can
bring.

I don't move.

The next morning's brightness fills the cabin, and my
dry, swollen mouth aches for water. I manage to crawl to the pot
and ladle out a scoop. I fall asleep under the emergency
blanket.

I don't move.

The third day and finally my body wills itself to get
some food. An energy bar. It's tasteless and dry. I practically
choke it down. I lie down next to the table and don't move.

The fourth day and there are footsteps outside the
cabin door.

I move.

I drag myself up to the window sill, my fingers
clawed into the wood to keep myself propped up. There are three
people out there—two adults and a child. They're hunched over and
wrapped in so many shirts I can't tell if they're male or female.
They look cold, and they're struggling to find a way into the
cabin. The sight of people shakes me out of my stupor, and suddenly
my numb heart, numb limbs, and numb brain begin to thaw and I
stagger to the door and open it wide.

They look up. All I see are three pairs of eyes that
are so afraid that I'm afraid for them. I try to smile, and I don't
even know how scary I look. Probably very, and my smile doesn't
help. I try again, and one of the adults steps forward.

“Who're you?” A woman. Her voice is dry and scratchy,
full of distrust, but it's not hostile.

I point to my mouth and shake my head. She eyes me
for a moment with green eyes the color of spring buds. Then she
takes another step forward.

“We'd just like some place to warm up.”

I nod. I can give them that. I motion them forward
and hobble toward the fireplace. My joints are creaky and stiff,
but I manage to squat down and build the fire again.

As the cabin warms up, the three slough their layers
and I see two women—probably sisters—and a girl who looks exactly
like the younger one. A family. They stare with wide eyes at the
cabin. I've left it a mess in my days of paralysis. I avoid their
eyes as I warm up a can of beans. I still feel the hunger in my
heart, but it's an ache that will always linger, and I can work
around it now. I can't believe I let myself get that way. I still
see Jack in the chair, but he smiles at me, and though I can't yet
smile back, I don't let grief overwhelm me.

“You here alone?” the younger woman asks.

I nod.

“Where'd you come from?” the other says through a
tiny mouthful of beans. They saw how bare the cupboards are, and
they're desperately trying to eat slowly. Except the girl. She's
all angles in her skinniness, and I dish her up another spoonful
before she's even done with her first helping.

The woman lets me write on her hand.
A
camp.

Their eyes go wide. “No one gets out.”

I did. And seven others.

“
We heard from another nomad about
some activity south of here. Something big. That was you, wasn't
it?” The woman laughs, and shows her yellowed teeth. I nod. “Good
for you.”

The girl looks up from her bowl, and her eyes are
big as saucers. “Where'd the others go?”

I'm not ready to tell them the whole
truth. Not yet.
Someplace safe.

The younger woman snorts. “I'd like to see
that.”

I won't contradict her. I don't know them at
all.

I let the women sleep in the chairs, and I make a
pile of ratty blankets into a bed for the girl. I climb up to the
loft and sleep on the floor. I lace my fingers over my chest and
stare at the faint outlines of the rafters. The sound of the fire
crackling and the soft breathing of the sleepers soothes me,
untangles the knots that cinch my heart so tightly it feels like a
small, shriveled thing. It aches as those knots loosen and my heart
expands to where it was before. It feels like when your arm falls
asleep and the blood shooting back through your veins sends
pinpricks all over your skin. But it's a good feeling. It means my
heart might just survive.

In the morning we talk more. As the older woman
builds up the fire and I dig through the cupboards to make us a
meal, the women confirm that they are sisters, and the girl is the
youngest's daughter. Just like Kai, she had an unregistered
pregnancy, so the women cut out their trackers—they both have the
twisted, puckered scars—and fled their city. The woman had the girl
in the woods, with only her sister to help. I marvel at their
courage. In turn they marvel at mine when I painstakingly take the
time to spell out my story from the time I left the settlement
until now.

I put bowls of oatmeal on the table. Then I decide
it's time to tell them the truth. My heart is opening, and I need
to trust them.

“
You put your friends on a submarine
to a colony?” the older woman asks incredulously.

I warm my fingers on my mug and nod.

“
How long have you been
here?”

I'm not sure what she means, so I
write,
About five months on the Burn. Four days
here.

The girl's eyes shine as brightly as the foil
wrapper on her granola bar, and I think I know what she wants.

“
Why did you leave?” she asks,
folding her wrapper around the remains of her granola bar. She's a
meticulous little thing for someone so young. It comes from living
a life in the woods, always watching for agents and
soldiers.

To me it was a prison. Here is scary, but here I'm
free.

My answer does nothing to dim her shining eyes. It's
coming, just there on the tip of her tongue.