Possession (9 page)

I sat up, drawing my knees to my chest. My hands trembled as I laid my head in them. How did I get inside Jag’s head?

My stomach clenched. My head throbbed. I stumbled to the door and leaned against it.

I hated having people inside my mind, and that’s when I was awake and could control what they heard and saw.

What I’d done (unwillingly, but still) was so much worse.

Jag could never know.

I took a deep breath, shaking as it shuddered through my chest. I held it for a moment, before letting it out slowly and turning back toward him.

An unmarked book, bound in plain brown leather, lay on his chest. Only Jag could find time to read while on the run. I wondered how long he’d stayed up—and how he’d managed to find a book out here. I picked it up and started reading where he’d marked his place.

Technology isn’t that hard to invent. All it takes is a little imagination and a lot of money. True, money can be a
problem, but not in the Goodgrounds. They want the tech, and they’ll pay for it.

Badlanders can invent tech too, and they should try. Maybe then the good and the bad can be reunited.

Reunited? Had the Baddies and the Goodies lived together before? Why were we separated now? Who did it? I closed the book and found the author’s picture on the back cover. If his name hadn’t been printed under the photo, I never would have known it was him. A strangled cry escaped my mouth and I dropped the book on Jag’s chest. He jumped and grabbed my arm, his fingers closing over the tag.

I jerked away from him, covering my wrist where he’d gripped it. The ache in my arm matched the one in my heart. “Where’d you get that?”

He glanced around wildly for a second before realizing where he was. He looked a little guilty as he picked up the book. “I saw it poking out from under that farmer’s bed.” He studied my face. “Why?”

The answer wouldn’t form. I sat all the way up, trying to get more oxygen. The shelter had grown stiflingly hot. The walls crowded in around me, the air choked on the way down.

“Vi?” he asked, sitting up and cupping my chin in his
hands. “What’s wrong?” He used the soothing voice, the one that made my eyes heavy and the truth float to my lips.

“That’s my dad,” I said, finally getting the words out.

He examined the picture. “Lyle Schoenfeld.” He looked up. “What’s the problem?”

I shook my head, the mass in my throat choking me. I held the tears back as long as I could. But there were just too many, pushing, fighting their way out. I turned away from Jag before closing my eyes and letting them fall.

Jag had told me a bit about his family and life in the Badlands. He answered every question I asked and some I didn’t.

I, on the other hand, had flat out refused to reveal anything about my missing father, my dead sister, or my cruel mother. And now I’d fallen apart over a book. Just great.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Jag grasped my shoulders and twisted me back around. I slumped into his chest, sobbing. He held me, just like Zenn used to when the world stopped spinning and I needed someone to tell me that life would go on.

“Vi,” Jag said when I finally stopped shaking. “Where is he?”

I pushed away from him, angrily wiping the tears that wouldn’t stop. “I don’t know.”

Jag frowned. He opened the book and scanned the front page. “Well, this was published last year. He has to be alive.”

“He’s an inventor—my mom told me he went to the Badlands to search for a piece of tech. I’d always thought . . . well—” I couldn’t tell him my theory about the Baddies abducting him. Because I didn’t believe that anymore. “I think the Greenies must have taken him or something. I mean, that picture doesn’t look like him at all, yet this was published recently.”

Jag cleared his throat.

“Tell me,” I said, brushing away the last of my tears.

“The Badlands published this book.”

I stood up and paced toward the door. I needed time to think, to reason through what this meant. My first thought was to message Zenn. He always knew what to say when I had family issues.

“This makes no sense,” I said. “If he’s in the Badlands, why—why?”

“Maybe he didn’t want to come back,” Jag said.

I blinked, his words slicing into my heart. “If your precious Badlands are so much better, why wouldn’t he take us too?”

“Maybe They wouldn’t let him.”

“But
why
? They wouldn’t want him to invent tech for the Badlands.”

“Maybe he’s hiding.”

“Yeah, and maybe you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. My dad loves me.” I glared at him, daring him to say something else that started with “maybe.”

His face hardened as he clenched his jaw. He shrugged before lying down, flipping the book open and finding his place. I didn’t want to fight with him—I needed him to survive in the Badlands and find my way to Seaside.

I also needed air that wasn’t filled with Jag and his maybes
that morphed into facts. Without speaking, I left the shack and turned away from the street. Behind the building, away from prying eyes, I composed an e-comm to Zenn.

I miss you. I miss you so much my lungs have forgotten how to breathe. I can’t tell you much, other than I’m alive and I just found out my dad is too. Or at least he was last year. This guy I’m traveling with thinks my dad left the Goodgrounds for the Badlands and lives there now. But why, Zenn? Why would he do that? Why would he leave me behind?

I erased it as soon as I finished it, knowing I couldn’t message Zenn. Not only would it make him look bad, it could be traced to my location. But how I longed to hear his voice again, even if it was only in my mind.

And so I imagined what he would say in response.
Vi, I miss you like crazy. I’m glad you messaged, but you worry too much, beautiful. I’m sure your dad would come get you if he could. I dunno about the Badlands, I’ll look into it . . .

The fake conversation only served to remind me how much I’d lost, so I cut it off and took a deep breath to rid my head of the lingering fantasy. My head ached along the cut, and I felt like I could easily sleep forever. Once I returned to the shack, I dabbed some more ointment on my cut.

“Jag?”

He lowered the book, his beautiful eyes guarded.

I held up the tube. “You want me to do your cut?” That’s Vi-talk for “I’m sorry.” Good thing Jag understands me. He put the book down and sat up.

I spread the greasy cream onto his wound. He watched me the whole time, like he was trying to get inside my head. Surprisingly, I didn’t find it irritating.

“Thanks,” he said when I finished.

I picked up the discarded book and studied the picture of my dad. He had wrinkles around his eyes I didn’t remember. His hair had grown as long as my mother’s and a scraggly beard covered his face. He didn’t look like my dad at all. Jag gently took the book from me. “We’ll find him, babe. If he’s in the Badlands, we’ll find him.”

My mind stalled on the word “babe,” but I refused to let the heat rise in my cheeks. I leaned back into his body, and he wrapped his arms around me. He smelled like strength and comfort.

“Did I ever tell you about my parents?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

An image of his father blipped in my head. I couldn’t tell him I’d somehow invaded his dreams. “Not much.”

“They were killed by Goodie raiders. I was five.” His
voice remained flat as he told me. Jag had gone shopping with his parents. In the square, Goodie raiders were scanning everyone. His parents matched what the Goodies were looking for that day.

“I should have stayed home with my brother Pace, but I convinced my parents to take me,” Jag said, his voice turning hollow, frail. “My oldest brother, Blaze, was mad; he wanted to go shopping with my parents alone. When the raiders arrested them, I went wild. I shouted things, bad things. My dad broke away from the raiders and grabbed me by the shoulders. I’ll never forget his eyes. Panicked and stern at the same time. He said, ‘Don’t let Them control you, son. You have no duty to Them.’ Then he was yanked away, his hand stretched toward me still. He shouted, ‘I love you! Stay true! Be yourself!’ And then I watched him die.”

I didn’t know what to say to erase the hurt in his eyes or make his voice sound normal. So I said, “I’m sorry,” and hoped that’s what you say when someone tells you they watched their parents die. It didn’t seem like enough, but I didn’t have anything else.

Especially since I’d already seen this—in Jag’s dream.

*   *   *

That night we went as far west in the Fire Region as we could to keep the signature of my tag concealed.

The part of me that belonged to Zenn died when we crossed into the City of Water, leaving behind a hole even wider than the one that had opened when he left the first time. Because now I was leaving him. And this time felt permanent.

Hovercopters circled above the Centrals as well as the City of Water, their spotlights sending a shiver of fear over my skin.

“Coming west was a good idea,” Jag said as he knelt next to a stream.

“Yeah, no tech out here.” I peered into the dense forest, hoping there weren’t any wild animals either. Or rangers. Or search parties on foot.

He filled our bottles and dumped in the protein packets. He handed me one, and while I guzzled, he cupped his hands and drank from the stream, dripping water down the front of his shirt. He stood and ran his hands through his hair. I tried to focus on something besides how sexy he looked wet. My thoughts landed on the permanent jewelry in my left wrist. If the hovercopters dipped too close, nothing would mask my tag from the readers. And then Jag would know.

Wet and cold—again—I hacked my way through the wild forest, shielded from the rising sun by the taller trees. They weren’t the ancients I’d read about in school, towering hundreds of feet, but stood tall enough to cast shadows and provide cover from the occasional hovercopter.

When the sun crested the horizon, Jag found an outcropping of rock, and we crawled underneath to sleep the day away. I let him hold me, telling myself it was for warmth. Yeah, I can lie to myself too.

Listening to Jag’s steady breathing, I composed another e-comm to Zenn.

I’m leaving, Zenn. I’m going somewhere safe, where I can be free. If you can, come join me. We can swim and watch the sun set into the waves. I only have to make it past one more checkpoint, and then the tag won’t matter. I love you.

Before I could start to cry, I deleted the message. Only the walk through this forest and the Northwest guard station separated me from the Badlands. Jag said our government monitored his homeland, but surely it’d be easier to hide there. Surely They’d be happy just to be rid of me.

That evening we drew closer to the Badlands, and Jag’s enthusiasm seeped into me. I thought of my dad and what it would be like when I saw him again. Of course the sun would be shining, a golden backdrop for our reunion. He’d smile, his eyes crinkling the way they always did. Then he’d hug me the way he used to before I went to bed at night. He’d ask me
about school. I’d tell him everything. How much I’d learned. How Ty had been chosen as a water ranger. How Zenn and I had been matched. Dad would listen like I was the only person who mattered, just like he always had.

And I grew excited. For the first time, leaving the Goodgrounds felt right. With these happy thoughts came hatred. Toward those who’d stolen my dad from me. Toward those who’d taken Ty. Toward that guy Thane, who’d tried to control me. I tried to push away the debilitating feelings and focus on my dad again, but I couldn’t.

At least I hadn’t heard any voices for a couple of days. I imagined what life would be like without rules, without a taunting voice inside my head, without scanners and readers in every doorway. The Badlands sounded better and better with every step I took.

“Tell me about your city,” Jag said as we walked under the cover of trees the third night. “I feel bad we’re not going through it. You could have shown me where you lived.”

“You don’t want to see it. It’s wicked lame.”

He chuckled and slid his arm around my waist. He’d been doing that a lot lately. I pressed my shoulder into his, glad he couldn’t see my face through the filtered moonlight.

“Sorry I’m so cranky about it,” I said. “I hated living there.
I got into a lot of trouble and broke a lot of rules trying to escape my life.”

He inhaled the scent of my hair. “Mmm,” he whispered. “Sorry you don’t like your life.”

“Didn’t,” I corrected. “I like it fine now.” My step faltered. Had I really just said that out loud? And was it true?

He stopped walking. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Shut up. I’m nice to you.” Feeling brave, I put my hands on his chest. He held my gaze as he slipped his hands under the backpack I wore and around my waist.

“I don’t know what it is. You’re . . .” I couldn’t think of the right word that wouldn’t reveal my longing. “Different.”

He dropped his hands and pushed past me, his eyes reflecting a glimmer of moonlight.

“Are you mad?” I asked.

He didn’t respond.

“Jag?” I trotted to keep up with him. “What did I say?”

“I get it now,” he said, his voice harsh. “You only like me because I’m bad—”

“That’s not true.”

“—and I’m a new adventure for you,” he continued, ignoring my protest. “But guess what? I’m not a pet. I’m not a sideshow. I’m not just your next rule-breaking expedition,
Violet
.”

He slapped me with the use of my full name, and I stopped walking. He stomped off through the trees, leaving me in pitch blackness.

Alone.

Did I mention it was dark?

On my fifteenth birthday, my mother plunked a plate of steamed cabbage in front of me. “Only one more year.”

I guess that meant “Happy birthday,” in cruel-mother-talk, but I didn’t understand it. So I wolfed down the “meal” and escaped to Zenn’s.

He gave me a watch. Not a piece of tech with alarms and cameras and voice recorders, but just a watch that I could wind when I needed to. He’d found it in the Abandoned Area and fixed it up. The arms were shaped like arrows and pointed to numerals plated in gold. It only told time, but his gift meant more to me than any expensive tech-thing. I must have started crying, because he wiped my cheeks and slid his hands up my sleeves and over my bare arms.