The Letting (13 page)

“We drive straight up to a large white building with a vast covered entrance, and we’re greeted by people in white suits. No one talks much. They just walk us over to the Prep Station where they do a quick finger prick to check for type and toxicity. I’ll never pass that.”

Phoenix nods again.

“Then they’ll take us into the building that has sliding front doors. There will be a lot of hustle and bustle, and people rushing in every direction. Some of the people wear masks on their faces. Most of the girls are terrified when they get there. Coming from the peacefulness of camp, it seems like chaos.”

He is watching me now, hanging on my every word.

“After that,” I shrug, “I’m afraid I’m no help.”

“Why not?”

“They never let me into the building. I just go as far as drop off.”

Phoenix nods once again, and then he squats down, his gun slung casually over his shoulder. He picks up a small twig that was lying on the beach and begins to make marks in the sand. The twig is too delicate for his needs, but he is patient and gentle with it, and he is able to coax the twig to go in the direction he wants. Silently I watch him, staring at his markings, trying to decipher the map or plan he is creating. It is not until he makes the long flowing strokes I see the outline of the hair.

I step back to get the full perspective, and that’s when I realize the picture he has drawn on the sand is of me. And it is stunning. Without ever looking up at me, he has created an amazing likeness. All from memory. How could he know my face so well? Raven squats down next to him and reaches into the sand with her finger. She adds the hollows I have under my cheekbones. Then she dusts her hands off and looks over at Phoenix. The two of them smile at each other before they stand up.

Phoenix stares down at the ground, looking at the picture. “Here is the face that started a revolution,” he says, solemnly. He looks over at me then back down to his drawing. “I sincerely hope it is the face that can finish it, too.”

Chapter Ten

I hate being alone in my cabin tonight, the night before a Letting. My Letting. Tomorrow is my first Letting, and I have no one to count on. No one to trust. If Gretchen is right, and they decide they can clean my blood, and they actually Let me, who will help me recuperate? Sometimes the girls are given a few days to recoup in the Infirmary at the Letting site, other times they are shipped back to me the next day or even that night.

I have spent many days and nights hand-feeding exhausted little girls who were too tired to lift their heads from their pillows. What if that happens to me? I steel myself against the thought. If they drain me and leave me for dead, I will have to rally. There is no choice. Because even if I’ve decided my life is unimportant, I am now fighting for something much greater: the revolution and the safety of Lulu, Raven, Violet, Lilly, and any of the little girls who come along after them.

I roll over in my bed and stare at Gretchen’s empty cot. The silence in our room makes me miss her terribly. My minds reels with all of the times she and I had stayed awake well past taps, giggling, and talking about our plans once we were free to go to the New World. She never seemed to have as many desires as I did. I wanted to walk up and down streets in bustling towns, peering into shop windows, saying “hello” to complete strangers as we pass. Most of all, I wanted to be with my mother. To be held by her while she told me stories of her wonderful life in the New World and all the exciting things she’s planned for us to do together.

When we were little Gretchen would giggle along with me. She talked about the candy that grew on trees, and she talked about these small, maybe mythical, creatures people would keep in their houses as pets. Some minute fluffy versions of the wolves that patrol these woods or the wild dogs the rebels capture and train to kill. But as we grew older, my desires never varied, although Gretchen culled hers down to one single word: freedom. She wanted the freedom to live her life as she wanted. I guess, lying here now, I see how obvious it should have been. How she had left me all those years ago, but I never bothered to notice.

The thought sickens me, and I stand, fighting to keep down my dinner of liver and spinach. I peer out the window of my cabin, although there’s no reason to believe Margaret will come in here to check up on Gretchen and Lulu. She’s terrified that the illness I’ve claimed they have is contagious.

Standing here, in the thick silence of the hot summer night, I see something. I can’t quite make out what it is, but there are lights, far in the distance. I watch, transfixed, and see that the lights bounce in time with the rhythm of the road. Closer and closer, they come at an unprecedented speed, and there is no mistaking what I see are four sets of headlights, making their way directly toward me.

My heart races as I walk in circles around my cabin, wondering what to do. My breathing is hurried and forced. Have they found out what I’ve done? Are they coming for me because I’ve released Lulu? Have they discovered I’m a traitor? Did Gunnar tell them? Gretchen? Or worse…was it him?

It couldn’t be him.

I think of his tall, muscled body standing next to mine. I think of his bright blue eyes and his tousled hair. I think of how my eyes drink him in whenever he is near, and how my body is willingly engulfed by his scent. I think of how protected I feel around him. It couldn’t be Pheonix who sold me out. And that thought matters way more than it should. Somehow, while I watch the trucks gaining on me, I feel inexplicably and inappropriately relaxed.

I think, maybe I should run. But where would I go?

I know nothing but this camp. It’s all I’ve ever known. And what would that do to my girls? Just the thought of them makes my stomach ache. I need to get to the girls before these trucks get to me. But I’m too late.

I peer out the window again and I see four army green, covered vehicles parked crisscrossed in the middle of the camp grounds. Suddenly, I hear the screech of a siren and the echo of a bullhorn.

“Veronica Billings,” the voice bellows through the bullhorn. “Veronica Billings, please report to the camp office immediately.”

There is no point in prolonging the inevitable. Despite the heat, I pull on a sweater, thinking there may be a time I’ll need it. I walk to my cabin door and push it open with one hand. My other hand remains clenched in a fist, tightly by my side.

Steadily, I walk out into light that is brighter than high noon. The vehicles headlights are shining directly into the cabins. Most of the girls are awake and have wandered out to see what the commotion is.

I walk forward, my arms raised, my hands shielding my eyes from the light and the situation.

“There she is,” someone yells, pointing at me. There are people dressed in plain cotton brown pants and shirts all around me. I recognize them immediately, and judging from the way the girls are huddled together, they do as well. The brown suits can only mean one thing: Harvesters. But why would the Harvesters want me?

“I’m Veronica Billings,” I announce, stepping forward. People begin to surround me. There are words and phrases said in random order, and I find it difficult to follow them.

“At least she’s tall,” one says. “A lot to give.”

“Isn’t her blood toxic?” asks another.

“We should warn the Lettors when they administer the test,” adds yet another, and they go on and on with this incessant random talking. Best I can make out, they haven’t come because they’ve found out I’m a traitor to my government, they have come to Let me early.

I find myself being led toward the back of an opened vehicle. Someone stands to the side and opens a canvas flap on the back of the truck. I think someone motions for me to step up into the vehicle but I can’t be sure. Another someone uses too much force to nudge me on the shoulder, and I stumble forward.

Several of the girls gasp.

“Stop that,” commands a voice I recognize. My head snaps in his direction, and I see Phoenix dressed in the same brown uniform as the others. He looks at me briefly and then away immediately, as if he has no idea who I am. As if we have no history. As if he never stroked my cheek so very gently.

My thoughts get away from me. Is this boy I fell for not a revolutionary at all, but rather a Harvester? Does he work for the corrupt government he claims he’s fighting against? Have I delivered not one, but two little girls, directly into his care only for them to be destroyed prematurely? It can’t be. Not him. My knees buckle beneath me.

“Be careful with her,” Phoenix tells the others. “This is Veronica Billings. One of the only remaining O’s, and the personal donor for Principal Leader Farnsworth.”

Some mumbling ensues.

“And if that’s not enough…” Phoenix adds. The other Harvesters’ attention is rapt, hinging on his every word. “And if that’s not enough,” he repeats for emphasis, “this is the girl who has delivered more young girls to the Lettings than any other person in history. She is a highly decorated government employee.”

His words work their magic because suddenly everyone is much more respectful and courteous.

“That’s better.” Phoenix puts out his hand to lead me into the back of the waiting vehicle. He makes eye contact only for a moment but instead of sending a thrill through me, his look breaks my heart. Because those words he has just spoken to force the others to give me respect, are the exact same words that cause him to hate me.

I step inside. It’s hot and musty, and I’m somewhat glad we’re making the trip at night. It would be unbearable during the heat of the day.

The truck is mostly empty. I see only some bench seating, a couple of closed storage boxes, and an impenetrable steel wall separating me and the driver. My eyes dart to the canvas flap at the back of the truck, and I can’t help but wonder if Phoenix will be riding with me. Of course, he won’t. What a ridiculous thing to imagine. Why would he? And much more importantly, why is he here? I sit down on one of the hard benches lining the wall and wait. I wait for my girls and for some guidance, but the waiting is brutal.

Finally, the back flap opens again and Phoenix climbs in. He sits on one of the hard benches opposite me. The breeze he makes as he walks by feels magical against my burning skin. I feel my eyes widen with anticipation, and I can’t help but stare at him. Even in the ugly brown uniform of the Harvesters, he still looks enticing.

Phoenix leans forward until he rests his forearms on his legs. His fingers intertwine, and he places his head against them. He looks exhausted. Whole minutes go by like this, until I can take no more.

“Where are the girls?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Coming now, I think.”

I nod, suddenly feeling pressed for time.

“Are you a Harvester?” I ask. There is no time for tact.

“What?” He looks up at me.

“Your uniform.” I nod to his clothing.

“Well they weren’t going to let me on board in camouflage, carrying a shotgun.” For a moment, he smiles, and I feel myself smile too. “Really?” he asks, after a few seconds. He stares at me. “You could believe I’m a Harvester?”

“You fit in. No one questioned you. You’re here even though this is a surprise pick-up.” He nods.

“They change the Harvesters often. And I know when the pick-ups happen because of my spies on the inside.”

“Spies?” I ask, amazed.

“Well, spy.” He looks down and shuffles his feet. “One of my team infiltrated the compound and reports back to me. It’s the best I’ve got.”

“It’s something.” I try to sound encouraging despite the odds stacked against him. “So why did they send Harvesters tonight?”

“Don’t know. Maybe because the Harvesters are used to working round the clock,” he’s thinking out loud. “And there’s something so cold about them…”

“Yes,” I agree. The slightest chill runs through my body at the thought of the Harvesters. I am suddenly ten years old again, watching crying girls being pulled from their mothers’ arms. “They are cold enough not to be swayed from doing their jobs, and trusted to deliver the last batches of O’s.”

“Probably.” Phoenix looks up at me.

“And I guess I’m being harvested again.” I shudder, and he gives me a small smile.

“What’s the plan?” I ask, changing the subject. “I mean our plan.”

Phoenix just looks away. “Phoenix?” I ask again, much more softly. But his lack of response tells me all I need to know.

He’s not going forward with me, and he never planned to. Not even when he told Gunnar and Buzzcut the revolution would include me. All he needs from me is a way in. That’s as far as my contribution goes. This last act of chivalry he showed outside the truck was not because he cared about me. It was a peace-offering. It was the most he could do. He is making sure I am shown some respect before I am disposed of. Despite the heat, chills begin to run through my body, and I can’t stop shaking.

“When was the last time you slept?” he asks me.

“I have no idea.” He walks to a small chest in the back of the truck and pulls out a blanket. I recognize the plain brown blanket. It’s the same as the blankets that are often wrapped around the girls when they are returned to me. He tosses the blanket to me. It lands in my lap, heavily. The material scratches my hands as I wrap it around me. I am itchy and uncomfortable, but I’d put up with anything to get rid of these chills.

“You should sleep,” he urges, and I agree.

“The girls. I’ll sleep when they come.” He nods and looks away, and then he looks back at me, intensely.

“You really do love them, don’t you?”

“Yes.” I could go into an explanation about how they are my family. And how we share a bond. And how I love to watch them learn and grow. But I don’t need to say any of that. He already understands it all. So instead, I return his stare. I feel my cheeks flush but I refuse to turn away.

He stands and walks over to me. He sits next to me, and between us he leaves barely enough room to breathe. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m unable to draw a breath, and I wouldn’t want to break the purity of the moment by breathing. I sit, my body tense, my chills replaced with warmth that radiates throughout my body. I toss the blanket off, and he reaches behind me to help me pull the blanket back, away from me. He leaves his arm there, behind me. It feels so good I close my eyes, trying to remember this feeling, this moment, forever. His arm draws nearer to my waist, and he raises his hand to my back. He lets it slide gracefully up to my shoulder. His hand lingers on my shoulder, and he caresses it gently. He leans into me, and I feel his warmth surrounding me. I feel the energy emitting from his body and mine, simultaneously. I am certain there is an electrical current running back and forth between us, charging both of our bodies. He turns to me and places his free hand under my chin, gently guiding it upward. I look up at him, his eyes staring deeply into mine.