The Letting (25 page)

“Your cabin is nice.” I look over the tiny folding table where he opened my dinner. Next to it is a chair with a pile of books stacked beside it. He looks at the chair too but seems unable to sit down. His nerves have him frazzled.

“Thanks,” he laughs. “I’m sure it’s not anything compared to his place.” I look at Phoenix, confused. There is something in the way he says it.

“Are you jealous?” I ask.

“What?”

“Jealous? That I’ve been to his house?”

“Honestly, yes. I don’t know why. But something about it irks me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I was forced to go.”

“No.” He looks down at the ground and then back to me. “No, that doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m sorry for the irrational feelings.”

“They’re feelings.” I shrug. “I don’t think they’re ever really known for being rational.” He smiles at me.

“Ron…” He moves closer to me. I can tell something is on his mind. “I have to tell you—”

“What?” I fluff his makeshift pillow and lean back on his cot. I simply cannot keep my head up any more. In this position, I can see papers stuck to the wall hanging over my head. “Hey, what are these?” I ask, trying to sit up to get a better look. Maybe they are his plans for the revolution.

“Ron, wait—” But it’s too late. Hanging over my head are at least a dozen, if not more, sketches of me. They are all portraits, showing my face and my hair flowing down my back.

“These are—”

“Please don’t be freaked out,” he begs.

“Freaked out? These are gorgeous,” I exclaim, running my hand over one of the pictures. Some have been drawn in pencil, others chalk or charcoal. Each one focuses on my eyes, only half-opened compared to his, but they are bright and intelligent. “This is how you see me?” He only nods. “I-I don’t know what to say. I am so incredibly flattered.” It dawns on me. “So this is how you drew me so effortlessly that day at the lake. That’s how you did it without ever looking up at me. You’ve memorized my face, down to every detail.”

“Yes.” He looks down at his feet, guiltily.

“What?” I ask.

“I wish I could say these were all drawn out of friendship and respect…” I hear the unhappiness in his voice. “But unfortunately, most of these were drawn when I was still hunting you.”

I look at him, smiling.

“Look at them,” I say. “Look at the detail. Look at the way you drew my eyes. These were drawn out of friendship.” I slip my hand in his. “You just didn’t know it yet.”

He smiles at me, warmly, but there is still something in those gorgeous eyes.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I did tell you the truth before,” he explains, his eyes steady on mine. “I just didn’t tell you all of it.”

“What? What are you talking about?” I whisper, fear beginning to overtake me.

“The girls. Your girls. Like I said, most of them are at camp.” He runs his hand up through his hair.

“Yes,” I nod. “With Margaret and Gretchen.”

“Yes.” Then I realize what this means.

“Most of them?” I ask, working it out. “You said most of them. Who isn’t at camp?” I panic. “Phoenix? It’s the O’s isn’t it?”

He nods.

“Why didn’t you tell me immediately? Why?” I ask, raising my voice.

“Because you were in no position to do anything.” He raises his voice to match mine. “Look at you. You can barely keep your head up. Between the mushroom poisoning and God knows how much blood you’ve lost, after just having been Let a few days ago…Ron, even you have a breaking point.”

“But they’re my girls,” I shout. “And one of them is your sister. How can you just stand by—”

“I’m not just standing by,” Phoenix yells. “Okay? I know how much you love those girls, Ron, I know it. But I also know saving them has become an obsession for you. You cannot gain absolution by saving those three girls.”

“How dare you?” I try to stand up and fall back down. My head pounds, and I know I have to rest. “How dare you? You think the only reason I want to save them is so I can forgive myself?”

“Of course not.” He draws in a breath and sighs it out. “But I think you can’t forgive yourself unless you save them. And that’s not right, Ron. You have to know you did what you did based on the information you had. As horrible as the situation was, Ron, you didn’t do anything wrong. But I can’t tell you that, you need to know it. In here.” He points to his own heart. I sit quietly, staring at him. “And as far as helping the girls, of course I want to save them. But I also want to save you.”

“They’re children,” I share, my voice wavering.

“You’re not much older yourself,” he banters.

“Nonsense.” I shake my head.

“I thought of going after them. But you would have died. And Farnsworth’s troops certainly would have killed me if they caught me. Which they would have. And if, by some miracle they didn’t find me, Gunnar would have. Then, I would have let you die, so I could die, and no one would be there to protect those girls. Farnsworth will Let them, yes. But Gunnar, God knows what Gunnar would do to them. Who he’d sell them off to on the black market.”

“I get it,” I say, holding up my hand to stop the horrible images in my brain.

“I kept you alive for selfish reasons, yes. But also for practical ones. Now we have the two of us to go find those girls and bring them to safety.”

“Yes. I’m…sorry. It’s just, I would do anything for them.”

“I know that.” He sits next to me.

“What are the selfish reasons?” I ask.

“What?”

“The selfish reasons you kept me alive.”

“Not reasons, just reason.”

“Which was?”

“Me. And that I don’t want to be without you.”

“Ever?”

“Ever.” He slowly lets his arm climb up to my shoulder, and then coaxes my shoulder around so I face him, and softly he leans down and kisses me on the lips. Considering everything, his kiss should do little more than warm me and make me feel protected, instead, it fires electrical currents through my body, and I want more, more…more. I kiss him back, less gently than he kissed me, and his mouth returns my kiss, hungrily. His lips part mine, and I nearly climb up him as I experience the feeling of our two beings intertwine. We are locked now, arms around each other, devouring each other like it was our last moment on earth. And who knows, in our crazy world, it just might be.

He pulls me off him, though I can tell he doesn’t want to. I feel like a hungry, wild animal, panting, desperately wanting more of my prey. We each take a moment to catch our breath.

“I uh,” he says. “We…we need to be…Oh damn.” He chuckles, and leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. He runs his hand through his gorgeous dark hair.

“I need a minute,” he mumbles, dragging his hand across his face. For some reason, knocking Phoenix off his feet makes me smile. He sees me. “Think it’s funny, huh?”

“Little bit.”

“Brat.” Then his face grows much more serious. “We need to get you better,” he states. “Not tire you out.”

“I’m not tired at all, anymore.” I watch his mouth as he speaks. He has a slight beard growing again. “How do you keep that under control?” I ask.

“What?” He narrows his eyes at me, and tilts his head sideways. I feel myself blush five shades of red.

“Your beard,” I whisper, aching from embarrassment. I may be naïve, but I know about boys and girls. I also know under law, this kiss was forbidden.

“Oh…” he laughs. “I shave with my switchblade.” He reaches down into a pocket in his cargo pants and pulls out a knife. He pops it open. “If we’re going to kiss like that”—he closes the knife and slides it back into his pocket—“you must have some questions. Some things you want to know about me. But do you think you can eat some more while we talk? We’ve got to build you up as soon as possible.”

“There’s more?” I ask, my eyes wide. “I don’t want to eat all your food,” I protest.

“You won’t.” He takes a can out of the cupboard and holds it out to show me. “Not nearly as good, but probably really good for you.” I read the label. “Creamed Spinach.”

“Okay. Thanks.” He opens the can and sticks a fork into it.

“I thought you might want to use a fork for this one.” He smiles.

“Yup.” I feel myself blush again. He hands me the can and sits back down next to me.

“So? Shoot. What do you want to know?” I shove in a bite of creamed spinach and it tastes divine.

“This is really good,” I mumble with my mouth full. “Want some?” He shakes his head.

“All yours. So? Questions?”

“Just one,” I say in between bites. “How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Eighteen?” I repeat, utterly stunned. The can of spinach slips from my grasp, but I catch it before it hits the ground.

“Good catch.”

“But how can you be eighteen?” I ask.

“The same way you’re seventeen, I guess. Neither of us has really had a chance to be a kid.”

“No,” I agree. “We haven’t.” I stab the fork into the can of spinach and twirl it absentmindedly. “That’s why we have to get to those girls. They need a chance to be kids, not just hostages kept by that leech, Farnsworth.”

“Yes,” he agrees.

“And I guess, one more question. Do you have another name? I mean your sister is Raven, so I guess your mother named you Phoenix?”

“Yes.” He narrows his eyes and looks away. “She had high hopes for me. People say a Phoenix will rise from the ashes to be reborn. He is a symbol of renewal, and, unfortunately, the exceptional man.”

“Why unfortunately?”

“Because I’m not an exceptional man. And it’s a heavy burden to carry.”

“I’m sure it is. But I believe you’re exceptional.”

“That’s nice of you to say, but…passion can cloud one’s vision.”

“Maybe so, but I thought you were special long before you ever kissed me. Only an exceptional man can try to lead a peaceful revolution. Only a special person could have seen past my façade to see who I was underneath. Only someone who is truly extraordinary would care about changing the world, not just for himself, but for everyone in it.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs, looking deeply into my eyes.

“I can see all of this,” I continue, “and I’m not very bright. Imagine what someone who—”

“Ron, why do you say that? Why do you always say you’re not smart? On the contrary, I think you are one of the brightest people I know.”

“Then you couldn’t know too many.” I look off.

“No. Enough.” His words are clear and direct. “Why do you think you’re not smart?” I look at him, feeling the pain in my eyes.

“Well, for one thing”—there is a dull ache in my throat—“I never knew what I was doing for all those years. What I was doing to those little girls.” The tears spring to my eyes.

“How could you know?” He takes my hand and holds it. His grasp is gentle but firm, and I relax with his touch.

“For another, I was never educated past the fifth grade.”

“Really?” he asks, looking at me. “I never would have known. Your vocabulary is very good.”

“Sometimes. I pick up words wherever and whenever I can.”

“Only someone very intelligent would care enough to do that.”

“I wish that were true,” I mumble. “What I wanted more than anything, what I thought was happening, was that all of these girls I sent to the New World were going to get an education. I wanted that for them, and I wanted it for me. But now…”

“I know,” he says, gently. After a moment, he speaks. “It’s just Phoenix. No last name.”

“None?”

“If I had one, my mother never shared it with me. I was arranged through a Coupling. Of course I was a boy, so my blood was considered no good, and I was sent off to work in a factory as soon as I was able.”

“And then you became a Harvester.”

“Yes.” He stands and walks away from me. He turns back, his eyes rimmed with tears. “All of those girls you led to the Lettings,” he shakes his head, “so many of them were my finds.” I nod, understanding the anguish he feels. After a few moments, I speak.

“Day.”

He looks at me. “What’s ‘Day’?”

“You. Your last name. If I were to give you one, it would be Day.”

“Phoenix Day. I like that,” he decides. “Any reason?”

“Who we were and who we’ve become…it’s night and day.”

“Yes.” He smiles at me, agreeing completely.

Chapter Twenty

Phoenix and I have walked for at least fifteen miles. Somewhere, up ahead, he knows of another rebel camp where they have two-wheeled vehicles, Phoenix calls “motorbikes.” He has friends at the camp, and he’s certain they’ll lend us a bike. I sincerely hope he’s right because there is no part of me that could go on even one mile more. We have been walking for hours now, both of us knowing I don’t really have the strength to do this. Phoenix begged me to wait just one day, to sleep and gain my strength.

“Do you know me at all?” I asked him. “I’ve rested long enough. My girls need me and every second we sit here, Gunnar is gaining on the Inferno.”

Quickly, Phoenix stuffed two packs with water and rations to get us as far as we can. I know I’m not strong enough, but I’m going to attempt it anyway. My girls are somewhere locked up in Farnsworth’s Letting facility, and I am not going to let them spend one minute longer there than they have to.

“You all right?” Phoenix asks me, and I nod. It’s become a thing we do, every two miles or so. He asks the absurd question, and I nod to prove I’m still alive.

“You wouldn’t stop even if you were dead,” he mumbles, and I snicker. Something has to lighten the mood. The heat is muggy and oppressive, and we’ve left at that perfect time of day when the insects are all out, looking to ruin some unsuspecting human’s day. At least the mosquitoes are leaving me alone, but they are having a field day on poor Phoenix’s bare arms and neck.

Suddenly, I feel a drop of water on my face that is colder than normal. It’s not sweat.

“Rain,” I say, looking up at the sky, alarmed. The rain will help keep us cool, but it will make traveling that much more difficult. The worst part is it could also mean a storm. And that’s something I don’t even want to imagine right now.

“I don’t think it’s that much farther ahead.” He tries to sound convincing, but I can tell he’s not really sure where we are. I hear the uncertainty in his voice. He looks up every now and again to check our position by the placement of the sun, and each time I agree with his coordinates. That’s the good news. The bad news is the sun is now covered by dark, ominous clouds, and we are walking in the deep woods without any sign of shelter. The rain starts coming down steadily, and I pull my jacket up over my head. Not too far ahead, we both see a bolt of lightning strike one of the mountains. I count silently to check how far away the storm is, and I start when I only get to four seconds. “You okay?” he asks.