Whispers in Autumn (8 page)

“Yeah…” I turn to Lucas, search his face for the answers he seems determined not to give me. I’m trapped between the hope that maybe I’ve found more people like me and the threat of exposing my true self at the worst possible moment.

I’m under attack.

From the Wardens and their observance. From Lucas and his friendly, albeit pushy, manner. Now from Deshi, who has my eyes and smells like spring but makes me want to run and hide with his too-friendly, offhand questions.

“Lucas, why were you hiding in the basement Sunday instead of at the Gathering?”

“I wasn’t hiding. I was just checking on Fils.”

“Oh.”

Lucas looks at me, eyes full of his own questions, but I shrug. My gut tells me he
was
hiding down there, but I can’t prove it. Without more to go on, there’s no advantage to giving him more ammunition. I don’t trust him, or Deshi.

“Did you know everyone thinks we’re courting?”

The random question startles me, traps words in my throat. Our showing up together after the Gathering and then Lucas joining me at lunch today would raise anyone’s eyebrows. I grind my teeth together. This is Lucas’s fault, and the added stress infuriates me. “So?”

“So I think we should go to the Autumn Mixer together. Everyone will think it’s weird if we don’t.”

Helpless irritation numbs my brain as I search for an answer. I’m going to the mixer, of course. We all are. There are two during the last year of the preparatory phase. The Autumn Mixer will be to the bowling alley. In the spring, a pizza date. “Why do you care what people think?”

He looks away, staring out into the Wilds instead of at me. “I don’t really. The Wardens are looking for something, though. I don’t want them to decide I’m worth watching. After last weekend, I guess I assumed you felt the same way.”

He’s right, but either way will earn us more attention. Voluntary Partnering isn’t common; it will make us a focal point. Then again, not going together when we’re expected to could be even worse. Once people choose Partners they never change their minds.

Our eyes meet and I nod. He smiles, the one I’ve come to recognize as genuine. A strange but pleasant tickle flushes me with heat. It’s probably normal to feel excitement over having a date to the mixer, no matter who he is or why he asks.

After all, trusting him and using him to blend in are two different things.

“I guess I’d better get to the…get home. It’s almost curfew. See you tomorrow.”

I turn my back on him and retrace our steps along the boundary, heading back toward the park entrance alone. On Main Street, a few of my Cellmates appear and we march home together.

Lucas, and now Deshi, complicates my life almost more than the Wardens. Until last week, each day pretty much went like the next. Sure, I wasn’t happy. I never fit in and knew inside I would never be like everyone else. Now, though, the blaring changes make my nerves jangle, each one twanging in variance with the next. Sparring with Lucas adds clanging alarms to the din; the knowledge of whether they are meant to be beacons or warnings eludes me. I’ve got to put space between us, stop sneaking around and play by the rules. Ko’s rules.
My
rules.

Lucas hollers my name once, but I ignore him.

For today, that is my decision.

CHAPTER 8.

I almost get used to Deshi and Lucas hovering around the edges of my life over the next couple of days, and the Wardens popping in and out of every block.

Almost.

The Terms who aren’t me adjust to the Wardens’ presence faster than they do Deshi’s. It’s not that he’s a Barbarus; the guy just makes everyone uncomfortable. My Cellmates react to him a little like they do me, with confusion and a preference to avoid him. He sits at crowded eatery tables and barges into conversations, asks tons of questions, and doesn’t pick up on hints. He talks to the girls more than boys—and to me more than anyone.

He watches, too. He’s good at disguising it, but I notice.

We’ve begun the second week of interviews, but no one talks about them. Not a word breathed in the halls, no gossip at lunch, even though Sarah, the loud girl with the blue eyes, disappeared after hers this morning. Her presence was easily missed in the eatery, the conversation around our table lacking without her willingness to lead, but no one mentioned it. I finally asked if anyone knew where she was after confirming she hadn’t decided to sit at a different table.

Leah informed me in a rather bored tone that Sarah never returned from her interview.

The conversation turned to the upcoming Mixer. They all laughed and smiled as though their friend Sarah would not be missed, but an hour later ice still chills my veins. As I sit in astronomy block, I think about how Sarah is not the first one to be taken during this process. A handsome blond boy with straight, white teeth went missing last Friday.

Astronomy is the Others’ favorite subject, one we sit through for two hours a day instead of one, both before and after lunch. They love to teach us about their history, and we certainly know more about the Others’ past than our own. Which isn’t hard, considering we’re taught nothing of the human past. Today we’ve gone over a map of the solar system, memorizing planet and species names, which are still active and which have been eliminated. The Others come from a planet named Deasupra, and they drill its specifics into our memories even though it no longer exists. A war destroyed their home, which is why they inhabit ours.

Leah distracts me when she leans to her right and flags down Greg’s attention. Greg’s been hanging around our table in the eatery since he and Brittany began their official courtship with a Parental Sanction. It’s the first step in voluntary Partnering, to have dinner with each other’s parents and register intentions with the Others. Greg’s a nice enough guy, a little obnoxious at times.

Now he angles his head toward Leah to catch her words. They’re loud enough to carry the few rows back to me.

“Have you noticed how many of their previous host planets are listed under the eliminated chart?”

It’s all of them. All the planets the Others inhabited before Earth no longer exist.

Leah pauses, and when she continues, a forced playfulness tints her words. “You should ask the Monitor about it—and about what’s going to happen to us.”

No. No, you shouldn’t ask that, Greg
.

Leah hasn’t been the same since the day she showed up in chemistry with those bruises. In fact, she’s been acting…inhuman, somehow. It’s a good thing she has seventh block chemistry, because the way she’s behaving, she’ll never survive the interviews. I can’t for the life of me figure out what she’s up to now.

Deshi sits two desks to my left and observes the conversation as well, a faint smile playing on his thin lips. He’s watching the Monitor but the slight tilt of his head, the faraway look in his eyes, says he’s listening to Leah.

Apprehension squeezes my lungs as Greg’s hand shoots up. The Monitor calls on him. I press my eyes closed, silently urging him to think twice. We don’t ask questions. We certainly don’t second-guess what the Others have taught us our whole lives.

His rich, laughing baritone assaults my ears and my airway nearly collapses. “So, what do the Others do to the planets they occupy? Kill everyone?”

Greg laughs but no one joins in. Leah sits back in her chair, arms folded across her chest as she stares at the screen, awaiting the answer.

The Monitor’s brow folds up, puzzlement scrunching his smooth skin. “Gregory, that question is outside my training. But don’t be ridiculous. The Others do not kill their hosts. Look at how good they have been to the inhabitants of Earth. I suggest you remember that before you speak out again.”

Greg, properly chastised, shoots a quizzical smile toward Leah, who ignores him. The excitement is over before it began, and at least no Warden witnessed the aberration. Still, the Monitor will most likely report the incident. The cold smile on Deshi’s face raises the hairs along the back of my neck. He looks as though Greg’s outburst has somehow made his day.

We move outside for physical exercise, Greg’s strange question apparently forgotten by everyone but me. Each day is the same; we walk one mile and then jog another at a measured pace before returning inside. We are to stay healthy, to improve the quality of our lives.

Whatever that means.

We girls amble about ten paces behind the boys, who jockey with one another for position. A small, playful scuffle breaks out. The next moments happen in an instant as two boys stumble backward. Deshi’s shiny black hair flashes in the sun at the same moment that the second boy trips. He tumbles to the ground, all awkward angles, near the tree line. The boys stop and gather around when he doesn’t move. We hasten to catch up, then join them in gaping at the scene.

Greg lies on his back, eyes closed and head sagging to one side. His chin rests near his collar and blood pools around the back of his head. The culprit is a jagged rock, part of a small garden along the path, half buried in the ankle-length grass. The ground soaks up puddles of blood and the blades of brown grass mat together. The squishy-looking insides of Greg’s head ooze from the split in his skull.

Everyone moves back, their eyes wide with uncertainty but not fear. If anything, they’re mesmerized by the sight. Silence permeates the moment and I press a hand to my mouth, swallowing hard. My thoughts march in a slow-motion parade. Those are Greg’s brains. On the ground. Ten minutes ago he was perfectly normal. He laughed and talked too loud and said stupid things in astronomy.

He said stupid things in astronomy
.

The moments before the accident explode in my mind’s eye and trigger a suspicion that Deshi pushed Greg. The way he watched the scene in astronomy with barely restrained glee, the way their feet and hands tangled before Greg fell.

Bile sloshes in my gut as the thought turns solid and puts down roots. Things like this don’t happen on Earth, not under the Others. People don’t hurt one another.

I decide I’m imagining it, and pull my eyes away from Greg’s ruined body.

I’ve never seen anyone get hurt before, nothing worse than a scraped knee or bumped head as a child. Well, except that one broken bone. I don’t like to think about that.

I struggle with my expression, too aware of Deshi’s eyes and the fact that Greg’s injury isn’t affecting anyone else. A strong arm supports me by the waist and I don’t have to turn to know who’s behind me. His scent is as recognizable as his face.

Without thinking twice I droop back into his chest, working hard to control my reaction to the sickening sight. Lucas holds me up for several minutes as deep breaths help me relax. Pushing away from him and daring to open my eyes, I see my fellow students have turned away from Greg’s injured body, all talking at once and arguing about what to do next.

“We can’t leave him here. Exercise is almost over.”

“Someone should go in and tell the Administrator what happened.”

“What’s the Administrator going to do? We should get a Healer.”

“None of the Healers can help. Look at him. He’s Broken.” Deshi, the owner of that last voice, stands away from the crowd and leans against a tree with his feet crossed at the ankle. He studies his fingernails and heaves a sigh. “Come on, I’m just saying what you’re all thinking. The Healers don’t deal with injuries this bad.”

The way he says it sends nausea rolling through me. Like he couldn’t care less. Then again, no one else cares either. Deshi is an enigma, acting friendly or even coconspiratorial one minute, then blissfully accepting of the status quo the next.

The cluster nods along with him, turns their backs on the injured boy, and jog toward the building. Deshi raises an eyebrow when neither Lucas nor I move. “You coming?”

“Someone should tell the Administrator what happened. I’ll go.” Lucas speaks up with a smooth, confident smile.

After studying us for a moment with a piercing gaze, Deshi follows the pack inside.

“Go on, Althea. You don’t have to wait. You’ve made it clear staying away from me is a priority.” Lucas trains his eyes on the distance. On nothing at all. His voice dismisses me, but instead I shift closer to him.

For some reason I can’t put my finger on, the thought of leaving his side brings on unstoppable waves of panic. Lucas may not be a Dissident like me, but he makes me feel safe. Right now, with the Wardens watching our every move, kids disappearing from Cell, and a boy with splattered brains lying on the ground at my feet, I’ll take it.

I studiously ignore Greg’s splayed body. Impatience creeps in at Lucas’s unwillingness to make a move. Getting out of here, away from the…from Greg, is a top priority in my book. “Well? Shouldn’t we go in and tell the Administrator? I mean, Greg might need help.”

“I don’t think anyone can help him.”

Unlike Deshi, Lucas sounds sorry to say those words. Steeling myself, I glance down, concentrating on Greg’s chest rather than the gaping wound in his head. It’s almost okay that way; I don’t have to see the blood. After a moment his chest moves, ever so slightly. Shallow.