“It looks okay to me,” Tomas says from the other side of the oasis.
“Just a few more minutes. Please,” I yell. I turn my back on him, hoping this will end the discussion. My gut tells me to get the hell away from this place, but I have to convince Tomas. He has always been so good, so kind to others—especially those who are sad or in distress. It is no wonder he expects the government that brought us here to be helpful, too. With this being the only water source we’ve seen since the contaminated river yesterday, I don’t blame him for being tempted. If only there was another water source nearby. There’s another hill not too far away. Maybe I will see something if I take a look . . .
“I’ll be right back. Stay there,” I say, and I set off for the hill. My legs are tired, but I move fast. I’m at the top of the hill in less than five minutes and, though I am breathless, laugh when I see it. Not too far away—maybe another hundred yards or so—is a small river. The water doesn’t gleam and the plant life surrounding it isn’t lush, but I know by the path it sculpts through the ground that it is natural. Water. Contaminated? Probably, but I have my kit to deal with that. For the first time today, I feel a sense of relief.
Then the world explodes.
Chapter 12
SURPRISE AND THE force of the blast knock me off-balance. I hit the ground and roll, then scramble up to my feet, trying to understand what just happened. The ringing in my ears. The gaping hole where the oasis used to stand. Tomas nearby on the hard, cracked earth lying completely still.
Choking back a sob, I fly down the hill to where Tomas is sprawled on his back, eyes closed. I fear the worst. That once again I will hold the hand of someone from home as he slips from the world, leaving me behind. Then I see the steady rise and fall of his chest and sag with relief. He’s alive. However the trap was sprung, Tomas was not in the middle of it when it happened. Otherwise he—like the trees, flowers, and water—would be gone. Just thinking of a world without his strong, steady presence is enough to bring me to my knees.
Still, he is not conscious, which isn’t good. I sit on the ground next to him and gently check the back of his head for swelling that would indicate a concussion or something worse. I am relieved to find nothing. Then I notice the blood pooling on the ground next to his right hip and the inch-thick branch protruding from his body.
I stamp down my tears. Crying won’t help Tomas, so I have to decide what will. Dr. Flint always says you aren’t supposed to move someone with a head wound, but I don’t have a choice. I have to stop the blood seeping into the cracked soil. Carefully, I shift Tomas onto his side. The jagged wood is buried deep in Tomas’s backside. The explosion and the impact against the ground must have created enough force for the branch to impale him.
Taking a deep breath, I get a good grip on the tree branch and pull. The edges of the wood catch on Tomas’s flesh. He starts to groan and wince as I work the wood back and forth in the wound to remove it. The flow of blood increases as the wood slides free from Tomas’s body. I rip a strip of fabric off my cot sheet, press it against the wound, and hold it there with one hand while my other searches for the medical kit. The disinfecting ointment will come in handy. The needle and thread might, too, if I can get up the nerve to use them. I’m starting to roll Tomas onto his belly when he moans again.
His gray eyes blink open. “What happened?”
Hearing his voice, seeing him awake, makes me smile even as it unlocks a flood of tears. “The oasis blew up,” I tell him, wiping tears with the back of my dirt-streaked hand. “You got impaled by a tree branch. I removed it, but the wound is bleeding pretty bad. Don’t worry,” I say, feigning more confidence than I feel. “I’ll have you fixed in no time. Only . . .”
His eyes narrow. “Only what?”
I feel the blush heating my cheeks even before I say, “You’re going to have to remove your pants for me to do it.”
The grin he gives me is wicked and more than a little sexy, but quickly turns to a frown as he struggles to unfasten his pants and push them down. The wound is still bleeding, but not near as bad as it was. The puncture is over an inch in diameter and judging by the blood on the stick at least three inches deep. The area around the wound is a mangled mess of blood and tissue. An injury like this has to hurt like hell. And I have no idea how to fix it. Over the years, Dr. Flint closed several of my brothers’ cuts, but those didn’t look like this. Those had been tears in the flesh, which could only be brought together using a needle and thread. This is a gaping hole.
Still, I have to do something.
I dig several pain tablets out of the bag and prop Tomas up so he can swallow them. Then I clean the wound as best I can with water. Wiped free of blood and dirt, the injury looks even worse. I was right—there is no way I can sew this wound shut. Which leaves me with only one idea. Just thinking about it makes me want to scream, but I have no choice. Blood is still flowing from the gap in his flesh. If it doesn’t stop soon, Tomas won’t be able to travel. He won’t finish the test and neither will I since I could never leave knowing he’d most likely die out here injured and alone.
Gathering bits of dried grass and pieces of wood into a pile, I light them with one of Tomas’s matches. Once the fire is started, I pull the hunting knife out of my pocket. In addition to the knife and screwdriver, there is a nail file, a wood saw, a hook, and several other metal gadgets I’ve never found a use for. Until now.
I select the tool that is about an inch and a half long, less than a half inch wide, and flat on top. There is a hooked thing near the middle my father said he used as a child to open bottles, but we don’t have those kinds of bottles in Five Lakes so I can only imagine how that works. It isn’t the bottle opener I’m interested in, but the flat, unsharpened surface near the top. Now I just need to muster the courage to go through with my plan.
As the small fire crackles, I do something I’ve seen Dr. Flint do when the patient is conscious during a particularly unpleasant treatment. I hand Tomas his cot sheet to bite down on, then hold the bottle opener over the flames and wait for it to turn red. When it does, I ask Tomas to look away. Before I can lose my nerve, I pull the hot metal out of the flame and apply it to the wound.
Tomas screams into the sheet and bucks in pain. The sounds of his agony are muffled and my eyes fill with tears. But I have to keep working. I put the tool back into the flames with one hand while I wipe the blood from the wound and hold Tomas’s legs down with the other. When the metal is once again hot, I place it against his flesh. A coppery, sulfurous odor makes me gag. The smell of burning skin.
Tears run down my face. My chest tightens so I can barely breathe. Tomas’s muted screams rip through my heart as I heat the metal and apply it to the wound again and again. Until, finally, the burned tissue fuses together and the bleeding is stopped.
My hands shake as I use our precious water to dab clean the wound. Then I spread ointment on the area, bandage it, and help Tomas struggle into his pants. I fervently hope the bleeding is stopped for good because I don’t think I can do that again.
Tomas’s eyes are glazed and his forehead coated with sweat as he gives me a weak smile. “I barely felt a thing,” he lies.
I go to place a kiss on his cheek, only he turns his head and the kiss lands on the corner of his mouth. Time stops as we stare at each other. Then, very slowly, Tomas leans forward and kisses me again. The kiss is light as a feather, but I feel it all the way down in my stomach. I’ve been kissed by boys before—I’m young for my class, but I’m not that young. None of those kisses made me feel the way this one does. Maybe because of the fear and adrenaline I’ve been operating under or because I don’t understand why Tomas kissed me. Gratitude? Or something more? Something I have felt building since we danced last year and have been too scared to believe is real.
Confused by emotions I don’t want to analyze, I turn away and start jamming supplies back in my bag. “It’s going to get dark soon. When I was on top of the hill, I saw a stream. It’s not to
o far away. Do you think you can walk or should we set up camp here? There’s probably enough light for me to make it to the stream, fill up our canteens, and come back.” I know I’m rambling, but can’t seem to stop myself.
He shakes his head and slowly gets to his knees. “If your crossbow friend heard the explosion, he might come looking for us. We should put some distance between us and here before we lose light.”
With everything else going on, I’d forgotten about the other Testing candidates. The explosion will have drawn attention. If the crossbow shooter heard the explosion, he might assume whoever was caught in it is dead. Unless he heard Tomas’s screams during my treatment. Either way, Tomas is right. We need to clear out.
I help Tomas to his feet and loop his arm around my shoulders so I can lend him support. He is almost a head taller than me, but we manage to make it work. It’s slow going up the hill, though, and both of us are panting hard when we reach the top.
Finally the pain medication is starting to take hold and Tomas is able to walk a little faster as we go down the other side. In the graying light, I spot a clump of shoulder-high bushes thick with gray leaves and head toward them. The cluster of bushes is dense, but after breaking off a few lower branches I wriggle underneath the bush closest to the stream and find a small area that we can camp in. I ask Tomas for his scary-looking knife and use it to clear a bit more space for us. Then I spread Tomas’s sheet on the ground and hold branches out of the way for him as he climbs inside. Tomas is asleep almost before I can tell him I’m going to get water. Which is going to be tricky since the sun is setting fast. I grab the three empty water containers and my bag of purification chemicals, and scoot through the underbrush to the stream.
Testing water for drinkability isn’t difficult, but it does require time and light. With the last canteen of water almost at empty and the sun fading, I’m short on both. But I have to try. If Tomas develops an infection in the middle of the night, the last thing I want to be is short of water.
The tests for most contaminants are pretty basic. You fill a cup with water and then add drops of a variety of liquid chemicals that react to contamination. The small sample of water will turn either red, blue, yellow, or green to indicate a specific contaminant. Sometimes the color can be very faint. You have to be able to spot the subtle shifts in color in order to add the correct counteracting chemicals to make the water drinkable. The trick is to add only the chemicals necessary to counteract the contamination. If you add anything that doesn’t belong, you could end up poisoning the water. It won’t kill you, but it can make you really sick. Something I really would like to avoid.
After setting out my chemicals, I use one of the clear plastic water containers from our Testing box baskets and fill it with a half inch of water. I put a drop of the first chemical in and swirl the water around. If the water contains the bioengineered version of cyanide used in many of the Stage Four bombings, the liquid will turn red. After several minutes of swirling, I am certain the water is free of that contaminant and move on to the next. I make it through the first three tests without a color change. But the fourth, for a chemical cooked up by the Asian Alliance that causes the cardiovascular system to overload, turns the water a vibrant purple unmistakable even in the last vestiges of sunlight. I empty out the test bottle, refill the three containers, and then add the counteracting chemicals to them. It will take at least an hour for the chemicals to counteract the contamination. In the morning, I will retest a capful of the water to verify its purity before we drink. For now, I crawl back through the underbrush with my water containers, eat a few pieces of dried apple, and curl up next to Tomas on the sheet. While I try hard to stay awake, I can’t help the exhaustion of the day pulling me into sleep.
The sound of a bird singing greets me in the morning. For a moment, snuggled warm in the sheet, I think I am sleeping in front of the hearth at home after being chased from my room by my brothers’ snoring. Then I realize that something behind me is moving and remember where I am. My eyes fly open to find Tomas’s clear gray ones staring down at me.
“Good morning,” he says with a soft smile. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t supposed to fall asleep.” And I’m annoyed with myself because I did. So much for keeping watch for the crossbow shooter. If he had come across us in the night, we would both be dead. Stupid. Only luck kept us alive.
Tomas doesn’t seem concerned, but he keeps his voice low as he says, “We’re pretty well hidden here. I woke up a while ago and took a look around. If our fellow candidates have come by, I haven’t seen any sign of them.”
“Don’t you think that’s strange?” I ask. “That we haven’t seen any of the other candidates?”
“I don’t think so. The map they showed us at the Testing Center made it look like the fence lines around here were at least twenty miles apart. That means there’s room for us all to spread out. At least at first.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out his map book and flips to the page for Kansas. “If I remember correctly, the fence lines narrow near the end—around here.” He points to a spot a fair distance from the city that was once called Wichita. “I’m guessing the Testing officials want to draw us together at that point—to see how we respond.”
“Another test within a test. Like yesterday.”
“Yeah, and look how well that turned out.” Tomas’s eyes flash with anger, an emotion I have never seen from him. He’s normally so calm and logical. But his voice is loud and tight as he says, “I almost got us blown to pieces on that one because I couldn’t believe you might be right. That the one hopeful thing we’d seen since starting this test was something designed to kill us. I kept telling myself you were wrong and I was right. I mean, why the hell would the Testing officials bring us all here just to kill us? It doesn’t make any sense.”
His fists are clenched, and I can see confusion and anger in his eyes as he demands an answer. Only I don’t have one. Not really. So I take Tomas’s dirt-streaked hand and hold it because I feel as lost as he does.
We sit hand in hand for several minutes before Tomas smiles at me, flashing the familiar dimple. “Well, you were wrong about one thing. I’m definitely not the smartest kid from our class, Cia. Although I guess I was pretty smart about teaming up with you. What other girl would have been willing to fix my ass after I got myself blown up?”
“Are you kidding?” I turn away and busy myself with pulling the sack of dried fruit out of my bag so he can’t see the heat flooding my cheeks. “Almost every unmarried girl in Five Lakes Colony would have volunteered to patch you up. Especially if you thanked her with a kiss.”
“Cia.” I turn, and Tomas’s eyes find mine. The humor in them is gone, leaving something more compelling in its place. “If another girl had helped me, I wouldn’t have kissed her.” The words hang between us. Deep inside I feel something shift and click into place. Then the humor is back as he says, “Come on. We should start walking. Tosu City is still a long ways off.”
Before we leave, I test the water I treated yesterday, grateful to have something purposeful to do instead of obsessing about Tomas’s words. Was he saying I was special to him or just flattering me? Considering all the girls back home who practically threw themselves in his path, I find it hard to believe he ever really thought of me in that way. And yet, I think back to that dance and to the moments last year when I caught him watching me across the classroom. Perhaps there has been something between us all along.
The water test comes back clean. Tomas and I take the opportunity to drink our fill and even wash the grime of travel from our hands and faces before refilling the containers from the stream and treating them. We eat a breakfast of crackers, apples, and some red clover we find growing next to our grove of bushes. Then, after I check Tomas’s wound and apply more ointment to it, we set off to the southwest.
The day is cooler. I think storms might be on the way, but the lack of extreme heat makes travel easier. Our progress is marked not
only by the change of our coordinates on the Transit Communicator, but also by the changing of the scenery. The flat, cracked earth with only small patches of plant life and angry-looking trees starts to give way to more hills, trees that are not quite healthy-looking but not as black and twisted, and far more plants. More than once I make Tomas stop as I spot wild carrots, hollyhock, and milkweed. We’ll have to light a fire to boil the milkweed, which I’m not sure we’ll have time for, but I gather it just in case. Our current food supply will last only another two or three days. We’ll need all the food we can find.
We also begin to see more signs of birds, like the one that awakened me this morning with its singing, and other game. Tomas spots deer, fox, and rabbit tracks along with larger prints of animals we cannot put names to. We’ll have to start hunting if we hope to stay strong enough to make it to the end of the test. But for now we walk. While the miles pass, we comment on the buildings we are now seeing. There aren’t many, but a few here and there. Some with only partially standing walls. Others that look more intact. As night starts to descend, we decide to head toward a group of one-story structures that look like they might be in decent repair. Perhaps whoever once lived in these houses has left behind something we can use to travel faster. If not, we might find other things, like wire for animal traps, that will help us survive.
An animal family had taken up residence in the first house. There are tracks, claw marks, and droppings left behind that look fresh enough to make us rethink entering. The next house looks on the verge of collapse, but a small storage building behind it appears to be sound so we venture inside. The last streams of sunlight shine through a window long devoid of its glass, which helps us to see. The dust and moldy smell make me sneeze. There’s a rotting bench on one side of the small, rectangular room. On the other side is what could have once been a tractor. The rust and the lack of wheels or a motor make it hard to tell for sure. I shift a large sheet of decaying wood that is propped against the back wall and smile. Behind the wood is an old wagonlike cart. The wooden cart itself is rotted and has a chunk of wood missing from one side, but there are two wheels at the bottom and both appear to be salvageable. Tomas gets out his tool kit and helps me detach the wheels. They are heavy, coated with a thick layer of cobwebs and grime, but they give me hope. If I can find more materials, I might be able to build something to help us travel faster.