Chapter 23: Dwindling
MORNING HAS THAWED into a sunny day, despite the wind. In between its icy bursts there are small pockets where my jacket gathers the sun's energy and warms my skin. Our chatter has done much the same for my soul. Oscar is doing great. He's well-fed and talkative. Happy, even, in the midst of everything else that's going on. I'm grateful that he's being taken care of. I don't regret my decision anymore. It was the best thing for him. Even if I miss him.
We're walking through the marketplace when Jonas waves us down and joins us. We meander together, through greetings and catching up. But we haven't gotten very far before Jonas starts with the questions.
"So, what's happening with the wall?" he asks.
Oscar catches his eye. He shrugs. "They're still working on it."
"What kinds of weapons have they built in?"
Now Oscar's eyes flick to our surroundings, then to me. His eyes are a bit wider.
"Jonas," I say. I give him a hard look.
He persists, licking his lips and paying attention only to Oscar. "Do you know?"
"Guns," Oscar says, quietly and carefully. Again, he looks around. "Some sort of explosive thing..."
"Explosive?"
"It like... throws explosives...."
"What about outside the wall? Are they adding anything there? Mines?"
Oscar shakes his head. "...I don't know...."
"Can you find out?"
I punch Jonas in the arm. Hard.
He scowls at me. "Eden," he says quietly, "I need to know."
I grind my teeth as I say it, to keep from shouting at him. "You don't have to involve Oscar."
His eyes dart between me and Oscar, finally fixing on my glare. He sighs.
"OK," he concedes. "Eden's right. You don't need to find anything out. But is there anything you can tell me that you already know? Anything that's going on? Anything Matt's up to?"
Oscar thinks about it for a moment before he answers. "Just the wall," he says. "And making more weapons. Lots. He's got all the recyclers collecting metal for him."
"He's forging them?" I ask, unable to stop myself. I bite my lip and look away.
"Dan and Lloyd are," Oscar replies.
"Coyote Dan?"
Oscar looks at me with a cautious frown.
Jonas' mouth turns downward as he struggles to control a smile.
I frown at him, then turn a calm face on Oscar. "Coyote Dan is forging weapons for Matt? He agreed to do that? I mean, I know Matt kicked the crap out of him, but still..."
Oscar looks nervous now. He licks his lips, his eyes darting as he thinks. He says, "He didn't argue. Lloyd was the one who didn't want to do it. Matt put him in the VR machine. Now he's forging weapons."
Jonas and I look at each other.
I turn back to Oscar and say quietly, "How do you know this? Did you see it?"
He shakes his head. "Jess told me."
"Jess?"
"The girl who answered the door when you took me there."
The image of the half-burned, half pretty face flits through my mind.
Jonas places one hand firmly on Oscar's shoulder and looks him in the eye. "Go on home," he says softly. "Keep out of trouble. I'm going to walk Eden home and see if I can get some food in her."
I want to tell Jonas that I've already eaten, but somehow I can't. Can't tell him that Matt fed me. Oscar looks at me, but says nothing. He nods and skitters off down the street.
Jonas turns to me, takes me by the arm, and starts walking. "So it is VR," he says, like it's the answer to a question he's been trying to figure out.
Well, it's not surprising. Slave masters use all sorts of inventive practices to transform their victims into willing slaves. Slavery is forbidden by the Fourth Law, so slaves have to be absolutely broken to not pose a risk to their owners. The process usually involves torture that won't leave a mark. Virtual reality is perfect for a slave master who can get his hands on the right equipment. Simulated torture that feels real, but doesn't leave any physical imprint. Sure, sometimes slaves might be lost to cardiac arrest, but that's not the point. The point is that the end product is perfectly trained. Like the young girl I saw on the platform at the slave market when I first got here. Thinking about her— thinking about all of it— makes me feel sick. My stomach threatens to reject the meal I had earlier. I swallow repeatedly and try to move my mind to other things. Really, I'm thinking about sleep. I would love to just go to sleep.
But Jonas is talking. Slowly, my mind focuses in on his words part-way through a sentence. "...hope we're OK. You know... I was worried about you last night." He glances at me, clearly expecting some reply.
A few beats later, I manage, "Yeah. OK." I feel like I should say more, but again, my mind wanders toward sleep. I really just want him to leave me alone so I can go crawl into bed.
His eyes linger on me for a second, then drop away. He looks deflated. Disappointed. We walk on in silence. When we come to the gate in our junk wall, he stops, takes something out of his pocket and passes it to me.
I look at it for a moment before I realize there's food wrapped in this bit of cloth. I shake my head and push it back toward him.
"Eat it," he says, shoving it toward me. "Please."
I open my mouth to tell him that I've already eaten, and still, I can't. Sighing, I accept the package. I turn and slink inside. No one else is home. In the quiet, I collapse face-first onto the bed, dropping the packet of food beside me. I am asleep before I can even rearrange myself.