Chapter 24: Lilies and Roses
OSCAR AND I are sitting on the side of the street sharing a buttered roll. There's a noise, like a mad hornet. The revving of an engine. Startled, we look down the street and see Matt's remaining car speed by on the cross-street, people flinging themselves hastily out of its way. Not far on its heels is the pickup truck that followed us back to the Outpost that night. Something clicks in me. Fear. I grab Oscar by the arm. My voice comes out in a whisper. "Come on."
We start walking. He jogs to keep up with me. "Where are we going," he asks. "What's going on?"
There are three gunshots in the distance. A Sentry keeping watch at the side of the road turns toward the sound and takes off, metal arms and legs flashing silver as they catch the sunlight. We're running now, the opposite way. There are more gunshots.
"I don't know," I pant. "Somewhere safe."
Only, nowhere is really safe. I don't know what's happening, but I can't take any chances with Oscar. We can't go home. I can't send him home. We can't go to the warehouse, either. So we run toward the edge of town and take refuge in an alleyway, hunkered down on one side of a large trash bin. We sink against the wall, catching our breath. It's a long time before either of us speaks.
"What do you think is happening?" Oscar whispers.
I shake my head. "Dunno." I'm trying to sort that out in my mind, playing out possible scenarios. The worst one involves Jonas, and by association, me and Oscar. If Matt has discovered his operation, we may as well all be dead. I have to hold myself back from cursing. How could I have been so stupid to not see this coming? Or didn't I? Didn't I just let it happen anyway? I glance at Oscar, wanting to tell him something reassuring. He speaks before I can.
"You think Matt figured out what Jonas is doing," he says, simply. He stares into space for a moment, then shakes his head. "There are lots of other things it could be."
I snuff air through my nose. He's right. But that doesn't make this any less frightening. I put my arm around his shoulders, pull him close. I search my brain for an answer, a way to know. The silence stretches through long moments. Whatever excitement has occurred, it seems to be over with, now. There are no more gunshots. No sign that anything is wrong. Still, we wait a couple of hours before I cautiously move from our hiding place, telling Oscar to remain where he is until I come back for him.
Now, as I sneak through the back streets, trying not to be seen, I start to think about Jonas. About all my friends, but mostly, about Jonas. My mind fixes on the idea that one of the gunshots I heard was meant for him. I distinctly feel the sensation of his life being pulled away from mine. Of the infinite separation between us. The unbridgeable gap between living and dead. He's fading. Maybe already gone. Maybe I'm too late, and I will never look into his eyes again. I'm shaking, nauseous. A weight pulls down over my face, making my breathing difficult. I stumble through the last alleyway, tears spilling freely, so certain of what I'm going to find. I know, deep inside me, that he's gone. I know it in a way that I could never feel if he wasn't.
I make it to the warehouse, where the door is unguarded. I press it open and step into the blackness within.
He turns, and looks at me, breaking off a conversation to do so. His eyes, registering my tears, scan over me. "Are you hurt," he asks, stepping quickly toward me.
I shake my head. My arms are around him, and his around me. I'm sobbing. All-out sobbing. "I thought you— I thought—" I can't bear to say the rest.
His arms squeeze tighter, pressing me against his chest. "Shhh," he says softly. "It's OK. Everyone is OK."
I lean into him, amazed and grateful that he's alive. Disbelieving, almost, that he is. I was sure. So sure. How could I have felt it so sharply? Even now, with my arms around him, I feel as though I've lost him. The pain is stabbing, and fresh, and incredibly real. I've lost him, and I'm empty without him, and nothing will ever be OK.
He pulls me tighter, and tighter, like he knows what I'm feeling; like he can protect me from this nightmare with his arms alone. His face presses into my hair. "It's OK," he whispers, again and again. "I've got you, now."
I cry myself out in his arms. In the end, the emptiness is emptied. I'm hollow and whole at the same time. Whatever had overtaken me has run its course, and left me in wonderment that it existed. I've been watching someone else's pain. We look at each other, from a small distance apart, our eyes meeting as if for the first time. I don't want to lose the tender intimacy that has been kindled in this moment, but suddenly, I'm thinking of Oscar, huddling in an alley.
Jonas sees the change on my face. He closes his eyes. "Oscar," he says softly. "Where is he?"
"I have to go get him." I start to pull away, but his fingers tighten on my forearms.
"I'll go," he says. "You go home. Get some rest."
I want to argue— want to go and get Oscar myself— but there's something in his wanting to go for me, something that affirms these past moments of closeness. This is the hallowed ground of our relationship. I step quietly, carefully. Jonas is waiting for my reply, so I look into his green eyes and decide to trust him with Oscar. I tell Jonas exactly where Oscar is hiding, to see him home safely, to avoid going back the way near May Deth's. He squeezes my shoulders again reassuringly, cutting me off. "I know, Eden," he says. A smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth as he releases me and moves toward the door. "I know."
A moment later, I'm walking home feeling strangely light. Maybe it's relief making me giddy with its coming. Or maybe it's something else. Something naive, and human, and faltering in an endearing sort of way. There's been no time to feel such things, and indeed they seem foolish in the vast tangle of difficulties we've been facing. For a brief second, they glitter golden in my mind's eye. Then I come onto the main road, near the Rustler, and freeze. My eyes take in the vacant street. Foolishness does not describe what I feel. I'm chasing daydreams, and the pavement before me is a small red lake— the last daydreams of how many, drained into a congealing crimson pool of loss.