The Burn

  Chapter Nine

  After breakfast, Dave takes me on a tour of the settlement. Mary and Jack offer to accompany us, but Dave gives Jack a meaningful look and he quickly ushers Mary away. I raise an eyebrow.

  “What was that all about?” he asks. I nod.

  “Oh, just Mary being Mary. I love her, I do, but.” He runs his hand through his hair, his lips stumbling as he feels for the right words. He and Mary must have some kind of past together and the current situation isn’t comfortable for either of them. I wait.

  “I can’t do it right now. She’s wanted to get back together ever since she came back from Seattle two months ago, but I’m not ready. She’s changed since she came back.”

  He leads me up a flight of stairs. The stairs are patched in places, but I’m amazed how intact everything is. I was expecting total devastation. The floors need a good mopping and waxing, but everything is decent.

  “Everybody sleeps up here. Some people share rooms, others have smaller rooms for their own. The town was evacuated when sirens announced a bombing. Most people thought Seattle would be safe—smaller city, nothing to protect. I guess they were right, it wasn’t leveled. But it’s dangerous. That’s where Mary went a year and a half ago. Said she needed something different, thought she’d like it better. Dreams of building it up, changing it. You can guess how that went.”

  He pulls aside the thick fabric covering a window. Above the trees the gray water of the sound ripples out. In the distance across the water, I see the faint, irregular outline of ragged buildings.

  “Seattle,” Dave says. “There’s an important rule we have. I don’t know who you are really, but you can help me figure that out by how well you follow the rules.”

  I nod. I can follow rules. I grew up surrounded by them.

  “The windows are covered before dusk. No light ever escapes them.” His voice drops and his face is deadly serious. “Seattle can’t ever know we’re here.”

  He scares me. How bad can Seattle be? He meticulously puts the fabric back.

  “The country’s the place to be these days. Nothing to loot, nothing to claim. Gangs leave it alone, as long as they don’t think there’s anything here. The government leaves it alone as long as they don’t know we’re here. But you probably know that, it must be similar down south.”

  This time I’m ready for questions. I nod and try to appear understanding, though the only thing I understand is about the city. Gaea told me it was illegal to live outside one. Gaea also mentioned Arizona when we discussed where I should go. I’m from Arizona. It’s inhospitable, surely I would want to leave it for somewhere greener. That isn’t too far from the truth, really. I can feed him lies veiled in half-truths.

  He motions to a door. “Here we are. This is where I live.”

  The room is the size of a classroom down in the colony. I half-expected to see it full of desks, but most of them are gone. Two desks remain, used for tables and storage space. A watcher haunts a corner of the ceiling, but just like in the cafeteria, its lens is destroyed. I remember what Gaea said about privacy invasions to prevent terrorism. Were the watchers part of that? Did the survivors rebel before or after the Event?

  “Want to come in?”

  I nod. A mattress lays on the floor, covered with a well-patched blanket. A candle is propped in a cup on one of the desks next to the bed. A few yellowed books are stacked on the floor. A small window is flung open to let the breeze waft through the room and clear the summer stuffiness. I breathe deeply. The air smells warm and grassy.

  “It’s like you’re experiencing everything for the first time. The rain when we found you this morning, the oatmeal, and now this.”

  He sits on the bed. “I wish I could talk with you easier.” He clears his throat. His gaze is so intense I turn away. I notice an old dog-eared, torn copy of Jane Eyre. I have never held a book in my hands; all of our texts are digital. Mr. Klein has some of the only physical books in the colony. I carefully run my fingers over the cover.

  “I smuggled those here. My dad found them in an illegal library. After that ridiculous book ban ten years before the Event—”

  They called it the Event, too.

  “Everyone tried to snatch up books before they were all burned. Isn’t it crazy? Stop people reading to try to stop them getting violent ideas. Sometimes I think it was finally about time they blew each other up.” Then he clears his throat again and drops his eyes. Can he get in trouble for saying such things? I reverently place the book on top of the stack.

  “I need to know where you’re from and why you’re here.”

  I sit down on the corner of his bed, carefully as far away from him on there as I can be. This delicate moment could ruin me. I’m not ready to let it go now. I motion for a piece of paper and a writing utensil. He scrounges around for a few minutes.

  “We only use these to record what we hear on the radio. We try to use these sparingly, but I think now is a good time.”

  He hands me a yellowed piece of paper and a stubby pencil, and I put the paper on the desk and write.

  “Arizona? You’re a long way from home. Well, that explains the sunburn.”

  I nod.

  “But why’d you leave?”

  I write again.

  “The desert?” He laughs. “Yeah, I bet. You came to the right place then.”

  I smile along with him. This is easier than I thought.

  “Did you come by yourself? Does anyone else know you’re here?”

  There it is again—that seriousness. The fierce protection of the settlement, but from what? I remember the men Dave killed yesterday.

  I’m not sure how to answer. Is it believable for a girl like me to travel alone? Did people do that here? The citizens are required to live in cities. I come from the outside. Dave lives on the outside. But could I have traveled this whole way without getting caught? The pencil hovers over the paper. Dave sits expectantly, his face neutral, not betraying a good answer. I scribble furiously, and my stomach drops with the lies I weave.

  “Your mom died, so you decided it was time to leave? There were a couple others moving on too, so you traveled with them to northern California, then left them to come up here?”

  I hope it’s believable. His eyebrows furrow. I want to use one of my fingers to smooth out the furrows, to assure him I’m not a threat, but I clutch the pencil tightly. I still need to learn where I fit in here.

  “But why come all the way up here by yourself? It’s so dangerous traveling alone.”

  My heart pounds as this story races further away from me, almost out of my control.

  A fresh start. I just needed to get away. I felt suffocated. I almost got caught, but I slipped away.

  He studies me for a long moment; then his posture relaxes and he leans back on his hands.

  “I can relate to that.”

  My shoulders slump in relief.

  So who are you?

  “I guess that’s a fair question.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “My dad was the unspoken leader of this settlement. When he died a year and a half ago, that just kinda passed on to me, unfortunately.”

  He does have the natural bearing of a leader, and people obviously look up to him, but he’s so young. I remember my dad telling me I should try public office as a vocation. I can completely relate to the being-somewhere-you-don’t-want-to-be thing.

  “One of these days I’ll ask you what happened to your mouth, but we’ll save it for later. Do you want to stay here with us? Is this far away enough from whatever you were running from?”

  I almost jump off the bed in exaltation. I pump my head up and down, not even trying to hide my smile.

  He laughs. I don’t care that he’s laughing at me. He just gave me what I’ve needed for so many years.

  “I guess that’s settled. We’ll figure out where you can stay in a little bit. In the meantime, there’s your pack.”

  My pack. I forgot. I whirl to it and carefully open the flap to ma
ke sure everything is in place.

  “Don’t worry. I had Jack bring it straight up here. No one touched your stuff. You’ll have to learn to trust people more here. Don’t trust outsiders. Listen to me, I’m a hypocrite. I honestly don’t know why I trust you. We’re wired not to. That’s why Mary is the way she is. But here, we’re family. And if people think you don’t trust them, they’ll get upset.”

  I can trust them. But I’m sad because they shouldn’t trust me. I’m nothing but lies. But I will do my best to be everything else to them I can. Whatever work they do, whatever help they need is all I can do to repay them.

  “Now let’s go. There’s work to be done.”

  Back downstairs, fifteen of the group put on wide brim hats and grab hoes and rakes from a closet just inside the huge double doors that lead outside. They laugh and chat, and Dave falls in among them. I hang behind.

  “They’re going to check the crops. I’m actually on farming duty today too. Want to come?”

  I laugh. Agriculture of all things. I may not have enjoyed it in the colony, but it’s a job I’m half capable of. The tools are more rustic than what I’m used to, but I’ll manage.

  “Sorry about the primitive stuff. We didn’t want to sign up for fuel rations for farm equipment. One more way for the government to take notice.”

  I shrug. The equipment’s not a big deal, but I don’t think I should ask about the rest of it yet. He talks about the government like I should know exactly what’s going on.

  Dave grabs me a hat from the closet and plops it on my head. It falls over my eyes. “Perfect fit. Let’s go.”

  I fall in step beside him and we walk into the sunlight. The rain clouds clear to faint wisps in the distance. Despite the heat, everyone wears longs sleeves and pants. It reminds me of the radiation suits. But they aren’t confined to sight behind visors, and they aren’t temperature regulated. A single drop of sweat trickles down the valley my spine makes in my back. It’s real. Everything here is real.

  “Ran out of our government ration of sunblock a month ago,” Dave says. “We’re hoping for another supply drop soon, or we’re all going to be crispy. Jack says we’re low on meds as well.”

  Now it is too real. They only get medicine when the government rations it out?

  We walk a few hundred yards to a huge patch of green plants with small, heart shaped leaves. The first of the workers are already moving up and down the messy, irregular rows, plucking plants from the ground. Why aren’t the rows neater? It would make tending the field easier.

  “We’re weeding today.” Dave takes his canteen off his shoulder and sets it next to an empty row.

  I’ve never picked weeds before. We don’t have them in the colony—there aren’t random seeds in the air or sown in the fields from years ago that could suddenly germinate. Weeds just don’t happen there. I stare at the field.

  “You’re from the desert part of Arizona?”

  I nod.

  “You probably don’t have a lot of farming experience, huh?”

  I shake my head, mystified about what I’m supposed to do here.

  “No worries. I’ll show you.”

  He kneels down and shows me a plant different from the others.

  “We’re growing oca tubers. So anything that’s different from this,” he shows me a big handful of the foliage, “just pick it out. Carefully, so you don’t disturb the roots. These tubers are one of our staples during the winter, so they’re precious. Treat them that way.”

  I nod and kneel down. The mud squelches against my pants, and I feel the moisture on my skin. So much like the time I went onto Field #3 without my suit. I reach down and pull a weed out. In the moist soil, it comes free easily in a big clump of weed, roots, and dirt.

  “A little more gently next time,” Dave says. “We don’t want to take all the dirt from the field.”

  I put the weed in the bag sitting between us. Dave is already several feet away from me, making his way through the row. I set to work.

  The sun rises high overhead, and the sweat trickles from my hair and into my eyes. I wipe the sweat and rub dirt across my face. My hands ache. They’re raw from pulling the rough weeds. I always wore gloves, and my hands are too soft for this work. I grit my teeth and bend to another weed, digging softly to loosen it from the ground without disturbing the tubers.

  I sit up and look down the row. Dave is a hundred feet from me and shows no sign of stopping. I flex my fingers. Someone laughs.

  “Hard work the first time, isn’t it?”

  Nell kneels down beside me. Her shirt sleeves are rolled once, so her wrists show. Her hat perches on her silver hair, and a faded purple ribbon blows about her face.

  “I’m getting too old for this, but I do love gardening. Those hydrangeas by the school were my idea. I thought it brightened it up.” She offers me her canteen, and I take a long drink of warm water.

  “I had to fight for them, of course. Anything too cultivated looks suspicious from the air, and we do get fly-overs every few weeks.”

  That explains the irregular oca rows. Neat rows would be too conspicuous from the sky. But I still don’t understand why exactly they’re hiding. What would happen if the government found out they’re here?

  “I remember the first day Red and I came to the settlement. Forty-six years ago. We found each other near Seattle, both of us running from the city, or what was left of it. It wasn’t so bad at first. The government used trackers to be sure everyone got equal rations.” She shows me a white, wrinkled patch of skin on the underside of her forearm. “I cut it out the day I left. The trackers were becoming a way for them to know where every person was at every moment. When I found Red, he protected me, and we wandered together, hoping to find something better. We came here and have been here ever since. There were only five others here back then, and they hadn't yet settled down in the school.”

  I smile at the warmth of her memories. But I have a weight in my gut that’s been building since I landed here. At first glance, the hazy summer morning is idyllic. But the way these people talk, they’re hunted every minute of their lives.

  Nell’s eyes sparkle. “I see a lot of that in you—the wanting to find something better.”

  She bends down, and her knobby fingers gently lift a weed out. She puts it in the bag next to me.

  “There’s a lot of people here who want to find something better. Who don’t like living scared. But with the way the world is, I don’t think they will. I’d rather live scared than live across the sound with them.”

  I need to get back to work, to distract myself from the world Nell creates for me, a world that sounds like the colony spinning out of control. But she tsks when she sees my cramped hands.

  “Don’t push yourself too hard the first day, or you won’t be able to help the second.” She pulls my hands free of the dirt. “Why don’t you just sit here and rest for a minute while I do the weeding? I could use the conversation. Red’s knees are too arthritic for all this kneeling. He works in the kitchen mostly. Dave tells me you’re from the Arizona desert, so you’re probably not much used to our kind of farming.”

  I shake my head, wincing as I rub my sore fingers.

  “That’s alright. There’s probably things you might be able to teach us. Old dogs, you know.” And she winks at me. I can’t help but giggle. She’s as old as my grandmother, but nothing like her. Nell instantly puts me at ease.

  “Dave told me a few details of your conversation this morning.”

  I raise an eyebrow. How quickly does news travel here? She smiles.

  “You’re right, in a place like this, I’m surprised he didn’t just shout it in the cafeteria. Dave is a special one, and I think he’s fond of you, right quick.”

  She crawls along a few feet to an unweeded patch. I carry the weed bag for her. I itch for her to continue her train of thought, but I don’t want to rush her. She’s the type of person who shouldn’t be rushed.

  The sun is just overhead, an
d two figures come from the school. The shorter one carries a big tray, and the taller one carries a jug.

  “That’ll be Jack and Mary with the lunch,” Nell says. “Let’s go eat.”

  Lunch is simple: bread, strawberries, sharp cheese, and water. It’s strawberry season, and while our group weeds the tuber field, another group has been picking the strawberries before they get too ripe. Nell tells me, “If you don’t get the strawberries, the birds will.”

  Nell explains that one of the biggest challenges is keeping the wildlife out of the fields. Someone always patrols the fields, day and night, to keep the animals away. Red enjoys the job, it doesn’t bother his arthritis, and he likes to carry a gun. I laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” Dave brings over his lunch and sits down beside us. I’m unable to stop laughing. I point to Nell.

  “Just telling Terra that Red is a little gun happy.” She takes a dainty nibble of her cheese.

  Dave nods. “But at least he’s safe about it. Better than some people.” He nods toward Mary. She glances over her shoulder at us. Her rifle lays slung across her back. I remember the disgust on Red’s face when she threw the gun on the beach. “She always has that thing with her, even when she’s here in the middle of us.”

  Nell studies him. “She’s been through a lot, over in Seattle. A lot I can relate to. Did you ever ask her about it?”

  Dave shifts side-to-side. “Well, no. You know how awkward it’s been ever since she’s been back.”

  Nell nods. “The only thing I’ll say is you have no one to blame but yourselves. Now I’ll let it rest. But Terra’s good company.” Then she walks away to sit down by another small cluster of workers.

  The blush creeps up my cheeks, and I hope that out here in the sun and heat, Dave can’t see it.

  “Sometimes I think she’s just a meddling busy-body.” He bites a huge chunk of bread. I scowl at him for the less-than-stellar appraisal of Nell—’s quickly becoming a very good friend. He laughs, half-choking on the bread as he swallows.

  “I guess good ol’ Nell has you under her spell already. Funny how she can do that to people. I still haven’t figured it out yet.” He rubs a hand on the back of his neck. His perplexed look makes me laugh. He bumps my shoulder with his own.

  “And I love how easily you laugh. I think that’s your spell.”

  I'm about to grasp his hand, to spell something there, but a series of three sharp whoops cuts through the air, and the playful look on Dave’s face vanishes. All around me, people scrabble for their tools and dash toward the trees.