Ceres and I wait in silence after dinner. I’ve informed her what’s happened. She cried a few tears, but now she is stoic, as am I. There is nothing to do but wait; Marisa will pick us up soon. The baby seems to be sleeping, but I feel her limbs twitch occasionally, as if she is dreaming. I watch in fascination as a foot pushes out the soft skin on my stomach, so eager to greet the world, to stretch out.
"I'm...s-scared."
Ceres stares at me from where she’s been standing at the window looking out, her eyes full of tears. Heaving myself off the chair, I go to her. I wrap my arms around her as best as I can with the baby a barrier between.
"I know," I whisper next to her ear, breathing in her scent that is still so sweet, so young and innocent. In this moment, I am thankful she is letting me see her vulnerability, her fear. It warms my heart that she still trusts me enough to do so. "I'm sorry it has to be this way. If there were a way for me to leave you here and know you'd be safe, I'd do it."
She shakes her head, her warm tears drip-dropping on my arm. "I don't want you to...leave me. I-I want to go with y-you and...the baby. Sh-Shale needs...us."
I smile against the tears forming in my own eyes, so proud of my strong, brave little sister in this moment. She's right—it's what Shale needs. I want to say so much to her, to apologize for hurting her when I only wanted to do what was best, what was right, for her.
But there is no time for me to do much more than squeeze her and let go. Marisa's van has pulled up to the back of the house.
We go outside, the night buzzing with the teeming, furtive movement of insects. The air smells fresh—of wet dirt and grass—a smell I am only beginning to appreciate. I realize that this is the first true spring Ceres and I have enjoyed, the first true beginning of life. In New Amana, any new life that dared grow was instantaneously killed when it inhaled the poisoned air clogged with black fallout. I say a little wish that we will survive the night, that we will live long enough to see the summer.
Marisa waits in the van, her hands gripping the wheel tight, her spine rigid and straight. When she sees us, she gets out quickly and opens the back door, revealing a space inside by her boxes of goods for the yez. "Sit here."
I squeeze her hand. "Thank you. For doing this."
Marisa looks from me to Ceres and then back, the red specks in her eyes glittering under the starlight. There is no moon out tonight; a perfect night for secret plans. "This is a bad idea, for many reasons." She takes a deep breath. "But I know why you're doing it."
There is nothing else to say. We get in.
There is barely enough room, especially not for me with my protruding stomach, but we manage. As the van jostles over potholes and bumps in the road, our elbows and knees—and my stomach—is bumped and knocked against the boxes and supplies, but we don't complain. The skin on my stomach clenches every so often, but I don’t notice. At this point, I’m immune to these minor discomforts. All I can think of now is Shale.
Every time the van slows down, my heart races and the baby begins to move, as if she senses my panic. But then it speeds up again and we keep going forward, cutting through the night, toward Shale. I force myself to breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, slowly and steadily. I remind myself to think of the upcoming rescue and nothing else. There is no time for fear, no time for worry.
Occasionally, I catch Ceres's eyes. Even though the dread on her face is plain to see, so is the resolute set of her small jaw. I have never loved her more than in this moment.
Finally, the van stops. The engine’s vibrations cease, and silence surrounds us. Ceres looks at me with wide eyes.
"I think we're here," I whisper.
Marisa opens the back door, and behind her, I see the vacant parking lot of the yez. Ahead, the squat concrete structure sits waiting, veiled in darkness. "Are you ready?" she asks, her expression grim.
I nod. “More than ever."
She hands Ceres and me clothes that she’s managed to procure. The dress is made of stretchy material and though it’s tight, it fits over my stomach. The pressure around my middle makes me wince, but at this point, I’m just grateful Marisa was able to get us something passable. The baby kicks a bit in indignation at being constricted, but not as much as I'd expect her to. She is calming; I wonder if she can sense my fear and has decided to lie low.
Marisa frowns at me when I emerge from the van, where Ceres and I have both stashed our old clothes. "You won't be able to hide your pregnancy. If anyone who knows of you and Ceres sees you..."
I shake my head. "It's all right. I don't plan to stay very long." I don’t even have a real plan. I just intend to listen, to see what I can find out. It’s better than nothing, I hope.
Marisa nods, a strand of hair blowing against her face. She presses a small bag into my hand. I look down, at the pink powder. “It’s candy glass,” she says. “You can trade it for information.”
I swallow past the tears and slip the bag into the pocket of my dress. Then I tie my mask on.
Ceres puts hers on as well, and then she is a stranger, just a beautiful young girl. I smile at her and hold out my hand. We have to enter well before Marisa so it doesn't appear as though we arrived together. "Come on. Let's find Shale." My little sister grasps my hand, her own cold and damp with nerves. I try not to let her know how scared I am.
I turn to Marisa and smile. “Thank you. For everything.”
She raises one hand in a wave as we begin to walk across the barren parking lot toward the yez, with only the moon as our guide. I think: This will work because it has to.
◊ ◊ ◊
The little cement room in front of the yez is frigid tonight. I wrap my arm around Ceres and tell the woman guarding the door the password Marisa gave me. Inside, surrounded by the thumping music, the soupy heat, and the people in various stages of intoxication or barter, I feel a surge of energy. There is a sense of purpose to my every heartbeat. Unlike these past few months, which I’ve drifted through without any specific goals besides keeping Ceres and the baby safe, I am now in charge. I know exactly what it is I must do. I must rescue Shale.
And then we must run away, exactly as he had suggested before. I can see it clearly now—there is no way for us to exist outside of each other. I imagine a solid thread like spider silk between us; when he is in trouble, it cinches tight, pulling me close. I imagine it is the same for him. There is no point in us trying to live apart from each other when that thread, that near-tangible connection won't let us ignore the other's misfortunes.
"Wh-where should w-we look...for in-information?" Ceres has to shout to be heard over the deep, thumping music.
"I'm not sure yet," I answer, my eyes scanning the crowd, looking for clusters of people speaking. I’m only vaguely aware of the unmasked man kneeling before the woman in the corner, doing her sexual bidding. If it were any other situation but the one we are in now, I’d be horrified at the thought of Ceres seeing all of the uninhibited revelry around us. But now, I focus on studying people’s body language, trying to figure out who might be speaking about Shale’s capture. "Let's walk around and listen out for anything interesting."
I grasp two cups of drink and hand one to Ceres. "Don't drink it," I say into her ear. "It's just for show."
She nods and I throw my head back and laugh, as if I am intoxicated, too. Ceres smiles, but it is a rictus smile, mirthless. I am terrified that someone will spot us and report us to Elara. Or that she will step out here for a moment and see us. But there is nothing else to do. We begin to walk.
I learn many things as we listen in on conversations, lingering close to hear their words above the music. The masks truly make us anonymous; people talk so freely when they think their identities are indiscernible from the others around them. I learn that a New Amanian woman is pregnant from a Chinese official, and that he is offering her money—lots of it—to get rid of the baby. I learn that there are men and women available for my pleasure, if I am willing to pay for their drugs for the night. I learn that there is talk of another yez sprouting up, to the south of us.
But I learn nothing about Shale.
I am losing hope fast when I hear: "...have to find him soon. I can’t believe he managed to escape." I recognize the deep, hearty voice with the New Amanian accent. This is one of the officials Elara met with in her house. I remember listening to this voice from the security of Elara’s bedroom.
Are they speaking about what I think? Namely, Shale—has he escaped? Hope blooms in my chest as I inch closer to the masked women. Ceres's fingertips dig into the exposed flesh of my upper arm; she has heard them too. We linger nearby, pretending to drink from our cups and laugh and talk.
The three women who are speaking begin to move; they brush by us. One of them jostles my stomach and turns. "I'm sorry," she says. Then she takes in my pregnancy and smiles a cold, small smile. "Congratulations." Her companions turn at her tone. When they see me, they smile, too.
I take a step back without quite meaning to. There is something about them, something about the way they turned to me as one, the way they have formed a semicircle before me, which reminds me of packs of wild dogs in New Amana. I’ve seen them attack smaller, weaker dogs. All they leave behind is pulverized fur, matted with blood and bits of gore.
Now, I force myself to stand still and not show fear, to not become that weaker dog. But something about these women has my hackles raised. In spite of the pounding music, I hear Ceres's breathing speed up. The baby, strangely, is quiet.
"Look at this," the woman who jostled me says in a nasal voice to her companions. They are still smiling as they look at me through their masks, their eyes flat in the dim lighting. "She is with child. Quite far along, too."
The woman to her right, the tallest of the three, peers around me to Ceres. I feel as though every other person in the yez has suddenly disappeared. The air is colder, emptier; the music quiets down to a steady pulsing. "And who is that with you?"
"This is my friend," I say, even as I think, They know. They know who we are.
"Ah." The woman in the middle nods. "Would you and your...friend...come with us? We'd like to speak with you."
"Actually, we were leaving. It's late, and we have to work in the morning." Tremors wrack my body and I try to force myself to breathe. My stomach tightens and my breath catches.
But the tall woman grabs my upper arm, tight. "We insist," she hisses into my ear.
And I know we have no choice.