Rena suddenly realized how close they were standing. Her heart was racing. Without even thinking about it, she reached up and laid her hand on Lukas’s forearm. Her fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, curling slightly. Pulling.
Lukas leaned in, his lips so near. He closed his eyes.
Rena closed hers. Waiting.
Instead of the kiss she expected, she felt Lukas’s gentle exhale on her mouth. She opened her eyes and saw him standing there like a statue.
Finally, he opened his eyes. “I should go.”
Rena tightened her grip, ready to pull Lukas closer, but the movement made her body flinch. Lukas was gone, and so was her old house. She found herself staring at a curved, concrete wall. She was in her private quarters, lying on her bed. For a long moment, the only thing she could feel was disappointment. Then she remembered Lukas was the enemy. He’d spied on her, reporting her every movement to the same organization that had killed her father. He was one of those operatives, and he might as well have been there in the alley that day.
She pushed herself up from her bed, and the room began to spin. Pain shot through her head from one side to another. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to steady herself. The throbbing in her temples eventually lessened enough for her to get up and stumble to the bathroom where her private stock of pain medication was stored. Then she undressed and climbed into the shower. The hot water soothed her sore muscles, and for a few minutes she stood there and did nothing except let the water run over her head and down her body. Slowly, the pain in her head dissipated.
She washed herself, moving in a pattern of predetermined actions like a transit pod through a tube until her hand passed over the scabs on her right forearm, ejecting her from her trance. She looked down and fingered the raised, tender bumps, remembering what had happened last night, though it felt more like last week. Her initiation. Her team name.
“Renegade,” she said out loud. It brought a smile to her face.
By the time she dried off and dressed, her headache was completely gone. Only then did she notice something sitting on the other side of the glass panel in the wall beside her door. The pass-through was visible only from inside her room. It was used to deliver messages and supplies without disturbing her privacy. She walked over to the wall and opened the compartment.
Inside, she found a small bundle of coarse cloth, no bigger than her fist. It was gathered at the top with a thread that someone had tied into a bow. She took the bundle and walked back to her bed before sitting down to untie the mysterious object.
The cloth fell open to reveal a pile of broken concrete. For a moment, she thought whatever had been wrapped up was shattered. Then she saw words written on the inside of the fabric.
Happy 17th Birthday!
Rena had forgotten how long she’d been with the Outliers, but Dal had obviously been keeping track. Then she realized his present wasn’t broken. These were small pebbles of concrete, like the ones he pestered her with on top of the building in the Outskirts.
Little by little … you’re going down, he’d said after throwing the first one.
Rena’s eyes welled up with tears. How long had it been since she’d gone to see him? Over a week now, perhaps? They’d only visited each other a handful of times since coming here. Rena was to blame for that. Her training kept her occupied day and night. But not anymore—she had two days off, and she intended to use them well.
She got up from her bed and wiped her tears. Then she combed through her hair with her fingers and left her bedroom. The common area was deserted, the rest of her team likely sleeping off last night’s celebration. Rena stopped at the table and pushed aside the cake wrappers spilling out of the metal box. Two cakes had survived the assault, hiding inside with their wrappers fully intact. She grabbed both and stuffed them into her pocket before walking out.
o
The warehouse section was located on the opposite side of the village from the soldiers’ quarters. Though the village center bustled with activity, Rena hardly paid attention to anything along the way. She was lost in her thoughts while her feet carried her to her destination. The excitement of seeing Dal again had stirred up old feelings of how strange this place was. She wanted to give him the cakes in her pocket and hear about his experiences. She wanted to tell him about her training and the mission that had produced such an unexpected response from Commander Ryce. There was something odd about that man, and she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. She was probably being paranoid, and if so, Dal would point it out. He had a way of doing that without offending her. Or just offending her so blatantly that she could only laugh and punch him in the arm. She had so many things to discuss with him that her steps had almost sped to a jog. When she realized it, she slowed to a normal pace and tried to ignore the stares of the other villagers.
Rena turned and entered a primary drainage tunnel with a raised, metal grate as its flooring. Large doors flanked the passage, presumably leading to various warehouses. Stacks of crates lined the center of the floor, and a man walked among them holding something that looked like an exterminal.
“Hi. I’m looking for Dal. Is he around here?”
The man scratched the stubble on his face and frowned. “You a soldier, ain’t you?”
She extended her hand. “I’m Rena. Dal and I came in together.”
The man reluctantly shook her hand. Then he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Number ten. All the way down on the right.”
“Thanks.”
She jogged down the right side of the tunnel and stopped at the doorway with 10 painted on the wall above it. The massive, double-doors stood open. Two men came out of the warehouse, glared at her, then proceeded to lift a crate and carry it inside.
Rena followed them, hanging back so she could get a good look at the place where Dal spent so much of his time. There were crates everywhere, stacked neatly and organized into rows of columns. Each crate had a long string of numbers stenciled on the side that Rena assumed was related to its contents. The ceiling inside was lower than the primary tunnel, but flat instead of rounded. There were ten or fifteen people, spread out in different sections, either stacking, unstacking, or counting the crates.
Rena wandered around for almost a full minute before she spotted Dal on the other side of the warehouse. But she didn’t go to him. She stepped behind a stack of crates and watched as he leaned against a metal shelving support, drinking from a water bottle. The young woman next to him stood far too close. She was tall and had black hair, but that was all Rena could make out.
The young woman said something before holding out her exterminal for Dal to see.
Dal laughed, and the sound of his voice carried across the warehouse. Then he made some sort of gesture with his hand to his forehead.
She hunched over with laughter and put her hand on Dal’s arm to steady herself.
Rena bit her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood. All of a sudden, she pulled back from the corner and slumped against the crates.
Unbelievable! Since when do you have the right to be jealous?
She rolled her eyes at herself. Dal was free to be attracted to whomever he chose. And there was definitely something between those two. Rena could see it from all the way across the warehouse. Couldn’t she just be happy for him? Didn’t he deserve to be happy?
Yes, she told herself. He’s put up with you for years.
That should count for something. But how did she repay him for his loyalty?
By not coming to see him in over a week? Then being angry when I see he’s having fun?
Rena felt disgusted with herself. She knew how Dal felt about her. She’d always known. And though she didn’t feel the same way, she didn’t have any problem keeping him around.
Because you need someone to talk with? Wow, Rena! Congratulations on being selfish.
She pushed herself away from the crates and started walking as fast as she could. She went out the door and turned down the primary tunnel, barely looking up from the floor until she found herself standing in the village center. People swarmed around her. Faces covered with dirt. Bodies hunched over as they carried supplies from one place to another. Hammers beating on metal panels. Men shouting to each other from across the sunken streets. Plenty of distraction if only she could ignore the flood of emotions coursing through her body. If only she could redirect her attention by force. But feelings were difficult to turn off once they got started.
In the absence of reason, all you have is emotion.
Shut up, Lukas! she thought. But he wouldn’t shut up. His argument echoed through the tunnels of her thoughts. Over and over. She could still see him in Mr. Yan’s social studies class, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. That arrogant look on his face. What did he know about emotion? Was he even capable of having any? Lukas had probably suppressed every emotion he’d ever experienced. How else could someone work for OCON and lie to everyone around them about who they were?
Yet it brought up a good point—if Lukas could suppress his emotions with reason, why couldn’t Rena at least distract herself with it? She had two days off, and now that visiting Dal was out of the question, maybe she could accomplish something useful with her time.
Since becoming an Outlier, the frequency of Rena’s repressed memory experiences was increasing. It felt as though she was closer to the truth about her past than at any time before as a citizen. There had to be a reasonable explanation.
She knew the memory of Eldric’s death in the alley was accurate. She’d gone back to that same alley and seen it with her own eyes. What about the rest? The mountains and trees and waterfalls? Perhaps Dr. Mallory had been right, and the other memories were just imaginative interpretations of what she’d really experienced as a child. If that were true, the real experiences had to come from either life as a citizen or life as an Outlier.
Rena let her eyes wander around the village, looking for some hint of a memory. If she’d grown up here, or in another village, wouldn’t it seem familiar? She started walking, drinking in the details. The number and shape of the buildings. How they were positioned in relation to one another. The expressions of the villagers gathered near the fire barrels at the street intersections. The way the flickering, orange light reflected off their dirty skin and stained clothes. The smell of sweat, smoke, and damp earth. The hum of the ventilation fans near the ceiling, pushing out the odor of village life while drawing in fresh air from the tubes near the floor. Rena strolled around the perimeter of the village. Looking. Listening. Smelling. Even touching the hard-packed, earthen walls as she passed by. Running her fingers over corrugated metal panels that defined homes and places of business.
She circled the village five times. Hours passed, but nothing triggered a memory. Nothing seemed familiar. Somewhere among the dense fog of sensations, she’d lost her anger about Lukas and his arrogance. Her disgust with her own selfishness toward Dal had dissipated. Even her regret over ignoring him was gone. All that remained was instinct, which led her into long, dark tunnels.
When she finally emerged into the light, she found herself on a metal walkway, high on a cliff overlooking the orchard. The sun, shining through the fog, hovered almost directly overhead. The air smelled fresh and untamed. Not like the dry, sanitized air under the Canopy. Nor like the thick, confined smell of the village. This was free and peaceful, like the Barrens but more fragrant. The roar of water spilling out of the drainage pipe nearby stirred up memories of a waterfall. When Rena gazed down on the vibrant, green foliage, she almost expected to see a cabin, with a man waiting for her on the porch.
This was the elusive thread of memory she’d been grasping at all morning, and now that she felt it between her fingers, she intended to pull on it and find out what was at the other end.
She moved quickly across the walkway and down the stairs, never taking her eyes off the trees. When her descent took her below the foliage, the speckled sunlight and shadows brought a smile to her face. She stepped off the metal stairs onto dirt, feeling the satisfying thud of fertile soil beneath her boots.
Is this the forest of my childhood?
These were fruit trees, not pines. But their leaves still cast the same aura of protection and comfort that Rena remembered. In a wild, natural existence, these living things took the place of the Canopy.
She walked among them, strolling down the aisles between their orderly rows, looking up into their branches. A grin had spread across her face, and she liked the feel of it. She could almost hear the trill of a bird in her mind, but there were no small, winged bodies here. Only fruit and leaves. And after several minutes, a young boy standing on a ladder. He was perhaps six or seven years old—close to Gareth’s age. Close to Rena’s age when the police found her in the dumpster.
She stopped to watch the boy pluck a golden pear and set it in the basket hanging from his arm. “Can I help?”
The boy turned suddenly, as if startled. Then his eyebrows lowered. “You’re a soldier.”
It was halfway between a question and an accusation. Rena shrugged. “Not today.”
The boy glanced up into the branches, then down again. “OK. Here,” he said, holding out the basket.
She walked to the base of the ladder and accepted the basket. Pears filled only a third of it.
“I’ll toss ‘em down to you.”
“OK.”
The boy seemed to like this new arrangement, leaving behind the ladder and climbing through the branches. He gently squeezed the pears to test their ripeness, and when one met his criteria, he plucked it and tossed it down to Rena.
They filled his basket within twenty minutes, and when Rena swapped it out for the empty one leaning against the trunk, she noticed an old woman watching her from down the aisle. She was of medium height, with a thin build that made her loose-fitting clothing appear exaggerated. She had dark skin and short, gray hair, with eyes that managed to be piercing and friendly at the same time.
Rena smiled at her.
“Coming down,” said the boy.
Rena looked up just in time to catch a pear centimeters before it hit her in the nose. Then she glared up at him, pretending to be upset.
He grinned. “You helping or not?”
She looked down the aisle and saw the old woman hobbling away. There was a basket hanging from the crook of her elbow, but the rest of her right forearm and hand were missing. Rena felt a pang of memory. “Here. I have to go.”
The boy frowned at her, but he didn’t hesitate to scramble out of the branches and retrieve his basket.
“Sorry,” she said, standing on her toes to hand it back to him. The boy took it without a word and went back to harvesting. Rena would have to come back and help him later, but right now she felt a sense of urgency. Instinct told her she was on the verge of learning something important. She turned to look down the aisle, but the woman was gone.
No!
Rena jogged down the aisle to where the old woman had been standing, hoping she hadn’t been another delusion or repressed memory.
Please be real! she pleaded, turning to search in every direction. Please! Then she spotted the old woman shuffling across the aisles to the east. Rena wove through trunks of pear trees and caught up to her just as the rows transitioned to apple trees.
“Can I carry that basket for you?”
The woman stopped and turned. Her dark, brown eyes were clouded over with a gray haze. “Thank you, child, but I can manage.” Her smile was infectious, and immediately put Rena at ease. The feeling of familiarity was growing stronger.
Rena smiled in return. “Have you seen me before?”
“Yes.”
Rena’s heart jumped inside her chest.
“Up there,” said the woman, pointing.
Rena looked up to see the metal walkway attached to the cliff over fifty meters above, and her hopes deflated.
“You were with that other soldier a few weeks ago,” the woman explained.
Now Rena remembered standing on the walkway with Barrett, looking down at the trees. One of the workers had been staring up at them as they discussed the competing roles of the orchard and the greenhouses. “No, I mean … before that. Maybe when I was young?”
The old woman laughed—a clear and robust sound that implied she had spent many hours of her life in appreciation of humor. “You still young, child.”
Rena chuckled at the thought of how many years separated them.
“I’m Evelyn.”
“Rena,” she replied.
Evelyn’s expression shifted from one of humor to one of yearning. “Haven’t met you before today, but I wish I’d known you when you was younger. You love my trees … I can see it in your eyes.”
“Your trees? Are you in charge of this orchard?”
“These are my babies,” said Evelyn, motioning with her left hand. “I raised ‘em from seedlings.”
Rena couldn’t help but notice the stump of Evelyn’s right arm. And she immediately felt guilty about it.
“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout it. Go on … take a good look. This is what we old-timers used to do before they invented those loopy things.”
“You mean … to disable our implants?” Rena asked.
Evelyn nodded. Then she reached out and took Rena’s right hand. “It’s good we don’t do that anymore. You have such pretty hands.”
Rena suddenly felt embarrassed by the scabs on her knuckles and the cut that Zamoro had stitched up a week ago. Unarmed combat training was particularly hard on hands. “Thank you, but they’re not too pretty right now.”
“Nonsense, child. They workin’ hands. Strong and beautiful. Only thing could make ‘em prettier is to get some dirt on ‘em.”
Rena smiled, big enough to match the grin on Evelyn’s face. “I’d love to help.”
“Well come on then. I’ll introduce you to my babies.”