27

000.151.03.05.50

“We’re not going.” Jude sits up from his spot, leaving a body imprint in the ground. His voice is hoarse and only now do I realize he’s been sleeping at the base of a headstone. His face is covered in bruises turning green and sick yellow.

“Jude-man!” Willow exclaims. “You are awake. Want a gopher?”

He forces a stiff grin. “I’m glad you’re safe, Willow. And yes, I’m quite hungry.”

I bristle from his first comment. “Why can’t we go to Ivanhoe?”

“Why do you want to go?”

I fumble over my words, trying to reorder the clarity I felt moments ago. “Because I have five months left. I think I can find answers in Ivanhoe. And the Newtons might be there.”

Jude’s jaw tightens and he raises his eyebrows.

“I’ve never seen a city,” I finish, feeling stupid.

“I think you’re being impulsive,” he says. “Ivanhoe is far away—”

I jump to my feet. “Don’t tell me I’m impulsive. You don’t know me. I’m not asking you to come.” Why does he act as though I’m dragging him along with me? Doesn’t he know he can leave at any time?

He looks away with a nonchalant shrug. “Tally ho.”

I return to my spot beside Willow and say, rather forcefully, “Tell me about Ivanhoe.”

It turns out Willow knows rumors of Ivanhoe, but has never been there. Still, her eagerness surges as she talks. “I think people there live in a castle of sorts, created from ruined cities. When they come to trade, they bring a lot of medicines and technology. No one trades for the technology items because we don’t have much use for them, but they’re very interesting.”

She tosses another pile of dead sticks onto the fire. “They are fun to bargain with and almost always turn it into a competition. They like to compete. The man in charge of Ivanhoe is supposed to have done everything possible in life. People go there from all around the world to ask him questions. He knows everything.”

My ears perk at this. Someone with answers. Answers can bring guidance. The more we talk about Ivanhoe, the more my assurance builds. This is where I must go.

“What type of technology?” Jude raises his head from his brooding position by the headstone.

Willow shrugs. “I told you, we never trade for it. You could ask the man in charge.”

“Do you know how to get there?” Jude asks.

Willow and I grow silent. Her smile fades and pride sickens my insides. “I can find my way.”

“It’s in that direction.” Willow points behind her, toward where I came from.

No mountains line the horizon for me to mark in my mind. Even the hills strewn with headstones block the canyon and albino forest from view. I couldn’t even return to the Wall if I wanted to without help.

Jude smirks. “What direction is that, Parvin?”

Mockery. It breaks through my defiant pride and squeezes my emotions. Tears burn and my throat closes like a pinched straw. He’s just like the boys in Unity Village.

“That’s West,” he says.

I keep silent, staring hard into the flame and trying desperately to quell my hurt.

“Do you know how far away Ivanhoe is?”

“No!” I turn to glare at him. “Why are you trying to crush my motivation? You’ve offered me no good alternative, so stop being a jerk.”

Great. I’ve sunk to name calling. Another reason for him to look down on me. Why do I always know how I want to act, yet let immaturity dominate?

“What can I expect from you, Jude?” Despair overtakes all other emotion. “I thought we were going to stick together, but you seem to have your own plans. I need to know if we’re a team or if we’re going to split ways.”

The late morning air is silent except for the windy licks from the fire. Willow hunches over Reid’s journal, avoiding looking in our direction.

“I’ll go to Ivanhoe with you.” Jude’s voice is low and tense. He stands and walks away with hunched shoulders. He runs a hand through his hair then lets it slide down to his side.

I lean backward until I’m lying down and cover my face. “God . . . I thought this was what You were telling me to do. Why do I feel like I blundered it all?”

We remain among our small section of gravestone hills for three more nights. My urgency to travel builds inside my chest, but I don’t argue. Willow tends to Jude’s wounds, and I allow the built-up soreness to seep out of my body. The gashes from cattail stalks turn stiff now that they’re out of the marshy water. My legs itch from the growing hair and healing wounds. I wish I had a razor.

Ticks and mosquitoes seem to like my dirty smell because I’m constantly plucking them off me. I indulge in fond thoughts of smooth, clean clothes hanging in my closet in Unity Village. They don’t smell of sweat or fish. They have no holes. Blood stains haven’t marred their colors. I used to think them crude creations from my inexpert hands. Now, they seem like masterpieces.

Willow scoots around the gravestones over the course of the days to keep in the shadows. Her sunburned face peels and she picks at the dry skin with her small fingers. I catch up on the news. Another article in The Daily Hemisphere announces Skelley Chase’s newest release of a journal entry continuing my biography X-book. It doesn’t say which journal entry it is.

~Send me my biography X-book, I write him through the NAB. ~And send my profits to my family. This last request is an afterthought. It’s only fair I receive some of the profits since this is my story.

I stare at Hawke’s name bubble several times over the course of the three days. He hasn’t sent any more messages, but I want to send him one. Maybe asking him a question will ensure a response.

The message page is as blank as my thoughts. As Willow talks to Jude, I whisper to the NAB. ~Did you read my biography? It’s the best I can think of and connects with his last message to me.

Willow tosses me my water pouch and I surprise myself by catching it with my good hand.

“Who are you writing?” Jude crouches by the fire.

I don’t want to admit I’m writing Hawke, but why not? Why should it matter if Jude knows or not? “Hawke,” I finally say.

He looks into the flames. “What were you saying?” His voice is terse.

Now that’s not his business. “Asking a question.”

“I can answer your questions. You don’t have to bother him with them.”

My throat grows tight. I never thought I might be bothering Hawke. He never seems annoyed. I add, ~Do my messages bother you? to the message. “Send.”

In an effort to show I do care about Jude, I make a sling out of one of my bandages and help him fit his arm in it. I resist the temptation to run my fingers over the path of his snake tattoo. I’ve never looked at a man’s muscles before. Does my fascination with his make me shallow?

Don’t be silly. God made muscles. I’m admiring His creation. Still, it is strange to think about muscles right after I sent Hawke a message. An odd section in my stomach feels sick, deceitful, as if I’m somehow being disloyal to one of the two men helping me.

I slip my NAB back into my bag. “Jude, are you ready to leave?”

It’s ironic that now I’ve entered my last few months of life, I have the opportunity to start a new—albeit short—life with all the things I wanted: travel, remembrance . . . and maybe even love.

We spread dirt on the fire and trudge deeper into the graveyard. Willow helped me stuff my socks with balls of my rinsed underwear for makeshift shoes since my boots are still at the bottom of the Dregs somewhere. The prickles of sagebrush and stiff grass still pierce the soft fabric, but they’re better than barefoot.

She cups her hands over her forehead like a hat brim as we travel.

“Here.” I hand her The Daily Hemisphere, unrolled.

She shields her face. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” The sun seems harsher on her skin than mine, even though we’re both burned. I think of Hawke’s light skin. I bet his pale olive color would tan nicely under this sun.

Bah! First Jude’s muscles and now Hawke’s skin. What’s the matter with me? I’ll be dead before I see Hawke again. I’m thinking like this because they’re the first two men who haven’t bullied me.

So then, why not allow my heart to dwell? Since I zero-out soon, the risk is brief. If my emotions are crushed the disappointment will only last a few more months.

This idea sticks in my mind. Hawke doesn’t mock my short Numbers; instead, he strives to help me through them. My ticking Clock didn’t defer him from showing me kindness. He’s even sharing information with my family.

But where does Jude fall in all this? God placed me with a man my age with whom to travel. He’s from the East. He’s mildly attractive. Is this God’s way of presenting me with a man of interest?

My heart doesn’t seem ready to welcome in Jude yet, though I’m open to his attempts if he wants to try. He did save me from the flash flood. I’m still in awe over the strength he showed to pull us out.

That evening we settle among gravestones and sagebrush. My legs ache and I imagine a long foot massage from Mother. I gently rub the tight area of skin around my stump. My hand was cut off two and a half weeks ago, but my discomfort grows. Waves of sharp pain course down my left arm, all the way to my nonexistent fingers.

Willow presses the outside of her water pouch against her burned face. She scrunches her nose with a wince and moves the pouch. Jude settles down cross-legged, pulls out his unfinished whistle, but returns it to his pocket, rubbing his wounded arm.

We don’t build a fire. We don’t eat. Again, my stomach grumbles. I’m so useless. Tomorrow Jude or Willow will catch an animal. Maybe I will kill something and prove myself capable of surviving.

The next morning, Jude presents Willow with a wide-brimmed hat made from woven tumbleweed. He wrapped portions of it with his own shirt to cushion her head. She stares at it with a frown.

“It’s a tumbleweed. It was already dead, blown by the wind, and with no roots or green.”

With hesitant movements, she takes the hat. “Thanks.”

Jude laughs. “Welks.”

He looks different when he laughs. Little creases curve inside his cheeks, shaping his sun-beaten skin into a sign of joy. I’m transfixed until he turns away. Now, instead of his face, I stare at the bare torso hidden only by his vest.

I squeeze my eyes shut. God, You know this is unusual for me. What’s right? What’s wrong? I’ve never had thoughts like these before. Am I sinning?

No one taught me how God looks at attraction. All Reid ever said when he gave me my ring was, “Don’t you let a man touch you until you’re married.”

I’d blushed and muttered, “Of course not.”

Did Reid mean intimacy, or did he mean holding hands? Touching tattoos? Brushing cheeks with fingers?

I sigh. He’s not here to judge me, so what do I think? What do You think, God?

The day grows so warm I shed my skirt and stuff it in my pack. Jude flops his coat around his neck. Willow seems content in her full clothing, which keeps her skin covered. She often reaches up and touches her hat with a smile.

“You know”—I catch up with Jude—“maybe Ivanhoe is part of my pilgrimage.”

He glances over at me without moving his head and looks annoyed. “Let the pilgrimage change you. Don’t try and change it.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“If you’re not letting yourself be changed, can you even call this a pilgrimage?”

“You called it a pilgrimage.”

Jude lets out a long breath. “I mean you’re trying to lead instead of follow.”

Disapproval. I should have known. My intent in bringing up Ivanhoe again was to try and convince him it’s a good vision, but he’s telling me to follow.

“I am following. I think God wants me to go there.” I force my voice to remain strong as I talk about God. It’s time I master my weak faith. “Besides, God doesn’t want me to be stagnant. Aren’t I supposed to make decisions, too? I want to find the Newtons.”

“How do you know they’re in trouble?”

“I don’t. I hope they’re not. I just want to find them, to see them and make sure they’re okay. Their story can inspire every other Radical facing death.”

“Tally ho.”

Silence returns to our marching band. I don’t break it, but a small loathing grows toward the phrase tally ho. It shuts down conversation.

I consider my own question. Am I supposed to make decisions? Or should I wait until I know God has told me something? Have I ever known?

No. So then how do I find out God’s plan for me?

I log this question into my memory. I’ll ask the leader of Ivanhoe. The man with answers.

We drink a lot of water to combat the heat. I request several stops to maintain stamina, growing self-conscious. Jude and Willow never seem to need to stop. Do they expect me to keep up with their pace?

Willow weaves between sagebrush, avoiding stepping on large bushes or flowers. It looks exhausting, like she’s walking twice as much as she has to. Still, she has more energy than I do.

Why can’t my legs keep going like theirs? Why do I crave the moment we stop to sleep and they never seem to desire rest? I feel subliminal pressure from both of them to have endless endurance.

God, this is Your plan, right? My conviction when standing among the tombstones is nothing more than a memory now. I have to believe it was from You. You’re still guiding me, right? Or was that impulse? Is Jude right?

My NAB sends a muted pop from my pocket. I drop behind Willow to read the new message and walk without drawing Jude’s attention.

~Good noon, Miss Blackwater.

I fight a grin. Hawke.

~ I did invest in your X-book. Though you were forced across the Wall against your will, great things are still happening in your life. You are brave to share them. I dare to hope your story might cause some change in the processing of Radicals here in the East, in the Low Cities.

I reread this first paragraph. He thinks great things are happening in my life? Like what, my survival? Nothing I’ve done so far would constitute as great in my mind . . . except maybe helping Ash give birth. But Hawke thinks I’m brave. The corners of my eyes smart.

His sentence about changing the processing of Radicals strikes a chord in my memory. Jude said something similar. They both believe I can do it—they believe in me. What if I let them down?

I take a deep breath. Hawke’s reply continues and I relish the long message.

~Your brother, Reid, is safe for now. When your biography revealed the secret of your Clock, Reid was placed on house arrest with your parents until the end of the Clock. And no, your messages do not bother me. Much of your hardship I consider my fault for not stepping forward and standing by the correct laws of Enforcing. I’m here for you. Tally ho.

My heart sinks. So guilt drives his messages. Even his compliment of my bravery seems tainted now. His “Tally ho” at the end has a note of finality to it. It reminds me of Jude’s harshness. I don’t respond.

Skelley Chase hasn’t sent a reply, so I reach back and slide the NAB into the opened flap of my pack. It’s harder to move my feet forward when I want to sit on a stone and let my heart fall out.

The only change in scenery over the course of several days is when we hit a wide cracked black road, winding into the distance as far as I can squint. Grass and weeds crawl through the cracks and painted lines fade from its weathered stone skin.

“Blacktop,” Jude says. “Or asphalt. Highway. Freeway. Pavement. It’s what people drove cars on when they ran on tires.”

He talks as if it’s old-fashioned, but I’ve never seen a road so smooth. “The Enforcers in Unity Village still drive cars on tires. I rode in one.”

“Really? Strange.”

“Low City, remember?”

We walk on the blacktop a few hours, but it increases the heat. We leave it behind to veer straighter north. Headstones and crosses still outnumber the sagebrush, hills continue to roll, and the sky is cloudless and full of heat. Dirt, sweat, and grime waft from my skin. I ache for a bath and position myself downwind from Jude and Willow, though they don’t smell any better.

Willow kills rabbits with her sling. When we stop for the night, she cleans them, Jude builds a fire, and we eat them. Every day she kills at least two more. For the first time, their overpopulating habits are in our favor, though I grow tired of their meat. We use a couple skins to replace my torn, muddy socks and fill up our water pouches at a small stream. Willow inspects the wood Jude uses for the fires and the land is deprived of even more tumbleweeds.

On what seems the hottest day during my time in the West, we crest a hill and find a gentle flowing river below. It’s wide and smooth and the banks are soft. I drop my pack and wait to see if Jude and Willow run in so I can follow suit. Jude slips off his boots and rests his feet over the bank. Willow wades in. I join her, clothes and all. She lifts cool water to her burns and I scrub the dirt off what skin I can decently expose.

We refill our water pouches and return to the bank. Jude holds out his good hand when I approach. He’s on his feet. I don’t respond fast enough, so he takes my hand and steps into the water. He starts humming an upbeat tune, inserting, “Da da dums” and “Oom pa pa, oom pa pas.” He twirls me.

I can almost imagine the music playing through his mind. It’s difficult to spin in knee-deep water on slippery stones, but Jude’s hand is firm.

I laugh.

The dance doesn’t last long, but each second siphons off a little despair. He takes his injured arm out of the sling and ends with a dip. His arm convulses and almost drops me. With a grunt, he lifts me and helps me onto the bank, favoring his wounded arm. I wring out my hair, but let my clothes drip dry. Refreshed. My body longs to sit here and let the breeze cool my damp skin.

Jude sits beside me and leans back on one elbow. Willow dunks herself in the water. I eye him with a fluttering stomach.

He danced with me. Why did he want to dance with me? Did I look foolish? The show of affection was soothing. Perhaps Jude will say something about dancing with me. Perhaps I should say something.

“Don’t go to Ivanhoe.”

I glance at him sharply. Our dancing fun disappears from my mind like a dried puddle on a hot day. I look at my lap. “Where would you have me go, Jude?”

He shrugs. “Let’s find somewhere new.”

Let’s? As in us? He still wants to travel with me. He doesn’t want to leave me behind, but he doesn’t want to travel where I’m called. “Ivanhoe is new to me. What don’t you like about it?”

He is silent for a moment, staring hard at the river. “I’ve never actually been there, but I know the way. I’ve seen it. I don’t think we should go to the largest city in the West and bed down. He . . . would expect us to go there.”

“The shooter won’t find us in Ivanhoe.” I hoped the topic would come up again. Jude’s been hit with more than a bullet—he’s infused with fear and not admitting it. I remember his terror in the Dregs. His shaking. His entire persona of strength shattered. “It’s the largest city in the West, you said so yourself—he’d be well pressed to spot us. We’d be in more danger in a smaller town.”

Jude helps Willow out of the water then lifts my pack onto his back. He tromps up river. I scramble to catch up with him.

“He’d expect us to go there, Parvin.” He hoists my pack higher. “It’s easy to hunt someone who doesn’t belong. We can’t blend in. We should keep moving.”

“For how long?” I ask, in a smaller voice and gesture to my pack. “ You don’t have to carry that for me, by the way.” He makes no move to take it off and I’m secretly thankful. “Why would the shooter hunt you? He left us in the Dregs. Maybe he thinks you’re dead.”

“He knows I’m not dead.”

“Then why did he let us survive?”

“I don’t know.” He answers too fast, like he’s worried and his response is to appease my curiosity.

I lay my hand on Jude’s arm. “Who is that man who shot you?”

The scuff of Jude’s boots on the dusty ground takes over the conversation. My hand slides back to my side. His eyes stare at a memory, vacant yet focused. After a long minute I whisper, “Jude?”

“I’m thinking,” he barks.

I will myself to be patient. Behind me, the swish of Willow’s sling is followed by a scurry and thunk. Another rabbit down. She ties it to her belt by its hind legs to be skinned and cleaned tonight. My stomach roils. Mother’s banana bread feels like a year ago.

“He’s an assassin,” Jude says at last. “He’s sent from the East by the Citizen Welfare Development Council.”

“The CWDC?”

“Yes, also called the Council. It pairs with the government to develop security and well-being for USE citizens.”

“I know what it is. But they’re supposed to be on our side—the citizen’s side. Why would they hunt you?”

“Because I have information they want.” He looks at his feet. “I was an inventor. I created something they wanted and decided not to give it to them.”

“What did you invent?”

He pauses for a long time. Is he annoyed? Will he even answer? “You can’t know.” Before I can ask why not he cuts me off with a single word. “Yet.”

Yet.

He’s asking for patience. Maybe this is hard for him—a vulnerable topic. Can I be patient? I look up at him as he stares at the dry sagebrush-covered plains and find myself nodding.

Questions swarm in my mind like hornets. Jude said the assassin didn’t kill him on purpose, so why did he shoot Jude? Why is Jude still afraid of the assassin? One clear thought makes its way through the swarm: The USE is much more involved with this side of the Wall than our government lets on.

“I guess it’s okay to go to Ivanhoe, as long as we’re careful when we enter and leave. We will need food and supplies soon anyway. But let’s not stay too long.”

“Okay.” I try not to sound too excited. “Just long enough to find the Newtons.”

Jude digs his hand into his pocket. “Go see how Willow is doing with her rabbits.”

With a deep breath through my nose, I obey. Jude must need a moment to himself. What must it feel like being hunted?

I bite my lip, thinking of my single journal entry to Skelley Chase about Jude and me in the Dregs. I wish I could take it back. I wish I’d kept Jude’s name out of the whole thing—or used a fake name.

I pull my NAB from my skirt. Maybe it’s not too late. Perhaps Skelley Chase hasn’t published that journal entry yet. I balance the thin booklet on my stub and click Skelley Chase’s pulsing message bubble.

~Here’s your X-book. Keep up on that journal, you’re leaving me dry. -SC

My X-book. I tap the small link. A stunning cover with a dogwood tree the color of blood holds the title starting to define my life.

A Time to Die

By Skelley Chase

I squirm. Shouldn’t my name be on the cover? I squint closer, seeing if it’s in finer print, but a shout from Jude startles me.

“Writing in your journal?” He yells much louder than needed to reach my ears.

“No, I’m—” I look up and my voice seizes.

He’s stopped walking and faces me, unmoving. His eyes are wild and his lips are pressed into a tense line. “You never said those entries are broadcasted to the entire nation!”

I halt, too, and attempt to clear my throat. Willow stands beside me, looking at Jude with wide eyes. He’s scaring her. He’s scaring me.

Jude takes three long strides and hits my NAB from my hand. “Stupid!”

I stumble backward, now truly afraid.

“You led the assassin to us. Those journal entries told him where we were. Your selfish desire for the world to know your name caused this.” He jerks a finger at his shot arm.

My face grows hot. I can’t bring myself to apologize. His hands clench and I could swear the snake on his arm silently hisses at me. Jude’s eyes are wide and red-rimmed. He raises a fist. I tense, but he turns away and grabs two handfuls of his own hair, allowing the sling to slip off his shoulder.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he grinds through gritted teeth.

“If you would have told me—” I jerk back when he spins around.

“You can’t blame your idiocy on me.” Saliva gathers at the corners of his mouth. “You lack the ability to think of others before your own impulse.”

His words are like a whip. My restraint snaps. I shove him.

My stump crumples against his chest and he barely sways. What I don’t expect is for him to shove me back. His hands hit me like two impenetrable rams, striking my shoulders with the force of a cannonball. I fall backward and my knees buckle against a gravestone. I land hard, stiff sagebrush branches piercing my skin. The impact knocks my breath out in a painful cry. My stub screams for attention, shooting zings like newly sewn sutures.

“I’m not taking you to Ivanhoe. Not if you’re announcing it to the world.”

Everything in me wants to curl up and cry. Where is compassion? Where is grace?

Willow kneels by me, crying. “Is your arm hurt?”

I shake my head and glare after Jude.

I hate him.