Broken Moon Page 8

  It is this last that occurs to me as the room drifts lazily into focus. My eyes blink a few times, and I try to establish how much time has passed. Cartoons once again flit across the screen, something about a goofy vulture and a bee. I gape at it, wondering who turned it on.

  A voice slowly becomes apparent.

  “Naiya,” it’s saying, tears running down the face of its owner. “Naiya, please.”

  “Pip.” I look at him dazedly, bending slowly to gather him in my arms. “It’s okay,” I whisper, over and over again. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” It isn’t, but what else is there to say? That nothing will ever be okay again?

  Still, it seems to make him feel better. Eventually his sobs slow, and he wipes his face, sniffling, on the back of his hand. I watch as the demonic Mark rubs across his nose, coated in his very human tears. Oddly, comforting him comforts me as well, and for the first time in days, holding his warm, solid little body fills me with nothing but love.

  After what seems like a long, long time, I gently disengage from his clinging grasp. Gazing emptily around the small room, my eyes fall on Enoch, who is sitting in a corner, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms scrunched behind them. His expression is blank and glassy; he almost looks dead. Pip grabs my hand desperately as I try to stand up, so I bring him with me as I walk to Enoch.

  “Come on,” I say gently, leaning over to slip his power pack into his pocket. He doesn’t move. “Enoch, come on. We’re going to the Library. We’re taking off, like you wanted.”

  Nothing.

  “Enoch, let’s go.” Panic begins to set it once more, but I take deep breaths and try to stave it off with reason. “If they weren’t looking before, they are now. We’ve got to leave.” I prod him hopefully with a toe, then more forcefully, shaking his shoulder. “Your idea, remember? No chances with our safety?”

  Nada.

  Sighing, I bend and gather our knapsacks, pulling the bedroll off of Enoch’s and transferring some of its heavier objects into my already full pack. I shrug into it, staggering under the weight. It feels like it’s made of lead. Suddenly I want to put it down, curl up next to it, and wait for them to find me.

  Because ultimately they will; that’s the one thing I’m sure of. And I can’t let it happen, if only for Pip’s sake. Even if his future holds nothing more than hunting down people like me, traitors and runaways, I could never hand him over willingly.

  Going down fighting is all I have left.

  “Can you carry this?” I ask Pip, presenting him with Enoch’s knapsack. He nods bravely, and I help him slip his arms through the straps, adjusting them for his smaller stature. I look into his eyes as I do it, and try to smile. “Thanks, buddy.”

  His face is grave and streaked with salt, but he smiles back. “I love you,” he whispers.

  “I love you, too,” I say softly, hugging him once more. More than any of the other Barrigans, Pip feels like real family. He’s never known a life without me, wouldn’t choose any word for me but sister. The thought fills me with a weird amalgam of hopelessness and steely determination. “No matter what, I will never, ever let anything happen to you,” I tell him. In that moment, I believe myself utterly, and I can tell he does too.

  “Okay, enough,” I say to Enoch, reaching over to lever him to his feet. I yank several times, but he is so heavy, especially in his deadweight state. The urge to scream comes over me again, and I almost give in to it. Instead, I redouble my efforts. “Let’s go,” I pant. “Enoch, please! Please! You can’t help him by staying here!”

  When not even this moves him, I release him abruptly and he crumples back to the floor. My neck begins to prickle strangely, but I ignore it.

  “Fine. Fine.” My chest heaves with exertion. “I’m sorry, but you’re making me do this.” And without further ado I slap him with all my strength, right across the face.

  The reaction, for which I wait with trepidation, is unexpected. He simply stares at me for a moment, then rises to his feet, walks to the door and pulls it open. He nods politely at us, as if to say, After you.

  Pip and I exchange an uncomfortable look, then walk toward the entrance hand and hand, slipping through it and out onto the dark landing. I try not to see the familiar sights as I leave for what I’m sure is the last time, ignoring the hook that holds Papa’s old plaid scarf, a paperback he’s propped against a shelf: The Borrowers, a sly nod to our profession.

  Though it’s nearly noon, the halls are as twilit as ever. The prickling sensation in my neck increases, hinting at that same unwelcome presence I felt in the subway tunnel. Carefully, I ease toward a window, inching my head around the sill until I can get a good view of the dusky old street below, but there’s nothing out there. Confused, I walk toward the back stairway, much narrower than the main one, and we patter down it single file. Even Enoch, still looking as though he’s on another planet, walks carefully and quietly.

  My neck still feels tight, like someone is scratching it with sharp nails, but we neither see nor hear anyone for the next few minutes, making our way to the ground floor and slipping out the back exit. Shooing the boys behind an old, rusted dumpster that has practically merged with the crumbled pavement beneath it, I peer out. Once again, nothing. We leave then, walking in a deep silence for several minutes, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I take the lead, still fueled by a fierce resolve that fences in an almost overwhelming grief, fighting to break free.

  It’s not as though I can’t recognize a fact that’s staring me in the face – it’s more like I can’t find room for it within the framework of all the other facts I know. A world without Papa, my mentor and teacher and the parent I know best, doesn’t make sense. Blessedly, this seems to make it less real, and I’m able to keep moving, watching for any sign of danger.

  Pip and I pull up at the same time. He looks at me, his eyes lit with a faint russet glow. My breath catches and I unconsciously pull my hand from his. He doesn’t seem to notice, helping me pull his older brother behind a pillar. Holding my breath, I compress my lips and shoot Enoch a look of warning. His expression doesn’t change, but he seems to get it.

  As I’d known would happen, a single guard stalks slowly into view, his vest softly metallic, the objects on his weapons belt glinting dully. He sniffs suspiciously, but doesn’t turn our way or show any sign of knowing we are here. My pounding heart calms incrementally, and my sweat begins to cool as we watch his slow sweep. I’m once again puzzled by the fact that they are dogging us without catching us. It’s likely they didn’t know exactly where the Cache was before, but they should have been able to zero in on us while we stayed put. We were sitting ducks, a fact I couldn’t shake during my long vigil last night. Yet it seems we were as invisible then as we are now.

  I wonder, absurdly, if sheer desire can make something true.

  If wishes were horses, beggars would ride. More of Papa’s advice on the training floor, words meant to dispel flightiness and optimism and instill in their places vigilance and readiness. Counsel we hardly need here, with only a single stymied guard. And that’s another thing: The Home Guard almost always operate in pairs, yet this is not the first who’s acted alone in our pursuit. Then again, if they can’t find us, what use is there for more than one lookout at any location? Few, expensive and well-trained, they are always needed. Better to spread them out, cover more bases, widen the net to increase the chances of nabbing Doctor Black’s personal quarry. When this lucky blip ends, when our signals blink back into existence, they’ll find us that much more easily. The thought gives me chills that even the guard’s departure cannot dispel.

  The next few hours are silent and sad. After a while I feel Pip’s warm hand slide into mine once more.

  “Can I talk to you?” he asks quietly.

  “Always.” I squeeze his fingers, ashamed of my earlier behavior. “What’s up?”

  “I just feel … funny,” he admits after a pause. “Every time I see … them.”

  At a loss, I simply w
ait.

  “It’s like they’re calling me,” he says finally. “Like they don’t want me to stay away.”

  “What do they want you to do instead?” I ask quietly.

  “I think they want me to come out. To help them.”

  I nod, thinking of the way the two guards had carried that strange corpse down from the Top of the World, acting in concert and exchanging barely a word. As though they were two parts of the same body, linked by a connection I could not see. No surprise, really, that Pip should feel this too.

  “Makes sense,” I say. What doesn’t make sense is that I can feel them too. I’ve never been Marked, never disappeared. There is nothing special about me. And yet that isn’t true, I remind myself, remembering Papa’s last words. There is something.

  “But I don’t want to help them,” Pip insists, oblivious to my internal musings. “I want to stay with you.”

  “I know.”

  “So you don’t … you’re not going to send me away?” His voice, suddenly, is very, very small.

  “Oh, Pip! No!” I stop, and Enoch bumps into me. Looking bemused, he simply stands there. Ignoring him, I bend down, feeling terrible as I realize Pip must have registered my slight after all, the way I snatched my hand away. “That will never happen,” I assure him. “Remember what I said before?”

  He nods.

  “And remember what Enoch said?”

  He pauses.

  “That you’ve got to fight it.”

  He nods again, and I figure this is as good a time as any for lunch. I sit, handing out more of the crinkly white packages. These contain dried fruit, a treat usually. Enoch refuses his, and I don’t push. Pip and I eat mechanically, and less than we want. Food isn’t easy to come by, and I’m sure our official dispensary rations have been long since cut off. As if we’d be foolish enough to go to one anyway.

  When he’s finished eating, Pip begins to cry once more, slow tears sliding down his face. Feeling an overwhelming sense of pity, I let him fall asleep in my lap instead of pushing him to keep moving. All the urgency seems to have gone out of me with this morning’s newscast, replacing it with despair and a deep anger. With one hand I pat his back, and with the other, toy with the handle of my knife. I almost wish someone would find us.

  Eventually I shake Pip awake again. He sits up blearily, taking my hand and rising, then picking up the pack from the ground. Even with the supplies I’ve removed, it is still too heavy. He struggles valiantly under the weight of his absurd burden, but it bumps against his legs and makes it hard for him to walk.

  “Give me that,” Enoch says gruffly, bending to pulling the knapsack from Pip’s back. He makes no further comment, but guides his brother with a gentle hand as we strike out once more.

  “I wish we knew what we were doing,” I grumble aloud, unable to keep up the strong façade. I hate myself as soon as I say it; it seems like a criticism of Papa. Enoch grunts noncommittally, and Pip starts crying again. And again, I want to scream.

  Without quite realizing how it happens, we find ourselves down on the City floor once more. The Library is there, near the parade grounds along the Eastern Wall, but it’s more than that. We want to be among trees, on green grass, along the dangerous but alluring strip that marks the edge of our world. The buildings here are brightly lit to fend off the night; no one worries about wasting electricity or gas. We carefully avoid apartments, cafés and houses, anything that might contain people. Until, that is, we stumble upon a neighborhood I recognize.

  “This is where Chen lives,” I say to Enoch. He nods absently, uncaring that we’re within a few blocks. She was my friend, not his. In a place I might be recognized – though isn’t that everywhere now? – I know I should be even more careful, but I feel an overwhelming tug toward the familiar. A friend. She used to be my best friend, in fact, aside from Enoch.

  Chen’s father, who works for the Water Sanitation Board, got a promotion a little over a year ago. He moved Chen and her family down to the posh Lower City almost immediately, switching her and her sister, Biyu, from the school we’d attended since early childhood to a much nicer one down here. At that point I hadn’t seen much of her anyway; unlike most kids, who continue until they turn seventeen, Enoch and I left at fifteen to pursue our apprenticeships. I miss her. Which must be why, instead of pulling back into the shadows like I should, I weave through a short maze of streets and alleys, winding up eventually in front of the brick home I’d been to only once before.

  “What are you doing?” Enoch whispers, finally seeming to wake up.

  “What do you care?” I hiss, realizing with surprise that I’m angry with him. For what? I wonder. The answer is quickly forthcoming. For making me do it all alone. Pack, leave, lead, protect. All the things he usually does for me. “I’ve been taking care of us all day. Why do you have a problem now?”

  “It’s stupid,” he says bluntly.

  And it is stupid. But it’s also too late.

  “Naiya!” The shocked voice is, thankfully, whispering.

  I turn quickly. Lu Chen is walking toward me with her hand outstretched, and I take it.

  “Chen!”

  Only then does it occur to me to wonder whether my friends are still my friends. Is there a limit to how much a person can lose in just three days, or not? Apparently I do not hide this fear as well as I’d like.

  “Oh!” she says hurriedly. “No, no, don’t worry. I would never turn you in!” She looks around quickly, shunting us under a leafy arbor. Even in my semi-panicked state, poised for flight, I am painfully aware of how Enoch’s arm burns against mine.

  “How are you?” I whisper.

  “Oh,” she says again. “That doesn’t matter. How are you?” She smiles sadly, her tear-filled eyes flicking to take in Enoch as well. Dark irises and black hair contrast with her simple, pink-cheeked beauty. “I’m so sorry for all of you. So, so sorry.”

  “Yes,” I say, throat tightening. “Thank – thank you.”

  Enoch mumbles something indistinct.

  “You’ve been on the news,” she says unhelpfully.

  “I know.”

  “Did you have anything to do with that – that break-in?” she asks.

  “What break-in?” Is this what those scientists died for? Is it the same break-in Doctor Black was talking about?

  “At one of the labs. An explosion. Down on Deck 5.”

  Deck 5. I think of the keycard, feeling the faintest flush of triumph. I was right about that much, at least.

  “Which one? Which lab?”

  “I have no idea.”

  There is an awkward pause, as though everyone realizes at once that we shouldn’t be talking. That even though we’re all just kids, one of us has a future and the rest don’t. That we are criminals and Chen is, at best, failing to turn us in. At worst …

  “Where will you go?” she says eventually. I open my mouth doubtfully, but she interrupts at once. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. Best not to say.”

  I nod.

  “I hope … ” she pauses fretfully. Rather than finishing her thought, she shakes her head and leans in, now murmuring so quietly that I have to bend close as well. “Naiya, please be careful,” she begs.

  “Of course I will.” The irony that I am the one offering reassurance is not lost on me.

  “I don’t just mean all of this,” she says, circling her hand vaguely to indicate the total wreckage that is my life.

  “What, then?” My heart begins to pound.

  She leans closer. “The Hollow,” she breathes. “Haven’t you heard of them?”

  And even as I’m shaking my head, a deep pit opens in my stomach and fills with something that feels like icy water. Because I do know the Hollow, I realize. Intimately.

  “My father saw one in the sewer on Deck 11,” she whispers, so low that even Enoch surely can’t hear. “Staring eyes and a funny walk, so skinny.” She trails off, uncertain. “I’m not supposed to say anything, I only overheard him talk
ing to my mother. But he’s heard other stories, other … rumors.” She uses the word carefully, like it isn’t the one she’s looking for. I wonder what else she’s heard. Her father is a minor official, yet certainly must be privy to more than most of us. Maybe more even than Papa.

  The thought feels like it will choke me. I try to pull away from Chen, suddenly desperate to leave, but she isn’t done.

  “I’ve heard people say that they’re the reason for the tithes,” she says hurriedly, “that maybe they’re why there’s never enough children down here, even though this is supposedly where they all go.” So it isn’t just me who’s noticed. At this point she seems to run out of things to say, and I wonder why she’s telling me all this. To help me? Just to share the burden of this secret?

  “But isn’t it just … weak genes, maybe? Something in the water, a poison?” I know there are toxins that can cause sterility; people used them in the war. Perhaps being closer to the City floor, the wreckage of the past, isn’t all good after all.

  “Weak genes? That doesn’t make sense,” she whispers softly, looking down at our hands, which remain clasped. “That can’t explain why all the elite are childless. Besides, even if no one down here ever had any children, there should still be plenty, thanks to the tithes. So where are they?” She says it not with the gracelessness of someone who is sure she is right, but with the fear of someone who, like me, does not understand. Someone who knows that these aren’t questions you ask, not at home, not at school, not in the dark with your friends. My mind spins with the implications, trying to see how the Hollow relate to the tithes. But I can’t; it’s too confusing.

  “Besides,” Chen adds slowly, then seems to think better of it. She drops my hand, shakes her head again, and moves to go inside.

  “No, Chen, what?” I say, cutting in front of her retreat. “What is it?”

  “Nothing really,” she says. “It’s just, we all drink the same water. From the river. If anything, the pipes in the Upper City are far worse than here. It can’t be the water either.” Here her whisper dies. “I have to go. Take care of yourself. You’ll always be my friend, Naiya.”