Captives (33 page)

“Was it your letter?” Kendall asked. “Was it the summons?”

Shaylinn pulled out the envelope, now slightly crumpled, and handed it to her sister.

Jemma read it. Her expression hardened. “No! Honey, this is
not
okay. We have to do something.” She passed the paper to Naomi.

“Oh, Shaylinn,” Naomi said. “I’m
so
sorry. We’ll think of something.”

“We can try and sneak out!” Jemma said. “Make that Ewan guy help. He owes Shay.”

“Sometimes the procedure doesn’t work,” Kendall said.

“Yes!” Jemma said. “Way to think positive. The procedure might not work.”

Shaylinn looked to Kendall. “It worked on you.”

“Yeah, but you never know,” Jemma said.

“Easy for you to say, Jemma. Everyone has always loved you. Levi, Mason, Omar—they all would have chosen you. I don’t have anyone. And now I’ll have a baby, and it will be worse. No boy will like a girl with a baby.”

Jemma started to cry. “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t know what to do or say to make this better.”

“You guys are looking at this all wrong,” Mia said. “It’s not a big deal, Shaylinn. You’re forgetting that it’s the Safe Lands’ baby, not yours. You won’t be a single mother. Once you have it and they take it, you’ll be free and have a lot more credits and fame.”

“I don’t want fame or credits. I want what Jemma has.”

“You like Levi?” Jemma asked, her voice a high squeak.

“No. I just want someone to love me. To think I’m beautiful.” Even though he’d turned in the entire village, her heart still wanted Omar, but she’d likely never see him again.

“Ewan thought you were beautiful,” Mia said. “And you were. You
are
. I don’t know why you don’t think so. I’m kind of tired of hearing about it, frankly.”

“Shaylinn, you have all of us. We’re all getting out of this place long before you’d deliver this baby.” Jemma glared at Mia. “That’s a long time from now, and, Kendall’s right. You’re not pregnant yet. Let’s pray about this, okay?”

“But what about Kendall’s baby?”

“My baby will go to the nursery, and I’ll go back to the Midlands Messaging Office.” Kendall smiled and blinked so rapidly that Shaylinn knew she was trying to be strong. “I’ve gained a ton of weight. Trust me. I need the exercise.”

“Kendall, you said you were a messenger before coming here,” Jemma said. “Don’t you have to change jobs every six months?”

“You can apply for an extension if you like your task, and I did. When I first got here, I tasked as a runner for City Hall. I think they like to keep new outsiders close at first.”

“Then why did the task director make Levi live in the Midlands?” Jemma asked.

“He probably got a strike,” Kendall said. “And maybe to separate him from his friend and from you. The enforcers have enough trouble with the rebel groups.”

“There’s a rebellion in the Safe Lands?” Shaylinn asked.

“Think Levi has already found them?” Jemma asked Naomi.

“Knowing him, I wouldn’t doubt it,” Naomi said.

“Tell us about them,” Jemma said to Kendall.

“There are some groups that protest the government. They’re pretty violent. I found out about them when I worked for City Hall, and once I moved to the Midlands, I saw their graffiti everywhere. They set bombs and kidnap people. Sometimes they kill. They want to change things. I guess they figure if they can kill off the Safe Lands Guild, maybe they can take over.”

“We should start our own rebellion,” Jemma said. “A more peaceful one. Plot a way to get out of here before Shaylinn’s appointment and Kendall has her baby.”

“Careful, Jem,” Naomi said. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

“Jemma, it’s too dangerous,” Kendall said.

“No it’s not. They need us. We’re too valuable to kill. And what’s the worst that can happen? Kendall still loses her baby? Shay and the rest of us get pregnant? We’ve got to try.”

“What do you have in mind?” Naomi asked.

“We start by sending Levi a message,” Jemma said. “I need some paper and a pen.”

Shaylinn tuned out. Jemma’s letter to Levi wouldn’t reach him before her appointment in the morning. She read her summons again and closed her eyes.
God? Is this what you want for me? Why?

Someone sat beside her on the couch. Shaylinn opened her eyes. Mia.

“I think you’re so lucky,” Mia said.

Shaylinn scowled. “You’re such a liar.”

“You’re going to be famous. Everyone is going to worship you. And I’m not lying.”

“Then trade places with me.”

“I already asked. They said our numbers are based on our biology or something like that. Nothing can be done. But they said we’ll all be pregnant within the next six weeks, so it won’t be long.”

Shaylinn stared at the summons again. Tomorrow. No, it wouldn’t be long at all.

Shaylinn sat on her front porch, knitting a hat for her baby. Her belly was huge, the perfect table for her project. It wouldn’t be long now, and they would be a family of four.

The children ran past the porch, giggling, holding fistfuls of dandelion clocks, loose seeds drifting behind them.

She watched them run, her heart light and free and very full. They ran straight to their father, jumping up and down at his feet and begging him to blow, blow.

He did, and the seeds danced in the air to the laughter of the children, bringing a wide smile to Shaylinn’s lips.

She woke as if someone had gently nudged her shoulder. It had been only a faceless dream, yet she felt calm and peaceful.
Is everything going to be okay, God? Could it be true?

O
mar pressed the down arrow and stepped back from the elevator to wait, staring at his scabbed knuckles as he pulled his hand away. It had felt good to hurt Levi—to dominate him for the first time ever. But it hadn’t taken long for the thrill to turn to guilt. Skottie and Charlz had taken Levi to the medical center and told Omar that Levi had gotten a second X for assaulting an enforcer.

They were trying to comfort him. But Omar knew that Levi’s anger was justified. He scratched at the smallest scab on his middle knuckle. If only no one had died. If only the enforcers had come to Glenrock peacefully when Omar had told them to.

No matter how Omar tried to shift blame, it always came back.
He
was responsible for many deaths. His father and uncle … nine men total, two women, a child, and possibly more.

“What are you doing?” a velvety voice asked.

Omar whirled around and saw Bel, his red-headed neighbor, standing behind him. She was wearing a short gold dress that draped off the edges of her shoulders and clung to her body like it was trying not to slide off. Square nets of gold and black metal dangled from her ears.
And she wore black boots that came up to her knees. There were no feathers in her hair today; she’d straightened it into a silky red curtain.

He liked that Bel never seemed to mimic everyone else’s styles. Skottie had talked Omar into buying a lot of black clothes because he could mix them with the color trends and still fit in. Today, he was wearing shiny black pants and a stiff red shirt that buttoned only halfway up.

“Could I paint you?” Omar asked, bolder after several nights out with Skottie and Charlz. “Your portrait, I mean.”

She blinked her thick, dark lashes. “Walls! You move kind of fast, don’t you?”

“I’m an artist,” Omar said. “And you’re beautiful. It would be wrong not to paint you.”

The elevator dinged. Omar jumped. Bel laughed, her shoulders trembling with the movement. Omar wasn’t sure if she was laughing because he’d asked to paint her or because the elevator had startled him. He stepped toward the open doors, but Bel caught his hand and pulled him back. The elevator closed.

Her lips curved in a slow smile. Still holding his hand, she lifted it toward her face and examined his knuckles. “You got into a fight.” She kissed each scrape, then released his hand. “I hope she was worth it.”

Omar couldn’t breathe. His hand seemed to tingle, which
had
to be his imagination.

“You meeting a femme tonight?” She withdrew a purple metal vaporizer from her purse, put the end to her lips, and breathed in.

“No.”

“You’re an outsider, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice hoarse as she held in her breath.

“I’m a Safe Lands national.”

She turned her head, blew out a stream of bright green vapor, and fixed her gaze back to Omar. “But you
were
an outsider, right?”

“I’m that obvious?”

She laughed again. “Yes.”

“What am I doing wrong?”

“I wouldn’t say
wrong.
You just look so healthy. And lost and lonely and … intense. I’m Belbeline, or Bel, by the way. But I guess you heard my friends call me that already. What’s your name?”

“Omar Strong.” He pressed the down button again.

“Where you headed right now, Omar Strong?”

“To a club.”

“I’m going to need a little more than that. Which club?”

He was meeting Skottie and Charlz at Ginger Oak again, but a girl might not like that. He shrugged. “First one I come to.”

She clicked her tongue. “Oh, that’ll never do. Come with me tonight, trigger. I’ll be your guide. What’s your stim?”

Omar glanced at the purple vaporizer delicately balanced between her long, pale fingers. “I like beer.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you have a vaporizer?”

“No.” Skottie kept telling Omar he should get one, but he wasn’t sure he was ready for whatever they held.

“You’ll need a good one.” Belbeline squeezed his arm. “Are you
really
of age?”

No. But Omar said, “Yeah.”

“You look so young, you blessed thing.”

“You look young too.”

“Flattery will get you … exactly what you want, I imagine,” she said, giggling.

He grinned, not knowing if he was supposed to reply.

“For a guy who asked to paint me, you’re still a bit of a neo.”

He stiffened, not understanding her criticism.

“But
my
, you have a quick temper. Don’t be so serious. I’m teasing you. Stick with me, and I’ll take good care of you tonight, Valentine.”

The elevator arrived then. In the lobby, Belbeline called a taxi, which carried them to a dance club called Blue Heaven. Omar tapped Skottie and told them not to wait for him.

As the taxi slowed to a stop outside the club’s entrance, Omar could hear the thump of bass inside the car. “It must be really loud inside,” he said, watching the way the blue lights pulsed in the night sky.

“It is.” Belbeline slid across the seat and opened the door. She said something to him with a wink, but Omar couldn’t make out the words.

He followed her into the dark interior, where the sound intensified until the beat was like a physical force, almost pushing him back to the entrance. At first he couldn’t see, but his eyes slowly adjusted.

Shards of colored light slashed from the ceiling across the dance floor. Squares of light dotted the dance floor, and those dancing on them seemed on fire, while the rest of the crowd appeared as fragmented limbs and faces, their bodies lost in the darkness until the colored light cut across them.

Belbeline took his hand and pulled him through the bouncing mob, past bare skin, long legs, black leather, red dresses, a cloud of perfume, and couples whose bodies were tangled together. Some girl’s hair slapped his face. A guy brushed up against his side. It wasn’t possible for Omar to not touch someone. Skottie and Charlz had never taken him anywhere so … fast.

Belbeline released his hand and spun around. Blue light slashed across her face, highlighting her features. She smiled slowly, swayed, moved her feet, grabbed the sides of her skirt and swished it around. Omar’s stomach seemed to slide down one leg of his pants and onto the floor as she lifted her arms over her head, shaking out her curtain of hair. This was
not
how people danced in Glenrock.

She moved closer and put her hands on Omar’s waist. He hugged her close, liking how she felt in his arms. They danced through several songs, moving in time with the mob. Omar felt connected, included. This was all he’d really wanted: a beautiful woman to choose him.

She leaned close and yelled in his ear, “I know something that will really make your night wild.” She tugged him by the hand through the crowd.

Omar would have followed her anywhere.

They left the dance floor and walked down a narrow corridor, up a flight of stairs, and down a wider hallway. The walls were painted black, lit by twinkling lights that zigzagged along the ceiling.

“Where are we going?” he called.

“Somewhere more quiet,” she said.

Halfway down the hall, Bel stopped at a door, knocked twice, paused, then knocked five more times. The door swung in, revealing an imposing man in jeans, a black jacket, and dark sunglasses. He stood beside a black podium that held a SimTag pad.

Belbeline set the side of her hand against it, her other hand still clasping Omar’s. “How are you tonight, Dag?”

“Decent.” The man looked at Omar, then down at the pad, then up again, and Omar swiped his fist as well. The man gave him a nod. “Enjoy.”