The Retreat (The After Trilogy Book 1) (8 page)

No!
Romy’s vision blurred, and she stumbled over her crutch. Her breath came in gasps, out of control. Like some kind of panic attack. Their faces flashed in front of her: Elara, Deimos, Phobos, and Thrym. Her Thrym. She clutched her stomach with one hand, choking on fear.

Hands pulled her back up. “Hey,” Atlas murmured. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure we’ll find them. They’re all right.” He gripped her arms. “Shh, Rosemary. They’re all right.”

Her cloudy vision receded somewhat with his reassurances. She concentrated on the confident set of his face and nodded once she felt calm. She shook her head, wondering what came over her. Probably her reaction had been building inside since the crash. She’d never experienced anything like it before.

He gave her arms a final squeeze and he turned away, face smooth.

Romy stood to move after him, unable to shake off an uncomfortable weight churning in the pit of her stomach.

She pulled up short, staring at Atlas’s back.

“They’re alright,”
he’d said. . . .

And he’d sounded so sure.

Atlas turned, waiting for Romy beside a large tree. She tripped after him.

Were his words just an empty reassurance, she wondered.

Or did Atlas know more than he was letting on?

* * *

T
he smell of the air changed the next day.

Romy inhaled, assessing the smell. “Are we close now?”

She quite liked it—but not as much as she liked the grey-white trees she now knew were eucalyptus trees, thanks to Atlas. He’d even crushed a leaf in his hands and rubbed the smell on her wrists so she could experience the scent all day.

“We are.” He brushed the remains of his breakfast from his unusual trousers.

She stared at the eucalyptus trees. “Why did this tree turn grey with global warming while the others have gone yellow?”

His nose scrunched in confusion.

“The acid in the water?” she asked slowly.

His expression cleared and he coughed into his hand.

She eyed him in suspicion. He was doing the pursed lip thing again.

“It’s summer, Rosemary. The plants are yellow because they’re dry. And to my knowledge, eucalyptus trees have always been this colour.”

She tilted her head, even as her pulse began to rise. “How long has the water been safe?”

“At least five years,” he replied seriously.

“But if the water is safe in Australia, wouldn’t it be safe elsewhere?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t reply.

Romy studied him more closely than she had since their first meeting.

“You’re tall,” she observed.

Atlas had that look in his eye that told Romy he was contemplating her intelligence. She threw him a withering glare. “I
mean
, you’re taller than any other soldier I’ve seen. I’m five foot eleven. My knot mates are six foot, at the most.” She folded her arms. “You must have had a bit of trouble getting around your station.”

“I did,” he grunted. She could hear the annoyance in his voice. The ceilings were only six foot three inches. It would’ve sucked poacher poop stooping down the halls every day.

“I guess you would’ve needed a bigger bed,” Romy noted.

He appraised her with an amused look. “Thinking about me in bed?”

His question had an undercurrent she didn’t understand; his eyes were saying something his mouth wasn’t.

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m thinking about your feet sticking off the end of the bunk.”
And wondering why you’re taller than any space soldier I’ve ever met.

Atlas laughed and offered her a hand to stand, pulling her up with a quick jerk. His gaze trailed downwards and a low humming sound came from his throat.

“Have I got something on my face?” she asked as he continued to stare.

He flashed a smile. Not answering.
Again.

“You didn’t eat any milky mangrove by accident?” she teased.

“That doesn’t cause fatigue—it causes blistering and blindness.”

“My mistake,” she said demurely. She returned his questioning gaze with innocent eyes.

He turned his head to the right. “We can camp here tonight.”

It was still light. “There are still hours of daylight left.” She frowned up at him.

Was it just the sunlight, or was there a twinge of sorrow in his eyes?

Romy took the plunge.

“Look, Atlas . . . if you don’t want to return to the Orbitos, I understand. Earth is beautiful. I just think that the other soldiers deserve to know there’s a place we can return to. And that . . . if the research teams have been lying to us, then the High Command needs to be told.”

There was too much here that didn’t add up. There was an entire country safe for colonisation. How was it that the Orbitos didn’t know?

His head snapped up.

She pushed her palms out in front of her, not liking the stone-like quality his eyes held. “But I don’t have to mention I met you. I’ll only tell them about us—I mean, my friends and I. My knot.”

A loaded moment passed as he surveyed her and she tried to decipher him.

Atlas shifted his gaze to look behind her.

He’s lonely.
The unbidden thought sprang from nowhere. Yet, he didn’t seem eager for company.

Atlas was a mystery Romy couldn’t solve. She lowered her palms. “Look, you stay here if you want. But I’m not stopping until nightfall.”

She strode forwards a few metres to make her point and glanced back casually—as if her stomach weren’t twisting at the thought of being alone again. “You coming?” she asked.

Romy soldiered on without waiting for his reply, straight-backed. Even so, her ears were strained behind her, and her speed was deliberately slow.

She ignored the relieved buckling of her legs, moments later, at the sound of his following footsteps.

* * *

A
tlas steadfastly refused to let her see the ocean before morning. He didn’t give her a reason not to. But maybe the ocean sucked you in at night, or crocodiles swarmed the beach. The book of the man lost at sea loomed in her mind. Romy only conceded because she wouldn’t be able to search for Knot 27 with the light gone. She didn’t want to miss them out of stupidity.

For now, she was happy to play in the sand. Romy knew she was greatly amusing the large man across from her, but he didn’t say anything or openly laugh. The LI-924 silica tiles on their ships, heat regulators capable of withstanding great changes in temperature, were made from sand—obviously a very different type of sand.

“What will you do if you can’t find your friends?” Atlas asked.

Romy blinked at the sand running between her fingers. “I
will
find my knot. They’re alive.”

“What if you find the wreckage and they’re all dead?” he asked softly.

For a few moments a weight compressed her chest so fully, no air was able to enter her lungs.
Why does he keep saying these things?

“Shush, Rosemary. Breathe.” Atlas’s warm hand circled her back.

Her heart broke. That was what Deimos said before they crashed. She couldn’t stand it anymore.

She whirled on him. “Do you know, Atlas? Have you seen them? Is that why you keep saying such horrible things? Are they all—?” Romy couldn’t say it.

Her anger morphed into hopeless tears, and she gulped large mouthfuls of air as sobs wracked her body.

He pulled her close. “Stop. No, I haven’t seen anything. It’s
okay
.”

She tried to pull away. “Then why do you sound so sure they’re gone?”

He pulled her back, despite her resistance. “I’m not sure,” he whispered. “I’m not sure about anything.”

She softened against him, and Atlas drew her closer still, holding her tight. Damn him for being warm. His embrace was the most comforting thing she’d experienced since the orbitos. It made her realise she was craving the touch of other humans. Not a day went by on the space station where she didn’t receive a hug from one of her knot mates.

Was it possible to be too tired to feel anything? If so, Romy was. She whispered, “Why are we still alive?” to no one in particular.

They were simple words to use for all she wanted to know.

Why could they breathe?

Why could they eat and drink?

How was it Atlas had lived for five years?

He rubbed her arm. “I’m . . . I’m not sure.”

And why was Atlas lying to her?

* * *

“R
osemary. . . ,” a hoarse voice whispered in her ear.

She stretched her arms above her head and rubbed her face. “Hmm?”

“Come with me.”

She was dragged upwards before she could voice her protests.

Eyes barely open, Romy stumbled through the sand after Atlas, grateful her foot was 90 per cent healed. Hopping along on crutches would be impossible on this terrain.

Atlas directed her to a log facing the ocean. “Sit here. Watch.”

“But I want to put my feet in the ocean,” she whined. She sounded like Elara. It was early.

He pushed her back onto the log. “Stay. You won’t regret it. Then you can play in the water all you want.”

Romy huffed. “That’s not what I was going to do. I wanted to test if it was acidic.”

“Sure you did.”

She shivered and scooted closer to Atlas’s side. Romy leaned in when he didn’t move, grateful for his body heat. Sudden curiosity took over her, and she tilted her face up to smell him. There was no reason why. It wasn’t something she’d ever wanted to do before—to anyone. Atlas froze.

Romy’s cheeks reddened. “Uh, you smell like Eucalyptus,” she explained, peeking up at him.

His face was smooth as he held her gaze, eyes masked.

Why did she just do that?

He broke off their stare to face the ocean. “Here it is,” he breathed.

She sat up. What was here? She followed his awed stare across the water. Romy couldn’t help her intake of breath. Without conscious thought, she lunged to her feet and took two faltering steps towards the water.

It was beautiful.

The ocean lapped gently, creating a line of white where the liquid tripped over itself to land on the sand. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. The surface of the water was uninterrupted and as smooth as glass. But where a moment ago the world was dark, it was now a myriad of colours. Oranges, violets, greys, and all shades between could be seen in the painting before her.

The lower of the clouds appeared almost purple in hue, while the sun threw its powerful light over the sea, basking it in yellows and reds.

It was the most magnificent sight she would ever see.

“It’s. . .” she started. Romy turned to Atlas, who had moved and now stood beside her.

“Glorious?” he supplied.

Romy nodded thoughtfully. It was, and more. “Inspiring,” she decided.

“It is,” he replied after a few beats.

She looked at him questioningly, and he gestured to the water with a smirk. “Weren’t you going to do an acid test?”

“Are there any crocodiles in there?”

“If there are, I’ll save you, I promise.” He winked at her.

Romy punched him lightly and ran to the water. Just one toe.

The air whooshed out of her as Atlas seized her from behind and tossed her into the turf.

She’d never been submerged in water. The experience was terrifying. She glared at him, emerging from the water in a spluttering and coughing explosion of spray.

Atlas was bent doubled in laughter. And she crept up on him, wondering how best to submerge him. But in the next breath, it was like someone sucked all the laughter from him.

Atlas pulled Romy out of the water, all humour gone from his face.

“Atlas, stop. What are you doing?” she gasped.

“Romy!” came a familiar shout.

Romy froze in the ankle-deep water. She knew that voice. Her muscles locked, telling her not to look because what if he wasn’t there? She would break into a million pieces if she turned and the beach was empty. For all that she had held together until now, she would fall apart, never to be whole again if she were only imagining the sound.

“Romy!”

Her eyes flew up to Atlas’s.

“Romy!”

Atlas was glaring over her shoulder. The voice was real?

The voice was real!

Still half-disbelieving, she spun to find the beach
wasn’t
empty.

Romy knew his dark skin and athletic form better than her own reflection.

Thrym was sprinting down the beach towards her.

“Thrym,” Romy whispered. 

Forgetting her mostly healed ankle, she let go of Atlas’s hand and took off, water flying everywhere in her splashing steps.