Whispers in Autumn (16 page)

The sight of a medium-sized bird with a bright orange head, a black-and-white checkerboard back, and a white breast catches the breath in my chest. My eyes follow as it flutters among its companions, finally settles on the side of a tree, and begins to peck. A hollow, rapid-fire thumping fills the forest. I don’t know what kind of bird it is, and none of the others resemble it even a little bit. The freckle-backed bird goes about its business, finding another tree to pound a hole in, then yet another.

Wind meanders across me, freezing my sweaty clothes to my skin. The forest is somehow full of both blessed silence and myriad sounds; the mixture bleeds peace into an empty space inside me I’m not aware of until this instant.

Fear hovers around the corners of my consciousness, and I sense that what the Others teach is not totally false, that some form of danger likely lurks out here. A breeze sighs through the woods and whispers to the animals, as though they keep secrets from those of us without the ability to understand. They are fortunate to grasp truth without it being explained to them. Even though I can’t decipher a word, this glimpse into a real world, a wild world where no being is told what to feel, who to love, or how to act, is enough. For today, just to know such a place exists spills warmth through me in grateful ripples.

The hole inside me fills the tiniest bit at the simple act of being, of
feeling
without fear. Not one animal stops and takes note, grows confused and horrified at the unhappy, redheaded girl on the forest floor.

A squirrel grabs an acorn in its tiny mouth and scurries down the tree trunk nearest me. I follow his progress, turning my neck until my left cheek presses against the ground. When he lands on the ground, his black nose and twitchy gray tail are less than two feet from my own nose.

The perfect blackness of his eye engulfs me. At first I see only my own reflection in the shiny surface, but once I look harder, dig underneath, a new understanding emerges. I see the world the way he does, from the tops of the trees, tiny feet curled around tremulous branches. I feel what it’s like to leap and have the wind catch under my tail, carry me to safety on its back. His eyes hold a special kind of knowledge, of instinct that I somehow know is part of me, too. A swish of wind sends leaves scattering his direction and he starts, dropping the acorn as he spins and disappears.

I sit up and brush the leaves and dirt from my hair, reaching out to pick up his abandoned acorn, smooth on the bottom with a rough cap. Despite my residual trepidation about disease, the idea that I could prove the Others lie about the food, also, is too intriguing to resist. I experiment after swiping the acorn clean, sliding it between my back teeth and biting down. Nothing happens. Squirrel teeth must be sharper than mine.

Determined now, I drop the acorn and stand, slamming the heel of my tennis shoe down on it. No results other than embedding it in the muddy earth. It takes a minute, but I find a good-sized, flat rock and place the acorn carefully in the center. I smash it with my foot again, this time receiving a satisfying crunch in return for my efforts. I pick apart the ruined shell and cradle what’s left—a soft, orange nut—in my palm.

The animals aren’t all dangerous. What about the food? The Others insist that only the food they deliver to our homes is safe for consumption. That bright red berries that grow on bushes and nuts that fall from the trees are deadly. They won’t just make us sick or give us a bellyache—they’ll kill us.

I lift my palm to my nose and sniff. It doesn’t smell like anything really, just earthy and slightly sweet. I nibble off a tiny corner and crush it between my teeth. A bitter, sour taste coats my tongue and I spit on the ground a couple of times. I almost toss the acorn, but instead stow it away in my pocket. After several seconds, the flavor fades from my mouth and I’m not dead or even queasy.

Still, the squirrels can keep the acorns for themselves.

The Others are obviously not what they seem. The damage they could inflict is endless. Their lies—their destruction—could even spread out here, where things are pure and true.

Dread fills my veins, followed at once by white-hot rage at the thought.

If I don’t leave now I’ll be late for Cell, but I give myself another minute. As I lay in this bright, natural,
alive
place, I’m not even sure the Others exist at all—their world is so flat, like a drawing in a textbook.

As I scurry back over the fence with slightly more grace, I know I was wrong.

The Others aren’t controlling
everything
.

They’re not in control of me.

CHAPTER 16.

The peaceful feeling of belonging bleeds out of me with each step toward Cell. The hole in my middle doesn’t totally empty, and I squeeze tight around the seed of knowledge that I’ve been to a place where I’m not abnormal. I can prove the Others are lying to us. For the first time, my separateness from my peers makes me feel right instead of wrong.

By the time the building comes into sight, that tiny ray of light is barely visible through my thick, black dread as I remember who else will be at Cell—Deshi. In a few minutes I’ll have to face him and pretend I don’t know he spends his spare time torturing Others and threatening people. The words he whispered last night lingered, infiltrating my dreams and chasing the comforting shadows away. Deshi is watching me. I don’t know why, or what he hopes to find out, but I can guess.

The Others are looking for something, hoping to find it by interviewing the Terminal classes in at least four cities. I’m pretty sure Deshi suspects it might be me.

I’m worried he’s right.

Nothing feels different about Cell until the students start to stare at me. My whole life, even in the instances when my self-control slips, they never stare. Maybe they can tell I left the boundary. I feel so different that maybe there’s a visible mark revealing my intrusion on nature.

Leah plants herself in my path. Despite her nasty attitude of late, kinship blooms with the knowledge we’ve both survived a refreshing with the Others. Even though, according to Elij, they left her damaged in some way, which makes her unpredictable. Which makes her dangerous.

Her hands rest on her slim hips. “Hey, you. Morgan. What’s your first name?”

The question is purposefully rude, since she’s heard my name called during attendance for weeks, I’m too surprised by the fact that she’s speaking directly to me to be annoyed. “Uh, Althea.”

“That’s a funny name.” Brittany walks over, her corn-silk blond hair swinging down her back in a long braid.

“Sorry.” I shrug. “I didn’t pick it.”

My lungs constrict as Deshi moves toward us, stopping in front of me and slinging a heavy arm around Leah’s shoulders.
Well, that’s interesting
.

“Rumor is a Healer went to your house last night. And a couple of Wardens.” Brittany toys with the frayed end of her braid, smiling up at me from under thick lashes.

There were no Wardens at our house. How many memories had the Others changed? Deshi’s gaze burns holes through the side of my face, and pressure to answer the right way stifles my fading confidence.

I slide a hand into my pocket and grasp the acorn remains. “Um, yeah. That’s true.”

“So, what happened?” Leah’s eyes shine with bright curiosity, her angelic face opposed by a cruel expression. She’s delighting in this event, in the gossip.

“My mom…she Broke. They took her away.”

Their eyes widen in concert. The stares colliding with mine are baffled, wondering. Not a sympathetic one among them. The acorn slips through my sweaty fingers. Panic rises inside me like a tide; the way they’re gathered around unnerves me, traps me inside their unfeeling circle. The memory of Deshi’s cheek pressed against mine, of his low, menacing voice, curls roots of dread into my abdomen. A drop of sweat puddles in the corner of my eye, burning. The ray of light from this morning’s rebellion disappears and deposits me alone and cold in my reality.

Then a hand slips into mine, freezing cold and strong. Pine burns my nostrils. I cling to his sturdy presence to smother the breakdown. He looks down at me and the compassion in his eyes nearly undoes my tenuous control. I know then that whether or not I’ve given him permission to be my friend, Lucas
is
my friend.

The rest of the kids disperse, leaving Lucas and I alone, still holding hands. The respite allows me to dig my fingernails into my self-control. I’m not letting go. I won’t give Deshi any reason to take me, Break me. Lucas’s familiar scent offers comfort; nothing he could say would be more powerful right now.

I tug my hand loose and offer a small smile. Our eyes meet and that tingling, sweet sensation skims through my bloodstream. “Thanks.”

His voice is soft, like a warm hand against my cheek. “Anytime.”

The entire rest of the day is a blur. The girls go back to ignoring me at lunch and both Lucas and Deshi stay at a boys’ table where they belong. The short twenty minutes I spent in the woods leaves me wishing for a way to re-create the feeling it gave me. Questions from last night, wondering at what it all means, distract me from hearing my lessons. Empowerment, borne of the surety that it’s not me that’s all wrong, but this Other-controlled world that isn’t right, resurfaces and pumps the desire to find out why I’m different through my blood like fire.

My mind takes apart the puzzle of what the Others are searching for among the Terminal classes. I need to first find out where they’re holding the interviews in order to design a way to “accidentally” overhear one. It’s not even totally about my survival anymore—though that’s part of it; my interview is in three weeks, now—but the need to understand why these creatures with such obvious power can’t simply take whatever it is they need.

I walk into chemistry and sit, vaguely noticing I beat Lucas to the back row. The lights dim once, twice, a third time.

Lucas doesn’t come.

A sensation like ice water dumped on my head immobilizes me. This is more than cause for simple concern. He might as well torch the Cell, or jump off the building. Missing block accomplishes the same notoriety.

Except the emergency alarms don’t sound. The Others test them once a month to make sure they work, but no whining peals assault my ears. The Monitor passes Lucas’s name without comment, not even notating his attendance sheet. The kids don’t turn around to look at his empty seat or gape at this unprecedented event.

Almost as though he had never been here in the first place.

A memory from my second year floats in from nowhere, of the first time I snapped at Cell. A girl whose name I don’t even remember now jumped on some swings I’d been waiting for. Without thinking, I grabbed her foot—she had on these ridiculous shiny black dress shoes—and yanked her down. Her arm snapped with a loud crack when she hit the ground. It scared me for two reasons, the first being that I’d hurt her. The second was even as a kid I knew what
trust no one
meant. It meant I had a secret.

The rest of the kids on the playground stopped and stared at me. Their faces were confused but not angry, not scared. After about ten seconds of silence, someone went to the girl and helped her up. They took her inside, and I followed. We used the emergency device to contact a Healer and the girl’s mother. The little girl said she fell off the swing.

She came back to Cell the next day and no one ever said a word to me.

This feels the same. As though whatever protects me from detection guards Lucas, too. Which can only mean one thing.

Wonder drowns out the Monitor. The more the events of the past few weeks run through my mind, the more certain I am that Lucas is like me. I’ve been waiting for definitive proof, afraid to admit it might be true, but unless he’s Broken or somehow damaged like Leah, Lucas has to be a Dissident. He’s not always happy, the appearance of the Wardens frightens him. Deshi’s intense interest in not only me, but both of us.

A new worry quickens my breath; if he is like me, he could have traveled. We have no control over when we come and go, and as far as I know we’ve never been in the same city at the same time. Maybe I’ll never find him again.

He could be anywhere. I have no idea where to look, but I have to try. He’s come to my rescue so many times. I mean, just this morning he saved me from losing control in front of Deshi. If he’s in trouble, he’s earned a return favor.

Instead of listening to the Monitor, my mind races over the possibilities. Lucas had been at lunch, looking uncomfortable next to Deshi. I hadn’t seen him in the halls this afternoon, but sometimes don’t. Plus, it would be pretty hard to get out of the building during Cell hours with the cameras at the entrances and exits, not to mention the Warden’s patrolling.

I hold my breath when one sticks his head in the door and checks the room. His eyes linger on Lucas’s empty seat before he leaves.

If Lucas is still in Danbury, there’s a good chance he’s inside the Cell. I stare at the portrait of Water on the wall, searching his unblinking black and blue gaze for answers. I doubt he’d give them to me even if he could.