The First City (The Dominion Trilogy Book 3) Page 4

  “Hey, girl,” he says. His voice is a jagged whisper.

  “Hi.”

  He swallows. “How you doin’?”

  She struggles with the constriction in her throat. “Good. How do you feel?”

  “Great. Tip-top. Gonna go for a quick jog later. You up for it?”

  She laughs, swiping at one eye. “I’m in.”

  He grins. “Good. Better watch it, I’ll beat your ass one of these times.” He begins to chuckle but it dissolves into a weak cough that flexes his entire body. Zoey puts an arm beneath his neck and holds him until the spasm passes.

  “Goddamn. That hurt. Not sure I’ll give this hospital a recommendation.” He eyes her again when she doesn’t laugh. “I’m gonna be fine. Don’t you worry about me.”

  “I know.”

  “What’s everyone else doing?”

  “Talking.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You tired of that?”

  “Talking?” She gazes at him and nods.

  “Yeah. You and me, same page. Cut from the same cloth. We’re doers, not talkers. Ain’t too much gets done just by talkin’ about it.”

  She feels like she should tell him then. Tell him what the others are discussing in the next room. She can’t even begin to guess what their opinions are, but she’s sure Eli would only listen, saving any judgment until she was finished. Her eyes travel down his exposed arm to the dark tattoo. The name he’s never spoken until he was semiconscious the day before. He notices her gaze and lifts his arm slightly.

  “I never told you about her, my fiancée,” he says quietly.

  “No.”

  “Eleanor Dalton. That was her name. But she was always Ella to me.”

  “You should rest,” Zoey says.

  “Some things have to be said. Thinking them over and over doesn’t always do them justice.” Eli shifts, grimacing before laying his head back onto the pillow to stare at the ceiling. “We met in college and we both knew that was it on the first date, wasn’t any point in fighting it. Got engaged a year later. The year the Dearth started. She always said she didn’t care if we never had children, but I knew the truth. She felt the same as me. We both wanted kids but it was getting dangerous, and what if she gave birth to a girl? At first we just watched it on TV. Watched them ask for women to come in as volunteers. Then we heard the rumors of them being taken by force. Then we saw it happen out the windows of my living room one night. By then it was probably too late.”

  Zoey puts a hand on his arm, partly to let him know she’s still there, still listening, and partly to let him know he can stop if he wants. Eli licks his lips and the dry rasping nearly makes her wince.

  “My dad had a boat when I was younger. Had to sell it when he lost his job at the warehouse he worked in. Wasn’t much, a little fourteen footer with an outboard that wouldn’t have lasted a minute in a storm. But he used to take me and my mom and my brother out for rides on the weekend during summer and those were some of the best days of my life. We would stop at an island that was a wildlife reserve, off the coast maybe a mile, when the water was calm. We’d eat, and Dad and Mom would have a beer together. There was a natural resource building overlooking the rocks and the water. Never saw anyone go in or out of it.” He brings his gaze from the ceiling to her face. “That’s where I took her when things got bad. Brought her out there in a boat I stole and set her up with water and food. Left a dinghy so she could get back to the mainland if she had to. I thought I’d watch and wait, go visit when I could until everything blew over. Didn’t know it wouldn’t blow over. Didn’t know it would only get worse.

  “Figured out they were watching me after she’d been on the island a week. NOA. They had a van on the corner of our street and I’d heard through a couple friends that a few women had disappeared along with their significant others. Started kicking myself for ever leaving her but I didn’t know.”

  Eli coughs and Zoey glances around, grabbing a water glass and straw from the floor beside the bed. She holds it for him and he drinks, face creased with pain when he’s finished.

  “I’ll go get Chelsea,” she says, starting to rise.

  “No. Gotta finish this. Only told one other person and he’s in the next room. She deserves to have people remember her.”

  “Don’t talk like that. Don’t—”

  “It was my fault. My love killed her. I thought I’d lost them, snuck past and left them behind. But I was wrong. Should have waited, but I couldn’t stand not seeing her. They followed me to the island and we were holding each other when they came up from the rocks. There was a team with guns telling us to come with them and I still remember her hand in mine and how she squeezed it, told me what she wanted. So we ran. They chased us away from the building and we were trying to get to the dinghy but she slipped on the rocks.” Eli clears his throat and blinks. “Over twenty years ago but time doesn’t make some things hurt less.”

  Zoey feels the prickling in her eyes and takes a deep breath, squeezing his hand again. “She fell.”

  He nods. “I fell with her. But I hit water and she didn’t. She was gone before I could climb back up to her. And they were coming, already shooting at me. I swam away and never got a chance to say good-bye. They even took that from me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, knowing if she were to speak louder her voice would crack. “You said you haven’t forgiven yourself. You told me that in the ASV, but it wasn’t your fault.”

  He manages a quiet laugh and strokes one thumb gently across her chin. “Look’it who’s telling who about guilt.”

  She squeezes his hand again. “Listen, you’re going to be okay.”

  “Damn straight I will. Too stubborn to die. You better keep runnin’ too cause I’m serious about beating you. It’s gonna happen.”

  “You can try.”

  He nods, his smile gradually fading as he closes his eyes. She’s about to stand and leave the room when he speaks again. “Zoey?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t let them go,” he says faintly, the effort of talking taking its toll. “The ones you love. They disappear.” Then he’s asleep, chest rising and falling with steady, shallow breaths.

  She sits with him for a time before standing and drawing the blanket up to tuck it beneath his chin.

  The hallway is much cooler than the room and she pulls the door almost shut, listening again for a beat to Eli’s breathing before moving away toward the muted sound of conversation. She stops in the doorway.

  Merrill leans on the table in the center of the room, his posture the same as when planning a movement or contemplating a fight. The rest of the group is split in half to either side of the room. Their voices cease as Merrill straightens, looking directly at her. Zoey pauses, glancing down at the floor before stepping across the threshold.

  “I checked on Eli. He’s sleeping now.” She swallows, bringing her eyes up to them, glancing from face to face, trying to discern how they feel about her now. She recalls one of the first books she ever read, one of two Simon had smuggled into her room without her knowing. Was this how Hester Prynne felt in The Scarlet Letter? Gawked at, ashamed, terrified. And none of it truly her fault. She tries to speak but opening her mouth takes a titanic effort, the forming of words something monumental.

  I have a daughter.

  I am a mother.

  I am the keystone.

  She wants to run again, her heart calling out to turn from them and flee. She’s about to when Ian rises and comes to her, looking once in her eyes before hugging her.

  She stiffens, nerves going rigid, then languid. His embrace is like lying down after walking all day.

  There is the scrape of chairs then more arms encircle them. Chelsea is there, and Tia. Newton, Sherell, and Nell. Even Lyle at the outermost ring places a hand on her shoulder. She is surrounded, not by words or judgment or the pressing need of decisions, but by the simplicity of comfort. Of love.

  Her fami
ly.

  “We will face this like anything else,” Ian says quietly. “Together.” She grips him tighter before the circle around her slowly loosens. Ian holds her at arm’s length. “But right now you need to rest. We all do.”

  “I’ll stay with Eli,” Chelsea says.

  “Me too,” Tia murmurs, heading for his room.

  “Let’s get this room set up for the rest of us. I’ll stand watch and relieve Rita,” Merrill says.

  “I’m okay, I’ll switch with Rita,” Zoey says.

  “No.” Merrill fixes her with one of his gazes that says she’ll be fighting a losing battle. “You of all people need to sleep.”

  “But—”

  “How’s your back feel?”

  “Fine.”

  “Liar. Go lie down.” He winks at her and is gone out the door.

  They carry in some bedding they were able to salvage from Riverbend, and though the tile floor feels hard through the blanket she lies on, it is heaven to stretch out and ease the tension in her back.

  She stares at the dusty ceiling; torn spiderwebs drift in the corners. Morning light creeps in around the shaded windows. The soft sounds of the others settling in lulls her. They are safe for now. Eli’s hand felt strong in hers; he’s going to pull through. She begins to let herself drift but the image of the baby girl floating in the tank rises through her mind, bringing with it all the unanswerable questions. She sighs, closing her eyes, sure that she’ll lie awake for hours, the questions churning inside, but it is only seconds until she drops away, falling from a cliff into darkness—and lands in liquid. The water is cloudy, lit only by a vague vacillating light that shimmers from all sides. Zoey struggles upward, in the direction the surface should be but there is only more water.

  Her body hitches, screaming for air, and she only has seconds left before she must take a breath.

  Her eyelids flutter and close, lips part.

  She inhales the water.

  And it brings blessed relief.

  Oxygen floods her lungs. Her head clears and she opens her eyes.

  Movement to her left. Legs and arms froth the water: a group, swimming upward toward the brightest light she sees. She begins to follow them but something else catches her eye.

  The baby girl floats in the opposite direction, small legs kicking, tiny fingers opening and closing, and how Zoey would love to place one of her fingers inside that little fist, feel the life there as her daughter held on to her for the first time.

  Zoey turns her head back and forth, watching her family and her daughter float in opposite directions, their forms growing more indistinct until she’s alone, the cloudy water dimming around her. Closing in. And suddenly she can’t breathe anymore.

  Her lungs smolder.

  Then burn.

  The water chokes her, suffocates with serenity the way only water can do. She struggles but the light fades completely and she’s falling again.

  Zoey snaps awake, legs kicking at the thin blanket wrapped around her. She sits up, completely at a loss as to where she is until she hears the soft snores and rustle of someone turning over across the lunchroom.

  It comes back to her at once.

  Eli. The clinic. And the dream.

  She gags. She can’t help it, the sensation of water thick in her mouth. The air tastes used from them all breathing it for hours, but she drinks it in anyway, trying to calm the breakneck speed of her heart. She holds out a hand in the dim light and watches it tremble until it stills. Her mind begins to retrace the vivid outlines of the dream but she shoves it away, unwilling to dissect what it means. Later, when she’s had a chance to absorb everything that’s happened in the last two days, then maybe—

  Movement in the doorway. Merrill stands there, gazing at them, leaning heavily on the jamb. Zoey rises to her knees, then her feet. Something’s wrong.

  Merrill leaves the door and walks to a chair. He sits, elbows coming to rest on his knees, hands over his face. A sound comes from the hallway, short and muffled, but unmistakable.

  Sobbing.

  No.

  Merrill raises his face.

  No.

  Solid lines of tears drip off his chin.

  No.

  “Zoey,” he whispers, voice choked.

  “No.”

  “Eli—”

  “Stop.”

  “He’s gone.”

  4

  Vivian sits on the concrete bench overlooking the river and watches the helicopter grow out of the center of the setting sun like the expanding pupil of an enormous eye.

  The aircraft detaches from the corona and banks high above her, turning into position before settling out of sight below the ARC’s walls. A thrill runs through her, laced with anxiety. This could be it. Zoey might be back within the facility at this moment. If she is, one of the nearby guards will receive word via radio. If not . . . well, she’ll know soon enough.

  She waits, watching the cold autumnal sun glimmer off the water. Listens to the river dropping over the dam’s spillway in a symphony of liquid static. She smells the frost in the air and relishes the cold, solid concrete beneath her.

  Slowly the pleasure of her surroundings fades.

  Soon it’s gone completely.

  The spike of anticipation gives way to the solemn despair that’s stalked her ever since the night Zoey escaped with the rest of the women. She smooths a wrinkle in her slacks, ignoring the sound of someone approaching from behind her.

  “What happened? Where’s the other helicopter?” she says without looking over her shoulder.

  Reaper’s gloved hands curl over the back of the bench beside her. They’re scuffed and torn, covered with some kind of dust. “We lost it along with one team.”

  Vivian closes her eyes. “And you didn’t get her.” It’s not a question.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “They launched one of the antiballistic missiles.”

  “What? No, I don’t even want to know. You do realize that was our best chance to get her back. The scout that found her was one of the last men still out looking.”

  “I know.”

  “We’ll have to send them out again, determine a probable direction she went in and canvass all areas in a radius.”

  “Maybe—”

  “Maybe what?”

  Reaper steps around the bench so she can see him fully. He’s not wearing his mask; the torn landscape of scars covering his face stands out in stark relief to the rest of his skin. “Maybe we shouldn’t send them out again.”

  “What are you talking about? We have thirty-six men who volunteered to amputate an arm for this mission and you want to, what? Put them to work in the kitchen? They’re going to have trouble making the perfect omelet.”

  “I’m saying it’s more dangerous having them out there hunting her. Anything could happen.”

  “Anything can happen right now, right this instant. She could run into any derelict out there and vanish forever.”

  “She’s got them protecting her.”

  Something in his voice stops her. She’s sure then that this is what’s been on his mind over the past months, the subject he’s never brought up but carried each time they spoke like some invisible baggage. “Are you saying she’s better off with them than here?”

  He pauses. “No.”

  “Then what are you saying? Please clarify because you’re really muddying the waters right now.”

  “I’m saying if she finds the video and the sample, she’ll come to us.”

  She stands, stepping forward so she’s only inches from him. “Are you still a soldier?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “Then start acting like one. You receive orders and carry them out. That’s your job.”

  His scarred features harden but he says nothing.

  Vivian studies him, trying to identify any barriers he’s built over the years without her noticing. “You’re different lately,” she says finally. “You’ve changed. And not
for the better I’m afraid.”

  Reaper stares at her, and she nearly shivers under a gaze that has gone completely cold. “We’ve all changed, Vivian.”

  With that he walks away, leaving her in the cool air by the ever-moving river.

  5

  The leaden skies hang low, mingling the horizon into a line of gray.

  They stand beside the mound of dirt, broken rock ringing its edge and covering its top. Snow crushed with footprints surrounding the cairn.

  And ten of them in a half circle. Silent. Staring.

  The wind comes in from the west, a dry breath of prairie and the promise of more snow. Zoey stands still as a stone, looking at the grave but not seeing it. She tries to correlate the mounded dirt and Eli, but can’t. It’s all lost in the last hours.

  Merrill’s tears.

  Tia’s sobs, both her hands holding on to Eli’s limp arm.

  Ian trying to comfort her along with everyone else.

  Chelsea repeating what she’d tried to do, tried to save him but the bullet, the bullet must’ve shifted and cut another artery and how could she not have known that would happen, how could she have lost him, until Merrill envelops her in his arms and she is quiet except for hitching breaths, her whitened fingers digging into his back.

  The sound of the pickax still echoes in Zoey’s ears. Biting into and through the partially frozen dirt. Digging down with a shovel, and other voices saying that she should take a break, and ignoring them until her back gave out. Numbness crawls in her legs, pain shooting through intermittently like lightning strikes in the desert.

  And it is all secondary to the grave and what it holds.

  Ian steps forward and lays something on the closest rock. It is a cross, woven from what looks to be paper, string, and stick. She sees the brief image of the missing cross on the church wall. A line of Shakespeare comes to her then—Hamlet, her favorite of all his work.

  Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince.

  She tilts her head up, eyelids fluttering at the indifferent sky.

  Merrill says something she can’t understand, his voice gibberish, meaningless.