Terra, p.29
Terra, page 29
“Get dressed quick, okay? We gotta go.” He shuts the door and I hear him rustling about in the main room. I think I hear him talking to himself, but when I listen harder there’s nothing.
First the weird memory problems, and now I’m hearing voices. Great.
The strange mental images that pop in and out of my head unbidden haven’t stopped, either. I feel like I’m in a constant state of having forgotten something important—with no way to remember what it is I forgot. It’s like there’s a static charge in the air, always just a breath away from igniting . . . and I’m not sure if I want it to dissipate or if I want to light a match.
If I haven’t already gone insane, I’m certainly getting there.
I rise from my bed and immediately stub my toe on the dresser. I swear under my breath as I pull out the first clean pieces of clothing I can find, and I can’t help feeling like this is some sort of twisted revenge for all the times I forced Mica to wake up early.
“Happy?” I mutter, joining him in the main room.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
I look down at my worn teal t-shirt—one of my most comfortable—and navy pants.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” They’re not the most flattering pieces, but it’s not like there’s anyone I’m trying to impress. “You’re not exactly Mr. Fancy Pants over here yourself.” I give a pointed once-over to the dark hoodie and black pants he’s donned.
“At least my socks match,” he says with a smirk.
I look down to see two starkly different shades of blue staring up at me from each foot. “So? It’s the asscrack of dawn, Mic. Fashion is not my first priority.”
“Fine, fine. Forget it.”
“This had better be worth it,” I say petulantly.
“I hope so too,” he replies, and the sudden solemnity in his tone makes me uneasy.
I lace up my boots and we amble out the front door. When we get outside, Mica immediately walks over to the motorbike still parked in front of the building. It hasn’t budged in the past week, and I’d started to think someone had abandoned it here. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“What are you doing? Don’t mess with that,” I warn.
He throws a leg over and straddles the bench in the middle.
“Mica!”
“Chill out. It’s mine.”
My mouth drops open as he turns the bike on. “Hop on,” he says.
I simply stare at him.
“Come on, Terra.”
I don’t move, my eyes glistening with disbelief as they roam over the transport. It’s absolutely ancient, with two wheels in the back, one in the front, and seems like it’s being held together with rust and chipped paint and sheer force of will.
Mica gives me a few moments before he revs the engine loudly, stirring me from my stupor.
“I’m going with or without you, so you might as well come along. I know you can’t resist an opportunity to lecture me on my driving skills,” he goads.
The bike’s electric engine hums loudly, triggering another bout of that strange familiarity in my mind. Inexplicably, I suddenly want to go for a ride.
Hesitantly, I clamber behind Mica, and as soon as my butt hits the seat, we take off.
“Want to try explaining this?” I yell over the wind.
“It was a gift,” he yells back.
I want to ask him exactly what he means by that, but it’s too hard to keep up conversation on the moving bike. I’ve just resigned myself to waiting until we reach whatever surprise destination he’s hauling me off to, when he starts to slow down. We putter to a stop in front of the North Gate.
“One more time,” I say, as we wait for the guards to approach. “You want to explain this monstrosity?”
“There’s nothing to explain. It’s ours. It was a present.”
“I think I’d remember being gifted a damn transport.”
“Yeah, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?” he mutters.
“And just who was this alleged benefactor, may I ask?”
The guardsman at the gate interrupts us before Mica can answer. “What is your purpose for leaving the settlement?” he asks sternly.
“Time for me to learn the family business,” Mica says casually. “My sister is taking me out scavenging.”
I’m half a second from denying his claim on the basis of my outrage alone, but Mica digs his fingernails into my arm and I close my mouth as quickly as I’d opened it.
The guardsman gives us a thorough once-over before opening the gate. As soon as we’ve cleared the settlement, Mica turns the bike south. He drives straight through the Southern Plains, barreling toward the Dead Woods.
“Where are we going?” I shout. He holds his hand up to his ear and points, an indication he’s not able to—or maybe refuses to—hear me. We ride for a few minutes in silence before we reach the edge of the Dead Woods and Mica slows to a stop. He parks the motorbike against a large, misshapen tree.
“Okay, this is getting ridiculous, Mic. What are we doing out here?”
“I told you, there’s something you need to see.” He reaches under the seat of the transport and tucks something into the waist of his pants, but pulls the back of his sweatshirt down before I can see what it is. Without another word, he sets off into the woods.
“Enough is enough, Mica,” I theatrically stamp my foot on the ground. “You need to tell me where we are going right now.”
“God, he was right, your constant questioning really is annoying,” Mica says, stepping over a large tree root poking out of the ground.
I huff in frustration as I realize that not only is he not telling me anything, but he’s not waiting around for me. “Who was right?” I ask as I catch up to him.
Mica shoots me an exasperated look. “That’s not how you’re going to get answers.”
I press my lips together into a line, trying to determine where my sweet and mild little brother has gone, and where this newfound insolence has come from.
Puberty sucks.
We walk through the forest in silence. I peer at Mica curiously from time to time, impressed and flabbergasted that he seems so sure of where he’s going. I’ve only brought him out here with me once before.
My breathing becomes labored and my leg twinges as we climb over thick roots and fallen trunks. Eventually, the broad trunks begin to space out again, and I can see a small clearing in the distance. Mica seems to be heading straight for it.
As we get closer, I see the silhouettes of three men sitting in an uneven triangle. It sounds like they’re laughing. That static energy lingering around me feels particularly charged as I race through the possible explanations for what’s going on here. I wonder if there’s a scav meeting happening that I didn’t know about. But even if that was the case, why would we have come all the way out here?
I lag a few yards behind Mica, squinting to see if I recognize Mal’s salt-and-pepper hair or Chrys’s signature locs amongst the three figures, but there’s nothing familiar about any of the men.
It’s not until we’ve almost reached the clearing that I can finally see their shaved heads and long, tattered coats that make them look nearly indistinguishable from each other.
I feel the blood drain from my face and a rock forms in my gut as I realize exactly who and what they are.
Raiders. And Mica’s headed straight for them.
THIRTY-THREE
“What the hell are you doing?” I call out in a whisper, reaching for Mica. He’s just a step too far ahead of me though, and he’s speeding up.
I lunge for him. The raiders haven’t seen us yet. If I can just get Mica to turn around, we could still run. We’d have enough of a lead on them to get back to the bike, even if they decide to pursue us. But Mica doesn’t break his stride. He sidesteps by grasp and walks confidently into the clearing, wholly unaffected by my panic.
All three raiders look up at the same time. They straighten defensively as Mica walks right up to them. Cursing under my breath, I ignore my instinct to run back into the cover of the trees, and I follow my brother into the clearing.
“Morning, gentlemen,” Mica says brightly.
The big one in the middle cracks his knuckles threateningly. “Whatcha want, little man?”
“C’mon, Ryk, I thought you were expecting me.”
My mouth falls open in shock. Mica, on a first-name basis with raiders? Mica, talking to the biggest, baddest-looking one like he’s not a hundred pounds lighter and six inches shorter than him? Like he’s the one in charge?
I pinch the inside of my wrist to check if I’m dreaming and am decidedly disappointed to find that I’m not.
The one Mica called Ryk grits his teeth but nods, releasing his fingers from the fists they’ve formed. “Right,” he grunts. “Didn’t think he’d be sending someone like you. So, what’s the deal, why are we here?”
“I brought you something,” Mica says invitingly. He turns toward me and jerks his head, summoning me forward.
My body seizes entirely, rooting me to the spot. Mica sighs and walks over to me. I stare at him, eyes widened in alarm. Whatever game he thinks he’s playing, it’s a dangerous one. These raiders could crush both of us into pieces. I search my brother’s face, looking for a hint, a sign, anything that might explain his apparent madness.
Mica just winks at me, then grabs me by the wrist and drags me forward.
Ryk’s lips curl into a wicked smile as I approach. My body tenses, my fight-or-flight response already starting to kick in. One of his lackeys starts to laugh, a dumbfounded sound, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. The other stares at me with wide, unblinking eyes.
“Well, hey there, firecracker. Didn’t think I’d get to see your pretty face again.” Ryk runs his tongue slowly over his upper lip in a repulsing display.
“Do I know you?” I say coldly, hoping that the disgust in my voice is helping to mask my confusion.
“I’m hurt. No love for an old pal?”
“I’ve never seen you before in my life,” I say, though as the words leave my lips, I wonder if they’re true. There’s something familiar about the way the heavy golden chain around his neck bounces against his bare chest. Like something out of a dream—the kind that’s gone within moments of waking.
He lumbers toward me. “I know you remember me.”
Regardless of whether we’ve met before, it’s clear this is a guy I do not want to know. “Nope, sorry.” I take a step back and collide with Mica, who’s standing right behind me.
Ryk grabs me by my shoulders and I brace to defend myself. Before I have a chance to, though, Mica knocks Ryk’s hands off of me and steps between us.
“What gives?” Ryk says angrily.
That’s exactly what I’d like to know, I think, but I don’t take my panicked eyes off of Mica.
“Don’t touch her,” he says sternly. The juxtaposition between the two of them is ludicrous. Ryk dwarfs Mica physically and despite his newfound attitude that would suggest otherwise, my brother looks like even more of a child than he is.
“You don’t make the rules, kid,” Ryk growls. “And me and her? We got unfinished business.”
“You agreed to this experiment,” Mica says coolly. “We’re not here for you to regain your pride after getting your ass kicked by a girl.”
Ryk’s eyes darken.
Mica turns around to face me. “Anything?” he asks, something akin to hope shining in his eyes.
“I feel like I’m missing something kind of crucial,” I say through clenched teeth, “because I don’t have any idea what the hell we’re doing here.”
Mica’s face crumples into a frown.
Ryk snarls and his lackeys edge in closer to their boss. “I don’t have time for this. Move aside, little man, or I’ll just have to go through you.”
I gasp as Ryk rears back, aiming his meaty fist at the back of Mica’s head. I try to shove my brother out of the way, ready to take the blow myself, but Mica just sighs resignedly. He stays anchored where he stands, barely moving against the force of my desperate push, and a detached part of my mind notices how strong he is—much stronger than I’d realized or even given him credit for.
With a movement so quick it shocks me, he whips around and pulls a stun gun from his waistband. He fires off three successive shots before Ryk has time to land the blow.
The three raiders fall to the ground, convulsing.
“Well, this was a huge waste of time,” Mica says unhappily.
“Give me that,” I shout, yanking the stun gun out of his hands. “Where the hell did you get this?”
Mica just looks at me, anticipation shining in his gaze as he scrutinizes my features. A moment later, he looks away, his expression deflated.
Infuriated, I turn back toward the woods, stepping cleanly over Ryk’s still-shuddering body as I stomp away. I don’t speak again until we’ve arrived back home.
“What the fuck is your problem, Mica?” I bellow, barely having stepped foot inside the apartment.
“Language,” he scolds.
I ignore him. “What was that? Is this some new thing you kids are playing at school? Seeing who’s brave enough to cross the quarantine line got old, so now you’ve all moved on to antagonizing raiders? You could’ve gotten us killed.”
Mica watches me with the edges of his mouth turned down. “I just don’t get it. I thought for sure that would trigger something.”
“What are you talking about?” I scream. I’m so frustrated I could pull my hair out. I settle for twisting it into a too-tight bun, relishing the muted bite of pain radiating from my crown as I wrap a hair tie around the tightly coiled strands.
“Things didn’t go quite as planned, huh?” A voice echoes out from behind me.
Terror grips me as I spin around to find a stranger seated at our kitchen table. Even sitting, I can tell he’s tall. Wisps of blond hair peek out from beneath a blue cap, the brim low, so I can only make out the bottom half of his face. A strong jaw, unexpectedly full lips, a straight nose. His gray windbreaker is zipped up to his neck, the sleeves rolled partway up each forearm.
I push Mica behind me and raise the stun gun, pointing it directly at the intruder. “Who are you?” I demand. He raises his hands, palms out, as if in surrender.
“Terra, it’s okay.” Mica peeks out from around my back looking mildly amused. “He’s a friend.” He tugs the gun from my grip and lays it on the table.
“How did he—” I start to say, but Mica interrupts me before I can finish my thought.
“Could you just give us a second?” he says to me.
Instantaneous indignation flares in my gut. “You’re asking me to give you a second with him?”
Mica shrugs. The stranger grins.
I storm into the bathroom and slam the door. I wait a few moments, making a show of washing my face, my hands, and letting the tap run for a few extra seconds before shutting it off. I press my ear to the door, and if I don’t breathe too loudly, I can just make out some of what they’re saying.
“What are you doing here?” Mica says.
“Did you expect me to stay away forever?” the stranger replies.
“This is suicide. If they find you here, we’re all—”
“They won’t. The tail followed you both the second you left the building. I watched them go.”
“That doesn’t mean nobody saw you.”
“If they thought for a second that I was here, we both know they’d already be breaking down the door.”
Mica falls silent for a few seconds.
“Besides,” the stranger continues, “I’m not the one we should be worried about here. You risked both of your lives today and it sounds like it didn’t even work. Not to mention the suspicion it could have raised with the guardsmen.”
“Yeah, well, let’s not forget whose idea this was in the first place.”
“You just have to be careful, Mic. We have to keep up appearances. They can’t ever know that you know.”
“Believe me, I . . . I know,” Mica stutters, and my heart clenches because he suddenly sounds so young again.
“I guess we’re just lucky you’re a much better actor than your sister.” They laugh, but quickly seem to realize how much their voices have risen and quiet back down. I can almost feel the exact moment their gaze falls on the bathroom door.
I rip open the bathroom cabinet, then slam it closed. Hopefully, it’s loud enough for them to think I haven’t been eavesdropping. By the time I return my ear to the door, their conversation is dying down.
“Fine. Have it your way. It’s your funeral,” Mica says haughtily, and I have to swallow a gasp. I’ve never heard Mica speak so cavalierly to anyone—well, anyone other than me.
I flush the toilet for good measure and they instantly shut up. A moment later, I saunter back out into the living room, where they stand next to each other by the couch.
“So, Mic, who’s your friend?” I ask guardedly.
The stranger removes his cap, and this time I can’t keep the gasp in as bright blue eyes gaze back at me. His clothes look the same as any groundling’s, and he’s missing the usual aura of superiority, but there’s no denying it: he must be a skydweller.
“Hello, Sunburst,” he says, his voice like velvet now that it’s no longer muffled by the bathroom door.
My mouth dries up as I hear my grandmother’s loving nickname for me fall from his lips. “Um, hi,” I say, and I know it sounds as lame as it feels.
My eyes dart to Mica, then back to the stranger, all signs of their argument gone from their faces as they watch me intently.
“Do I know you?” I ask. They’re the same words I said to the raider Ryk less than an hour ago, but the meaning behind them feels completely different. Somehow, impossibly, it feels like I do. Or at least, it feels like I should know him.
I’m just not sure how. He looks a little too young to be a Collection Agent, and he certainly lacks the bored authority of a guardsman.
