Follow Me Through Darkness Read online

  He doesn’t move, doesn’t seem to breathe. “You’ve always felt that way. That you wanted to be your own person.” He looks at me, his eyes dark and glassy. “Do you think I somehow make you less? Because all these years, I thought we were one. There’s a reason we’re branded together, Neely.”

  “And you don’t think that reason could be because of the Elders?” I pause. I know my words aren’t what he wants to hear, but I have to say them to him. I have to be honest about this possibility. “I don’t know the truth, Thorne, and I need to.”

  I don’t look away from him because I need him to understand, but now it feels as if I have placed a wall between us where there never was one before. I think he realizes that some of the questions I’ve had for my whole life, questions he dismissed, have been building up to this moment that neither of us was ready for.

  “So it was never about my family or the other people in the Compound? It was about you and this quest.”

  I shake my head. “It’s about all of that. It’s connected. Can’t you see that? Us and the branding. Them and the branding. The new Compound and the Ultimate Compliance. Whatever the Elders are looking for and why they want me. It’s one thing.”

  “What’s the connection?”

  I shrug with a breath. I wish I knew. Thorne glances to the ground, thinking. I can’t feel anything through our connection; he’s blocked me out. I take his hand, even though he doesn’t want me to. The wall between us is too jarring. It must come down, crumble.

  “I love you, Thorne. I do, and I want to know why the Elders targeted us, what is real and what isn’t.” I say, yet even I don’t fully understand how. “The Elders want me for something. They want you for another thing. They want to separate us, and they’ll hurt so many people. They already have. Being out here has already made me see that. We can’t trust them. Nothing about them. And this-” I say, pointing to the branding on his neck. The other half of me. “This is them. It makes us theirs.”

  He looks up at me, and his gaze is unfamiliarly painful, almost lost. I did that to him. My voice comes out cracked and broken, not my own at all. “I want to be us. Without them. Without this thing. And I want everyone else in the Compound to have that, too.

  Thorne shakes his head. “That’s the part that hurts the most, Neely. Without this thing, without them, who’s to say we’d ever be anything? And you just want to-what? Rip it away? Stop it? Change us?”

  “Thorne-”

  “No,” he says. His jaw is tensed, and heat runs through me. “You say you want to find out what’s real about us. Well, I already know. Everything. And you say you love me, but what if you find out that our branding really is what makes you love me? And me, you? Then what?” I inhale. “You’ll separate us. Just like the Elders were already planning to do. You’d be destroying us.”

  We stare at each other, and I’m not sure what to say to that. I would let them remove the branding, I would, and he’s right.

  Thorne sighs. “You’re going to let the Mavericks take it away. It’s not just a marking, Neely, it’s a symbol of us. You’re going to destroy it, and if you do and our feelings do really go away, you can only blame yourself.”

  “I get it,” I say. Tears push at my eyes, but I don’t let them out. Thorne turns away from me, and I watch his back move as he inhales. “You’re right, okay? I’m no better than them, but if I have to destroy us in order to save everyone else, then I will. And I’ll figure out how to live with that and be all right knowing that I gave everyone else a chance.”

  He turns so quickly to face me, and his eyes are brimmed in red. “You separate from me can never be all right.”

  I shake my head because I can’t speak. The betrayal and the pain in his eyes release the tears I’ve been fighting. Thorne sighs, and his emotions shift, suddenly more calm and sure. I feel some of my anxiety lift, and I know he’s taken some of it from me.

  “You and I are the real thing, Neely.”

  “I want to believe you,” I say.

  “Then trust in us more than you distrust the Elders.” Thorne takes my face in his hands so I’m forced to look at him. “Trust in me.”

  “I do.”

  He presses his forehead against mine. “Then we’ll find out the truth together, and we’ll decide. I wouldn’t risk everyone at home either, but we are in this together. No more secrets, Neely.”

  I nod. “I just want us all to be freed from them. Completely.”

  “We will be,” he says.

  Then he closes the space between us, and I am whole. Enough that, for a single second, I let myself forget that I’m searching for a way out of this feeling, this wholeness. In searching for a way to make this completely real, I could lose all I know. I want to believe we are real. I want to believe in him and that his promise to free me means I can still, somehow, believe in us. I want to believe until there are no more days.

  15 MONTHS BEFORE ESCAPE

  MY FAVORITE DAYS ARE Wednesdays. In the mornings, I have my placement, and I get to teach the smaller children. I like how hungry they are to learn. The alphabet is my favorite thing to teach them. To show them how letters form words and words build sentences and sentences create stories and stories are life. I stumble into the kitchen, already smiling at the thought of their faces when we learn F through J. I’ve thought of fun words. Frog and fang. Grapes and goats. Horses and—

  “Morning, Cornelia,” Father says.

  I pause in the doorway of the kitchen at the sight of my father standing over the stove. He’s never here in the mornings anymore. My eyes wander to the clock. It’s seven.

  “This is a surprise,” I say.

  He has this huge smile on his face when he looks over his shoulder at me. It always takes me by surprise when I see that glowing white smile on his face. In those moments, my father looks younger than he is and seems to forget the load he’s carrying as the director.

  “I wanted to be with you this morning. I know you have placement, but I’ve got a big meeting with the Elders today and I’ll miss dinner. So I rearranged some things,” he says.

  I smile. “I’m glad you’re here, too, then.” I move closer to the stove, and the smell that comes from it makes my stomach rumble. “What’s all this?”

  “Ah,” Father says. He opens the oven door, and the aroma seeps out. “This was Amelia’s recipe. Sara found it earlier this week in some old boxes of Richard’s and gave it to me. This was always my favorite thing she cooked.”

  My eyes widen when I look inside and see the golden brown of toasted sweet bread. Next to it is another dish that looks like eggs and cheese and peppers.

  “They’re delicious-trust me.”

  “I do,” I say.

  Father and I sit around the table, waiting for the food to finish, and he tells me a story about one of the first meals Mother ever cooked for him and how bad it was. He laughs while he talks about her. He’s being really open about her today and I’m not sure why, but I soak in the stories.

  When breakfast is ready, he waits for me to try it with eyes wide. I nod in approval after my first bite of each. They are both pretty amazing.

  “Why are the Elders coming?” I ask.

  His fork freezes mid-bite. I study the tension in his jaw, the hardness in his eyes, and the way his fingers turn white against the fork. He hates talking about the Elders, especially with me. “I can’t tell you much, Neely.”

  “Right,” I say. “Sorry.”

  The Elders are a big mystery. They only come to our Compound to see my father. With six other Compounds to run, I’m sure they’re busy. I’ve only seen them once, and I was two. They came when my grandfather died, so I don’t remember anything about them except these big, black hooded robes and how I clung to Sara’s leg at the sight of them.

  He pauses. “They’re only coming to headquarters for a couple hours. They have a new method of practice to discuss with me. I’m sure it will be boring, really.”

  I press my fork into the French t
oast and watch while the syrup falls out over my plate. The last time we talked about the Elders together was before my placement eight months ago, when they demanded that I begin studying for my role as director and I begged my father to let me teach. Just for one year, and then I had to start my placement with the new session. I know it wasn’t meant to be forever, but it could’ve postponed things. I won’t become director until he dies or until the Elders tell me to take over, but I have to learn and train. I have to be prepared.

  Father rests a hand on mine, and I look up at him. “What’s wrong?”

  “I only have four more months,” I say.

  He moves his hand and sighs. “I know being director isn’t the future you wanted, but it’s not one you can control.”

  “I know.”

  “I didn’t want it either when I was your age,” he says, lowering his voice. “Your mother was the one who helped me see that it was where I was meant to be, and then I accepted it. Maybe someone can show you that, too, and then you’ll be ready.”

  I nod, but it’s not the reassurance I want. I want him to tell me that he’ll figure out a way to keep me from being trapped in a job I don’t want for my whole life. I want him to say he’ll work it out.

  “You have four more months, Cornelia. And then after that, we can reevaluate.”

  “Reevaluate?”

  He lowers his fork. “I can’t change your position, but I can maybe get you some more time so you can keep teaching.” I squeal excitedly. “No promises.”

  I launch myself from the table and into his arms. “I’ll take it,” I say.

  My father hugs me against his chest. “I should go soon,” he says.

  Before I leave for class, my father is already gone. On the counter is a note, and I smile because I was sure he wouldn’t leave one since he saw me this morning, but it’s a nice surprise.

  I know you’ll be ready for whatever comes—you get that stubbornness from me. It’s a good thing and you’ll need it because there’s so much left to discover.

  DEADLINE: 23D, 13H, 47M

  EL PASO, TEXAS

  AFTER TWENTY MINUTES EXPLORING the El Paso Remnant camp that was marked on Xenith’s map, Thorne and I have not seen a single person. There aren’t many places they could be, and it’s quiet, early morning. A few remains of buildings line the street.

  “Hello?” Thorne calls out into the silence. There’s no response. “This place seems abandoned.”

  “No,” I say. “There’s got to be something here.”

  We walk down the dirt road, through the old buildings and the overgrown plants. There’s no movement. Everything is so silent. Too silent.

  “Maybe we should go somewhere else,” Thorne says.

  Something moves behind him. I don’t see what, but a bush sways from the sudden motion. Thorne sends me an odd look when I move past him, my finger over my lips. He’s right behind me as I walk, tracing my steps like a shadow.

  I only take four steps before a shrill whistle pierces the air.

  My stomach jumps in my throat at the painfully familiar sound. The Cleaners. I see them then in the sky: large, dark, metal machines. Thorne yells something, but I can’t hear over the sound. I grasp his arm, ignoring the burn of the branding.

  “Run!” I yell in his ear and pull him after me.

  We both take off. It’s almost like being at home, smiling as we run across the beach, sinking in the sand, the wind in our face. Only there’s no beach, no sand, no smiling. There’s only wind. It screeches around us with a shrill pitch, raging as it rips up broken buildings and tree branches. My legs pump as I go, and I clear my head, trying to tune out the disruptions. My muscles burn and ache, but I keep going, heart pounding. Thorne is beside me, moving with me. He’s always beside me, even though he could run faster than me in his sleep. His breaths are steady in my head, and somehow, I hear his feet hitting the ground louder than the roar of the Cleaners.

  I jerk to a stop, and Thorne nearly bumps into me. Fully visible in the sky are three large spheres that are each bigger than a house. The sight of them is just as terrifying now as it was before. A chute protrudes from the bottom of each, and Thorne curses beside me, staring at them as it moves toward the ground. The Cleaners found something.

  The chute moves around, freezes. The sound pauses before a tree-a whole tree-flies through the sky and into the tube, and the Cleaner makes a grinding noise before the whistling starts again. The whole process happens in a minute. Maybe less.

  How are they here the same time as us? That’s not a coincidence.

  Thorne and I exchange a glance before he tilts his head toward the right. I follow his movement in time to see a bushel of blonde hair disappear behind a ratty, half-broken shed. I look back up toward the Cleaners in the sky as they move, the same sound accompanying them, but nothing from the earth is sucked up, no trees or houses. They’re scouting the area, but then something black and small comes out of the chute. I haven’t seen that before. Men-no, Troopers. More follow, dozens and dozens.

  “Let’s go,” Thorne says, pulling me away.

  Thorne and I take off in a run to the shed where we saw the blonde hair. But it isn’t a shed at all. It’s only a doorway, the entryway into another, longer room. I twist the handle, and it opens. We go inside and slam the door behind us.

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for them to see me!” A little blonde girl points to us, crying. She must’ve been the one we saw run back here.

  Another boy pats her back, a boy with big ears and a brown hat. “No tears, Delilah. I reckon it’s safer for them with us than out there.” He wipes a tear from her cheek, now dirty with a streaky stain running down it. Her too-big pink dress falls off her shoulders, the hem dirty from dragging on the ground.

  “What is this?” Thorne asks.

  The boy pushes Delilah behind him, like he’s protecting her, and lifts a long gun right at us. “What’s your business here? You one of them?”

  “One of who?” I ask.

  The boy cocks his head to the side. “Where you from? You ain’t one of us. We don’t need no yellow- bellied traitors in these parts. This here’s a war.”

  “A war?” Thorne asks.

  He raises his eyebrow at us but doesn’t lower his gun. “A war here and everywhere. Them or us. Remnants or Elders. If you ain’t a Remnant, you an Elder.” The boy steps toward us with the gun.

  Thorne raises his hands in the air. “We aren’t here to hurt you. We were sent here.”

  “By who? People don’t just come wandering in here at all hours in the morning. Not in the daylight and not when they’re out there,” the boy says, nodding toward the doorway.

  “By Cecily Lopez,” I say.

  “Cecily sent you here? Y’all are the ones she was talking about in her message?” He lowers his gun, and Delilah peeks around his leg.

  A door behind him bursts open, and two men in weird hats look at the four of us. One is tall and burly, with dark, unruly hair escaping onto his dirty flannel shirt. The other is short and stout, a gray button- down tucked into his jeans in such a way that his belly seems enormous.

  “What’s going on here, Benny? What’s the holdup?” The burly one looks us both up and down before speaking. “Who’s this lot?”

  “Cecily sent them. Them’s the ones that escaped, the ones we supposed to help,” Benny, the boy, says.

  A piece of the roof blows off, and Delilah screams. The sound of the Cleaners seeps into the small room.

  “Right,” the burly guy yells. “Now ain’t a good time. The Cleaners and Troopers are here. We have to prepare, relocate until they’re gone. We ain’t safe here.”

  “You got a gun? Any sort of weapon?” the other asks. He’s a teapot with legs and speaks in a squeaky voice. We both nod. He looks surprised. I have the knife in my pack and Thorne has the gun from Cecily, but I’d never planned to use either of them. “Then you may make it. Come on.”

  We follow them through the doors, the girl looki
ng back at us as we run. Thorne watches everyone as we pass by, each one dressed in filthy clothes. There are lots of people-hundreds of them, all ages, packed into a gathering hall. They huddle around tables, in corners. Babies cry around us, old women cough, and men stare at me. I don’t look at any of their faces. I don’t even want to see them in case all this ends badly, too.

  We learned about wars in school-about the way greed and technology made everyone crazy. Made them kill each other. Before the fall, the president blocked off borders. No one in and no one out. They built these huge metal walls by Mexico and Canada, and only a few years later, the fall happened. It’s part of the reason the Old World couldn’t recover from Raven’s Flesh, the reason no other country would help us and why they still won’t. Not that they know there’s even anything else here to save.

  At least, according to the Elders. None of that was probably true.

  “This ain’t the time for pleasantries,” the burly guy says. He moves around a table, picking up guns, clicking them into place, and passing them along to a line of men nearby. Benny, who has really blond hair with his hat off, whispers in Delilah’s ear.

  “What is that thing out there?” Thorne asks, looking through a small crack in the covered window. I didn’t realize he hadn’t seen one before. I guess that’s a good thing.

  Teapot smiles at Thorne. “That thing is a Cleaner. It’ll rip your legs plum off your body if you try to stay where it don’t want you.”

  “The Cleaners are what you should be the least scared of,” a woman’s voice says. I didn’t see her step up. She’s sweet-looking, with big brown eyes and tan skin. She’s a little taller than me, but still short. Her hand rests on her pregnant belly, and my eyes dart away. I can’t look at her. Not after the last pregnant woman I saw died in the fire. A fire that could’ve been caused by the Elders.

  Big Burly steps into the center of the room, and everyone looks at him. The chaos around us quiets except the noise outside.