Follow Me Through Darkness Page 5

  It’s on fire.

  The crackling of flames engulfs the air. The screams grow fainter, and the people we just left flash in my head. The children, the pregnant woman, the old man. Are all those I swore to save dead?

  We’re not far from the entrance to the Old World. Bayard runs next to me with strength I didn’t imagine him to possess. I don’t look back again, but sweat pours from my skin, soaking my shirt. I focus on the running and fight down the urge to vomit that plays at my throat, at my nose, at my stomach. My pack rubs over my sticky shoulders, but we go. We move forward in the thick smoke until I can’t see Bayard anymore. It’s complete darkness in the smoke and numbing silence in the decrease of screams. I wish for them to come back. Their silence means death.

  “Neely, here!” Bayard yells.

  Bayard stands ahead of me under a small shaft of sunlight, face bright red from the heat of the fire. The hole, the exit to the Old World, is above Bayard, smoke dancing in the beams around it.

  Heat and flames barrel toward us as Bayard and I move toward the exit. On the wall across from us there’s a ladder with missing rungs that goes up, up, up toward the sunlight. Toward freedom.

  “You go first!” he says.

  I put a hand and a foot on the rungs and start to climb. The metal burns my hands, but I keep going. The smell of burnt flesh traces the air, and the echo of screams is gone. The Remnants in the Burrows are dying. They have died. What I don’t understand is how this happened.

  The hole is sealed shut when I get to the top of the ladder. I push on the hatch, but it doesn’t budge. I can only use one hand or I’ll fall. It doesn’t work. I look down toward Bayard, and the fire is spread all below us.

  “Bayard! It won’t open!” I yell. I can barely see him, but I hope he can hear me. I pound and push at the round metal opening. It’s not working. I can’t get it open.

  Bayard tugs at my leg. He squeezes past me on the ladder, half-on and half-off of it, and pounds something metal against it. The noise is almost lost in the hiss of the fire that fills the space below. The only escape is through the hole, and it’s stuck.

  This is how I die.

  Tears sting my eyes. The acid scent of burnt hair sticks in my nose. It can’t be the end already. I won’t let it.

  I move up next to Bayard, and together we pound at the metal covering. The small holes of light bounce off my skin, but in the heat of the fire below, I don’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would. I let the tears fall and mix with my sweat.

  There’s a loud pop and when I look up and there’s light. So much light. Blue skies even. Bayard laughs, overjoyed and relieved.

  “Go first, Neely!” he yells and helps me maneuver around him on the hot ladder.

  I can smell the fresh, crisp air outside, and I pull myself up as Bayard pushes me. I’m short, so it’s harder than I thought. I land on black ground, and my body is shaking, burning with sweat and thirst as I reach back for Bayard.

  “Take my hand,” I yell. He’s farther down than he should be, and I reach out for him. “Take another step up!” But he doesn’t. His eyes meet mine, and I expect to see fear in them, but I don’t. They’re peaceful. “Take my hand! Bayard, come on!”

  “No,” he says, and my brain is scrambling, trying to process what this “no” means. This is life; that is death. This, unlike all other choices, is an easy one.

  “You can’t!” His name is on my lips, and then he lets go of the ladder. I only see a flash of him before he’s lost in the orange tint of the fire.

  “Bayard!” I yell his name. Over and over I yell, with no response from him. Only the hiss of flames answers back.

  Bayard sacrificed himself for me. I gasp in a breath, even though I’m sobbing. He saved me. He made me go first, and then he-what? Gave up? How could he give up?

  All of those people, the ones I swore to save, died while I live. I cry because I failed them all. Their faces, the ones I’ve met, flash in front of my eyes. Rover and Josef. Francine. The old man at dinner who kept staring at my branding. The boy who caught the rat for the stew. The ones who helped Rover pull me in from the Cleaners.

  They are all dead. I’ve killed them all. If I failed them, then I can never save the others. I can never save anyone.

  I know I need to calm down. Xenith warned me that he didn’t know how far I could push myself before the connection started working again. If an emotion is too strong, then Thorne could feel it, and he can’t know I’m alive. I take a breath.

  I think of the children at home. Of Sara. Of Kai and Thorne. I think of Bayard’s determination to get me out of the Burrows. He succeeded in that. I take breath after breath until the emotions level out and I can breathe.

  Too many have been sacrificed now, and I can’t stop. I can do this. I can make it and save the others. I can do it.

  4 YEARS BEFORE ESCAPE

  “WE CAN DO THIS. There has to be a way to do this,” I say.

  Thorne shrugs and gives me that “I don’t really feel like doing this” look. I brush it off. I want my own space; surely he does, too. He can’t feel everything I feel because that’s going to get really awkward. Doesn’t he ever plan to kiss a girl? Because I don’t want to know what he feels like with her when that happens.

  I snap my fingers and motion for him to stand. He sighs overdramatically and pulls himself up off the floor. I swing my hair over my shoulder.

  “We should focus. I can send you emotions when I want, so maybe if we mean to block them, it will work, too.” That’s what I’ve been saying for a month, and we still haven’t had any luck.

  Thorne clenches his jaw, but he nods slowly and takes my hand. There’s a little spark now that we’re touching. His emotions are steady-a little doubtful, a little motivated, and a little irritated. That’s reassuring; at least I’m not the only one.

  “Ready,” I say. I let him push his emotions through first because he can put on joy and happiness quicker than I can.

  The joy washes over me, and I try to block it. I picture it in my head, a literal wall that keeps him out, but it doesn’t work. I fight hard to keep him out of my emotions. Just trying to keep his feelings at bay makes my head start to pound. I feel him breathing harder next to me, struggling. I gasp and pull my hand from his. It didn’t work.

  “You okay?” he asks, lowering himself to the ground.

  I nod. “You?”

  “Maybe we’re doing this wrong. Maybe it needs to be more natural,” Thorne says, patting the space beside him. “Think about your favorite memory, about how you felt.”

  I bite my lip. Favorite memory. Once when we were six, Sara, Kai, Thorne and I slept on the beach. We weren’t really allowed to do that-no one is-but Sara let us do it anyway. We had this little fire going, even though it was warm, and the waves were calm and Sara told us stories about when she was little. She had lots of stories about my mother, about Kai and Thorne’s dad, and about Asher, the brother that neither of the boys remembered much. My father came by and it was late, but he sat up with us instead of taking me home, and he shared his own memories. I was calm, safe, comfortable.

  “You’re cheerful and peaceful,” Thorne says. I nod back. “Now keep me out of it.”

  “How do I do that?”

  He shrugs. “What do you do to keep people out? Build a fence, lock the door, lie.”

  “Lie? That seems weird. You can’t lie about your feelings.”

  “Sure you can,” he says. “Try.”

  I feel Thorne’s emotion, and whatever he’s thinking of is sad. I’m curious because that’s so unlike him, but I’m even more curious if I can keep him out. I focus on the feeling of that night, the cheerful, contentedness of it, and I slam a door on it. Lock it. It makes my head hurt, but it’s a dull pain. I inhale, keep my focus, and keep the door closed, even though it feels like something is pulling on it. I’m not sure how long it lasts before I have to gasp for breath and lose it all.

  Thorne’s hand rubs circles on my back. “I did
n’t feel it,” he says.

  I look at him. “What?”

  “I didn’t feel anything from you. Did you feel me?”

  I shake my head. “Just for a second before I closed you off. Your head doesn’t hurt?”

  “Barely,” he says. He smiles this huge smile. “Let’s try it again. This time, see if you can break into me.”

  We try again. I don’t feel anything he’s feeling when he blocks me out. It feels a little like I’ve lost something, but I know this is how it’s supposed to be. Each time I try, my head hurts, but it works.

  “Maybe it will get easier,” Thorne says.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  The next time I try, I do the lie-about-what-I’m- feeling method. Instead of frustration, I show him that I’m happy and smile so big that my lips hurt.

  DEADLINE: 30D, 13H, 34M

  OUTSIDE THE BURROWS-ODESSA, TEXAS

  MY LIPS ARE PARCHED FROM THIRST, and when I finally pull myself up my body cries out. Under my pack, my back is sweaty, and everything on my body seems to ache. Even my ears. I feel the grime on my cheeks, streaked clean where tears washed it away. How are all those people dead? They were innocent. They were alive. They were happy, even though they were struggling. They were free. They had their minds. That is how I will carry them with me. I will make it to the Mavericks and save my people, honor these who have died.

  I wipe my hand across my cheek. How did that fire happen? It was out of control-a tunnel of flames that came barreling toward us and destroyed everything in its path. Everyone. I was almost out safely when it came. Somehow it feels like that was intentional, and if it was, then I need to get out of here.

  I pull my pack off my shoulder and dig through it for some water. As I yank the bottle out and sip at the rest of the cool liquid, my hand grazes the brown map Xenith made for me. I’m almost out. I tilt my head up toward the sky so the sun beats down on my face. I count in my head and refocus.

  When I open my eyes again, I move a few steps away from the hole. Around me, the Old World is more beautiful than I’d imagined. I was outside only briefly before-the distance between the truck and the entrance to the Burrows-but this place is very much alive. The sky is endless blue, pearly and bright, and scattered with white clouds. The sun shines through thin trees, its rays dancing off the few leaves. Browning grass stretches across the landscape, tall and bushy and tinged with broken pieces of blackened concrete and rocks. Just beyond I make out the shapes of buildings. Most of them aren’t complete anymore, but even from this distance, I can imagine what they used to be. I want to go see them closer, but they seem farther away than I have time for now.

  Once all of this is over, I will come back.

  I will go anywhere I can and learn about the Old World. Before the fall, before the Preservation, before this.

  If I survive, then I will go everywhere.

  I place the now-empty bottle in my pack, and the brown paper map crinkles when I take it out. I smooth it out so I can read over it one more time. I have it all memorized, but I want to see it there again. To be reassured that this trip is what I need to do. More Remnants died than I can count, and now I have to fight for them along with myself and Thorne and everyone else.

  Odessa, Texas.

  Little arrows trail off the name and point to the directions. Cecily Lopez is supposed to be here in something Xenith said was called a casino, and she’s expecting me. I stuff the map into my pack and walk west as Xenith wrote out on the page. I leave everything behind to burn, but I know as I go away from it that this place will haunt me. Maybe forever. Definitely until this is done.

  2 YEARS BEFORE ESCAPE

  WHEN MY DAY IS DONE, I go straight to the barrier near the ocean. Something about this place calls to me. It has left some kind of mark on my soul, a mark I’m not sure I can make go away. Thorne has warned me not to be here. Kai has warned me. Sara has told me in her own way. But I can’t stay away.

  “You should set up a tent so you can sleep out here,” Xenith says.

  I look at him with a smile. “If I did, you’d always know where to find me.”

  “I already do,” he says. His hair is getting longer, hanging in his face like Thorne’s does. “You really shouldn’t be out here all the time.”

  “I’ve heard.” We are both silent, but his gaze on me is too intense. “I should go.”

  “Are you my friend, Neely?” Xenith asks. I don’t move, but he does and I am frozen to this spot.

  “Yes,” I say. “I think so.”

  “I don’t have many friends,” he says. He’s a heartbeat away from me, and my breath stops in my chest. I’m not sure what’s happening, but the look in his eyes is unfamiliar. His hand is on my arm, on my cheek, in my hair. My eyes lock with his, and I know he’s planning to kiss me. Do I want him to kiss me? Xenith says my name softly, and then he’s on the ground.

  Thorne is standing in the spot where Xenith just was, cursing. Xenith crawls across the sand, cradling his face. Thorne looks at me, and I feel his emotions through our connection. The anger, the fear, the jealousy. Thorne moves toward Xenith again, his foot inches from Xenith’s body before I stop him.

  “Don’t!” I yell to Thorne. I pull him away. “Don’t.”

  “He was-”

  “It’s nothing,” I say.

  “You don’t own her,” Xenith hisses.

  I slide my hand into Thorne’s. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.” I need to get one of them away, so I pull at Thorne, say his name. He looks at me. “Don’t.”

  He nods slowly and tosses another look at Xenith before he pulls me away, our hands still attached. I steal a glance back at Xenith, but he’s already gone.

  Thorne doesn’t let go of my hand as he pulls me up the beach. I say his name, try to get him to stop, but he ignores me. We’re almost to the house before I manage to pull my hand loose from his grip.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I yell at him. His back is to me, and he’s breathing hard. I can see his chest expand and retract. “What was that?”

  “He was going to kiss you!” Thorne turns to face me. “I know that,” I say. My voice is low at his expression. Thorne’s emotions run through me like heat and weight and pain. The idea of me and Xenith is hurting him and it shouldn’t. Xenith doesn’t mean anything to me. The wind picks up around us, tossing the waves across the shore, as we walk toward the housing units.

  “You were going to let him kiss you?” He crosses his arms, indignant in his stare.

  I cross my arms back at him. I don’t owe him an explanation. “Not that it matters, but no.”

  “No what? You weren’t moving. He was.”

  “You don’t know what happened back there. You just came in and punched him!” I don’t know why I’m yelling or why I’m defending Xenith. I’m embarrassed. I’m frustrated and angry with Thorne. “You don’t have a say.”

  “I don’t have a say?”

  “No,” I snap.

  “Fine. You can kiss whomever you want to kiss, Neely. I don’t care. I’m sure he’ll open the door right up for you if you go to him.” Thorne takes a few steps away from me, his hands clenched at his side.

  “I’ve never wanted to kiss Xenith! You’re such an idiot!” I yell after him. I turn around, too, and walk in the opposite direction. I don’t care, though. I don’t want to be anywhere Thorne is.

  A hand is on my shoulder, whipping me around. I see a mass of brown hair and then feel the smooth sensation of lips on mine. It takes a second for me to catch my breath and register what’s happening. Thorne is kissing me. His hands are on me, and my lips are glued to his, not wanting to be anywhere else. Then his lips are gone. He takes a step back, and we look at each other.

  Thorne just kissed me.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  He smiles, any traces of his anger gone. At least temporarily. “That was something I’ve wanted to do since I was thirteen.”

  Thirteen. He’s had feelings for me as long as I have for
him.

  “What stopped you?”

  “My mom and our situation. She didn’t want it to be odd for anyone else,” he says. “But I don’t care about them anymore.”

  He reaches his hand out to me and pulls me forward. His lips find mine again, and this time I’m ready. I let them take me over, and my hand slides over his back. A shock rushes through my body, a fire, a spark that works from the inside out. I pull him closer. My heart pounds, on the brink of explosion. I’m on fire. For the first time, I’m whole. I’m alive. The other things don’t matter, and his touch fills that missing piece.

  “I can’t believe it took me so long to do that,” Thorne says in my ear. “We need to do that more often.”

  I nod, smiling. “Do you feel different?”

  He looks at me. His fingers trail up my arm and leave a warm sensation in their path. To anyone else, the question would’ve seemed odd, out of place. A kiss can’t change you. But Thorne only nods. “I feel you more than I did before.”

  “Me too,” I say. He kisses my forehead. I feel it in my toes. His hand squeezes mine, and I feel it in my heart. His lips touch mine, gentle and quick. It lingers on my soul, the imprint of a shadow in the light.

  DEADLINE: 30D, 12H, 5M

  ODESSA, TEXAS

  THERE IS SO MUCH LIGHT AROUND ME, and it’s a refreshing change. I feel more awake, more connected. The city I walk through is lined with old houses, not very different from the ones in the Compound. There they are also uniform, though not as big as some of these appeared to be from far away. Aside from the houses, I pass large stores, not tall like the faraway buildings, but long. Imprints of words align on the sides, though mostly I can only make out a few letters. A “W” and a sign that’s shaped like a jagged square and a circle. Whatever they were, I don’t know now. I pass a large building with many broken doors that all connect. There’s no top anymore, and most of the left side has been destroyed.