The Dead-Tossed Waves

Page 10

I only have to run far enough that I can cut through the dunes and make it over the seawall. My legs burn with the need to escape, with the desire to pound the sand and just keep running forever—to follow the coast until I find the Dark City. Lose myself in the crush of people there who won’t know who I am, where I’m from, what I’ve done.
But I know I could never run that far. And even if I could I’d never have the courage to leave Vista for good. If there’s anything I’ve learned after last night it’s that all I want is to wrap myself even tighter inside the cocoon of my town, inside the safety.
I just have to survive tonight, find Catcher, placate Cira, and then I can put back together the pieces of my life.
For the first time since everything began falling apart I have hope that I can fix things. If I can survive maybe I can find a new kind of normal, a new kind of safe. And just as I’m beginning to think that maybe things can be okay I see a figure crest the dunes not too far up the beach from me. It’s a young man with a shaved head, wearing a white tunic. He struggles down the sand and hits the beach at a sprint.
He runs straight toward me, his mouth open and teeth gleaming in the moonlight. And my heart freezes, my feet stumbling to a stop. It’s another Breaker, just like last night.
Chapter 10
I turn, but a wall of Mudo shuffles down the beach toward me. They’re closing in on me too fast and I’m terrified to try the dunes, afraid that I’ll lose my footing again, that the Breaker will get to me before I can escape.
I race toward the waves, hoping I can get deep enough that he flounders and falls beneath the surface before he can reach me—that no dead are hidden in the outgoing tide.
I’m knee-deep when the Breaker slams into me.
My heart stops. I wait for the bite, for the sting of his teeth sinking into my skin. I wonder what death will feel like as it burns its way into my body. Will I know the moment the infection takes hold?
I fall, my face slapping against a wave, my knee scraping the sand. I scream into the water. The salt scratches at my eyes as I lunge for the surface. He grabs my arm and pulls and I try to fight. I kick and claw and thrash against him. I scream again, choking as a wave crashes on my face. I swing wildly, my fists connecting with flesh.
The Breaker lets go and I flop back into the surf, my head slipping under for a moment. I come up sputtering, blinking furiously against the wet hair streaming over my face as I try to steady myself for his next attack.
But it doesn’t come. He just stands there, panting in the shallow water. That’s when I realize he isn’t a Breaker.
My knees almost give way, my entire body going limp. I gasp for air, its salty taste relief to my lungs, as I push the hair from my face.
He stares at me, his eyes light in the darkness, and even though his teeth aren’t bared it seems as if he’d devour me. He lunges toward me again and I stumble backward, falling under, my knuckles grinding against sand once more.
He pulls me up and I choke. He pauses, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes wide above sharp cheekbones as he takes in my face. It’s as if he’s waiting for me to say something, do something, but I’m mute as the moans around us begin to crest and crash.
He holds up a hand, water dripping from his fingers and skimming down his wrist. He reaches as if to trace the left side of my face but I jerk my head back, out of range of his touch. And as if I’ve broken some sort of trance he blinks rapidly and swallows, moving away from me.
“This way,” he finally says. And then he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the ocean before I even have a chance to think about how strange the moment was.
The Mudo are closer now, their hunger a cacophony of inhuman pitches and tones.
We run up the beach away from them, the stranger and I. I fight for air but can’t stop to catch my breath. He veers to the left and I see a narrow path through the dunes. I hesitate to follow him, afraid of getting trapped in the mounds of sand, but then the white of his wet tunic flashes in the moonlight and disappears. Suddenly I’m alone on the beach, nothing but Mudo stumbling after me.
A spike of terror shoots through me and I follow him into the dunes. Between the mounds of sand the night is silent except for my coughing and his breathing. I can’t hear the moans, can’t hear the ocean. The moon is hidden here, throwing us into shadows. I bend over and vomit.
And then he’s pulling me again. Ahead of us is a locked chain-link gate stretched between the old seawall, and he barely pauses before scuttling over it. My fingers are shaking almost uncontrollably and the rusty metal bites into my skin. My arms and legs wobble as I try to heave myself up and the boy reaches down, pulling me to the top just as the first Mudo stumbles from the path behind us.
For an instant as the stranger and I hover at the top of the gate, I remember Catcher and me only last night, sitting on top of the Barrier facing each other. The memory is so sharp, so clear that it makes me ache with longing. For Catcher. For the night. For the ability to take it all back. For the chance to do it all differently.
But then the stranger drops to the ground and I let go of the fence, falling next to him. My legs buckle when I land and I collapse onto my hands and knees. The boy stands beside me and I cringe as the Mudo lunge against the fence, the metal rippling under their weight.
“Will it hold?” I ask, tilting my head and looking up at him. He nods, staring at them as they force their fingers through the links. I can hear their bones cracking. Their moans almost wails of anguish.
For a while we stay like that. The stranger staring at those who used to be and me on the ground, coughing, struggling to control my breathing and still not being able to shake the feel of the Mudo man’s skin against my own.
I dig my fingers into the dirty sand, unable to convince myself that I’m safe. Slowly I sit back and run my hands over my arms and legs, needing to make sure that I’m okay and wasn’t bitten.
While I do this I sneak glances at the stranger, wondering who he is and where he came from. He seems a year or two older than me. The white tunic he wears is soaked, plastered to his body. Two thick leather straps cross his chest and loop over his shoulders, holding scabbards against his back. I’ve never seen anyone dressed like him and I’m certain he’s not from Vista.
Finally he turns to me, holding out a hand to help me stand. His skin is warm, his grip firm. His fingers linger against mine for a moment before slipping away. He looks as if he’s about to say something but then he scowls and looks past me.
His head is shaved, making his cheekbones look sharp, his eyes light. Three parallel welts trace down the left side of his face and I realize that they’re from me, from when I clawed at him in the ocean.
My heart begins to pound as I assess this new situation. Yes, I’m safe from the Mudo, but I’m alone with a complete stranger in the empty ruins of the old city. Even though he’s wiry, he’s larger than I am—certainly stronger—and I have no idea if he’s alone or here with others. I have no weapon, my sickle still embedded in the Mudo’s neck, and I suddenly feel naked without any kind of protection. As my mother taught me: It’s not just the Mudo who can be deadly in our world.
He watches me as if expecting something. I take a step away from him, away from the fences and the Mudo. Water slowly drips down the back of my legs. “I’m sorry for earlier,” I say to my feet. My voice feels weak, high. “I mean, for hitting you. Thank you, though.” I glance up at him. “Thanks for saving me.”
He says nothing and I look over my shoulder into the warren of shadows, the familiar panic whispering in my ear. The buildings out here past the amusement park are crumbled, the streets full of rubble and brush and debris. There’s nothing I could use for a weapon except loose rock and stones; anything that could have been salvaged was taken years ago, leaving nothing worth anything behind.
The panic becomes more of a buzz, tracing along the hairs on the back of my neck. I’m not sure I could find my way out of here if I ran and I know that if I try to escape he’ll be able to catch me before I get far at all.
I struggle to push my hair out of my face but it’s wet and tangled so I fold my arms across my chest, clutching my elbows. My clothes are wet and stick to my skin, leaving me feeling exposed. Why did I take such a stupid risk?
“You’re …” He pauses and clears his throat. His eyes are wide, the moon hovering over the horizon highlighting the shadows of his cheeks and lashes.
“I’m Gabrielle,” I say, my voice a whisper. “Gabry,” I add. I can only glance at him, afraid to look him in the eyes. Afraid that I’ll see hunger or rage.
His eyebrows draw together and he just stands there staring at me, making me more uncomfortable. “I’m Elias,” he finally says. But he doesn’t move toward me, doesn’t hold out a hand for me to shake. Behind him the Mudo pulse against the fence, writhe for us. Their moans filter through my head, mingling with the buzz of panic that tastes like old metal in the back of my throat.
I’m trapped on all sides by danger and I squeeze my elbows tighter. I finally glance into his eyes and see a flicker of confusion before he blinks it away. I look down, feeling strange and awkward. I don’t know what to say to him or how to begin to speak to a stranger. I want to ask him not to hurt me but somehow I feel as though it would be the wrong thing to say. If he really wanted to hurt me he could have left me on the beach. He could have left me on the ground after I jumped from the fence.
I remember the way his hand hesitated over mine as he pulled me to my feet. He didn’t feel dangerous.
He breaks the silence. “What are you doing here? Where did you come from?”
I’m taken aback. I’m the one who should be asking him these questions. I bite the inside of my cheek. “I’m from Vista.” I glance over my shoulder into the darkness, trying to appear casual, trying not to let my voice quaver. “Are you alone?”
He doesn’t answer my question. “If you’re from the town, what are you doing out here?” He takes a small step toward me and the panic roars to life. I throw up my hands and try to walk backward but I stumble over the cracked concrete and start to lose my balance.
He lunges for me then and I swing at his hands, trying to push him away. But he’s stronger than I am and his fingers circle my upper arms easily, his grip tight.
The only thought in my head is wonder at how we focus so much on the terrors of the Mudo that we don’t think enough about the dangers of the normal world. Of the in-between places full of lawless and desperate scavengers.
For a moment we stand there with barely anything separating us, his firm hold on my arms keeping me from falling onto the sharp edge of a broken wall. He could do anything he wanted to me right then. I could kick and scream and bite. But who would hear me? And if he’s survived out here in the world between the protection of cities, he knows well enough how to defend himself against biting. I stifle a whimper, not wanting him to know how scared I am.
He must see everything in my eyes because his face goes pale. He steps quickly away wiping his fingers across his tunic as if brushing off the feel of me. I’m almost light-headed with relief.
“I’m not …,” he says, stumbling over his words, “I wouldn’t …” He waves his hands at me as he continues to put distance between us. I see his throat tighten before he finally whispers, “I won’t hurt you.” He hesitates before adding, “Gabrielle.”
There’s something in the way he says my name. Maybe it’s because I’ve grown up knowing every way that my name can sound, every way it falls from the lips of the people in my town. And he’s someone new—a voice I’ve never heard before.
I nod. A sort of awkward silence stretches between us, my name the only thing floating on the air.
I try to bring us back to solid footing by answering his earlier question. “I’m looking for a friend of mine,” I tell him. “We were out here last night and he never came back.”
He lets out a long breath as if grateful for the change in topic. “Down at the amusement park.”
I tilt my head. “How do you know?”
He looks past me into the darkness and for a moment I want to turn around, afraid that someone is watching me. “I could hear the bells and some of the shouting.”
I stare at him and hesitate for only a moment before saying, “You’re not from Vista,” as if stating the obvious is important.
“No.” He doesn’t elaborate.
“I didn’t think anyone lived out here,” I press. I look around at the crumbled buildings, the fallen walls and caved roofs. So many dark shadows and crevices. This isn’t a place where people live; people don’t live in the in-between places.
After the Return the cities and towns were the most dangerous places, infection spreading and breaking too easily in larger, denser populations. But then as time wore on, people had to band back together. They had to build communities for goods, for food, for safety.
Cities and towns contracted, pulled in their borders, built walls. Which left a whole lot of space in between filled with nothing but Mudo. A few roads, like the long one from our town to the Dark City up the coast, are somewhat protected by the ocean and ruins on one side and the fence around the Forest on the other.
But still, travel is difficult at best, deadly at worst. It’s as if cities and towns are like islands in a world where most everyone is afraid of water.
Which means that someone who lives beyond the protection of a town or city is suspect.
I’ve grown up knowing the reality of our world: The lucky among us live in cities and towns, within the protection of society.
But not everyone is so lucky. Some are cast out for infractions, for failing to follow the rules. Many are deserters from the Recruiters, whose names end up on lists with prices on their heads. Some see themselves as traders—scavenging the ruins and edges of the Forest. Almost all of them are desperate, and I want to know which category Elias falls into.