Creators (Entangled Teen) Page 6

  When I refuse to talk to them about you, it makes them angry. And so a man appears, and he has ways. So, I talk. I am so ashamed by it. But I never say your name.

  And when I’m done talking about you, they take their turn. They try and convince me that you have tricked me, manipulated me with your natural ways. They want to corrupt my feelings for you, but I never let them.

  When I return to my room, my head hurts so much that I wonder if it would be better to just bash it against the wall. Then I think of you. If there is even the slightest chance I will ever see you again, I must keep going. I won’t give up. Every day, I thank the God that created you, asking him to bless you for that letter. I am so happy to hear you are trying to reconnect with your sister. I will continue to hope to receive another missive. Just the thought of it makes all the pain worth it.

  George came to see me this morning. He told me to pretend. He told me if I didn’t, they would wash my memory completely. Re-start me. Re-make me.

  I have to pretend to hate you.

  Because if I don’t, they’ll make sure I don’t remember you at all.

  And for some reason, George wants me to remember.

  ~James

  Chapter 8

  “It’s all right to be nervous,” Eric told me, scratching the back of his head, clearly more apprehensive about the day’s lesson than I was.

  I gritted my teeth and held my gun level with the target. “I don’t have time to be nervous.” I didn’t have time or patience. Every time I re-read James’s letter, I was filled with rage. If I ever came into contact with the men who tortured him, I would murder them. I would.

  I took a deep breath and squinted my eyes, trying to bring the can into focus. The hardest part about shooting a gun was shutting out the rest of the world. A good shot had to maintain complete composure, focus, control. At least that’s what Stephanie had told me during breakfast.

  While she refused to break my father’s orders and teach me herself, she always sat with me during morning mealtime and offered me tips. I could tell there was a part of Stephanie that didn’t think it was right that my father forbade me from learning how to use a gun, a part of her that knew in this world it was wise a girl learned how to defend herself. But she would never go against her commander. Luckily for me, Eric had no problem disobeying my father’s orders.

  He was pretty much the only one brave enough to do so. Hours after arriving at the community, my father called a meeting with all of the leaders. By the time the meeting concluded, the community was under his control. He and his army walked the streets enforcing their own brand of law and order. For the most part, things remained how they were, but it still bothered me how quickly the Isolationists, ancestors of those naturals who ran from government control, gave up their rights.

  No one dared to question me or any of the men who traveled with us into the woods to meet George. We may have forced our way back into the community, but no one treated us as outcasts. Whatever my father had told them must have been pretty damn convincing. Another reminder that words carried just as much power as the gun I held in my hands.

  Needless to say, I hadn’t seen much of my father since the early days after our return to the community. I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was avoiding me. Despite his attempt at reconciliation back in the woods, I hadn’t had much contact with him. He begged me to trust him, told me it would all be over soon. Maybe I needed to let him do what needed to be done.

  “I’ll take your cow milking for the rest of the week if you make that shot,” Lockwood called out from behind me.

  I spun around to remind him that I had been covering both of our cow duties the past two weeks, since he spent all of his time doting on my sister. But both he and Eric fell to the ground. “Whoa! Whoa! What the hell? You never point a gun at someone unless you plan on shooting them,” Eric yelled at me.

  I lowered the gun. “Who said I wasn’t planning on shooting Lockwood?” I joked, but my cheeks were red from embarrassment. I cleared my throat. “How is she?”

  Lockwood pulled himself off the ground and shrugged. “The same,” he answered, instinctively knowing who I was speaking about. Of course he knew; Louisa consumed both of our minds. Sharon couldn’t offer the answers I sought. Not without access to medical instruments and machines that were near impossible to find in the wilds of the Isolationist territory. “She’ll barely eat. She won’t talk. She just sleeps and stares at that wall,” he continued, kicking at the dirt beneath his feet.

  I nodded and turned my attention back to my target. “I’m ready to try it,” I growled, figuring the best way to stem my anger was to shoot the hell out of a tin can. Of course, if Eric knew how angry I was, he’d probably take the gun right out of my hands and tell me to walk it off.

  “All right, then,” Eric said. “Breathe in and out. Steady your aim, find your center, and shoot. Your stance is important, and, please, for the love of God, remember the recoil.”

  “Um, should I back up? Like go back inside back up?” Lockwood teased from behind me.

  “Shut up, Lock. Tess has this. She’s a strong son of a bitch. She can do it,” said Eric, his voice firm.

  I replayed all of Eric’s rules and reminders in my head, doing everything he told me. I closed off my mind, shutting out all my anxiousness and fears about Louisa. I focused and did what Eric, my great teacher, had taught me.

  And then I shot.

  I promptly and ungraciously fell straight on my ass. My chest burned with adrenaline, and my breath escaped from me like the birds that flew from the trees upon hearing the shot.

  “Hot damn!” Eric yelled, running toward the fence post where the can had been placed.

  I stood up, furiously wiping the dirt off my pants. “I’m sorry. I thought I was prepared for the recoil. I’ll do better next time.”

  “Better? You shot it dead on. Right in the middle.” Eric beamed, running over with the can so I could inspect it.

  I couldn’t help but grin too. “Well, hot damn indeed. Of course, I did fall on my butt—probably not the most useful thing if it ever comes to fighting,” I admitted a little sheepishly.

  “You just need some practice. You did fantastic. We’ll continue tomorrow,” Eric replied. When I opened my mouth to beg for another go, he cut me off. “I have border duty, and I don’t feel like hearing your father’s mouth if I show up late. Don’t worry. Tomorrow,” he promised, punching me playfully in the arm before heading toward the dining hall. One day, I would have to remind him how hard those punches were.

  “Wait!” I called out after him. Eric stopped and turned around to face me, raising an eyebrow. “Would you mind if I kept that?” I asked, pointing to the can. He laughed and tossed it to me.

  “So, what are we going to do about your sister?” Lockwood asked as soon as Eric was out of earshot.

  I rolled my eyes and tucked the can into my coat pocket. Then I slung the rifle over my shoulder and walked to the shed where the community stored the weapons. “There’s nothing to do but wait. Unless you know how to time travel, I suspect you’re going to have to learn a bit of patience.”

  “She’s freaking out, Tess,” Lockwood countered, closing the shed and locking it once I had returned the gun.

  “Louisa’s main occupation in life has always been drama. Don’t get swept up in it,” I warned, pushing past him and striding back toward the dining hall. Between working all day with the livestock and training, I was near famished.

  Lockwood grabbed onto my arm and halted me. “So, we’re back to being this girl? The I don’t feel anything girl? Let me tell you something about that girl. She’s a real bitch, and nobody likes her.”

  “Nobody likes a potty mouth either,” I countered, trying desperately to lighten the mood.

  Lockwood continued to stare me down. I looked up at my friend, paling at his words. He was right. I didn’t even like that girl. But it wasn’t as simple as all that, either. I was frightened. Not for myself, but because I
was certain that, once again, I was going to fail my little sister. Emma had always taken care of us, during the worst of my mother’s drinking episodes and after my father left; my sister hadn’t been dead for a year before I abandoned Louisa, leaving her to be manipulated and used by the likes of George.

  “What am I supposed to do?” I asked, my voice cracking. “Look at my little sister and tell her I don’t know if she’s going to die? Tell her that I was wrong when I thought Sharon could help her? Remind her that I’m the reason she’s stuck in this backwoods place, away from all the comforts the council could offer her? I mean, if she’s going to die, at least she could do it without starving.”

  “Backwoods place? Even you have to admit the community is better than the compound.”

  I sighed. “Of course. But she won’t see it like that. She grew up believing everything the council told us. Now, she just sees us as the people who took her from that safety. Brought her to a place where she’s scared all the time. You saw her in the woods.”

  “Maybe you could help her be less scared.”

  I pulled my arm from his grasp. “She knows what happened to Emma. She remembers. Now she’s stuck out here waiting for that thing inside her to crawl its way out and kill her.”

  “It’s not some thing, Tess. It’s her child. When I sit with her, she, well, she tries to protect the baby. I can see it in the way she curls in on herself.”

  I crossed my arms and tucked my chin down. I couldn’t look at Lockwood, not when I was sure my face radiated all the characteristics that defined the old me. It was the one part of myself that hadn’t been changed since leaving the compound. Even after seeing how great Sharon was with her kids and despite knowing I wouldn’t share my sister’s fate, I couldn’t see the point of bringing any child into such a messed-up world.

  I had learned the hard way that us humans, naturals and chosen ones alike, were fragile. And not just in a physical way. We hurt each other with wounds and scars that no one would ever see, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Often, they were the injuries we could never come back from. My mother certainly hadn’t been able to.

  I couldn’t even begin to fathom why women like Emma even thought of risking childbirth. So, how was I supposed to offer hope when it all felt so hopeless? Either Louisa was like me and would bring a fatherless child into a world where there were no certainties, only millions and millions of questions that no one bothered to answer. Or, she would be like Emma.

  She would die.

  I still could remember every moment of watching Emma’s death. Despite the fact that I was currently standing in the middle of a makeshift town miles and miles from the place where she had died, I saw and felt everything from that day. It replayed in my mind like a warning—a more convincing propaganda film than any produced by the council itself.

  She had screamed. I’d been able to hear it stick in her throat, caught in a mixture of saliva and blood. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.

  She’d reached out her hand to me. I’d hesitated.

  I had glared at the midwife who was vainly trying to keep my sister breathing. I wondered what it would feel like knowing no matter how hard you tried, you would always fail. The midwife looked to me and I could read the emotion in her eyes: she was asking my forgiveness. I gritted my teeth and moved my gaze away.

  I’d knelt down beside my sister, hoping the action would quiet her unnerving, unceasing cries for me. Her bright, feverish eyes bore into mine. “Did she live?”

  “She?” I asked skeptically.

  Emma repeated her question. Her longing for an answer was evident in her voice.

  “No,” I’d said. “It didn’t live.”

  Now, I swallowed, forcing down the shame that washed over me every time I thought about how I’d acted during Emma’s final moments. That was the reason I couldn’t be any comfort to Louisa. That was why I had to wait. Let whatever ending fate had decided for her play itself out.

  I wasn’t strong enough to be there for her. I could stand up to a room full of people I barely knew and threaten to sacrifice myself for the boy I loved. I could learn to shoot guns, willing and able to fight if the need arrived.

  But I couldn’t be a good sister.

  I cleared my throat. “I…I just can’t.”

  Lockwood clenched his jaw and looked away from me. For the first time in our friendship, I felt his disappointment in me. He threw his hands in the air and walked away without saying another word.

  As I watched him disappear back toward the infirmary where they had permanently placed Louisa, I felt my chest tighten. It heaved up and down, vainly trying to gather air. But I couldn’t breathe. I clutched at the collar of my shirt and pulled it from my neck, but still I couldn’t manage to force air into my lungs. I stumbled back. My eyes went wide, searching for someone, anyone to help me.

  It had been so long since I’d had a panic attack.

  I couldn’t watch her die. I couldn’t do that again.

  Not again.

  Not ever. Not ever again.

  A gentle hand landed on my shoulder, and I spun around to find Robert. As soon as I saw him, I fell apart, crumpling into his arms.

  “Let it out, Tess. Just let it out,” he urged.

  And so I did. I sobbed and sobbed into the chest of my brother-in-law. The more I cried, let go, the better I felt, until my wild, incessant sobs turned into a quiet whimper. “I’m so sorry,” I managed, pulling back so I could look up at him.

  Robert’s brow furrowed. “Sorry for what?”

  “How I treated Emma during that last day. I should have been there for her. I was so selfish and scared. She took care of me my whole life, and I abandoned her when she needed me the most,” I admitted, my voice hitching as the tears started to fall once more.

  “Abandoned her? What are you talking about? You think she didn’t know you were frightened out of your mind? The most important thing was that you were there. That’s always the most important thing,” he assured me.

  As I stared up at the man who traveled with me into the unknown because he had once loved my sister, I knew he believed it with all of his heart.

  He had always been there.

  “I’m scared,” I whispered.

  “So is she,” he answered back.

  Later that afternoon, when I was sure any trace of my breakdown had left my face, I went to my sister’s room. As I moved to open the door, I heard Lockwood’s voice coming from inside.

  “I brought a new book today. I think it’s right up your alley. It’s by a woman named Jane Austen. Quite a witty one, that Ms. Austen. The book is called Pride and Prejudice.”

  I smiled to myself, remembering how a boy once tried to help me with books. Happy to know that even in the wilds of the community, people believed in the power of the stories of our past, the stories the council wanted to silence.

  I knocked gently on the door before pushing it open. “Mind if I sit and listen? I’ve never read this one,” I said quietly, bracing myself for whatever Lockwood, or Louisa for that matter, had in store for me.

  Instead of accusations or judgment, Lockwood smiled. “Not at all.”

  I smiled back. It was shaky, but a smile all the same.

  My sister lay on her cot, curled, like Lockwood had told me, in on herself. Her eyes stared vacantly into the distance. I took a seat on the edge of her cot.

  Lockwood gave me a small nod and began to read the witty Ms. Austen’s work.

  And somewhere between the arrival of Mr. Bingley and the Netherfield ball, Louisa took my hand in hers and squeezed it.

  Chapter 9

  The door to the infirmary flew open, banging loudly against the wall. I bolted up from the chair where I had fallen asleep watching over Louisa when Lockwood left to take a break, instinctively grabbing for the rifle I always kept at my side since Eric told me I was ready to carry one.

  “Sharon needs you,” Lockwood panted, his face red from exertion. He had clearly run from
wherever he was—and fast.

  “What is it?” I asked, putting the rifle down and grabbing for my jacket, pulling it on quickly. Despite the nearness of summer, the air remained cool and crisp.

  “She’s… Sharon’s having the baby.”

  My stomach dropped. “What…what does she need me for?”

  “I don’t know. She just keeps asking for you. She’s going crazy about it. Melinda begs her to breathe and push, but she won’t. She says she needs you.”

  I looked back at my sister who, somehow, managed to remain asleep despite Lockwood’s dramatic entrance. She had been sleeping more and more lately. In fact, her health seemed to be getting worse as the days went on. Her skin had turned an alarming shade of gray. Her hair was always matted to her forehead and cheeks with sweat. She was too weak to even sit up. Sharon had tried to tell me that for some women, especially frail ones like Louisa, pregnancy was harder than usual. My little sister had always been sickly, an affliction that seemed to affect most of the last natural-born children, but this was different. Every time I looked at her, all I could see was Emma writhing and crying out.

  But I wouldn’t abandon her. Not again.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll watch after her,” Lockwood promised.

  I hesitated. I hated leaving her. Once my livestock shift was done, I always came straight to the infirmary and sat with her. Louisa still didn’t speak much, but I could tell by the way her eyes lit up when I entered the room that she was just as happy as I was to spend time together.

  “Okay. I’ll go,” I said hesitantly, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. “But you have to promise me. The second she shows any sign of…well, anything that doesn’t seem right—”

  “I’ll come get you. I swear it,” he interrupted, knowing the dark places my mind wandered to. Most likely because when it came to Louisa, his mind wandered there, too.

  Lockwood was the only person who spent as much time with Louisa as I did. Even her own father failed to show up much. He came by now and then, popping his head in and asking how she was. All we could ever tell him was that she was the same. My father usually appeared satisfied with this brief assessment. I knew he was busy, but that didn’t mean being with us wasn’t important as well. I thought of how hard it was for him to look at her. I understood his fear, but wasn’t he supposed to be a fearless leader? How brave could he really be?