Deviants (20 page)

He stands before I get the rope off his hands and strides to the bars of the cage. “Why are you holding us? What did we do?”

“Shut up.” The sergeant slams his palm into the bars. “I’ll ask the questions.”

The corporal stares at me with what looks like amusement as I work on the knots trapping Burn’s hands. My scraped fingers sting on the rough rope but I manage to loosen the bindings enough for Burn to break his hands free.

“We don’t have any skills,” I say. “We’re Normals.” But I’m not sure my lie is convincing, or if Normal means the same thing here as it does inside Haven.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the sergeant says gruffly.

“I’ll test them,” the corporal says.

The sergeant spins toward him. “You’re not killing them. Not yet. Skills or not, these two could prove valuable to Fort Huron.” He narrows his eyes. “Especially her. I’m calling the general.”

The sergeant turns and strides out of sight, the other two men following closely behind. What would make me valuable? This doesn’t make any sense, because he couldn’t possibly know about my curse—I haven’t hurt anyone since we were captured—but so little makes sense right now, I add his last comment to my heaping pile of uncertainties.

“Where are we?” I ask Burn as soon as the men leave. “Who are these people?”

“Keep your voice down.” Burn looks around the cell, studying every inch and running his hand over the walls.

“What are you looking for?”

“Cameras.”

I help, looking into the corners, but I don’t see any. From what I saw walking through the streets, this place doesn’t have the same technology as Haven. There weren’t any screens and, I realize, no signs of electricity. But something must have made that tank move. Burn lifts and turns over the bench. He runs his fingers along the underside and then stands on it to run his fingers over the junction of the walls and the ceiling.

Finally, he moves the bench to the back of the cell.

I sit down beside him. “Can you get us out of here with…” I look at his coat.

He shakes his head.

“Then why were you so eager to get it back?”

He spins toward me. “Because I need it. Because it’s mine.” I take a step back. We glare at each other before I avert my eyes. “I should check your bandages.”

Without answering, he removes his loose-fitting sweater and then his T-shirt. I bite my lip. His arm looks fine, but blood has soaked through the bandage wrapped over the gash on his shoulder blade. There’s no water to cleanse his wound but I unwind the cloth anyway.

“Do you have anything clean I can use to rewrap this?”

He shakes his head. “Just find the least grimy section.”

Reaching around him to pull the fabric back, my fingers accidentally brush across his chest. He sucks in a sharp breath, as if the wound’s there. He turns toward me and I look into his eyes, his gaze so dark and intense my cheeks heat. Then the rest of me heats, too.

I glance down.

Something is wrong with me. I barely know Burn, but touching his skin, feeling the hard muscles rippling beneath its surface, smelling his scent, I want to press up against him, want to run my fingers over every inch of his broad body.

I don’t understand what I’m feeling or why. Just days ago I felt sure I loved Cal, and although his betrayal is still sharp and fresh, I’m shocked that I’m feeling this way around Burn. What happened with Cal should have taught me never to trust such feelings.

Rubbing my ring, I wipe the emotion and restore my sanity. I need Burn’s help. That’s it. He saved me last night and made me feel safe and protected. I’m grateful. Letting
other feelings invade is not only unnecessary, it’s dangerous.

His bandage off, the wound doesn’t look infected, but it needs stitches, and I wonder if these people have medicine. “You should keep this arm still and shifted back.” I touch his left shoulder. “Every time you use that arm, you pull the wound across your shoulder blade open.”

“Should have inhaled more dust out there,” he says, “but didn’t want to risk it.”

Finding the cleanest-looking part of the filthy fabric, I carefully fold it so that it will pad the gash, then rewrap his chest, trying my best to keep my hands off his skin.

“Why did you tell them I’m your wife?”

“Not too tight.” He takes the end of the cloth and finishes wrapping it himself.

“But, if it’s not tight, it’ll slip off.”

He rewraps the bandage loosely but loops another piece diagonally to hold the first one in place. Then he puts his T-shirt back on and leans back against the wall. Motioning me closer, he leans his lips close to my ear, so close I can feel his breath. “Whatever you do, don’t let these people know you’re a Deviant.”

“I thought you didn’t like that word.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“Do you know where we are?”

He nods.

“How far are we from the place where we’re—”

“At least a two day’s walk.” He cuts me off before I can finish. “Maybe more. Getting hauled here didn’t help.”

“But my father will wait.”

“Not sure.”

Sadness and defeat settle inside me, stinging my eyes.

Burn releases the tension in his shoulders. “We’ll find them. If they don’t wait they’ll head on to the Settlement and we’ll find them there.”

“Settlement?”

“It’s where we’re headed. It’s safe.”

I want to believe him and there’s no point in assuming the worst. I can’t permit myself to think that I’ll never see Drake again, never find out if he’s safe. “Why did you tell them we came from the South?”

“Survivors migrate up here. There’s not much water down there so it’s hard to grow food.”

“How many people live here? How many others survived the dust?”

“I don’t know. We stay clear of the people here at the Fort.”

I can see why. “Did Management build the wall to keep the migrants out, because there’s not enough room in Haven?”

He laughs. “You give them too much credit.”

“Then what?”

“That wall is to keep Shredders in. To keep dust in. Didn’t you see how it drifts up the sides?”

“But why?”

“To keep you all scared. To keep you from trying to get out.”

Anger stirs inside me. If what Burn’s saying is true, Management is preventing employees from leaving, from even knowing it might be possible to live Outside, even with masks. The dome keeps us safe from the Shredders, but while they clearly exist out here, we haven’t seen any Shredders
since we got to this side of the wall.

Burn puts his sweater back on, then reaches for his coat, even though it’s plenty warm in this room. Dressed, he sits again and I lean in close.

“What you’re saying doesn’t make sense. Haven is overcrowded. Why wouldn’t they want to let us out if we wanted to go?”

“Think about it.” Burn leans back against the wall. “Without their employees, how would Management maintain the dome? How would they create all their nice things?”

“People earn rations at their assigned work placements. That’s the way the economy works.” I wrinkle my nose. I’m practically quoting the P&P.

Burn moves his lips close to my ear. “Management controls Haven through fear. If people knew they had choices, Management couldn’t force them to work.”

I’m not sure this makes sense, but we don’t get a chance to argue, because a man strides into the space in front of our cell. The way he looks at us makes my blood chill.

“I’m General Phadon,” the man says. “Step forward so I can see you.”

Burn’s already standing. I do the same.

“We’re travelers, looking for water,” Burn says.

“Liar.” The general slams the bars and the sound jangles my ears. “You’re trespassing in my fort.”

I grit my teeth. His men found us out in the open and brought us here. But arguing does not seem smart.

The general is tall and thin and his hair’s cropped so short
it’s more like day-old whiskers, and a ragged red scar runs diagonally across his face, twisting his lips into an unnatural shape. “Girl, let me look at you.”

The hair on the back of my neck rises as I step forward.

“Closer,” he says. I look over to Burn, but he’s staring at the wall like he hasn’t heard the general’s demand. Burn must have a plan. Maybe he’ll wait until the man’s distracted and then attack him with one of his weapons.

I continue forward but stop before the general can touch me. His teeth are crooked and yellow, and my stomach roils as his hand reaches through the bars.

“You’ll do,” he says and I shudder.

“She’s my wife,” Burn says softly but he keeps his eyes cast to the ground.

“Not anymore, son.” He laughs. “We’ve got a shortage of females. This one looks healthy enough to bear children.”

I spin toward Burn and my ponytail whips around. The general grabs my hair, yanks, and I stagger back to stop the pain.

“As commanding officer of Fort Huron”—his voice is low and deep—“I get first pick of the childbearing females and it’s your lucky day, girlie. You get to be one of my wives.” He cups the side of my face, drags a callused thumb down my cheek, and his skin’s so rough I wonder if it’s scraped me.

“Let her go,” Burn says, but his voice is quiet and controlled, like he doesn’t care. His indifference jabs me, but I can’t afford to yield to emotions. I force away the pain.

“You look strong, Boy,” the general says to Burn. “Play your cards right and I’ll let you serve in my army. Play them
wrong and you’ll end up invited to Sunday dinner—as the roast.” A horrible grin spreads on his face, revealing more of his smelly teeth. “Either way’s fine. Lots of protein on you, even if you’ll need to be tenderized.”

Trembling builds deep inside until I must be visibly vibrating. As horrible as Management might be, no one in Haven eats other people—I don’t think—and even if physiologically these people here are like the Normals in Haven, they seem more like Shredders.

“Look at me.” The general grabs my chin and lifts my face toward his, but I keep my eyes diverted.

The familiar stinging and tingling builds. Rubbing my ring doesn’t help. If I look into this evil man’s eyes, he’ll discover the truth. I’ll be caged and dragged outside this fort to ward off Shredders. If they discover my “skill,” these people won’t ever let me leave. If I can’t leave, I’ll never find Drake.

“I said—look at me.” The general tightens his grip on my face. “As one of my wives, you’ll soon learn obedience.”

I twist away but I’m too close to him now, too close to his rotten-meat breath. I gag. He grabs my lower arm and pulls me hard against the iron bars. The rusty metal digs into my cheek, and he presses his hand against my breast and squeezes so hard it hurts.

A roar erupts from behind me. The general drops his hand and I turn.

Gasping, I press my back into the wall at the side of our cage. Burn has turned into the monster. He’s expanded at least a foot in height and more than that across his shoulders and chest. The fabric bandages I wrapped around drop to the
floor in a bloody mess, and his sweater stretches and strains against his expanded width.

Veins and muscles pulse and bulge from his arms, his neck, his chest, and his face twists into a terrifying grimace. Eyes red, full of rage, his expression floods me with fear. I barely recognize him. I’m glad it’s not me he’s mad at. I hope not.

He roars again, kicks the bars, and the metal screeches as it surrenders to his foot. The force pushes the general back and he falls to the ground. I should want to cheer, but I can’t feel anything but shock as I watch Burn wind up and kick again. The metal bars twist and snap.

General Phadon, on his knees, grabs a gun from his belt. But before he can raise it, Burn forces his way through the bent and broken metal bars. He stomps on the general’s arm.

As the man shouts, Burn stomps down on his chest, and I cover my ears against crunching and cracking.

Burn killed the general. I don’t care how horrible he was, I can’t process what happened.

Fear and horror wind up my chest and into my throat. I’m losing control. If I make eye contact with anyone he’ll die.

“Burn, think about what you’re doing.” I keep my eyes down as he strides toward me.

Without saying a word, he grabs me, wrapping a huge arm around my body and crushing me into his side. My ribs crack. I can’t breathe. My mind hazes with pain, and when something sharp and hard scrapes along my back, I realize I’m through the bars. The door at the end of the corridor bursts open. The man who first opened it comes through.

Burn roars, kicks him, and the man flies back. Footsteps pound toward us. Burn leans over, lifts the man, and gripping his waistband, holds him in front of us. The guard’s arms wave wildly as several other uniformed men appear holding guns.

But they don’t shoot and I realize Burn is using the guard as a shield. He plows forward, crushing me against him with just the top of one arm, swinging the guard in front of us with the other.

The men and their guns back away and I shield my head and face as Burn steps through the building’s door and onto the street. Sirens blare in my ears and canopies unfurl above us, covering the streets and blocking the sky. All around me, people don masks, but mine’s strapped over my shoulder. I can’t put it on with my arms pinned, not with Burn spinning and thrashing me around.

At least I’m doing better than the man being held up by his waistband. As Burn slams him into other people and buildings, his body grows slack and I wonder if he’s dead or passed out.

A man in a window to our right points a huge gun straight at us. Gathering my fear, I focus the stinging pain it brings to my eyes, then force myself to look directly at his. We make eye contact, but he blinks, breaking my chance to get a strong hold. Yet he drops the gun, grabs his head, and backs into his house.

Burn leaps onto a huge bin, leaps again, and we land on a roof just as the canopy covers the street below. From this vantage point, I can see most of the fort. It looks to be about
a quarter the size of Haven, made up of low buildings that are surrounded on all sides by a wall made of stone, concrete, and steel. In the distance I see a long, green strip like the one I think Burn called a forest.