Vanishing Rain (Blue Spectrum Chronicles Book 2) (3 page)

Chapter 4

Tools

I carried the box to my room, setting it on my pink bedspread.  There were all kinds of colored paper in the box; reds, blues, yellows, polka dots, stripes.  Carnival animals.  Clowns. Balloons. Ocean creatures and bubbles.

I wasn’t particularly interested in the front of the paper.  It was the back that I needed.

I found a large square with blue dolphins swimming in the ocean on the front.  The back side was completely blank.

I turned my tablet back on and found the map of the ancient sewer routes that started underneath Province A.  I opened the cap to the calligraphy pen and meticulously copied the angled route that wound underneath it, snakes that connected with solid lines.  The route led in perfect alphabetical order until it stopped at Province J, the last surviving Province.  Orion’s Province.

I sighed.  I truthfully thought I was over him.  My family had seemed to fill in the void.  But once again, I had to wonder.  He cascaded into my mind like a moving carnival ride, his face spinning at every turn I took.  Why couldn’t he just leave me be?  I had enough on my plate, what with trying to get the tracker-timer out, find a place to stay, and keep the Administration from aborting my baby.  His baby.  Our baby.

I smacked my thoughts down.  I didn’t have time to think about a boy who would just leave without a trace.  I continued with my project, sticking my tongue out of the corner of my mouth as I concentrated. My map complete, I folded it neatly and began putting the paper back into the box.  I was on my last piece when something sharp pinched my fingers.

I pulled out the shiny, metallic object, smiling with satisfaction. 

Scissors.  I snatched them up and tossed them into my small satchel, the very one I carried with me when I first came to Dad and Dove’s apartment to live.  I stuffed my map on top of them and then threw some uniforms on top.  I thought about taking some real clothes, but it didn’t make sense to me, just packing my regulation uniforms for school.  Where I was going, the fashionable clothes and accessories that Dove bought for me would probably be useless.

I remembered that day with Dove, when I had my make-up done, new clothes fitted for me, and my hair styled by Sergio, the S.L.A.G. they secretly harbored. Garment had pointed to a purple chair and told me to take a drink.  I chose a small bottle of champagne, and my head became all fizzy and bubbly.  Dove warned me to stop or I would get a headache.

Remembering the champagne gave me an idea.  Champagne, I thought.  Lots of champagne.  That would work.  I had the scissors. Now all I needed was something to kill the pain.

I roamed out into the kitchen as silently as I dared.  Adults were allowed a certain amount of alcohol by the Administration, but I couldn’t recall ever seeing my dad or Dove drinking any, so maybe they didn’t have a well-stocked liquor cabinet like my mother did.  I cringed when I thought of her, shoving her easily on a back shelf in my mind.  I had too many other things to think about besides her.

Then guilt slipped in again, the color of blood. It didn’t so much have a feeling, but an emptiness about it, circling around me like one of Snow’s flying toys. Guilt at leaving Dove.  My dad.  Snow and the toddlers.  My friends.

I closed the satchel tightly, letting out a huge puff of air.  I held my hand to my stomach, to the invisible creature whose fate I held precariously in my hands.  Could I love it, be a mother to it?  I didn’t know the answer to those questions.  I only knew one thing.  It deserved to live.

Chapter 5

Liquid

Dove had always been in charge of meals, punching them into the dispenser after we stood on the weight reader.  Then we would sit at the huge table as a family.  There was always lively conversation, a toddler tossing food somewhere, usually vegetables, and the noise of normal family life.  I was so happy to be there that I never had purpose to snoop through the kitchen cupboards.  But that was what I found myself doing, keeping the lights on dim.  What would I tell Dove if she found me in the kitchen?  One lie was bad enough, but could I come up with a logical reason for stealing alcohol?

Still, settling my shoulders back with thick determination, I snuck into the kitchen like a common thief pilfering booze. 

I snickered in my head.  If I was caught on camera, my mom would have every reason to prosecute me like she did before.  I furtively opened cupboard door after cupboard door.  Nothing.  I sighed, already exasperated with my plan.  I wanted to give up, to go in and just wake Dove and my dad, let them know what a pickle I was in.   But the Administration’s mandates loomed heavily before me.  They had taken enough from me.  They were not taking this baby.

I turned to leave, heading back to my bedroom. I would just have to forget about numbing the pain.  The thought sent chills up my spine.  Blowing out a puff of frustrated air, a small cart in the corner of the kitchen caught my eye.  I had never really noticed it before. It was crafted of delicate wood, probably maple, and it appeared to be an antique.  My eyes moved through the darkness, and I wondered why I hadn’t noticed it before.  It was exquisite, ornately carved and polished to a shine.  But better yet, perched on the cart was a lavish crystal decanter, filled with amber liquid. 

I raced toward it and lifted the stopper off of the decanter, sniffing the contents.   I stifled back a gag as the sting of sharp alcohol bit my nose.  The smell reminded me of my mom’s scotch, only stronger.  Perfect.  I snapped the lid back on the decanter and snuck back to the kitchen, hoping the cameras wouldn’t pick up my movement.  I searched the kitchen cabinets for a container.  Quietly opening the cupboard doors, I found several of the toddler’s sippy cups.  I went back to the decanter and emptied the strong liquid into one of them, a blue one that was Storm’s favorite, and another stabbing guilt prickled into my gut.  I was actually stealing from a toddler, sinking to the all-time lowest point in life.   My heart pounded as I drizzled the strong liquid into the sippy cups, figuring that I probably wouldn’t need much because the only liquor I had ever consumed was a small bottle of champagne.  Still, it made sense to err on the cautious side, making sure I had more than enough.

I clamped the lids down tightly and tiptoed quietly back to my bedroom with them.  I stuffed the plastic cups into my satchel.  I had one more thing to do.  Find a first aid kit.

With toddlers in the apartment, that was the easy part.  I stopped at the main bathroom and dug around until I found the kit that Dove always got out when Sun or Storm had a boo-boo.  I stuffed it under my shirt and snuck back to my bedroom. It was the last item I placed in my satchel.

I slipped into bed and pulled the covers over my body, wishing more than anything that sleep would come easily.

It didn’t.  I tossed and turned all night, my eyes closed in pretend sleep until the alarm clock rang at 6:30.  I yawned and stretched as if it was any other day, glancing at the camera in my room, remembering the one at my mom’s apartment.  I stifled back a laugh when I thought of what I had done to that one.  But this time I was sad to be leaving, not angry.  My chest squeezed tightly shut, and I wasn’t sure if I could follow through with my plan.

Still, I got up, showered, and tucked myself into a school regulation uniform.  I ate breakfast. 

I said good-bye.

I said good-bye.

I said good-bye to them all.  To Dove.  My Dad.  Snow and the toddlers.  With a lump in my throat, I pretended that it was any other day.

And I said good-bye.

It was more than I had gotten from Orion.

Chapter 6

Caught

I gagged, forcing myself up from the seat of the glider with my hands.  I didn’t have time for such reminiscing.  Gods, what was I thinking?  My head was spinning like a carnival ride, and my arm felt like someone had sawed it off.  Not to mention the bloody gauze that needed changing.  I dug around in the first aid kit for fresh gauze, hesitant to take the old gauze off.  But I knew that I had to. 

I unwrapped the old gauze with trepidation.  I really didn’t want to see the wound but I knew that I had to put the clean dressing on.  Thankfully, the bleeding had slowed, but there was a gaping wound in my arm and it already looked angry.  With shaking hands, I rewrapped my arm, gritting my teeth with pain at every movement I made, every touch.  I sealed the bandage with tape and tossed the first aid kit to the glider floor, watching with amusement as it swam in the spoils of my stomach. 

Tugging my bloody shirt off, I dug around in my satchel for a clean one and slipped it over my head.  Then I did the same with my pants, since the ones I had been wearing were a bloody mess as well.  Damn, I thought.  I should have brought some regular clothes.  I would be a shining target for sure with only my school uniform to wear. 

Too late by that point.  I reached my hand up to my ear and dislocated my ear communicator, yanked it off, and threw it on the floor of my glider, right beside the first aid kit. Then I grabbed my satchel, taking one last glance at the broken pieces of the bloody tracker-timer.

It would no longer dictate my life.  That had to be worth something.

I took in a deep breath, pulling my legs awkwardly out of the glider, first one and then the other.  I struggled to stand erect, having to lean my hand on the side of the glider.  My eyes darted around the garage, searching for a camera.  There wasn’t one in sight, but that didn’t mean one wasn’t planted somewhere.  Stay calm.  Stay calm. I said it over and over in my mind as sweat pooled down my forehead, dampening my hair, and nausea gripped me again as the swirling parking garage slapped me in the face with the putrid smell of smog.  It might have been a beautiful day outside, but the garage was a cesspool of exhaust and smoke and unearthly scents.

Gripping my satchel, I walked slowly, trying not to stagger.  It was difficult, and my arm was screaming at me, a burning fire raging out of control where I had performed my amateur surgery.  I swallowed, desperately wanting some nutrient water to cool my parched throat, as I wobbled out of the parking garage, entered a chute, and landed right on a city street.  Fortunately, everyone was so preoccupied and distracted that they didn’t seem to notice an eighteen year old in a school regulation uniform with a satchel in her hand. 

The streets weren’t that busy, but occasionally someone jostled me, a shoulder, arm, or lapcase pushing against my stinging, aching, hung-over body.  At one point, something hit my left arm, and I stifled a scream as pain engulfed my wound, caterpillars dancing on burning coals.  Tears welled in my eyes and I squinted my eyes against the harsh daylight. Tamping down more tears, I glanced up, staring at the tall, mirrored building ahead of me, striding purposely toward it.

Just then, out of the corner of my eyes, I spotted a military guard.  I glanced at him, my heart thudding like a jackhammer was inside my chest.  I darted another peek at him, hoping it was my imagination.  But it wasn’t.  To make matters worse, he was definitely following me. 

I stepped up my pace, jostling my sore body and woozy mind through the crowds of people.  Sensing he was bearing down on me, I acted quickly, just stopping before a large plate glass window and pretending that I was browsing for something.  It was really stupid, because it was a real-estate office, and all they had were a bunch of expensive apartments listed for sale.  I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood.  I knew that I was caught, and my mind whirred like the doors that opened and closed in quick succession in the pictures of elaborate apartments before me. 

My heart thundered in my chest, memories of being hauled in for Arbitration taking over.  There would be no way to hide the truth from the Arbitration Committee, especially my mother, once they injected me with truth serum and started asking me questions. I had played that scene out one time too many.

I swallowed, my throat sore and burning, each breath ragged and bitter.  Even Dove probably couldn’t get me out of this scrape.  My heart beat harder against my ribs, blasting against the embryo I knew was inside of me.  I placed my free hand on my stomach, the pain from removing the tracker-timer throbbing and pulsing against the unborn child.

An arm grabbed me roughly by the shoulder, a voice swimming into my ears in waves of nausea. “What are you doing out of school?”  I turned slowly, and in Orion perfection cast my eyes in the guard’s direction.

He was tall with an ugly, shriveled up face. With dull brown hair and a moustache that seemed out of place on his thin lips, I faced him head on, as if he was the intruder on my scheduled day.  My eyes landed on his chest, which didn’t seem to fit with the rest of his body, broad and so much like Orion’s that my heart leaped for a second.  Like an accordion, it moved in and out with each breath he took.  I moved my eyes up slowly as I fidgeted my fingers around the satchel case, and for a moment we stared at each other, his black eyes boring through me like a sharp, never ending drill.  I shoved the thoughts of Orion out of my head, knowing that I had to think straight.

My voice imitated Orion’s, though.  “I’m on a field trip for Fast Track.  Researching the businesses of Province A for my Government class.”

The guard’s black eyes scrutinized me again and I continued to meet his stare head on.  If my heart was thundering before, it was an all-out earthquake now.  I smiled sweetly at him, though, hoping that he wouldn’t notice my hands shaking as they held the satchel or the blood that was leaking through my bandaged arm onto the sleeve of my uniform. 

“I’ll have to check with your Instructor.  Which one is it?”

My mind spun quickly in drunken circles, Instructors from Citizen School tumbling around it like crazed acrobats.  Then I fixed on a face, one I wouldn’t mind involving in this twisting and turning saga that had become my life.  I regained control in a split second. I had been lying so much in the past twenty-four hours, it became easy.  “Number 17,” I innocently told him, knowing that Number 17 was so old that she might just think she taught Government instead of Trigonometry.  Who knew, maybe she would even vouch for me.

Just then someone blazed past the guard.  “My bag!” a lady called out.  “Someone stole my bag!” 

The guard glanced at me quickly.  “Stay put.  I’ll be right back.” 

“Okay, sure,” I innocently remarked as he took off running, his military blues getting smaller and smaller as he weaved his way through the people on the street, chasing after the thief.  I glanced at the woman whose bag was stolen, and she winked at me. 

I stepped back, wondering if I had ever seen her before, but I didn’t recognize her.

“Go,” she whistled out of the side of her mouth.  “Hurry, before he returns.”

I didn’t know if I should stay and thank her as I let out a slow breath of air and turned around, pushing my shoulders back.  Our eyes connected for a split second and I nodded to her, hoping it was enough.  Then I high tailed it toward the mirrored building, walking as fast as I could.

Suddenly my head was clearer than it had ever been.