Deviants (3 page)

Reaching our door, I banish my fear and all thoughts of Cal. “Do you mind waiting out here?” I ask Jayma, resting my hand on the bundle of rats under my jacket.

She shivers. “Sure. You know I hate blood.”

I push the door until it bumps up against the bracket I molded from scrap metal to prevent the door from swinging wide enough to reveal my brother’s presence. Not that passersby are frequent in this narrow hall, but I can’t be too careful.

Slipping inside, I quickly shut the door. People claim that Before The Dust, the entire penthouse floor of this building was a single family’s dwelling and, supposedly, our apartment was used for clothing storage, but I find that hard to believe. Yes, there is a metal rung along the left side of the five-by-twelve-foot space and holes in the wall where a similar rung might have hung on the right, but even if those rungs were used for clothes, at least one person must have slept in here, too. It’s not possible that a sixty-square-foot space was wasted on storage.

Currently, 211 official residents—plus Drake—live on the thirty-second floor pent at the top of our building. Impossible to believe that one family lived alone in the nearly 5,000-square-foot space. Must have been one monstrous-sized family.

I lean against the wall behind the door, one of the only places not covered by nail-scratched drawings of faces and street scenes. My brother looks up from his book and says, “Hi.”

His appearance has changed these past months. Stronger lines have cut into his boyish looks, and his face is shifting and hardening like ice crystals on a water bucket. Overwhelmed by thoughts I might lose him, I dive down and pull him into a tight hug.

He pushes me back. “Stop with the mush.” He frowns but I can tell he’s not really mad, so I don’t scold him for using the electric light instead of the crank lantern. Our power rations will drain months before I’m scheduled to get more, but he’s stuck in this windowless room, so when our power dies I’ll get more points, even if I need to scrounge or steal.

I don’t mind being the one who has to do everything. I really don’t. But some days I do wish my brother could take care of me. Just for a short while. Just a few minutes. Just so I get a small break.

But there’s no sense in wishing for things that won’t happen, and right now I need to focus on hiding the fact that I’m scared for his life. I can’t share the danger until I develop a plan.

“Look,” I whisper and hold up the rats. “I’m going to the Hub for rations, but later we’ll have a feast.”

“I’ll skin them while you’re gone.” Drake uses his strong upper body to shift himself over on the mattress and then pulls his atrophied legs to follow. “I’m starved.”

Me, too, and I wonder how much longer we’ll be able
to live on half rations supplemented by contraband rat. By some miraculous error, my brother’s employee number disappeared from the HR database right after our father was expunged. Drake’s relief when he realized the Comps wouldn’t come for him right away was replaced by fear that he wouldn’t get food, so I lied and told him that Resources & Allocations still had him recorded in their rations database. They don’t.

“Maybe they’ve upped your rations.” I try to sound hopeful as I shift to sit beside him and bump our shoulders. “You’re almost a man—nearly fourteen.”

“Not for seven months.”

“Can’t have you getting scrawny.” I poke him in the ribs, and he retaliates, poking me under the arm. I squirm away, swatting his hand and laughing. “You need more food. They must be crazy in R&A not to give you more. I’ll lodge a complaint.”

His laughter vanishes. “Stop pretending. I know.”

“Know what?” I reach over to smooth the blanket on his lumpy mattress.

“I know I don’t get any rations.”

My stomach tightens. “Of course you do.” I stand and check our water supply to make sure I don’t need to go down two floors to the tap before I go out. Then I peek into our tin waste bucket. Thank Haven it’s empty, because lugging that thing down two floors is my least favorite chore. We’re luckier than some to have a human waste–collection center and water so close, but waiting in line to empty the bucket can take hours.

“I’m not a baby,” Drake says. “I know how things work. I’m a Parasite. I don’t work. I’m not in training. I don’t get rations. We split yours.”

The back of my throat pinches, and I wait for it to pass before looking into his eyes. Every week I’ve given him a larger share of my rations without hesitation or comment, and I’m surprised to learn that he’s known all along. Who knew Drake could keep secrets?

His fingers brush my hand. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For taking care of me, like Mom used to.”

The word
Mom
takes the strength from my legs. I drop down to sit, and he slings an arm over my shoulders.

“Remember how she used to tell us stories in the dark? I miss that.”

“Me, too.”

“Tell me one?”

I shake my head. As hard as I try, I can’t replace our mom. I can’t make up stories—not like she could—and I realize how lucky I am to have had a mother for nearly three years longer than Drake. I was thirteen when she died.

“Come on.” He squeezes my shoulders. “You tell great stories.”

I jump up. “I need to go. Jayma’s waiting.”

His upper body straightens and his chin lifts. “She’s here?” His voice is so filled with hope that I consider letting her in. Other than me, Drake never talks to anyone, and I can’t remember the last time I let Jayma visit.

“She’s in the hall.”

His expression collapses. “She didn’t want to come in?”

It’s more than I can bear, so I open the door a crack and invite her inside. As she enters, a huge smile spreads on Drake’s face, and he checks his gloves and the cuffs of his long-sleeved shirt to make sure his skin will be covered should his nerves attack and reveal his Deviance.

“Hi, Jayma.” His whisper is scratchy, and he pushes dark hair from his forehead. I must remember to cut it.

“Hi, Drake.” She returns his smile, and his face brightens as if he’s made of electric lights—the bright kind like they have at the Hub.

Oh, no
. Clearly my brother is smitten, and I realize I’ve never told him how Jayma likes Scout. How will I tell him and not crush his heart?

Jayma and Drake make small talk, and when she praises his latest drawings on the lower parts of our walls, he beams then pushes down to lift himself, shifting closer to Jayma.

“Have you spent time on your belly today?” I ask.

He darts his eyes toward my friend.

“Okay,” I say. “As soon as we leave, then. You don’t want another—” I stop myself from saying bedsore. Being embarrassed in front of Jayma is one more side effect of his getting older.

“Still no feeling in your legs?” Jayma bites her lower lip and looks down.

Drake uses his upper body to move again, as if hoping to impress her with his relative mobility. “My legs are as useless as the day it happened.” His cheeks flush.

Jayma slides her shoe along the floor. “It’s so horrible to
think that your dad—”

“He didn’t do it.” Drake’s voice is too loud, and I turn toward the closed door, hoping beyond all hope that no one beyond it heard him.

“Then who did?” Jayma crouches to meet him eye to eye. “Was there someone besides your family in the room?” The excitement in her voice sounds as if she thinks she’s cracked the case, and I want to tell her to give it up. There’s no mystery.

Drake looks away. It must have been horrible to witness Mom’s murder—our father knocked me unconscious, so at least I didn’t have to see it happen—but I’m losing patience with my brother. His outburst, claiming our father’s innocence, rakes my nerves.

Drake’s in denial. Too young then to face the fact that our father turned against our family. Too optimistic now to believe his own Deviance might someday hurt someone he loves. He’s old enough to discuss what he saw, but I don’t push it, not with Jayma in the room.

She’s still waiting for Drake to answer, and his obvious tension fuels mine. I rub my ring. “We should go.”

“I wish you could come with us.” Jayma reaches out to touch Drake’s arm, but he pulls back. Clearly he doesn’t trust his nerves around her. I get that. I’ve got the same problem with Cal.

Jayma has no idea why Drake can’t let her touch him. At least I can trust her to protect his other secret. Jayma knows better than anyone what would happen if Drake’s disability were discovered. Failing to report an injury or illness is
almost as bad as being Deviant.

“You should visit more often,” I say to distract her from his reaction. “You’re the only one who knows he’s here.” And if it wasn’t she who told Cal, how in the world does he know?

“Would you like me to visit again?” Jayma rises from her crouch. She’s smiling again, and I can only assume she’s written off my brother’s flinch as a by-product of too much isolation. If she follows through on visiting more, I’ll figure out a way for him to wear something thick enough to prevent her from feeling through the fabric should his skin change to armor.

“Let’s go.” I tug on Jayma’s arm. “People won’t let us join the ration line if the guys have been waiting too long.”

“You’re right,” Jayma says. “See you again soon, Drake.”

“Great.” He waves, puppy love radiating through his expression.

Jayma and I walk in silence through the building’s narrow passageways—some formed by solid walls from the original structure and some literally paper thin. The only topics on either of our minds are ones we can’t broach with our neighbors close by. Everyone suspects that Management has spies living in the Pents, and now that Cal’s joined the Jecs, I know that it’s true. There’s at least one spy, one traitor, in our midst. Not to mention the Comps’ cameras, but I’m confident most are broken.

Compliance tries to make us believe they’re still watching, but most of the cameras, except near the Hub or Management buildings, don’t move. Given how they’ve cut the rations for the rest of us, it’s fitting that Management’s suffering a few
shortages, too.

After walking down sixteen flights of stairs, crowded with families who live on the landings, Jayma and I step through a narrow floor-to-ceiling gap, then start across a long suspension bridge to the roof of an adjacent building. Our route to the Hub isn’t the shortest or safest—this bridge tends to sway—but it’s the fastest. Less traffic than the surface.

My father told me that the bridges were built to ease congestion on Haven’s streets—some suspended from steel cables hooked to the buildings, some made of ropes—and were never intended as dwellings. But my whole life, the bridges up in the Pents have been crowded. Scattered sporadically on both sides of this narrow bridge, families live in tiny shacks made of cardboard, fabric, newspaper—whatever building materials they could find. No habitable space is wasted in Haven, even these rickety bridges.

I see a new gap in the bridge, and after making sure Jayma noticed it, too, I step over and avoid looking down the sixteen-odd floors to the ground. The materials of the missing section of bridge are being used as the wall of a shack. I shake my head. What’s the sense in having privacy if your floor falls out below you?

With a loud bang, a sheet of aluminum lands a few feet ahead of us, shaking the bridge. Shielding our heads with our arms, Jayma and I look up. This bridge is not only rickety, but it runs beneath two others much worse. A few heads peek out of shelters to investigate, and a boy of about ten runs to grab the metal and drag it home. He reminds me of Drake.

Even though my brother might have better air and more
light for reading out here in the open, I can’t imagine living on one of these bridges, or worse, on a poorly ventilated roof. Besides, it’s silly to even contemplate requesting a move. Management would discover Drake.

Reaching the end of the bridge, I crouch and grab a rope, then climb down several floors. At the knot at the rope’s end, I use both legs to push off the side of the building and swing from the rope to land on a metal platform jutting out from the next building. Vibrations penetrate my feet, rising up to my clenched teeth.

Jayma follows, and after landing she leans in close. “Finally. Now you can tell me. What happened up on the roof? I didn’t want to ask in the crowds.”

“Nothing happened.” I glance around, checking for eavesdroppers. It’s safe here.

“Come on,” she says. “Since when do we have secrets? Tell me.” Her voice lowers. “Why did you look so upset after talking to Cal?” She gasps and grabs my hand. “Does he like someone else? Is he getting a dating license?”

My heart pinches. “It’s nothing like that. I was just in a hurry to check on Drake.” It’s not a total lie. But I’m confused about Cal, and my emotions are banging hard to get out, like we’re in a physical fight I can’t let them win. I’d give anything to tell Jayma my biggest secrets, give anything to be a Normal like her, give anything to turn back time to when our friendship was free and easy with no secrets, when we shared everything.

“Why are you upset then?” she asks. “Is it Drake?”

“I worry he’ll get caught and taken to the Hospital.”

Jayma’s pale green eyes open wide with compassion. “Some people say it’s just rumors, but after Jack was taken to the Hospital . . .” Her eyes fill with tears. “I can’t bear the thought of them taking Drake there.”

Her big brother, Jack, caught the flu two winters ago and, after he missed work three days in a row, his supervisor reported his absence to the Comps. When they realized it was more than a cold, Health & Safety swooped in and carted him to the Hospital, later claiming he died of his illness.

Not likely.

Jack worked in Sky Maintenance, and it’s a never-spoken truth that lower-level employees only go
in
to the Hospital—none ever come out. I shudder imagining the truth. His death is why I trust Jayma to keep Drake’s injury a secret. She knows what Management does to the weak and the sick and the injured—not to mention Parasites and Deviants. Drake has three strikes. Big ones.

“Have you ever told anyone?” I ask. “That Drake lives with me?”

“No.” Her eyes broadcast shock.