Taken (A Dystopian Novel) (The Taken Trilogy), page 21
“Definitely,” Marco says.
“I have to arrange security of the art party tonight, so I’ll catch up with you guys later,” James says before he leaves. Something about him still doesn’t sit well with me.
“I left most of the good stuff with the family I was staying with. To thank them for everything. Then, I stole their can opener,” Marco says with laughter in his voice. “I was told I would get more stuff soon. Food and things for the house. It’s weird that we have to earn everything. Do you think they just take a lot of this stuff from our world?”
“Yup, and probably stuff people left behind,” I say as I crank the opener. “Really creepy.”
Marco pulls another can out, and I toss him the opener. We eat in silence without any utensils even though he has a few in the drawers. He passes me another and we perform the same ritual.
“Do you want to go tonight?” he asks. “To the art thing?”
“Not really.”
“It’ll be fun, and you can get to know that girl, Monroe, better. You know what they say, easiest way to get over someone, is to get under someone else.”
“I think I’ll pass.”
“If you change your mind, give me call, but I think I’m going,” Marco says. He wipes his mouth across his sleeve. “Can’t wait for you guys to move in. You should start on the paperwork soon so it’s done by your birthday. You turn it in, in Building 5. They’ll rush it through if you show your compound ID…” he trails off and stops talking. He hops down and walks over to where I’m standing.
“What’s going on? Don’t feel any pressure to move in here if you don’t want to. I know life in placement housing is comfy, I get it.”
I shake my head. “Full disclosure. I want you to know what you’re getting yourself into. I’m not working by myself to find the machines. I’m working with The Resistance. I have been to The Clave and everything,” I say quietly. His mouth falls open slowly.
“Shit.” He walks past me and sits on the lone couch in the living room. “I didn’t expect that at all.”
“It would be really dangerous for you if I were here, too,” I say, staring out of a nearby window. I tense up as I await his response, but his face relaxes and he slumps against the couch.
“And here I thought, the most trouble that we would get into would be sneaking a couple girls in after curfew,” Marco says. “Are Resistance girls as hot as Sasha?”
I make a face. Marco laughs and says, “Sorry, man…too soon?”
“Very too soon, but I’m serious. It’s bad enough that I have to think about Aubrey and Nora, but I don’t want to get you mixed up in it.”
“Does Sasha know?”
“No,” I sigh. I push a can across the counter until it falls sideways.
“That’s why you broke things off?”
“I don’t want to hurt her or get her caught up in this either. When—if—this works, it’s going to fall back on her. I’m hoping she’ll want to come too…”
“Man, you’re like a double agent,” he says excitedly. He interlocks his fingers behind his head. “You’ve clearly been good at hiding it, so it’s fine with me. I want out of here too. How often do you go to The Clave? I have been curious about it since we ended up in Wicker Farm.”
“Only been once. It makes the rest of Wicker Farm seem like paradise,” I say. I tell him about finding the machine at The Institute even the shameful part about stealing Sasha’s ID. He listens thoughtfully without judgment, and it feels good to get it off my chest even though my guilt only subsides for a few minutes.
“I want to do everything I can to help you, Jackson, and myself and my friends. Everyday, I have to remind myself that this is all a façade. Did you know that we have access to the compound whenever, now that we’re full-fledged employees? We can attend all the governor’s parties, use of the pool, extended curfew hours. We can get stickers for our car or something.
And there are even more benefits. I hear we get special permission to leave Wicker Farm several times a month and see the other cities for vacation, access to Richards’ vacation house, which is near a beach. They even gave me a car! Never had my own car, but it’s all too strange. Our world is messed up too, but that’s the kind of crazy I want, that’s the kind of crazy I’m used to…not this.”
****
Marco swings by Nora’s house at 9 pm to pick me up for the Art Ball. It’s open to all who live in the compound, compound employees, Institute employees and all their families, and other selected individuals. His headlight beams brush across the living room window pane, but Nora is still adjusting my tie. She blinks back the tears in her eyes.
“It’s just a ball, not my wedding. A ball which you are invited to…” I say, but my insides feel like they’re going to catch on fire any minute from too much anxiety over seeing Sasha. I still don’t know what repercussions, if any, she faced from her lost ID and whether anyone noticed that it was swiped at the restricted door.
“It’s not that, dear,” Nora she says in a whimper. She wipes her arm across her eyelids.
“What’s the matter then?” I lead her to the couch, but she refuses to sit.
“It’s nothing you need to worry about right now. You go and have a great time. I’m looking forward to having a quiet, kid-free evening.” She sniffs and steers me to the front door. “Have a great time, Jackson.”
“Thanks, Mo--” I catch myself as I step out and swallow the other “m.” I don’t even turn around, but I hear Nora gasp. I smile. It wouldn’t have been so bad to call her that. We are close now, and I feel like I have known her all my life.
I slip into the passenger seat of Marco’s car. He seems even more dressed up than I am, and we drive off. A warm glow emits in the distance as we approach the compound, and soft music is playing. A security officer directs us to the parking area once we’re through the gates. Girls in heels clack along the road, lifting and bunching their dresses as they stride in the direction of the party. Every one of them has her hair piled on the top of her head in some intricate style adorned with flowers or bows. They all look beautiful, but none of them is her.
“We should catch up to them, and tell them how we just got our own place,” Marco says when we get out of the car. I respond with a smile. It’s my permission for him to desert me and go talk to them, which he promptly does. Past the fountain and the houses, a server hands me a glass of something bubbly. It’s champagne. I gulp it down in one swig as I stroll slowly behind Marco and the group of girls. He has his arms draped around the two girls at his sides.
The party is in a ballroom in Building 4, but tents with tables of finger foods are stationed around the field outside, and flames sway atop long-stemmed torches standing in the grass. I stand under one of the tents and strain my eyes at the Richards’ house. All of the lights in the front are out. Sasha may not even be out here because she is hosting the kids, including Aubrey. I scan the crowd, which is a mixture of teens and adults. Another server offers me a tray of champagne. I decline.
“You look bored already,” Monroe approaches me and says. She fluffs her wavy, brown hair and smoothes her dress down around her hips. It’s black and form-fitting and hits her at the knee. Maybe Marco is right.
“I’ve never been to one of these things before,” I admit.
“You don’t remember me from The Institute, do you?” She puts her hand on her hip. “I was the one who told you where to find your sister when you came into the girls’ dorm.”
The memory ignites in my mind, and I make a sheepish, apologetic expression, but she smiles. She finishes the rest of the champagne in her glass.
“If you stand here all night, you’ll probably miss everything,” she says. Her hand slips into mine, and she pulls me to another part of the lawn, swooping through a stationary group of people. We all crowd around a man holding a fire-breathing torch.
“I hear he used to perform on the Two Crows strip,” she whispers as the man dips the torch into his mouth.
“Two Crows?”
“It is—was—like their Las Vegas, I think,” she explains. The audience gasps when the man blows a large fireball into the air. We clap, and she takes my hand again, leading me into Building 4. The room is immense and completely white, except for the wood floors. A line of chandeliers with glowing orbs stretches along the high ceiling. In the middle of the room, but above us, a performer tumbles and spins gracefully as she dangles while clinging to two long strips of fabric. There are only a few round tables, but not enough to seat us all. Clearly, they expect us to be on our feet all night. There are professional and amateur works of art hanging on the walls. Some are by the kids of Wicker Farm. There is a band on the stage, but only the guitarist is playing, strumming a Spanish-sounding ballad. It’s deeply sad, and I draw in a long breath.
Monroe is beautiful, and heads turn when we walk further into the room, but my discomfort grows as her grip on my hand tightens. I clear my constricted throat. She waves to a group of her friends. They start to stare without any trace of discretion. I really hope Sasha isn’t here. I untangle my hand from Monroe’s. She snatches two flutes of champagne and hands one to me. I take a few steps to my right, creating some space between us. The music grows louder, and becomes more melodic as people stream in. Two more aerial performers join the first. They all twirl in the air in unison. Monroe places her hand on my chin and pushes my mouth close.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before in person. Not exactly the kind of thing that happens in my town,” I say. I tip the glass back until the champagne wets my lips, but I don’t drink any.
“My parent took me and my sister to Las Vegas once. I was too young to do anything, except see some of the shows. I saw Cirque de Soleil,” she says. Her glass is already empty.
I search the room for Sasha, sorting through the colorful taffeta. Monroe takes my glass and finishes it for me before she takes my hand again. She sets both the glasses down.
“It really isn’t much of a party right now. Let’s fix that.” She drags me to the center of the floor, and there are only a few couples, so we stand out. I try not to tense up when her hands snake around my neck or when her body gets dangerously close to mine, but I feel obligated to place my hands around her waist. My gaze drifts around the room as we sway, and my palms instantly begin to feel clammy. I catch James’ eye and he smiles at me. Marco gives me a thumbs-up.
“Are you okay?” Monroe asks.
“I don’t want to be rude, but it’s weird being here dancing with you…”
“Because of Sasha,” she says and it is a hybrid of a statement and a question. I nod. We rotate 180 degrees. She drops one of her arms from my neck to take one of my hands from her hips and clasps it. Also, she allows more space between us. More couples stride to the center of the room.
“Better?” She smiles warmly.
Not really. My heart jumps as one of the performers stretches backward until she is inverted, her body curved in “C.” When my gaze comes back down, my eyes fall on Sasha’s frame as she greets party guests. Her back is turned, but I know it’s her. The light bounces across the glittery gold dress she is wearing. It drops low in the back nearly revealing the length of her spine, and I remember the softness of her skin beneath my fingers. With the dress hiding her feet, she glides along the floor. I want to be dancing with her instead.
“Anyway, I thought those were just rumors about you and Sasha…I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”
“It was nice dancing with you, Monroe,” I release her hand and pull away.
“A bunch of us are heading to the pool later tonight…” she says. “I hear it’s usually where parties here end up.”
“Uh, were we supposed to bring swimsuits?” I start to walk backwards away from her.
“We improvise,” she replies with a wink. “Hope to see you there.”
With every step, I argue both sides of whether it is a good idea to approach Sasha, but neither side wins by the time I’m standing behind her. Morse is among the group of people Sasha is chatting with.
“Jackson,” Morse announces. “Good to see you.” He introduces me to the couple standing there. I already know them. It’s Erwin, the Resistance member who lives in my complex, and his wife, Monica, but we all play along. After a brief conversation, they walk away, and I catch Sasha’s arm before she does, too.
“You look beautiful, Sash,” I whisper.
“Thank you,” she says in a placid tone. I’m still holding her arm.
“Anything else?”
I take a deep breath. She trusted me enough to tell me the truth. I can trust her, too. I know it. I have to confess everything. My blood pumps faster.
“I owe you an explanation, but I can’t tell you here…it’s really important,” I say.
“I don’t think either of our dates would appreciate the two of us walking off together,” she says sternly. I laugh.
“Monroe? She’s not my date. Wait, you have a date?” At the realization, a wave of hurt rolls through me. There aren’t any guys staring me down when I take a quick survey of the room.
“You sound surprised.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and crosses her arms over her chest.
“I am…but not because I don’t think you’d be able to get a date. It’s just…Who is it?” The curiosity will kill me if I don’t ask.
“Brian, but we just came as friends,” she answers. There’s a trace of satisfaction in her eyes when I lock my jaw. I feel fiery jealousy in my belly.
“Can we please go somewhere and talk?” I ask. I need her to agree before I change my mind and lose my nerve.
“Fine. Come on.” She gestures and walks ahead of me out of the building and into the night. People stroll by us, including James, who rounds the building with a girl on his arm.
“We need somewhere more private,” I say. She raises her eyebrows before shooting me a disapproving look.
“Sasha, trust me. After you hear what I have to say, you’ll understand why.”
Without speaking she starts to walk again, toward her house this time.
“The kids had a fun day today. I’m leaving the party soon to head back to hang out with them. They’re really excited about the Arts Program,” she explains. She stops when we’re midway between her house and the party. “Well?”
“When I ended things between us, I was serious when I said it wasn’t something that you did,” I say. “It was because of something I did.”
Her vacant expression starts to crumble. Her lips quiver. “Were you dating someone else
or something?” she whispers. “The girl you came with?”
“No…nothing like that,” I say. I fight the impulse to run. She’s clutching the front of her dress at her stomach.
“Geez, Jackson. Just tell me,” she pleads. After a sigh, I give in to my reckless, self-destructive side.
“Your keycard went missing awhile back. I know because I’m the one who took it.”
17
Road trip!
Morse’s announcement that Marco and I will be accompanying the governor on his trip to Tresling comes two days later, the day before we’re supposed to leave. I’m nervous about leaving Aubrey with Nora, but not because I don’t trust her. It’s because Aubrey and I really haven’t been apart since we got out of transition.
A black SUV arrives the following morning with Marco, Morse and three armed security officers. I climb into the back seat with my two colleagues. Apparently, the road to Tresling can be dangerous. After The Epidemic, when people fled their towns for quarantine or moved to other cities that were still functional, the places they left behind became havens for crime. But I have my own perilous situation to worry about. I haven’t spoken to Sasha since the night of the party. Not that she had actually spoken after my revelation. She had just walked away, and left me standing there. And I watched her until the gold flecks in her dress stopped catching the moonlight.
“Between here and there, everywhere looks like The Clave,” Morse explains as we exit my complex. “Except it’s worse. We’ve managed to control the weapons as much as we can. Most of these places are ghost towns run by people like Russell Tremell.”
We cross Wicker Farm city limits, passing a few security officers, and a hazy version of the place falls into background. I laugh to myself. I’m taking a “business” trip. The closest I had ever gotten to such a thing was visiting the other Señor Sausage’s in Crownsford when they introduced the jalapeño-dipped sausage.
Marco and I climb into very back of the SUV to look out of the back window as the scenery changes. I feel it as instantly as I see it. Old, damaged houses with unkempt lawns. Where large patches of grass are missing, 3-foot blades stretch up from the ground, weeds scattered in between them. Some the houses are completely stripped, just carcasses of what they used to be. The doors have been ripped off and windows shattered. I start to realize how much of a bubble Wicker Farm is. This is worse than The Clave.
“Suny Hall, this town is—was—called. We couldn’t save all the people, but we were able to make good use of the things they left behind. We did that with many of the towns. Other engaged in pure looting...”
We slow as the security officers draw their weapons.
“You might want to hold on, it gets a little bumpy for several miles, and I mean that in more ways than one.”
We bounce across mangled roads for about 20 minutes. The security officers, except for the one who is driving, swivel their guns out of the windows as their eyes sweep our surroundings. No one shoots at us thankfully.
We pass nearly two hours of towns just like Suny Hall, all without any trace of civilization. The Epidemic really emptied the towns. This was the sort of thing that became the motivation for Richards and the governor before him to carry out their relocation program.
