Irreverent Read online

  Her eyes find mine and a flickering of doubt stirs inside me as she leads me up the stairs. She doesn’t say anything about the gun in my hand, so I draw it in closer, unsure of what to do with it. My legs are heavy as I pull myself up the stairs, using the hand grip to assist me. “What plan?”

  Kit pauses at the top of the stairs and looks down at me as I struggle to catch my breath. She shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter.” She mumbles something under her breath, I can’t tell what she’s saying, but I think she’s annoyed.

  Kit doesn’t walk as fast down the hallway, and I’m sure it’s because I’m slower than her. I don’t want to be a burden so I pick up my weary legs and try not to slow her down. We reach Jackson’s unit and she knocks lightly before opening the door. Jackson is sitting on the end of the bed, struggling to pull a shirt on.

  Heat begins to fill my body. Heat I’m not sure I understand or want. He’s leaner than Cristan, less bulky, and he has no tattoos I can see, but his muscles speak of discipline, of strength and fortitude that I can’t help but admire. He winces, his eyes popping open as a cursing Kit stomps across the room towards him.

  Her voice is surprisingly tender when she scolds him. “I told you to keep the movement to a minimum. I don’t have the resources to fix you up.”

  He exhales slowly and smiles at her as though he’s amused by her concern. “They’ll need me in the control room. I have to set up the short wave so I can listen in. And once he’s back inside, you’ll have all the resources you need.”

  I have no idea what he means so I just stand mutely as Kit gently pulls back his bandage and I look away. I can hear her muttering under her breath as I look around the disordered room. I’ve never seen such a messy space. It looks as though wind blew through and scattered everything from clothes to books, to guns and food scraps around the room. My skin itches with the desire to put everything right. To bring order to what seems disordered.

  When I’m sure Kit has finished changing his bandage, I stand to the side of the room and start to arrange the books on the closest surface. Jackson chuckles as Kit helps him dress and he climbs off the bed. My cheeks heat as I prepare for him to mock me, but he only gestures to the room. “I know. I’m a mess. Kit’s been after me for years to clean up this dump.”

  Kit rolls her eyes but a laugh escapes as if they are sharing a joke I can’t understand. I frown at them both. More for the information he’s just given me. “You’ve been out here for years? Where were you both before that?”

  Jackson’s smile falters a little and his mouth opens and shuts like he wants to say something but it’s stuck inside his throat. Kit shakes her head at him and I think I hear pleading in her voice. “He’s not here now. We can tell her.”

  I don’t know why, but my hands start to tremble and my mouth runs dry. “Tell me what?”

  Jackson’s mouth twists into a grimace as he looks sidelong at Kit. “Yeah. Alright. She’s no threat. Help me get set up and we’ll fill her in.”

  Something flickers inside me. A warning. A warning that makes a chill run the length of me and lets me know Cristan was right to think they were hiding something important. I back away, heart pounding in my chest. Kit tries to catch hold of my arm like she’s trying to keep me here, but my feet are already edging away. My hand grips the gun tighter, my eyes flick to Jackson’s chest wound. I swallow hard and hold the gun up higher so they can see it and I’m blinking to control the moisture building. “Tell me what?” I repeat.

  Kit sends a furtive glance at Jackson, at the gun, then her eyes lock on me. “There’s something you need to know about Cristan. Something you won’t like.”

  Jackson takes a small step across the littered floor, his voice reminds me of the cold steel I’m holding. “Did he tell you why he left the new city?”

  My other hand somehow raises so I’m gripping the gun steadier the way Cristan showed me. “It doesn’t matter.”

  Jackson’s eyebrows rise and he scoffs and jerks his head so he’s staring at Kit. “She won’t believe me anyway.”

  Kit looks at the floor, then she sweeps a hand through her hair and smiles sadly at me. “No. She won’t. She’s in love with him. She needs to see for herself.”

  They both stare at me. I barely breathe. Fear is making my skin rise. My muscles have started to tremble and I know I can’t shoot either of them anyway, so I lower the weapon and exhale slowly to calm myself.

  Curiosity swamps me and I ask without thinking. “What did they do to him?”

  When neither of them speaks and they don’t want to meet my eye, I know learning about what they’ve done is going to be far, far worse than I ever imagined.

  * * *

  Cristan.

  The instant I see the markings of the graveyard, my muscles all tense. I slow down and shift into neutral so I can idle the engine as I check for movement.

  Trey unclips his buckle and makes to move from the vehicle. His hand grips his gun as he sends me a questioning look. “You gonna get out or what? I need to get clear before someone sees me and figures out we’re more organised than they thought.” He grins at me like it’s hysterically funny.

  I don’t even bother to scowl at him. He’s right. I need to move. If the G are watching out here, he can’t stay. I pull the short-wave radio out. “I won’t get far enough to make contact before they take this off me.”

  Trey sniffs like it’s the last thing he’s worried about so I make sure we’re on the same channel before I unbuckle myself and take a lung full of the hot air. My hands are shaking but I don’t want Trey to see, so I jam one hand into my pocket and wrap the other around the short-wave device. I turn on my heel and pace away across the dry dirt. My heart is pounding so hard, I have to slow my breathing before I pass out.

  I don’t slow down as I pass the mounds of dirt covering the bodies buried out here by the old-timers, and more recently by Drew. I set my face against the harsh sun and try not to think about why they died or who they were. I’m just like them. Except I’m upright and they’re six feet under. Whether I’ll join them is what’s making my breathing speed again. I carry on, plodding over the ground, hearing nothing but the sound of my laboured breathing.

  My shortwave barks at me, making me jump. “This is Casanova, come in Mad Dog, over.”

  I scowl at the nickname he’s given me. “Receiving, over.” I keep walking, past the graves, past the crosses from a long-dead religion that still seem to hold sentimental value to guys like Drew.

  My radio flickers again. “We’re using call signs for a reason Mad Dog. Over.”

  I glare at the radio in my hand and reluctantly agree he has a point. The G men won’t have a clue even if they somehow figure out that we’re using radios long deemed Irrelevant, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction of letting him have naming rights. “Mad Dog receiving you loud and clear, Hedgehog. Over.” I smirk at the radio and the static I’m receiving. I can’t resist another jab. “You receiving Hedgehog? Over.”

  I’m almost at the barrier marking the entry to the graveyard when he finally comes back to me. “Hedgehog receiving. Over.”

  If it weren’t for the fear that spikes as I pause to take in the broken skyline of the old city, I might have laughed, but there is nothing funny about what I’m staring at. Two more steps and I’m back inside G territory. My feet inch forward, my eyes flicking around as I try to see if any threats or lurkers are hanging around where I can’t see them.

  A flash of movement catches my eye and causes me to duck behind the barrier. I peer around the building, trying to still my racing heartbeat and squint against the sun. My stomach tightens at the G men crawling over the streets. Dressed in full body suits and face masks to protect them from the sun and likely the radiation that isn’t even a real threat, they are picking methodically through the streets, carrying weapons I’ve only seen in my nightmares.

  Bile rises in my throat and I twist back so I’m hidden against the border fence. I raise the radio and depre
ss the com button. Using his nickname doesn’t penetrate the dread churning my stomach. I scramble to find something he’ll understand but won’t alert anyone who happens to be listening in. “Hedgehog, cockroaches are everywhere. Over.”

  My hands are shaking as much as my voice. I squeeze my eyes shut and curl and uncurl my fist. I wish the anger would come. I need something to overtake the fear surging through me. My skin is covered with sweat, cold sweeps in as I check the wasteland to see if I can even sight the four-wheel drive.

  The seconds pass into minutes as I wait for his come-back. When I’m so anxious, I think I’ll throw up, his voice crackles into the void. “Copy that. The exterminator works nights. Over and out.”

  That he’s understood me and he’s given me a reference I can understand does absolutely nothing to reassure me that either he or Jackson and his mysterious no shows will even be able to help me come nightfall, but this flimsy plan is the only thing I’ve got so I shove the radio between two cracked boards that make up the barrier and take a shuddering breath.

  I ease out of my hiding place and take a step towards the ruins of the old city. If I’d been walking, it would have taken me a few hours at least to make it back to the Unit and I would have been able to report the way Jackson wanted me to, but given the amount of G men lurking out here, I’ll be back inside the Unit and hopefully back with my brother before I know it.

  I make my movements purposeful and measured. I can’t show any aggression. That would be a mistake. All G men are jumpy around Irrelevants, and if they’re looking for me, I have to think they have some idea of who I am. A breeze shifts dust around, unfiltered sun highlights the filth covering the windowpanes that are still intact. I creep along, stepping over fallen mortar and bricks that litter what used to be a footpath.

  My skin prickles as I wait to be spotted. I’ve barely made it a few steps when a figure dressed in G greys with a face mask freezes as he sees me. I slowly raise my hands and drop to my knees. My heart doesn’t stop thrashing and sweat is trickling down my forehead. I blink as moisture lands in my eyes. The G man shouts at me and a dozen memories assault me at once.

  Images of blood splattering, bones cracking and screams fill my already fragmented thoughts. I’m so caught up in the horrific memory that I welcome the force of the hit I take from behind. Pain shoots through my skull. Black slides into my vision. Then my ears start to ring as more G men arrive and scream at me to not move.

  There are too many to count now, crawling out of derelict buildings, running at me like I can hurt them. I don’t see the boot aimed at my middle, but I know well enough what to expect, what they’ll have been told about me. I hear the hiss of air and don’t even bother to move just tense my stomach muscles and curl into a ball.

  I’m dragged to my feet, sweat and blood dripping into my eyes, blinding me as they haul me into the closest vehicle. One shoves me and I fall sideways onto the floor of the windowless van. I’m hefted up again and pushed roughly onto a bench seat built into the van. They slap my hands into restraints, bind my feet all without speaking more than feral grunts from behind their masks.

  I slump against the wall and wait for the vehicle to start moving. Stars are darting in and out of my vision. The engine roars to life. Voices come from outside, so I press my ear to the cool metal that lines the vehicle, but they are speaking so low all I get are muffled ideas of what they are saying.

  My head is screaming painfully, and my ribs are burning hot agony, but as the vehicle starts to move and I lose what the G men outside are saying about where I’m heading, I count myself lucky I’m still breathing. Pain tears through me as we ride over the broken road. With no windows, I have no idea of where they are taking me, so I close my eyes and try to notice if the vehicle is staying on a straight course or if we’re diverting.

  We hit one of the multiple dips in the road and I’m lifted off the seat so abruptly all my muscles tighten in response. I flinch as my battered ribs bear the brunt of the motion. I try to count to get an idea of how long we have been moving. I hear nothing from the driver, and surprisingly there is no one else inside guarding me.

  A knot of concern starts to build. A bubbling question that’s unanswered starts to gnaw at me. I don’t have any more time to think when the vehicle stops abruptly. I press my ear against the wall again and concentrate on cancelling out my own overactive heartrate to isolate any words that might give me warning. The doors crack open, and the light makes me squint at the solitary figure illuminated in the double doors.

  Every last ounce of hope is sucked away when I hear his voice. Flat. Even. Steady. Just like I remember. “You should have stayed where you were, Cristan.”

  I scowl at him as he climbs inside. He yanks off his mask, and it takes all my resolve not to spit in his direction. Even after six years I hate him. Hate him more than he can possibly know. I spit his name as though it’s a curse. “Derek.”

  He takes a seat on the bench opposite me. His green-blue eyes narrow. There are more lines around his eyes, and I think I see flecks of grey appearing in his dark hair, but he’s still the bastard who drove me to the hospital and made sure I endured every one of the tests the G put me through.

  I hate that we share the same DNA. That even though I’m no longer a boy, my older brother, first born, a perfect specimen, and a number ten can still make fear ripple through my body. I glance at the stripes on his chest and can’t help the scoff that escapes. “Who’d you piss off to earn such a crap posting?”

  He shifts slightly, adjusting his weapon so it rests on his lap. “I requested it. I wanted to be the one to bring you in.” It takes all my effort to not snarl at him. Of course, he wanted to bring me in. I’m a blemish on his spotless reputation. His chin drops, and he leans forward like he’s trying to reason with me. “What happened to the Irrelevant girl?”

  I swallow. Blink. Then shake my head. I’m rewarded with pain that makes my vision swim. “She’s safe.”

  His lips twitch into something that borders on concern, but it’s not for me. “Did you hurt her, Cristan?” He says it so casually like that’s what he’d expect of me. Like all he can see or understand about me is violence.

  I want to yell at him that his men attacked me when I wasn’t resisting, but his beliefs are so ingrained, so much a part of who he is, that I know I’d be wasting my breath. “I’ve never hurt a girl and I never will.”

  He sighs like he’s disappointed in me. He looks so much like our father in that moment, I inwardly recoil from him. A dark emotion flickers over his face but it’s replaced with the familiar blandness I grew up with. “There are many who assume that’s why you ran with her. I know what you’re capable of and she didn’t return with you so it’s reasonable to think you’ve harmed her.” My lip curls and I jerk against my restraints. He doesn’t even twitch. “Did you bury her in the…” He pauses and looks to the side like he’s trying to find the right word. His eyebrows raise as he taps his finger against his weapon like he’s remembered something. “Graveyard? That’s what the Irrelevants call it, isn’t it?”

  The metal restraints are digging into my wrists but the pain biting into me gives me something else to focus on. “I was keeping her safe.”

  His chin lifts. “Like you were keeping the Irrelevant child safe?”

  Rage starts to build in my chest. “His name is Jed. He’s our brother,” I spit.

  Derek lifts his shoulders. “I don’t know why you insisted on giving it a name. Our parents knew better than to bother. You threw everything away, and for what?”

  Molten heat gathers in my veins. I’m straining so hard to try to reach him, I don’t need to look at my wrists to know I’m drawing blood. “Threw what away? You all tossed me into the program, I had nothing else to lose.”

  He pulls a face as though he’s confused. “You were given an opportunity to spare our family the humiliation of failing your Relevance Test. You had so many indicators already. This was the perfect way to redeem yourself�
�" I choke on a laugh and curse so violently this time he does flinch, and a flash of anger crosses his face. “You are a disgrace to our family. I don’t know why they even chose you. Brilliant you may be, but you are Irrelevant, Cristan. You belong out here.” He pulls his shoulders back and runs a hand down his trouser leg like he’s smoothing an invisible crease.

  My brow knots together as I glare at him. He can’t possibly be jealous? Why the hell would he have wanted to be picked the way I was? “You would have chosen to be a part of it?”

  His eyes meet mine and uncharacteristic emotion flicks in the depths. “It was an honour. I would not have failed the way you did.”

  I’m caught between loathing and confusion when I manage to speak. “I didn’t fail. I made a choice. I got him out. We were safe.”

  We stare at each other. He doesn’t move. Barely seems to be breathing. My pulse is rapid, sweat covering my aching muscles, but I’m so angry all I can think about is how good it would feel to finally smash his face in.

  He rises slowly, features back to impassive again. “But is he really safe out here, Cristan?”

  I forget the bindings and try to reach him, but just like he did every time at the hospital, he ignores me and merely turns on his heel. He’s at the door when panic blazes in. “Where are you taking me? Back to the Unit?”

  Derek turns so I can see the profile so startlingly like our father’s. “Our father looked the other way for six years after you made your choice. You have proven what many feared all along, that Irrelevants are little more than violent criminals living on the fringes of a civilised community.”

  Cold seeps in, tearing down the anger burning inside. I know the mentality of Relevants living inside their crystal city. Irrelevants are animals at worst, curiosities at best. What I’ve always feared is appearing on the horizon. If they’ve been looking for a way to make a statement, a way to quash any thought of rebellion or non-conformance, my actions have given them all the ammunition Drew feared they were looking for.