“Never mind.” She put her stuff away in the hold and climbed into the bed, making sure to stay all the way to the right side so that she was almost falling off.
“I’m not going to try anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, sounding amused.
“Who said I’m worried?” she said, as he scooted in next to her. Their bodies were only inches away from each other, and when she turned to him, their faces were so close on the pillow they were almost touching.
“Good night,” he whispered.
“Sleep well.” She smiled and closed her eyes. They were sheltered from the toxic wash, but down below, the rocking of the ship was worse. She leaned over the edge of the bed and dry-heaved. If there was any thought of romance right now, it just went out the porthole.
“Here,” Wes said, handing her a metal bracelet. “Strap it on. Helps with seasickness.”
Nat wiped her mouth and accepted it with a grateful smile. Her stomach fluttered, which had nothing to do with the sea. “Thanks.”
“It’s not as pretty as that good-luck charm you’re wearing, but it should do the trick,” he said.
Good-luck charm?
He meant the stone she was wearing. She didn’t say a word, but she was troubled. Wes was not Daran. But she couldn’t be certain . . . did he want to keep her safe? Or did he just want the stone?
26
INCHING ALONG THROUGH THE MURKY water was like wading through tar, sticky and scummy, while the smell of rotting garbage permeated the air. The days felt like weeks. Each day was the same as the one before it: gray skies, dark water, along with the rhythmic drone of the waves lapping against the sides of the boat.
The crew spent the time playing with their handhelds, drinking too much moonshine, blasting their metal reggae, bored and listless. Nat gave the brothers a wide berth and they kept to themselves anyhow, hanging around the isolated areas of the ship, whispering to each other. Once in a while she would hear them whoop and wondered what they were doing. She noticed Zedric shooting her apologetic glances every now and then, while Daran was a ghost; whatever Wes had said to him had worked. He couldn’t even glance in her direction. She was glad to see his hand was still bandaged.
She assumed Wes told Shakes and Farouk about her since they didn’t ask her any questions, or maybe, like Wes, they didn’t care that she was marked, at least that’s what she hoped; she gathered they were too busy trying to keep the ship together to pay attention. Wes didn’t say anything more about the stone she wore, and she didn’t bring it up. The boys filled their days repairing the hull, patching the hole by welding a few layers of steel plate that Wes kept in the storage room just for this type of eventuality.
Nat found there was little respite to be had; when she was down in the sleeping holds the rocking of the ship made her ill, and when she was up on deck the smell was worse. The crew took to wearing bandannas over their noses like bandits, and Nat was glad she had remembered to bring her silk scarf from home. It still smelled like the bottle of perfume she’d left on her dresser, although she didn’t know if that even helped, since after a while she began to associate the sweet smell of jasmine with the putrid stink of decrepitude.
The mood among the soldiers was grim, after the adrenaline rush of saving the ship and their skins had subsided. The crew was touchy and grouchy: Daran and Zedric were resentful on top of it, and even Shakes, who seemed a cheerful soul, was often jumpy and irritable. Since the voyage was going to take twice as long as they’d planned, their rations were even more meager than they had expected. Everyone was seasick and hungry, and after a few days Nat learned to live with a throbbing headache and light-headedness.
That morning, she found Shakes at the galley kitchen, munching on a piece of bark.
“Can I have a piece?” she asked.
Shakes nodded, handing her a twig. “It helps with the cravings,” he said.
Earlier, Wes had allowed everyone one quarter of a steak-and-egg-pancake breakfast wrap. He cut the thing in sixths and let it warm on the engine cover for half an hour before doling it out. That was it. While they ate, Nat told them that back before the floods, fat was a sign of poverty, and the rich flashed their status by going on extreme diets—juice “cleanses” and spa vacations where they paid for the privilege of not eating. None of them believed her.
She crunched the piece of wood in her mouth and spit it out. “How can you eat this?” She coughed.
Shakes smiled. “You’ll do anything to survive.” He took the bark back, his hands trembling a little.
Nat opened a can of Nutri. There was enough in the storeroom for centuries. She took a sip, tasting the flat, lukewarm liquid.
She watched as Shakes’s hand jittered holding the bark, fluttering nervously like a hummingbird’s wings.
“Do you take anything for that?” she asked. “I heard they’ve got a new drug now that helps with the shaking from frostblight.”
“Oh, this?” Shakes asked, lifting his hand up and watching it tremble. “I don’t have FB like the boss. I’ve had this since I was a baby.”
“Wait—Wes has frostblight?” she asked.
“Yeah, you haven’t noticed? His eyes bother him sometimes,” Shakes said.
“I hadn’t.” She felt an ache for Wes, now that she knew. It’s not a disease, he’d said, about being marked. No, not like his. “I’m sorry for thinking you have it.” Nat was embarrassed.
“No, don’t be. It’s an easy mistake.” Shakes smiled.
“What happened? Wes told me your story was a doozy.”
“It is. He tell you I have a brother?”
“No.”
“I do. An older one. Patrick. Our ’rents were good people. Rule-following civilians, not like us,” he said, smiling. “They got a license for both of their kids. They wanted more than one. Expensive, but they could afford it. They wanted Pat to have a sibling, a playmate. One day there was a knock on the door.
“It turns out Mom filled out part of the license application wrong. Secondary offspring license denied. I was illegal, and not a citizen. You know how it goes, the country gets low on a quota and they start looking for excuses to collect. Who knows if Mom ever actually made that error. But it didn’t matter, Population Control was on the case. I was three, four months old? I’m not sure. Anyway, the repo man grabbed me and made for the door, while Mom grabbed my other leg and the two of them get into tug of war right there on the balcony. They’re pushing and pulling and somehow the guy drops me, and I hit my head right on the concrete.
She covered her mouth in horror, but Shakes only grinned, clearly enjoying the story.
“I start to convulse, right, and the repo man freaks out; they can sell babies on the black markets for good money, just another way to keep the war machine going, but no one wants a defective one. They don’t want me anymore, they tell Mom and Dad. They don’t even apologize, and they stick them with the hospital bill, too.”
“Ouch.”
“My parents didn’t care—they got to keep me.” Shakes smiled. “Course it bankrupted them, which is why I had to volunteer.”
“That’s horrible,” Nat said quietly.
“That’s life.” He didn’t seem too perturbed. “I get blackouts, too, sometimes seizures; everyone thinks it’s just frostblight, so I get to pass as normal.”
“Not sure ‘normal’ is the right word.” Nat smiled.
He chuckled. “Many won’t disagree with you there.”
“So are your folks still around?” she asked.
“Just my dad,” Shakes said.
“Are you guys close?” she asked. She knew she was prodding, but she was always curious about the people who still had parents.
“Not really.” Shakes grimaced and tossed the twig into the bin. “We never were, I guess, since he never forgave my mom.”
