I understood. A dead man had given the old name to him. It didn’t seem like a good idea to speak it. When he put his arm around me, I didn’t resist. He waited a beat, as if gauging my reaction, and then he eased his head against mine. Sorrow cloaked him, losses I could neither see or know.

Such closeness felt new … and intimate. It had been different with Thimble and Stone, none of the awareness that prickled through me with restless sweetness. Because he seemed to need me, even if it went unspoken, I let myself answer by turning my cheek to his and I remembered the kiss.

Long after he pulled away, the phantom heat lingered and haunted my sleep.

Sunshine

When I awoke, I first thought the room was on fire. I scrambled off the sofa and started to bolt when my senses caught up to my instinctive fear. No smoke meant no fire; it was a simple relationship.

So why was the room so bright?

I crept to the window and gazed out, eyes slitted in pain. Everything glowed. If anyone had tried to explain this to me, I wouldn’t have believed it. The light hurt.

Fade came up behind me. He wore something that wrapped around his eyes, and he offered the other to me. I slid it onto my face.

“Sunglasses. There were a few left on the floor downstairs.” He smiled. “Good thing. I’m not used to the sun anymore either.”

So the light had a name. I still wasn’t sure I liked it, but with my eyes covered, I could bear it. “Will it hurt us?”

“It might. Remember how long it’s been since I was here.”

Through the smoky filter, I gazed out over the city for the first time. I had seen pictures before, of course, old and faded. The elders had told us they reflected a lost world, now poisoned beyond hope. There was nothing Topside except terror and death. Like most of their stories, they contained a grain of truth buried beneath the lies.

Tall shapes filled my view; some had collapsed and lay in ruins. Shorter buildings squatted at the base, holding their shapes better. They were built of old stone — some natural, others looked as if man’s hands had shaped them. The colors had faded beneath the burning sun, much like the artifacts we’d found down below. Built side to side, not much space existed between them, and occasionally, time had pushed one to the side, so it leaned tiredly against its neighbors.

One building rose above the others, its sharp tower gleaming green. It was a different from the buildings that surrounded it, more beautiful and with rounded points atop the windows. Most of them hung in jagged shards, and it had been marked with white painted that identified it as claimed territory. For no reason I could name, the damage saddened me. Resolute, I turned.

“What’s our plan?” I portioned out what was left of our enclave provisions. In my opinion, the first priority should be finding food and water.

“My dad used to talk about getting out of the city.” Fade gestured. “That’s what he called this place. He told stories about where it was green and clean, where you could plant food and watch it grow, where there were plenty of animals for hunting, and you could drink the water without getting sick.”

That sounded unlikely, but … “Did he tell you where that was?”

“North. That was all he ever said.”

“Then let’s go.”

I hoped he had some sense of direction. I wasn’t altogether sure I could find my way around the corner Topside.

“We should wait until nightfall. We’re more likely to run into the gangs during the day, and I suspect we might get burned out there.”

“Burned?” I had visions of being roasted on a spit.

“By the sun.” Fade smiled slightly. “The gangs won’t cook and eat us.”

“Then what can we do for water? We may be able to find food along the way, but—”

“I’ve been thinking about that. There’s water downstairs. If we can figure out some way to boil it, maybe it would be all right.”

“We could build a fire out back.” There was plenty of stuff to burn.

I got up and rummaged through the cabinets. I turned up a pot, but we needed some way to suspend it over the flames. We occupied the day building a contraption out of scrap junk.

“Will this work?”

I shook my head. It took most of the day to put it together, and he stood watch while I started the fire. His vigilance made me nervous even as it reassured me. If there were any gangers around, he’d spot them. The noises were still too strange for me to tell what was threatening — I started at things he said were harmless, like the chittering of small animals and the flutter of wings. And my eyesight wasn’t what it should be. Even with the sunglasses on, I could barely tolerate the sunshine. Though the warmth felt strange and beautiful on my skin, Fade shooed me back indoors.

“Small doses, Deuce. You have to get used to it, or it’s going to sting.”

Right. He’d said the sun could burn me. It certainly looked angry enough, all orange and glowing mad. I peered up at it through the dark filter, through the glass, and wondered how we could’ve lost all memory of something so huge. Down in the enclave, there had been no talk of day or night, no mention of anything but burning air and water that scalded like fire. Somehow we’d mixed everything up. Sorrow rose in me, as I realized the Wordkeeper dedicated his whole life to lies. What a waste.

I sat in the storeroom while Fade handled the actual work, and I kept busy examining the items piled in dusty, papery boxes. I found a metal object that appeared to be nothing much at first glance, but the more I played with it, the more parts I found. I recognized the knife, but not the other tools. Two looked like they might be good for stabbing, but I could only guess at the rest. Since it was light and it folded nicely, I stowed it in my bag.

Through the open door, I watched Fade work. He used the lighter his father had left him to kindle the smaller objects and then the sparks spread. Eventually the fire burned bright and clean, curls of smoke floating off toward the sky. In the enclave, we’d never have allowed it to get so big. Here, it didn’t seem to matter. I had the fleeting thought that someone might see the blaze and come to investigate, but if so, we’d handle them.

He turned and saw me staring. “Find anything good?”

“Maybe.”

I prowled some more, frustrated by his refusal to let me help outside. I wondered if I’d always be so useless Topside. On a tall shelf, I found a dusty metal box. I lifted it down and looked for a way to open it. Something important must be inside. An opening looked as though an item would fit, possibly opening it.

Eventually, I located the right object. I slid it in and heard a click. When I lifted the lid, I found the most marvelous thing. A book. Not part of one, not loose pages. A whole book. And it wasn’t flimsy like the ones I’d found down in the tunnel. Still, I was almost afraid to touch it.

The beige front had raised letters and green paint, outlining a fanciful design with a girl in strange clothes, a winged brat, and a bird. With some effort, I read the letters: “The Day Boy and the Night Girl. Fairy tales by George MacDonald.” Though I understood most of the words, others escaped me. Enthralled and breathless, I opened it. The book made a little popping sound, as if nobody had touched it in a long time. That was probably true. Using my finger to mark my place, I put more letters together slowly, and other words leaped out at me. “London: Arthur C. Fifield, 1904. Ed. by Greville MacDonald; printed by S. Clarke, Manchester.”

With great care, I turned the page, and my breath caught. Someone had written in the book. The Wordkeeper would be livid. In faded ink, it read: “with love to Gracie from Mary.” Those were names, I thought, and it implied this book had been a gift. Other hands had touched this, people who lived in the lost world. They’d known dreams like mine, and I’d never know how those stories ended. A marvelous sense of connection thrummed through me.

Вы читаете Enclave
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату