Rise An Eve Novel

twenty-six



QUINN HAD CHOSEN THE BIGGEST HOUSEBOAT ON THE BAY, A gargantuan thing now green with algae. It still held the possessions of the past owners—gold statues of ducks, a long leather couch, and a ripped painting that looked vaguely like one I’d seen in my old art book, by a man named Rothko. In two days the girls had settled in. Their few belongings were strewn everywhere, finding their way onto countertops, hanging over the tops of doors and tucked beneath the couch cushions.

I knew it was best for them—to be here, to be settled. Tully, an older woman who’d practiced as a doctor before the plague, examined Helene’s foot. She reset it, believing there was a chance for it to heal correctly, even now. Silas and Benny had befriended Lilac, though Maeve had warned her against it. They fit in easily, and despite the rule, most of the women had agreed they were young enough to stay.

With Benny, Silas, and the younger girls asleep upstairs, Quinn moved easily around the hull, plucking a few plates from a high cabinet. Outside, the water rose over the portholes. Barnacles clung to the glass.

“And here you are,” she said, setting the plates down in front of us. She pointed to the steaming pot of abalone in the middle of the table, just visible in the candlelight. “Hope you’re not sick of it yet.”

“We’ve been eating dried chipmunk,” Clara said with a laugh, referring to the jarred, salted meats we’d found in the dugout. In our days on the road I’d determined it was squirrel, not chipmunk, but it seemed pointless to mention that now. “Besides, there’s no seafood in the City. I consider this a delicacy.” She plucked one of the shells from the pot and put it on her plate, Beatrice and Ruby following her lead.

I watched Quinn as she moved around the kitchen, pulling out a few silver forks and extra plates from the rusted stove, the useless cord duct taped to the side of it. “Do I have to beg?” I asked. “It’s been two days, and you haven’t said a word about that message. What do you know that we don’t?”

Quinn set the forks down on the table. She rested her hands on the back of the chair, squeezing it so hard her knuckles went white. “What’s the use in sharing it now?” she said. “The siege is over. We can’t change anything.” She paused before she sat, glancing quickly at my stomach.

“Since when do you need to protect me, Quinn?” I asked. “No special treatment. You don’t think I can handle what you’re going to say? Just because I’m pregnant?”

“It’s upsetting,” Quinn said, lowering her voice. “That’s all.” She slid an abalone off its iridescent shell, popping the soft meat into her mouth.

Clara was silent for a moment. She set down her fork. “We still have friends and family inside the City walls,” she said. “My mother’s there . . . and Charles. We thought the fighting was over.”

“The fighting is over,” Quinn said. “But as I understand it, things there are even worse now. There have been raids in the middle of the night. Families in the Outlands have been broken up—people have been accused of fighting against the King during the siege. They’ve left the bodies of the executed there, in front of the Palace, rotting for days. There was a message that the army from the colonies will come, that they’ve been rallied by a rebel leader from the west. But it’s still uncertain . . .”

She glanced at me again, then looked down, nudging the glossy shells on her plate.

“Go on, Quinn,” I prodded. “We need to know.”

She pressed her lips together, then let out a deep sigh. “There was this message the other night from the City. It was a woman’s voice. She didn’t even use a code. She identified herself as a Palace worker. A man was yelling in the background. She said the Princess betrayed her father and was working for the rebel cause. They were taking Palace workers into custody to question them, to see who was involved. Most hadn’t returned afterward. She believed one of the workers was executed because he didn’t cooperate.”

“What was her name? Who was she?” I could barely get the words out.

“She didn’t say,” Quinn answered. “Apparently he’s been questioning everyone, trying to get information on your whereabouts. And most of those interrogated haven’t been seen after. When I thought about it I knew I shouldn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to feel like it was your fault.”

“It is my fault,” I said. “Don’t you see that? I escaped. I had knowledge of the tunnels, and I left the City. It is my fault.”

I stood. Beatrice tried to grab my arm, but I pulled away.

“You couldn’t have known,” she said. “You did the best you could. There are nine girls who are here, safe, because you helped them. They’re not in the Schools anymore. You brought me, didn’t you? Where would I be now?”

Ruby watched me, her eyes red. “You didn’t know this would happen,” she said. Even those words, that reprieve from her, couldn’t calm me. Until I was back there, in my father’s custody, others would be captured, tortured, detained indefinitely. Until I was executed, others would be executed in my place.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Clara said. She pushed back, away from the table. “Don’t blame yourself, Eve. You were working with Moss—you tried.”

But the mention of Moss just brought me back to the day I’d left. His body in the elevator. How the bullet had ripped through his back. “I just need this day to end,” I said, starting toward the stairs. “I can’t think anymore.”

Quinn stood, trying to get in front of me, but I sidestepped her. “Eve—I’m sorry. You see now why I didn’t want to tell you?”

“No—I’m glad you did,” I said, watching them as I started up the stairs. “I needed to know.” When I got to the top landing I maneuvered through the hallways in silence. Light came in through the windows, dimmed by the plants that grew over the houseboat’s roof. I counted the doors as I went, finally turning in to the room Ruby, Clara, and I shared.

I curled up on the mattress. The cabin was so dark I could hardly see two inches in front of me. I rested my hand on my chest, trying to slow my heart. I thought of Arden now, of what she must’ve felt when she was in hiding with Ruby and Pip, listening to word of the siege. Of course she had wanted to go. How could I stay here, waiting for word that the fighting had ended? Was I supposed to just hope that somehow my father would be stopped?

It was a long while before Ruby and Clara came to bed. I shut my eyes, pretending to be asleep.

“She needed the rest,” Clara whispered. I heard the give of the mattress as she lay down in the bed above me. Ruby settled in, too, turning onto her side, readjusting several times until she was comfortable. An hour passed, maybe two. When I was certain they wouldn’t wake, I stood, turning out into the hall.

I walked down the corridor, past the wide living area, where a few of the girls slept on the couches. A set of sliding doors let out onto the houseboat’s worn deck. Outside, the moon had disappeared behind a thick layer of fog. The cold air felt good on my skin. I climbed down the side ladder and took off down the dock, carefully stepping around the broken boards.

I just needed to be out, to be moving—to feel I was going somewhere. I started through the trees, moving quickly over gnarled roots and rocks. Most of the houses were dark. Up ahead, beyond a few high bushes, I could just make out a figure. I was about to turn, winding back down the path, when she spotted me.

“Eve—what are you doing out here?” Maeve asked. “What’s wrong?”

I glanced down the trail, realizing I’d nearly made it to her house. She was standing at the base of a massive oak tree. It took me a moment, my eyes adjusting to the light, to realize she was holding Lilac’s doll.

“I just needed air,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“I suppose Quinn’s house has taken some getting used to,” she said. There was the hint of a suggestion in it—why hadn’t I returned to that room beside hers? Why had I been so cold to her when I first arrived? I could see, even now, she wanted to know.

“Quinn’s house has been great,” I said. “The girls are happy there. I just couldn’t sleep, that’s all. And you?”

She held up the doll. “Lilac left her out here. I promised I’d organize a search party—one person, but still.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Want to come inside for a minute? I still have the lanterns lit.”

How many times had I imagined this moment, what I would say if we were alone? I started up the trail behind her, ducking a few low branches. “That night that I left,” I said, keeping my eyes on the thick tree roots that wormed through the dirt. “We were trying to find Caleb.”

“I assumed that much,” Maeve said. “But we never heard word one way or the other. Like I said—you shouldn’t have gone without saying good-bye.”

We pushed into the house. Most of the wood cabinets were half open, their contents emptied onto the counter. The kitchen table was covered with unmarked cans, stacks of recovered dish towels, and piles of utensils. There were dozens of wine bottles filled with boiled rainwater. Dried fruit sat in foggy plastic containers, warped and buckling, their tops held on by old rubber bands. “I clean sometimes when Lilac goes to sleep,” she said. “It passes the time.”

“I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want you to try to keep me here,” I said.

“And why would I do that?” she asked. She leaned back against the counter, her face softer in the lantern light.

“We heard you, Maeve. You, Isis, and Quinn. We heard you debating whether or not Arden and I should be allowed to stay. I know you were planning on using me to negotiate.”

She rubbed her hands over her face, letting out a low breath.

“Quinn was the only one who defended us. Tell me you didn’t say that—tell me it’s not true.”

“No, I said it,” she admitted. “I did.”

“If you report any of the girls here, I will make—”

“I said if,” Maeve interrupted. “It was always an if. I never wanted to use you against the King. I just said that if I had to, if he put pressure on us to turn you over to the army, I would use it to our advantage.”

“I thought you were supposed to protect the settlement,” I said, “not give its residents over whenever there’s a threat.”

She turned away from me, grabbing a few bottles from the table and shoving them back into a cabinet. “At that point, what choice would I have?”

I heard the hollow sound of footsteps on the stairs. When I turned, Lilac was standing against the doorframe, her hair tied back with a purple scarf. She wiped the sleep from her eyes. “Did you find her?” she asked.

Maeve plucked the doll from the kitchen table, glancing sideways at me before pressing it into Lilac’s arms. “Here she is. Like I promised,” she said, her hand resting on Lilac’s back. “You must’ve dropped her while you were playing on the path.” Even in the dim lantern light I could make out the creases across Lilac’s cheeks, imprints from the crumpled sheets. Her lips puttered as she let out one long breath, her face giving in to exhaustion.

“Come on,” Maeve said softly, hooking her arm beneath the girl’s knees. She scooped her up in one swift motion and climbed the stairs.

Lilac’s head rested easily in the crook of Maeve’s neck, her cheek pressing against Maeve’s shirt. There was something about the girl’s tired face, the way her dark lashes curled up at the ends, how her fist swiped at her nose, trying to keep away an itch. It had been so long since I’d seen them together, I’d forgotten how Maeve softened in Lilac’s presence. She seemed calmer, more herself, easily moving through the quiet of the old house.

I listened to them somewhere above, the bedsprings creaking as Lilac climbed back into the bunk. I wondered if I would ever have that sense of calm, that comfort with my child, knowing that my father was still out there hunting me. He wouldn’t give up on finding us, I knew that, even now.

There were a few glass jars filled with nuts on the kitchen table. There couldn’t have been more than five handfuls in each. I found myself counting them, imagining how long I could make them last if I was back out in the wild (twenty days). I started tracing the time it would take to get back to the City, calculating how long it would be by foot, by horse, with the help of a stolen vehicle. I could be there in three days’ time, at best.

No matter how many troops were brought from the colonies, no matter who was leading them, they wouldn’t succeed if my father was still alive. He was at the center of everything inside the City. From what Quinn had said, his power had only grown since the siege. There seemed no way around it—I could sit here and wait, hoping that things would be different, or I could act. If the colonies came to the City, I could be an ally to them, one of the few rebels who knew the workings of the Palace.

By the time Maeve made her way back downstairs I’d decided. There wasn’t anything for me to do in Califia except wait: Wait for the soldiers to track me here, wait to see if Maeve would give me up. Wait for news of another siege and another failure. Wait for my father to come for my child.

“I’m going back,” I said.

Maeve paused in the doorway, her head tilted to one side. “If you’re trying to punish me for—”

“It doesn’t have to do with you,” I said. “It has to do with him.”

Maeve collected a few more jars from the table, working quickly as she set them in another cabinet. She spun around, watching me as she wiped her hands on the front of her tattered pants. “You should stay a few more days,” she said. “Rest. Recover.” Her eyes fell to my midsection. I pulled my sweater tighter, covering it.

“I have to leave soon,” I said. “Before I can’t anymore.”

“Who else knows?”

“I haven’t told the girls yet,” I said. “But Quinn, Ruby, and Clara know. Beatrice, too.”

She stared down at the table, picking up a few cans and one of the lanterns. Then she started out the back door, nodding for me to follow. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark. The gray sky shed a dull, uneven light through the woods, making it hard to see Maeve just a few steps ahead. She moved easily over the broken path, using the low tree limbs to help her along. She darted around to the small structure that stood a few yards into the forest. “Over here,” she said. A flashlight went on up ahead, the beam marking my way over the jagged stones.

I recognized the shed from the months I’d spent living in her house. It was well hidden behind an overgrown hedge. Maeve pulled the door from its rusty hinges, then held the lantern up, gesturing me inside.

The small room smelled of gasoline. I noticed the metal containers that lined the walls—the same ones I’d seen in the storehouse with the boys. Two motorbikes sat in the center, propped up on one leg, the sides showing little sign of rust. “We keep these in case of emergencies,” Maeve said. “It should be able to get you a few hundred miles, maybe more.”

She rolled the bike forward, passing me the handlebars. The weight of the thing startled me. “Why are you going back?” she asked.

“The colonies don’t have a chance unless they target the King directly,” I said, pushing the bike alongside me, until I was back outside. Maeve followed, bringing two of the smaller containers of gasoline. The flashlight beam fell on the dirt path. I could hardly see her in the dark. I could hear only the steady, quiet sound of her breathing. “Besides, he’s going to come for me eventually. Isis was right—he won’t stop until he finds me. Especially not now.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

I held tight to the bike, my hands slippery on the grips. I didn’t know if I could, or how, but the idea kept insisting itself. “I have to kill my father.”

Her face softened as she gave me a resolute nod. “Good luck.”

I met her eyes for a brief moment. “Thank you.” With that I turned, keeping the bike in front of me as I started back toward the main road.