Ruby’s Fire

 

We’re still in our beds the next morning when Nevada’s voice explodes up the stairs and into my eardrums. “Everyone up! Another emergency repair. More cuts in the tarp. Someone was here during the night.”

 

People scramble out of their beds and grab the first thing they find to wear. I throw on my old red cloak. Bea hurriedly tucks her nightgown into her pants. Blane’s shirt is on inside out. Armonk has on his faded lizard-cell pants. Only Vesper has chosen her outfit with care: a pair of her best shimmery Harem pants and solar-cell shirt. She shoots me an evil stare as we assemble in the parlor.

 

“This is the second breach,” Nevada announces. “Clearly someone’s out to steal the plants, or destroy us.” She’s the worse for wear, in a patched shirt and sand boots badly cracked at the toes and ankles.

 

“One of the schools is trying to ruin our chances of winning the competition,” Jan guesses. He sounds paranoid. But who knows? The stakes are certainly high enough.

 

Bea says, “It could’ve been cut by someone who was starving, or needed shelter.”

 

“They didn’t cut any stalks down though,” reasons Nevada.

 

“Plus for shelter, why would they cut from the top to get in?” Armonk asks.

 

Blane rubs his chin. “Jan’s point makes the most sense. Mr. Axiom should never have announced that we have our own crop.”

 

“We don’t know that he did,” says Armonk.

 

“We don’t know that he didn’t,” says Vesper.

 

“Axiom Inc. is bringing us fortified fencing, and … other means of protection,” Nevada says ominously. “But for now, we must repair the cuts, before the sun destroys everything.”

 

She assigns us to work in pairs. This time, Radius works with Bea and Vesper with Jan. Nevada herself chooses Armonk, which wins him more bottle-sucking noises and snorts. Again, he ignores this, but sooner or later, if it doesn’t stop, another arrow will fly.

 

I’m paired with Blane. I’d ask to switch partners, but Nevada’s too stressed to ask. She had no way of knowing that Blane got aggressive with me the other day, because I’m no snitch. I’ll try to make the best of it, and stay far from his clutches.

 

There’s a clamor of activity—boots scraping against the floor, the thwap of suit closures, and clunk of masks pinging off of surfaces—as we all gear up at once. Something isn’t quite right, but I can’t put my finger on what. Then it hits me. In the chaos of the moment, I hadn’t noticed that Thorn wasn’t among us. My pulse speeds up. Where is he? Did whoever ripped the tarp take Thorn?

 

I ask the person standing next to me. “Radius, have you seen Thorn?”

 

“I don’t keep track of your brother. Ask Bea.”

 

“Has Thorn gone outside?” I ask her while she’s attaching her mask.

 

“I think I saw him earlier, putting on his suit,” she offers. At this, I sigh with relief. He does like to be first in the field. He’s probably beaten us there.

 

Dashing out, I call his name. No answer, but the field is huge, and Fireseed’s wide, plush leaves absorb sound. I will myself not to panic.

 

Once I’m out from under the porch, I see that the tarp is a mess! Someone’s ripped three new gashes in the section near the porch alone. Uneven pieces droop down like torn tent flaps after a sandstorm. Already these gaping wounds in the structure have raised the temperature enough to heat up my suit.

 

Blane and I are assigned to scout the far western quadrant. This field is twice the square footage of my old compound that housed hundreds, and more oblong. I follow Blane as he parts the Fireseed leaves, their profuse growth forcing us to bushwhack our way through. More than a few times I have to remind him not to crush the plants underfoot in his emphatic push forward. He grumbles at this, yet seems almost chummy when he says, “Impressive show with that elixir you gave Armonk. What did you put in there, Cult Girl? A witch potion?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Name’s Ruby, by the way.”

 

He pulls back a thorny section of plant so I can pass. “So, it’s true you take drugs.”

 

“No!”

 

“Someone saw you. Do you like getting high?”

 

“I take nothing to get high, or for entertainment either.” This much is true. “What vice do you have?” I add, in an echo of Bea’s sentiment from the other night.

 

He laughs as he presses forward, crushing more Fireseed saplings. “Being too good at playing bodyguard.”

 

“What’s that mean?” That he’s more violent than I’ve already witnessed?

 

“It means I take my job very seriously.” He raises his brows in a way that chills me.