Chapter 19: City of Gold

“I looked for her, after I started to remember.” Michael spoke to the exit sign above the door, to the racks of rifles. “Her records said she was killed in action. In the Border War.”

Lily could tell he was trying to make it sound inconsequential, but the words came out harsh and clipped.

“You said you saw something,” she ventured. “What was it? What made you—”

“I don’t know,” Michael said flatly.

“What did they do?” She slid closer. “How did they make you forget?”

He took her hand and guided it to the back of his neck. It seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Lily felt a small patch of rough scar tissue at the base of his skull, hidden by soft curls of hair; the place she’d seen him absentmindedly rub when he was tired, anxious…

“Reconditioning,” he said, enunciating carefully. “It’s like being wiped clean. No memory, no emotion.”

She traced the scar and Michael bent toward her with an uneven sigh. He was warm, so warm. She remembered lying awake in the dark, listening to him breathe. She remembered his arm around her.

Distant panic sparked.

Gently, Michael pulled her hand down. He sat back. “I was twenty miles east of you. That night.”

“Utah?”

“Yes.”

Lily was unspeakably relieved that it hadn’t been Omaha Base, that he hadn’t been one of the terrible dark shapes she’d glimpsed through the smoke and flames. She was glad they’d never met as enemies.

Her fingers twitched into fists, then relaxed. “How do you live with it?”

“I don’t.” Michael slumped back against the wall. “I can’t.”

Lily scooted over next to him and kicked out her legs, one at a time.

“They can’t be beaten,” he went on, tugging the bottle out of her grip. “They can’t be stopped. It’s not your fault and it isn’t mine. All we can do is…”

“Run? Forever?” She was tired of being made to feel small and powerless. Tired of passivity, of weakness, of shame. “Is that why you came with me?”

Michael sighed. “Yes. And no.”

She lay her head on his shoulder again. It felt like she was underwater, but not like she was drowning.

“Why, then,” she said.

The room wheeled and lurched as he leaned his cheek against the top of her head.

He might’ve answered. If so, she missed it. What she didn’t miss what his hand meeting hers, their fingers twining clumsily together.

There was nothing terrible about it. Quite the opposite.