Chapter 26: Shelter from the Storm

Lily and Brenna went down to the square together, huddled close against an unexpected chill. At least they’d be warm once the bonfire was lit.

A wooden platform rose up beyond the fire pit, adorned with pine garlands. Most of the townspeople were there already, along with refugees who had no homes to go back to. Everyone had flowers in their hair or tucked into a buttonhole.

“The mayor’s going to make a speech,” Brenna whispered, hooking her arm through Lily's. “I think he’ll acknowledge you. Luke thinks he’ll pretend you don’t exist. We made a bet: loser goes in the lake.”

Lily smiled weakly. “I hope you can swim.”

A bearded man touched a burning torch to the tinder at the base of the fire, and Lily recoiled as it roared to life with accelerant-fueled violence. The crowd cheered. Brenna clapped delightedly.

Abbott took the stage, waving the assembly to silence. Lily thought he looked about a decade older. His shoulders curved inwards, and he leaned on a polished wooden cane.

Slowly, the murmur of conversation ceased.

“Friends and neighbors.” All the thunder had gone out of him; his voice was that of any other tired old man. “Tonight we celebrate our victory, and we remember the lives that were given to attain it.”

Abbott waited for the commotion to die down.

“The Pacific Federation doesn’t care about us,” he continued, with a little more volume. “Seattle doesn’t know we’re here. We have to take care of ourselves and each other, and sometimes to that end it is necessary to do difficult and terrible things.”

Lily shifted from foot to foot, scanning the crowd.

“Difficult and terrible things,” Abbott repeated. He locked eyes with Lily, who willed herself to remain still.

Uncertain, uneasy murmurs rippled through the crowd. Abbott visibly gathered himself.

“We survived, as we always have. We will rebuild, as we always do. We will be strong again. And we will never forget.”

“What about Lily,” Brenna shouted, through her cupped hands.

Lily wanted to die.

“I—” Abbott looked equally uncomfortable. “Ah. Yes. Well.”

Even though he couldn’t possibly see her in the crowd, Lily’s skin burned as her heart thudded sick and heavy.

“Who’s Lily,” someone else bellowed, and the tension snapped like a rubber band. Everyone laughed, even Brenna.

Not Abbott.

He took the opportunity to descend from the platform, moving stiffly down the stairs. After an uncertain pause a drummer beat a lively tempo and the band picked up a simple, upbeat melody.

So that was it.

The mayor was threading his way through the crowd, accepting handshakes and platitudes with the same awkwardness he’d shown onstage. He saw Lily and tried to skirt around her, but she blocked his path.

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” she said, forcing it to be a statement and not a question. “First thing in the morning.”

“Of course,” Abbott said. “You’ll get what you’re owed, and if you ever show your face in my town again you’ll be shot on sight.”

Lily caught herself looking around for Michael again. “And you’re going to let us leave?”

Abbott’s smile looked grandfatherly, kind. “I’m going to let you leave,” he promised, before shouldering past her into the crowd.

She felt as if her shoes had grown roots. Brenna swooped in and dragged Lily toward a different mass of people.

“Dance with me,” she urged, pitching her voice above the music.

“Maybe later.”

Brenna stuck out her tongue and spun off into the circle of dancers. Lily let her go. Maybe someday she could learn to live instead of just surviving. Maybe she wouldn’t have to do it alone, but that was too monumentally terrifying to consider.

She ran into Luke soon after. He was bright-eyed and beaming, clutching a full tankard in his good hand. “General! Michael’s looking for you!”

“Oh.” The conversation in the attic kept cartwheeling through Lily’s brain. “Did you see where he—”

“My father’s a piece of work,” Luke continued. “You know he came here with nothing? A refugee, like you.”

Lily felt like she’d eaten clay. “Did you see which way Michael went?”

“He was talking to the merchants!” Luke offered her his mug. “Want some?”

“I’m fine. Thanks. I don’t…I need to find him.”

In the end Lily almost walked right past him. She’d only ever seen him in monochrome, but now he wore a shirt the same color as his eyes. He had his back to her, hadn’t noticed her yet…

The old fear rushed in and a familiar sly voice whispered behind her ear: no one else will ever want you.

What if he did love her. Would that really be so bad? Maybe she could figure out how to love him back. She’d feared the Wasteland less. And yet—

Michael started and turned, but when he saw her he smiled like the sun coming through the clouds. Lily wanted to shake the truth out of him. “What’s going on?”

He blinked. “Where?”

“Luke said…” Lily sighed. “I hate surprises, Michael. What is it?”

“Oh. A trade caravan was stranded here,” he said. “It’s leaving tomorrow. They’ll take us with them to Seattle. That’s all.”

It took Lily a few minutes to force the words into a shape that made sense. “Seattle?”

“It fits your description exactly,” Michael said. “A city on a hill between the mountains and the water. It was never bombed, just like you said. Twenty thousand people live there.”

It had the impossible logic of dreams, but no part of it felt untrue. He wouldn’t lie to her.

“It has to be right.” He looked to her almost desperately for a reaction she couldn’t give him. “Mountain Home is landlocked. Portland is on a river, they said, so it has to be—”

“It’s real?” Lily spoke against her knuckles, pressed so hard against her mouth that her teeth ached. “It’s close?”

He stared at her, stricken. “I’m sorry, I thought you’d be happy.”

“We can’t pay.” Was she dying? She couldn’t take a full breath. “How did you…what will it cost?”

“Nothing,” Michael assured her. “Just my help, if there’s trouble crossing the mountains. It’s already settled. You don’t have to do anything, you can rest.”

Lily grabbed him. As he hugged her back she felt him kiss the crown of her head, or else just put his mouth there. She wasn’t sure of the difference, or if it even mattered.

“What will we do there,” she said, very small.

“Whatever you want.” The words were warm.

She imagined a little room. She could not allow herself to picture a bed in this room, but there was a fireplace and a window that looked out on whatever an ocean was. She would make tea in a tin kettle the way her mother had and they would live there together, and be happy.

When she leaned back she caught Michael looking at her lips. It made her feel hollow and hungry and so, so sad. Lily pinched a fold of his shirt between thumb and forefinger, and when she tugged on it he leaned in, waiting for her.

It would be so easy.

“Walk with me.” Her voice no longer sounded like her own. “Please. Will you come with me?”

“Anywhere,” he said.

Oh, they needed to have that talk. Immediately.

—

They walked towards the stables side by side. It was on the outskirts of town, near to the wall and the gate; as good a destination as any. They’d started out hand in hand, and Lily wasn’t sure which of them had let go. Her fingers twitched.

She stopped walking. “I need to ask you something.”

Michael stopped too, and regarded her warily.

It almost slipped out, but she redirected at the last minute to something so much worse, hating herself even as she asked, “Why didn’t you want to leave the Station?”

“I— what?” Michael had maybe expected the other thing.

“You weren’t going to leave. Was it because of Abigail? Did you love her?” Not the right question, but as close to it as Lily could get.

“No.”

Lily almost said ‘good’; instead she bit her tongue and kicked a rock. The full moon cast long shadows like accusing fingers. “But you were with her.”

“It was convenient. For both of us.”

Lily wrapped her arms around herself until her bones ached and her muscles burned. “And when it stopped being convenient, you came and found me?”

“Well. No. I have nightmares,” Michael said, like she hadn’t noticed. “The night I asked you for a favor, that was…it was worse than usual.”

He looked at her, features indistinct in the dark, and Lily wondered why she hurt so much.

“I thought she was you,” he finished. “I said your name, and she told me to go.”

Lily tried not to think of him waking afraid in the night, in someone else’s bed, and calling out for her.

“Oh,” she said, hugging herself tighter. “Ok.”

Michael kicked the same rock. It tumbled off into the darkness. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Good.”

They walked a few more steps. Her heart was in her mouth, gristle and tough muscle grinding between her teeth.

“I wanted to go with you,” Michael said quickly. “I have since Freeport. But it wasn’t fair to you. You kept telling me to go and I was too selfish to listen.”

Lily couldn’t look at him. She heard faint music and laughter behind them, and a dog barking. There were no stars and the words she wanted to say had calcified in her throat.

“But I meant to listen, the last time. Then we were stuck in the Station together, and maybe you felt like you didn’t have a choice. But you did. You do now.”

He waited for her to say something. Maybe he’d been waiting for a while. The future lay out ahead of her, bright and sharp, constricting her throat and crushing her lungs.

“I wish you had come with me in Freeport,” she said. “That would’ve been nice.”

He took her hand again, and they walked on together.

—

The stableyard was empty and the merchant wagons were silent, all but one unhorsed, unlit except for a single lantern that cast a pool of calm light. There was no one in sight.

“Did they seem trustworthy to you,” Lily asked, remembering a different caravan. “It’s a great idea, I just—”

Michael tensed. He squeezed her hand.

A familiar click froze them both in place as something came forward into the light.

She knew even before Michael tried to push her behind him. Even dressed in the stained and tattered garb of a Wasteland drifter, 63’s bearing was unmistakeable.

Blue eyes surveyed the pair of them, not dispassionate or empty at all but full of half-mad satisfaction. The hand that scraped through his shaggy blonde hair trembled, but the one that held the tarnished pistol did not.

“Hello, 74.” 63 pointed to a pocked burn scar that stretched and rippled the skin of his cheek and neck. He shook his head at Lily. “And you. Troublemaker.”

The darkness spat out more figures; not the hungry, wild denizens of the Wasteland, but men. Ordinary men, hard-eyed and holding familiar guns.

Then Abbott came, still in his festival clothes, reeking of fear but smiling nervously anyway. “There. What you came for. Take him and leave.”

“Yes.” 63 flapped his hand absently. “Fine.”

Michael didn’t resist as they took him aside. “I know why you’re doing this. But 23 is dead. She’s been dead for years.”

Lily struggled against the heavy hands on her shoulders that forced her to her knees.

“Let her go,” Michael urged. “You already won.”

63 peered down into her eyes, and she recoiled; he smelled like a grave. He drew his pistol and took exaggerated aim at Lily’s head.

“I know,” he said.

She went so very still, holding her breath.

“She’s not — 63, listen to me.” Michael pulled forward, but they kept him in place. “She has nothing to do with this.”

“Michael, stop.” Lily’s voice was hoarse. “It’s ok. It’s going to be all right.”

The round opening of the barrel swelled and widened to fill the world. She wouldn’t close her eyes. She wouldn’t let them see she was afraid.

“No!”

63 pulled the trigger.

There was no report — just a hollow click. He laughed, a rasping crow-sound, and opened his clenched fist to reveal two perfect gleaming rounds.

He turned aside to load the weapon, whistling tunelessly under his breath and cursing as his hand slipped. He’d lost more than their trail in the Wasteland.

“Please.” Michael locked eyes with Lily, but spoke only to 63. “Take me back to Delphi, to Alpha Base. I’ll go willingly. Whatever you want. Just let her go.”

63 scratched his temple with the barrel of the loaded gun. He looked over at Abbott, shrugged, and lowered his hand.

“Fine,” he said, jerking his head at the nearest wagon. “Get in. She won’t be harmed.”

Lily found her voice again. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she snarled, not sure which of them she was talking to. Not caring.

63 nodded to Abbott, who watched the proceedings from the fringes, chewing on his fingers and mumbling to himself.

“I’ll keep my word,” he promised. “We’re done here.”

The hands on her shoulders lifted and Lily staggered to her feet, but Abbott scrambled forward to stop her, grabbing her around the waist.

“I had to,” he whispered harshly, dragging her back. “I made a deal with him to protect what I’ve built here. You can’t fight the Coalition, no one can.”

Lily dug in her heels and tried to wrench out of his grasp. Michael was almost to the wagon, still not resisting.

She kicked Abbott in the knee and broke loose. 63 watched with obvious amusement, waving off his cohort. Lily saw this, and she saw Michael pause and tense with both hands on the doorframe, and she imagined grabbing 63 by the throat as she—

“No!” Abbott trained his ancient, rusty revolver on her, planting himself between her and the wagon. “This is the only way!”

Lily took a determined step forward, and a sharp crack tore the air apart.

He missed.

Or she thought he’d missed until she heard a scream, worse than the gunshot, and looked down to see the red dress turning redder. The cloth over her stomach was dark and wet.

Oh.

Michael tore free and threw himself at Abbott, but the butt of a rifle came down on the back of his head and he crumpled to the ground. As he was dragged into the wagon, as her own head hit the dirt, Lily saw 63 raise his pistol with a snarl and shoot Abbott between the eyes.

There was no air left. She drowned, and no one pulled her up.