Once: An Eve Novel Part 5

"It's impressive," I replied, only half paying attention. I stared straight ahead as the King greeted the Head of Finance and the Head of Agriculture, two men in dark suits who always seemed to be whispering to one another. I didn't mind them now. I didn't hate the crowd congratulating the Lieutenant. Everything seemed more certain now, the whole City a more manageable place. I'd slipped into the bathroom after the parade, savoring a few solitary moments in the cold s.p.a.ce. Caleb had drawn a map on one side of the paper. The line snaked out of the Palace and across the overpa.s.s, where the land was less developed. An X was scrawled on a dead-end street. I'd run my fingers along the message, reading it again and again. Meet me at 1 AM, he'd written at the bottom of the page. Take only the marked route.

The man was still looking at me, his lips twisted in quiet amus.e.m.e.nt. I turned to him, for the first time noticing his clear blue eyes, his flawless, creamy complexion, the way he stood with one hand in his pocket, so self-a.s.sured. "I think you're impressive," he whispered.

The heat rose in my cheeks. "Is that right?" I knew it now, the playful tone in his voice, the way he leaned forward as he spoke: He was flirting.

"I read about your adventure in the paper, how you were lost in the wild all those days. How you survived after being kidnapped by that Stray."

I shook my head, careful not to reveal too much. "So you've read one article and now you think you know me?"

I stared out into the conservatory gardens, at Reginald, the King's Head of Press-the very man who'd written the story. He was tall, with chestnut skin and cropped graying hair. The King had briefly introduced us the day after I arrived at the Palace. Reginald never bothered to ask about the pink marks on my wrists or the st.i.tches on my arm. He didn't ask me much at all. Instead he'd completely fabricated a story about how I'd escaped the School to find my father, who I didn't even know was the King. How I'd traveled through the wild until I was kidnapped by some vicious Stray. The article ended with a quote from Stark detailing how I'd been "saved."

"I've never understood Strays." The man shook his head. "Who would choose that life when they could have this?" He gestured around the room.

My thoughts drifted to Marjorie and Otis at their kitchen table, content to live by themselves, free from the King's rules. "A lot of people."

The man narrowed his eyes at me, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard me correctly. I was about to excuse myself when the King started toward us.

"Genevieve!" he called out, his face breaking into a genuine smile. "I see you've met Charles Harris. He's the one I was telling you about." He gestured at the domed ceiling, the planted gardens and marble floor. "His family has overseen nearly every building and restoration project inside the City walls. The City of Sand wouldn't be what it is without him."

So this was the Head of Development. He seemed surprisingly normal with his crisp b.u.t.toned shirt and huge blue eyes. Every inch of him seemed to imply he was decent, nice even-a person to be trusted. I wondered if he was the one who worked the boys in the labor camps, or if he made someone else do it.

"I was just telling Genevieve how incredible it is that she arrived here safely. A testament to her strength, I'm sure."

"I'm happy she's home." The King held a gla.s.s in his hand. "Charles here has been in the City since it was founded. His family was one of the lucky ones-both his parents survived the plague. They donated a.s.sets to help fund the new capital. His father was the Head of Development until he pa.s.sed away last year." I studied Charles, his shiny, clean-shaven face and mop of thick black hair. He couldn't have been more than five years older than me. So little separated him from the boys in the dugout-their parents had died, and his hadn't.

"It's been an honor to take over my father's legacy," he said matter-of-factly.

The King gestured at the domed ceiling above us. "This was Charles's first project. He spent a good six months studying the recovered plans for the conservatory, looking at pictures from before the plague to get it all just right. With a few improvements, of course."

Charles pointed to the far end of the dome. "A small plane had crashed into that side of the conservatory, leaving a giant hole in the ceiling."

The string quartet in the corner struck up a song, and a few couples ventured into the center of the room to dance. People clinked their gla.s.ses together, toasting. The King raised his hand, waving two women over. The younger one seemed about my age, with straw-colored hair and thin, glossy lips. The other woman looked similar but older, her eyelashes clumped together with thick mascara. Her hair was styled in a stiff gold bob. "Perfect timing," the King started, resting his hand on the older woman's back. "Genevieve, I'd like you to meet my sister-in-law, Rose, and my niece, Clara. Rose was married to my late brother."

The King had mentioned them the day before-my aunt and cousin. I offered my hand to the girl but she looked away as if she didn't notice. Rose quickly took it in hers instead. "We're happy you're here, Princess," she said slowly, as if it took great effort to get each word out.

Clara's eyes darted from Charles to me, then back to Charles again. She sidled up next to him, resting her hand on his arm. "Let's go on the balloon ride, Charles," she said softly. She turned to me, surveying the satin gown Beatrice had helped me into, the shoes with the gold clasps on their sides, the low bun my hair had been twisted into. I'd been in her presence for less than five minutes, but I could tell, with complete certainty, that she hated me.

Charles stepped forward. "I was just about to ask Genevieve," he said. "She hasn't been yet, and it's a novelty every new citizen should experience. I promise I'll take you later." He offered me his arm. Clara glared at me, her cheeks flushed.

"I actually wanted to look at the greenhouse," I said, pointing to the enclosed gla.s.s room on the other side of the conservatory, the lush flowers filling every inch of it.

"Charles can go with you," the King said, urging me toward him.

"I'd prefer to go alone," I said, nodding to Charles in apology. His arm was still outstretched, waiting for me to take it.

It took him a moment to recover, a low laugh escaping his lips. "Of course," he looked at the group as he spoke. "You must be exhausted from the parade. Another time." He studied me as though I were some exotic animal he'd never come in contact with before.

The King opened his mouth to speak, but I turned and took off through the conservatory into the greenhouse, relieved when I was finally alone again. Outside the gla.s.s ceiling, the sky was already orange, the sun dipping behind the mountains. The reception would end soon. In a few short hours I'd be on my way to see Caleb, all of this-the Palace, the King, Clara, and Charles-receding behind me.

Caleb is alive, I repeated to myself. That was all that mattered. I reached my hand to the top of my gown. The tiny square was still inside my dress, pressed against my heart.

seventeen.

WHEN I RETURNED TO THE SUITE, I GOT TO WORK, SEARCHING the closet for something discreet to wear. The hangers were heavy with silk dresses, fur jackets, and petal-pink nightgowns. I dug through the drawers below, settling on a black sweater and the one pair of jeans I'd been allowed, even though Beatrice had warned me not to wear them outside of my room. I stepped out of the gown, finally able to breathe.

I unfolded the tiny paper map, one side printed with directions, the other with the note from Caleb. He said he had a contact in the Palace, someone who'd left a bag for me on the seventh floor staircase. If I could get out, I'd travel ten minutes off the main strip, to the building he'd marked with an X.

If I could get out.

It was a foolish idea. I knew that. I b.u.t.toned my jeans, slipped on my socks and shoes, and fastened my hair back. I arranged the pillows and duvet to look as though it contained a sleeping body. It was foolish to think I could get out of the Palace unnoticed, that I could find my way through the City. Because of the strict curfew-the streets were clear from ten at night until six in the morning, a rule the King had established to keep order-I'd be one of the only people on the sidewalks. If anyone followed me, I'd lead them right to Caleb.

But as I crept toward the door, listening for any sound in the hall, I couldn't think of doing anything else. He was here. Only a few streets separated us. I had let him go once, and I wouldn't do it again.

I lifted the metal cover of the keypad on the wall. The code started with 1-1, I knew that much. Those were the easiest numbers to catch. I'd thought I'd seen a 3 and another 1 at the end, but it was hard to know for sure; Beatrice's fingers always moved so quickly whenever she was coming and going. I pressed my ear to the door. I couldn't hear anything. She was probably down the hall now, dropping empty gla.s.ses in the sink as she spoke to Tessa, the cook. Still, my hands shook as I entered the 1, then another 1, a 2, an 8, and finally the 3 and 1 at the end.

It beeped twice. I tried the door but it was locked. I rested my forehead on the wall, desperately trying to remember. It could've been a 7, not an 8, that I'd seen. It could've been a 2, not a 3. It could've been anything.

Numbers, combinations, codes ran through my head. Then I had a sudden flash of the King at the podium, before Stark had received his medal. We've made tremendous progress, he'd said, Since the day the first citizens arrived here, January first, two thousand and thirty-one.

Before I could second-guess myself, I punched in those six numbers: 1-1-2-0-3-1. Nothing happened. The lock didn't beep. The metal lid fell shut. I turned the k.n.o.b and for the first time it gave. The door swung open, releasing me into the quiet hall.

It felt good to be free of the suite, with its sealed windows and cold, tiled bathroom, the couch that was so stiff it was like sitting on a cement block. Outside, the lights in the corridor were dimmed. I heard a clanking noise from the kitchen, where the staff was cleaning up for the night. I looked right, then left, moving along the wall, nerves knotting my stomach as I inched closer to the east staircase.

I peered through the small rectangular window in the door. The stairwell was empty. Another keypad was on the wall. I typed the same code, moving slowly, careful not to make any sound. The lock opened and I ran through the door, trying to ignore what lay beyond the narrow railing-an open shaft that dropped fifty stories to the ground. I took the stairs two at a time as I began the long descent.

When I was four flights down a door opened somewhere above me. "Where are you going?" a voice called. I froze, pressing myself against the wall, out of sight. Everything echoed in the concrete staircase. Even my breaths betrayed me. "I can hear you!" That voice, her tone-I knew in an instant it was Clara. Then I heard the clack of her shoes against the cement floor as she came after me.

I took off. I flew down the stairs, not stopping until I had cleared another ten flights. The footsteps quieted. I inched away from the wall and gazed up. I could just make out Clara's hands gripping the railing, her fingernails painted bloodred. "I know you're there!" she yelled again. I kept going, leaving her there, in the top of the tower, calling out my name.

When I reached the seventh floor a bag sat waiting for me, as Caleb had promised. Inside was a Palace uniform. I changed quickly, pulling the cap over my eyes, and continued down the staircase. The flight opened into a wide hallway, metal doors on either side. From one of the small windows I could see into the Palace mall. The ceilings were painted blue, white spongy clouds stretching out across them. The shops were all closed, one reading TIME & AGAIN JEWELRY in fat letters, another GUCCI RESTORED. A soldier paced the length of the stores, his back to me. Two others stood watch at the revolving doors.

I moved down the wide hallway to the EXIT sign. Caleb's contact had lodged a ball of paper into the doorjamb, making it impossible to lock. The k.n.o.b gave easily. Outside, the air was cooler, the wind covering everything with a fine layer of sand. The route Caleb had marked was just in front of me. Troops were stationed at the Palace's front entrance and along its back. I could see them through the narrow trees, five soldiers huddled together, only occasionally glancing behind them. I took off, ducking behind the fountain, half covered by the high wall of shrubs.

I turned back every now and then to make sure the troops weren't following me. A knot lodged in the back of my throat. Clara had seen me. At this very moment, she could be waking the Palace from the top down, alerting the soldiers stationed on each floor. I kept my head low, calmed by each steady step. I was out, moving through the City, already on my way to Caleb. What was done was done.

The streets were dark, the high buildings casting an eerie glow on the pavement. I heard the Jeeps patrolling the other end of the City center. High above me, windows sparkled with light. I crossed the overpa.s.s as the map showed, keeping close to the buildings on the other side. Dried-out palm trees lined the narrow street. A few of the buildings still hadn't been restored. A restaurant sat abandoned, tables and chairs gray with dust.

Every time I heard a Jeep on the street beside me, the map would show a turn, and I would head in the opposite direction, the noise of the engine fading into the background. The building Caleb had marked was nearly a mile east of the monorail, the entrance in an alleyway behind a theater. As I neared it my steps were lighter, my body floating along, alive with nerves.

The alley was dark, the air thick with the smell of rotting garbage. I entered through the door marked on the map. Inside it was pitch black. I felt my way along the wall and down a narrow set of stairs, into the building's underbelly. Smoke lingered in the air. Somewhere, someone was singing. The murmurs of faraway voices swirled around me. I crept along, stumbling over the last few steps, until I was at the bottom of the staircase, in front of another door.

A woman was on stage, clad in a silver-sequined gown, a three-person band behind her. She sang into a microphone like the one the King had used at the parade. A sad, slow song drifted to the back of the room. A man on a saxophone leaned forward, adding a few low notes. Couples spun around on a cramped dance floor, a woman nuzzling her face into a man's neck as he shifted his weight back and forth, his hips swaying with the beat. Others huddled in cozy booths, laughing over half-empty gla.s.ses. Lit cigarettes sat in plastic trays, the smoke spiraling up to the ceiling.

The walls were covered with painted canvases. One showed the City's buildings dotted with bloodred lights, making each skysc.r.a.per look sinister. A ma.s.sive painting hung behind the bar. Rows of children were shown in crisp white shirts and blue shorts just like the ones the Golden Generation wore, but their faces were flat and featureless, each one interchangeable with the next. I scanned every person in the room, looking for Caleb at the bar, or in the pack of men huddled by the door. In the back, to the right of the stage, a figure sat alone in a booth. His face was hidden under the brim of his cap. He was twisting something between his fingers, lost in quiet concentration.

The song ended. The woman in the sequined dress introduced some of the band members and made a joke. A few people behind me laughed. I stood rooted in place, watching him play with the paper napkin, how he bit down hard on his bottom lip. Suddenly, as if sensing me there, he looked up, his gaze meeting mine. He stared at me for a moment, his face brightening in a smile.

Then he was up, closing the s.p.a.ce between us. As the woman started singing again, he reached me, pressing his face into my neck. He wrapped his arms tightly around my shoulders, pulling me so close my feet lifted off the ground. We stayed there as the music swelled around us. Our bodies fitted together perfectly, as though we were never meant to be apart.

eighteen.

"I WAS GETTING WORRIED," HE SAID, WHEN HE FINALLY SET ME down. He gently pulled strands of hair away from my wet lips. "I thought I'd been stupid to give you that note, to tell you to come." He held my face between his hands, tilting my chin up so he could see beneath my cap. "You should know better than to keep a boy waiting," he laughed. "It was torture."

"I'm here now." I held onto his wrists and pressed down, feeling the bones just beneath the surface of his skin. He smiled, his eyes wet. "I'm really here."

He buried his face into my neck, his lips against my skin. "I missed you so much." His arms tightened around me. I stroked the back of his head. There was something about the way he held me-clinging to my sides, squeezing the breath from my body-that startled me.

"I'm okay," I said softly, trying to rea.s.sure him. His breathing slowed. "We're here, together. We're okay," I repeated.

He looked at me, running his finger over my cheekbones and down the bridge of my nose. Then he pressed his lips to mine, letting them rest there for a moment. I savored the familiar scent of his skin, his stubble against my cheek, his hands in my hair. I clutched his sides, wishing we could stay like this always, the moon forever in the sky, the earth paused on its axis.

After a long while we slid into the booth where Caleb had been waiting. The woman in the sequined dress was still singing, the melody slow and sweet as she described a midnight train to Georgia. A few men studied us from the bar as they swigged tiny gla.s.ses of black liquid. The candlelight danced on our faces. Caleb kept hold of my hand. "Where are we?" I asked, adjusting my cap so it hid my eyes.

"It's a speakeasy," Caleb said. "They serve their own alcohol. People come here to drink, smoke, go out after curfew-all the things the King has outlawed in the City."

I brought my hand to my face, afraid someone would recognize me from the parade. "Is it safe? Do they know who you are?"

"Everyone here is guilty of something." He lowered his voice, pointing to a man in the far corner playing cards. A gold watch was set on the table in front of him, along with some silver rings. "Gambling, alcohol consumption, smoking, exchanging goods *off record,' they call it. Goods that aren't bought with the government-issued credit cards are supposed to be traded through the newspaper. You could be sent to jail just for coming in here." He picked up the napkin he'd been playing with. It was twisted into a small white rose. "Well, maybe you wouldn't get arrested, Genevieve." He smiled, tucking it behind my ear.

I put my hand on his right leg, where he had been stabbed. I could feel the scar through his thin pants, the line that slanted inward, toward his opposite knee. "What happened to you?" I finally asked. "All that time before you came here. I thought of you every day. I shouldn't have let you leave. I was so scared ..."

"You did the right thing-we both did." Caleb inched closer and wrapped his arm around me, ma.s.saging the aches from my neck. "It's strange, but I always knew you'd come back to me. The how and when of it wasn't clear, but I knew."

"I hoped," I said, keeping my hand on his leg.

Caleb shook his head and smiled. "Could any day have been more perfect than today?" He kissed me once, then twice, his lips settling by the hollow of my ear. "I woke up and the City was talking about the new Princess, the King's daughter who'd returned from the Schools. I ran all the way from the Outlands to the City center like a complete idiot. Everyone thought I was just another one of your fans. I kept thinking, she's come back to me."

I pulled myself closer to him. "Tell me what happened when you left Califia. I need to know everything."

Caleb squeezed my hand. "I stayed in San Francisco, in a house just over the bridge. It was hard for me to walk, even with the wound st.i.tched up. For a while I lived off figs and berries from the local park. But then a day pa.s.sed, and another, and I was too weak to walk anymore. I was trapped.

"At some point, when I was really desperate, I tried to go just a block to find food. I collapsed on the sidewalk. I'm not sure how long I was there-one day, maybe a few. I just remember a horse coming toward me. I tried to crawl into a storefront, to hide myself, but it was too late. A man was hauling me onto the horse, and then I pa.s.sed out. I woke up hours later. He was giving me water. Then he finally mentioned Moss."

"Moss?" I asked, remembering the name. "The one who organized the Trail?"

"He's operating from inside the City now," Caleb said, his voice barely audible. He looked quickly around the room before speaking. Just one couple was dancing, the woman's hand resting on the man's heart. "He was working on the inside when the report came in about the troops killed at the base of the mountain. That soldier said where he'd last seen me, how I'd been stabbed, who I was with. Moss knew I must've been taking you to Califia. He came and found me. He forged my paperwork to make it look like I was just another Stray seeking refuge in the City. He's been organizing people inside the walls, the dissidents."

"The dissidents?" I kept my voice low, thankful when the trumpet blasted a few loud notes. Everyone around us was absorbed in their own conversations, clinking their gla.s.ses together in cheers.

"There's opposition to the regime. Moss brought me here to lead a build-we're constructing tunnels under the wall to bring in more people to help fight. Eventually we'll smuggle weapons in from the outside. There are three tunnels in all. Moss is talking about a revolution, but without guns we're helpless against the soldiers."

Caleb kept his lips close to my ear as he told me about the Outlands, the vast, barren blocks beyond the City's main street, where old motels were being used as housing for the lower cla.s.s. Some lived in warehouses, others in run-down buildings without hot water or even plumbing. The regime had designated housing based on the a.s.sets individuals were able to contribute after the plague. Jobs were a.s.signed by the government. Most Outlanders worked cleaning the luxury apartments and office buildings in the City center, staffing the shops in the Palace mall or running the new amus.e.m.e.nts that were opening up throughout the City. The King had established endless rules: no drinking, no smoking, no weapons, no trading without his consent. No one was to be out after ten o'clock. And the City was enter-only-no one could leave.

"All of the workers here are trapped. The regime decides their weekly allowance, what jobs they have. They keep telling everyone that the conditions will improve, that the Outlands will be restored just like the rest of the City, but it's been years. Now there's talk of expansion, of conquering the colonies in the east, of restoring and rebuilding there."

"The colonies?"

"Three large settlements to the east that the King has visited. Hundreds of thousands of survivors are there. He considers them part of The New America already, but until the colonies are walled in, until troops are stationed inside, they're technically separate."

"They're looking for you. Stark, that scared kid-" I stumbled over the word. "He told them you were the one who killed the soldiers. What if they find you here?"

"Without a shirt on I'm just another one of the workers." Caleb pressed his hand to his shoulder, where his tattoo was. I'd noticed it the first day I met him, the circle with the New American crest in it. Every boy from the labor camps had one, like a stamp, marking them as property of the King. "They're looking for me in the wild, not working in the Outlands like every other slave."

"And Moss? Where is he?" I asked.

"It's better if you don't know." Caleb pulled the brim of his cap down to hide his eyes. "A dissident got caught a few months before I arrived here. They think he was tortured. He gave up names. Suddenly people were disappearing, being taken away to prison."

"Was the man killed?" I asked, my throat tight.

"One of our contacts is working as a janitor inside the prison, but he couldn't get to him in time. It was a real blow. The dissidents consider one another family-if one person is in trouble, everyone is. They would've done anything to help him."

I squeezed Caleb's hand as I told him about the last three months: my time in Califia, Arden's arrival, our escape and capture, my days in the Palace with the man who called himself my father. When I was done the crowd had thinned out. Half the booths were empty, strewn with gla.s.ses and smoldering ashtrays.

Caleb tucked a few stray hairs back under my cap, so gently it nearly made me cry. Then he pulled a folded paper from his pocket and spread it out on the table, revealing a map of the City with routes outlined in different colors. He explained how the troops had their routines, specific streets they patrolled in ninety-minute blocks. The dissidents had learned their patterns and used them to avoid being caught. He copied one route down on a napkin, marking the path back to the City center, how to reenter the Palace and which staircase to take. Then he copied another for me to use in two nights' time.

"Let's meet here," he said, pointing to a spot on the second map. "There's another dissident who works that building at night who will point you in the right direction." He studied my face and smiled. "I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?" I asked.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?" He laughed.

I stared at the place he'd marked; it was right on the main road, diagonally across from the Palace fountains. "But you could get caught."

"I won't get caught," Caleb said. He smoothed down the corners of the paper with his palm. "I promise. Just be there."

"How long will it be before the tunnels are completed? Can't we hide out until then?" He said the other dissidents were concerned about his meeting me, that it might compromise them, but he'd a.s.sured them I could be trusted.

Caleb shook his head sadly. "We don't know. The one that's furthest along is at a standstill. We need blueprints to continue. And if you turn up missing ... they'll know you're somewhere inside the walls. They'll come looking." He put his hand to my cheek. "It's a good sign that you made it here tonight, though. We'll just have to meet like this until things are more certain."

We sat there for a while, my face nestled against his chest, until the singer sang her last song. The band packed up their instruments. Gla.s.ses clinked together. Slowly, we made our way out.

Caleb's hand rested on the small of my back as we climbed the stairs, feeling our way in the dark. The Outlands were quiet. Figures moved behind a curtain in the window of an old motel. We pa.s.sed a parking lot lined with rusted cars, a dried-out pool, a long strip of empty houses. "I can walk you to the corner," he said, clutching my hand. He nodded to the street just one block away.