Once: An Eve Novel Part 7

We turned right up a long driveway, toward a giant green building with a gold lion in front. The soldiers escorted me out of the car. Above the entrance was another giant billboard, like the one in the mall, flashing different announcements. A picture of two lions came up, the words THE GRAND ZOO: OPENING NEXT MONTH! beneath it. "This way," one of the soldiers said, leading me inside.

Three soldiers stood at the entrance to the main lobby. The giant room was sweltering, the air smelling of sweat and smoke. Spotlights illuminated different sections of the dark corridor. A few yards ahead, a boy was kneeling over a bucket. He was a year or two younger than me, his bare back dripping with sweat as he worked, smoothing wet plaster over the wall. He looked up, his face thin and sad. "He should be over here," the other soldier said, picking up his pace, his hand coming down around my arm as he ushered me quickly toward another hall.

I turned back, noticing two boys my age who were stapling down carpet. An older worker, maybe twenty, walked slowly down the corridor, carrying a giant wooden crate. When he pa.s.sed one of the spotlights I made out his face, gaunt and sickly, his eyes sunk back into his skull. His shoulder bore the same tattoo as Caleb's. Somewhere above us a terrible drilling sound split the air.

"Where is he?" I said, my voice flat. I walked faster, with purpose, thinking of all the boys in the dugout.

The soldiers strode in front of me, toward a glowing blue light. They glanced at one another, their faces uncertain, unsure if they should've brought me here or not. "Genevieve," a voice called out. Two figures appeared at the end of the hallway, silhouetted by the light. "What are you doing here?"

"I needed to speak with you," I said. The King was standing with Charles, who looked momentarily happy, his smile disappearing when he saw my face. I pushed past them, into the wide room. An eerie light filled the s.p.a.ce. The walls were all gla.s.s, forming several enclosures with plants and giant, fake rocks.

"Would you give us a minute?" the King said finally. The men's footsteps receded down the hall. He stepped beside me, facing a tank filled with yellow gra.s.s. High above, a mountain lion lay out on a flat rock, its ribs jutting out of its side.

"She told me," I said, not turning to meet his gaze. "Clara told me about your wife. She said my mother was your mistress." My entire body felt hot. "Is that true?"

The King turned back to the corridor, where Charles and the soldiers had left. "This isn't the best time to talk about this," he said. "You shouldn't have come here."

"There will never be a good time to talk about it." I stared at him. "You didn't want me to come here because you don't want me-or anyone-to see how all of your projects are built."

His face flushed and his eyes went dark. He rubbed at his forehead, as if trying to calm himself. "I understand you're angry," he said. "Clara shouldn't have said anything. It was not her place."

He turned and walked the length of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. "I don't like that word-mistress. I know how it sounds and it wasn't the case. When I met your mother I was separated from my wife." He paused in front of a gla.s.s case t.i.tled GRAY WOLVES. Two giant dogs were tearing at red meat. Another gnawed at a broken bone.

"So she was your mistress," I said, unable to control my voice. "And you brought me here, telling me how you'd been looking for me for so long, how broken up you were without your daughter, and you just happened to leave out that you had a whole other family?"

The King cleared his throat. "I am sorry," he said, laboring over each word, "that I didn't tell you about my other children. But it's not something I like to speak about. I'm more concerned with the future, just like everyone else in this City. We're all trying to move on."

The softness in his voice startled me, pulling me out of my own head and into his. I wondered how they had died, if their noses had bled like my mother's, if they had been together, as a family, or been separated in the hospitals. I wondered if he had held them, despite the warnings not to, if he had been the one to mash up their food and press it against their dry tongues.

"What were their names?" I finally asked. I had to know, just wanted to picture them, if only for a moment. I had siblings-at one point, if not now. The thought filled me with a strange sadness. "How old were they?"

He turned back to me. He had pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and was twisting it around his fingers, turning them pink. "Samantha was the oldest. She was eleven when she died. Paul went first-he was eight. And then Jackson, my little guy." A faint smile appeared and then was gone. "He wasn't even five years old."

I remembered the plate I'd prepared in the kitchen. How I'd sat leaning against her bedroom door, devouring the last of those mushy pink beans, comforted by her intermittent coughs. Before she had retreated to her room she had shown me how to open the cans, her hand around mine as we squeezed the metal gadget. They had been in a row, one for each day, over twenty cans long. Only open one can, she'd said, as she moved around the house, locking all the doors. No more than one each day.

"I'm sorry," I said softly. We stood side by side, and for that minute, in the stillness of that room, he was not the King. I was not the Princess, taken against her will to the City. We were two people trying to forget.

He rubbed his forehead with his hand. "I really loved your mother. And I was going to get a divorce. That was always the plan," he said. "But things were complicated between us. We were living different lives, in different cities. I never even knew she was pregnant. And then later, when the plague happened, it changed everything. I couldn't have left Sacramento even if I had wanted to. There was no way for me to help her. Everyone was just surviving."

"Did your wife know about her?" I asked, feeling sick even as the question left my mouth. "Did you ever tell her, or was my mother a secret?"

"I was planning on a divorce," he repeated. "I was just waiting for the right time."

I turned and walked past him, starting down a tunnel with a gla.s.s enclosure on one side. There, just thirty feet away, was a grizzly bear like the one I'd seen in the wild. It lay there, seeming half alive, its head resting on a plastic rock.

"The only two people who can understand a relationship are the two people in it," he said from somewhere behind me. His shoes clacked against the broken stone floor. "You can't know what that time was like."

"I know that you lied," I said. "You lied to everyone." I stared at our reflections in the gla.s.s, the way our noses both slanted a little to the left, our cream-colored skin, the curtains of black lashes that fanned out over our eyes. We stood there, the two of us side by side, looking through ourselves into the small enclosure.

"I was happy when I was with your mother," he continued. I wasn't quite sure if he was speaking to me or not. He gazed up at the ma.s.sive animal, his voice clear of anger. "It's hard for me to look at that picture, to see myself then. I was happier than I'd ever been in my life. She always seemed like she was vibrating at a different frequency altogether. She was nearly thirty when I met her. It was right after she'd taken a hiatus from painting."

I turned to look at him. "I never knew she was a painter," I said. Our house had slowly faded from memory. I could see only snippets of it-the old grandfather clock that sat in the hall, the beaten gold weights that hung inside it, making its hands move. The glow-in-the-dark stars on my bedroom ceiling, the stain on our couch from where she'd spilled tea. I couldn't remember even a single paintbrush, no canvases or art on the walls. "I learned at School."

"I know," he said, not elaborating on how. A smile crossed his lips, and he let out a small laugh. "I was with your mother on my fortieth birthday. She had planned this whole day. We went hiking along the beach, and she brought this miniature chocolate cake she'd made for me. She carried it the whole time, nearly four miles, just so we could eat it up there, overlooking the ocean. And she sang this silly song to me, this-"

"Today, today," I sang, unable to stop myself from smiling, "is a very special day, today is somebody's birthday." I nodded my head, remembering how my mother used to hold my hands while we sang and danced in the living room, sidestepping around the coffee table and armchairs.

I wanted to hate him, tried to remember all the things he had done, tried to picture Arden and Ruby and Pip in that brick building. He was the reason Caleb was in the Outlands, why we couldn't be together. But right then, we shared something that no one else in the world could: my mother. All her quirks, her silly songs, the way her hair smelled like lavender shampoo. He was the only other person who knew.

We walked silently through the corridor. Then he turned to me, leaning down so our eyes met. "I loved your mother. However complicated our situation was, however wrong it probably seems. I loved her. And our relationship gave me you." He shook his head, his fingers pressing against his temple. "That morning I went to your School, I was excited. I had the same feeling I'd had the day my other children were born. And when we arrived and the Headmistress told us what had happened, that you had left, I immediately ordered the troops to find you. You can think whatever you want, but you're my daughter-the only family I have left. I hated the idea of you out there, in the wild, alone."

I looked at his face, tense with worry. Then he stepped toward me, bringing me into a hug. For once, I didn't pull away. It was inescapable, irresistible, even after all he'd done. I saw myself every time he held his fingers to his chin when he was thinking, or smiled with his mouth closed. We argued the same way, our words short and even, had the same pale complexion, his hair was once the same dark reddish-brown hair as mine-though his was now peppered with gray. He was part of me, the connection undeniable, no matter how much I fought against it.

"Come now," the King said after a long while. "Let's get you back to the Palace." He led me through the long corridor, past enclosures filled with other creatures discovered in the wild-pythons, alligators, a tiger who had escaped from a zoo. We left through a side exit. The sun stung my eyes. Sweat beaded on my skin. A million thoughts rushed into my head as we walked toward the waiting car. But then I stopped, my feet rooted to the ground, the strangeness of the scene revealing itself to me.

Outside the front entrance, a few soldiers had gathered, their guns resting by their sides. They were all looking up at the electronic billboard perched high above the lobby entrance. There, in ma.s.sive letters, were the words: AN ENEMY OF THE STATE HAS BEEN SPOTTED INSIDE THE CITY. HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN? IF SO, ALERT THE AUTHORITIES IMMEDIATELY.

And below them, a drawing of a face so familiar, it was like looking at my own. Caleb was staring back at me. His height, weight, and build were listed. Descriptions of the scars on his leg and cheek.

I felt as though all the blood had drained from my body. The King's hand was on my arm, urging me toward the car. "Genevieve," he said under his breath, his eyes fixed on the soldiers in front of the building. "This is not the time. We can discuss this in the Palace." I barely heard him as I read the last line on the billboard over and over again.

HE IS WANTED FOR THE MURDER OF TWO NEW AMERICAN SOLDIERS.

twenty-two.

"I'M NOT FEELING WELL," I SAID, PULLING THE THICK COVERS around me. The sun had gone down. The upper floors of the Palace were quiet and dark. Beatrice sat at the end of the bed, her hand resting on the mound of my foot. "Will you bring me something to eat? I'm going to sleep but you can leave it by the door." I looked away before adding, "Please don't let anyone disturb me tonight, no matter what."

Beatrice combed my hair, running her fingers over my forehead. "Of course. You've had a very long day." I squeezed my eyes shut. I kept seeing Caleb's face on that billboard, hearing the soldiers muttering about the traitor who had killed one of their own, about what they would give to witness the execution. They knew he was inside the City walls. I needed to tell him not to come, that it was too dangerous, but there was no way to reach him. He was already moving through the Outlands, snaking down the empty streets to meet me.

"What's troubling you?" Beatrice whispered. She took my hand in hers, cradling it. "You can tell me."

I looked up at her kind, round face. I can't, I thought, knowing how much danger Caleb was already in. They were probably scouring the Outlands for him. "I'm just sick," I said, trying to smile. "That's all."

Beatrice kissed the top of my head. "Well, then I better get to it," she said, standing to go. Then she leaned over, looked directly at me, and pressed her warm palm against my cheek. "I will make sure no one disturbs you. You have my word." She remained there for a moment. Her brown eyes were alert, serious, like I'd never seen them before. I know what you're doing, she seemed to say, never taking her eyes off mine. And I'll do whatever I can to help you.

She stood and went into the hall. I kept staring at the door. It didn't shut all the way, and she didn't pull it closed and check the k.n.o.b like she usually did. Instead it rested lightly on the frame, wood against lock, just slightly ajar.

I moved quickly. I'd hidden the uniform in the toilet tank, letting the plastic bag float on top of the water. I pressed the bathroom door closed and dressed as fast as I could, donning the wrinkled white shirt, the red vest, the black pants. Then I retreated into the hallway, down the east staircase, taking off my shoes so as not to make any sound.

It was still before curfew. The streets were just thinning out. I disappeared into the cl.u.s.ters of workers changing shifts, my stomach churning as I glanced over my shoulder to see if anyone was following me.

People strolled across the overpa.s.s, walking arm in arm as they made their way back to their apartment buildings. A Jeep came down the street, two soldiers hanging out of the truck's bed, scanning the sidewalks. I kept my head down, turning right to cross the main road, toward the building Caleb had marked. It was called the Venetian, an old hotel that had been converted into office buildings. A few restaurants had been opened, the gardens had been replanted, and the wide ca.n.a.ls were filled with water once more. As I made my way over the arched bridge, a boat glided past, carrying the last of the day's pa.s.sengers.

I was a few steps from the main entrance when I turned, noticing a figure standing on the dock. She was much shorter than me but wore the same uniform, her curly brown hair pulled away from her face. "Are you waiting for a gondola, Miss?" she asked softly, stepping under an overhang and into the shadows. She paused, waiting for me to respond.

I glanced down at the map, at the X Caleb had scribbled right by the dock, and nodded. I followed her to the edge of the water. "You should take off your vest, Eve," she whispered. As the light reflected off the water I caught glimpses of her delicate hands, the old cameo brooch she wore around her neck. "It'll look odd if one of the workers is out on the water. But keep your hat pulled down over your eyes."

I took off the vest and handed it to her just as a narrow boat glided past us. Caleb was standing on the stern, wearing a black shirt and white hat that shielded his face. I scanned the crowd leaving the garden, looking for soldiers. "Last ride of the night," he called out. He steered the boat with a long wooden oar, pausing at the dock so I could get in. Then he pushed off, into the open water, as the last few people meandered out of the Venetian's gardens.

I sat facing him, our eyes meeting as he paddled into the center of the ca.n.a.l, away from where anyone could hear us. We drifted on the clear water, the Venetian's tower lit up behind us. It was a long while before either of us spoke. "They know you're here," I said. "We shouldn't be doing this. It's too dangerous now. What if someone followed me?"

Caleb scanned the bridge. "They didn't follow you," he said softly.

My hands were trembling. I tried not to look at him as I spoke. Instead I leaned back against the seat, letting it steady me. "The King might suspect something. Clara saw me leave the other night. Yesterday at the marketplace, she said something in front of him." I looked at him, pleadingly. "I can't see you again, Caleb. They can't touch me-I'm his daughter. But you'll be killed if we're caught. Your picture is all over the City."

Caleb dipped the oar in the water, his muscles straining with the effort. The lights danced on the surface of the ca.n.a.l as we glided toward the bridge. "What if I'm killed tomorrow?" he said, pressing his lips together. "What does it matter then? I'm alive here, today. I've been to the construction sites and talked to the people in the Outlands. Slowly, they're starting to see there's another way. We're talking about a rebellion. Moss needs me." He smiled, that smile that I loved, a dimple appearing in his right cheek. "And I like to think you do, too."

"I want you here," I said. "Of course I do."

"Then this is where I want to be." Caleb turned the oar in the water, steering us. "I can't sit around doing nothing. I already gave you up once before-I won't do it again."

He was silent for a long while. "Do you know Italy?" he finally asked. I nodded, remembering the country I'd read about in our art history books, where so many masters-Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, Caravaggio-were born.

"I read once that Venice was the most romantic city in the world. That instead of streets there were waterways. That people played violins and danced in the main square, and boats brought them from place to place. I know I can never take you there, but we have this."

I stared at the golden tower above us, at the gla.s.sy ca.n.a.l, at the ornate arches beneath the bridge. The night was quiet. I could only hear the palms rustling in the wind, the boat slicing through the still water.

Caleb stepped down off the stern and came toward me, careful not to throw the boat off balance. "We're here now, together. Let's make the most of it."

He kept his eyes on me as the boat drifted under the bridge, into darkness. He pressed the oar into the water to slow us. Then he was right there in front of me, his face barely visible as his nose brushed against my cheek, his breath hot on my skin. I leaned my forehead against his. "I'm just scared. I don't want to lose you again."

"You won't," he said, taking off my cap. His hand found its way to the base of my neck, his fingers twisting in my hair. I let him hold me, my head resting in his palm. He dragged his fingertips along my spine, ma.s.saging my back through my shirt. Then my lips were on his neck, working against the soft muscles until they found their way to his mouth.

His hand stopped at my waist. He tugged gently at the bottom of the uniform shirt, as if asking me a question. He'd never touched me before, not like that, his fingers right against my skin. It was exactly what the Teachers had warned about in all their lessons, of the men who constantly tested your defenses, bulldozing one, then moving on to the next. They all wanted the same thing-to use you until you were all used up.

I'd spent so many years preparing for this moment, just so I could steel myself against it. But it didn't feel like that. Not now-not with Caleb. He was asking for permission, his face mirroring all the nervousness I felt. I want to be closer to you, he seemed to say, as he bit down on his bottom lip. Will you let me?

I climbed onto the bench beside him, wrapping my arms around his neck, our tangled bodies hidden beneath the bridge. His head fell back as I kissed him, the warmth of his tongue spurring me on. I nodded yes, guiding his fingers to my waist as he untucked my shirt. His cold hands pressed against my stomach, the touch stealing the breath from my body.

The boat floated on in the cool, dark tunnel. Water lapped at the bottom of the stone bridge. His hands wandered over my back as he pulled me closer to him, pressing his chest to mine. I rested my chin on his shoulder. He was saying something, each word m.u.f.fled. I couldn't make it out until his mouth was right next to my ear, his lips tickling my skin. "I don't care what happens, Eve," he repeated. "This isn't something I can just walk away from. Not this time. I won't."

I stared at him, our noses nearly touching. I brought my hands to his face, wishing the City was deserted, that there were no soldiers patrolling the City center, no footsteps above us on the bridge, that we could drift into the open ca.n.a.l, his arms wrapped around me. "I know," I whispered, kissing him softly as we glided toward the end of the tunnel. "Nothing matters more than this."

I settled back down in my seat. He took his position on the stern, the five feet between us seeming so much further now. I pulled my cap back on as the light hit me. Slowly, the gondola drifted out of the dark, the oar dipping below the still surface of the ca.n.a.l.

"Can we go to the tunnels?" I asked, when we were far enough away from the bridge that no one could hear us. "I want to see where you've been spending your time, who all these people are."

Two soldiers strode by, their guns slung across their backs. Caleb pulled his cap down over his eyes. He grabbed the oar, pushing us farther out into the water. We were both quiet until they pa.s.sed. "We can go there tonight," he said softly. "Meet me in the gardens after we dock. But first I have to tell you something." He rested his knee on the narrow bench in front of him, studying me. He smiled, his eyes so bright they looked like they were lit from within.

The boat pulled up beside the stone stairs. Caleb glanced at the cl.u.s.ter of people still lingering by the edge of the bridge, enjoying the last thirty minutes before curfew.

"I've fallen in love with you," he whispered, kneeling to kiss the top of my hand. He stayed there for a moment, smiling up at me, before helping me from the boat.

I started up the stone steps, every inch of me humming with a new energy. I wanted to scream it then-I love you I love you I love you-to grab his hand and run away from the Palace, these people, that bridge.

"Good night, Miss," he said loudly, as though I were any other stranger. "I hope you enjoyed your evening."

The woman who had greeted me was still standing beneath the overhang. I walked toward her, but not before turning back, my eyes wet. "I love you, too," I mouthed. It didn't seem stupid, or foolish, or wrong. I'd said something I'd always known, the admission sending me into the happiest, irreversible free fall.

His face broke into a smile. He studied me, not taking his eyes off mine, as he pushed off the dock and glided away.

twenty-three.

IT TOOK NEARLY A HALF HOUR TO REACH THE AIRPLANE hangar. Caleb cut across the Outlands, through old neighborhoods waiting to be restored, the houses sitting with windows broken, sand piled up in their doorways. I trailed thirty feet behind him, keeping my head down, disappearing in the cl.u.s.ters of people rushing home to make curfew.

As I walked I replayed that moment: his eyes looking up at me, the whispered words only I could hear. I carried it inside me now, nestled somewhere inside my heart, a small, silent thing that we alone shared.

Finally the land opened up before us. Rusted, abandoned planes sat on the pavement. Metal carts were strewn everywhere, some empty and bent, others piled with suitcases and crumpled, sun-scorched clothing. A metal sign above the building read McCARRAN AIRPORT.

Caleb hooked a right. I followed him across the sandy parking lot, turning back every now and then to check for soldiers. The airport was empty. A few faded playing cards blew past, somersaulting in the wind. He disappeared into a long stone building and I followed behind, waiting a few minutes before going in.

Inside, the shadowy planes towered above me, AMERICAN AIRLINES printed on their sides in red and blue letters. I'd only seen planes in children's books before, had heard the Teachers reference the flights that went from one coast to the other. "Pssst," Caleb's voice called out from the darkness. He was hiding behind a short metal staircase on wheels. I went to him. Keeping close to the wall, we started toward the back of the hangar, his arm around my shoulder.

"So this is where you come every day ...," I said, looking up at the ma.s.sive planes, over a hundred and fifty feet long. Their metal wings were lined with rust, the white paint bubbling up in places.

"Some days. The construction is on hold now, but a week ago there were nearly fifty people here each morning." We walked toward a door on the back wall. "Citizens come from all across the Outlands to take shifts, on top of the work they're expected to do in the City center. The regime has been running demolition a half mile east of here. During the day it's so loud you can barely hear yourself think, but it covers up the drilling or hammering sounds."

Caleb knocked five times on the door. A man with a full beard stuck his head out, a red bandana tied around his head. Sweat soaked the front of his T-shirt. "Aren't you supposed to have a hot date tonight?" he asked. Then he noticed me standing behind Caleb and a smile curled on his lips. "Ahhhhh ... you must be the lovely Eve!" He made a big spectacle of bowing, dropping one hand to the floor.

"What a welcome," I said, bowing back. He hadn't called me Genevieve, and I immediately loved him for it.

"This is Harper," Caleb said. "He's been overseeing the dig while I've been at other sites."

Harper opened the door just enough for us to squeeze in. Lanterns lit the small room. Two others, a man and a woman in their thirties, stood at a table, hovering over a large sheet of paper. They looked up when I came in, their eyes cold.

"I haven't been outside since one o'clock," Harper went on. He was a shorter man with a gut that hung over his belt, his gray T-shirt two sizes too small. "Can you see the stars tonight? The moon?" His light gray eyes darted from Caleb to me.

"I didn't look up," I said, a little apologetically. I'd been too focused on keeping my eyes hidden, the cap pulled down over my forehead.

Harper wiped the sweat from his brow. "She didn't look up!" he teased. "The one thing that's hard about this City is the lights. Makes it difficult to see the constellations. You can get a good view from the Outlands though."

"Harper can tell direction by the stars. That's how he got to the City originally," Caleb put in. He rested his hand on my back as he spoke, his thumb grazing my spine. "What's that thing you always say, old man?"