Part 2 (1/2)
”Hurry up! Just take them off. We need to trade.” Fabric rustles. A warm ma.s.s is dropped into my lap. Her clothes.
I pull my s.h.i.+rt over my head, and after taking the concealer out of the pocket, slip off my shorts, holding them in what I a.s.sume is her direction. She s.n.a.t.c.hes them away.
”But first,” she whispers, ”you need to wrap this around your a you know whats.” She drops something else in my lap, a long, thin strap of fabric.
”Wrap this around my what?” I ask, baffled.
”How dense are you? Do I seriously have to spell it out?” When I don't answer, she blurts, ”Around your knockers, Fo. No one's going to believe you're a boy if they get a look at those. Even if they are small. Sheesh.” She mutters under her breath as I struggle to bind my b.r.e.a.s.t.s, tying the fabric into a knot below my left armpit.
When I'm done, I fiddle with her clothes until I find the s.h.i.+rt. As I pull the stiff, greasy-feeling fabric over my head, I gag. The stench is unreala”sweat, urine, dirt, sewage. I pull on the pants, barely manage to squeeze them over my hips, and, sucking in my stomach, force them to b.u.t.ton.
”You are so fat,” Arrin whispers, her voice filled with wonder. ”It's a good thing these shorts have a drawstring.”
I press on my bony hips. ”I'm not fat.”
”Don't you know a compliment when you hear one? You're lucky. Even with the drawstring, your shorts will barely stay up on my bony b.u.t.t.” Arrin inhales deeply. ”And you smell like flowers, I think. I can't quite remember.”
Flowers. I remember how they smell. Beds of lavender and forget-me-nots lined my driveway. Lis put lavender in matchless socks and stuck them in her drawers. She always smelled like lavender.
”It's almost time to go,” Arrin whispers.
”Where?”
”Up. You're going to pay me back. Double. Tonight. Remember?”
My heart starts drumming. Something in her voice makes me wonder what I have gotten myself into. ”How am I paying you back, Arrin?”
She chuckles, and goose b.u.mps s.h.i.+ver down my arms. ”You'll see.” The air s.h.i.+fts, and then she pulls me to my feet. ”Now, someone is stalking my tunnel. You've got to walk behind me and hold on to my s.h.i.+rt. And don't let go! Even if we have to run. Especially if we have to run.”
I nod and blindly run my hands over her bony body until I find the back of her s.h.i.+rt. And then we start walking through the black tunnels, and all I can think of is the person who was watching us, who might be about to pounce. Her s.h.i.+rt grows damp from my hand, and my feet squelch no matter how I tiptoe.
Chapter 5.
”Why's the ground so squishy?” I whisper.
”You're walking on dried-up human sewage. Only it's not completely dry,” she says, her voice barely audible.
I shudder.
”Haven't you ever been down here, Fo?”
”No,” I say without thinking. And surely I'd remember a place like this. Wouldn't I?
”Lucky you. It used to be worsea”a ca.n.a.l of slime that reached up to my knees. I had to hide in it once, buried up to my nose.” She says it like she's bragging.
I cringe and wonder if the clothes I'm wearing are the clothes she wore in the sewage.
”Don't you wanna know why?” she asks.
”Why?”
”The militia was hunting me. Almost caught me, too. One of them waded right past me and didn't see me because he didn't look down.” She laughs under her breath.
”What happened?” I ask.
”They all got sicka”the militia. They're a bunch of wimps, can't stand the smell down here, I guess. They started barfing up perfectly good food. A total waste. And then they left.”
”What is the militia?” I ask. Arrin stops walking.
”Seriously?” she says.
”Yeah.”
”You don't know what the militia is?”
I search my muddled brain, trying to put a picture with the word, but come up blank. ”I don't think so.”
”You know, the guys with the big guns? Who patrol the wall and catch Fecs for the lab? And shoot the raiders on sight?”
”Oh. Right. The guys with guns that guard the wall and catch a whatever a” I have no idea what any of that means, and my brain won't supply the answers.
The s.h.i.+rt tugs against my grasp, and we continue winding through the dark, my feet the only sound.
”Fo, where did you come from?” Arrin whispers after we've walked a while. ”It's like you're straight out of a fairy tale, or another dimension.”
Sleeping Beauty, I think, just woken from a hundred-year sleep. ”I don't know wherea”” Arrin's s.h.i.+rt tears out of my clammy fingers.
A wet smack echoes through the tunnel and then I am knocked onto my back, the impact absorbed by the spongy, damp ground. The breath gushes out of me but stops prematurely as a pair of ma.s.sive hands clamp around my neck. I try to gasp but can't. The hands squeeze harder, crus.h.i.+ng my windpipe, and jagged fingernails dig into my flesh.
I claw at the huge hands, wiggle beneath them, try to force air into my body. But I can't. I ball my right hand into a fist and swing at the darkness above my face. My fist contacts rough, hairy skin, and the hands on my neck loosen a fraction. My blood starts to boil as fury fills me, seeping fire all the way to my toes. I pull my hand back again and ball my fingers so tightly my fist trembles. This time when I swing, my entire body bolts energy into the movement. My knuckles contact flesh and bone, the fingers on my neck loosen and fall away, and something crumples on the ground beside me. I roll to my side and gasp for air, pressing my cheek against the slimy ground.
Noise fills the tunnela”grunting, struggling, and breathing loud enough to wake the dead. Arrin whimpers and lets out a cry. I climb to my feet, turn toward her voice, and nearly trip over something. A body. My hands flutter over it; feel the gentle inhale and exhale of a living person; feel broad, square shoulders with lines gouged into the bare skin and a face covered in coa.r.s.e hair. My attacker.
I yank my hands away and stand, shuddering.
The sounds of struggle still haunt the black tunnel. I follow the gasping and grunting and growling and stumble into flailing bodies.
”Arrin?” I ask.
”Help me!” she gasps. I freeze. Help? I can't see anything. If I start kicking, I might kick Arrin. If I punch, I might hit the wrong person.
”Jump on him, Fo!” Arrin calls.