Chapter Fifteen - The Promise

Starlight twinkled through the gap in the door. Neil stood, stunned at the destruction he'd caused. The small delivery door that he'd managed to pry loose, wobbled on the floor in a bent square.

“Neil, you did it," Katie whispered.

The man began to pant. “I don’t want you gone.”

“We have to,” she said. “We have to go. Together, remember?” She dropped to her knees and tucked her head into the square, twisting to fit her shoulders and grunting as she slithered, squeezing her ribs, scraping her stomach. Even Clark would struggle to fit through this hole. There was no way Neil could leave unless the door was opened from the outside.

Crisp, cooler air hit her face. Her eyes ached as she stood and surveyed the horizon where dim yellow lights twinkled from the rectangles of every window as though they were created to outshine the stars. House after house blocked her view with dark blotches, the lines of rooftops broken only by the scraggly branches of an occasional tree. Her muscles tensed as she crouched, resisting the urge to flee with the instinct of a wild animal.

“Katie?” The door muffled Neil's voice. "Me too?"

She turned back toward the narrow square opening. She reached for the handle. Put her thumb on the latch. Paused. Swallowed. Pressed her thumb against the latch. The hateful bolt obeyed with a simple click. She pushed the door inward. The hallway was so dark, it seemed to suck in the starlight.

Neil stepped across the threshold, blinking at the red streetlights that guarded the sidewalks. His face pivoted to one side, then the other, blinking rapidly as his gaze followed the stretching sidewalks. His face lifted toward the stars, with eyes so wide she could see pinpoints of reflection into them.

“They’re watching,” he whispered.

“What?” She followed his stare toward the lights in the sky. “No, those are stars. That’s . . . natural electricity. It’s a ball of swirling light. There’s no AIDA up there.”

His eyes lowered slowly toward hers, then rose again. “Not true.”

“Those are stars. They’ve been there forever.”

Neil’s voice grew somber, but he only cast a glance back toward the safety of the house before he said. “Must run.”

Katie strode across the driveway, turning the corner, fleeing to the backyard where the houses created squares of shadows. She stalled, searching the low moon, useless now when she had no idea whether it was setting or rising.

Houses behind her. Houses in front of her. But a distant tree line stretched into the sky like an army of hands emerging from beneath the water. It was a guess, but it was the best she had.

“Follow me.”

Lines of trees grew near rivers. Home was upstream. Find the river. Find home.

Neil stood, roving the horizon with glazed eyes.

“Neil! We have to walk.”

He glanced at her. “Never—been out.”

“I know,” she whispered, mostly to herself. She released a slow breath, then extended her hand. “Come on. Hold my hand.”

His eyes lifted toward her, wary. “Big,” he said. “Too big.”

“It’s okay. I know the way,” she said. “We have to go. Before your dad gets back. They’ll fine him, remember? He hates fines. And then he's going up to an eight.”

Neil’s face grayed. His eyes dulled. He nodded. Grabbed her hand.

She swallowed, then led him down the sidewalk. The further they got from the house, the more she relaxed and the harder he gripped. The uneven ground punished her deception, threatening the thin soles of the shoes his mother had purchased for her . . . or for the girl before her.

“What was her name?” she asked.

“Who?”

“The other girl.”

He shrugged.

“You don’t know?”

“Never said. Just screamed.”

"Where'd your parents get her?"

"Market."

Katie walked faster. As the sky lit into a gray haze, the houses grew fewer and the block of trees grew taller. Lights began to outline windows, even sweep the yards whenever an occasional car pulled out of a driveway.

Katie set her eyes on the trees, tugging Neil as he spun this way, then that, sometimes even trying to walk backward. The sun began to paint the sky, lining the undersides of several thin clouds with a pinkish hew.

Neil stopped walking.

Katie spun, resisting a growl.

He blinked from behind splayed fingers.

“Neil?”

“Hurts,” he wailed.

She lifted her own eyes to the expansive pale blue, the golden beams showering the land. "The dawn?"

“Why’s it . . . so bright?”

“It’s not. Not yet.” She reached for his hand. “Close your eyes if you have to. Just follow me.”

He whimpered. Lowered his fingers to catch her hand. She gave him a reassuring smile. Felt his fingers tighten. She took a step, came to the end of her arm, and jerked against it like a tethered boat.

“Neil, come on. I’ll lead you.”

Neil swallowed. “Go back.”

“We can’t go back, remember? AIDA’s there.”

“AIDA’s dead.”

“Your parents are there,” she said. “We have to find my village--my pride--remember?”

He grimaced. “Prides don’t like . . . outside lions.”

“We’re not lions, Neil,” she said. “They’ll like you, I promise.”

Her heartbeat was turning into a war drum.

Neil studied her, then the trees around them. “Stay here.”

“We can’t stay here,” she said. “We can’t survive here. We need other people to survive.”

“I don’t have . . . others.”

“Your parents took care of you. They brought you everything you needed.”

“Um-hum.”

“But . . . but you weren’t free. They made you work. They hurt you. My people won’t hurt you.”

He swayed toward her. His eyes glittered like a starved animal.

“Please, Neil,” she said. “Come with me. Just try it. If you don’t like it, you can go home.”

His fingers gripped tighter. “And you come?”

She caught the refusal before it left her lips.

He stood, rooted like a tree.

She kept her eyes on weave of his shirt. Tasted the lie, felt its bitterness on her tongue before it left her lips. “Yes.”

His chest expanded as he drew in a slow breath. His grip lessened, palm cradling hers, though his fingers trembled. “How . . . ” He trailed off, searching for a word. “Many steps?”

“How far? I don’t know,” she answered. “It might take a few days, or we could find them by tonight. I came in the truck. I don’t know how long it will take to walk up the river.”

He eyed the water, his frown growing. “That killed your father.”

“Yes.”

“Your pride . . . didn’t want you.”

She wet her lips. “I think I didn’t want them.”

“I want you.”

“I know you do,” she said.

Even the smallest of smiles summoned his.