The Lofties (The Echelon Book 2)

“Let me tell you what I know. Lost Decemites don’t come home, and it’s not because they die. It’s because they turn them, those rebels. Your ‘friends.’ They turn them traitor and send them back spies—but Prium’s too smart to let them get far. If I didn’t prove I was loyal, I’d have disappeared, too. Mom and Dad would’ve been next, and you, even Lock. I said what I had to say, and you know what? I’m not sorry. I’d say it again. I’d say whatever it took.”
“Ona—”
“Don’t you know what that felt like, leaving you behind?” She snatched her hand back and scrubbed at her face. “Mom isn’t eating. Dad barely comes home. We’re falling apart, and all you care about’s some rebel.”
“Ben’s not a rebel.” I scrambled to my feet. “And it’s not just him. They almost died—all of them. You saw what happened. You saw—”
“Stop it.” Ona punched me a good one, just above my knee. “Just stop it. You’re home. You’re okay. Can’t you be happy to see me, at least for tonight?”
“Oh, Ona.” I crouched down again and took her head in my hands. I leaned in and kissed her forehead, just like when she was little. “I am happy to see you. And I’m glad you’re okay, too. Don’t doubt that for a second. It’s just, I’m scared. I saw things out there...” I rocked back on my haunches and looked her up and down. “How’s that rash? Did you see the doctor?”
“Huh? Oh, that.” Ona pulled up her shirt. Her rash had faded slightly, lost its angry hue. “She said it’s from Outside. The air itching my skin. All Decemites get it. Lock’ll have it too.”
“I don’t.” I showed her my own belly, smooth and pink. “Jasper says that’s your bots dying. That’s what those bumps are, little broken-off pieces, working their way out. He says eventually—”
“No.”
“By the time you hit twenty—”
“I said no.” Ona stuffed her shirt into her pajama bottoms. It ballooned out stupidly, like a big cotton paunch. “Dr. Findley says it’s from the air out there. It’s the same thing the mutants get, but we heal and they don’t.”
“Then why don’t I have it? Or the Outsiders?”
“How should I know? You’re all aliens. You’re—that shot Jasper gave you.” She pumped her fist in the air. “If I’d had that shot, I bet I’d be fine, too.”
“Ona...”
“Come on. This is a good day.” She went to the fridge and pulled out a plate of carrot cake. “You’re here with us, back where you belong. Mom can stop crying. Dad can come home. Everything can go back to normal.” She carved off a hunk of cake and set it on a plate. “Sit with me. Eat. I need to know I’m not dreaming. I need this to be real.”
“And me eating cake makes this real how, exactly?”
“You can’t eat in a dream.”
I wasn’t sure that was true, but still, I sat down. I was hungry, so I ate, and I felt a bit better. Normal—was this normal? Endless gray days, the clamor of the Dirt? Miron in the refinery, plotting his revenge? I watched Ona eating, breaking her cake into bites and popping them in her mouth. A few hours from now, a day or two tops, and she’d be back Outside. She’d be down some vent, the steam scalding her back, harvesting gretha for Lazrad. I swallowed and licked my lips.
“Are you happy?”
Ona looked up. “What are you talking about? Of course I’m happy. Unless—you’re not planning on running again, are you?”
“No. I’m not.”
“Then I’ve never been happier in my life.”
I tried to smile and found I couldn’t. That lump was back in my throat, not fear this time, but sadness. Ona was happy. With this. With a lifetime of this. I couldn’t stand it.
“Ona?”
“Hmm?”
“Nothing.” I took another bite of cake. “Just, it’s good to be home.”
Ona beamed. My stomach hurt. I touched my bracelet under the table, the one I’d made for her. I tucked it up my sleeve, out of sight. I’d meant to give it back to her, but I wasn’t sure it would mean much to her. I wasn’t sure what would, besides what she’d been taught to care about. I’d lost her, somehow, or she’d lost herself.
“We should go over our story,” she said.
“Huh?”
“For when you see Mom and Dad. We’ve got to tell the same story—and it can’t mention the Outsiders.”
“Oh.” I pushed my plate away. “What’d you tell them?”
“I said I got lost.” She licked a crumb off her finger. “You found me, but we didn’t know our way home. We camped out at a vent till the mutants attacked. We fought them off, but we lost each other. A-team found me wandering, and Lock rescued you. We never saw anyone else.”
“That’s not much of a story.” I took my plate to the sink and scraped my leftovers down the drain. “Doesn’t it kill you, lying to everyone?”
Ona snorted. “Funny coming from you.”
“But what if they ask questions? Like, what did we do for weeks on end? Camping hardly seems—”
“Nobody wants to know what’s really out there.” Ona dumped her own plate in the sink. “Trust me—keep it vague. You’ll be fine.”
I rinsed my plate, then Ona’s, and dried them and put them away. “I’m tired,” I said. “I think I’ll get washed up, then go to bed.”
“I’ll wake you for breakfast,” said Ona. “Mom should be home by then. Dad too, maybe.”
Somehow, I mustered one more smile.
The kitchen felt airless, the space too tight for the four of us. I found myself wedged between Mom and the table and the sink, Dad on my other side, Ona clinging to us all. I wanted to run from them, run and keep running till I found some place I could breathe. I held on tighter instead. Mom was all elbows and ribs, sunken cheeks scored with shadows. Dad had a hold of my shirt. He was strangling me without meaning to, fabric