The Color of Rain Read online

  But Ben’s voice stops my scheming midstream. “Now you’ve done it.” He shifts my brother in his arms and steps toward the shallow end, his hair falling over his expression.

  “Done what?” I ask.

  “Made your bed with the devil.”

  I don’t like the Mec. His words bang around my thoughts. Devil? Johnny’s clearly no angel, but the devil? I doubt that Mec has ever had to dodge the police or the Bashers . . . or worked so many factory shifts that his mind kinked up like an old wire.

  He can’t know what a real devil looks like. The kind of devil that comes through your own skin and makes you do things. Horrible things. Like stealing a pair of shoes from a dying old lady because your brother’s feet are bleeding.

  Or agreeing to sell yourself to the likes of Hallisy.

  That Mec probably just doesn’t like being ordered around; I could be wrong, but I think Ben is Johnny’s servant. Well, no servant likes his or her master.

  The morning shift horn ricochets across the crumbling skyscrapers, making the loose glass panels in our greenhouse tinkle. “That’s the last time we’ll ever have to hear that,” I tell Walker. I touch the new scar on his scalp. “Maybe I wasn’t dreaming. Maybe the next time you wake, you’ll be better. We’ll be at the Edge.”

  I’m still not crazy about the idea of freezing him, but this way he won’t know what I’ve agreed to. An invisible wind makes all the hair stand on my arms. At least this Johnny is a tenfold upgrade on the lecherous Hallisy, and we are getting off this planet for good.

  The hover cab driver, an older man with silvery hair and beard to match, wedges a metal pod through the greenhouse doorway. He rubs his hip through a faded black flight suit as he hunkers down beside me. “Blasted bones,” he mutters. He observes Walker through work goggles so fogged that he looks like he has opulent bug eyes.

  Johnny returns with a deep scowl, pressing his thumb to a scanner on the pod’s control box. The lid releases, and I watch him say something into his silver wristband as he leaves. I zip Jeremy’s jacket up to Walker’s collar. What could Johnny be angry about all of a sudden?

  “Magic fingers,” the old man says, interrupting my thoughts. “Johnny’s fingers open everything on his ship.” He tucks Walker into the pod, placing my brother’s legs and arms gingerly. The lid latches with an airtight sound. “What’s this?” He picks up my dad’s copy of Leaves of Grass, the book Walker had been reading from last night.

  “Some old poetry.” I look at the pile of books beside the pool. “Don’t suppose I’ll be able to bring these.”

  He sighs. “He won’t let you bring the clothes on your back, most likely. So you’ll be the new girl? What are you called?”

  “Rain White. And this is my brother, Walker.”

  He presses a few buttons and the pod hums. “Ah, ‘Into each life some rain must fall.’” When I don’t respond, he adds, “Longfellow. Another long ago poet. Too forgotten, like every artist. Tell me, Rain, are you falling into our lives?”

  “Not falling,” I insist a little fast, remembering the suicidal Touched girl. “My dad used to sing, ‘I am the Poem of the Earth, said the voice of the rain.’”

  He slaps his knee. “An Earth Cityite who can read and recite! You’re a surprising little sprite, aren’t you?”

  “My dad was self-educated. He taught us.” I glance around again, this time at the dreary scenery of my home. “But I won’t be an Earth Cityite after I jump planet. I’ll be a Runner, right?”

  “If that’s how you want to be known.” He holds his hand out, and I glance over his dirty glove. “I go by Samson.”

  Perhaps I have made a friend. I shake his hand and then peer through the palm-sized window at the top of the pod. Walker looks better through the glass than he did beside the pool. “He’ll be fine in there?”

  “Aye, Rain Runner. We’ve used it to preserve meat for years.”

  Meat? I grip the book a little tighter.

  “Here,” he holds his hand out for it, and I give the book to him slowly. He tucks it in his pocket. “I’ll keep it safe for you.” He touches his nose with one finger. “Just don’t tell anyone.”

  Samson rolls the pod out, and I help him maneuver it into the trunk of the hover cab. Johnny still stands by the edge of the roof. I hear him whispering something about being his father’s errand boy, and I back away to the hover cab.

  “You ask permission to come with me?” Samson asks.

  “Why?”

  “Because you need permission.” His tongue points out the corner of his mouth like he’s stopping a laugh.

  “I’m going with my brother.”

  “Samson,” Johnny calls as though he was listening. “Take her to the ship. I’ll finish here and send for you. And tell that Mec I know what he’s up to!” His eyes have narrowed into sharp slits, and I’m happy to put even more distance between us.

  “Is that permission?” I ask just loud enough for Samson to hear.

  “That’s dismissal,” the old man returns just as low.

  Within a few minutes, we’ve left my rooftop forever. I sit in the back of the hover cab, watching Ben use a tiny screwdriver on the communicator clasped around his wrist. It reminds me of a simpler version of Johnny’s.

  “Captain says he knows what you’re up to,” Samson calls from the driver’s seat.

  Ben grins, and I’m not ready for it. His whole face turns boyish and rascally cute. “Thinks he’s smarter than me?”

  “He can dream,” Samson says while pulling the vehicle over the rooftops. The climbing, gliding sensation is easier to stomach this time, and I look out as the ugliness of the city fades to chunks of dull color. All those skyscrapers can’t look down on me now. . . . Lo will never believe this.

  Lo!

  “Can we make a stop?” I ask. Ben ignores me, forcing a panel open on his communicator. I lean into Samson’s driving space. “Mind stopping just up there?” I point to the pier below the spacedocks where I’m sure Lo is sleeping off her liquid dinner.

  “He doesn’t take orders from you,” Ben says.

  I glare back. “Good thing I’m asking and not ordering. I’ll only be a few minutes. You can just keep tinkering with your bracelet there.” Samson chuckles, and I touch the old man’s shoulder. “Please?”

  “It’s not a bracelet,” Ben retorts. “So you want to change or something? Don’t want to go into space covered in your brother’s blood?”

  I twist to face him. “I want to say good-bye to my best friend, you jerk.”

  Ben blushes, and I can’t tell if it’s out of shame or irritation. But he’s right; I rub at the black-red blooms across my pants and shirt. I am covered in my brother’s blood. I hadn’t even noticed, but then, so is the Mec.

  His half-open jacket reveals the red streaks on his plain shirt, and I can’t help but remember how fast he sealed Walker’s wound and how strange he looked cradling my brother’s body in the bottom of the pool. “Thanks,” I say.

  “Thanks?”

  “Johnny took the credit, but it was you. You saved my brother’s life.” When he doesn’t respond, I add, “I’m not afraid of you. Even if you’re a cannibal.”

  “Are you serious?” He looks up angrily and finds me smiling. “Wait, you’re joking?”

  “Should I be afraid, oh scary Mec?”

  “No. It’s just . . . this is a first.” He refocuses on his silver wristband. “Samson, put us down where she says.” He glances up, and I swear something nice flashes through the intensity of his steely eyes. “You can have five minutes. That’s all.”

  Samson parks the cab on the far end of the pier. I slip out the door, annoyed to find Ben following. “I’m not going to run away. You don’t have to come,” I say.

  “I do have to come,” he says. “Get used to it.”

  I cast a sideways look at him. “So you have to guard me now? And what did you mean by sleeping with the devil or whatever?”

  “That was a warning,” he says. “Jo
hnny’s not what he seems.”

  “He seems like a spoiled, handsome playboy. Am I off?”

  Ben leaps around a broken space in the walkway, bumping into me. “Wait. You mean you’re not in love with him?”

  “What? I just met him.”

  “That’s—well, that’s different. No wonder he’s bending over backward with this brother thing.” He examines me like he doesn’t believe me. “Then you really are different. Most of his girls are so . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’m not allowed to tell you Johnny’s business,” he says.

  “You’re just allowed to give cryptic warnings?”

  He groans a little funnily like I’ve beaten something out of him. “Okay, think of it this way.” He holds up his arm. “This isn’t a bracelet. It’s a communicator—a com. It keeps me in contact with Johnny at all times.”

  “How very impressive.” I leap over a serious hole, the waves kicking below.

  “Think of it as a tag. A tracker. I can’t take it off.” Ben is stopped on the other side of the gap. “He could even use a setting to zap my nervous system—kill me—if he wanted.”

  “So you’re a slave?” I ask.

  “Bound servant.” The wind pushes his hair up into a curly mess.

  “And I’ll be the same? A bound servant?”

  He shakes his head. “You’ll be his girl, like you agreed.”

  The kiss on the rooftop comes back to me. It was nice. It could get even nicer. Of course, I’ll sleep with him, but maybe it won’t be like it almost was with Hallisy. Who knows . . . maybe we’ll be perfect for each other in unknown ways.

  I hold out my hand, but Ben leaps across the gap without touching me. “What does it mean to be his girl?” I ask. “Has he had many others?”

  Ben turns away.

  “Hey!” I jog after him. “I asked you something.” He keeps going, messing with his com to keep from looking at me.

  “If that com is so important, should you be messing with it?” Panic freezes Ben’s expression, and I revel in my leg up. “So I shouldn’t tell Johnny about your little experiments there? Or should I?”

  “I was fixing it,” he says unconvincingly. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Oh, right. I’ll try not to mention it to him then.”

  His mouth pauses midcomeback. “You know, none of the other passengers make eye contact with me, let alone try to blackmail me. You don’t know what I could do to you.”

  I laugh. “No offense, Ben, but I’ve seen scarier girls in heels on the corner of Glam Street.” I think he laughs, but it’s hard to tell over the wind.

  We reach the old ship, and I call out for Lo. Ben wanders around the rotting hull. “This was a Mec vessel,” he declares. “A K-Force ship. One of the first Void-capable ones.”

  “Sure,” I say, having no idea what he’s talking about. “Wait here. I don’t need you freaking her out. She’ll probably think you’ve come to eat her brain.”

  “Ha ha,” he fakes, making him seem like he’s twelve instead of my age. He takes another turn around the old ship. I try not to watch him but fail. He reminds me of Simon in all the wrong ways—the flirting ways.

  I duck inside, checking the command center and the old passenger section. I even glance into the back cargo area. “Lo?”

  WHAM!

  The side of my face grinds against the gritty rust of the wall.

  Hallisy leans over my shoulder, pinning my wrists behind my back. “Knew I’d find you, stupid slut.” Spit flecks my cheek, and my arms strain to pop out of my shoulders. “Where’s that diseased brother?” he asks. “I put in a call to the cops. So they take him, and I take you.”

  CHAPTER

  5

  Hallisy slams his wiry hips against my back. “Won’t dick over an honest guy again, huh?”

  He slips a hand under the side of my shirt, reaching toward my breast, and I get my wrist free, finding his ear and pulling it as hard as I can. He twists—only to drop against the back of my legs.

  I spin, kicking his ribs as he moans on the ground.

  Ben holds up a silver syringe that he just jammed into Hallisy’s back. “Didn’t need me, huh?” He retracts the needle with a click.

  “It freezes!” Hallisy clutches his crotch.

  “What’d you inject him with?” I brush flakes of rust off my cheek, my hand shaking.

  “A testosterone killer. Designed it myself.” Ben leans over Hallisy. “That means it’ll be years before you’re standing anything up again. Understand me?”

  Hallisy’s shock paints his skin with ash. “Fuckin’—fuckin’ Mec freak!” He makes it to his feet through a slew of curses and staggers out.

  Ben laughs. “I’ve been dying to try that stuff. I call it Limpicilin. Get it? Because it’s like penicillin only it makes a guy . . . you know. Limp.”

  “I get it.” I’m breathing too hard and a little annoyed that he’s trying to find humor in this. “Was that a joke?”

  “Hell. That stuff always sounds funnier in my head.” He drops the dose rod into the calf pocket of his cargo pants. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

  “I would have sorted him,” I lie. That was a close one. I can still feel Hallisy’s wiry strength as he forced himself against me. I drop to my knees. “He said he called the cops, so we have to hurry. If they get all the way out here and don’t find someone to arrest, they’ll take us as abettors.” I smooth some sand that’s collected in the back of the ship and write a message:

  Lo, Gone to Void with W. Going to Edge. We’ll miss you. Love, Rain

  I reread my note twice before adding: P.S. Stop Selling yourself cheap.

  Ben stands over me. “Maybe you should put: ‘Wait until you meet some sugar daddy Void captain and trade it all in.’”

  I get up, wiping the grit from my hands. “Are we going to have a serious problem with each other?”

  “Hey, I just saved you.”

  “Told you, I had that sorted,” I say. “And you can save me a dozen times, but that doesn’t mean I’ll put up with your lip.” I step into his personal space—something Jeremy always did when he wanted me to back down. “I don’t have to like you just because you’re a special Mec.”

  Ben leans in instead of out.

  “Good.” His breath puffs my nose. “Because the last time one of Johnny’s girls liked me, she ended up out the airlock.”

  I back down a few inches. “You’re serious?”

  “I’m trying to help you.” The fierceness in his gaze is a little daunting. “You’re not as damaged as the others, I can tell. Maybe there’s still hope for you.”

  “So you want me to know that Johnny is bad news, but you don’t want me to know why. You can’t say anything, but you can’t seem to keep your mouth closed. And what makes you think that I’m not just as bad as Johnny? I mean I’m the one trading . . .” Myself.

  I’m trading myself.

  “That’s easy.” He leans back to break our standoff. “People on this planet don’t seem to think twice about giving up their family members when they go Touched.”

  I look away. “People swallow the propaganda that the Touched are contagious. If they were, everyone would have it. We don’t know what causes the disease.”

  “Right, but most people don’t fight back. And they certainly don’t hide their loved ones in an old pool.” His voice softens. “I doubt a bad person would bother.”

  “He’s a smart kid. Worth saving.” I pause. “He’s all I have left.”

  Ben holds my gaze, and it dawns on me why it was so strange to see him holding Walker’s limp body in the deep end: No one touches the Touched. Even the cops have nets and gloves. “You’re not afraid of them,” I say.

  “They need medical attention. Not restraints.” He steps back. “It bothers me how they’re corralled and locked away. I’ve been trying to find details about the disease, but there is so little known. Before the emigration, they called it Alzheimer’s, and it only aff
ected the old and came on slowly. But it’s evolved somehow.”

  “It bothers me, too. Seeing them treated like animals.” I have a sudden urge to push his hair out of his eyes, but another question is more pressing. “Will your people really help him on the Edge?”

  “I don’t know if they will, but they can. He’ll definitely be better off there than staying here. But what you’re trading isn’t worth it. You don’t know what it’s like outside of this planet. What he’s like.”

  “And you don’t know what it’s like on this planet.” I walk away. “Trust me. I’ve dealt with worse. I can deal with him,” I add over my shoulder.

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  Back on the hover cab, Samson flies us toward the spacedocks. I hum with excitement as the starships I’ve always dreamed about grow larger and more detailed through the window.

  “Ready to leave?” Samson calls back. “Need a moment or something?”

  “Nope.” I don’t even look down. “The only thing this place ever did was strip away the people I love one at a time.” I look up to find Samson’s fogged goggles as well as Ben’s judging gaze, and I glance at the trunk where Walker’s pod rests. “I’m bringing everything I need with me,” I add.

  “Every planet’s got its fire pits and gold mines. Don’t be too hard on yours.” Samson pulls off his goggles and tosses them back. “Read the strap.”

  I turn the greasy rubber over until I find a very common stamp: MADE ON EARTH. “So what? Everything on Earth City has that stamp.” I hand the goggles back, and he tugs them on.

  “Yes, but I bought these at a street market on the Edge. You might be surprisingly proud when you find that stamp at all ends of the known universe. Your people don’t toil for nothing—they produce. They keep the Runners in business along the Void.”

  “Produce,” I repeat. “That’s a nice word for it. Too nice for this dead place.”