The Dark and Hollow Places - Carrie Ryan [115]
“You and Catcher?” she asks, one eyebrow raised suggestively.
I feel myself turn a bright red and she smiles, that being all the confirmation she needed. “I thought so. He’s a really good person.” She says it almost wistfully.
“I know.” I stare at the strips of fabric in my lap. All these different pieces of cloth ripped apart from clothes and blankets that became worn and useless but now have a new purpose. I run my hand over one of the uneven seams, feeling the bumps of stitches.
Broken things can be made whole again. Perhaps not as they were before, but maybe stronger this time.
“You asked me on the shore what I’d do if I had only a few days left?” I venture.
My sister nods and pours herbs into the hot water, suffusing the room with an earthy scent.
“I decided that I’d live,” I tell her. “I decided I’m tired of being scared and waiting for other people to make up their minds about what they want—I’m going after what I want.” I pull another pile of fabric toward me. “And what I want right now is off this stupid island.”
My sister laughs, bringing me a mug of tea. She curls back on her chair, legs tucked underneath her. “I want to build something,” she says, getting a faraway look in her eyes. “Recently I’ve had this idea of a village.” She sounds hesitant, as if waiting for me to make fun of her. But I hold myself still, barely breathing, wanting to hear more.
After a while she goes on. “There would be these beautiful buildings all connected with bridges—everything would be off the ground. It would be a part of nature—not trying to change it but to meld with it.” She smiles. “It would be safe. We wouldn’t ever have to worry again.”
It’s silent in the room when she’s done. Down the hall we hear Elias throw open the door, a clanking of metal as he drags in supplies for his steering contraption. My sister and I glance at each other, dreams of possibilities still floating in the air around us.
She pulls the lantern closer to her lap and picks up where she left off, focusing on her hands guiding the needle in and out, in and out. Everything about this moment feels so content, so right.
“I think they’re ready across the river,” Catcher says. We’re standing on the roof in the darkness before sunrise, the clear air frozen around us. Catcher came back from the Dark City a little while ago after helping the remaining survivors put together the necessary materials. He stands beside me, gripping my hand as Elias buzzes around a crudely constructed box he built from wood from the walls of one of the abandoned flats. It’s open on the top, a thin metal cauldron in the center to hold the fire and bags of fat-soaked wood strung around the sides.
It’s tiny—we’ll have to squeeze together inside—but it looks sturdy enough. Lying next to it is a simple-looking propeller attached to a hand crank that can be shifted to any side of the box to steer us.
My sister flutters around attaching thickly braided ropes reinforced with wires to the box and making sure they’re secured to the fabric of the balloon, which is folded at the edge of the roof.
Once we start the fire and direct the smoke into the balloon there’s no turning back. If the Recruiters see us before we can get it inflated enough, we’re in trouble.
I stand by the wall around the roof with Catcher, watching the Sanctuary below to make sure no one sees us. It’s frigid outside and I lean against his body for warmth as he goes over the last-minute details.
“The survivors I found were able to pull everything together pretty quickly. They’ll be looking for the signal just before first light. There’s also a group of Soulers at the other end of the Sanctuary—they’ve been working on one too. It’s going to be harder for them: I’ve been smuggling supplies to the shore but they said the Recruiters might have found them and confiscated everything.”
I press my lips together, rocking back and forth on my feet to keep the blood pumping through my body as dread boils in my stomach. “Is this going