The Watch (The Red Series Book 1) Page 5

  “Inside pocket,” he muttered. “On your right.”

  Shielded by his body I reached into his jacket and found the pocket, and was rewarded with a good handful of peeled walnuts. I shoved a couple in my mouth and tucked the others into my own pocket, along with Cynda’s comb, just managing not to fall off the bumper in the process. Throughout the whole operation Farrell Dean kept one hand on my left arm and the other braced on the tailgate, both in plain sight of the other mechanics.

  “Thank you,” I managed, mouth full. We weren’t supposed to give other people our food, and we weren’t supposed to carry food out of the cafeteria.

  “You’re welcome. Wouldn’t want your tapeworm to starve.”

  Either Farrell Dean had a slower metabolism than most people, or he had a secret food supply, because he often slipped me bits and pieces. It was one of the things I liked best about him.

  “Here’s your stop,” he said, letting go of my arm. “I’ll be at your field this afternoon. One of the tractors has a bad ignition.”

  I dropped off the tailgate, stumbling but managing not to fall, and waved to Farrell Dean as the truck moved away.

  This afternoon.

  Until then, I’d have to wonder what had happened to land Meritt in isolation.

  At least Meritt wasn’t in prison, I thought, putting another lovely walnut in my mouth; but the comfort in that thought was fleeting.

  Meritt wasn’t in prison; but Rafe was.

  Chapter 6

  Under any other circumstances, I’d have thoroughly enjoyed that autumn day in the strawberry fields. In the agricultural fields the cameras were mounted high on poles, and had no microphones. That alone was always enough to make me glad I was an outdoor worker. And that day, outdoors was beautiful. The clouds had vanished and the sun, striking the wet dark furrows, raised up dancing curtains of mist. The air, sweetened by the night’s rain, smelled fresh and hopeful, and as the morning wore on the sky turned a brilliant blue, so clear and cheerful I could almost believe winter would never come.

  But despite the beautiful morning, I couldn’t stop worrying. I found myself watching for the scarred warden’s patrol car by mid-morning, and by the time the sun was almost overhead, I was a nervous wreck.

  If I were just spreading straw like the rest of the field workers, being a wreck wouldn’t have interfered particularly with my work. But the previous fall, after Mark lost his hand in a combine accident—he didn’t let go of a corn stalk fast enough, and the roller that husks the corn grabbed his glove and yanked his hand in—they put me in charge, which meant I had the unenviable task of taking orders from my supervising farmer and trying to make the field workers carry them out. It was impossible, which was why I got stuck with it. Everyone older had some sort of pull with a warden or two, I supposed.

  So there I was, trying not to worry about Rafe or think about whatever lunch plans the scarred warden had for me, while at the same time trying to get my field workers to do more than lean on their rakes and whine. Felix and Billy kept bickering, Skye coughed like she was trying to bring up a lung, and blustery red-faced Garry, who didn’t want to be field supervisor himself but who also didn’t want to take orders from “some kid,” kept haranguing her about spreading germs until she was in tears. Everyone else worked slowly until I turned my back, at which point they stopped for a water break, or to tie a shoe, or to whisper among themselves.

  It was worse even than usual, and that was saying something. Maybe they were worried about the mysterious impending city meeting; or maybe, because I’d come so close to being late, they’d thought I wasn’t coming at all, in which case they’d have napped on the straw bales until the farmer came by. I didn’t really know what was wrong with them. But I did know that at this rate I was going to get chewed out by my farmer—a man I actually liked, but whose unyielding standards worried me, caught in the middle as I was.

  Worse, we were never going to get the strawberries covered before the first frost, which meant a poor crop next season. And nobody but me seemed to care; nobody but me seemed to see the connection between working now, and eating later. Even Ezzie was only poking half-heartedly at the straw, singing softly to himself. He was another friend of Meritt’s, so he usually took pity on me and helped me get at least some of the work done.

  As I watched he stopped raking altogether, rubbing his neck and turning it this way and that.

  “Pulled a muscle last night,” he said conversationally. “Think I’d better take a little break.”

  I waved a hand, as if granting permission he hadn’t requested, and turned to Skye, who was still coughing. She always coughed, and the dust from the straw was making her worse.

  “You’d better go to the infirmary,” I said.

  Skye shook her head, too choked up to speak. Her eyes were watering and red-rimmed.

  “She can’t,” Billy said, sounding smug. He didn’t like Skye. “She’s used up her quota for the year.”

  “Then go back to the storage shed and oil down the tools,” I told her. “At least then you’ll be out of this dust.”

  Garry threw down his rake. “That’s not fair,” he said, his red face turning redder. “The rest of us have to breathe it.”

  “Hey,” Felix said. “What’s he doing here?”

  We all turned to look, and my heart stuttered with dread.

  A patrol car was coming towards us, creeping slowly down the road like a predator stalking prey. Sunlight glinted off its shiny black metal. The patrol car’s windows were tinted dark, but I knew who was inside.

  My black cap was in my pocket but it wouldn’t do any good, not now. He’d no doubt already seen me, and when he told me to get in the car, I’d have to do it. I couldn’t run—there was no place to hide—and even if I did, Garry or Felix would be happy to grab me and win a few goodwill points with the warden.

  The patrol car pulled up even with us and slowed to a stop. Through the dark glass I felt eyes fixed on me, and my back grew prickly with nervous sweat.

  “Well, wonders never cease,” Ezzie said, in a tone of pleased surprise. “Lunch is early today.”

  Sure enough, farther down the road a boxy white cafeteria truck was trundling along. It stalled once, started up again, and finally pulled to a stop behind the patrol car, keeping a respectful distance. After a moment two workers got out and began opening the serving flap.

  My team shifted, their indecision palpable; normally they’d all be rushing to get in line first, before supplies ran out, but the lurking menace of the patrol car kept them standing in place. The cafeteria truck’s driver door opened and an older woman—Marta—got out. She turned to look at the patrol car, probably wondering whether it was all right to serve lunch.

  And then the patrol car moved. It crawled forward a few feet, paused, then continued on, rolling past me and my group of workers, gathering speed as it left the fields and headed toward the denser city streets.

  Relief made me almost lightheaded.

  “Thought they were coming for you, didn’t you?” Garry said, eyeing me. “What’ve you done this time?”

  He didn’t give me a chance to answer, even if I’d known what to say. He was already hurrying forward, elbowing people out of the way so he could be first in line.

  Slowly, I followed, taking my usual place at the end, the rush of relief already dissipating. I was being watched; and if the scarred warden was determined to get hold of me, in time he would succeed.

  * * * *

  Farrell Dean showed up just as I collected my lunch. Without speaking, he nodded toward the nearest tractor shed, and I headed over there, knowing he’d get his lunch and happen to wander my way as soon as he could do it casually.

  Behind the tractor shed wasn’t perfect. Someone could come around the corner at any moment and sit down with us, and in the distance I could see the farm workers for Area B harvesting butternut squash and pumpkins, gradually working my direction. But it was more inconspicuous than sitting on the edge of the
straw trailer or trying to position ourselves between the clumps of folks scattered here and there in the field. It would also make it a little harder for the scarred warden to spot me, if he came back.

  Farrell Dean came around the corner carrying his tray. He sat down in the thin line of shade behind the tractor shed, leaning against the rusted corrugated metal, and reached up to take my tray and set it down for me. I held my sandwich and stood a little away from him, in the sun. I didn’t want to leave the warm sunshine, not with the gray days almost upon us.

  “Meritt wasn’t back by curfew,” Farrell Dean said without preface, opening his sandwich and examining the small piece of meat inside. “So when the dorm father came in to do a bed check, Cline and I jumped him. Thought maybe we could confuse him enough that he wouldn’t notice Meritt was missing.”

  It wasn’t like they’d jumped an old man. The dorm father in E-1 was barely older than boys under him, was easy-going by nature, and had the tricky job of corralling the same boys he’d played with in school.

  Farrell Dean looked up at me and smiled. “When the father started hollering Joe hollered back at him, and then someone jumped Joe and someone else jumped the father and we had a free-for-all going in a matter of seconds. Cline got his nose busted—it’s swollen up like an eggplant, and about the same color—and Ezzie got caught in a headlock that just about decapitated him, and then some of us rushed the door and the father slammed his own hand in the door trying to keep us inside. Broke two fingers.”

  Farrell Dean looked a little too cheery as he described his perspective on the night’s events. I kicked at him, half meaning it, and he caught my ankle and nearly brought me down on top of him.

  “Meritt had made it back to the courtyard by then,” he went on, as if I hadn’t almost crushed his lunch. “So he waded in with the rest of the guys and started swinging. Just in time, too, because that’s when the wardens got there. They separated everybody and marched us all back inside, and the father randomly stuck some of us in isolation. He never realized Meritt had been gone.”

  I slid down onto the hard-packed dirt beside him, set my tray on my lap and, after a moment’s reflection, scooted until we were shoulder to shoulder as a gesture of solidarity. I wasn’t the only one who’d kept Meritt out of prison the night before.

  We ate a few bites in silence, and then I spoke. “Meritt and I went down through the south quarter last night. We were supposed to meet Instructor Rafe at the southwest gap.”

  Beside me Farrell Dean stiffened. “Supposed to?”

  I told him what had happened, what I’d seen, but I stopped before my arrest, and I also left out the part where the female warden kissed Meritt—Farrell Dean would think the same thing I did, and then I’d have to argue against it, and it wasn’t an image I wanted to hash over with him or anyone else.

  When I finished, Farrell Dean shook his head. “Not good,” he said. “Meritt—” He stopped.

  “What?”

  Farrell Dean was already thinking about something else. He scanned my face, no doubt noticing the dark circles under my eyes.

  “After you saw Rafe get arrested, did you go straight home?”

  Leave it to him—he’d phrased the question in a way that gave me no way out, unless I told a bare-faced lie.

  “More or less,” I said.

  “Tell me more about the less part.”

  So I did, more or less. I left out the part about not being in the birth records—Farrell Dean was nice to me and I didn’t want to give him any reason to ponder my freakiness. I also left out the scarred warden’s threat or offer or whatever it was.

  Farrell Dean listened to everything without asking any questions, and then turned away to set his tray on the ground. When he turned back around, his jaw was set.

  “Meritt’s going to be furious with you,” he said. “I’m furious with you. I’m furious with Meritt, come to that. You shouldn’t have been out there at all, much less turning yourself in to protect him.”

  I managed a shrug and took a bite of coleslaw.

  “No, listen to me, Red.” Farrell Dean took my chin in his hand and turned my face toward him. His fingers were warm but his eyes were cold and utterly serious. He’d never looked at me like that before. “This is not a game.” His voice was hard.

  I jerked my chin away. “I know it’s not. I’m the one who saw Rafe get taken, remember? I’m the one who got arrested.”

  “Yeah, well, you don’t know everything.” He turned away from me and grabbed his sandwich. “Meritt treats you like a pet, takes you along for company or whatever, but he doesn’t tell you everything. He’s going to get you killed, fooling around like that.”

  I rolled my eyes, but his words stung. “How do you know what Meritt does or doesn’t tell me?” I said.

  He shrugged and stabbed at his coleslaw with his fork.

  I was getting angry now, too angry to sit still. Like a pet? I slammed my tray on the ground and got to my feet.

  “Exactly what deep dark secrets does Meritt tell you and not me?” I asked, making sure he heard the sarcasm in my voice.

  “I don’t care about Meritt’s secrets,” Farrell Dean said evenly. “Except when they’re endangering somebody else.”

  I stared at him a moment. “You’re bluffing,” I said. “You don’t know anything I don’t know.”

  Farrell Dean shrugged again and took a bite of sandwich.

  I gave his boot a little kick. He ignored me, so I kicked him again, a little harder, this time on his leg. “Tell me.” I’d lost a bit of self-assurance, and he could probably tell.

  Farrell Dean chewed deliberately, swallowed. “I don’t know anything you need to know,” he said, and then took another bite.

  But anything about Meritt was something I needed to know. All things Meritt were my concern, had been since I was little and got partnered with him at school. He could have confined himself to tutoring me in math, tolerating his chore, but he didn’t. He liked me and he showed it—Meritt, respected by everyone, never mocked, never left out. He was the first person anywhere remotely close to my age who was willing to be my friend, and I was his friend too—I listened to his musings, his arguments, his jokes. I broke the rules and crept out at night because he asked me to, because we wanted to be together. It wasn’t one-sided. I certainly wasn’t his pet.

  “You’re being a hypocrite,” I said. “You don’t have any right to criticize Meritt if you’re keeping secrets, too. You’re just like him.”

  Farrell Dean stopped eating and looked at me. “I am not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “Here’s one big difference, Red: I don’t lure you into dangerous situations.”

  “Nobody lures me anywhere,” I said. “I do as I please. I’m not a child, you know.”

  Farrell Dean studied me, a faintly ironic expression crossing his face. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

  He set his sandwich down and got to his feet, glancing as he did so at the B workers, closer now—not yet close enough to hear us, but close enough to see we were back here alone.

  Farrell Dean wasn’t as tall as Meritt but he was still nearly a foot taller than me, and when he took me by the shoulders and backed me against the wall, I could see nothing but him. “Let go,” I said, shrugging off his hands.

  “If you want me to talk to you, be still and listen,” he said. He was showing the B workers what they expected to see, what they’d automatically ignore. We weren’t supposed to indulge our personal preferences until we were past the breeding years and safely sterilized, but except for the wardens, most adults were willing to overlook a little handholding and so forth until we hit nineteen and got assigned. After that any unauthorized affection was a serious offense.

  Farrell Dean put his hands on the wall behind me, one on either side of my head. He smelled like motor oil and sun, and was so close I could see the flecks of gold and green in his hazel eyes. “Why are we scarcely making it?” he said, speaking quietly and swiftly
. “Why are you barefoot and practically starving?”

  One of his hands dropped to my ribs, and I knew he could feel every one.

  “I’ve been all over the city,” he said. “I’ve made repairs in every area—agriculture, industry, medicine, food preservation, everywhere. And everywhere we’re falling behind.”

  I was underwhelmed. “So we need to route a few more people into mechanics,” I said, moving away from his hand, tipping my head back to put a little more distance between our faces. My hair snagged in a bolt on the metal wall behind me and two or three hairs came loose as I jerked my head, but enough stayed caught to imprison me.

  “Here.” Farrell Dean nudged my chin, turning me so he could get to the problem. “I don’t mean the mechanics are behind. Everyone is.”

  “We always manage somehow.”

  “Yeah, but this year the storehouses are low,” he said, and finished freeing me. “Lower than I’ve ever seen them.”

  That pulled me up short. It was late October—our stores should be at their peak. Of course, our fields hadn’t had a great year. Spring had come late, and when it did come it was wet and cool.

  Turning to face him, I searched his eyes, but I already knew he wasn’t teasing; Farrell Dean wouldn’t joke about this. A shiver ran through me as I imagined my usual hunger intensified.

  “The Watchers will know what to do,” I said.

  Farrell Dean shrugged and began picking with great focus at the hairs I’d yanked out on the rusty bolt. I watched him, knowing he was avoiding my eyes.

  “They’ll know,” I insisted. “The Watchers will do something.”

  “Maybe.” He freed two or three long red hairs and wound them around his finger, while I kept up a waiting silence.

  Finally he looked at me. “We’re running out of time,” he said. “And the Watchers aren’t making any suggestions. They’re not listening to suggestions, either. A dozen different people have tried to get in to see them, and not one has even gotten past the door.”

  “The Watchers never let anyone in to see them,” I said reasonably. “It’s the rules. Nobody sees the city commissioners.”