The Remnant. Laura Nolen Liddell

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СКАЧАТЬ from the countertop when a thick splat hits the side of my neck. I swat at it in confusion, and my fingers come away covered in icing.

       I’m glaring up at West, about to make sure Mom saw what happened, when I realize that he’s as shocked as I am. We turn to Mom, who’s suppressing a snort.

       I’m still trying to wrap my mind around the idea of my mom voluntarily creating a mess of any kind when West fires back.

       The glob catches half on her cheek and half in her hair, just below the ear.

       She gives a little snicker. “You’re asking for it, buddy.”

       Suddenly, West is covered in a thin stream of sticky red buttercream, straight from the piping tip. It’s simultaneously the strangest and the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Without thinking, I reach into his bowl and launch the contents at my mother, who spares maybe one second to glance at her ruined blouse before reaching for the flour.

       “Get down!” I shout, and we duck behind the bar together. The flour whispers by overhead, dusting us in a silent arc that ends on the floor far behind us, inches from the living room rug.

       She has missed! We nearly choke with giddy laughter.

       “We’re outta ammo,” I say, as soon as we catch our breath, and West nods seriously. “She’s got total access to the fridge, everything.”

       “But we have the pantry,” he says.

       “You sure about that?” our mother taunts us.

       “Cover me,” I say, and roll toward the pantry.

       I’m too slow. A blast of water catches me square in the back, and I’m completely soaked before I reach the door. I grab the first thing I can find, Cheerios, and rip open the bag in a frenzy. I toss it back to West, reserving a few handfuls for myself, and we begin pelting her in unison.

       Some of the water has caught the cake, and for a moment, I regret everything. It was such a beautiful cake.

       But then West goes flying over the top of the counter and jumps to land on the island, next to the cake.

       “West, no!” I scream, but it’s too late. He shoves a fist way down into the delicate icing and lobs his sugary grenade straight at Mom. I follow him, grabbing for the flour at the same time as her.

       The bag rips open, and the kitchen explodes into a feathery cloud of white.

       Thin wisps of flour rain down onto the brawl beneath for several seconds. We are all grabbing at the cake, gasping with laughter.

       Our mother is strong. Stronger than I expected, and I feel my face being shoved into the fractured remains of the lowest layer of cake. I’m powerless to stop it. My defeat is complete.

       West is next. He emerges from the forced faceplant covered in cake and wonder.

       She has won, she has won. There can be no question. We dissolve into helpless laughter, and the pain of the year lessens its vice around my heart, and the horror of my first stint in juvy shrinks and retreats into the darkest corner of my thoughts. For the moment, it is harmless. I breathe, finally. I smile even though I’m not laughing anymore. The sensation feels foreign.

       My arm is around my brother for the first time in far too long. My mother is holding us both. I find that my skinny legs can still fold in far enough so that I fit entirely on her lap, and I am warm. West and I regard each other from twin positions under her chin.

       No one speaks for a while, but my mother finally breaks the silence. “Things have been too tense around here lately. We had a rough year. I know that. But you’ll never stop being each other’s family. You can’t ever stop loving each other.” And she is squeezing us both, gently at first, and then more and more tightly, until it is too much, too tight, and I have to hold my breath, and still I do not try to stop her.

       Three

      The thing about war is that everyone knows where you stand. Lines are drawn; everybody picks a side, and boom. You’re fighting.

      Except that for me, things were more confusing than ever. That morning, the morning of my sentencing, the four walls of my cell pressed in harder than usual. I was a prisoner of the Remnant, but only because I’d traded my freedom for Eren’s by turning myself over to the Commander, with the bright idea that he then hand me over to the Remnant to get his son back.

      In my defense, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I’d needed to get back into the Remnant so I could find my brother, West, like I promised my father. Of course, I spent the next six weeks locked in a cell, and now, I was probably about to be executed. So my mission wasn’t exactly a rousing success so far.

      On the other hand, it’s not like I had anywhere better to be. Because of my illegal status on the ship and my ties to the Remnant, I was a fugitive from Central Command. And although I’d saved his son in the hostage exchange, I was pretty sure the High Commander still wanted me dead in all possible haste.

      I couldn’t judge him for that. The feeling was mutual.

      The silver lining was obvious: he’d have a heck of a time trying to kill me in here, and I doubted the Remnant would give him the satisfaction anyway. The Remnant controlled its sliver of a sector with an iron fist, guarding the dark space that separated Sector Seven from Central Command as though their lives depended on it.

      Which was absolutely the case.

      I made myself focus on the slow, even breathing of Helen, my cellmate, until the time passed more easily.

      Helen was a lifer, and over the course of several decades, prison had made her in its image. Convicted of one thing after another back on Earth, she’d had the criminal connections to find her way to the Remnant without the difficulty the rest of us had suffered. You’d think illicit organizations dedicated to saving the dregs of Earth would have higher standards, but no. The Remnant left the sorting of humanity to Central Command, which had dedicated itself to the task with an admirable fervor, which is how Command ended up with all the young, straight-and-narrow scientists and doctors.

      By contrast, if you were alive, the Remnant believed you should have a shot at survival. All you had to do was find them.

      Which is how the Remnant ended up with all the criminals.

      Suffice it to say, no one around cared how Helen had gotten here, let alone whether she’d done hard time. The Remnant were way past that line of thinking. They’d been willing to overlook every mistake she ever made in her life, right up until they found out that she was fencing meds from the sickbay. I suppose everyone has to draw the line somewhere.

      The dawn broke bright and cold, as though Adam, Isaiah’s pet computer prodigy, had designed it just for this occasion. I shook out my arms, imagining a thin film of dew clinging to the sheets. At least, I thought I’d imagined it. Erratic or СКАЧАТЬ