Unplugged: The Beautiful World (#3, Unplugged Trilogy)

Chapter Twenty Nine

"Hello?" Oscar calls. An old woman peers over the top box, eyes wide, her hands gripping the lid. I notice a red wristband on her arm. A red wristband! The woman moves to run when she sees the military jeep behind us, but I'm quick to call out.
"No! Wait!" She pauses, and the rest of her plump, wrinkled body is revealed. She wears something that looks like a cross between a worn potato sack and a pillowcase. I slowly approach her, hands held outwards cautiously. "We won't hurt you. Are you part of the Resistance?" The woman stares at me warily, then glances back to observe Oscar, Matthew, Leah, Becca, and a very disgruntled Jackson. She must deduce that our ragged appearances don't match up with those of her enemies because she slowly starts to relax.
"You shouldn't have come here," she whispers. Her voice rings out much stronger than I'd assumed it would, and her gleaming eyes scan over Jackson's poorly-concealed injury. "But I see that you've been through an ordeal. I am willing to lead you to my home for the night. You'll need the rest."
Before I can reply with eager gratitude, the woman starts to head off. Oscar gathers Leah and Becca from the truck and Matthew picks up the bags of supplies. I follow her quickly, not wanting to be left behind by the aged rebel. So far, she's our only lead to a resistance and possibly our only chance of surviving in this foreign city. We can't take the opportunity for granted.
Before long, my friends' footsteps echo off of the buildings behind me and we increase our paces to a steady jog. The woman leads me down a few more streets then stops in front of a shabby, lopsided little door that hangs off of its hinges. She twists the knob and ushers us inside. I can hear it lock behind us as I observe the woman's humble home. I stand in a cozy little living room containing a couch and table. A small, old television rests in a cobwebbed corner. Beyond this room is the kitchen and a hallway that leads to more bedrooms.
"Sit," the woman invites, switching on a lamp. Up close, I can see her face more clearly. Small, squinty eyes lie over a stubby nose and lanky gray hair hangs over her ears and forehead in uneven strands. I sit on the fluffy couch next to Becca and Leah. Oscar, Matthew, and Jackson claim what little sitting room there is on the carpet. The plump woman sits down on a cushioned rocking chair in the corner nearest the door. A musty smell travels across the room, propelled by a sudden draft of dust-filled air.
"What's your name?" I ask. The woman smiles mirthlessly without opening her mouth.
"Lucinda. But I'm Lucy to my friends."
"Thank you for providing us with safety, Lucy. We've just arrived from New York."
"New York, eh?" Lucy shakes her head. "Ya should have stayed."
"Why?" Leah asks, taming her dark hair with her hands.
"Because there aren't any labor camps there."
"Do you know anything about them?" I ask insistently. Lucy grimaces, revealing a few missing teeth. The ones that remain look due for a good brushing.
Not that I'm in any place to make judgements on hygiene.
"I've better. I'd been stuck in one for a year." I stare at the squat old woman, momentarily shocked into silence.
"You... You escaped that place?"
"It wasn't an easy feat." She sighs and situates herself on the rocking chair. "I lived a humble life for the longest time, sewing clothes and other linens from the protection of my home. When RScreens became the new 'big thing', I opted not to pursue that trend, convinced that it would bring me no lasting benefits or satisfactions. One day, as I was just settling down for bed, my door crashed in. Next thing I knew, I was being shuttled off to the camp with numerous other strangers. Children, men, women, the elderly... It was utterly terrifying." I glance out the window, where the sky starts to grow dark with the setting sun. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs as I think about Lucy, being dragged out of her home without warning and sent to a horrid prison.
"What happened at the camp?" Becca asks, lips trembling. A pain pierces my heart when I think about how scared the young girl must be.
"Many things I wish not to name for decency. But people were tortured. Starved. Beaten. Tortured. Forced to work impossible hours at jobs they had no proficiency for. I suppose the only reason I survived was because of my sewing skills. They put me to work, mind you. Sewing bedspreads, pillowcases, and clothes for the prisoners ... I worked day and night."
"The guards had no respect for prisoners. They treated all of us the same: like animals. Like money-makers. I've never quite been the same since leaving that place. Never again did I feel that... that hope that pushed me to work my best. Sewing was no longer a passion, but an activity meant to postpone my demise." Lucy shakes her head and wipes her eyes on a sleeve.
"How did you manage to escape?" Matthew asks softly. I remember the guards and fences that completely surrounded the building, then the old man whom we rescued. I hope he made it to safety.
"One of the guards grew rather fond of my sewing abilities. He noticed that the clothes I sewed were able to fit almost all sizes. One day he let me outside, where I was stationed to hand out uniforms to newly-abducted prisoners. Two of the newcomers started fighting, gaining the interest of the nearby guards. I used their misguided attention as an opportunity to escape. That day, I felt like the luckiest person in the world."
"What happened after you escaped?" Oscar asks before I can draw another breath. "I mean, did they send someone out to hunt you down?"
"Oh, I'm sure of it. But before long, I was hailed by a man in the street. He wore rags, so I figured I could trust him. Eventually, he led me to a closed-off underpass where a local rebel group was forming. I spent many weeks in their company." Lucy fingers her wristband, a reminiscent gleam in her dark eyes. "They put my weaving skills to work, and I was quite content helping out the cause as best as I could. But after a while, the group's secrecy bothered me too much to ignore. I knew I was growing old and knew I no longer possessed the courage or energy to stick my neck out. I had to face the fact that I would only hold back the rebellion."
"So you moved back into your own home," I mutter. Lucy nods and starts rocking softly in her chair.
"I still communicate with the rebels on occasion, help them out if I can. But I've always been an independent soul. Maybe that's not the best thing to be right now." She chuckles darkly, and I glance at the cracked front door. I'm suddenly reminded of my grandmother and her insistence to do things her own way. I gulp down the emotions that start to mix in my throat.
"Maybe that is the best thing to be," I whisper. Lucy shrugs.
"Do you know if these camps are only in Philly?" Oscar asks.
"Philly?" Lucy asks, confused. Oscar shakes his head and mutters, "Old world slang."
"What he means," Leah interrupts, shooting Oscar an annoyed glare, "is that these camps can't possibly be specific to this city."
"I wouldn't be able to answer that question," Lucy says. "I'd assumed that they would be present in New York if they were present here, but seeing as they aren't..."
"New York is completely destroyed," Becca whispers, her voice hoarse. "Didn't you know that?" Lucy looks abashed for a moment, then shrugs.
"I had no clue, but I suppose it was only a matter of time. I was wondering why you all fled here." I clear my throat and start to speak up.
"Actually, we were wondering if--" Roaring knocks fall upon the front door, then a masculine voice calls out through the decaying wood.
"You have five seconds to turn yourself in or be taken away!" Lucy stands and holds a hand to her breast, eyes wide.
"Hide!" She hisses. My heart plummets. "There's a hidden room in the right wall of the third bedroom!"
    In a flurry of motion, Lucy, Oscar, Leah, Jackson, Becca, Matthew, and I sprint into the back room as fast as our weary bodies allow. When I cross the threshold, Lucy already holds open a slab of plaster that's used to block a hole in the wall. We all pile inside the tight space, which smells of mildew and plaster. As soon as the hole is closed up, I hear the front door fly open.
"Search the bedrooms," the manly voice demands. "I got the kitchen and living room." I hear the sounds of upturned furniture, as well as the close, panicked breathing of someone behind me.
"Are you sure that was Enna Price?" Another guard asks in a timid voice.
"Like I said, I can't be sure! The cameras shut off as soon as she moved to attack the guards. I still can't figure out what happened, for the life of me!" The first man's voice sounds much closer to us now. He must be searching our room. Everyone behind me holds their breath for what feels like an entire minute. My lungs burn up until the moment when I hear the man treading out of our room. I greedily suck in air from the small space.
"I think we're okay," Lucy whispers, so quiet that her voice might be the breeze. "Just hold on a little bit more." I listen in agonizing anticipation, just waiting for a guard to discover our hiding place. But, luckily, that moment never comes.
"Not here, as I expected," the second guard mutters. His voice is far away. "Maybe we should check--" The front door of the apartment closes behind him before I can hear the rest of his sentence. We all wait a few tentative minutes before piling back into the bedroom. Becca wipes tears from her eyes. Lucy looks upwards and utters a silent, thankful sentiment.
"You okay?" Matthew asks, helping me to my feet. I nod slowly, trying to catch my breath.
"Yeah..."
    Lucy leads us through the hallway, back into the living room. Each open doorway offers a glimpse of destruction. Overturned tables, ripped blankets, and smashed light bulbs greet me at every possible turn. Anger piles into my stomach. It wasn't enough for the guards to break into someone's home: they had to make sure it was damaged in the process.
"I built that hideout when I first moved back into my home," Lucy says once we enter the living room again. "Looks like that was a smart move." We all nod our agreement, grimly silent.
"Thank you for protecting us," Leah says, wide eyes full of leftover fear. She grasps Oscar's hand unashamedly.
"Yes," I agree. "We've had quite an interesting first day of travel..."
"Quite?" Jackson spits. "Well that's a freaking understatement!" My stomach drops, taken aback by the sudden jab. I hadn't paid Jackson any attention since the guards appeared at Lucy's home, but now I notice how his face is bright red with fury. I stitch my brow.
"What are you talking about?"
"Are you kidding me?" He counters, balling his hands into fists. "I didn't sign up for this! Getting shot and nearly being imprisoned by maniacs?"
"You signed up for it when you volunteered to come along," I answer as calmly as I can.
"No, I didn't!" He narrows his eyes and points an accusatory finger at me. "It's your fault. All of this is your fault! It's not fair that we should be subject to hardships just because they want you so much! How selfish is that?"
    "Shut the hell up," Matthew growls, taking a step forward.
    My breaths come in jagged gasps and Jackson's words boil in my chest, feeding the uncertainty and guilt that's been building up within me since I first escaped my Graduation Ceremony. It suddenly spills over the surface, searing every inch of my being.
"Then leave," I hiss. My voice doesn't quite sound like my own.
"What?" Jackson chuckles, both incredulous and defiant. "Excuse me?"
"I said, LEAVE!" Losing all inhibitions, I lunge at him and raise a fist to strike. Leah and Oscar catch me at the last second. I groan and fight against them, but their combined strength overpowers my own. I stop struggling after a few minutes, confused and ashamed. Jackson glares at me. Then he tears out his Jewels and exits the apartment, slamming the door behind him. Dust rains down upon the welcome mat in a brown cloud, and we all stare after him in fearful shock.
"Someone, go get him!" Oscar starts towards the door, but Matthew stops him with a sharp look.
"No way. It would only draw too much attention to us. We've got to remain hidden."
"But what if he leads them straight to us? What then?"
"Then I'll wring his neck!" Leah hisses, letting my arms fall. I stand listlessly, staring at the mangy carpet underfoot. What's wrong with me?
"Let the boy blow off some steam," Lucy grunts, settling down heavily into her rocking chair. "I expect the long hours made him loopy." Becca yawns and rubs her eyes, exhausted despite the recent excitement.
"We should get Becca to bed," Leah points out. "Actually, I think we all need to rest."
"Do you mind if we stay the night?" Oscar asks Lucy politely. "We promise we'll be out of your hair by tomorrow." Lucy's eyes light up kindly.
"Certainly. What kind of person would I be if I turned away some friends in their hour of need? I'll keep watch right here. Take all of the bedrooms. Mind you, there may not be any whole blankets left."
"We brought sleeping bags," Oscar points out, indicating the pile of knapsacks on the ground. "Thank you very much."
    After we each collect our own sleeping bag, with one left over for Jackson, we disperse to the bedrooms at the back of the small house. Leah and Oscar take the farthest one, Becca takes the nearest, and I enter the room in the middle of the hall, Matthew just on my heels. We carefully lay out our blankets on top of the ravaged bed. A small window lets in muted evening light, casting everything in a blue tint.
"I can hardly walk," Matthew grunts, falling heavily onto the mattress. I climb up beside him silently, staring up at the rafters that crisscross the ceiling. A nauseous feeling constricts my throat, and I know innately that I won't be sleeping anytime soon. The look of utter hate in Jackson's face seems to be imprinted on my retinas. How could he have left us, just like that, with no supplies or any means of communication? And how could I have lost it like that? Am I really that bad of a leader? My lungs compress heavily, sending out an involuntary sigh. Matthew sits up and studies me, golden eyes scanning over my face.
"I know what you're going to ask," I mutter, shaking my head. "And I don't know. I don't know what I did to those guards, okay?" Matthew's eyebrows stitch together, and a lone muscle twitches somewhere in his jaw.
    Finally, he says, "That's not what I was going to ask."
    I know he's lying. I hate the way he looks at me now; carefully, as if I might go on a rampage at any moment. As if I might break. All at once, I start feeling the beginning signs of crying: constricted throat, itchy eyes, runny nose. The harder I try to suppress my fear and confusion, the more it builds up inside to form a painful lump. A tear slips out from the corner of my eye, and I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. It doesn't help.
"It's okay. Everything's going to work out," Matthew mutters gently. He's trying to comfort me, even though I know he doesn't believe the sentiment himself. The reassurance is useless without conviction.
"No, it won't," I reply, my voice croaky from trying to hold in my emotions. The bed under me suddenly grows harder, too uncomfortable. "I-I never asked for any of this, Matthew. I don't understand what's happening to me..." Suddenly, my voice breaks along with the resolve to hold everything in. A broken sob bursts from my lips.
    I don't care. I don't care that I'm crying. I don't care that we're hiding out in an old woman's messy bedroom. I don't care that Matthew's looking at me in that strange way, like he knows something I don't.
"I've been trying to do the right thing, and I figured that maybe I would finally feel some form of peace or stability, but..." I sob again and press a hand to my forehead. "I feel so much anger and confusion. All the time. People are counting on me to lead them and I can't help but feel that I'm doing something wrong." The words tumble out of my mouth chaotically, like an avalanche. I press fingers into my eyes to keep the tears at bay, sniffing. Matthew silently shifts on the bed beside me. I swallow and chuckle darkly.
"I can't help but think that maybe everyone was right. Maybe, I should have been plugged in. Maybe I shouldn't have listened to my mother. Maybe--" I pause in the middle of my sentence, wondering whether it would be wise to continue. But then, I realize that Matthew needs to know the truth about how I really feel. Now seems like the best time to come clean. I take a deep breath. "Maybe I want it to be over. Everything. For good."
I bite my lip and a thick, tangible silence engulfs the entire room. I force myself to stare straight at the ceiling, unblinking. My hearts pounds against my ribs, as if fighting to escape my chest.
    Matthew gingerly rests a hand against the side of my face and slowly tilts my head so I have to face him. His eyes glow softly under the blue gleam of evening, with tears or with light, I can't tell. I swallow and bite my lip again.
"I know you don't mean that," he whispers. I find myself staring straight into his eyes, trying to glimpse the soul I once believed in so strongly. I don't recognize what I find there. But at this point, I don't know if it's me or him that's changed too much. I slowly sit up, head spinning.
"I don't know what I mean anymore. It's not like I don't enjoy being with you, because I do. I really do. The problem is that--" Matthew suddenly kisses me. It catches me so much by surprise that I cry out softly, eyes wide. But then the shock turns to pleasure, and I let my eyes close. I let my hands rest on his shoulders. I let comfort replace worry, warmth replace coolness. Before I become too sucked into the gesture, I force myself to pull away.
"Matthew," I breathe, just because I want to say his name. He smiles a little. He must have sensed the brief wanting in my gaze, the small moment of weakness.
"I'm aware that it's hard to have hope when everything's going to hell," he whispers. I rest my forehead on his shoulder and he folds his arms around my back, gathering me against him. "But distancing yourself from the people who love you won't make anything more bearable. Leah and Oscar and me: we're not going anywhere. You know that, right?"
"I want you more than anything," I admit breathlessly, gasping in the scent of his soft skin while I can. I hear him sigh, as quiet as a gust of wind. "But what if that's selfish? I think about my mom, and Ariel, and Josh, and all of the people in those prison camps... Do you have any idea how ruined I'd be if something happened to you, too?"
"I told you, nothing's going to happen to me," he says softly, running a hand through my hair. Matthew sighs again, the whisper of his breath tickling my neck.
"All that Fake Enna really wants is me," I say carefully. "Maybe, if I turn myself in--"
"That's not going to happen," he interrupts, his low voice reverberating around the small room. He pulls back just far enough that we see eye to eye. His gaze is insistent and almost... hungry.
"Why not?"
"Because I'll never let you go." He laughs shakily and nods, as if confirming something inside himself. "I love you more than anything, Enna."
I crumble.
I lift my hands to Matthew's face and pull his lips to mine, figuring that I'm forever entranced by him; that, no matter what happens, I'll never be able to walk away. I still don't know if I love him in the way that I want to. But now, with his body pressed against mine, I can at least convince myself that I do.    
    Everything takes on a blurry form, like I'm looking through a dense lens of water colors. Matthew kisses my cheek, and my hands travel down his sides. After a brief moment of hesitation, he yanks his t-shirt over his head and casts it to the floor, swiftly removing one of the many barriers between us. I pause for a millisecond and greedily stare at his bare skin, bruised and broken with scattered scratches.
Beautiful.
I rest my arms on his shoulders and kiss him again, this time more insistently. His muscles ripple under my fingers, and I find myself smiling against his lips as an airy laugh escapes my throat.
    For the first time in months I start to feel like the naïve girl in the tree again, excited and scared. Wthout a care in the world. Matthew holds my hips with hesitant hands, gathering the waistline of my shirt in his fists. A thrill shoots down my spine, and a breath catches in my throat.
"Until we save the world, remember?" I whisper, exerting impossible self-control. I feel Matthew nod, and he lets my shirt fall, raising his hands instead to the small of my back.
At peace, I rest my head against his sternum. The pulsing of his heart overtakes me in waves and I hold him as close to me as I possibly can, hoping that proximity will somehow make up for lost time. We breathe in unison. I close my eyes.
Yes, I've discovered that I have strange new powers.
Yes, my entire family is dead.
Yes, I will have to fight against my evil clone until one of us eventually faces our demise.
But all of those things belong in the future; they have yet to occur. My problem, I realize, is that I look too far ahead, missing the precious beauty in every present moment. I can't worry about what's to come, because then I'll miss right now. I'll miss his kiss, his heartbeat, his smile...
"We're gonna be okay," Matthew breathes, running a soft hand through my hair.
"I know," I whisper. I try to believe it.