Linked

Twenty-Two : No

We walk for hours, pushing through bracken as gently as possible, until I feel like I'm going to collapse. My thighs burn, my palm slick with sweat against Corin's. Two days ago I would have cared enough to let go and wipe my hands off on my trousers, but not anymore. Corin and I cling to each other as though sewn together, sharing strength. He looks exhausted, too, a permanent wince clouding his eyes, beanie pulled over his ears, breath coming in rapid huffs. 

We're hungry but too paranoid to stop and snack, grubby but too tired to care, thirsty but almost out of water. It's uphill all the way. Thank goodness I'm physically fit. I was an obedient citizen and always fulfilled my exercise quota and complied with my calorie tracker when it said I'd eaten enough. Had I not, and flouted the rules like it seems others have been doing, this would have been ten times harder. I'm a walking example of why our rules are so important. This is proof that everything my father enforces is for our own good. Is running away really worth it? I had an amazing life in the House, with Mrs. Plum to bring me hot meals and run my baths, Cee to make sure I was in the car to get to school on time. And, if Frenchwood could have finished her procedure, I would have grown up to take over as President Benna Denman and spent the rest of my days in comfort and luxury. Being President can't be that bad. My father seems to enjoy it, despite the constant yelling... which to be fair, was aggravated by my mother's disappearance.

A pine branch slaps me across the face, leaving dew splattered across my cheeks. I leave it, it's refreshing. Who am I kidding? I'm almost certain Dr. Frenchwood cannot cure me - nor do I want to be cured, to give up what Corin and I share. And even if I did, the stigma of once being a linker would put an end to any comfort or luxury. The fact that my father sent me off, alone, to see Frenchwood without so much as a goodbye or good-luck tells me I would be designated as a captive to the "safe facility" with the rest of them. My future is not as certain as it once was. My only hope of freedom now is to find my mother, and the refuge.

When my throat is too dry and sore to swallow properly, and my hands are trembling, Corin and I finally decide we've travelled far enough to take a break. The hum of the copter is long gone, veered off back towards the city. There's no sound but the hoot of a nearby owl and the spooky hush of wind rushing through leaves as we bed down for the night at the base of a gnarled tree.

One of the perks of being a linker, is that you can talk with your mouth full. We zip ourselves into the sleeping bag and sit with our backs propped against the tree, slurping persimmon flesh and chewing chocolate protein bars. I could fall asleep sitting upright, but it seems Corin has other ideas.

This whole escapade has been a disaster. I'm sorry for dragging you along.

Corin's train of thought surprises me. He sounds utterly miserable. It's completely unlike him.

"Pretty sure I wasn't dragged along," I reply into his head. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

Just the fact that I suck at all this... manly, adventuring stuff. I'm supposed to be looking after you.

"You've done okay so far. I'd give you maybe a seven out of ten." I nudge his arm, nestled beside mine. "Points deducted for forgetting the map." I thought my joke would lighten the mood. It doesn't.

All I seem to be good for is getting injured and holding us back.

I chew on my protein bar, contemplating this. Technically, it was his own decision to get in the ice cold, winter ocean. And his own decision to wallop a cougar with a stick. However... reluctantly, I must admit that it was my decision to get off the boat and explore the Trifecta. And my decision to attempt to befriend the cougar's cub (in my defence, it was exceptionally cute). So, I've got to shoulder at least some of the blame. Before I can express this to Corin, he mumbles aloud, "Benna, do you wish that I were Jesse?"