Hell Followed with Us(29)

Salvador says, “So you’re in it for revenge.”

Yes? Maybe. Distilled down to its most basic parts, yes, but the word feels too heavy. Revenge has lost its weight. Everyone wants someone to suffer for something. “Yeah, kind of.”

“So much anger packed into such a little body.” Salvador laughs. “How very trans boy of you. All right, intriguing, I like it. What do you want to know?”

“There’s this one guy,” I say. “Also trans, a little taller than me, shitty stick-and-poke tattoos. What’s his name—Carl? Clay? You know him, right?”

“With the bad haircut? That’s Calvin.” Xe eyes me. “Please tell me you don’t have a crush on him.”

“God, no. He’ll barely give me the time of day. What’s his problem?”

“If he’s just not talking to you, you’re getting off easy.” Xe watches the door as if Calvin could walk in any second, which he technically could. “He nearly beat the shit out of Aisha earlier, calling her a liar and bunch of other nasty stuff. He’s the worst. Like being a dick will make up for his lack of one.” I barely suppress a laugh. “Let me guess what he was throwing a fit about. You’re white, so…oh, was it because you don’t bind?”

It’s not obvious I don’t. It’s not like I have much to work with, but once you know what to look for, it’s impossible not to see it. I cross my arms over my chest anyway.

That must be all the answer Salvador needs. “Look, he’s awful. He bought into a bunch of gatekeeping rhetoric before That Day, and all he does is lick boots. Said I was making a mockery of the trans movement for using ‘fake pronouns,’ and I nearly strangled him. Pink-washed colonialism and all that.” A long, angry breath. “Feel free to deck him if you want. I’m sure Aisha would appreciate it.”

I don’t need any ideas.



* * *





The night before we head to Reformation, Micah catches a deer. It’s small and withered, tongue hanging out of its mouth. He says we’re lucky it’s small. We’re running low on sugar and salt for curing, so we’ll have to eat as much as we can tonight to keep it from going to waste.

When the sun goes down, we light a fire in the courtyard with plywood pulled off windows across the street. The deer is laid out on a tarp, and pieces are put over the flames, sizzling and spitting. The sniper guard breathes in the smell of cooking meat and turns back to the streets, just in case the smoke attracts attention. Someone runs up the stairs to give them the first pieces.

There’s not enough room for everyone to gather in the courtyard with the fire and Trevor’s fresh grave, so most people stay in the ALC lobby. But Calvin is by the radio, getting too close to it for Alex’s liking and causing a snarling match, so I wander out to the yard and sit by the fence.

It’s a quiet night. The heat of day still lingers, cut by the breeze. Flames crackle, and the sharp tang of smoke tastes warm on my tongue, even through the mask. The firelight itself bathes faces in shades of gold, lighting up eyes that shine with laughter they keep choked up so they aren’t heard. People move in packs, leaning on friends, faces tucked into shoulders and against thighs. It reminds me of the movies I saw before Mom took us to New Nazareth: groups of friends cuddling up, close enough to inhale one another’s air. Erin lingers by Micah, disgusted by the raw meat but taking great interest in the way his hands work the knife. Sadaf wanders out into the grass and Aisha follows, reaching for her arm.

I stay by the fence, alone. I’ve been pressed up against the Watch all day, and I don’t feel like explaining my growling stomach to anyone, and more than anything, I need some time to myself. I kick off my shoes and spread my hands in the cool grass. The fence smells of wet wood. Weeds creep up the slats and tangle in my fingers. The Milky Way shines in a silver streak above the buildings and clouds.

Revelation 21:1—And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away.

No, the first heaven and the first earth were murdered.

I don’t notice Nick beside me until the rattle of plastic beads makes it past my thoughts. He’s leaning against the fence, toy lizard in hand, staring into the fire.

“You eat yet?” he says when I look up at him, even though he doesn’t look at me.

“I’m fine.”

“Not what I asked.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Of course, my stomach picks that moment to growl. Nick kicks away from the fence and walks into the crowd. A minute later, he returns with two handfuls of sizzling meat, using folded-up printer paper as plates. He tosses one down to me.

“Eat.”

Grudgingly, I do. It’s still fire hot, the same way my hands, stomach, and throat feel, and I balance it on my thighs to keep it from burning my fingers. This is more food than I’ve eaten at once in days, but it’s so warm and smells so good I can’t stop myself. It falls apart in my mouth, taste bursting across my tongue. There’s so much flavor, it makes my jaw ache. It’s barely salted, barely seasoned because we have so little to spare, but it’s the best thing I’ve tasted in forever.

Nick says, “Are you going to be all right tomorrow?”

I shrug, peeling off another piece. When I accidentally touch a part that burns, I stick my finger into my mouth. “I’ll have to be.”