hand at her. She waved back.
Cole once said the future wasn’t written. But was destiny like potential? she wondered. Realised only when a person pushed themselves to attain it?
*
Perhaps it was the exhaustion, or lying tucked up in Cole’s sleeping bag with the comforting weight of him beside her, but Ana slept for eight hours straight. No nightmares. No black zombie eyes. No Three Mills. She woke to find Cole boiling marshland water on the portable stove for their instant coffee. By the looks of things he’d already sorted out their food supplies, dividing them up into meals and days. Despite his apparent recovery, she insisted on checking his wounds. To her relief the knife cut seemed to be healing well and Cole’s knee, though still swollen, looked better than it had done last night. He assured her that it was just all the walking that had made it so painful. It was merely bruised and needed rest.
They drank watery coffee and split a packet of peanuts for breakfast. Ana moved their bedding up to the first floor and did a quick search of the tower, insisting Cole didn’t climb the stairs. On each of the three levels, wooden benches circled the central staircase. There were toilets, but they were unusable as there was no running water. Apart from the supplies they’d brought and the stash under the floorboards the tower contained nothing useful. Not even an old medical kit or a firehose lying around.
Every two hours they switched on Cole’s interface with a scrambler locked in, and checked the news. Cole had also held onto Warden Dombrant’s interface, which he’d removed the tracer from and left switched off so they couldn’t be tracked.
Throughout the day they shared stories about the lives they’d lived long before they met. Cole wanted to know what it was like for Ana growing up in the countryside before she moved to the Community; what her earliest memory was; who taught her to play the piano; and how she discovered she wasn’t Pure. Ana asked him about his foster homes; how he’d managed to get himself and Nate out of the orphanage; how he’d ended up in the Project.
They boiled half the potatoes and carrots that Lila had packed in a pan over the cooking stove for lunch. After Cole had poured out two bowls, he sat down opposite Ana on the sleeping bag. He couldn’t cross his legs because of the bruising, but stretched them out either side of her, their eyes meeting over steaming soup.
‘Mmm,’ she said, tasting her lunch. ‘He can cook!’
He laughed. ‘Totally.’
‘How long do you think the fuel will last?’
‘A good week if we use it sparingly.’
‘Seton was talking about us being here for a month or more.’
Cole grinned. ‘Sounds good to me.’ She smiled back. At least a month hiding here just the two of them: there would be no Nate accusing her of leading his brother into trouble, no ex-girlfriend to give her dirty looks and make her feel paranoid, no Minister Clemence or Lila to talk about destiny and angels and war. She would have Cole all to herself.
She gestured to her neck, mirroring where he had his tattoo: an empty black square. ‘Did it hurt?’
‘Too right it did.’
‘Why a square?’
‘I was fifteen – me, Nate and Rachel had a day off. Our first day out in the City, all together. It was her birthday. She dragged us all into the tattoo place, wanted us all to get marked. Kind of like a pact, us against the outside world. I liked the square.’
Ana nodded. Maybe it wouldn’t be so easy to get away from Nate and Rachel, after all. ‘Never noticed either of theirs,’ she said.
‘Rach’s is on her leg and Nate’s is on his arm.’ He flexed his shoulders. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Tell me about Jasper.’
‘You want to know about Jasper?’
‘Yup.’
Nerves tickled her stomach. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘How did you meet him?’
‘Well . . .’ Ana wriggled to get comfortable. ‘I moved to the Community when I was eleven and every year
Cole once said the future wasn’t written. But was destiny like potential? she wondered. Realised only when a person pushed themselves to attain it?
*
Perhaps it was the exhaustion, or lying tucked up in Cole’s sleeping bag with the comforting weight of him beside her, but Ana slept for eight hours straight. No nightmares. No black zombie eyes. No Three Mills. She woke to find Cole boiling marshland water on the portable stove for their instant coffee. By the looks of things he’d already sorted out their food supplies, dividing them up into meals and days. Despite his apparent recovery, she insisted on checking his wounds. To her relief the knife cut seemed to be healing well and Cole’s knee, though still swollen, looked better than it had done last night. He assured her that it was just all the walking that had made it so painful. It was merely bruised and needed rest.
They drank watery coffee and split a packet of peanuts for breakfast. Ana moved their bedding up to the first floor and did a quick search of the tower, insisting Cole didn’t climb the stairs. On each of the three levels, wooden benches circled the central staircase. There were toilets, but they were unusable as there was no running water. Apart from the supplies they’d brought and the stash under the floorboards the tower contained nothing useful. Not even an old medical kit or a firehose lying around.
Every two hours they switched on Cole’s interface with a scrambler locked in, and checked the news. Cole had also held onto Warden Dombrant’s interface, which he’d removed the tracer from and left switched off so they couldn’t be tracked.
Throughout the day they shared stories about the lives they’d lived long before they met. Cole wanted to know what it was like for Ana growing up in the countryside before she moved to the Community; what her earliest memory was; who taught her to play the piano; and how she discovered she wasn’t Pure. Ana asked him about his foster homes; how he’d managed to get himself and Nate out of the orphanage; how he’d ended up in the Project.
They boiled half the potatoes and carrots that Lila had packed in a pan over the cooking stove for lunch. After Cole had poured out two bowls, he sat down opposite Ana on the sleeping bag. He couldn’t cross his legs because of the bruising, but stretched them out either side of her, their eyes meeting over steaming soup.
‘Mmm,’ she said, tasting her lunch. ‘He can cook!’
He laughed. ‘Totally.’
‘How long do you think the fuel will last?’
‘A good week if we use it sparingly.’
‘Seton was talking about us being here for a month or more.’
Cole grinned. ‘Sounds good to me.’ She smiled back. At least a month hiding here just the two of them: there would be no Nate accusing her of leading his brother into trouble, no ex-girlfriend to give her dirty looks and make her feel paranoid, no Minister Clemence or Lila to talk about destiny and angels and war. She would have Cole all to herself.
She gestured to her neck, mirroring where he had his tattoo: an empty black square. ‘Did it hurt?’
‘Too right it did.’
‘Why a square?’
‘I was fifteen – me, Nate and Rachel had a day off. Our first day out in the City, all together. It was her birthday. She dragged us all into the tattoo place, wanted us all to get marked. Kind of like a pact, us against the outside world. I liked the square.’
Ana nodded. Maybe it wouldn’t be so easy to get away from Nate and Rachel, after all. ‘Never noticed either of theirs,’ she said.
‘Rach’s is on her leg and Nate’s is on his arm.’ He flexed his shoulders. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Tell me about Jasper.’
‘You want to know about Jasper?’
‘Yup.’
Nerves tickled her stomach. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘How did you meet him?’
‘Well . . .’ Ana wriggled to get comfortable. ‘I moved to the Community when I was eleven and every year
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