Once An Eve Novel

rest of the City, but it’s been years. Now there’s talk of expansion, of conquering the colonies in the east, of restoring and rebuilding there.”
    “The colonies?”
    “Three large settlements to the east that the King has visited. Hundreds of thousands of survivors are there. He considers them part of The New America already, but until the colonies are walled in, until troops are stationed inside, they’re technically separate.”
    “They’re looking for you. Stark, that scared kid —” I stumbled over the word. “He told them you were the one who killed the soldiers. What if they find you here?”
    “Without a shirt on I’m just another one of the workers.” Caleb pressed his hand to his shoulder, where his tattoo was. I’d noticed it the first day I met him, the circle with the New American crest in it. Every boy from the labor camps had one, like a stamp, marking them as property of the King. “They’re looking for me in the wild, not working in the Outlands like every other slave.”
    “And Moss? Where is he?” I asked.
    “It’s better if you don’t know.” Caleb pulled the brim of his cap down to hide his eyes. “A dissident got caught a few months before I arrived here. They think he was tortured. He gave up names. Suddenly people were disappearing, being taken away to prison.”
    “Was the man killed?” I asked, my throat tight.
    “One of our contacts is working as a janitor inside the prison, but he couldn’t get to him in time. It was a real blow. The dissidents consider one another family—if one person is in trouble, everyone is. They would’ve done anything to help him.”
    I squeezed Caleb’s hand as I told him about the last three months: my time in Califia, Arden’s arrival, our escape and capture, my days in the Palace with the man who called himself my father. When I was done the crowd had thinned out. Half the booths were empty, strewn with glasses and smoldering ashtrays.
    Caleb tucked a few stray hairs back under my cap, so gently it nearly made me cry. Then he pulled a folded paper from his pocket and spread it out on the table, revealing a map of the City with routes outlined in different colors. He explained how the troops had their routines, specific streets they patrolled in ninety-minute blocks. The dissidents had learned their patterns and used them to avoid being caught. He copied one route down on a napkin, marking the path back to the City center, how to reenter the Palace and which staircase to take. Then he copied another for me to use in two nights’ time.
    “Let’s meet here,” he said, pointing to a spot on the second map. “There’s another dissident who works that building at night who will point you in the right direction.” He studied my face and smiled. “I have a surprise for you.”
    “What is it?” I asked.
    “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, would it?” He laughed.
    I stared at the place he’d marked; it was right on the main road, diagonally across from the Palace fountains. “But you could get caught.”
    “I won’t get caught,” Caleb said. He smoothed down the corners of the paper with his palm. “I promise. Just be there.”
    “How long will it be before the tunnels are completed? Can’t we hide out until then?” He said the other dissidents were concerned about his meeting me, that it might compromise them, but he’d assured them I could be trusted.
    Caleb shook his head sadly. “We don’t know. The one that’s furthest along is at a standstill. We need blueprints to continue. And if you turn up missing … they’ll know you’re somewhere inside the walls. They’ll come looking.” He put his hand to my cheek. “It’s a good sign that you made it here tonight, though. We’ll just have to meet like this until things are more certain.”
    We sat there for a while, my face nestled against his chest, until the singer sang her last song. The band packed up their instruments. Glasses clinked together. Slowly, we made our way out.
    Caleb’s hand rested on the small of my back as we climbed the stairs, feeling our way in the dark. The Outlands were quiet. Figures moved behind a curtain in the window of an old motel. We passed a parking lot lined with rusted cars, a dried-out pool, a long strip of empty houses. “I can walk you to the corner,” he said, clutching my hand. He nodded to the street just one block away.
    I felt the map in my pocket, each step bringing us closer to good-bye. I would