Page 20 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

Ren isn’t like that.

It’s as though every thought is sealed away behind his inscrutable eyes, where they dwell for him alone. He seems to expect nothing from me, and I’m not used to it. When he’s not regarding me with thinly veiled amusement at my lack of worldliness, he’s wary and cautious, like he doesn’t trust me—or anyone else. It only makes me want to know him more.

I’m relieved when I spot him up ahead. My deer warms, as though to point him out. He’s standing against one of the barracks, one foot lifted and anchored against it, his good hand deep in his pocket. Despite the chill, he’s only wearing a fitted white undershirt with the same pants from earlier, making me wonder if he slept in them. His arm, in its sling, folds against his body. I think he’s examining something in the dirt because his head tilts forward, but as I draw closer I realize that’s not it. His eyes are closed, like he’s tired and trying to find rest, even now. Everything about him is drawn down, as though Earth’s gravitational pull exerts more force on him than on anyone else.

At my approach, he seems to sense me. He straightens up and pulls his hand out of his pocket. It’s dark yet I can see his face, as inscrutable as ever. Or perhaps I can’t really, and it’s simply been so imprinted on my mind from earlier that I can re-create it out of shadows and starlight.

“Why are you here?” he asks without any preamble.

“Good evening to you, too,” I retort, crossing my arms. I wait, thinking he’ll try to amend his rudeness, but he doesn’t. Not at all. “I’m here to go with you, clearly.”

The force of my attention has a visible effect on him. He shifts against the wall, and his brows draw together tightly, a line appearing between them. Perhaps he’s trying to push me away, but it isn’t working.

“No” is all he says. The searchlight passes over us. It flashes across his face, shining like water. When I first saw him in his barrack, I wanted to draw him sitting on the shore, a solitary figure. But just now, encapsulated in shimmering light, he reminds me of my monsters rising from the ocean. It’s a tantalizing image, one so alluring that I almost blush. The searchlight moves on and he’s plunged into darkness again. Thank goodness, because my heart can now return to a more reasonable tempo. “It isn’t smart.”

I forgot how annoying he is. But frankly, if I’m being honest, as I stand there knowing a man with a rifle is in the watchtower, I’m more hesitant than I’d like to admit.

I realize, with a start, that I’ve never lived in a world where rules and laws didn’t exist to keep me safe. But that’s changed now, so fast that I wouldn’t believe it if I wasn’t here, so far from the home that’s no longer mine. It’s a terrible revelation, one so painful that my chest tightens. I take a shallow breath.

“Others have gone, right?” I ask, rubbing my fingers against the deer in my pocket. Its warm, smooth sides soothe me. “It can’t be that dangerous.”

“It is,” Ren says flatly. “Lots of things have consequences, especially in places like this.” He pauses. One side of his mouth tugs up in a small, wry smile, making the shadow around his lips curve. “You can always say you did and tell the others at school tomorrow.”

The suggestion makes me sputter. How dare he think I’m some ridiculous girl, only trying to impress others? It isn’t up to him what I do or don’t do. In fact, it’s preposterous that he even has an opinion about my actions, especially when it’s clear that he doesn’t apply the same concerns to himself. There’s only one way to prove I don’t need to listen to him or have his permission for anything.

I look around. I’m scared, but it’s not the oppressive, heavy fear I’ve carried since Otōsan’s arrest. This fear is jumpy, exhilarating. It pumps through my body, as if something is alive in my bloodstream and swims through me. The searchlight skims across the camp again, drenching it in a funnel of light. I wait for it to pass.

Then it’s the perfect time.

I intend to dash to the base of the fence, but the ground is so uneven that I end up moving in strange hops and jerks. The lowest strand of barbed wire gleams dangerously in the moonlight. I reach to grab the spot in between the barbs. Another hand lifts it for me, forming a hole. Ren. I throw myself onto the ground and scuttle forward. Cold, pebbled dirt digs into my midsection. In my mind, I thought I would perform my maneuver elegantly, but I flail like an upended turtle, clawing my way forward.

I’m on the other side.

I can’t believe it.

Jumping up, I turn to hold the wire for Ren. He’s already halfway through, sheltering his injured arm with his good one. A few seconds later, he pops up next to me.

Quickly, we hurry away from the fence, finding ourselves in a gravelly clearing rimmed in trees rising in leafless skeletons from the earth. We duck into the grove and the yawning darkness beyond it. It takes a few moments for our eyes to adjust, but once they do it suddenly doesn’t seem so dark anymore. The moon and stars drown the desert in nocturnal light, plating everything in blue-black and silver.

“Closest stream should be this way,” Ren says, pointing. “Asked some guys earlier.”

My ineffectualness at sneaking out becomes painfully clear once again—I didn’t even consider I might need directions. Ren leads, and we find our way over the prickly, rocky terrain. Brush scratches my legs. Twigs and burrs catch on my pants. My steps are uneven. Even though we haven’t ascended, the air is reedy in my lungs, but I think it’s because of nerves.

We cut slightly to the south. The mountains, in the darkness, are mere inky shadows in the distance. A stream rounds a brushy bend and cuts across the rocky ground in a rippling sheet. It’s thin, more of a creek than an actual stream. Spiky desert growth clusters thick and tall around it. Away from the camp, the night air is chilly, clean, and thin. I breathe it in, deep and long.

It’s a previously occupied spot. Empty green 7-Up bottles gleam like glowing eyes in the night and a men’s interest magazine is crumpled in the dirt. It’s open. My eyes widen at the photo of a woman covering her breasts, her fingers spread like star anise. I’m grateful when Ren flips the magazine shut with his foot. Someone has brought a wool military blanket but never used it. They’ve left it on a rock. It’s still in its packaging.

“Want it?” Ren asks, nodding at the blanket. I hesitate, but then a brisk wind cuts across the creek.

“Yes, thank you.”

Wordlessly, Ren picks it up, shakes off the packaging, and hands it to me.

“It’s cold,” I say, letting it hang from my grip. “We can share it.”

There’s a long moment of silence. In the moonlight, Ren stares at me, hard. Then he turns toward the stream. I don’t understand why he weighs and measures each action as though there’s something bad behind every single one. Perhaps he intends for his reluctance to keep me out, but it only makes me wish to find a way in. He bends awkwardly down, inhibited by the sling, and picks up a pebble.

“Ever skipped rocks?”