Tortured Read Free

heartless.
    “Don’t ever blame Gaia for this,” Myrna said.
    “I don’t.”
    “No. I mean later. Whether you ever find her or not. None of this was her fault.”
    “I know,” he said. “It was my decision. I knew what could happen to me. I know what could happen to me in the wasteland, too.”
    Myrna rose to rinse her hands at the sink, leaving Leon to rest another minute. His one comfort was that he’d succeeded in helping Gaia escape. He could only believe she was surviving somewhere, somehow. A girl who could come out of prison stronger than she went in, who let hardships deepen her rather than rigidify her thinking, had to be able to handle the wasteland, and as long as she was alive, there was a chance he could find her.
    Genevieve returned with an assortment of supplies and a rucksack. “You can’t carry anything on your back, obviously,” she said, “but is your neck all right? You could hang something around your neck, in front of you.”
    He lifted a hand to gingerly touch the nape of his neck, which was unscathed. “That’ll work,” he said.
    “I think this will keep the sun and flies off your back without clinging,” Genevieve added. She’d brought a loose, lightweight shirt and a bowed oblong framework that he recognized from a kite kit his brother Rafael had owned once. She clipped the framework to the inside of the shirt collar so the material would drape loosely behind him, not touching his skin. The resulting contraption had a flimsiness he doubted, but she tested its spring with a tug, and it rebounded in a way that was flexible and durable enough to last, at least for a while.
    “Feeling any better? That first dose of morphine should have kicked in,” Myrna asked, taking the stool again.
    He was.
    The food was helping, too. Mabrother Cho handed him another bowl of soup and more bread. Then he set before Leon a saucer with a few of the cinnamon-and-sugar-coated apple slices. “You always liked these,” he said.
    Leon looked up, noting the cook’s kindly expression.
    “You know each other,” Genevieve said, as if she were just figuring that out.
    “More or less,” Mabrother Cho said, smiling. “He used to sneak down here nights when he was little, now and again. Your boy here’s made lots of friends I suspect you’ve never known about.”
    Leon reached for an apple slice and bit into the sweetness. “Not so many,” Leon said.
    “Enough that you’ll be missed,” Mabrother Cho said. “Don’t be gone forever, Mabrother.”
    Leon didn’t know what to say. He had no idea what he might find in the wasteland or if anything lay beyond it. It seemed unlikely he’d ever come back. He watched while his mother and Mabrother Cho packed food and supplies in the pack: mycoprotien, dried fruit, cheese, a little tea, flatbread, and a canister of baby formula. They added matches, a candle, flint and steel, a small pot, and a knife. Mabrother Cho filled four lightweight, metal canteens, capped them, and looped them to a sturdy belt.
    How many supplies had Gaia taken? Leon wondered. How long could she last on what she could carry? And she had the baby, too. The thought made him impatient to leave.
    “You want a blanket?” Genevieve asked. “It’ll get cold at night when the sun goes down. I can pack it small.”
    “All right,” he said.
    “A hat,” Myrna said.
    “I have one here,” Genevieve said, offering a beige one with a wide brim.
    Myrna showed him where she was putting medical supplies in the outer pouch of his pack. “Your back will start to itch when it’s healing,” she said. “You won’t win any prizes for enduring the pain. Use the morphine, and keep up with the antibiotics.” She shook a small container. “Two pills a day until they’re all gone. Promise me.”
    He lifted the bottle to eye the contents. “If I outlast them.”
    “Don’t say that,” Genevieve said.
    He glanced across the table to her. His mother stood with her shoulders proudly straight,