4

It's a week after Caitlin had grabbed for the candle, breaking it to pieces, the crushed splinters of wax adorning her chubby little fingers. I sit at the foot of my bed, contemplating the dusty suitcase in front of me. It lies opened, lined with a simple black cloth. I kick it with my toe and fall back on the bed, thinking, thinking, but still my head is empty, just like the suitcase in front of me.

A month outside of Chicago. Outside of the fourth city, away from the noise and calm of home. I worry that it will fall into disarray without us, but shake away these arrogant thoughts. Zeke will be here, although I wonder if he'll be awake enough to manage things. And all the others under his guidance, younger members of the police force, strengthened and no doubt terrified into growing tougher by weeks of training under George.

And my mother is somewhere in this city, keeping an eye on things. I know that no matter what, no matter how brittle she may look on the outside, this woman has an iron backbone that will carry her through almost anything. I bitterly acknowledge that this is in part due to Marcus, the man who gave us a reason to fight back. When your freedom is taken away, you have more to live for, you have more to fight for.

A nervous knock from the other room startles me out of my thoughts, and as I get up to answer it, I slide a weapon into my hand, out of habit. And open it to see the last person I expected to come knocking on my door.

He shifts from one foot to another, his hands plunged into his pockets, his sandy hair falling over his eyes. Caleb Prior finally looks up at me, his green eyes exuding a silent request, and without a word I step aside to welcome him into the small apartment, putting away my gun.

We both sit uneasily on the chair in my living room. I don't offer him anything to eat, although I know I should. He looks nervous, on edge, like he always is around me. He can probably feel my anger, although so little of it is left I wonder why I bother holding on. Maybe it's because so much of his sister still hangs around, in my dreams and in the way Christina smiles sadly and in Caleb's face.

Finally he speaks. "I want to go with you on the trip outside of Chicago."

I wonder why, if it's another of his curious, selfish reasons. "Why are you asking me?"

He sighs and he looks as tired and yet tranquil as everyone else I know. I guess that's what happens if you survive what we did, if you lose the people we lost, if you see the things we saw. War pulls you inside out. And after it, if you choose to keep on living, the peace that comes is enough to soothe you, but never erase the scars.

"I know you still don't like me." I don't deny his statement. "I'm Cara's assistant. And I want to go with you because – because I'm sick of how I live here." He shrugs. "It's not bad, living every day the same way again and again. But something's missing."

"And you think a trip outside the safe haven of our city will complete you or something."

Caleb looks at me, and for once he doesn't look scared of me. "You don't understand. Every day I live with the consequences of my actions. After I turned 16, most of what I knew was a world that was filled with war, with the blood of my family on my hands in one way or another. Sometimes you crave escape."

"Then come," I hear myself say. He's not brave enough to face the monotony of his life now, and I wonder if he feels as empty as I do.

She locks her arm around me, her fingers mussing my short hair. My mother pulls back, staring at me with her dark eyes, and I stare back, at her hooked nose and her ears that slightly stick out and her mouth which is now drawn into a proud smile. Looking at her is like looking in a mirror. I can tell a part of her doesn't want me to go, that motherly part that is so protective of the son she regained after all those years of fighting back.

"It's only for a month," I say, and she nods. "I'll be here when you return."

I think of the blue glass sculpture, still intact after all this time, sitting in my house. I seriously hope she will.

Zeke stands with us on the platform, his hand clapping my back and his grin still as toothy as ever.

"You take care out there." He says, and I laugh because he knows, more often than not, that I take care of things.

"You better not fall asleep and tumble onto the hood of a fast-moving car," I say.

"Who says I haven't already?" He shoots a small glance behind me, where Shauna cradles Caitlin against her, the baby sound asleep amidst the noise of the clattering train station.

Christina bends down to coo at her, and receives a swat on the cheek from the ornery infant. Caleb stands near Cara and Matthew, clutching at his bag of belongings. Everyone seems a little tense, but everyone is at least smiling, and at least no one is shooting at each other. I know to some extent all of us are nervous, because this is the first time we'll be leaving Chicago for so long. Our previous trips had never taken a month away from home.

The train comes, puffing to a stop, and I drag my suitcase inside and stand by the window. There are seats now, a mix of jumbled colors that don't mean anything anymore, but I don't want to sit down just yet. The train starts and slowly moves, and I balance myself against the sway of the carriage. I crane my neck, looking at the people on the platform, growing smaller in the distance as the train speeds up. One of them raises a hand, and I know it's Zeke. Then the train curves around a bend and I can't see them anymore. For some reason, I feel like it's raining, although the sun is clearly shining outside. I finally sit down.

The train rumbles on through the night, awakening me at some point. For a few minutes, I don't move, just staring out into the dark where a few stars weakly line the sky. I hear everyone breathe and imagine for a second the way their heartbeats pound through them, a quiet rhythm that holds everything else together. I remember the way the Dauntless compound used to be, quiet and noisy and sometimes violent, but always with that heartbeat.

I finally turn away from the window and look at the seats across the aisle, where Cara sits, somewhat stiff even in sleep, with Matthew slumped against her. I know they've made quiet plans to get married, and I hope they can, maybe as soon as we return to the city. I smile, thinking of the little ones they may have. Will they be studious and quiet? Little geniuses who expound on everything they know given the chance?

For a sudden, searing moment I wonder about Beatrice and I, if we'd have chosen the same path Cara and Matthew have, a pledge to remain by each other's sides forever. My head hurts just thinking about it, but I can't stop. I imagine smaller versions of her, younger with the same light hair and the same serious eyes, and I wonder if she would have ever taught them to fight. Probably not unless it was necessary. I press my fingers on the glass of the window, watching the dark landscape whiz by, dark silhouettes of undistinguishable landmarks, and feel so afraid that it hurts. I fear thoughts of the future we once had, more than any gun pressed to my skull.

Just as I'm nearing the brink of deep sleep, I hear someone stand from the seat behind me, where Christina is staying. And just as I fall into the depths of slumber, I hear her voice far behind, low and smooth, calm and kind. For some reason, I dream about flour, sifting into a pile, and syrup the color of Christina's eyes.

Thanks so much to everyone who told me what they thought of my writing. You made me really quite happy. Love lots! R&R