Chapter 28: Tobias – Wounds
I'm too enraged to think straight. My feet pound back at forth at the end of the car as I pace like a caged animal. It seems appropriate, since I doubt I could do more than growl right now.
The space is confining, and I'm tempted to walk up and down the train instead, but I can't get myself to move that far away from Tris, not with Marcus still sitting in the same car. It's not a logical reaction – I know he won't try anything else right now, between the witnesses and how I would react – but I'm not exactly a picture of Erudite logic at the moment.
After a while, I step outside just far enough to hang from the side of the car, letting the cold wind whip at my face. It feels good, mirroring the anger churning inside me, but eventually frostbite starts to threaten, and I'm forced back inside where it's marginally warmer.
I try not to look at anyone. I certainly don't want to see my father, or the injuries he inflicted on Tris, and I have no desire to see the judgment or pity or whatever else I might find in the others' eyes. The only one who is likely to understand is Peter, but I'm afraid looking at him would just egg me on, and it was hard enough to stop myself from killing the monster who sired me as it was.
Eventually, Amar seems to decide that Marcus' presence in the car is too disruptive, because he takes my father outside, supporting him as he limps from the wounds I gave him. I don't know where they go, just that Amar returns with Uriah and Pari instead. It's a little easier to breathe after that, and gradually, other thoughts and feelings begin to creep back into my head, working their way through the anger.
The first one, as it usually is, is guilt. I picture my father's face in the truck, after he saw Tris help me through my fears and saw me squeeze her hand too hard, and I know it's no coincidence that he went after her hands today. It was his punishment for my weakness and a way of keeping me from seeking that comfort again. It was also proof that I can't protect her from him. I haven't lived with him in two years, but there's still no escape from his tyranny.
The second thought is even worse, because it shows me how deeply he hurt Tris. She didn't tell me what he did, couldn't even talk about it. Admittedly, I didn't give her much time to do that, but I know she wouldn't have said anything even if I had. She wore the same expression my mother always did, the same one I'm sure I did as we kept Marcus' secrets…because we blamed ourselves for them. That, more than anything, twists through my insides and guts me from within.
But it also propels my feet over to Tris. I still have too much energy to sit, and I'm not interested in conversing in front of the others, so I just crouch beside her, wanting to at least be near her.
"Are you ready to talk now?" she asks, her voice a little rough.
I'm not, but her tone tells me she needs me to be, and I won't say no to that.
"Yeah," I answer simply. I take her by the elbow, since I can't touch her hands without causing her pain, and help her to her feet. She winces at the movement, despite my best attempts to be gentle. It's another reminder of my failure, but I ignore it and lead her to the far corner of the car. It's not private, but I place myself between her and the others, presenting them with my back to shield us as much as possible. It's the best I can do without climbing to another car, and I won't make her do that with her injuries.
I don't know what to say, or what I expect her to say, but I'm definitely not prepared for the first words out of her mouth: "I'm sorry."
"You don't have anything to apologize for," I answer immediately, probably too harshly.
She bites her lip, refusing to look at me. "Yes, I do," she responds quietly, barely audible over the clacking of the train along the tracks. I shift closer, my face near hers to hear her better. "I should never have let Marcus come along," she adds. "I knew what he was like."
"Tris, listen to me," I say urgently. It's important she hears this. "You can't let him get inside your head. He tries to make you think everything is your fault, that he does things like this for your own good. But he's a liar. Don't believe him."
She doesn't answer – just stands there breathing roughly, and I know she's fighting off tears. She so rarely cries that the sight eats into me. I take her face in my hands, pressing my forehead to hers to shut out the rest of the world as much as possible.
"He only went after you because of me," I manage to say. It's difficult to get the words out past the lump in my throat. "It had nothing to do with you or anything you did. He just wanted to punish me for being afraid in the truck."
She shakes her head a bit, and I can tell she doesn't believe me. I force myself to continue. "I thought maybe he'd listen to my warning, but I should have known better. I should have made sure you were never alone with him."
She's silent again, for a long time. It's hard to decipher her tone when she finally asks, "Is that why you went after him in the truck? To warn him away from me?"
I pull back enough to see her face, looking at her blankly. "Yeah. What did you think I was doing?"
She seems flustered, looking away as she says, "I wasn't sure. Maybe defending Lauren. It seemed like Marcus was probably a threat to her."
The answer dumbfounds me, mostly because she's right. Lauren was a problem for the mission, with that wound, and Marcus has never tolerated weakness. How did I miss that?
"That…didn't occur to me," I admit reluctantly. "It should have." The thought is enough to distract me from more recent events, and I run a hand through Tris' hair as I reflect on this morning. It shouldn't surprise me by now that she was one step ahead of me, finding a way to protect others while I was oblivious to their danger.
"If she survives, it will be because of you, you know," I tell her softly. "Because of your idea."
It's a statement of admiration, but it doesn't seem to comfort Tris. Instead, she looks away again, an odd mix of guilt and frustration and something else on her face. It takes me a long time to recognize the expression, because it's so far removed from my thoughts at the moment, but finally I think I understand.
"Tris, were you…jealous this morning?"
"No," she answers quickly – too quickly, and I can't help but smile. I'm usually the one with that particular concern.
"Seriously? Of Lauren? You do realize I have absolutely zero interest in her…that way."
Tris is squirming a little now, her cheeks going red, and I chuckle softly. But only for a second. I shouldn't take her feelings lightly, even if part of me enjoys the reminder that she wants me just to herself.
I slide my fingers around the back of her neck, my thumbs lifting her chin to face me. My voice is firm when I say, "I should clarify that. I have no interest in anyone except you, Tris." Her eyes finally find mine, and I hold her gaze, making sure she believes me. And then I hold it longer, because as her embarrassment eases, her strength starts to return, and I have always loved seeing that energy in her eyes.
"Tris," I murmur, "I can't even imagine wanting someone else when I have you."
A fierceness blazes in her eyes in response to that statement, and it draws everything in me to her. I'm not even aware of closing the inches between us. I only know that my lips find hers, my right hand curling into her hair as my left hand slides down her back, pressing her to me. It feels as if there's static everywhere we're touching, electricity charging through our bodies and making every part of me aware of her proximity. We kiss as intensely as we did the first time I told her I loved her, on another train, in front of some of the same people, what feels like a lifetime ago.
It's not until she tries to run her hands up my back that reality returns to us. I can feel her wince of pain echoing through me, and I pull back with a fresh surge of anger toward Marcus. But at least there's no longer any weakness in Tris' eyes. He hurt her physically, but he couldn't cow her spirit for long.
"Come on," she tells me firmly, "let's join the others. There's something we all need to discuss."
I nod, following her without question to the opposite end of the car. To my relief, Marcus is still wherever Amar took him, but the others are sitting closely together. It's not until Tris and I join them that I realize why they're so close – the floor and walls of the train car are icy cold. I immediately pull Tris against me to share our warmth.
As everyone's attention shifts to Tris, she says without preamble, "Marcus shot Lisa." A shiver that has nothing to do with the cold runs through me.
Silence greets the statement, and then Margot asks, "Why?" It's a simple question, but there's an edge to it that I don't like.
"Because she didn't get on the train," Tris answers levelly. "He said we couldn't leave her behind."
"He was right," Margot responds without hesitation. "She'd have gotten us all killed."
"No, she wouldn't," Tris snaps. "She wouldn't have given us up willingly, and she was Divergent, so she was resistant to the serum."
Amar sighs, running a hand through his hair, and I know what he's going to say before he does.
"Resistant enough to drink the water, but that's not the same as being captured." Tris glares at him, but he continues in the same tone. "During questioning, they implant a receiver directly in your brain and give you a stronger and stronger dose of the serum until you respond, or get brain damage, or die. If you're quick on your feet, you can play along and pretend it's affecting you before it does. That can buy you some time until you're rescued. But there would have been no one to rescue Lisa. She would have betrayed us or died, or probably both, since they usually kill people after questioning."
His eyes move from Tris to me and then back as he adds, "It was a mercy to shoot her quickly, and if Marcus hadn't done it, I would have."
I'm not sure what to think of that. In theory, I agree, but in reality...I don't know if I could do it. Tris is obviously struggling with the thought, too, because her body is rigid in my arms, and she practically shouts, "So we're supposed to just kill anyone who's caught, or left behind?" She looks around the group, at the few friends and one family member she has left, and adds, "Without even attempting a rescue?"
"No," Amar answers in obvious frustration. "It depends on the circumstances. You and Four…Tobias, and Uriah and Peter are all beyond any level of resistance we've ever seen before. If you're captured, no one is going to shoot you. And with everyone else, if we can manage a fast rescue, we certainly should. But if we can't…. The bottom line is that we can't let this mission fail just so one person can survive a few more hours. There are far too many lives at stake for that."
His eyes rest on Tris, waiting for her to respond, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she starts trembling. It's faint, but I can feel the movement against me, and I understand why it's happening. She's had to make exactly that decision before, when she shot Will. His death allowed her mission to succeed, saving hundreds of Abnegation and freeing Dauntless from mind control.
Amar is asking for the same thing now, but the problem is that Tris has been second-guessing that moment ever since. She won't agree with him easily, and pushing her won't help. If anything, it's likely to increase her resistance to the idea.
I hold her more tightly as I snap, "We get the point." Amar looks at me, his eyes narrowing a bit, but he takes the hint and moves onto other topics of conversation. Sometimes, I realize, it's good for people to have a little Amity in them after all.
The conversation is subdued after that, and eventually Amar breaks out some sandwiches he apparently bought earlier. They're wilted and stale, but they fill the empty pits in our stomachs, so we eat anyway. I share mine with Tris, taking a bite and then offering the sandwich to her in turn, to make it less obvious that I'm helping her eat. She needs to rest her hands, after all, but I know she hates to accept help at least as much as I do.
As darkness sets in, she and I move away from the others, finding a semi-private spot to sit. I pull her close to me, my hands working their way under her coat as I snuggle my face into her hair, breathing her scent. If I could pick one smell to always have with me for the rest of my life, it would be her unique fragrance. I remember reading about pheromones in school, and it occurs to me that maybe the group that started our city manipulated those too, so Divergents would be attracted to each other. But if so, I really don't care – I enjoy the effect too much to complain.
We're just starting to doze off when the next broadcast starts. Even though it's nighttime and we're on a moving train, we all stand when Pari and Margot do, following their lead in the dim light. It's good practice. Besides, if we didn't, there's always the chance that someone might spot us in a passing light and get suspicious.
Somewhat to my surprise, the train continues to move through the broadcast. I suppose it takes too long to stop it and restart it, so the driver must simply leave it to its own momentum during the few minutes the message lasts. That's not very reassuring as we follow a curve in the tracks, and I find myself wondering how many people die every day because they're in the middle of some uninterruptible activity at the time a message starts. Or maybe there's enough time between the warning and the actual message to avoid that problem. It's hard to tell without being able to hear either one.
As we round the curve, I notice Pari and Margot both shifting their stance so they continue to face the original direction, as if some internal compass is guiding them, and we all follow suit. It starts a thought forming at the back of my head, but I can't quite make it cohesive yet.
When the message stops, we all sit back down. At least we can talk about it this time, in the seclusion of the train.
"What did they say?" I ask.
"The same as before," Pari answers shortly. "They reiterated the importance of staying well hydrated, and that everyone should share water with others who might be thirsty. And they said it's crucial to report anyone who acts suspicious, since 'there could be spies among us.' And of course they had the typical message about how wonderful the government is, and how lucky we are to live here, and how we should trust them above all else." She sounds thoroughly disgusted.
"We seemed to be facing a little different direction than the last two times," Caleb says. "How often does it change directions?"
Pari and Margot consider that for a moment. "In Philadelphia, it changed a lot," Margot answers. "But it seemed to be more consistent elsewhere."
Pari's voice is puzzled as she says, "It seemed pretty consistent in Philly, too. The broadcasts were usually in the evening, when I was home, and I remember always facing the same spot on the wall."
"Really?" Margot responds curiously. "It seemed like it was a different direction every day to me, but maybe I was just having difficulty getting my bearings. I was working a delivery job at the time, so I was all over the place, and I didn't always know which way was which."
The thought clicks from the back of my mind at the same time Tris sits up straighter. But it's Caleb who speaks.
"Is it possible you're always facing a fixed location, and it only seems like a different direction based on where you are?"
"What he means," Tris asks with obvious excitement in her voice, "is could you be facing the Control Computer that's broadcasting the message?"
There's a moment of dead silence, and then Margot speaks, her tone reflecting the energy emanating from the rest of us. "Yes, that makes sense. I never really thought about it, but I was always facing the tall buildings in the center of the city, no matter where I was. And everywhere else, we faced toward Philadelphia."
Even in the darkness, I can see Pari nodding in agreement, her eyes lit.
And for the first time on this entire trip, I see a ray of hope. We have a way to find the Control Computer.