Chapter Ten

Sahara

I run faster than I ever have, tripping over roots and rocks every time I chance a look over my shoulder. It's coming. It must be coming for me. But it never does, even as I break through the trees and cross into my backyard. I move the weapons into one arm and fling my window open. The creak resonates heavy in the air, but it does not faze me this time. Nor does the loud clatter of my weapons as I toss them onto the glass floor. I'm being too loud; I know I am, yet I can't quiet my raging nerves. I just want to be inside, safe and alone.

I stumble into the room, and immediately, my ragged breaths fill the air. I slam the window shut, glance toward Mother's room, and strip out of the stained dress. I'm not sure what to do with it, but that's a problem for another time. For now, I stuff it between my mattress and the box spring, and hope Mother doesn't get the inclination to search my room. Then, I return the weapons to my gun box.

After I am dressed in a new nightgown with healing cream rubbed over my scratched hands and knees, I return to the window. The Brute is nowhere to be seen. I wonder if it's still lying at the river, or if it's retreated back to its burrow. It shouldn't be in either; it should be dead or at least in a Brute ward. And I have no idea why it isn't. I can't make sense of my crimes, not even in my own brain. There were a million things I should have done differently, and I was aware of each and every one of them. I just couldn't do it.

Tears threaten my eyes, but there's no time for crying. I have to figure out how to undo this mistake. But I can't find a realistic solution. I've committed the greatest felony known to womankind. I let a wild Brute walk free, and I'm not entirely sure why. It's just...the Brute was supposed to be deranged and seething, not helpless. It would've gone down without a fight, and I would've had to stare into its strangely human face as it died. I just couldn't do. I don't think I ever could.

I press my fists against my eyes.

"I was scared," I whisper into the empty room. "I was scared and I couldn't think properly."

Yes. That makes sense.

Tomorrow morning, I will tell Mother exactly what happened. I will tell her that I stumbled upon the beast, and that I was too frightened to react properly. A sob crackles my throat. Mother will never believe that I saw the Brute. She will whip me for lying, and I will be responsible for whoever's death the Brute causes.

I try to imagine the Brute killing a woman. And then, I simply try to remember the Brute at all. It was so vastly different from the ones in the documentaries that I hardly realized it was a Brute at all. Had a ten foot tall beast with bared fangs and dangerous claws appeared, I wouldn't have hesitated to shoot. But it wasn't anything like the pictures or videos. It looked like it could've been a woman! I couldn't shoot a creature that looked so much like my own. How could I?

I eventually crawl into bed, fighting my own thoughts. I asked the Brute to meet me tomorrow, and though I can't be positive of its return, I have to believe it will. It thinks I know where it lives; surely it will come back. And when it does, I will have alerted a police force to its location. If they believe me enough to come, that is.

One way or another, I will have done my part to protect the community. I may not be able to tell Mother or to kill the Brute myself, but I can alert someone capable of resolving the issue. And hopefully, they won't hesitate as I did.

#

The next morning, I literally bite my tongue all through breakfast preparation. Mother asks me a few questions, all of which are innocent enough. She doesn't know. It's impossible, yet seemingly true. She has no idea what I've done.

"What do you think of a blue gown?" asks Mother, flipping a pancake.

"I was thinking violet." Like every other girl my age, I've put a lot of thought into my ceremony dress. The Advancing Ceremony is the greatest event in a woman's life, even more so than her wedding or the birth of her daughter. It is the moment when she finally moves on from adolescence and into adulthood.

More importantly, it's the only time we're allowed to stray from the required dress code. According to tradition, a young girl's dark clothing will naturally transition into the black and white style for the teenage years. However, upon the celebration of a girl's seventeenth birthday, an explosive occurrence happens. With a burst of color—hence the colorful ball gowns—the darkness dissolves from the girl's life, leaving only peace and serenity.

"Purple, Sahara?" asks Mother, clucking her tongue. "Blue will look better with your eyes."

"You're right." I go back to whisking a bowl of eggs. Nielle's favorite.

"And what to do with your hair?" asks Mother. The way she says it makes it sound like my hair usually looks like a mop, and only a miracle will make it look decent.

"What do you think?" I ask, because I know that's all that matters anyway.

The rest of the day passes with an eerie sense of normalcy. I go and visit a few neighbors and record the inquiries for Mother. Then, as planned, I take Nielle to ballet class. We sit on the bus in silence, not really looking at one another. I feel guilty keeping secrets from Nielle, but it's safer this way. If she learned of my crime, she could be in as much legal trouble as I. Luckily, I think Nielle can tell I want quiet, so she too remains silent.

After leaving Nielle at the dance studio, I exit the transport at the Insinuia landfill. I wait until the transport is long out of view before I pull the stained dress out of my purse and toss it into the sea of garbage. It floats downward for a long moment, the wind catching its loose fabric. Finally, it rests atop a tall peak. It makes my insides squirm, knowing that last night's evidence is laying out for all passerbys to see. I remind myself that this dress could belong to anyone, just one black and white dress out of millions upon millions.

By the time I get back home, Mother is gone to her weekly business meeting in the capital. I'm supposed to fill out some inquiry forms, but as I go through my boxes for the paperwork, something stops me. It's a thin pamphlet regarding Brute information, summed up in less than ten pages. I hesitantly leaf through the pages, glancing at the gruesome Brute depictions. The frightening creatures are unlike anything I've ever seen, which always made sense until now. The Brute I saw was nothing like these: no fangs, no claws, no trail of blood from its mouth.

In fact, the more I compare these digitalized Brutes with the only true Brute I've ever seen, the more I wonder. There must be a reason why the two don't match up. Either I discovered a Brute-woman mutation, or the government has exaggerated the Brute's appearance.

And if the physical appearance is a lie, what else is?

It is in that moment—that tiny, wavering moment—that I realize I must return to the river. Not with an intent to kill, but an intent to learn. Something is not right, and the only way I'll figure out what, is if I go on my own. If I involve the police, the Brute will most likely be killed upon sighting. And if it dies, I'll never know the truth.

I fold the pamphlet under my pillow and work on the reports until Mother gets home. When she does, I can't help but stare at her. She's seen Brutes thousands of times in those wards. If they're not as frightening as the government says, she would know. I want to ask her more than anything, but it's not like she would tell the truth. There's only fifty wardens in Lieth, and from what I've heard, they're all sworn to secrecy. I've never thought much of their confidentiality, but maybe I should.

When night falls, I feel the panic curl through my body. I escaped the Brute during our first encounter, but who's to say I'll survive the second? It could come with weapons, not that I'm sure it knows how to work them. Even if it doesn't, it will be expecting me. With our differing heights and builds, it could easily overtake me if I'm not careful. I decide to compensate with four guns instead of two, all of which are far more lethal than mere stun guns.

At eleven fifty, I creep from my windowsill, this time wearing hiking jammers, rather than a frilly nightgown. It clings to my legs and waist, though my arms are left bare. I grip my fingers into my shoulders, squeezing until I am sure there will be bruises.

I pause several times and debate turning back. If I go home now, I can pretend everything away. I can pretend I never left my room yesterday, never saw that Brute, never realized it looked different. Part of me wants to, the logical part anyway. But there's a yearning inside my chest I can't quite explain. I've spent my entire life waiting for an adventure—for an escape from the dullness—and I've finally found it. How can I turn back now?

I am barely to the edge of the forest when the Brute comes into view, sitting defenseless at the water's shore. It isn't until I see it that I realize how much I had expected it not to come. Yet here it is. Tall and muscular, but clothed with short nails and invisible teeth. It is staring into the trees, but I can't decide whether or not it's looking at me.

I scan the area around it, checking for weapons. When I find none, I hesitantly step forward, leveling my gun to its head. The Brute's hands twitch at its sides as it rises from the ground. I keep waiting for its calm exterior to crack, for it to suddenly charge. But it only stares, just as it did yesterday.

"I'm not going to shoot unless you make me," I say. The three other guns safely stored within my jumper pockets, all large enough that I'm sure the Brute can see them.

"I won't do anything," says the Brute. Its voice shakes slightly, but only in a nervous way. It can speak perfectly, I realize. Just as well as I.

"We're going across the river," I say. I let my eyes flicker toward the opposite shore. The water looks wider up close, but there's no way I'm risking this exchange so near the neighborhood.

"Whatever you want," says it. Its lip is quivering harder now, and I feel a familiar pang shoot through my stomach. It's the same thing I felt yesterday as it begged for mercy. An unfamiliar surge of pity.

"You go first," I say.

It doesn't hesitate before slipping into the river. The water sluggishly trails past its shorts, then its hips, and finally, its stomach. I wait until it is to the other side before entering. The water is both colder and deeper than it appears. The guns are waterproof, but I still hold the main one above the surface. The Brute is faced away from me with a rigid stance and taut muscles. I wonder how strong it is, how quickly it could disarm me.

My chest is soaked before the river becomes shallow again. I look down at my sodden jumper, and that's when I stumble through the coarse mud. It traps down my back foot and sends me flailing toward the ground. I catch one hand on the river's shore, but keep the other on my gun. Through my peripherals, I can see the Brute staring at me with a curious expression.

It knows I'm incapacitated.

The thought has no more than left my mind when the Brute's hand stretches and yanks my arm forward. Except, it's an almost careful movement, just strong enough to un-stick me from the mud. I instantly crash against the river bank, and the gun fires. I'm not sure whether I pulled the trigger or not, but either way, the Brute springs backward and falls into a tree. Its face pale and horrified.

"Don't touch me," I whisper.

I scramble to feet before it can utter a response. Then, I gesture my gun toward the darker region of the forest. It walks.

I take a moment to catch my breath, or maybe to catch my thoughts. I've never felt more confused, even after last night's encounter. The Brute is supposed to be violent and malicious. So why does it feel like it just helped me?