Chapter 82: Taran

"I think I'm going to be sick," I manage to whisper before clamping a hand over my mouth.
Skye graciously leads me directly to a private washroom, where I immediately fall to the floor in front of the toilet and heave my guts out. I can barely catch my breath as another wave of nausea slams into me, stealing my ability to breathe and bringing tears to my eyes. The tears manage to sneak out, trailing down my cheeks as I throw up everything I've eaten today.
Skye's cool hand pulls the hair away from my sweaty forehead and holds it back while I'm sick. She doesn't speak, doesn't do anything other than pin my hair back. When I'm finished, she helps me lean against the nearest wall and hands me a wet cloth. As I press it to my hot face I wonder where she got it from. Do they have running water in their fortress, the same as we do in the Tower? This Sanctuary does seem very organized.
When I'm finally capable of focusing on something other than my own discomfort, I search out my sister. She's leaning against a sink, her arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes are narrowed in concern and speculation.
"I'm sorry," I offer pathetically.
She waves her hand in the air between us. "You have nothing to be sorry about. You just watched a man die horrifically right in front of you. It's not an easy sight."
"No," I agree grimly. "But it's not my first time either. I've seen death."
"This one is different," she observes. Then she asks matter of fact, "You loved him?"
"God no!" I give her such a look of disgust that she laughs. "He was a pig. He fucking sold me."
"Glad to hear it," she says, still laughing. "He sold me too. There was no love lost on that man."
It would seem not. I don't know why Talon's death is so gut-wrenching. I suppose I'd learned something about him as a person, and humans in general while I was travelling with him. Despite his missing morality, his brutality, his terrible manners, there was more to him. A depth that took me by surprise. Much like my time with Diogo, I'd learned that not all people can be typecast, can be written off as one thing or another. Good and bad don't exist in our world. Just survival. Something both Talon and Diogo taught me.
I suppose, in a way, seeing Talon die so suddenly has reminded me of the fragility of life. I'd been bitten by a fucking zombie and somehow survived. Yet he'd survived for years on his own, outside the walls of a Sanctuary, only to have his life brought to an abrupt end once he stepped foot inside one.
Finally, I look at Skye, and say, "He had a family once, a farm, land of his own. He took me there, showed me a piece of himself. He liked children. Maybe it was that one saving grace that's making his death harder than it should be for me."
She nods, her gaze searching mine. "Then, for your sake, I'm sorry we killed him."
"I'm not," I shrug. "He was about to out us."
Her hand flies up to her neck. I nod in shared understanding, reaching up to tug my own scarf away. She drops to her knees beside me, her fingers grazing the deep scars in my neck, before creeping up to cover her mouth. "Dear god," she whispers. "It's a miracle you survived."
"I almost didn't," I confess. "I don't know how Talon knew about it. He was there when I was attacked but I didn't know he saw anything. He didn't give any indication that he knew I'd been bitten."
"He saw my bite marks when we were travelling here together, before he sold me to my husband. Maybe he put two and two together, assumed you had the same immunity I do." She pulls her own scarf down and tilts her chin up, allowing me to examine the marks on her neck. Though obvious, they are much fainter than mine. White teeth marks surrounding slightly raised flesh.
"I thought you'd died." Tears spark in my eyes again and I have to swallow hard to stop them from falling.
"I know." She pulls back a little, tugging her scarf back up and then settling beside me on the floor. She takes my hand in hers and holds it in her lap. "I never blamed you, or our grandparents, for leaving me behind. When I was bitten, I thought I was as good as dead too. I just wanted to give you the chance to live."
I choke back a sob. "I didn't want to live after that. I missed you so much."
She nods sympathetically and then tips her head back against the wall. "But the point is that you did live, despite your pain. When I was recovering, when I realized I would likely never see my family again, that was the one thought that kept me sane."
I pull in a deep breath and dash the tears away. I've been through the emotional wringer lately, it's a miracle I don't just break down and cry all the damn time.
"Just tell me you've managed to build a life for yourself," she says suddenly, her grey eyes piercing as she turns to me. I know what she wants. She wants me to tell her that her sacrifice was worth it, that she gave me the opportunity to live a happy life.
"I did," I tell her truthfully, thinking of my time in the rebellion as the Desert Wren, my place in Emery's home, my friends, and finally, my husband.
"Then it was worth it," she whispers.
I have my own opinion about that. I will never believe that Skye should sacrifice herself for me, but I also understand that she will continue to do so at every opportunity. Her actions today have proven that. When Talon threatened to out me and my immunity, she stepped in and silenced him. At the time, I'd been too distraught to pay attention. Now, I remember the looks that passed between her and the man who killed Talon. There had been some kind of intimacy there, some unspoken message. As though her protection of me had been a major step in some kind of political game she was playing.
"Taran, can you please?" She starts to speak and then her voice trails off.
I interpret her thoughts from her hesitant words, knowing they would be mine as well if our situations had been reversed. "You want to know about our grandparents?" She loved them as much as I did. She must have suffered over the years, not knowing what became of us. The same way I suffered when they were left outside the walls of Tucson Sanctuary.
She nods. "Yes, please tell me. Don't hold anything back."
I swallow hard and grip her hand tightly, but I don't look at her as I speak. I can't. If she wants to know the story, then I need to tell it as unemotionally as possible.
"When you were after you were"
"Attacked in Las Vegas Sanctuary," she supplies.
I nod quickly, reaching up to brush away a tear. This is a hard thing to talk about. "We were devastated to lose you. Grandfather had to literally pick me up and carry me or I would've run back into the city to find you. I didn't care that you were probably turned, I wanted to turn too if it meant being with you."
"Oh Taran" she whispers.
"I was too young to realize at the time that our grandparents were also devastated. It wasn't until later, when we joined a group of Sanctuary seekers headed South that I realized how devastated they were. Grandfather blamed himself. He turned into an old man almost overnight. Grandma became hyper-vigilant, wouldn't let me out of her sight. Up until Las Vegas the four of us managed to stick together for years after our parents died. Your loss completely broke us."
She nods and swallows hard. I suspect she can't speak from the tears clogging her throat, so I continue. "We travelled South. It was a hard road, but relatively boring. We didn't run into very many obstacles along the way and managed to avoid a horde by hiding in a warehouse basement until they passed us by. It only took us a few months to get to the Tucson Sanctuary."
My throat starts to clog with tears again and I have to swallow hard past the obstruction. Skye remains silent, giving me a minute to collect myself and my thoughts. She seems to have matured. She's more thoughtful and poised, less impetuous than she used to be. Though her actions toward Talon tells me her experiences have hardened her. She doesn't weigh human life the way I do.
"When we arrived at the gates of Sanctuary we were taken right in as refugees and sent to processing. Only when they tried to separate us did I realize there was a problem. Grandma told me to go with them, to listen and not worry. It didn't take me long to figure out what was happening, that I was being granted Sanctuary, but they weren't. You see, there's a law within our city that all refugees must be fully capable of contributing. Our grandparents were considered too old to contribute. They were turned away. I screamed, cried and begged. I'd run after them, but they left me, insisting to the guards that I still be granted Sanctuary. I haven't seen them since that day."
I expect Skye to react in outrage, to show some of the emotion I'd shown when I was torn from the only people in the world left to love me. Instead, she nods thoughtfully and sighs with regret. "We have a similar law here."
"It's wrong," I say bluntly, catching my stray tears with the edge of my hand.
She looks at me, really taking me in, and once more I'm struck by the differences between us. So many more than there used to be. Something has happened to change the Skye I knew, to harden her.
"There's a reason the most successful Sanctuaries only take in refugees capable of contributing to society. We aren't capable of stretching resources to people who can't pull their weight or add to the community in a positive way. Without birth and regrowth, we will fail. If left on our own, we'll die out. Our birth rates aren't high enough. The rate of death is always higher if we allow the population to stagnate or overcrowd with the sick and elderly."
"There has to be a way." My argument is an old and unpopular one. It's based on my own experiences. "I simply can't agree that life no longer holds value if there's no chance of reproduction. My friend Milla is infertile, yet she contributes more to the city than many of the people producing mouths that need feeding. Experience is an immeasurable resource, yet completely discounted in Sanctuaries."
"That's not true," she says gently, smiling slightly. "You don't need to see everything in such blacks and whites. It isn't one or the other, but somewhere in between. Yes, we've probably turned away people of great value because they don't contribute a working womb or a strong back, but we've also taken in people of great value. Here in our Sanctuary we have a man, a historian, who is a constant flow of much needed information. Without him we wouldn't function near as well as we do."
I sigh heavily and lean my head back the way she does. "I do understand. It's just"
"You wish our grandparents hadn't been turned away."
"They were left to die in the desert, Skye," I whisper. "We should've been together. All of us. Even if it meant dying together."
She holds my hand and we sit silently, working through our own thoughts. Finally, she turns to me and says, "I refuse to be sorry for whatever events have brought us back together. You're right, we belong together, and we won't be parted again."
"I've missed you," I murmur.
She gathers me against her and we hug.
"I've thought of you every single day since Las Vegas," she says fervently. "I knew you were alive and I never lost hope that we would find each other again."
We rise together. Just as she reaches for the door a knock startles us. She opens it. The man with the missing eye, the one who killed Talon, is standing on the other side. His gaze flits between us and then lands on Skye. The thoughtful weight of that look is telling. There's something going on between them. Or perhaps he wishes something were going on.
"There's another visitor at the gates requesting an audience with the Warlord."
Skye frowns, her hand tightening around mine. "Tell him to come back tomorrow, I've had enough visitors for the day. The Warlord will need to be made aware of Taran's presence."
"He's insisting, and he says he has an army at his back."
"Did he give you a name?"
"Diogo Fuentes, Warlord of Tucson Sanctuary."
Skye turns to look at me, an eyebrow raised. "Exactly what have you gotten yourself into that the Warlord himself would come searching for you?"
I give her a sheepish look and shrug. "If you want your Sanctuary to remain standing, you'd better let my husband in. He's not a patient man."