Incubation by Laura DiSilverio

Author:Laura DiSilverio
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: young adult, dystopian
Publisher: Laura DiSilverio
Published: 2016-04-12T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

T

wo weeks later, we’re footsore, tired and hungry. Having to scrounge for food has slowed us considerably. I’ve been able to identify edible mushrooms and insects, and we’ve even stewed bark. Wyck caught a small fish, but that was a week back. We’ve all thinned down, but Halla’s the thinnest, except for the baby bump which protrudes very noticeably now. The people we’ve seen since we left the lab—a husband and wife traveling together, and a mother and daughter who said their ACV malfunctioned—were all fixated on Halla’s belly. The mother, drawing her teenage daughter close, rummaged in her bag and pulled out a shawl. “Here,” she’d muttered. “This might hide it somewhat.” Halla took it gratefully and draped it around herself; to my mind, it is like trying to hide an elephant under a tablecloth. I know her pregnancy makes us a target.

We’ve given up traveling at night because we need daylight to find food. I dislike being so visible, but there’s no help for it. My tummy grumbles as we walk, but I try to ignore it. My boot sole has come loose at the toe and it flaps irritatingly with each step. Step, ka-flap, step, ka-flap. Wyck is quiet. He hasn’t talked much since we left the lab. He walks with Halla during the day, helping her over obstacles, keeping her spirits up with an encouraging word or speculation about what Atlanta will be like. She tells him about her dreams for Little Loudon. He treats her like an older brother, and even though I don’t feel sisterly toward him, I see the bond between them growing stronger and I feel left out.

At night, though, when Halla’s standing watch, Wyck spoons up against me in the shelter, his arm draped over my waist, the one blanket covering us both. There’s been no kissing, and I’m confused. Maybe Wyck’s afraid it will lead to more; heaven knows one pregnancy among our trio is enough. Sometimes while he sleeps I lie there awake, appreciating the gentle puff of his breath against my neck or cheek, and the solidity of his body pressed against mine. We haven’t spoken about what went on in the lab. I’ve had nightmares four times, where I’ve woken with a lurch, convinced the incinerator’s flames are licking at my feet. From the way Wyck tosses and mumbles sometimes, I think he has nightmares too.

The terrain has changed, become hillier. It’s hotter now that we’re closer to summer and we’re all darker. Streams and ponds are plentiful, so we’ve had no trouble filling our water bladder and we’ve still got the hydropure tablets. I’m grateful for that. Being hungry all the time is hard enough. We’re on a two lane road that cuts through what used to be a peach orchard. Even now, probably a decade after they last bore fruit, I can smell the rich, sweet peach scent. Dusk is coming on, purpling the sky, and we’re keeping an eye out for a place to pitch our tent.

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