Raven: A Delirium Short Story Read Online Free PDF Page A

rooms, and somewhere above us, the hiss of the wind through the trees.
    “You came back,” I said. “I didn’t think you would.”
    “I wasn’t going to,” he admitted. He looked different, wearing clothes Grandpa had found for him in the storeroom—much younger, much skinnier. His eyes were huge dark hollows in his face. I thought he was beautiful.
    I hugged Blue a little closer. She was still hot, still fussing in her sleep. But her breaths came even and slow, and there was no trapped rattle in her chest. For the first time, it struck me that I’d been lonely. Not just at the homestead, where everyone was too busy surviving to worry about making friends, where most of the Invalids were older or half-soft in the head or just liked to keep to themselves. Even before that. At home I’d never had friends either. I couldn’t afford to, couldn’t let them see what my house was like, didn’t want anyone paying attention or asking questions.
    Alone. I’d been alone my whole life. “Why did you change your mind?” I said.
    He smiled a little. “Because I knew you thought I’d bail.”
    I stared at him. “You crossed over to the other side—you risked your life—just to prove a point?”
    “Not to prove a point,” he said. “To prove you wrong.” He smiled, bigger this time. His hair smelled like smoke from the fire. “You seem like you might be worth it.”
    Then he kissed me. He leaned over and just touched his lips to mine with Blue held between us like a secret, and I knew then that I would not be so alone anymore.
     
    “How did you—?” Lena is breathless, white in the face. Shock, maybe. Her palms are cut up, and there’s blood on her jacket. “Where did you—?”
    “Later,” I say. My cheek is stinging. Got a face full of glass when Lena decided to break through the observation deck, but it’s nothing a pair of tweezers can’t fix. I’m lucky the glass missed my eyes.
    Julian, up close, looks different than he does in all the DFA literature. Younger, and kind of sad and overeager, like a puppy begging for attention—even a swift kick.
    Luckily, he asks no questions, just falls in behind me, walking quickly, saying nothing. He must be use to obeying. If it wasn’t for Lena, if she hadn’t switched up the rules, the needle would be in his arm by now, and he’d be dead. It would have been better for us, and for the movement.
    No point in thinking about that now. Lena took a stand, and so I took a stand with her.
    That’s what you do for family. Anything.
    We go out the emergency exit to the fire escape, which leads down into the little courtyard I scouted earlier. So far, so good. Lena’s breathing fast and hard behind me, but m clnd me, y breath is easy, even, and slow.
    This is my favorite part of the story: the escape.
     
    Tack is waiting with the van on Twenty-Fourth Street, just like he said he would be. I open the cargo door and shut Lena and Julian inside.
    “You got ’em?” Tack asks when I climb into the passenger seat.
    “Would I be here if I didn’t?” I answer.
    He frowns. “You’re cut.”
    I flip down the mirror and take a look: a few uneven cuts on my cheek and neck, beaded with blood. “Just a scratch,” I say, blotting the blood with the sleeve of my sweatshirt.
    “Let’s roll, then,” Tack says, and sighs.
    He guns the engine and pulls out into the street, gray and blurry with old rain. I keep my sleeve pressed to the side of my face to stanch the bleeding. We make it all the way to the West Side Highway before Tack speaks again.
    “It’s a risk, taking him back with us,” he says in a low voice. “Julian Fineman. Shit. A big risk.”
    “I’ll take responsibility.” I turn my face to the window. I can see the ghost-outlines of my reflection, feel the hum of cold air through the glass.
    “She’s important to you, isn’t she? Lena, I mean.” Tack’s voice stays quiet.
    “She’s important to the movement,” I answer, and see the ghost-girl