Free Whispers in Autumn by Trisha Leigh Page A

you’re all thinking. The Healers don’t deal with injuries this bad.”
    The way he says it sends nausea rolling through me. Like he couldn’t care less. Then again, no one else cares either. Deshi is an enigma, acting friendly or even coconspiratorial one minute, then blissfully accepting of the status quo the next.
    The cluster nods along with him, turns their backs on the injured boy, and jog toward the building. Deshi raises an eyebrow when neither Lucas nor I move. “You coming?”
    “Someone should tell the Administrator what happened. I’ll go.” Lucas speaks up with a smooth, confident smile.
    After studying us for a moment with a piercing gaze, Deshi follows the pack inside.
    “Go on, Althea. You don’t have to wait. You’ve made it clear staying away from me is a priority.” Lucas trains his eyes on the distance. On nothing at all. His voice dismisses me, but instead I shift closer to him.
    For some reason I can’t put my finger on, the thought of leaving his side brings on unstoppable waves of panic. Lucas may not be a Dissident like me, but he makes me feel safe. Right now, with the Wardens watching our every move, kids disappearing from Cell, and a boy with splattered brains lying on the ground at my feet, I’ll take it.
    I studiously ignore Greg’s splayed body. Impatience creeps in at Lucas’s unwillingness to make a move. Getting out of here, away from the…from Greg, is a top priority in my book. “Well? Shouldn’t we go in and tell the Administrator? I mean, Greg might need help.”
    “I don’t think anyone can help him.”
    Unlike Deshi, Lucas sounds sorry to say those words. Steeling myself, I glance down, concentrating on Greg’s chest rather than the gaping wound in his head. It’s almost okay that way; I don’t have to see the blood. After a moment his chest moves, ever so slightly. Shallow.
    “He’s breathing, Lucas. We should go get someone right now.” My hand darts out and slips into his, tugging him toward the Cell. The strange mixture of my superheated skin and his frigid palm no longer sends shivers down my spine, instead offering comfort borne of growing familiarity. Maybe even friendship. He doesn’t resist, though he glances more than once over his shoulder.
    “What are you looking at?”
    “Huh?”
    “Why do you keep looking back and forth between the trees and the Cell?”
    “I’m waiting to see if they’ll come on their own.”
    “Who?”
    His fingers tighten around mine as he smiles down at me. For a second I forget the question. Okay, maybe more than one second. The world tilts, as though I’ve fallen into his dimple. My chest is tight and uncomfortable, and the solid reality of his voice anchors me in the moment.
    “The Wardens, of course. The Others say they’re always watching, and ten Wardens are wandering around town. How come they aren’t here?”
    Like his insistence that the fish isn’t deadly, the question implies that the Others might lie. That suggestion makes his words treasonous, blasphemous, and downright crazy. But the lingering idea that Greg’s outburst in astronomy had something to do with his demise won’t go away, and hearing Lucas voice a similar sentiment snaps me out of my winter-scented dreamland and dumps me back into real life.
    No one talks that way. But I think that way.
    People don’t question the Others. They rule us, maintain a pleasant society, employ us, but they are not us. They are Other.
    “Lucas.” The word escapes my lungs in a gasp and I can’t help but shoot a paranoid glance around the empty field. “What are you saying? That the Others would lie? You can’t say that.”
    “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.” Lucas’s cheeks flush pink and he refuses to meet my gaze.
    We walk into Cell in silence, our wet tennis shoes squeaking on the hard floors as we enter, the sound echoing off the empty walls. The Administrative Center is in the middle of the building, enclosed entirely