Not a problem. The young soldier slowed the wagon and pulled the horse to a stop. Kira gave Marcus a final peck on the cheek and hopped off.
Theres Nandita, said Marcus, straightening up and pointing. Kira turned and saw her working busily in her garden. Marcus lowered his voice. See if shes got some herbs for the chicken.
Rosemary, I assume, said Kira, and Marcus nodded with a grin. Anything else?
Whatever she can spare, said Marcus. Everything in your garden is awesome.
You got it, said Kira. Thanks, Brown.
The soldier smiled. Call me Shaylon.
Easy, tiger, said Marcus. Shes spoken for.
The wagon pulled away, and Kira shouldered her pack and walked toward her house. Kira shared her home with several other girls and their nanny, Nandita, though after eleven years she seemed more like a grandmother than anything else. Between the Partial War and RM, no family had survived intact: Every surviving wife became a widow; every child an orphan. Those few humans whod been immune to the virus had banded together for protection, gathering here on Long Island because it was a developed, defensible position with good access to fish and arable land. The children had been divided among the adults, and Nandita had happily laid claim to four of them: Kira, Madison, Ariel, and Isolde. Ariel had moved nearly three years ago, on her sixteenth birthday, and Madison had moved in with Haru when they got married. Ariel had hardly spoken to any of them again, but Kira loved them all like sisters.
Nandita was working in the garden, and Kira could smell the exotic mix of aromatic herbs: rosemary, nutmeg, anise, cilantro, basil, marjoram. . . . Kira helped in the garden every summer, and she still couldnt keep track.
Does Marcus want rosemary on the chicken this Friday? asked Nandita. The old woman straightened up from the garden, brushing soil from her hands. She spoke quickly, almost impassively, but Kira could tell from her eyes that she had been worried sick the entire time Kira had been gone.
Kira smiled.
Did you hear him?
I didnt need to hear him, said Nandita. That boy has a one-track mind. She grunted and stood up, picking up a basket of fresh leaves and sprigs and berries. Even while gardening, she was wearing a sari. The market was good today. Help me inside.
Kira shouldered her pack and her medkit, following the old woman up the porch steps and in through the doors; Xochis music was blaring upstairs, and Kira smiled. Shed have to go talk to her when she was done helping Nandita.
Nandita loved all her girls, but shed always had a soft spot for Kira. Maybe because she was the youngest, or maybe because she was so precocious; Kira remembered helping Nandita in the market as a child, calling out fearlessly to passing adults and ordering them sternly to buy a sprig of mint. Nandita called her the Little Explosion.
Sometimes Kira felt guilty that she had so many memories of Nandita, and none of her real mother. Her father she knew, but her mother . . . It was okay. She had Nandita.
Did anything exciting happen while I was gone?
My Little Explosion almost died in a big one, said Nandita, pushing the door open. The previous ownersthe Martels, according to the papers and photos and scrapbooks they had found insidehad died with the doors locked, and the early survivors had been forced to break them open to get inside and clean up the bodies. Nandita had replaced the door four times over the years, as one or the other of the girls had forgotten their keys after a long night out. Replacing the door, she said, was preferable to leaving it unlocked. It wasnt like the island was short on unused doors. Kira dropped her pack inside and followed Nandita into the kitchen.
You have grown up well, said Nandita, turning in the kitchen doorway and regarding Kira with a smile. You will make a good wife.
Um, yay?
The woman walked to the counter and set down the basket, opening the cupboards to look for bowls. You do not want to be a wife? You are not going to marry Marcus?
Kira opened a cupboard and handed Nandita a ceramic bowl. I . . . havent really thought about it.
Nandita stopped moving, turned, and stared at Kira. Kira squirmed uncomfortably, waiting for her to look away, then finally sighed and threw up her hands. Okay, so Ive thought about it, but I havent decided anything. I dont know what I want.
You want to be happy, said Nandita, reaching past Kira to the open cupboard and pulling out the entire stack of dishes. Thats what everybody wants. You just dont know what will make you happy.
Kira grimaced. Is that weird?
Nandita shook her head kindly. Happiness is the most natural thing in the world when you have it, and the slowest, strangest, most impossible thing when you dont. She set out the dishes and started sorting through the herbs, separating them into groups and tearing off leaves and branches for the bowls. The scent of crushed mint filled the kitchen. Its like learning a foreign language: You can think about the words all you want, but youll never be able to speak it until you suck up your courage and say them out loud.
What if you say them and theyre wrong?
Then youve probably just asked the waiter for a bowl of library elephants, said Nandita, or whatever the metaphorical equivalent of that would be. I cant carry these analogies very far, I get mixed up.
Too bad, said Kira, picking up a handful of rosemary and breaking off pale green twigs for the bowl. I was hoping youd just keep going: happiness, love, the whole . . . purpose of life, I guess.
Whose life?
What do you mean?
Each life has a different purpose, and some people can find their purpose more easily than others. The key, she said, turning to Kira and gesturing firmly with a sprig of cilantro, the most important thing you can ever know, is that whatever your purpose is, thats not your only choice.
Huh?
No matter why youre here, no matter why any of us are here, youre never tied down to fate. Youre never locked in. You make your own choices, Kira, and you cant let anyone ever take that away from you.
Okay, said Kira. Thats not really where I was expecting this conversation to go.
Thats because I make my own choices, too, said Nandita, picking up her basket. She still had nearly half the herbs unsorted. Im taking these to the neighbors; Armand is sick. You go and get cleaned upI want my house to smell like basil, not teenage armpits.
Done, said Kira, and ran upstairs. The music was louder up here, the usual assortment of screeching, booming, yelling music that Xochi always chose when she was alone. Kira smiled, then smelled herself, grimaced, and went straight to the shower.
On the very small list of benefits to the end of the world, at or very near the top, was clothes. Long Island had once held nearly eight million people, with the shopping malls and department stores and fashion meccas necessary to clothe them all. The Break had reduced that population to a tiny fraction, and obliterated the economic system in the process, leaving all those clothes pretty much free for the taking. It was horrible, Kira knew, and the survivors lived their lives in a brutal mix of hard work and desperation and fear. But they were very well dressed.
Many of the clothes on the island were too shabby to weartoo moldy, or too moth-eaten, or too faded from exposurebut a lot of them were still good, even today. Shopping was as simple as combing through an empty store or neighborhood, finding something that fit, and giving it a good wash to get rid of the bugs and the smell. Storage rooms and warehouses were the best. There the clothes were sealed in boxes instead of loose to the world, and Kira had spent many of her weekends with her friends, picking through ruined strip malls in search of a Twenty-Two or a Threadless or some little boutique that no one else had found yet. Nanditas girls had an entire room filled with every kind of outfit they could imagine, from baggy sweats to slinky dresses and everything in between. Kira chose something that showed off her legsmight as well have some fun after two days of near-death experienceand went to say hi to Xochi.
Many of the clothes on the island were too shabby to weartoo moldy, or too moth-eaten, or too faded from exposurebut a lot of them were still good, even today. Shopping was as simple as combing through an empty store or neighborhood, finding something that fit, and giving it a good wash to get rid of the bugs and the smell. Storage rooms and warehouses were the best. There the clothes were sealed in boxes instead of loose to the world, and Kira had spent many of her weekends with her friends, picking through ruined strip malls in search of a Twenty-Two or a Threadless or some little boutique that no one else had found yet. Nanditas girls had an entire room filled with every kind of outfit they could imagine, from baggy sweats to slinky dresses and everything in between. Kira chose something that showed off her legsmight as well have some fun after two days of near-death experienceand went to say hi to Xochi.
Xochi Kessler had moved into their house soon after Madison left it; Xochi had just turned sixteen and couldnt wait to escape from her mother. Shed brought with her four banks of solar panelsher adopted mother was rich, if nothing elseenough to run lights, an electric stove, even a toaster if she wanted it, but instead every ounce of juice those panels brought in went straight to Xochis music system. Music was practically Xochis life. Kira had met her years ago while shopping, Kira for clothes and Xochi for digital music players. They were palm-size tablets of metal and plastic and glass, on which their former owners had stored hour after hour of every kind of music imaginable. Xochi had collected nearly a hundred of them.
Xochi waved as Kira stepped into the doorway. Give it up for Kira, mighty hero of the infamous Asharoken salvage run! You are rocking those shorts, girl.
Kira grinned and waved back. When one has legs like mine, she said airily, twirling on one foot, one has a responsibility to display them. For the little people.
Is that an Irish joke? asked Xochi, frowning in mock solemnity. I certainly hope so. Senator Erin Kessler was a proud Irish woman, and thus Xochi had been adopted and raised in an aggressively Irish home. Her actual heritage was more southwestern, Mexican or even Aztec, but that hadnt stopped the senator from forceful cultural indoctrination. When Xochi got mad, she even slipped into an Irish brogue. Kira thought it was hilarious.
I dont mean leprechauns, I mean commoners, said Kira. It was a peasant joke, but I guess its not funny unless you imagine that Im actually a princess.
Im totally a princess, said Xochi, and I dare anyone to prove otherwise.
Princess of what? asked Xochi. Lincoln Avenue?
My parents were the rulers of a vast, exotic empire, said Xochi, waving her fingers mysteriously. Or at least, since nobody knows who they were, they might as well have been.
What are you planning for the party this Friday? Nandita was a good cook, but Xochi was an excellent one, and always provided the food for special occasions.
Roast chicken, fried potatoes, and doughnuts if I can get the flour for them. Sweet rice is good, but for the love of all thats holy, I want some effing chocolate.
Chocolate doughnuts? asked Kira, whistling appreciatively. Who died and made you senator?
Unfortunately, not my mother, said Xochi. She jumped up, heading for the door. I found a guy in the market yesterday who swore he had some wheat flour. Want to come?
These legs arent doing the little people any good locked up in here, said Kira, standing with a flourish. The people need to see their princesses.
It was Friday. Rebuilding Day.
Time for a party.
There were no births on Friday, and no fevered babies to monitor, so Kira came home exhausted but ready to enjoy herself without feeling guilty. She bathed, brushed out her hair, and chose a bright-colored outfit from her flirty section: a silk shirt with Chinese embroidery, a pair of high-heeled sandals, and a pair of jeans just short enough that she paused to worry about the weather. It was summer, but a cold one, and another rainstorm could really make her wish shed gone with something heavier. She mulled over the decision, comparing the jeans with a longer pair, and finally decided to go with the shorts. They looked better with the shirt, and better on her, and she needed the boost. She could risk cold legs to feel like a normal person again for a while. They probably wouldnt go outside anyway.
Hurry up, said Xochi, rapping on Kiras bedroom door. She was dressed in all black, including lipstick and eyeliner, with an incongruously colorful apron tied around her waist. Madison and Haru are already here, and some dude named Marcustall, goofy-looking, easy to push around. Youd like him.
I can see why your royal parents got rid of you, said Kira with a playful sneer. You can be a delightfully snotty person when you put your mind to it.
My wit is like your legs, said Xochi. It would be selfish of me to keep it hidden. Kira followed her to the kitchen and waved to Nandita, busily washing dishes in the sink. Xochi pulled a bowl of sliced potatoes from the counter, drizzled them with olive oil, and sprinkled Nanditas rosemary liberally over the top, stirring the concoction with her hands. Nandita, these herbs smell great.
Thank you, scary one, said Nandita. It was their private joke: Nanditas entire wardrobe was brightly colored saris, and she simply couldnt understand Xochis preference for black.
Your kitchen smells great, said Kira, taking a deep whiff, but Im going to tear myself away and find Marcus.
Give him a kiss for me, said Xochi.
Tongue?
Not too much. I dont want to seem easy.
Kira walked down the hall, breathing deeply as another wave of mouthwatering smells washed over her. Say what you will about Xochis mom, she taught that girl how to cook.
The hall was lit with gasoline lamps, all hooded and filtered to catch the smell. Kira could hear the hum of voices from the living room, and the hiss and crackle of fire from the wood-burning stove in the kitchen. This is what the farmers eat like all the time, she thought. Almost makes me want to try the life.
Almost.
She followed the voices to the living room. Marcus and Haru were deep in discussion on the couch, while Madison reclined nearby on an easy chair. The stereo was in this room, and the sound filled the room like a storm cloud.
Madison smiled. Hey.
Hey, Mads. Whats up?
Madison smirked and darted her eyes toward Marcus and Haru. Just relaxing while your noble boyfriend takes the brunt of my husbands righteous fury. Hes really on one today.
Kira nodded. Haru was an intense talker.
Of course its about freedom, Haru was saying, its about preserving freedom through law. His eyes were fierce, and Marcus looked pale but determined under his glare. Any society needs a certain amount of law: Too much gives you tyranny, but too little gives you chaos.
Kira! said Marcus, practically leaping out of his chair when he saw her. He crossed and gave her a hug, coming away with her hand clasped tightly in his own. He looked her up and down, pointedly not looking at Haru. You look great.
Thanks, said Kira. She led him to a couch and sat down, looking across at Haru. Hey, good to see you. She really didnt want him to start up again on whatever he was ranting about, but she couldnt just refuse to acknowledge him.