Straight to voicemail. Again.
"Nothing?" Ragnar asks, even though the call log is projected between the two of them. But his heavy frame leans forward on his elbows, focusing on the table as though in a prayer.
"Nothing," Shailene confirms flatly.
It's been twenty-four hours since Ragnar's received a curt message from Fiona and Seraph, and even more since anyone's seen or heard from them. We've decided to take a break from Left Behind, the digital telegram says. Don't worry about us. Take care. It's encrypted and virtually untraceable, although Fiona's the one they'd be asking to trace it anyways.
The call continues to ring and Ragnar sighs rather dramatically for his 53-year-old self. Shailene's head snaps up, feeling aggravated for no real reason except for everything. "What's your problem?"
"Nothing," Ragnar says, sighing deeply again. "I just think we shouldn't have pushed Fiona so hard. You know how she is with this stuff." He fiddles with a scrap on the table. "She's not made for war."
Shailene knows when he says we, he really means you. She can tell from the way that his sentences linger. "And I am?" She tries to keep her voice even, even though she just wants to scream. Fuck Fiona for leaving her, fuck Seraph, fuck all of this dogshit. "It doesn't take a genius to see that we have a good thing going. If you hadn't been so soft and just pulled the trigger with your Obsidian Tortoise connection, we'd have an army of magic monks after that first mission — instead of the zero that we have right now."
Ragnar shakes his head. "It's just not that simple, Shailene. We aren't totally sure of how the OBTO cloning technology works, or if it even does. Plus, Fiona's right — we don't even know what Seraph thinks of all of this."
Shailene rolls her eyes as the call goes to voicemail again. She re-dials. "It's not like Seraph himself will be hurt in the process — the original Seraph, at least! The clones will just be copies of him, only more obedient. They might seem like him, but they're just clones at the end of the day."
Ragnar gives her a look. "You know it's more complicated than that. At the very least, you could ask the guy."
Shailene sighs deeply. "I find it so interesting how you and Fiona live in this fantasy world, where we can have all these philosophical debates and wait for people to give permission on things. Ten years ago, when they abandoned us, did they ask for our permission? Or anyone's permission? From where I see it, we're trapped in a corner. Seraph is a person, fine, but he's also our only weapon here."
Ragnar scratches his head as the incessant ringing noise continues. "I agree with you to some degree but I just think there's some merit to what Fiona's saying. We need to really think about our end-goal and what we're doing here—"
"We are thinking," Shailene says hotly. "It's different for you and me, you know. It's easy for you to sit there and think it out because you won't be around to see everything go to shit. You don't know what it's like to spend your entire life fighting some fight that you didn't start — that your generation should have taken care of."
Ragnar says nothing, still fiddling with a scrap on the table.
Shailene stands up. "I know everyone thinks I'm extreme. I know you think I am made for war. But I want a regular life, too, you know. Fiona thinks she can pretend and delude herself into having one, but I know that the only way to get there is to end this fight. Destroy all unnecessary CO2 emissions, right here, right now. We take drastic measures because we are in drastic times. I don't want to be old like you and waiting around for someone else to finish the fight. I just want a normal life."
Ragnar finally looks up at her, his crystal blue eyes full of sadness. "I know, Shailene," he says despite the barrage of insults she just attacked him with. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry because everything's already gone to shit, and neither you nor Fiona have ever had a normal life. I'm sorry because you're right and the situation will probably continue to worsen. I'm sorry because it'll keep getting worse, even long after my death, until there's nothing left to lose."
Shailene breathes heavily, slightly biting her lip to keep the hot tears at bay. Ragnar, the brutish and formidable leader that she's known her whole life, is staring at her with the utmost despair. This is the man who became her father when she lost everything. This is the man she's always believed in and followed.
"I'm leaving," she finally says. "I'm gathering a team and we're tracking those two down. You can join or you can stay. We'll leave at dawn."
Ragnar says nothing. That damned ringing continues to go. It goes to voicemail — Hi, it's Fiona Leigh, I'm sorry I'm not available right now but leave me a message and I'll get right back to you. Her voice is both lilting and mocking. With a final nod, Shailene turns to leave. She hesitates for a second, and opens her mouth with her back turned. "Good night, Ragnar."
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Fiona doesn't like to drive much. Actually, no one likes to drive much because of the astronomical gas prices and the derelict highways the government no longer bothers to regularly maintain. And that's why she never bothered to upgrade from her mother's old Ford Fiesta.
Instead, she kept it pretty much unused in her apartment building's spare parking lot and didn't bother taking it with her when moving to Left Behind. Which is why she and Abin had to wear makeshift scarf-disguises and smuggle it out of the building, which is still under Compliance Order surveillance after their last scuffle. In fact, everything in Boulder is under surveillance, one way or another — if it's not the Compliance Order's Sheltersuit police, Fiona knows it's not long before Shailene starts taking this as a complex game of hide and seek. They need to leave Boulder.
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And that's how she ends up on a run-down highway from Boulder to Sacramento, bumping about in her scruffy Ford Fiesta. As the post-war capital of the US, Sacramento has quickly become one of the densest cities in the world. It's overrun by the four major gangs and virtually everyone in Sacramento is hiding from someone or something. And with its elite police force, Left Behind hates staying there for too long. It's the perfect place for Fiona and Abin to disappear to.
"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" Fiona asks for the millionth time. Even though they've been driving all day, Abin's whitened knuckles have never slacked once against the grab handles. Until he was holding his breath as she sped down the road, Fiona had forgotten that this might be a new concept to Abin.
"I'm fine," Abin says, but the words come a bit strained. His tall frame looks ridiculous in the Ford Fiesta, with him having to slouch slightly to fit in the car. "I'm getting used to it, I think." That's the seventh time he's said that.
Fiona checks the dash and looks out at the endless darkness ahead of them. They've been driving for hours but they're still making their way through Wyoming, nearly a thousand miles from their destination. "Why don't we take a break for tonight?"
"Sure," Abin says, and he finally exhales.
It's a while before they see any signs of life, but Fiona finally spots a "MOTEL VACANCY" sign after nearly an hour. She has never stayed at a motel — or any hotel for that matter, since people stopped traveling for leisure fifteen years ago — but she's seen them plenty in old movies.
This one's everything she's imagined it to be, with flickering lights and a defunct, gaseous pool out front. There are only a few cars in the lot but she parks behind the back, just in case. Fiona and Abin each grab their backpacks and head up the uneven walkway to the only lit room of the building.
The motel lobby is dim and smells kind of moist, but seems innocent enough. An old woman hobbles around behind her desk, rummaging in various files. She doesn't seem to hear or see them come in, because they stand there for a while as she flips through some papers. Finally, Fiona clears her throat.
"Oh! Hello!" The old woman pulls down her glasses and squints at them. "What are you two youngsters doing here so late at night?"
"We'd like a room," Fiona says.
"One room? Or two?" The old woman zeroes in on their hands, which hang on their sides. Fiona flips hers behind her back.
Fiona doesn't need to check her bank account to know that it's quickly dwindling. "One, please."
"One second," the woman says. She shuffles over to another shelf, pulling down a dusty and thick book. She flips through the pages like a sloth, before settling on a random page. This sets her off on a search for a working pen. "You know, it's odd for a non-couple to share a room," the old woman calls out as she rummages around her desk.
"Huh?" Abin says as Fiona suddenly grabs him tightly with her right arm. "Oh, of course this is my honey bun!" she says, with a too-bright smile. He automatically edges away and she pinches him back towards her. "We've been together since we met at... the grocery store. It's such a romantic story, really."
"No need to share," the old woman says, already exhausted by her sudden chattiness. "Just names and I'll get you set up."
Fiona gives Abin's arm a quick rub for good measure and he shivers away. Jeez, Fiona didn't know she was that repulsive. "He's Andy and I'm... Sandy. We're so excited to stay in your lovely establishment."
She pinches him again. They both smile at the old woman.
"Alright, lovebirds," the old woman says, throwing them a set of keys. "Down the hall, to your left. I'm in the room next door so try not to wake me up in the middle of the night, will ya?"
"What does she mean?" Abin whispers as they walk away.
"Nothing. Let's just get to bed," Fiona says quickly, thankful for the dingy lights that hide her reddening cheeks.
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Fiona takes a long, hot shower to work out all of the kinks in her neck and the worries in her head. First of all, she has no plan other than getting to Sacramento. She has no family, no friends, and has only heard stories on how to avoid getting mixed up with the gangs there. Secondly, she knows she can't run from Shailene or Ragnar forever, but she has no idea what she wants from them or how long she wants to be away.
And most of all, there is only one bed in the room.
But when her fingers start to get pruny and the steam starts to make her woozy, Fiona knows she has to get out of the shower and face the inevitable. Would it be offensive to offer to make a pillow barrier between them? Not that she wants a pillow barrier, but she doesn't want to make him feel uncomfortable. But what if she doesn't offer and he thinks that she wants to snuggle together? Not that she doesn't want to but she certainly doesn't want to, if that makes any sense — oh god.
She emerges from the washroom without any idea on what to say. But Abin's lost in his own world, scrawling some words on the motel-provided notepad that looks about as old as the woman outside, as he lays across the bed.
"What are you doing?" she asks, feeling bad when he flinches out of his reverie.
Abin gestures to the notepad. "Sometimes I like to write down my thoughts." His voice is a quiet rumble in the soggy room, and puts some of her anxiety at ease. He lifts up the piece of paper, and she sees the familiar curves of Korean characters. His eyes flicker strangely when he sees her get on the bed, and he rushes to ask: "Do you know how to read Korean?"
"No," Fiona says, maybe a bit too sadly. "Someone used to— I used to know how to write. A long time ago. But I've forgotten all of it by now."
Abin considers her for a moment. He hands her the pen in his hand. "I'll teach you," he says softly. "I'll write down a stroke and you can copy it."
Together, they work through two characters — 잘자. Goodnight. It takes Fiona way longer than it should, but for the first time in a long time, she feels some sort of peace settle upon her. She forgets about the stupid one bed situation. She forgets about Shailene and Ragnar and everyone at Left Behind. Instead, she focuses on Abin's soft words and quiet guidance as they work their way through the two characters.
"You did it!" Abin says, with more enthusiasm than she has ever really seen on him. He smiles, genuinely, and it almost takes her breath away. There's a beauty to his joy. Fiona tries not to seem too unsettled and pulls the covers onto herself.
"Thank you so much," she says with a yawn. "I think I'm going to go to sleep now."
Abin freezes, as though just now realizing the lack of a second bed. "Right here?" His voice sounds funny.
Fiona throws him a pressed smile. "Yup! Oh, and you should take a shower. 잘자!"
Before she can think too much about it, she grabs a pillow and flips away from him. No amount of dingy lights could hide her blazing cheeks now, and she's already humiliated herself enough times in one night. Even though she can feel his stare against her back, she squeezes her eyes shut and tries her best to sleep. Abin's voice keeps echoing inside her head. 잘자. Before Fiona falls asleep, his voice slowly melts into a fragment from her memory — a soft voice from when she was 6, when everything was still okay. Goodnight, angel.