Read Online Liberty by Annie Laurie Cechini - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Annie Laurie Cechini
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you all will excuse us, I’ll take her upstairs and be back down in a second.” Berrett reached down for my pack.
“You’ll what?” I cried. “I’m not your child, Berrett. You can’t tell me what to—”
Berrett pulled me up and put his face right next to mine. “Just cool it, turbo,” he whispered. “You need a break.”
He pulled me through a narrow side door and up a set of wooden steps, swiped his finger against a keypad, and stared into the retinal scanner.
The SUN can’t find the power to keep the city lit, but they can somehow manage to run it to anything security-related. Skuddy, flarking jackwagons.
The lock popped open and I stumbled forward into the room. A worn chair with a faded red cushion stood next to a dead floor lamp in one corner. A bed took up the majority of the room, facing a tiny red brick gas fireplace. A humble fire burned inside, and a candelabrum perched on the mantle, its small candles casting shadows on the walls around us.
The second the door swung shut, I let Berrett have it.
“What the flark, Berrett? You set me up—”
“I did not set you up.”
“—and then act like you’ve got to go put the flarking fussy baby to sleep before you can sneak back downstairs to the grownups and—”
“What? If you didn’t look like you were about to lose your lunch, this conversation would be going very differently,” Berrett growled. He leaned his rocket pack against the wall and threw my pack to the ground. “Lie down and give me your washcloth. I’ll go soak it again.”
“I don’t need a washcloth. I need my crew. I need my ship. I need to get out of here. Why won’t everyone just leave me alone?” I flopped face down onto the faded quilt and yelled, “I hate everything!”
I didn’t hear a sound from Berrett, not even his breath. I had a horrible feeling he was trying not to laugh.
“I’ll ... I’ll be right back.”
“Mmmmph.”
A few minutes later he returned. “Roll over, pitiful.”
“Make me.”
“You asked for it.”
He flipped me over with hardly any effort and placed the washcloth on my forehead. “Try to rest.”
“You try to rest.” He gave me a weird look, but I was too tired to care. “Oh, just go away, Berrett.”
“Right. I’ll do that. Night, Dix.”
“Mmm.”
GETTING BETTER 7
I WOKE UP WARM, STRANGELY COMFORTED BY THE SENSE THAT I wasn’t alone. My bleary eyes cracked slowly open, and my gaze settled on Berrett. He sat in the chair by the hearth, playing idly with the decorative iron poker. I ached all over and wasn’t ready to uncurl myself yet, so I stayed under the covers, watching him stare at the flames.
“Thought you left,” I mumbled.
“Left?” he asked.
“Last night, didn’t I tell you to go?”
The right corner of his lips turned up. “Yes, but I thought you meant go back downstairs.”
I fidgeted with my blanket and listened to the hiss of the gas fireplace, trying hard to remember anything more than fuzzy details after we came upstairs.
“Brought you breakfast,” he said. He leaned forward and nudged a plate of fruit and half a bagel toward me before settling back in the chair.
I was really touched—and starving—but I didn’t want to show it. I drew a hand slowly out from under the covers, inching the plate closer. I could feel my dry mouth begin to salivate in anticipation of an actual meal. Chunks of apple, honeydew, watermelon, and sliced banana were piled on top of each other, spilling over into the thick layer of cream cheese on top of the bagel.
“There’s some grape juice on your nightstand. When you polish that off, make sure you refill it with some water. You’re dehydrated.”
I looked at the nightstand and picked up the chipped plastic cup with a scratched-up bar logo on it. I gulped the juice down until the cup was drained. As the juice flooded my parched throat, I felt the cool relief flow through my entire body, bringing me back to life. I let my tongue run over my lips to
“You’ll what?” I cried. “I’m not your child, Berrett. You can’t tell me what to—”
Berrett pulled me up and put his face right next to mine. “Just cool it, turbo,” he whispered. “You need a break.”
He pulled me through a narrow side door and up a set of wooden steps, swiped his finger against a keypad, and stared into the retinal scanner.
The SUN can’t find the power to keep the city lit, but they can somehow manage to run it to anything security-related. Skuddy, flarking jackwagons.
The lock popped open and I stumbled forward into the room. A worn chair with a faded red cushion stood next to a dead floor lamp in one corner. A bed took up the majority of the room, facing a tiny red brick gas fireplace. A humble fire burned inside, and a candelabrum perched on the mantle, its small candles casting shadows on the walls around us.
The second the door swung shut, I let Berrett have it.
“What the flark, Berrett? You set me up—”
“I did not set you up.”
“—and then act like you’ve got to go put the flarking fussy baby to sleep before you can sneak back downstairs to the grownups and—”
“What? If you didn’t look like you were about to lose your lunch, this conversation would be going very differently,” Berrett growled. He leaned his rocket pack against the wall and threw my pack to the ground. “Lie down and give me your washcloth. I’ll go soak it again.”
“I don’t need a washcloth. I need my crew. I need my ship. I need to get out of here. Why won’t everyone just leave me alone?” I flopped face down onto the faded quilt and yelled, “I hate everything!”
I didn’t hear a sound from Berrett, not even his breath. I had a horrible feeling he was trying not to laugh.
“I’ll ... I’ll be right back.”
“Mmmmph.”
A few minutes later he returned. “Roll over, pitiful.”
“Make me.”
“You asked for it.”
He flipped me over with hardly any effort and placed the washcloth on my forehead. “Try to rest.”
“You try to rest.” He gave me a weird look, but I was too tired to care. “Oh, just go away, Berrett.”
“Right. I’ll do that. Night, Dix.”
“Mmm.”
GETTING BETTER 7
I WOKE UP WARM, STRANGELY COMFORTED BY THE SENSE THAT I wasn’t alone. My bleary eyes cracked slowly open, and my gaze settled on Berrett. He sat in the chair by the hearth, playing idly with the decorative iron poker. I ached all over and wasn’t ready to uncurl myself yet, so I stayed under the covers, watching him stare at the flames.
“Thought you left,” I mumbled.
“Left?” he asked.
“Last night, didn’t I tell you to go?”
The right corner of his lips turned up. “Yes, but I thought you meant go back downstairs.”
I fidgeted with my blanket and listened to the hiss of the gas fireplace, trying hard to remember anything more than fuzzy details after we came upstairs.
“Brought you breakfast,” he said. He leaned forward and nudged a plate of fruit and half a bagel toward me before settling back in the chair.
I was really touched—and starving—but I didn’t want to show it. I drew a hand slowly out from under the covers, inching the plate closer. I could feel my dry mouth begin to salivate in anticipation of an actual meal. Chunks of apple, honeydew, watermelon, and sliced banana were piled on top of each other, spilling over into the thick layer of cream cheese on top of the bagel.
“There’s some grape juice on your nightstand. When you polish that off, make sure you refill it with some water. You’re dehydrated.”
I looked at the nightstand and picked up the chipped plastic cup with a scratched-up bar logo on it. I gulped the juice down until the cup was drained. As the juice flooded my parched throat, I felt the cool relief flow through my entire body, bringing me back to life. I let my tongue run over my lips to
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