"A concussion and some minor abrasions," a voice says from what feels like everywhere. I hear it without knowing what it means. I want to open my eyes, but I don't have control of my body.
"I'm surprised she wasn't burnt to death," another voice says. "I heard one of the soldiers say they used the fire bombs to level the camp."
"The concussion of the explosion should have killed her. I don't know how she survived that let alone the fire," the first voice says.
"She and that boy got lucky is how," the second voice replies.
I pass out again.
There's a low hum. It resonates in my chest and head. It makes me think I'm going mad. The hum is almost like a ringing, only it's a deeper bass note and won't stop. I put my hands over my ears. The hum just gets louder. The silence increases its power. I groan and pant and then my eyes fly open as I remember what happened. There was an explosion. And Max. Max could be hurt.
I lower my hands and look around. I'm in a small room. It's as sparse as my tent. There's a bed, a device that beeps in time to my racing heart, and a pitcher of water. The floor is made of something hard and cold, like rock. The walls are bleached white and the ceiling consists of black panels. A camera is tucked into the corner panel. A door is the only other interesting bit to the room. I stand, pull the wires off my body, and try to turn the handle. It's locked. I fight against the door, but there is no moving it. It's stronger than I am. I hit the door in irritation.
"Let me out of here!" I demand. "Let me go! Where's my brother?! Max! Max!"
No one answers me. I'm left to the cold, sterile room and the humming that doesn't seem likely to go away anytime soon. I turn away from the door when I realize my screams are not doing any good and feel tears form in my eyes. Is Max dead? Did the explosion kill him? I remember the people speaking about me. They had said that Max is alive and that it had been a miracle for us to survive. He's alive. I just have to find him.
I search the room again. I look at the camera twice. Where am I? Where have I been taken? What kind of place has rooms like the one I'm in? Does it matter as much as figuring a way out? I eye the room more analytically. It takes me a minute to realize that the ceiling panels are not attached to the walls. They lift up. The ceiling is not nearly as protected as the door.
I stand on my bed and reach up. I am not as tall as Max, but I can still reach the panel directly over my head by standing on my toes. I push the panel out of the way. I can't see what's on the other side of the ceiling, but it doesn't matter. It's a way out. I grab the metal frame that keeps the panel in place and pull myself up. It's almost like climbing a metal, awkward, tree. I groan and feel my muscles pop in protest at the movement. My body wants me to go back to sleep. My mind wants to find Max more.
I finally pull myself over the edge and lay on my belly to keep the panels from falling. A network of the panels are spread out around me in all directions. I don't know which way to go, but I figure I'll find a way out eventually. Anything is better than the locked room. I start crawling. As I do, I hear a dim shout. The person watching the cameras has seen my escape.
I crawl faster. The urgency to escape is strong. I don't have long before I'm found. I lift up one of the panels when I think I am no longer above the locked room and look down. There's a white floor and bleached walls. I push the panel aside and poke my head through the opening. I look both ways cautiously. I'm in a hall. It's my first hallway. It's empty, but I see another camera at the end of it. I also see rows of closed doors and medical equipment that can be wheeled from one place to the next.
It looks like a hospital. Leslie had told me about them, but I never thought I would see one. But where I am doesn't matter nearly as much as finding Max.
I slowly lower myself to the floor. My bare feet touch the ground. It feels like ice. I look down and realize that I'm in a long gown. My practical clothes are gone. I don't know how I'll get far in a gown without any shoes or weapons, but I'll just have to find a way.
I reach the end of the hall and hear a sharp sound that overrides all other sounds. It repeats over and over again from up high. It sounds like a thousand birds all yelling at once. It makes me forget the humming. I put my hands over my ears and realize that the sound is an alarm. They're signaling to the rest of the building that I'm free.
Still holding my ears, I run to the nearest door at the end of the hall. It's made of metal and looks intimidating. I hope it's not locked as well. I turn the handle. It clicks and the door hisses open without my help. I step back, startled that the door is moving on its own, and then step through eagerly. I've found the stairs. They're surrounded on three sides by glass. I'm prepared to run down when I notice the view through the glass. My mouth drops open in surprise.
A wonderland of white and silver is on the other side. Some of the buildings are tall, others are low and squat. There seems to be a disproportionate amount of domed structures. Tall monuments, leafy parks and a large river are in the distance. A lift full of people zooms past the window. A train hisses on the electric rail below me. People walk around on the white roads. They look like ants. I'm up very high. The stairs below me seem never-ending.
A door slams open in the hall behind me. I have stood in place too long. My surprise has allowed my captors time to catch up to me. I run down the steps, my feet slapping loudly against the cold floor. Five steps down. Ten steps down. Fifty steps down. The ground level is so far away. I'll never reach the bottom; I'm going to be running on the stairs until the end of days.
I hear another door slam open. This one is below me. I look over the railing and see two people in red. They're not RFA, but their outfits look very similar in design. They have black patches on their arms and pistols at their sides.
The truth is slow to dawn around my surprise and fear. I'm in the city. I've been taken. My stomach clenches unpleasantly. My worst fear has just been changed to reality.
Knowing I can't go down, and sensing the man who's chasing me in a similar red outfit closing in from behind, I turn and open the closest door. It slides open with a hiss, and I run down the hall.
There are far more people on this level. They sit in chairs and patiently wait for it to be their turn to be seen by the medics. They stare at me as I run past them. I don't know how to take their nice clothes and calm demeanors. Shouldn't people in the city look worse? Shouldn't they be glum and angry about how few freedoms they have? Everything I've heard of the city suggests the people are oppressed. They are not supposed to look so content.
I shake off the thought and run into a crowd of people. They're all waiting for something, though no one says what. It's a good place to hide. I take the opportunity to catch my breath. I have no idea where I am or where I'm going. I have no idea how to get out of the city. I need a plan. How do I plan for something that leaves me at a total loss? I was never taught to prepare for an escape attempt from the city. How can I even get over the wall?
The door at the end of the hall opens again. The three men who are chasing me have found my floor. I step around a large woman so that her girth hides me from view. I hear a low ding and the wall in front of me opens. It slides to the right and reveals a large space on the other side. The people around me shuffle inside together. I shuffle with them. The doors shut and I hear a whir.
I jump slightly as the floor moves. It feels like it's about to fall out from under me. I grab the man next to me on the arm. He shoots me a concerned look, his eyes lingering on my robe, and I drop my hand quickly. I don't need him asking questions. I look down at the floor and realize the entire room is moving down, not just the floor. The room somehow has the power to transcend the floors separating me from the ground.
The doors open several more times. I jump each time, expecting the men chasing me to be on the other side. It's just more people going down. The room fills up slowly and we eventually reach the ground floor. I move with the crowd as they step outside the moving room. I catch several stares and one woman nudges her friend and po
ints at my feet. I ignore them and focus my attention on the doors across the large lobby. They are very large and made of glass. The same symbol is on all four doors. A large eagle has its wings spread below five yellow stars. In its claws is a staff. There's also lettering, but I've never learned to read.
I'm ten feet from the door. The people move with me. Five feet and closing. The fresh air is enticing. It's warm and carries the smell of cooked food and salt water. My stomach grumbles alarmingly. How long has it been since I've eaten? Hours? Days?
A hand grabs my shoulder. I push it away instinctively and start running. The hand returns to my arm. It's more insistent this time. I'm grabbed near my elbow and slammed onto the ground. My air rushes out of me as the cold floor connects with my chest. I can't move. I can't even breathe. Fighting back is impossible. The hand grabs me again and a man pulls me up and into his arms. People are really staring at me now. Their stares have turned fearful.
The only thing I see of my attacker is that he's wearing red. The man in red holds me to his chest so that I can't move. When I get my wind back, I'm still unable to fight. His hold on me is firm and practical. He's also very tall and strong. He casts a shadow on everyone we pass. He pushes a button and waits patiently for the room to open again, mutely ignoring my attempts to fight him. He steps inside the room with the same practical calm when the wall opens. The people inside immediately get off. I don't know if they're afraid of him or me.
He holds me tightly all the way back up to the top. I can't read the numbers on the buttons, but I know it's the highest floor. He steps out into the hall of bleached white and finally lowers me back to the ground. He grabs my arm and pulls me after him. The release gives me all I need to fight. I turn to face him, intending to fight to the death, but we're interrupted.
"Stop," a man's voice says.
My captor stops automatically at the call and turns. I'm forced to turn with him. A young man wearing a tight-fitting gold jacket is the source of the voice. From the look of steady calm on his face, he's someone important. He has light-brown hair that's one shade away from blond, grey eyes, and a square build. His body type suggests he's an athlete. He's taller than me, and has incredibly good posture. It's like his back was poured out of a steel mold.
"I'll take her," he adds.
"She's not due for a conversation for another hour," my captor explains.
"My other conversations were quick," the man replies stiffly. "Give her to me."
The tall man hands me over. He doesn't say a word. I have the distinct impression he's frightened of the much younger man. It's strange to think that such a large man would be scared by someone smaller. I instantly see why as the younger man grabs me. His hand on my arm is sharp and painful. He's strong. I can't pull my arm out of his grip. I know better than to try. It's wasted energy. Instead, I hit him in the stomach with my free hand, hoping the surprise makes him drop his hand. He grunts in pain. I move to hit him again, but he deflects the punch and pulls my arms behind my back. I've surprised him with my violence. He's not surprised enough to let me go.
The man in gold drags me down the hall without speaking. I lose my footing several times as he roughly pulls me away from the larger man. I want to cry out, to make him stop twisting my arms, but my fear has taken my voice. I want to save it for when it matters. I want to get my wind back and run for the door again.
He takes me to a room at the end of the hall. It's different from my room in that it has a table in the middle and a large glass wall on the opposite side of the door. The wall shimmers in the light. It reminds me of the shield. The man forces me to sit in a chair at the table and then uses his strong hands to force my hands onto the top. Metal bracelets circle my wrists and secure me to the table. The bracelets are restraints. I can't move my hands, though the metal does not cut me.
The man sits across the table from me calmly. I stare at him. I don't like how normal he looks. Shouldn't a government agent look more like a monster? He looks down and touches the table in the middle. A recording starts playing. There's an explosion, my face and Max. Then there's Gib. He's wearing the white uniform of the RFA. The revelation is shocking.
He's not a rebel after all. He's a spy for the government. And letting him go was far worse than I had assumed. His freedom meant the destruction of camp. I hear the others in camp screaming in pain again and the fire crackling against the canopy of leaves and wood. It sizzles and hisses. The sounds blend in with the humming that still rings through my ears. I don't know where the sounds of my friends and family dying begins and I end.
Gib orders several soldiers to pick Max and me up. Max is loaded into one lift and I'm loaded into another. The screen goes blank. The man stops the recording and rewinds it. He watches the explosion again. I don't know what he's looking for. I don't feel like asking. I fight my tears, not wanting to show him how scared and upset I am. I twist my hands under the bracelets until they're raw as I hear the screams again.
"I understand this camp has existed for a long time," the man says.
His voice is deep and resonating. He does not have to speak loudly to be heard. I have a feeling that if the room was crowded with people they would all quiet in order to hear him speak. He's compelling in a way that cannot be taught.
"Tell me about it. Tell me about the shield."
I stare at him angrily. Unshed tears are in my eyes, but my anger is the stronger emotion. He can't make me talk. I will not give him information about my home. I won't take the chance he can somehow make the situation worse with my words.
The man's lips twitch. He's fighting a smile. He's mocking me. He thinks my silence amusing. He figures I'll talk eventually. He pulls up the recording of the explosion again and rewinds it. He stops on Max's face. I look with him and feel my heart race.
"We have him," he adds, pointing at Max's face. "He's already told us everything."
It's my turn to smile. They have the wrong two people to make that lie work. "Liar," I say calmly.
"He cracked easily. Wasn't even worth me coming down here," he says. "You might as well tell me what you know, just so I can cover all my bases."
He's trying to goad me. I don't respond. I return his stare. He looks at me for a minute, his lips fighting his smile. He's searching for a way to get to me.
"There's a humming, right?" he asks.
How does he know?
"It'll go away in a couple of days," he promises me.
He looks at me again and I see something strange in the depth of his eyes. Is it compassion? Mocking amusement? I'm having trouble telling the two apart. My eyes keep returning to Max's face. There's so much fear in his expression. Where is he? How do I get to him?
"Do you know what's going on? Where you are?" the man asks me.
This is the first question I feel compelled to answer. I wonder if he'll tell me what they have in store for me or where they're keeping Max if I answer. I fear the future, but not nearly as much as I do the unknown.
"I'm in the city," I say. "In a hospital, on a floor that regular people don't usually go to."
His eyes sparkle for a brief second. It's like he's impressed with my answer. The sparkle fades quickly and he's back to looking bored and unimpressed.
"Right," he says. "What do you know about the city?"
"That its people have kidnapped me. And that it's dangerous for anyone who doesn't fit into its perfect little mold of obedience," I say from between clenched teeth. Why is he asking me such stupid questions?
"Kidnapping..." he repeats. "Not quite. You should look at it like a rescue. We brought you here because our city relies on people such as yourself to keep it strong. The immigrants we allow over the wall are useful to the citizens of our city. People such as yourself make up the backbone of our society. In return for your service, we improve your lives. Hunger, disease, and living in squalor are never realities for you like they were on the other side."
I don't like his words. He's twisting them to fit half truths. It'
s like he's preparing me for the worst news in my life.
"All you have to do to start a new life, a better life, is tell me what you know about the shield."
Not really an enticing offer.
"I don't know anything except that you've kidnapped me and killed my family for absolutely no reason."
"We killed rebels who were plotting to kill the council," he replies.
"That's not true!" I yell, finally losing my temper. "We've never hurt anyone! We were living peacefully. But if I had known Gib was going to destroy my home after we saved his life, I would have killed him myself!"
My voice echoes around the room. The man doesn't speak for a solid minute. He looks at me with shadowed eyes. His expression is bleak and intimidating, but I'm beyond reason. I don't care if I'm punished. I have stopped caring about my safety. The fact that they have killed innocent people and are now lying about it infuriates me.
"So you're sticking to the story that you know nothing about the shield?" he asks.
He's only hearing part of what I say. He doesn't care about my friends and family. He doesn't care about Leslie, Devlin, and all the innocent people the missiles killed. He wants his answers, emotion be damned.
I stare at him aggressively. My body is trembling with rage and hate. I want to hit him again. The need is rooted deep in my soul. He stares back at me indifferently. He's not impressed with what he sees. I wish his expression would change. I realize that I've seen it before. It's the same neutral expression Gib wore while looking at me. The resemblance makes me hate the man in front of me more.
His lips twitch again as he looks at me. "I'll take that as a yes..." He considers it for a moment. "I believe you. Is there anything else you'd like to tell me before they take you?"
"Take me where?" I ask.
"The Juvenile Retraining Center. It's where all immigrants under the age of eighteen are taken to learn how to fit into our society and serve the city."
I tremble at his words. They aren't going to kill me. They're going to put me in prison. They're going to keep me alive and force their beliefs on me.
I'm not sure which is worse.
Chapter 8