The man stands and looks over my shoulder at the glass wall. His glance doesn't linger for long. He steps around the table and then sits near me. His expression hasn't changed, but now he's trying to appear kind. It's a lie.
"I know you're frightened. Your fear might make you do something stupid. To save us all a lot of time, and to prevent another foolish escape attempt, I'm going to tell you everything that's about to happen to you...You'll be taken and examined by our medics. They're very good. They have equipment you may have never seen before. None of the equipment will hurt you. When the exam is over you'll be given new clothes and then taken to the facility. You and your fellow immigrants will be tested for different aptitudes with two tests, mental and physical, and then given a color based on skill level."
I frown at him. Color? He notices my confusion.
"As many of the immigrants are illiterate, we find that a color system is easier for them to adhere to than a number ranking."
I flush with heat. He knows I can't read. He flashes me a quick, arrogant smile.
"Once you have your color assigned, you will be sorted into your color's sleeping quarters and then you will start lessons. You will learn about our history, our city, and your future role in the hierarchy. We will test you often to find what talents suit you best so you can start a good career path that plays to your abilities. The training process can be intense, but it's worth it. You'll thank us in the end. They always do."
Another surge of anger. He has just told me I will be a prisoner for the rest my life and that I will end up thanking him for the indignity. I want to throttle him and then ask him if he feels grateful to me for taking away his oxygen supply.
"What if I don't want to?" I ask quietly, my eyes on his grey ones.
"You'll be killed."
He says it so simply; it's like he's announcing his birthday or a decision to wear a sweater. Though his expression is the same, his eyes have taken on new emotion. He's warning me that the threat is real. It's not idle. They'll kill me if I fight back. It's either do as they say or die. And then I will never see Max again. Max is more important than whatever indignities they throw my way. I have to live in order to find him again. I take a deep breath to calm myself. I mustn't let them see me panic. I must be strong.
"What about my brother?" I ask.
"What about him?"
"Is he there?" I ask.
"We have determined him to be over eighteen. He is in another facility."
"Can I see him?" I ask.
"You can see him when your training is over," he says. "And only if you both are released into society as completely rehabilitated citizens."
The door opens with a hiss. Two people are on the other side: a man and a woman. They're wearing the red jackets of my pursers. Patches are on their arms. The black patch has a white design of a domed building with five stars hanging above it. They both look very fit and capable. In their hands are pistols. I know they are willing to use them.
The man in gold pushes a spot on the table and the bracelets fall away from my wrists and recede back into the table. I pull my arms away in relief and the man tugs me up by the back of my gown. He starts to pull me to the door. As he does, I hear a barely noticeable whisper in my ear, "If you run away again, or fight too much, they'll kill you and your brother. They won't give you another chance. And don't let them know what you're capable of. They kill the strong."
The whisper is swift and fierce. It's nothing like how the man talked to me before. It's easy to think I've imagined it, but I know the truth. His words are burned into my skull. I know I have only one option in front of me. I have to go through with their training. I have to hide who I am and what I can do and find a way back to Max. I know enough of him to know that he will do the same. We're survivors. We always find a way to look out for one another.
The man hands me over to the woman. She takes my arm as the second man steps behind us. His eyes are on my back. It will only take him a second to raise his pistol and fire. I don't need the woman's hand on my arm to get me to obey. The man's words have taken my desire to fight. I'll behave for Max's sake. They have also given me purpose. I will survive their training. I won't let them break me. I'm stronger than they are.
I'm taken to the end of the hall and into a large room. The man moves to the door and the woman pulls me behind a black barrier of glass. She forces me to take my gown off then steps away.
"Stay," she tells me.
A light flashes on the black barrier, then a network of red beams surround me. They touch every inch of my body. Pictures pop up on the barrier of what looks like the interior of my body. The scan does not last long. The woman throws the gown at me and I pull it back on. She takes me to another room and a different woman wearing a silver coat, with a symbol of a staff surrounded by two snakes over her heart, examines me. It's like the red beams are crawling across my skin again as she inspects me. She looks in my ears, mouth and eyes, feels along my neck and stomach, and surveys places I've never let another person look in my life.
When she is done with her analysis, I am taken to a third room where a large machine sits by itself. Three men in silver coats are behind a large barrier. They gesture me to the machine. I stand by it and one of the men straps me to it without speaking. I instantly want to fight off the cold restraints, but the table tilts and I'm suddenly on my back. A low beep startles me. I jump. There is another beep and I spin to the left one time. A black pane of glass slides over me and I can't see the men anymore. I am closed in. For a minute, no one exists but me.
A low whir of sound greets me. I think of all the new sounds I have experienced lately. I wonder when they will stop making me jump. The machine's whir surrounds me and then a thump-thump-thump adds a deep bass to the whir. The glass starts spinning dizzyingly in front of me. I close my eyes and wait for it to stop. Two minutes later, the sound dies down and the glass slides away. The man releases me from the table and I am taken to a final room. A tray has been set up with a large gun-looking syringe and different vials of liquids. I'm given so many shots that I lose feeling in my arm. I don't know what the shots are for or even if they're lethal. I don't ask questions. No one will answer them.
My guards stay with me the entire time. The longer we're together, the more I realize how young they are. They're as young as the man who questioned me, maybe eighteen or nineteen. I'm curious at the oddness of such young people leading me around. Shouldn't there be older guards? No one at camp would trust the young with so much authority. Maybe I do not merit such an experienced guard. I have no way of knowing if it is normal or not. The most I know of the city is that they send people from outside the walls to a retraining camp after they kidnap them. I know they are sending me to hell.
I rub at my arm absently as the people in silver finally stop poking and prodding me. The man had said to expect as much from them, but it's still uncomfortable. How can anyone be poked so much?
My guards stand near the door. They talk about someone they both know. Neither are worried about me fighting back. I desperately want to, but the man is right. His warning rings in my ears. Max will be killed. I can't fight my way out of the building while knowing it could get him hurt. They have found my weakness.
The door opens after thirty minutes of waiting and a medic talks to the guards for a minute. They nod and gesture me to stand. I don't know if the man told them there was something wrong with me or if he said I was perfectly healthy. No one speaks to me.
I am taken to the end of the hall and lead into a room. It looks exactly like the one that I escaped from, only this time the woman guard doesn't leave my side. She closes the door behind me and orders me to put on an outfit that is waiting for me on the bed. Laid out is a bra, underwear, a black tank top, a pair of grey loose-fitting pants and a grey button-up shirt. A pair of shoes and socks sit on the floor. The grey is depressing. It adds to my feelings of being a prisoner.
When I am fully clothed, the woman pulls me out of the room.
I am taken to the end of the hall and the man presses a button on the wall. A minute later, the wall opens and the moving room appears again. I actually smile as the low swoop enters my stomach and we start to descend. I know that the adrenaline rush from the swoop is silly, but the ride down will be the last thing I enjoy for a long time.
The doors do not open out to the pretty lobby with glass doors and elegant writing. Instead, it opens out to a dark, underground space. The white walls switch to a muddy shale and the bright light dims. Lights are every few feet, but there is not enough of it to illuminate every inch of the cavernous room. The ceiling is low, and I sense identical levels below and above us.
Small oval-shaped pods are every few feet. Some of the pods are bigger than others, but none of them can hold more than five people at a time. On the opposite side of every single pod is black glass.
The man goes to the first pod on our left and runs his hand over the glass exterior. The glass opens with a hiss. It's a door. He pushes me into the back of the pod and then gets in the far left side. The woman follows him inside and the glass door closes behind her without urging.
"Juvenile Retraining Facility," the man says.
I think he's crazy for talking to an inanimate object, but then the pod starts moving. It abruptly surges forward. I expect it to crash into the black glass in front of it. My body tenses. Instead, we push through the glass and tilt downwards.
My stomach catches again as I realize we are suddenly on the outside of the building. A rail runs beneath the pod and follows the length of the building until the third level. We tilt over the edge very slowly, then we shoot toward the bottom. I hold on to the seat as we race downwards, feeling as if we're going to crash. Instead, we gracefully zip past the bend in the rail and straighten out smoothly. The rail is narrow and makes me feel like we can fall off at any moment. Grass and more of the hard stone they like so much are beneath us.
People walk around on the stone roads that run underneath the rails and train lines. Some are wearing outfits that look very elegant, others are more laid back. Even more people pass by in similar pods on more rails running in opposite directions. Some people hang out in the grass, reading and playing games I have never seen before. They look happy. Their contentment is confusing. Why do the people not look more scared?
I quickly push away my confusion as the city opens out around me. It's larger than it looked from my perch on the tree. And it's also very beautiful. It's clean and open and surprisingly graceful. I have never imagined such a place in my life. It is not dirty and gritty like camp. Everything sparkles and shines. I wonder if they have people who's sole job it is to polish the buildings until they glitter in the sunlight. It's as likely as anything I've encountered so far.
The rails for the pods run in all directions. They crisscross the entire city. Where the rails don't run, there are trains. And the lifts. They fly over us occasionally. The entire city is connected. Large screens of silver and black are part of the buildings. The screens play people talking; the government logo occasionally pops up, as well as animated characters that dance and sing. There are lots of bright colors and happy faces.
"She's practically drooling, look at her," the woman says.
She's looking over her shoulder at me. The man laughs in response. I quickly close my mouth and try not to look impressed. I'm supposed to hate the city. It's not supposed to be so beautiful. I look for flaws in the perfection. I find them quickly.
Video cameras are everywhere, and drones fly around the lifts. They're on a loop. They survey everything. In the far distance is the wall. It's a mixture of white stone and metal and is taller than all of the buildings in the city. I know that it keeps the rebels out as much as it keeps people in. The city might be beautiful, but the people are under constant surveillance. I can't shake the feeling that some people are watched more than others. Some districts have few cameras; others have them everywhere.
"That's where you'll be living if you survive training," the man tells me.
He points to his right. The street is lined with white buildings. They're as beautiful and bright as the rest of the town, but they're not nearly as large. People wearing armbands on their right arms are in the streets. Every single one of them has pleasant, happy smiles on their faces. Their happiness is unlike the rest of the city, where the moods range from irritable, to angry, to happy, to sad, to however the person wants to feel. The sight makes me uncomfortable. It's not natural.
We pass the people, and five minutes later, we enter into a part of town that feels more industrial. There are large complexes and metal buildings. The symbol of the eagle is everywhere, on flags, on doors, on windows. I'm surprised it's not tattooed on people's faces. A second later, we're surrounded by a sea of people in red. The people around us are all wearing the same jacket with a black patch, though their pants vary based on style preference. The woman and man wave at their friends as we pass.
Then we're in a sea of white jackets. The buildings are larger and more people are walking around. There is playfulness as well as bustling activity. People play as hard as they work in this area. Lifts land and take off almost constantly. I sense respect from my guards.
I've found the RFA headquarters.
I close my eyes to contain my anger as I picture Gib's face. I have the RFA to blame for everything. They've ruined my life, taken my home, and killed my friends. I want to burn them to the ground. The white passes by quickly and the pod starts to slow. The facility is close. I take no comfort in the thought.
A large, silver building rears up in front of me. A thick fence around the property blocks the lower levels from view, and a long wall of black glass is along the top of the fence. I have a feeling the glass is similar to the shield. It means death should we cross it without permission. The gate swings open as our pod approaches. I turn in time to see it swing shut again. Another gate opens and closes behind us. And then a third. The gates feel a lot like overkill.
The rail tilts downward again as the last fence closes behind us and the low swoop returns to my stomach. It's strange how much I enjoy it. We slow slightly with the tilt, there's a pause, and then we race down into a dark pit below us. We're going underground - another impediment to escape. We straighten out with a slight bump and then curve around the metal wall. I hold on to my seat, straining against the forces being exerted on me.
The pod slows again; a second later, we come to a gentle stop at a white wall. The man touches the glass above him and the door opens. He gets out and gestures me to follow him. The woman waits for me to get out before she follows. Though they are confident there is no escape for me now that I am in the building, they kept their weapons ready. They have been trained to be wary.
The man leads the way down a long hall. He slows near the end and I notice more people in the hall. I am not the only one who has been captured by the RFA. Teenagers around my age are in front of me. Will they be involved in my training? Will we be kept isolated? There is a lot I don't know. I'll get the truth soon enough.
The hall slowly empties. My guards grow restless as we wait. They have other things they want to be doing with their day. They don't like babysitting. It's possible the drama of the hall upsets them. I can't be sure. Plenty of people are crying and begging to be released. More than one person is being held tightly by their guards. They want to be free. I know how they feel.
I'm the only person who is not weeping or being dragged to the room at the end of the hall by the guards. My imprisonment is undignified enough. I won't let them add to it.
Finally, it's my turn.
The woman pushes me through the door. A table that looks exactly like the one in the hospital is on the other side. It's far too similar for my liking. Are they going to chain me to it? The video of the explosion at camp is playing across the screen again, only there are no pauses this time. A woman is at the table. She has brown hair, a sunny face, and is large and round. She's older, perhaps in her forties, though her girlish fa
ce makes her look younger. She doesn't look mean on first sight, but then her eyes meet mine. Her anger and hate are clear in a glance. She does not like me.
"Sit," she commands.
I sit.
"The name you were given no longer exists," she tells me. "You will get it back when you have earned it. For now, you are a number."
She holds out an armband to me. It's grey and has something written on it.
"Can you read?" she asks.
I shake my head as I take the armband from her.
She bends her head, her hair falling across her face for a moment as she searches a piece of paper for something. She makes a check mark in a box and then looks up at me. "Your new name is Twenty-three," she says. "When they give you a color, you will be identified by that as well."
I look down at the armband then up at her. The man had said my name would be taken from me. I hadn't expected the moment to feel so personal. I had not expected to feel naked by the stripping away of my name. It makes me want to scream.
"There is no dating here. No fighting with the guards or with your teachers. If you do either, you will be punished severely. If you try to escape, you will be shot on sight. We do not believe in second chances. Do you understand?"
Her voice is lazy and bored. She does not care if I understand or not. Again, I nod, feeling like they have somehow taken my voice from me along with my freedom.
"Very well. Through that door."
I stand and my guards walk me to the door behind the woman. It's metal and exactly like the others I have walked through, but it feels larger and heavier. I know it's because I am afraid of my next step. I don't want to be changed by what I find on the other side. I also know I have no choice in the matter. It's change or die.
"Welcome to your new home," she adds.
My heart fills with dread.
Chapter 9