“Parvin Brielle Blackwater is reported of being an unregistered Radical,” the black Enforcer beside me says in a detached voice. Can’t he at least act like I’m human instead of talking like I’m an old potato? I want to smash his Clock and see how he talks then. “Is there anyone to vouch for her Clock?”
I don’t even get a moment to defend myself. No Radicals ever do. Words push against my throat, but I must let others speak first.
The black Enforcer stares ahead without a twitch. The Enforcer on my left gives my arm a tiny squeeze. Father stares past me with a set jaw.
I imagine him running at the platform and thrashing the Enforcers for my freedom, but he stands stiff and silent. Isn’t he going to save me? The stillness of raw morning drifts around us.
“She was born and raised in Unity Village,” Father finally says.
And I’m your daughter. This means far more to me than being raised in Unity.
“I went to school with her.” It’s Dusten Grunt, speaking from the back of the crowd. People turn to look at him and he shrugs. “I’m just sayin’ she’s been here as long as me.”
How could I have allowed my loathing to have sunk so deep for Dusten? He’s standing up for me when all I’ve ever wanted to do is kick him.
“Has anyone seen her Numbers?” The Enforcer returns to the original question. No matter how well people know me, it all comes down to the Clock. My palms sweat even though the morning air numbs the tip of my nose.
Both Father and Dusten say, “I have.”
My skin tingles and, instead of relief at their support, I grow nervous. My heart beats faster.
“They were empty Numbers,” Dusten says and I renew my desire to kick him. “She’s only got a few months left.”
“I’ve seen her Clock, too.”
I jerk my head around at this voice. Trevor Rain stands to the side of the platform, hands in his pockets. I’ve never seen him stand before. He has a tiny potbelly and unusually short legs for his height. “I’m her Mentor.”
Bless his heart for coming out of his office. He wants to be a good Mentor after all. The Enforcers attend to him because his voice and words hold weight. Why don’t they talk to the Mentors before holding an unbalanced hearing like they do? Government is government, I suppose. That doesn’t mean it’s efficient.
“I vouch for her Clock,” Trevor says.
I can’t stop the growing panic. Even if he can vouch for my Clock, then I’ll need to produce my Clock, but it’s in Nether Town with Reid.
More people trickle into the square and I glare at them. Stop staring! I want off the platform. I want to be safe in Father’s arms or asking Mother why she’s not here.
A voice from beneath a green fedora startles my already frantic heartbeat. “She’s been sharing a Clock with her brother.”
I zone in on Skelley Chase, who appears from the shadow of the glasswork shop. He looks bored even though he just revealed my life-protected secret to the people of my village, the Enforcers, and my Mentor.
Trevor Rain’s eyes transform into question marks and he looks between Skelley Chase and me. I’ve never considered myself a violent person, but thoughts of murder enter my mind.
What if I take Skelley Chase down before they send me across the Wall? But I can’t change his Numbers. I couldn’t murder Skelley Chase even if I made him swallow dynamite.
“She’s been sharing Numbers?” someone asks. “How?”
“They’re twins with one Clock.” Skelley Chase shrugs. “Passing it back and forth.”
I can see Trevor piecing together this news with my odd answers and the meetings without my Clock.
“Isn’t Reid in the hospital?” someone asks. “They wouldn’t let him in unless he had a Clock, right?”
My mouth goes dry. If people don’t know whose Clock it is, the Enforcers will terminate services. Reid will go back into the Radical Ward. My mind screeches like the train whistle. God, do something!
“But whose is it originally?” the same person asks. “Is it hers or Reid’s?”
Mine! Mine! Mine! But I can’t forget the memory of Reid’s pale body on the straw mattress, blood dripping down his skin. He needs these months.
Skelley Chase looks at me for several silent seconds. He’s giving me a choice. I clench and unclench my fists. My body shivers like when I stepped into the Radical Ward. He turns to the Enforcers and takes a breath.
“It’s Reid’s!” I lurch from the Enforcers’ grasp.
The freedom behind my force startles me and I stumble off the platform. I land on my hands and knees in the mud. “It’s Reid’s Clock!” I look at the surprised faces above.
Father pushes through the stunned crowd. The Enforcers jump from the platform after me, but I launch myself into Father’s open arms. I want to be held before I die now that I’ve sealed my fate.
He holds me tight to his chest and I inhale the scent of sawdust and fresh soap from his clothes. I add my own dose of tears and a choked sob, “It’s Reid’s.” Father strokes my hair.
The Enforcers yank me out of his embrace and back onto the platform. “You stole your brother’s Clock?” The black Enforcer grips my arm tighter than before.
I gulp once and nod, daring Skelley Chase to refute my next words. “I’m a Radical.”
Father shrinks to the back of the murmuring crowd, covering his face with his hands. My heart breaks for him.
“How dare you!” a woman shrieks. “You’ve been offsetting our system? Our village resources are diluted by unregistered Radicals.”
“We don’t make our goods to support rebellion.” The milkman chimes in. “At least other Radicals were accidental.”
“My boy could have gone to school earlier if you hadn’t taken his opening,” a pudgy lady squawks. I’ve bought fabric from her store once a month the past four years.
I bite back a sob as my own people assume I’ve taken advantage of them my entire life. They don’t remember me. I hid in my own life too long to imprint their memories.
I used to think Unity Village was my safe haven. I was so wrong. My village comes together when it’s against something—and right now they’re against me.
With a hard swallow, I stand with my chin up like a brick wall because I’m finally standing for something: Reid. My family. Radicals.
I am strong. I am confident.
At last, my restless dragon is tamed.
9
000.175.06.55.12
My first impulse when Skelley Chase steps into the containment center is to reach through the bars and grab a fistful of his hair, not letting go until they cut off either his head or my hand. I’d prefer the former. My internal violence is held at bay long enough for him to get a few words out.
“I plan to help you, Parvin.”
If I could work up a decent spit, I’d soil his shoes. “How?”
“You won’t go through the Wall today.”
I hate this man. I do, but a tiny part inside me cries with relief at his words, even though I know they’re laced with ulterior motives. “Why not?”
“I want you to be ready.”
I stare at his grey-black eyes. He doesn’t break eye contact. We had a partnership. He broke it. I thought I knew him until the moment he turned me in, yet I feel like he’s still on my side somehow. I want to trust him, but I don’t understand his actions.
“If not today, then when?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
A chill clenches my stomach. I still have to go. My hands grip the bars and I break our gaze. Sweat lines my palms and I squeeze my fingers tighter around the metal. “Why do I get extra time?”
Mother steps into my line of vision from the entrance. “To prepare you.”
I straighten with a jerk and my hands fall to my sides. My voice is unstable and defeated when I speak. ??
?Where were you?”
She was the one person I wanted at my hearing and she’s the one person who didn’t come to save me. Doesn’t she care about her daughter?
“I was doing other things.” Her eyes flick to Skelley Chase and back to me.
My gaze narrows. “What other things?”
Before she can answer, Skelley Chase steps in. “The Enforcers are granting you a day to gather your belongings and bid Farewell. Be grateful I got you that much.”
“A Farewell party? That’s like postponing a hanging for a convict’s birthday.” Not that I consider myself a convict. Thanks, Skelley Chase. Throw me to the wolves, but bring the cake candles.
I sigh. It may not make sense, but I’ll take it. The more time between me and that Wall, the better.
Enforcers unlock my cell and lead me out. When we pass through the entrance lobby, my attention drifts to the young Enforcer from my hearing—the one who helped the Newtons with their thatch.
He’s leaning over the receiving desk, speaking heatedly with the Lead Enforcer. “I escorted them here, Sachem. They were assigned to Unity Village for their relocation! They were registered and safe under the Law.”
The Lead Enforcer doesn’t blink. “The Law does not support Radicals, Hawke.”
So that’s his name. Hawke. The only part about him representing a hawk is the fierceness in his eyes.
“They weren’t all Radicals! I registered them myself. They were in the monitor system. Unity Village had enough spaces for this Radical family.” Hawke puts his head in his hands and releases a muffled groan.
“What’s done is done,” the Lead Enforcer says. “They decided to stay together. They had the option to let Mr. Newton cross the Wall alone.”
My throat constricts. The Newtons?
Hawke looks up, his jaw and fists so tight the veins stand out like raised scars. “You have no compassion.” He glances at my entourage. Swifter than an owl snatching a gopher, he grabs my arm and yanks me out of my escort. “And this girl, Miss Blackwater! It’s not her fault she has no Numbers. She needs to be registered in the Radical system. Let me imbed the tracking chip. I’ll even escort her to a different eviction site—a job you’re supposed to do.”
The Lead Enforcer’s gaze flashes to Skelley Chase for a sliver of a second, then back to Hawke. “She’s going across the Wall.”
Hawke’s grip on my arm is tight—too tight to escape, not that I want to. He seems on my side. My fingers throb from lack of blood. The other Enforcers stand beside me, but Mother and Skelley Chase wait by the door.
Shaking takes hold of my body and worsens as the silent seconds pass. I don’t know what to do. My voice holds as much weight as a tealeaf right now. I have no power to fight for my fate.
Hawke looks down into my eyes. I can’t comprehend the full emotion in his wrinkled brow and grinding jaw, but his eyes hold deeper sorrow than I’ve ever witnessed in my short life. In this moment, I realize how very different sorrow is from pity.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers and his grip loosens.
My four Enforcers retrieve me and pull me toward the door. His hand slides down my arm, like he’s reluctant to break the contact. But when fingertips meet fingertips, he lets the air separate us. I can’t stop myself from watching his face until I’m outside.
Keep fighting for me, I urge, but even Hawke has given up on my fate.
As we walk, I keep my head down and choke on the impulse to run. My heart sinks into a crevice of despair so deep it will never resurface. The Newtons were sent across the Wall to die—my neighbors.
I close my eyes against the imagined aroma of cheesy potatoes and bread. Even with an Enforcer’s protection, they died. I will be following them in less than twenty-four hours. My family didn’t fight for me. My lone ally was a young man who represents the enemy.
Everyone we pass stares at me as if they know what I’ve done—as if they blame me as the villagers at my hearing did. My face warms, though I can’t consider myself guilty. What else could I have done?
We reach the front door and the Enforcers take their places—two at the front and two at the back by the outhouse, like they did to the Newtons. I guess they’re staying. Well, they’re not invited to my Farewell party.
Once inside, I grasp for the comfort feeling of home, but it’s not here. Tension floats in the air. Father rises from the table, looking over the three of us before opening his arms for an embrace. I enter it, biting my lip. I want a hug from Mother more than anything, but she takes her place at the sink like it’s a regular morning and she’s late making the coffee. Skelley Chase seats himself at our table without an invitation.
I step out of Father’s arms. “Get out.”
“Parvin,” Mother chides. Father sits across the table.
“He did this, Mother!” I point straight at Skelley Chase’s bored face. “He’s the one tearing our family apart, stealing my secrets. He wants me dead!”
“Hush.” She swipes at me with a wooden spoon. “Our walls are thin. The Enforcers are outside.”
This shuts me up, even though the shouting feels good, but Mother is tolerating and defending Skelley Chase. Why?
“What’s your plan?” I sit beside Father.
Skelley Chase leans on his elbows and pulls in every ounce of my focus with his intensity. “We prepare you as best we can for the Wall. You’ll cross with exactly five months and three weeks until your Clock runs out. I will open the Wall the last week before your Good-bye. You must be at the Wall in the time I get for you. During your time in the West, I shall spread your name and bravery to the public in the East. I will meet you back on this side, and we’ll finish your story.”
The plan sounds flawless except for one thing. “I don’t want to go.”
“Tough.”
“What makes you think I’ll survive? It’s our country’s death sentence.”
Skelley Chase shrugs. “Cross your fingers and hope it’s a utopia over there. If you die, I’ll still use your biography. It carries so much promise. Either way, you get your wish.”
Mother says hate is a strong word, but I’m certain the fullness of its strength courses through my blood as I stare him down. There are so many floating question marks. What’s on the other side of the Wall? Utopia or not, I’ve never been mentally or physically sharp enough for self-survival.
“You’ll have to be honest in your writing on the other side,” Skelley Chase continues. “Write every feeling, fear, doubt, surprise, lesson, and observation. Start today.”
“Writing?” I suck in an emotional shudder. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.
He pulls a leather-bound square no bigger than the palm of my hand from his briefcase. He unfolds it twice to form a larger square and hands it to me. I take it from him with hesitant hands. It’s stiff and weighty.
“A journal?” I sneer. Nothing is written on the cover, but instead of paper inside there’s a smooth blank screen. No cracks or hinges reveal its folding capabilities.
“It’s much more than a journal. It’s a nanobook. Every ounce of your last-year funds went into that and some of my own donations.”
My fingernails bite my palms. “You had no right to take my last-year funds!”
“You’re a Radical! You have no funds. You have no right to a Mentor, but Trevor Rain is one of the few gracious people left in this nation and allowed me to use your funds for this item.” He gestures to the nanobook. “You’ll have plenty of time to fiddle with it and discover the ins and outs. It’s your link with me—with the East side of the Wall. It will transmit any information you desire back to me.”
My brain numbs. “Transmit? Like computers? Like Internet?”
He rolls his eyes. “Yes.”
“How do you know the West has Internet?”
“You have a lot to learn about today’s technology, Parvin.
I purchased P.I., a portable Internet source, embedded inside. You could take it to the moon and it would still transmit.”
Now I don’t mind that he spent my Last-Year funds. “Do people do that?”
“That and more. I want daily updates. I want to know about every single living organism you encounter in the West, especially if you come across any people. Understand? And I want it back when you return, so don’t lose it.”
He still doesn’t understand I won’t return. I won’t survive. An odd aroma wafts from the cover. “It smells like lemon.” It smells like him.
“I always make it a point to associate an event with a particular smell. Helps me remember more details in the future.”
I’ll be sure to rub it in dirt the moment I cross the Wall.
If there is dirt.
He holds out another item—a long thin box. The hinges pop the lid open under the slightest pressure from my fingertips. Inside sits a blue watch. A digital date blinks on the face behind the rotating hands. “Why are you giving me all this?”
“This is an early Farewell gift.”
I don’t allow myself to say thank you. He’s gift-wrapping my death sentence. “Why do I have to stay in the West for the rest of my time? Why can’t you open the Wall for me again after a couple weeks?”
Skelley Chase stands and snaps his briefcase shut. “Because your life is in my hands and you don’t have a choice. Be thankful I’m even securing you a return.”
“Stop telling me to be thankful for your betrayal.”
“You’re the one who wanted a meaningful life.” He shrugs. “Did you really think you could find meaning in a couple weeks? You’ll be lucky if five months is enough.”
He tips his fedora to Mother and Father. They give no physical or verbal response and I swell a little. He turns and leaves our house. The kitchen is contaminated with the residue of his presence.