Breathe

  “You’re sure, are you? Well, I’m sorry if I don’t value your judgment: it hasn’t exactly been flawless lately, has it?” Petra places a hand on Jazz’s head. “Go with Roxanne and Levi, my sweet. Take the prisoners’ weapons and supplies. Don’t feed them.” Jazz skips toward the bunker door in her bare feet as though she’s about to go to the park while Roxanne and Levi stomp behind her like bodyguards.

  “Please. There’s no need for this. Really, Petra, they aren’t a threat,” I beg. But it’s futile. I know Petra well enough to know that the trees come first.

  She moves away, leaving me alone at the back of the bunker. “Listen up!” she calls out, addressing the entire room. “We’re out of lockdown for now. Go back up to your posts. But be ready to come underground again at a minute’s notice.”

  “What will I do?” I ask, following Petra as she stalks from the room.

  “You?” Petra’s voice dips to a murmur and she rolls up the cuffs on her coat. “You’ll spend the rest of the day in the shooting range practicing.”

  “Practicing for what?”

  “You were brave enough to start a war, Alina Moon, now you damn well better be prepared to fight in it.”

  34

  BEA

  Dorian is showing us the sleeping quarters when I’m seized from behind. Before I can struggle free or protest, my mask is removed and I am yanked, gasping for breath, down several flights of stairs and thrown into a concrete room with no windows. Maude is thrown in after me, though she has it worse: she’s blindfolded, gagged, and her hands and feet are bound with twine. The door slams and all the light disappears.

  The air in the room is thin, and it’s as much as I can do to crawl on my hands and knees toward Maude. I feel like vomiting from the dizziness. “Maude,” I say softly. I am removing her blindfold when a dim light enters the room and a high voice bellows beyond the door.

  “Leave the old woman as she is!” In the door is a grate, which must be an opening for food, and in this grate is the shadow of a face.

  “Let her breathe. At least let me take off the gag. She’s an old lady.” After a pause, the voice speaks again.

  “Fine, but if she starts yowling, we’ll come in there and shut her up.” The grate slides shut. I wait for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then I untie the gag and Maude takes the deepest breath she can.

  “Why didn’t you leave me back in the underground station?” she says. Her voice is hard and angry, as though I did her an injustice by saving her.

  “That’s an awful thing to say, Maude. You won’t die. I won’t let you,” I say, despite the fact that I haven’t really the power to save Maude any more than she has the power to save me. “Do you think something awful happened to Alina, too?”

  Maude punches the floor. “Alina betrayed us. TRAITOR!” she screams.

  “Shhh … They’ll hurt you,” I tell her, taking her hands and wrapping them up in my own. Perhaps she’s right about Alina, whose eyes were tinted with guilt when she slunk off.

  There is no toilet, nor is there a bed or a chair or anything else to sit on. It seems to be nothing more than a large, airtight storage cupboard. I sit with my legs out straight, my back against the cold wall. Maude lets out a groan and rests her head on my shoulder.

  “Do you think the boy made it?” she asks. “He was strong-looking. And not a bad boy. He might have made it, you know.”

  “I loved him,” I tell her. She must know this already. “I don’t know why I loved him. He was my best friend. I know he cared about me; he just didn’t want me in that way. He hugged me all the time, you know. He hugged me so tightly I always hoped it meant something. Then he’d pull away and smile and say good-bye as casually as always. He broke my heart every day without meaning to.”

  “Some people are designed to do that,” she says.

  “Do what?”

  “Some people are designed to break our hearts.” On the floor next to me is what feels like a broken earring. I pick it up and turn it over in my hand.

  “I miss him.”

  “You’ll miss him forever, Bea.”

  “I want to go home. My parents will worry. They work so hard and they’re always sick. When Mrs. Caffrey got pregnant, Quinn hated the thought of his parents sleeping together, but I wish mine would. They deserve to love each other. I hope that without me there they can afford to do that. I miss them so much,” I say.

  Maude turns onto her side and starts to hum. I feel myself beginning to doze. The room seems to tighten around us as my eyelids grow heavy.

  I am shaken awake by Alina. “Come with me,” she says, handing me an airtank before my eyes are even open. Maude is in the corner, rolled into a ball. She is snoring, still blindfolded and bound.

  “What about Maude?” I pull the facemask over my nose and mouth and tighten the straps at the back. The air in the mask is dense with oxygen. I suck in a gloriously deep breath.

  “She’ll be here when you get back. It wasn’t easy to convince them to let you out. Come on.” The light in the corridor is painfully bright and I have to squint to see. Alina relocks the cell door. She stands in front of me sheepishly. “I promise I didn’t do this to you,” she says. “Are you hungry?” I shrug, too weary to respond. Alina leads me down the corridor, back up the stairs to the main level of the stadium, then up again. Dorian was showing us this corridor when we were grabbed. I glance over my shoulder. “We’re just going to eat. Don’t worry.” Alina pats my arm. “Would you like to see something special first?” I shrug again. I don’t think there’s anything that would surprise or excite me anymore. Alina isn’t discouraged: she takes my hand and leads me to a glass door. “We have to be really quiet,” she says, and pushes the door open.

  Inside the room are about thirty people without facemasks. Half of them are sitting crossed-legged and straight-backed on one side of the room, their eyes closed, their lips slightly parted. The other half have twisted their bodies into odd shapes: there’s a girl standing on her head, her toes pointing into the air; there’s a boy lying on his back with his legs straight and pulled up to his face so that he could kiss his own knees; there is someone sitting up with her legs wrapped around her neck; someone else is standing on one leg holding the opposite foot straight out to the side. Their flexibility seems impossible. “Do you hear that noise?” Alina whispers. There is a crackling sound in the room like static electricity. I nod. “That’s their breathing.”

  “I don’t need the mask?” I ask.

  “You do and so do I. There’s only about six percent oxygen in here.”

  “But how? What is this place?” I ask.

  “A training room. Everyone practices twice a day for three hours at a time. You asked Dorian how he did it: well, here’s your answer. Relaxation is the key to preserving oxygen. Petra read all about it and began the practice here at The Grove. Before The Switch, free-divers used to do it. It helped them relax and hold their breath under water. Everyone in this room is lowering their heart rates and maximizing lung potential.”

  I have a thousand questions, but Alina turns and leads me out of the room. We walk several feet down the corridor until we come to another glass door. Alina pushes it open and inside there are many more Resistance members. They are all wearing facemasks and the room is noisy and hot. Each person here is ferociously exercising and sweating on a digital machine. A few of them wave at us as we enter. Alina raises a hand and smiles. I’ve seen these machines in the pod; the Premiums use them to keep fit. There are people climbing and rowing and running and cycling. “I thought you said relaxation is key.”

  “You have to be fit. You have to be strong. A tough heart is another essential element,” she says.

  “But they need more oxygen to do this.”

  “Exactly. Not as much as you’d need. Everyone in here is consuming a different amount depending on his or her level, which is why they use the masks.”

  “Right,” I say, as though this all makes perfect sense.

&
nbsp; “Anyway, we better get to dinner. We’re at the first sitting with Petra. We don’t want to be late.”

  “I don’t get how …” I begin. Alina turns to me as we walk.

  “Most of the people here have conditioned their bodies to subsist on whatever the atmosphere offers. They can explore the world without any supplemental oxygen. They don’t run marathons without airtanks, but they can walk at a good pace and talk and, most importantly, survive.”

  “Does the Ministry know?”

  “They know something. And that’s why they want us eliminated. Can you imagine what would happen if we all just walked up to the pod and showed everyone how trapped they are?”

  “You’d be shot before you got there,” I say. Alina nods. “So anyone can breathe without tanks,” I say.

  “Not everyone: people who are old or sick still need airtanks. And for those of us who’ve lived in the pod, it’s harder, too. You and I need tanks. For now, anyway. We’ve consumed such high levels of oxygen for so long that trying to breathe with less than our normal daily dose is painful. And it would kill us.” We finally stop again outside a set of revolving glass doors. “Take off your mask. This room’s airtight and we have some oxygen being pumped into it,” she says. “If you feel lightheaded you can always put it back on.”

  About fifty people are sitting at a long table, and down the whole length of the table are platters of food. Alina pulls me closer and though I know the room has gone quiet and everyone is watching us, I can’t help staring at the food: plates of berries—strawberries and raspberries and berries whose names I’ve forgotten, though I’ve seen them in films; platters of sliced vegetables and fruits of every conceivable color; steaming bowls of soup with green bits floating in them; thick pillows of crusted bread.

  “How is it possible?” I ask, looking at Alina. I know Premiums can afford to buy some of these things from the biosphere, if they’re very rich, but I’ve never seen anything like this. “You grew everything?”

  “She didn’t grow anything. She’s not a gardener here. We choose people who know how to nurture as our gardeners, and I don’t think Alina fits the bill.” I recoil, expecting to be faced with a giant; I am surprised to see a slight, dark woman standing at the far end of the table. “She’s one of our thieves. Though I think we may need to replace her. Would you like to volunteer?” she asks. I press my lips together at the smattering of snickers. This must be Petra. “Anyway, cheers!” The woman raises a glass in my direction and I nod.

  Alina laughs nervously, then leads me to the table, where she introduces me to some of the Resistance. Dorian is there. He gives me an apologetic smile, and shifts down the bench to make room. “Welcome,” he says. And then, “We heard she put you in the dungeon. Don’t worry. She put me there at first, too. She’ll let you out in a few days.”

  “Days?” a girl with tight spiraling hair says. “I was in there a goddamn month.”

  “You know, Leila, that might be because the first thing you did when you met Petra was scratch her pet,” Dorian reminds her. Leila covers her mouth to stifle a giggle.

  “Don’t get me started on Jazz,” Leila says, nodding at the little girl sitting with Petra at the head of the table. Leila piles her plate with berries and apple pieces and eats as she talks. “Yesterday, right, she sees me talking to Levi, and she comes right up to me and is all like, ‘Relations between Resistance members is prohibited. Please remember that, Leila.’ I almost wet myself laughing. Seriously. What age is she anyway? Five? I’ve been around longer than she’s been out of diapers. She probably still breastfeeds.”

  “She’s nine,” Alina says. “And whose breast is she meant to be feeding from?”

  “Nine? And she’s talking to me like she’s my goddamn mother. Man oh man, I could really smack that little brat sometimes,” Leila says, popping a whole strawberry into her mouth.

  “Keep it down,” Dorian warns Leila. He turns to me. “She’ll let you out soon. Be obedient. Show deference. To her and her pet.” When I look back at the head of the table, Petra and the child are watching me. I try a smile. Jazz waves shyly and Petra takes a swig from her glass.

  “She’s testing you,” Alina tells me in an almost inaudible whisper. “You look sad. She won’t like that, because you’ll be no use to her. Try to look angry. You’re a disgruntled auxiliary and that’s why you came with me. You’re pissed off and ready to fight, okay? Try to look strong, Bea.” I glance around the table and see what she means: everyone here is straight-backed and many of them have scars or bruises. This is no place for the weak; the weak stay in the pod, breathe deeply, take their vaccinations, and await rescue. Alina grabs a plate, bowl, and spoon from the center of the table and hands them to me. “Eat,” she orders.

  I begin with the soup, or at least I intend to begin with the soup and move on to the bounty of fruit. But the taste of the potato and what Dorian tells me is a vegetable called leek is so delicious, I fill my bowl with seconds of the soup and then thirds. My stomach is full to bursting before I’ve had a chance to sample anything else. Even so, I take a spoonful of blackberries and am chewing on them when Petra stands again. As Petra begins talking, I fill my plate with small pieces of food, which I surreptitiously tuck into my pockets for Maude. “We eat this meal together in the safety of our unlikely sanctuary,” Petra is saying, “knowing it may be our last repast together. We give thanks to this place for its years of protection. We thank the earth. We thank the water. We give thanks to the plants and trees—the roots, leaves, fruits, and flowers. We give thanks to one another, to our comrades, for cultivating our gardens. We give thanks to the spirits of those who have died. We offer our devotion in the earth’s name. We salute you.” Everyone presses their palms together in front of their hearts and bows their heads. “So it is,” she concludes.

  “So it is,” they chorus.

  “Take her back to the lower level,” Petra calls out. Alina stands and moves to the door. I follow. “Your name?” Petra asks. I try to speak, but my voice comes out as a sharp squeak. Several people mutter. Petra rubs her chin. Inside, my bones are rattling, but I stand up as tall as my tired body can manage.

  “My name is Bea Whitcraft. I am an auxiliary. I want to help the cause,” I announce. And I think this is true.

  As Alina leads me back down to my cell, I pull out the pieces of stolen food. “What are you doing? What’s that?” Alina gasps.

  “Maude’s hungry.”

  “If Petra caught you, she’d have had you whipped. Don’t you understand?”

  “She plans to let Maude die?” I ask.

  “She could have killed you. She could have killed me.”

  “So let Maude go free now,” I say. “Give her a chance at least. You could say she overpowered you and we could give her my airtank. What harm will she do?”

  “And where would she go? How many days would the airtank last? She’d give us away.”

  “It sounds like we’re all going to be caught anyway.”

  “I can’t. I’d be breaking the rules. If there’s one thing we have to do here, it’s obey. It’s the only way for the Resistance to succeed.”

  “Obey? That doesn’t sound like you.”

  “I trust Petra. Look what she’s built. She only managed it because she wouldn’t allow people to violate her rules.”

  “Why can’t you trust your feelings.”

  “The last time I trusted my feelings someone ended up dead.” Alina’s eyes harden and the skin around her mouth tightens, and I know there’ll be no way to convince her. “Maybe Petra will find a use for her. Let’s hope for that,” Alina says. She opens the cell door, takes the tank from me, and gestures for me to go back inside to Maude, who is awake. Alina stands watching us a moment before shutting the door.

  I can’t keep the food down. I’ve lived on powders and chemicals for too long. No sooner has Alina closed the cell door than I vomit weakly, dribbling all over myself. “I’m sorry,” I say. Maude strokes my face and uses the s
leeve of her sweater to wipe my chin and swab my shirtfront. There were jugs and jugs of fresh water at the dinner table, but stupidly I didn’t think to drink any.

  “Could we get some water in here?” I call out. “And more air. I can’t breathe.” I move to the door and call again and again. No one answers, not even Alina.

  “We’ll be all right, darlin’,” Maude says, and her stomach growls.

  “I got you food,” I remember, taking the small chunks of fruit out of my pocket and holding them to her. She paws the fruit suspiciously and then takes a piece of apple and gobbles it down, immediately reaching for another piece.

  “Slowly,” I say.

  When she’s finished, we sit back to back and try to preserve our energy. I feel weaker than I’ve ever felt. I call once or twice more and so does Maude.

  But there is no one here to help us.

  35

  QUINN

  We haven’t exchanged any words in hours. There doesn’t seem to be anything important enough to say. And it’s dark by the time Silas leads me up a set of steps to a door where he raps a couple of times and waits until someone opens it. I just follow. I try to keep my eyes on my feet. I’ve sort of stopped seeing things.

  We’re at The Grove. It should feel unbelievable. It’s an old soccer stadium. But how can I be excited about soccer?

  My father. Mine. I can’t get his face out of my head. In my mind he is turning into a devil. He’ll have horns soon, a tail, and a smoking pitchfork. But he’s still the father who took me to the park to play when I was a kid. The father who tickled the twins’ feet at night when they should have been sleeping. He kisses my mother’s belly before he goes off to work. He’s that man, too.

  Silas is whispering to someone, and minutes later a dark-skinned woman in a long coat is striding toward us, a whip in her hand, followed by a kid.

  “Is it a family tradition? What is the meaning of this?” she says.