The Unforgiven (The Propagation Project Book 1)

by Callie Bishop

  I look away. “No, thank you, absolutely not.” I make my way out of the lake.

  “Why not?” Shane follows.

  I sit on the sandy part of the shore to dry in the sun. “Nobody has enough money to live, let alone to lend out.”

  “I didn’t say lend. I said give.” He remains standing.

  “Even so,” I reply, trying to make out his silhouette in the raging sunlight behind him.

  He crosses his arms against his chest. It’s clear why he had no trouble carrying me earlier.

  “I want to help, Hazel. I can help.”

  “No, Shane. Just let it go.”

  “You know what happens when people get desperate to survive.” He starts to pace. “You don’t to wait until your only options are dealing Dust or being pimped out by some psycho Ruser.”

  “I’m not desperate,” I say.

  Yet.

  This does nothing to convince Shane. I don’t dare tell him how many nights I’ve laid awake scared of what will happen if I can’t sell any more stuff to Bert. I don’t tell anyone those thoughts. Being vulnerable means being weak. And the weak don’t survive.

  I stand up and brush the sand off my backside. “I hear they’re recruiting for Pigeons.”

  Fresh signs have been posted over old ones. It isn’t a job to take without ample consideration for the repercussions. Becoming a Pigeon means a steady income if you could stomach the assigned tasks.

  “You can’t do that! You know what everyone thinks of them.” He walks toward me, then pauses. “Let me help you, Hazel.” He talks gently. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

  He grabs one of my hands, waiting for me to concede, but I don’t. The other hand grazes the side of my face. His touch feels different. It stirs something in me that can quickly escalate. I notice the stubble sweeping over his jawline. The dueling colors of his eyes are almost hypnotic. His body pulls me in, and after a few seconds of mutual apprehension, he kisses me. At first steady and calm, the kiss turns into an insatiable feat. Shane cradles my face. I reach for his waistline, to the button of his shorts. And then the anchor of reality hits me.

  “We shouldn’t do this.” I pull away and instantly feel the void.

  His face reflects defeat. “Why not?”

  I shake my head, surprised by my own weakness. “Nothing could ever come from it.”

  “I want to be with you, Hazel. Not just here, but everywhere.”

  I gather my things and stuff them into my bag. “We both know that’s impossible.”

  “It’s not if it’s what we both want—”

  “We both don’t,” I say, hoping it sounds convincing.

  “That’s a lie.”

  Of course, it’s a lie. A lie we have to tell each other and ourselves. This world isn’t meant for romance. It’s not the setting of a love story.

  “I know you feel the same way I do. I can feel it when you touch me.” He tries to close the distance between us, but for every step forward he takes, I take one back.

  I don’t have the strength to lie again. It goes against my nature. “It would be a disaster, even if we tried.”

  Shane almost smiled. “This whole world is a disaster. Doesn’t mean we can’t have something to live for.”

  The idea is so appealing I almost want to give in and stay here with Shane, hidden away from the world. But then I think of Netty, and all the ugliness she would have to face alone.

  “Then what happens,” I say, “when a van pulls up to my house and drags me away? When you never see me again?”

  “You don’t know that will ever happen. I can protect you. Make sure it doesn’t happen.”

  “It’s not something you can stop from happening if it’s what the Officials want.”

  “You have to trust me. It won’t be easy all the time, but I want to take that chance with you.”

  I throw my backpack on. “I can’t stand misery taking any more space in my life.”

  He remains quiet for seconds that feel like hours before snatching his bag. I follow him in silence through the pathway that leads to the nearest bus stop, but Shane doesn’t board the bus with me.

  “I’m going to walk the rest of the way,” he says.

  “But it’s miles,” I reply.

  Disappointment is written all over his face. I hate that I am the cause of it.

  “Promise me you won’t back yourself into any corners while I’m away.”

  “I’ll try.”

  His smile never reaches his eyes.

  The bus driver honks, eager to move on. Shane gives me a tight hug, and I inhale the smell of the lake off his skin.

  “Good luck, my little pigeon,” he softly says before he gently plants a kiss on my lips and walks off.

  Chapter 5

  Another midnight raid. But we were raided just three days ago. My stomach turns sour. I had been so preoccupied with thoughts of Shane.

  This isn’t any normal raid.

  The Pigeon grabs me by the arm and drags me to the floor. He has the decency to wait a few seconds for my disorientation to fade before grabbing my arm again and instructing me on my feet.

  I can barely hear the words beyond my beating heart.

  I haphazardly walk beside him as he pulls me outside.

  “Wait,” I cry.

  The Pigeon ignores me and heads toward the van. The same kind that took Maribel.

  “Let me say goodbye,” I plead.

  I know it may be the last time I ever see Netty.

  “Shut your mouth.” There’s another Pigeon waiting by the van. He opens the sliding door, and I’m given a brief respite.

  Netty sits on one of the cloth seats, hands bound in her lap. I focus on nothing but her face, even when the Pigeon secures both of my writs in plastic cuffs. It is a double-edged knife of luck—the odds of us both being reaped at the same time were probably astronomical, but finding ourselves in the back of this musty van, taken away from everything we know in the middle of the night—means our lives are changing forever.

  The feeling of helplessness pokes daggers in my chest. I’m bound and sitting behind Netty, so I can’t even give her a reassuring look. I have no idea where we are going. But I have an idea why. And I’m not sure which terrifies me more.

  I try to take mental photographs of my neighborhood, but the night makes it difficult.

  Shane’s smile appears in my head, and an ache grows beneath my ribs. I hope to never forget the features of his face, the piercing look of his eyes, or how he smelled the last time we touched. Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. This is the one thing I can control.

  I don’t expect much information from the Pigeons. We ride in silence and I lay my head back and close my eyes.

  * * * *

  The driver slams the van door shut and I awake in the back seat. The sun’s position tells me it’s dawn. The crumbling country road has been replaced by freshly paved asphalt. We’ve parked near a driveway with a high metal gate. The driver pushes a button on a call box next to the tall brick column that is attached to the cement wall surrounding the building. His words are inaudible.

  The large gate buzzes and crawls open. I stare into the cameras, wondering who is staring on the other end.

  Netty squirms in her seat as we approach a building covered in glass. The van stops at a massive front door that is housed under an elaborate awning. Both drivers hop out of the van.

  “Welcome home,” one says after ripping open the door.

  Netty’s out first, then me. We both squint as the rising sun reflects off the glass like a beacon. One of the drivers pushes a button and the doors open. We’re met with a woosh of cold air, which covers my arms in goosebumps. Netty and I are led down a bright corridor. A familiar smell touches my nose. Roses. A former resident of the mine must have planted them because a few bushes return every spring near one of the cabins.

  The Pigeons dump us in a room and lock the door behind them.

&nbs
p; Netty finds a seat on the only metal bench. There’s room for two, but I don’t have the urge to sit.

  “I’m scared,” she says.

  “I know, but it’s going to be all right.”

  “How can you say that?” she says. “You know what they do here.” Her voice cracks.

  I rub her arm because there’s nothing else to do to comfort her. “We don’t know that for sure. We don’t know anything yet.”

  She starts to cry, and I pull her into a hug.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you.” I hold her tighter.

  It was a careless promise. A selfish lie to make this tolerable. I felt the screaming rage trying to find its way out.

  The clacking of footsteps vibrates the hard floor. Netty and I sit motionless in our seats. A nicely dressed woman opens the door.

  “Hello, my name is Nancy, and I work here under the Propagation Project.”

  “Where’s here?” I ask.

  She pauses, as if the answer were obvious. “The Antioch Center.”

  My stomach drops. Rumors of the Antioch Center permeated the Wards.

  “Now, which one of you is Hazel?” Nancy reaches into her pocket to retrieve scissors, which she uses to cut our cuffs.

  “I am,” I say.

  She hands me one of the envelopes she’s holding. Netty gets one, too. She’s stopped crying, but her eyes give her away.

  “Inside those you’ll find the list of rules and expectations during your stay here. After you have read it over, please sign and date.”

  Netty and I exchange looks. I begin to read but hear the click of a pen.

  “We have a lot to get through.” Nancy tips the pen at me.

  I hesitate but grab the pen and sign before handing it to Netty. This contract means nothing. My signature is just as worthless as the words on the page.

  “How long are you keeping us here?” I ask.

  “Your length of stay will be determined by your cooperation and willingness to comply.”

  “Comply to what exactly?” I say.

  She adjusts her eyeglasses. “Just comply, Hazel.”

  There’s a knock on the door.

  “Okay, ladies. Someone will take you to your rooms.”

  Chapter 6

  It was my first lesson in euphemisms. My “room” isn’t so much a room as it is a cell, no bigger than our kitchen at home. One twin bed, semi-clean linens, and a broom closet bathroom. You had to sit on the toilet to shower. I was now wearing the gray pants and t-shirt given to me by one of the guards. He’d collected my clothes and walked off with them. One surprising item of the cell—a TV. I hadn’t seen a working one in years but remember watching with my parents as a child. The set is mounted to the wall but turned off. There are no external buttons.

  I jump when it suddenly turns on. Some Official programming.

  My stomach growls. It had to be after lunchtime. A bell sounds off in the hallway, like dismissal at school.

  “Time for dinner,” a guard shouts.

  The walls between cells are solid and apparently soundproof. Each is closed off by a solid door with only a small window. I later realize the guards can close this window at any time. They separated Netty and me. I’m hoping we can leave our cells for meals so I can look for her.

  The door buzzes, and then I hear the click of the lock. I join the others in the hallway. It’s a co-ed floor. No one speaks. I scan the faces but no Netty. Towering beside me is a boy who looks over six feet tall. His green eyes sparkle even in the dim light. Tattoos peak below the hem of his sleeves. He notices me and gives me a frigid look.

  The cafeteria is not a far walk. We file in line and wait for our trays.

  I wonder if Shane knows what’s happened. It must occur to him after a while. There aren’t many reasons people vanish. I pass a few guards and find a table. I notice a few talking, which seems to be permissible. A brown square of what I’m guessing is meat quivers on my tray.

  Without speaking, tattoo boy sits down at the table that fits just the two of us. The number 994 is embroidered on his shirt. Both of our numbers start with 9, and I wonder if that means something.

  I look around the muted sea of gray uniforms.

  994 keeps his eyes on the tray.

  After a few minutes, the silence becomes unbearable.

  “How long have you been here?” It’s the first time I’ve spoken in hours. I check the guards’ positions in the room.

  He doesn’t say anything.

  I push the food around the tray.

  “Two days,” he says, “I think. Food was shitty yesterday, too.”

  With one swipe he pushes the food clear off the table. It makes a mess on the floor. 994 jumps up as a guard runs toward him. I skate back in my chair, unsure what to do.

  994 is no wilting flower. The second guard calls for back-up as he helps the first guard restrain 994. The guard delivers a hard punch to 994’s face, but he won’t stop resisting. I have no doubt they’d kill him right here. The guards cuff 994 and then deliver a few more kicks to his ribs.

  “Fuck off, Pigeons.” Blood spits from his mouth.

  The guards bring 994 to his feet, then drag him out the room.

  * * * *

  Dinner is the only meal we eat outside our cells. Every evening for days, I’ve watched 994 get wrestled to the ground by the guards. I was starting to admire his stamina.

  “What do you think you’re accomplishing with all this?” I ask him. The skin around his left eye is yellow while his right eyes is marked with fresh black and blues.

  There is a wildness in his eyes that’s startling. The same look I’d seen in a caged animal back home.

  “I’m not in the mood for conversation.”

  “They’ll beat you into submission,” I say.

  “Let them try.” A smile creeps over his face.

  I sit back. “Well, the next time you decide to paint the floor with your food, give me a heads-up. They only give us clean clothes once a week.”

  We finish eating without incident, and I’m relieved.

  * * * *

  I wake up to the shrill sound of an alarm blaring through a speaker in the ceiling. I shake the sheets off and pull myself into a sitting position. After a few seconds, I head toward the bathroom. I know there are eight minutes until we are let out for dinner. Sleep is my new hobby. I can see Netty and Shane. It’s when I return to my Ward, return to the things I know, things I understand.

  I haven’t seen the outside, so there’s no sense of night or day. My days are counted in sleeps. Forty-eight sleeps since I arrived. Forty-eight sleeps since I hugged Netty.

  It’s the same routine as every day before. Everyone eats, some talk. Others stare into some invisible void.

  994 is behind me in line.

  “Planning any attacks on the broccoli today?” I scoop the green mush onto my plate.

  “If more people fought, we could end this.” He carelessly scoops food onto his tray.

  “You’re delusional.”

  It seems I ticked a nerve. 994 smacks the ladle into the metal pan. A few of the guards are alerted.

  “You’re the delusional one,” he says, “if you think you’re going to make it out of here alive.”

  He follows me to a table.

  “And getting the shit kicked out of you will prevent that?” I open the bottle of water.

  I enjoy a brief sense of satisfaction by his lack of response.

  “If you don’t feel the urge to fight, then I feel bad for you.” He takes a bite of food.

  I examine the contents on my fork. Sometimes, I really have to psych myself into eating. “The urge keeps growing the more I talk with you.”

  After a few bites, I give up. My nerves are teeming, and I can’t explain why. I notice the pairs of boy, girl sitting around the tables. A few boy-boy. One or two girl-girl. When the bell rings, we file in line.

  The guards separate us into two groups—a first since I’ve been here.

  Th
e guys are led through the doors and disappear.

  My anxiety kicks in with this change of routine. Change in a place like this never meant anything good.

  A guard instructs the girls to sit back down in the cafeteria. Murmurs rumble, and I see the panic roll over the group like a wave.

  “Quiet,” a guard yells.

  Everyone freezes, and the room falls silent. It’s the first time I’ve heard that guard speak.

  Shortly after, two people, a man and woman, enter the room. They’re both dressed in clinical white.

  “Good morning, ladies. My name is Margaret, and this is my assistant, Jasco.”

  Jasco waves, but it looks more like out of obligation than friendliness.

  Margaret continues. “I am the head nurse at the Antioch, and my job is to make sure you all remain healthy during your stay.”

  Jasco hands her a clipboard, and she dons her reading glasses.

  “Now, I’m going to call you back into the exam room, one by one. Don’t be afraid. These are all routine checks that any board approved health practitioner would conduct on you during an annual physical.”

  Except most of us probably never had an annual physical. I doubt anyone in the room had even seen a doctor.

  I wait anxiously for my name to be called.

  “DeSales?”

  Jasco leads me into a sterile room. More white linens and walls. A chair with unusual metal arms and legs sits in the center of the room.

  Jasco hands me a gown and instructs me to undress completely and put the gown on with the slit facing open.

  I’d never worn a paper gown before, but wearing it slit-open doesn’t make much sense to me.

  I sit on the weird chair, the crinkling of the paper beneath me echoing in the room. This space seemed larger when I’d first walked in. Sitting here now, naked except for a nearly transparent paper dress, the room feels like it’s shrinking.

  I jump at a rap on the door. Margaret enters with a smile.

  “Hello, there.”

  “Hello.” I feel awkward as hell meeting a stranger in this state.

  “No need to worry.” Yeah, so you’ve been saying. “This will be over before you know it.”

  There is kindness in her eyes. It calms me a bit.