The library was gone. The pair stood, holding hands, at the edge of the wide pond. Everything around them swayed in the breeze. Long grasses bent, the trees bowed ever so slightly, and flowers waved from the field beyond. A frog leapt from the shallow water up onto the bank near their feet and Mattie shrieked, grabbing 62’s arm and pushing him between her and the small beast. 62 laughed.
“What is this place?” Mattie asked once the frog had moved along.
“It’s the inside of that book,” 62 said.
“But, how did we get here?”
“I imagined it.” 62 leaned over and picked up a rock. It was cool and smooth in his hand. He brought it back and threw it, the way he’d read about people throwing rocks in other books, and the rock skipped across the water several times before sinking down below.
Mattie reached down and copied 62. The rock she picked up was nearly identical to the one that he’d just held. She pulled her arm back and thrust it forward, sending her rock sailing out to skip across the pond exactly as 62’s rock had. She leaned down and found another rock, skipping it as effortlessly as the one before. She grinned at him. “How did you know how to imagine it?”
62 smiled back. “My friend showed me. We used to imagine all sorts of things. But now that I’ve been outside and seen so much in real life, and read so many more books, I can picture places like this a lot better than I did before.”
Mattie moved toward the grassy knoll behind them and 62 followed. She moved into the field and spread her hands out, patting the heads of flowers and stalks as she walked by them. The grass was high, the stalks bright green. The flowers were full and plentiful. Mattie’s fingers were busy, brushing as many of the waving plants as possible. “It’s all so full,” she marveled. “The plants in Hanford only grow tall where the irrigation troughs run. Everywhere else is just clumps of brown scrub.”
62 smiled. “You don’t have to worry about irrigation in a dream. You can just make things grow.”
“You can?” Mattie’s eyes went wide. “Show me.”
62 looked down at the grass and thought of it getting taller. It grew all around them, higher and higher until it reached the sky. The stalks widened, becoming thick and dark. Branches sprouted from the stalks’ sides and suddenly Mattie and 62 were surrounded by a dense thicket of trees. The branches were so close together that they blotted out the sun.
Mattie circled one of the trees, looking it up and down. She knocked her fist against its wood, testing its solidness. “That’s incredible,” she whispered. She went around the tree a second time and then stopped in front of 62. “Can I try?”
62 nodded. Mattie scrunched her face in concentration, closing her eyes tight. Her hands balled into fists and her shoulders tensed. She held her breath and her whole body went rigid. They waited together for a moment and then Mattie opened one tentative eye. Her whole body went limp. “Nothing happened.”
“What were you trying to do?”
Mattie frowned. “I don’t know. Something.”
62 took her hand. “Here, sometimes sharing our imagination helps. Try this. Close your eyes.” Mattie did, and 62 did also. “Now, think of something you’ve seen in real life. An animal that you’ve seen.”
“A rabbit.” Mattie said.
“Okay, a rabbit.” 62 squeezed her hand. “Really concentrate on the rabbit. Think about what color it is. The way its fur lays on its body. Think about its ears. Its nose. The way it hops along the ground.”
“Okay. I’m thinking about it,” Mattie said as she squeezed 62’s hand back.
“Now, open your eyes.” 62 loosened his grip on Mattie’s fingers without fully letting go. She opened her eyes as he opened his and they looked down at their feet. Sitting patiently in the dirt was a small brown jack rabbit, nose twitching and ears standing upright on its perfect head.
“I did it!” Mattie shouted. The rabbit leaped up in the air, spun around, and before she could reach out to touch it, darted off into the woods.
62 grinned. “Pretty neat, huh?”
Mattie beamed. “Better than neat. It looked real. And it was there by our feet. It just — appeared!”
A roll of thunder pounded above them. At first it sounded like the roaring of a rolling storm, but then it shifted to a rhythmic thud-thud-thud. Everything went quiet, and then the thunder sounded again. Thud-thud-thud.
“What’s that?” Mattie asked, looking up through the trees’ branches toward the distant sky.
“Someone’s knocking,” 62 said. He let the dream fade, trees dissolving and soil melting away. He let go of Mattie’s hand and the area between them widened. The world around them turned dark and soon Mattie’s face was barely recognizable in the distance. “It’s time to wake up.”
CHAPTER 48
THERE WAS TROUBLE AT the school.
A dozen Women blocked the entrance of the classroom. Parker was standing in front of them, face pale around his mask and hands proffered, trying to speak loud enough to be heard over their voices. The Women yelled at him, fists pounding the air and feet stamping the dry earth. A cacophony of voices rolled over Parker like a wave and only increased in pitch and fever as 62 and several of the other refugees gathered around their teacher.
One of the Women pointed at 62 when he came near and yelled, “He’s the one! The one who dreams!”
Parker turned around, spotted his students for the first time, and walked away from the protesting crowd. He motioned the group of males to follow him, not stopping until he was far enough away from the protest that his voice could be heard. He pulled 62 to his side and then looked around at the masks of his students. “Someone at medical has been talking about our anomalies,” Parker said, ashen eyes wincing as he spoke.
“They said he dreams?” Man 11 said, pointing at 62.
“That’s what they said,” Parker nodded. “They said that you have an irregular heartbeat, too.” 11 instinctively grabbed at his chest while 62 stood by, saying nothing.
“Is it true?” 14 prodded.
“Yes,” 11 and 62 replied together.
“It doesn’t matter.” Parker put his arm around 62. “They have no right to be talking about our anomalies. We were brought here to be saved from Adaline. Not to be yelled at for our differences.” The group of males nodded their agreement. The Women seemed incensed by the Men’s huddle and cried out louder, goading them for attention. More males poured out of the barracks and small groups of females seeped in from the alleys between the buildings, filling the courtyard with spectators.
“Give us the dreamer and then your short-legged freak can head home with the rest of you moles,” someone shouted.
“They’re talking about me,” 14 gasped.
“What do you want me to do?” 62 asked Parker. Some of the spectators from the courtyard joined the Women standing in front of the school. Now there were more than twenty angry people shouting into the wind. One of them had picked up a large rock. Another held a long board.
“I don’t know,” Parker admitted. “I’m afraid that if you go with them, they’ll hurt you. But if we refuse, they might attack all of us.”
“Let’s just leave,” Boy 14 suggested. “If we all go back into the barracks together, there’ll be enough of us with the others to stop ‘em.”
Parker nodded. He separated himself from the group and took a few paces toward the angry crowd. He raised his hands in surrender and waited for them to quiet enough for him to speak. His voice wavered only slightly when he spoke. “I’m sorry, my leaders. My saviors, for whatever has caused you to be angry with us. We’ll go home. No class today.”
“Home? Do you mean you’ll go back to the building where we allow you to sleep? Or back to Adaline where you belong?” The Woman holding the board spat the words from her red mask. She shifted her weight and took an aggressive step forward. 62 realized she wasn’t just another angry Woman. She was Joan.
“You know we can’t go back,” Parker declared. “We’re no longer welcome in Ad
aline.”
“Because you’re broken!” Joan pointed her long wooden weapon at 62. “And he’s the worst among you. He dreams. His mind is warped. Twisted. Crippled beyond repair. And what happens when he uses those dreams? When he connects to others the way that those in our past did? He’ll tell his brothers about us and they’ll overrun us! Take what is ours and leave us with nothing!”
“That’s not true!” Mattie’s patchwork mask bobbed as she came barreling through the crowd. “He wouldn’t use his dreams that way!”
“So, it’s true?” another Woman asked. “This Boy dreams? Do you know it for certain?”
Mattie’s eyes squinted. She set her jaw and balled up her fists. “I won’t tell you anything. He’s my friend.”
Joan raised the board she was holding and slapped it against her thigh. She laughed, mockingly. “Of course, he is. He would be. You are your mother’s daughter.”
At those words, the entire crowd turned to look at Mattie. Recognition passed through the group, and whispers spread all around. The Woman handed her weapon to someone nearby and approached Mattie. She hunched down until she was eye level with Mattie, power evident in her every move. The elders may be the ones to enforce the rules of Hanford, but in this moment, Joan seemed to have unlimited power.
“Your mother started this invasion.” The words were calm and sweet. Joan pushed a stray lock of Mattie’s hair behind her ear, an act that was as threatening as it was familiar. “She used fancy words to convince our people to seek out Adaline’s castoffs and bring them here, and since then they’ve done nothing but steal our food and sleep in our beds.”
“They work,” Mattie stated flatly. She turned around, fire alight in her eyes, and looked at the crowd around her. She shouted at the mob. “They work! They work harder than any of us. When we need water, who do we send to find it? Men. When the fields need to be turned, who moves the soil? Men. When we need buildings repaired, or materials found; when we’re low on food and someone has to scavenge outside of Hanford, who do we send? Men!”
Uncertain murmurs passed through the crowd. Joan stood tall and shouted, “And who did all of those things before the refugees came?”
“Women!” a few of the protesters shouted.
Mattie did her best to stand tall, but her head didn’t rise above the chin of her challenger. “Is it so bad, having them around? Having people who will do what we ask, in trade for a safe place to live?”
The protester’s leader snickered. “Oh, child. When you’re older you’ll learn they ask for much more than that.”
“I’m not stupid,” Mattie growled. “I know what they ask for. Partnerships. Love. And how many of us give it to them?”
“Very few,” Parker spoke up. “And those who do are shamed for it.”
Mattie pointed at Parker. “He loved Sunny.” She pointed back at Joan. “They could have had a baby. Maybe even a baby Girl. But you made them take her away. And now she’s never coming back.”
Joan pointed her mask’s filter at the sky, and crossed her arms. “The Oosa sent back three volunteers. That’ll be three children born to us without Adaline’s blood.”
“And they’ll die!” Parker raged. His neck bulged and his face flushed red. “We could have had a child that would have lived. A life that would have helped to extend Hanford beyond this generation. Those babies don’t have a chance to live. They’ll die just like all the others. You know that!”
The Woman pointed at Mattie. “Not all of the Oosa-born children die. This one lived.”
Parker roared. His body thrust forward, and the throng of protesters followed suit. Soon shouts from all sides rang out so loud that they bounced on the walls of nearby buildings, echoing in crashing waves. Bodies were shoved, weapons were fashioned from bricks and rocks, and the world was thrust into chaos.
Then a loud, crushing sound blared overhead. A horn pierced the air. Its whine caused everyone to duck their heads and cover their ears. The horn wailed until it drowned out the shouts and overwhelmed the anger of moments before. As the fight died down, the whine seemed to slow, subsiding, falling in tone. Unwinding itself from the sky. Above the cafeteria, one of the purple-masked elders stood at the corner where a large siren was mounted. Its handle turned slowly and then came to a stop as the sound finally died.
The people in the courtyard split and the rest of the elders walked through. Their identical deep-purple masked faces were covered by the hoods of their cloaks. The short line of leaders came to a stop in front of the school where the riot had begun. Auntie, near the rear, pulled down her hood and looked over at 62. Her eyes were tired and worried, but she gave a friendly nod to 62 and Mattie. The youngest of the elders was the one who spoke up, just like at Blue’s trial.
“Women of Hanford; Men of Adaline. You must stop! We’re friends. Let’s not hurt each other. Everyone go back to work. Go back to your rooms. Take a rest and calm down.” She looked at the lead protester still blocking the door of the school, and then at 62 and Parker. “You all, come with me.”
The Council of Elders turned and walked toward the cafeteria. 62’s stomach churned as he followed them.
CHAPTER 49
THE CAFETERIA WAS OPEN and empty, but 62 still felt stifled by the small group that surrounded him. Everyone pulled off their head coverings as the elders pulled chairs into a semi-circle from some nearby tables. He and Parker stood before them on one side, Joan and her second in command stood on the other. 62 and Parker both shuffled their feet nervously. The Women ignored them.
“We can’t have violence breaking out between us and our lessers,” one of the elder Women said to her peers. “It’s uncivil and takes us away from the work at hand.”
“If too many people get hurt, it’ll overwhelm the med team,” another old crone agreed. “They’re busy enough as it is.”
Auntie nodded. “I agree. We shouldn’t let anyone get hurt, but not just because it’s inconvenient. It’s inhumane.”
“They shouldn’t be here.” Joan stepped forward, putting herself directly in front of the elders and shoving an accusing finger at 62 and Parker. “We’ve been wasting our time rescuing these cast-offs from the beginning.”
A few of the elders nodded in silent agreement. Two more fidgeted uncomfortably. Auntie leaned forward, speaking to Joan’s companion. “We need them to keep Hanford alive. You work in the nursery. You’ve seen firsthand how much healthier the Adaline-bred children are. We need that strength. Otherwise our numbers will shrink. The same way they’ve been shrinking since we arrived in this place.”
“The Oosa put children in our bellies. Those children will be Hanford’s future.” Joan put her hands on her hips, widened her stance, and thrust her chin forward. She seemed larger suddenly, as if her body was growing to match her belief. The protestor that Auntie had been speaking to ducked her head in quiet agreement.
“The children from the Oosa are weak,” the elder to the right of Auntie said quietly. “They wither and die. They rarely reach adulthood. And the result? There are fewer of us available in the appropriate volunteering age. Older Women are being asked to go to the Oosa. Younger Women, too.”
“They’ll find a solution,” Joan insisted. “They know their children are dying here. I spoke with one of them while I was there. She told me they hoped to find an answer. A way to make the children healthier.”
“You were there?” 62 asked, his voice coming out louder than he’d intended. Joan didn’t react. It was as if he hadn’t spoken at all. The elder closest to him nodded and whispered to him.
“She’s been to the Oosa and has borne a child.”
62 turned to Joan, awe written on his face. “You did? Is it one of the kids still in the nursery?”
Joan’s cold eyes turned toward slowly him. “Yes. I volunteered. My child died before she was born.”
“Oh.” 62 shrank beneath her glare. He took a step back. “I’m sorry.”
Joan gestured toward Parker. “These males are soft. T
hey don’t know how to survive here. They think that just because their children don’t die that they are stronger than us, but they’re wrong. They’re nothing without us.” Joan looked down at 62, eyes narrowed in angry slits. “They should have died among their own kind the way they were designed to.”
“We weren’t designed to die.” It was Parker’s turn to take a step forward. He gave Joan a sidelong glance before looking into the eyes of the council. “We were designed to live in this harsh environment, the same way that the original residents of Curie were. That’s why when an Adaline male and a daughter of Curie have children, the children thrive. We were made to be the same.” Parker looked at Joan again. “The Oosa may look like us on the outside, but they’re different. Maybe that’s why they only come once a year to collect what they want and then head off, back to wherever they came from.”
“How would you know?” Joan spat. “You’ve never even met the Oosa.”
“That’s true,” Parker nodded. “Because your people are afraid of what they’ll do if they find out that you’ve found a way to have children without them.”
“They bring us supplies,” an elder stated. “Clothing. Food. Fresh water. It’s much to lose if they found out we can grow our numbers without them.”
“But you don’t need those supplies,” Parker said. Joan glared at him. “Hanford has its own food stores, irrigation, power, everything that the town needs. And if scout teams begin to go back to Adaline again, you’ll have supplies from there as well. Isn’t it true that the teams come back with more supplies than they leave with?”
The elder on the far right snorted. “Scouts and rescues. We’ve lost our contact inside Adaline. Sending anyone there now would compromise Hanford. And how many more refugees will Adaline give us in the coming years? A hundred? A thousand? Where would we put those extra bodies? We’re already at risk of having males outnumber females. An imbalance of genders is imminent if the rescues continue. Unless females start being born, and suddenly surviving in higher numbers, we’ll lose the majority.”
The Adaline Series Bundle 1 Page 60
