by Linda Marr
“This is ultimately going to help you. Eventually you won’t even want to think about all this anymore. You can have a real life.”
“No!” I pulled my arm away, and ran toward the elevator. But two of the men who were watching the monitors jumped up and grabbed me.
“Let go of me,” I shouted.
They pinned me tight. One of them forced my arm straight out and held it steady, while Jeff calmly injected me.
The needle stung, whatever he was putting in my body burned as it hit my veins. A line of sweat dripped down my back. I struggled, but it was too late.
They released me. It was over.
I scowled at Jeff. I hated him at that moment. I turned my back on them, got in the elevator, and went upstairs. Jeff was crazy. Donor, donor, donor I thought. Of course I could say the word donor. I tried it out loud.
“I’m a -”
Charles was still standing by the dining room door. Now he stepped aside to let me pass. “I’m sorry,” he said.
The word wouldn’t come. I couldn’t shape it. I knew what it was. But I couldn’t say it. This was ridiculous, insane. I was choking on it.
“Go on in and have breakfast, Elle.”
But I could no more eat than I could speak that word. I was too angry, too scared. What had Jeff done to me? He had no right.
The next few days were a blur of anger and fear. I stayed away from everyone, neglecting my kitchen duties. The only person I wanted to talk to, to see, was Kavan, and he was nowhere to be found. Why was he always gone when I needed him the most? His room was empty. What had they done with him?
All I did was watch television, when no one else was around, think about Kavan, and ride my bike. The bike Jeff gave me. The further I got away from the farm house, down long dirt roads, the less angry I felt.
Part of me wanted to keep going, but of course, I always came back. I needed to see Kavan. But yet I wasn’t sure if I wanted to stay here any more. Jeff had altered me against my will. That was unforgiveable. It was really not that much different from the way I was treated by the government who made me. My resentment grew.
Every time I turned on the television it was non-stop coverage of the violence, government building after government building shot up. Blood banks destroyed. Bomb threats shutting down political offices. And in the middle of it all Jeremiah Bell and his followers preaching about the need to end it all.
I knew he wanted all the donors freed. He didn’t use the word, he just kept preaching, asking that the unidentified research work being done by our government cease. His eyes seemed to burn right through the screen, right into mine.
One night a network ran an interview with him. The reporter let himself be hooded and handcuffed to reach Jeremiah’s secret headquarters in what was called the old section of the city.
During the interview, Jeremiah was sitting in his wheelchair wearing a flowing robe. He had looked like a madman in his donor life, but now his long gray hair was well-groomed. He was polished, confident.
“Our government is illegally holding people against their will,” he told the reporter. “They’ve been claiming for years that it’s for national security and in the public’s interest.”
“What evidence do you have that such a thing is true?” the reporter asked.
“That will be revealed soon enough,” Jeremiah replied. “There will come a day when every single one of these detainees will have their freedom. And they will tell you for themselves what they experienced. What I can say now is what our government is doing is cruel and unusual punishment. And it will be stopped. And that day will come soon.”
I wanted to believe him.
Even though he obviously didn’t use the word donor, I wondered why he couldn’t just show pictures of them in their vats. There was probably something that prevented that, too, I thought bitterly.
The more I watched, and the less I talked to the people around me, shrugging off Blair’s conversation and Charles’ offer to pick up our soccer games, the more I felt embers of rage spark inside me. How could Charles, a donor himself, not care about all the others left behind? How could Kavan?
The injustice ate at my mind. There had to be a way to save all the donors and no one here would do it. The only one who might was the man I saw on television night after night, Jeremiah Bell. I still wanted to save my family. I wanted to save all the donors. If I was strong, if I was as fearless as my mother said, then I would do something about it.
The days wore on. I still didn’t see Kavan. I missed him terribly. Was he all right? Had they sent him away? He couldn’t possibly be avoiding me, could he?
I didn’t see Jeff, either, which didn’t bother me in the least. I spent more and more time alone, walking in the fields under the low grey sky, thinking about my options. I knew now no one here would help me. Not even Kavan, not after what had happened. Jeff would make sure of that. The donor rescue movement here would only do so much. They were satisfied to just sit back and wait until a donor’s vital signs showed them they were needed. For me, that wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be, if I wanted to rescue my family. Maybe joining Jeremiah Bell’s movement would be the solution. Maybe it was the only solution.
Once I got that idea, I couldn’t get it out of my head.
How I wished I could talk about all this to Kavan. But I couldn’t find him anywhere, and when I finally started asking if anyone had seen him, no one had. Maybe he really had been sent away and no one would tell me.
But Jeremiah’s words kept gnawing at me until finally, I couldn’t wait any longer.
It was late one night when I packed my clothes and some leftovers in a pillow case. I carefully wheeled my bike down the bumpy dirt road. Away from the farmhouse, from the safety and security, from the warmth of those I had come to love and who had, I’d thought, at least for a little while, come to love me. And Kavan, the one I cared about the most, he was nowhere to be found. I couldn’t even say goodbye.
But none of that mattered. I headed out into the world.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I wheeled my bike down the narrow two lane road. All around me were fields and hydroponic greenhouses, shadowy in the pre-dawn light. As soon as I was out of earshot, I turned the ignition on. The sound of the motorbike carried a long way. The echo made me feel lonely.
I was headed for the city. Above the farmland the sky was on fire from the sunrise, glorious in red and orange. I thought I knew where I was going, after all I’d seen the city’s skyline when I was with Kavan on top of the windmills. It shouldn’t take me more than a day.
Jeremiah Bell was headquartered somewhere in the core of the old city. I had no idea what that meant or how to get there, but I’d figure it out.
I’d tried to dream walk to my parents in my sleep last night, I wanted to let them know that I was coming. But Kavan was right. My dream walking was still too chaotic to control. One day, I thought. One day soon.
Trees began to appear on the horizon. The farmland turned to scrub-filled meadows, and still the rough rutted two lane road continued. When Charles had rescued me, time passed so strangely trapped in his car, I’d had no idea where he was taking me. The farmhouse was so far into the country. No wonder they felt so safe.
My heart skipped a beat. All those people who had been so good to me, who had risked their lives to help me, and I’d just left them all behind. The enormity of what I was doing hit me hard. How could I abandon everything that made me feel alive for the first time? And yet I was. I was going to miss them all, but especially Kavan. We’d never had our date. I wondered what it would’ve been like if we had.
He didn’t have to use his dream walking to help me but he put himself at risk just for me. I could still feel the warmth of his hand and the roughness of his cheek when I kissed him. I didn’t even have the chance to tell him goodbye. But if I had, he would’ve tried to stop me. Or would he? Maybe he would’ve gone with me to the city, if I told him what I wanted to do. For an instant I almost thought abo
ut turning back. Yet I knew in my heart that he would never approve of my plans, and I didn’t trust myself not to let him stop me.
By now the sun was fully up. I was approaching a rise in the road, and I could hear the sounds of other vehicles somewhere on the other side of it.
As I reached the top, I saw another road branching off from mine. This one was barely any wider, but it was better paved, and as I drove on to it, a car passed me. It didn’t look so different than the electric cars I knew in my donor life.
I pulled onto that road, hoping I could maintain enough speed so I wouldn’t get run off. Hopefully this led somewhere.
The tall grass at the side of the road was all weeds and trash, including crumpled fast food bags. The sky was as usual white grey with pollution, which made the scene look more desolate.
I stopped once to eat a little of the food I’d taken from the farmhouse. I hoped the bike’s battery would hold out long enough for me to get to the city where there had to be a charging station.
One paved road led to another and then countless others beyond that. I lost track of how many times the road changed. I passed windmill after windmill. And there were road signs now. I began to see houses. At first they were small and run down, but they grew larger and more suburban. They reminded me of the home I once thought was mine.
But the closer to the city I got, the more houses had windows boarded up as if the residents were preparing for a violent storm. Some were hidden behind thick gates, scarred by graffiti. There were guard towers rising over fortress-like fences. There was a guard in one holding a rifle. I thought he had his sites on me. I tried to go faster but my hands were slippery with fear and sweat and the controls wouldn’t do what I wanted. All I could do was keep going and hope I didn’t look like someone he needed to shoot.
The speed limit sign read one hundred miles per hour. The bike couldn’t go anywhere near that fast, so I was careful to ride along the side. I avoided the speeding cars, but the trash on the shoulder got worse. I swerved to miss broken glass, cans, even a shattered TV. Ahead of me on the horizon, a bomb went off.
This future was nothing like one I would have ever imagined; it was so dirty, and sad.
A mileage sign finally told me that the city was eighty-five miles away. Not so bad, I thought, and accelerated as much as I could.
But soon the day wound down and the sun began to sink. I spotted another sign and the information was discouraging. The city was still forty-five miles away and it was almost fully dark. My dim headlight wouldn’t cut it. As terrifying as it was to sleep out here in the middle of nowhere, I needed to stop for the night.
I drew a deep breath and took the next exit I found. There were more of the boarded up houses here. It grew quieter and darker until finally all I had to guide me was the weak glow of the moody cloudy sky.
I pulled off the road by an open field, and leaned my cycle against a tree. Sore and stiff from riding all day, I fought the urge to just drop down on the ground.
Instead I forced myself to pull on a sweater, and tucked my lumpy pillowcase of belongings under my head. I hid from the road as best I could in the tall, ragged grass. I hoped no one would see me. I never thought to bring anything to defend myself. Then I tried to sleep. As tired as I was, it was hard to even close my eyes.
The buzz of the highway was in my head and in my bones. I was so exhausted that when I finally fell asleep I didn’t even dream walk.
***
I woke to my second sunrise alone with an emptiness inside me. It wasn’t just from waking up hungry, either. I desperately missed the farmhouse.
As I got back on the road for the last miles, I tried to hold on to my anger at my rescuers for not wanting to save my family or so many others. But it was already getting hard. All the same, I wasn’t about to turn back. I knew Kavan would understand, if not now, someday. I had to try to do more.
When I reached the edge of the city center, I saw that the highway circled around in a loop. The desolation here was surreal. A chill ran down my spine. So much loss. It was devastating.
The smoking ruins of buildings sat bombed out and crumbling next to others still perfectly intact. There was trash and rubble everywhere. The smell of acid and smoke in the air made my eyes burn.
Traffic was intense. I was almost run off the road several times. My heart hammered in my chest. The noise and the congestion were so overwhelming that I could hardly hear myself think. I didn’t even have time to be afraid.
Beyond this outer dilapidated ring of the city, were the skyscrapers I’d seen from the farm. Some of the buildings were just long twisted metal arms reaching up to the sky. Others only had windows broken. Nothing here was unscathed.
Closer now, I could see the triangle shaped tower, and the span of two long bridges. One of them had a hole in the center – another bomb. Beyond them was a long blue wavering line. The ocean, I realized, with a thrill. At least that was still there.
The highway ended and I shot out onto a bustling city street. Mountains of raw rubbish were piled on just about every corner. Great groups of people were moving up and down the sidewalk wearing business clothes. They hurried past the reeking garbage like they were used to it. Soldiers holding rifles moved through the working day crowd just like they did on TV, but it was different seeing them for real. You couldn’t see their eyes behind black plastic visors. They looked inhuman. Everyone gave them a wide berth. I did, too.
Far above everyone ran a thin silver track. A monorail car sat shining and motionless on it.
On the street, cars pushed every which way though an intersection. The lights weren’t working. Windows were dark. The power was out, I realized. Yet nobody seemed to notice. Maybe the power went out a lot. The farmhouse had its own generators.
By now I was in the heart of the city. Just in time, too. The charge indicator on my bike was in the red, and it was stuttering. If there were any charging stations, I knew I’d never find one in all the trash and debris. The bike would stop soon. I needed to get it off the street.
Maneuvering the bike down an alley, suddenly there was an explosion. The ground shook. People shrieked and ran. I tried not to panic.
As the alley narrowed, the mounds of garbage grew. My bike’s power was maxed out. The engine ground to a stop, so I dragged it near a doorway, and grabbed my pillowcase of belongings.
I was on foot now, and vulnerable. As vulnerable as I’d been when I was first rescued. I felt the same sense of fear and shock and disbelief, and remembered how Kavan told me the farmhouse was a good place to be, but the rest of the world not so much. He’d asked me did I want to live in a fantasy or reality? The real world was nothing like the fantasy I’d lived in most of my life. It wasn’t a cushioned, comfortable version of real like the farmhouse, either. I got Kavan’s point now. Real life was a mess. I wished Kavan was here to help me wade through it.
Ahead of me a heavy metal door creaked open. I pressed up against the wall at the sound of a voice.
“Bombing’s over. I’ll prop this open so we have some air.”
From inside came the sound of musical instruments warming up, the clear clean notes of a flute and the low bass of a cello. I inched closer to the door to listen. An orchestra was warming up. I’d first heard these sounds when my parents took me to the symphony. Back then I’d thought it’d be boring, but once I got to the concert hall I was enthralled.
The hall in my donor life was a sea of red velvet seats all facing a grand stage. The buzz of the crowd silenced as soon as the orchestra launched into their first piece. From that moment, until the musicians laid down their instruments again, I could think of nothing but the music. It transported me.
But as close as a government computer could come to approximating a life inside your mind, it couldn’t fully translate what your heart felt, and what your senses could see and smell and taste and touch and hear in real life. I was learning that lesson yet again.
As I stood in that dark, filthy alley, the mus
icians behind the door began to play. I didn’t know enough about classical music to recognize the piece, but I knew I’d never heard anything as wonderful as this sounded even in that grand concert hall. What would Kavan think of music like this? Again, I wished he was here. But he wasn’t and I had to move on.
I had to leave the sound of that music and get on with things, but it was a loss walking away. It was hard to reconcile those beautiful sounds with this ugly place. On the street, the crowd surged and ebbed like a dirty tide.
Ahead of me, an elderly woman was trying to cross to the other side. She was so frail, she could barely walk. I was about to step out and help her, when there was another surge in the crowd, and she fell. I tried to reach her, her eyes were wild – there were feet were so close, I knew she’d be trampled in a heartbeat. But I couldn’t get to her.
And then I saw a hand yank her pocketbook almost off her shoulder. The hand belonged to a tall bronze boy, his dark hair pulled back into a pony tail. So this was what it was like here, some punk kid taking advantage of the helpless.
“Hey, you,” I screamed at him. He turned dragging the woman with him, her purse still in his grasp. Suddenly I realized he wasn’t trying to still it, it was trying to get her out of the crowd using its strap like a pulley.
I pushed my way toward them as the rush of people clawed at me, pulling at my clothes, shoving me aside. Where did they all want to go that could be so important?
By the time I reached the woman and the boy, he was gone.
He’d gotten her across the street before he left her. She was still tottering there against a lamp post, stunned. “Do you need some help getting home?” I asked her.
“No, dear, I’ll be all right.”
I took her arm anyway, and led her out of the jumble of people, to a doorway where she was out of the crowd. She was trembling.
“Are you sure I can’t help you home?”
But the woman shook her head. “I just have to catch my breath.”
I could tell she didn’t want me to see where she was going. The way the city looked, I could understand that. Even a girl like me made her afraid.
