Awakening

by Shannon Duffy

  The tram starts moving. I slide the loop of my umbrella around my wrist and grip my fingers tightly around the metal bar. Questions swirl in my head that I know I need to find the answers to if I’m ever going to feel sane again. Mrs. Walsh’s face twirls in my head, and I know I need to talk to her to see what she knows.

  The crowd shifts around me, then the side of someone’s hand presses against my fingers still wrapped around the bar. I shift my hand a little higher, making space, but a second later the person slides their hand up and presses against mine again. I guess they’ve never heard of a little thing called personal space.

  With a groan, I move my hand and look up at the offender. The blue baseball cap peeking out from the top of the black hoodie is a dead giveaway.

  Darian.

  A wave of happiness rushes through me that I didn’t expect. I can’t help it—I wrap my pinky finger around his to anchor us and to let him know I’m happy to see him. I don’t care if he’s been following me. I just know that I desperately need to talk to him. He’s the one person I know who doesn’t think I’m really going crazy.

  “Dar—” I start to say his name, then lower my voice to a whisper. Saying his name too loudly will definitely draw attention.

  He turns his head, casting eyes on me that are like pools of blue ink. Black and white face paint covers portions of his face and I quirk an eyebrow up at him.

  He winks. “Hey. You okay?”

  “Not really,” I say honestly, and it feels so good just to say it. To not have to hide how I’m feeling.

  He steps closer until the side of his body brushes against mine. The people around us are talking on their comuport phones or idly gazing out the window. I incline my head toward him and smile. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m managing,” he says. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. You took off after I mentioned…” He leans in, his minty breath tickling my cheek when he whispers in my ear. “Sophia. Sorry if I freaked you out.”

  “I believe you,” I blurt, my pulse jumping wildly. “About Sophia, I mean.” I bite my lip and gaze up into his widened eyes, hardly believing I said the words myself, but knowing it’s a very real possibility I can no longer deny.

  “You do?” His lips lift into a grin. “Seriously?”

  “Well, I’m not ruling it out anymore. But how do you know about her while I forgot? I don’t understand.” I shiver again, more from the shock of what I just admitted than the cold.

  Before I know it, Darian has slipped out of his jacket and is wrapping it around me. His jacket, like his sweatshirt, has a hood and I quickly slide my arms into the sleeves and lift the hood over my head for more privacy. “Thanks,” I tell him. “But seriously, why do you remember her and I don’t?”

  He shoves his free hand deep into his jeans pocket and sighs. “It was something you confided in me about, Rae. Your mom got pregnant and couldn’t bear to tell the officials. She knew they would’ve terminated the pregnancy right away so your family concealed the pregnancy, and hid Sophia once she was born.”

  Darian discreetly scans the tram as if making sure nobody is paying attention, while I try to settle my pounding heart. I’m glad to find out what happened, but it’s still shocking to hear what we went through and imagine how stressful it would have been. I can’t even envision my parents doing that. They seem so, well…compliant.

  Darian’s gaze lingers on the port screens that stretch across the length of the tram beneath the ceiling. On every second port screen, a map of Tower is illuminated by florescent green lights. Within the map, another glowing red light blinks, indicating the current location of our tram. The other screens are for news broadcasts. Darian keeps his head low, touches the black and white paint on his face, and then looks at his fingers as if ensuring the stuff is still there.

  “What’s with the war paint?”

  “They use facial recognition technology on the trams,” he says, “And I’m sure they’re looking especially closely right now.” He grins when he sees my confusion. “If you change the contrast in certain parts of your face—like using strategically-placed face paint—recognition technology can’t identify that your face is a human one.”

  “I always knew you were an animal,” I say with a giggle.

  Darian chuckles then, angling his head slightly toward a port screen, he watches as a newscaster recites a weather report calling for showers.

  I poke his firm chest, drawing his attention back. He tugs his baseball cap low, tilts his head, and peers down at me, flashing a wicked grin. “You like that, huh?” He flexes a muscular pectoral.

  “You know I really hate you sometimes,” I say, shaking my head. “And can you focus? This is important.”

  He chuckles. “You know you don’t hate me. You just don’t want to admit you might actually like me.”

  There he goes being all cocky again. I roll my eyes. “Focus. Back to Sophia. Tell me what you know about her.”

  “All right, well, you said only your neighbors knew about her because they helped your parents take care of her and keep her a secret.” His eyes meet mine for a moment, then he looks away.

  I tap my finger against his hand this time, carefully avoiding his muscular chest. “You mean I told you and not Laken?” The moment I say the words, I know it’s true without him having to confirm it. I could never have told Laken about Sophia if it was a big secret. She would’ve had a meltdown of epic proportions. I just can’t imagine how my family kept it from her. More amazingly, I have no memory of anything to do with it.

  “Yep. You said you couldn’t tell Laken because you didn’t want to upset her and that your parents swore you to secrecy.” He nods, looking smug. “But you trusted me.”

  I ignore him, but realize the fact that I told him and not Laken is a huge deal. “About Sophia?”

  “Sophia disappeared in the fall, about two years ago now…right before I was arrested.”

  Recognition stirs in my gut. Maybe that’s why I keep getting flashes of her in a fall setting. “Did you ever see her?” I ask, curious what she was really like and if the girl I keep seeing matches what he knew to be true.

  “No, but you showed me a picture one time. She had really dark hair like your dad, and beautiful green eyes just like you.” A faint smile curves his lips.

  That’s twice Darian has made a reference to me looking good since his jail break and, despite the fact that I shouldn’t like it, I grin back. On top of that, the fact that he verified what Sophia looks like makes me buzz with excitement.

  “It’s her! The little girl I’ve been seeing in my memory flashes,” I whisper. Maybe I’m not crazy after all. A huge part of me beams with happiness that I’m not imagining things. But then something else creeps in, reminding me what this really means—that if she existed, she was also taken away—possibly killed. “How old is she?”

  “She’d be about seven now, I think.”

  “Do you think she’s…she’s…”

  I can’t bring myself to say the word dead.

  “Alive?” I ask, voice small.

  His lips draw thin, and he lowers his gaze to the floor. When he looks up again, he scans the tram, then lowers his voice to the barest whisper. “I’m not sure what they do with the Unwanted.”

  “The Unwanted?” The word stings like ice in my veins.

  He shrugs. “Yeah, I’ve heard that’s what they call second-borns. Funny the things you find out when you’re in jail. Second-borns don’t occur very often, but The Protectorate’s means of sterilization aren’t foolproof. But I’ve also heard they’re changing plans. Apparently, very soon after a child is born, they’re going to remove the woman’s uterus completely.”

  I wince, but Darian continues, tucking his body so close to mine that I feel the warmth radiating through his hoodie.

  “Right now it’s just an injection that’s supposed to sterilize,” he whispers. “Quick, cheap, and easy—exactly the way The Protectorate likes it. But even though the failure r
ate of those injections is low, they don’t want to keep risking having second-borns. So I heard they’re gonna opt for more drastic measures. Hard to believe they’ll have to admit that the magic sterilization drug they came up with was a failure. Maybe they’ll make up some excuse for the drastic change—say it’s some way to, you know, keep us safe,” Darian says with venom.

  “I can’t think about The Protectorate ripping uteruses out of women right now. I need to know what happened to Sophia.” I tug the hood lower over my head. “Listen.” I lean in and Darian edges his foot in the middle of the small space between my feet. With him so close, our legs now press together, causing a tingling across my skin. He smiles, and slouches, pressing the side of his face against my cheek. I remind myself that this is just Darian, my childhood friend. I whisper in his ear, “There’s a woman at the hospital who’s saying her baby was taken away. When I go to school tomorrow, I’m going to ask her some questions. See if she knows something…”

  Darian grimaces. “That could be dangerous, Desiree. I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

  I shrug. “I need to know. If there’s a chance Sophia is out there somewhere, I need to find her…and all of the other innocent kids.” I know the chance of them being alive is slim, and I’m not sure what I could do if I found them, but I have to try something. A part of me holds onto the hope that The Protectorate wouldn’t kill innocent children.

  I cast Darian a confused look. “What I don’t understand is why I forget…why my parents forget, and you don’t.”

  Darian shakes his head. “I’m not sure, but I’m thinking it has something to do with the Dreamscape. It has to. Sophia disappeared about two years ago and that’s when everything went crazy. After you told me she was gone, you kinda freaked out and went AWOL. I didn’t see you after that because I was arrested a couple of months later. But it has to have something to do with the Dreamscape because it’s the only explanation why I don’t forget her. The Dreamscape doesn’t work on me, like I told you the other day at Lake Briar. I wanted to tell you a long time ago—back during those last few months I saw you and I’d figured it out, but I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me and that you’d think I was nuts. But after I was in jail, I swore that I would tell you everything if I ever had a chance to see you again. You’re my closest friend.” His eyes latch onto mine. “I had to tell you the truth.”

  A wave of guilt rushes through me for shunning Darian since he was in jail—in the Terrorscape no less—but I had firmly believed he was guilty. Now things are different and maybe everything isn’t as it seems.

  Darian pushes a stray lock of my hair back under my hoodie. “But honestly, I don’t know why you forget either. I don’t claim to have all the answers. Even I didn’t think the Dreamscape could alter your memories. That shit is too crazy to even comprehend.” He sighs. “But I do know that if it doesn’t work on me, then it mustn’t work on some other people, either. I’m trying to find others like me and figure this out. But nobody wants to spark up that conversation—and be found…” He looks at me and mouths the word, “Noncompliant.”

  He shrugs. “It’s hard to know who to trust. But, if I can just get that flash drive back and get access to TowerNet, maybe I can convince others not only like me, but also ones manipulated by the Dreamscape. And maybe we can shut it down somehow. Fix things.”

  I rub the side of my head, feeling a headache coming on. “But we need the Dreamscape to sleep. You know that. We can’t just shut it down.” I shiver at the thought. “Our bodies have been altered to need it—”

  “Well, we just have to figure out a way to un-alter them, then,” he says with a determination that makes my lips twitch into a little smile. It’s so far-fetched to imagine such a thing and, to be honest, the thought of sleeping without the Dreamscape terrifies me. Since I’ve never had a nightmare in my whole life, and have only heard horror stories about what a nightmare can really feel like, I don’t want to go there. Ever.

  “Hey,” I say, suddenly remembering something. “You still need the Dreamscape to sleep, so where have you been sleeping anyway?”

  Before he gets a chance to answer, two things happen. A horrible, high-pitched cracking sound deafens me and the tram comes to an abrupt halt, pitching me against Darian’s chest.

  Darian slides an arm protectively around my shoulders. His eyes snap up and roam the tram. A muscle pops in his jaw and his free hand clenches around the bar. I look outside the window and realize we’re not at a Sky Tram Port. We’re still several feet in the air, just above the tree line. In the distance, a ball of orange light stretches across the darkening sky, lowering behind the mountaintop.

  A hush falls over the tram and I wonder if it’s broken down. I search for the official, but don’t find one.

  “They’ve found me,” Darian says, voice raspy.

  My heart rate soars. “What?”

  “Take a peek over your left shoulder. That woman dressed like a canary over there must have recognized me, and she’s told the official.” He grits his teeth and grumbles under his breath. “I should have been more careful not to put you in danger.” He removes his arm from my shoulder, and takes a step back. “You need to get away from me, Rae.”

  When I don’t move, Darian takes another step back.

  “But wait, where will I find you?” I ask him, eyes wide.

  The man next to me shifts, then he meets Darian’s gaze. Smackers! I hope the guy doesn’t recognize him.

  Darian nods at him, then returns his gaze to me. “I kinda like how the moonlight reflects against the smog, like shimmering mist.” Darian winks, then backs away into the crowd.

  “What?” I ask, but Darian is gone. I have no idea what lingo he just spouted or what it was supposed to mean, but I figure it’s some weird code he thinks I should know.

  But I don’t.

  With a groan, I tighten the strings on the hood of the jacket I’m wearing--Darian’s jacket--and peek over my shoulder, panic flooding me. The passengers are a whir of murmurs now, mumbling, complaining, and shifting in their seats, nervously.

  It takes a moment, but then I find the canary woman Darian was talking about. She’s at the end of the tram wearing a bright yellow coat lined with faux fur. She swipes her fingers along her cheekbones and then rubs her fingers together while talking to the official whose lips are moving at rapid speed into his comuport. She’s obviously letting the official know about Darian and the paint on his face.

  I pull my head back, hiding my face behind a couple of passengers, but peek out. The official snaps his comuport closed and begins stalking in my direction.

  Someone screams, and I snap my head back toward the sound. People are shuffling away from one of the exits.

  Then I see why. It’s Darian. He’s at the set of doors, trying to pry them open. My pulse spikes. He can’t jump from here. We’re too high.

  People are scrambling to move away from Darian, probably thinking he’s some crazy guy trying to tram jump and that he might drag one of them with him. Deafening screams and yells bounce off the walls of the cramped, chaotic space, and I twist my head back toward the official. He’s rushing our way, pushing people aside with loud grunts as he goes.

  Icy fingers grip my insides. Darian is trapped. He’ll be forced back into the Terrorscape or, worse, killed. Panic floods me and my head jerks side to side, from Darian back to the official like I’m at a tennis match.

  Darian manages to pry the door open an inch. His hood has slipped back off his head, allowing me to see the side of his face. His jaw is working, grinding. He mutters a curse and kicks the steel door a deafening blow with the bottom of his foot. He twists his neck, checking how much time he has before the official nails him.

  The official’s close. Too close.

  I have seconds to move. To do something—anything. The official yells, “Don’t move, Darian!”

  Then the official is just inches away from me and the other frightened passengers. Darian is prying open the doo
r, inch by inch. Almost there.

  The person next to me stumbles as the official shoves him and a flash of a breeze blows my hair back. And, without thinking, I put the end of my umbrella out just as the official passes, my heart roaring in my ears like a raging river.

  His foot catches on it. He stumbles forward and lands in a face-plant.

  Darian finally grinds the doors open just enough to fit through and with one last wink over his shoulder at me, he squirms through and flings himself down to the tree just below the tram—except the sky is dark now and, with his black hoodie, I can’t tell if he’s made it or not. I gasp, cover my mouth, and back away.

  The official jumps to his feet and I hide my umbrella behind my back. Move, move, move. I slither into an empty seat, adrenaline coursing through my veins. The official bangs on the steel door with his flat palm and grunts.

  I search out the window for any sign that Darian made it, but it’s too dark. The trees have only a few leaves left, and their branches, like thick, knotted fingers, sway in the light wind and rain. I imagine that Darian has fallen to his death and panic drills through me. My mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton. I can’t swallow. I can’t breathe. I remember Darian jumping off the tire swing at Briar Lake, doing backflips, climbing and jumping from trees like a monkey. We both did. The memory brings me some reassurance.

  A small smile works its way across my face, followed by a strange feeling rushing through my veins—a mixture of elation, guilt, and pride.

  I helped Darian escape.

  I scoot the umbrella under my seat, give it a hard push so that it slides several more seats down, then clench my shaky hands together on my lap.

  A little shock pulses through me, a knowing zap of electricity. I’ve never done anything like this in my entire life. The realization has a weird effect on me, both exhilarating and sad. But I know one thing. No matter what happens after this, nobody can ever call me a sheep again.