The tether circling my neck tightens, but this time it isn’t the darkness doing it. It is life.
On one of her good days, my mother would tell me to cheer up; she would say that the lights will come on in the morning. But it makes me feel no better. In fact, it makes a pang of guilt underline my sorrow. It is selfish to leave. It is cruel to my parents, especially after what they have endured with Jack. Cruel and inhumane and merciless.
But she is wrong about the lights. The lights left her the day Jack was sent aboveground, and they haven’t been turned back on since. Not in years. Instead, darkness has swallowed her whole, pulled her into a pit that she can’t crawl out of.
I can’t stay here and wait to be pulled in, too.
I sigh. Just for tonight, I will give my heart what it wants. And then I will be Eve again tomorrow, disinterested and cruel and self-sufficient. I shift my weight and turn on the lamp. Light floods my ten-by-ten cell, one left mostly undecorated. There is a small patch of embroidery over my bed, but otherwise the walls are intentionally bare. Since I refuse to serve Commander Katz, there’s no sense in getting too comfortable here; I will be gone soon.
I slide my socked feet into boots and pull on a sweatshirt. When I open the door, I am cautious. It isn’t against the rules to be out of bed at night, but it isn’t encouraged, either. Guards view night-wanderers with particular disdain. Besides, the hallways are not well-lit during these hours, and danger never lurks far.
Maggie is with her boyfriend Kyle tonight—she is with him every Friday night—and so I turn toward Hunter’s door. I wipe the last of my tears away and knock, three sharp raps followed by three soft ones. A code from when we were young.
The green neon light opposite turns me into a shadow, and I watch my head swivel back and forth as my ears listen for the sound of footsteps. Other than my breathing, though, Compound Eleven is calm. It is quiet, for now.
A few moments later, Hunter pulls open his door. “Sorry I took so long,” he mutters as he zips his hoodie over a bare chest. His hair is crumpled on one side, adding to the boyish good looks that girls adore him for, and his voice is groggy. “What’s up? Is everything okay?”
“Sorry to wake you, but…can I stay here tonight?”
“A sleepover?” he asks as he pulls me inside. “It’s been years since we did that.”
I force a small laugh. “I’m sure it has been. I don’t know why we stopped,” I add, then I follow him under the covers. They are warm from his body.
“Maybe our parents thought we were too old for it.”
“Maybe.”
“They probably didn’t bank on us winding up in cells right next door to each other.”
I lift my head from his pillow and motion around me. “Speaking of which, you’ve done a nice job with the place.”
He gives me a look. “You mean hanging the periodic table on the wall? Thanks.”
“Well, yeah, that,” I say, smiling. “I don’t know—it feels like you, that’s all. Maybe it’s all the books.” Hunter enjoys the library as much as I do, except since his interests extend beyond life the way it used to be, up there, he is far more well-read than I am.
“Or maybe it’s the balled-up hoodies on the floor,” he suggests.
“Yeah. Could be that.”
He rolls onto his side so that we stare at each other, his nose only a few inches from my own. “Is everything okay?”
“It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
“Eve, you always say that. What’s going on?”
I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe I could use some company.”
“Okay,” he says slowly. “I mean, yeah. Of course. You’re always welcome.” He offers me that famous shy smile. “Maggie and I were looking for you today. Where’d you get off to?”
“I spent most of the morning visiting my folks,” I lie. “And I took a nap in the afternoon.”
“I’ve hardly seen you since you fought the Preme. Are you healing okay? Any lingering injuries I can help with? Don’t forget that kink in your hamstring I fixed.” And he draws his hands out from under the sheets and regards them, clearly still impressed with himself.
I laugh, easier this time. My muscles uncoil as I stare into eyes that are intimately familiar. “Hunter, come on. It’s me. I said I’m fine. Now, shut your eyes and go to sleep.”
“Your wish,” he begins solemnly, and I join him for the rest—“is my command.”
Grinning, I ask, “Do you remember what book that was from?”
“Nope. Just that we spent an entire year repeating it roughly four hundred times a day—”
“And pretending to grant each other wishes with our imaginary wands,” I finish. I poke him. “Don’t tell any of my fighter friends that story.”
“I’ll take it to the grave,” he agrees, poking me back.
After another moment, he leans over me and switches off the light, and my eyelids burn black. It’s okay, though. Because even after we finish whispering our good nights to each other, I can hear him breathing beside me, in and out, and that is enough.
I roll onto my back and let myself drift away.
Chapter Eleven
“Do you guys ever wonder what else is out there?” I ask as I toss a ball into the air with my right hand and catch it with my left. The motion snaps the scabs apart on my knuckles, and I stare at them.
Hunter closes the book he has been flipping through for the past ten minutes and stares at me. “What else is out there. What do you mean?”
Maggie and Emerald sit on the floor of my small cell, and Hunter and I share the bed. I ignore my bleeding knuckles and chuck the ball up again. The ceiling is so low it bounces back at me. “I don’t know. Like, in other compounds.”
“I do,” Emerald says, lifting her head from the game of War she plays with Maggie. “Sometimes. They say Compound Twelve is next door, right? I mean, I wonder if it’s…”
“Better?” I offer. “Because this one sucks, in case you guys haven’t noticed.”
“I was going to say different.”
Hunter nudges my leg. “If you’re thinking about what happened to Jack, then yes, I agree with you. Beyond that, I actually think it could be worse. Case in point—it’s not like we’re starving.”
“Speak for yourself,” mutters Emerald. “After hitting a punching bag for hours, I’d literally kill for seconds.”
Hunter grins.
“And besides,” adds Maggie, “we have one another.”
I give her a little sarcastic smirk.
“Hey, I have a point,” she insists as she lays down a card. “I mean, obviously things down here aren’t great. Remember that guy I saw last month? The one with his skull caved in?” She shivers. “Literally, I’m still having nightmares. But we have one another, and that’s saying something. So maybe which compound you’re in or which floor you’re on doesn’t matter so much. It’s the people that make it, you know?”
I catch the ball and hold it tight. She’s right, in a way. My friends and family are the only things stopping me from trying to leave Compound Eleven this very second. They’re the only reason I’ve stayed for the past nine years, since Jack was taken and everything changed. But come job selection, now less than six weeks away, it won’t be enough—nothing could be. Nothing could be worse than serving those who ordered Jack’s removal, or kneeling before them, or being branded with a past I want to forget.
I need to go—it is in my blood. Especially after the Oracle.
The Oracle has made me feel more caged in, yes. But it has also made me deeply hopeful, and for the first time in years.
Maybe other compounds have more viewing stations. Ones that people can go to whenever they want—that aren’t guarded or locked like here in Eleven. Maybe the compounds are extended aboveground. Maybe they have evolved to have less hierarc
hy, less injustice. Perhaps there’s less violence, even. And more freedom, more latitude. Because I need it. Every cell in my body screams for it.
I need to spread my wings like the birds. I need to breathe.
Hunter is staring at me, and his blue-green eyes are uncharacteristically dark. He straightens his glasses and says: “I knew something was wrong with you.”
“Nothing’s wrong, Hunter. I’m just…curious.”
He sighs—he knows me too well. But he doesn’t push it. “You haven’t been on any of the job tours. Come with us today; we’re going to the press room.”
“The press room? I thought you wanted to work in the kitchen.”
“I do. You’d be surprised at the amount of chemistry that happens behind those doors.”
“Sadly,” interrupts Emerald, “he’s not talking about romance.”
“But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to explore other options,” Hunter continues, his tone serious, even as Emerald and I chuckle. “That’s the whole point of these tours. Come on. It’ll be fun. We’ll make you love Compound Eleven again.”
“Again? Did I ever love it in the first place?”
“You should come today, Eve,” Maggie says. “It actually sounds pretty neat.” She lifts her head and stares at me, and I notice a patch of yellow-brown beside her left eye. “It’s a Mean job, but I’ve heard of people from our floor getting jobs there from time to time. I think you might actually like it.”
I am silent, and her lime green eyes narrow. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Where’d you get that bruise from?”
Her fingers jump to her cheek. “What bruise, this?”
“Yeah, that. Obviously.”
“Oh. I don’t know.” She looks nervous. Maggie is pretty and smart and confident. Never is she nervous. “I ran into the door yesterday. Maybe it’s from that.”
“What door?”
“My door. My cell door.”
“You ran into it.”
“Yeah. Like, when it was open. The edge, Eve. Like this.” She holds an open palm perpendicular to her face. “See what I mean?”
She is a terrible liar.
“Wow, Maggie,” Emerald sneers. “You know Eve is the blond one, right?”
“Very funny.”
I lean back on the bed and toss the ball into the air again. “How are things with Kyle?” I grimace as I say his name, but only after making sure she isn’t watching. The truth is that I don’t like Kyle. Never have. He is an Upper Mean, and he makes sure I and the others don’t forget his position above us. No matter that we are Maggie’s best friends.
Her head jerks like I’ve slapped her. “Kyle? Things are great with Kyle. Why do you ask?”
“Haven’t seen him around lately.”
“He’s just super busy with work and his friends and things.” She shakes her head and lays down another card. “Boys. Am I right?”
“We’re not the best ones to ask,” says Emerald with a smirk. She looks at me—neither one of us has had a boyfriend before. “It’s because we’re fighters, right, Eve? Guys are intimidated by our muscles.” She flexes her arms, and the room fills with laughter.
Yes, I will miss them when I go.
Maggie and Hunter I’ve known for as long as I can remember—they lived a few doors down growing up, we had classes together, we played together on the weekends. I’ve logged more time with them than my own parents. And Emerald—she was my first friend in the Combat League, one I was immensely grateful for in those early days when fighting for sport was new, terrifying. We’ve been inseparable ever since.
I shut my eyes, but they flick back open as a scream fills my ears, one that is loud enough to pierce the thick cell walls that surround us. I pull myself up, but Hunter’s hand lands on my chest. “Stop, Eve. Just lie back and wait it out.”
I push him away and jump to my feet.
Emerald stands, too, the card game forgotten, but she only does it to block the door. “Forget about it,” she instructs. Her laughter is gone, and her voice is stern. “It isn’t our fight. You’re going to get yourself killed.”
They are only doing this because of my encounter with the guard the other morning. I thought they would get a kick out of it when I told them, but instead they exchanged looks and reprimanded me for meddling. And maybe they’re right. Holding the gun and firing at the target upstairs, something I did not share with them—it made me realize how vulnerable I am. How easily I can be killed by the guards. I need to remember that.
“I take it you didn’t learn your lesson a couple days ago?”
“What, not to meddle?”
“That’s the one.”
I shrug. “They’re getting out of control, those guards. Someone needs to rein them in.”
“Yeah, well, that someone isn’t going to be you.” She folds her arms across her chest. “You already did your part when you broke Black Eyes’s nose.” Her face breaks into a grin. “You’ve got an impressive punch, girl. I’ll give you that.”
Hunter knocks me across the shoulder. “Speaking of the guards, you need to stop making enemies out of them. First of all, they’re not all bad. Statistically speaking, it’s impossible. Second, they’re going to start to recognize you, and you won’t be able to go anywhere. Not even the cafeteria.”
I snort. “Only a coward would worry about that.”
“You’re calling me a coward now?”
“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”
We glare at each other, but after another minute, the hallway falls silent. Possibly the fight has gone elsewhere, possibly someone bleeds outside my door. I sit down and stare around at my friends. “Everyone happy? It’s over—you won.”
“Don’t be like that,” says Maggie. “You almost got killed the other day. We’re your friends, and we care—”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt. “Let’s talk about something else.” I bite my thumbnail. “Anything. What time is the press tour?”
“In half an hour. Will you come?”
“No thanks.”
Slowly, Maggie gathers up the deck of cards from the floor and shuffles them. She sighs. “Eve…”
“The compounds are connected by tunnels, right?”
She stares at me. “Some of them. I mean, the ones that are close to each other. Why do you want to know?”
“There are jobs there, aren’t there?”
“Oh. I mean, yeah.” Relief lifts her shoulders. “Yeah, there are. Like, construction and maintenance jobs, definitely. Is that something you’re interested in?”
I shrug. It isn’t something I have thought much about, but it could be one way into another compound. Possibly.
“You and Emerald will probably go pro, though, don’t you think?”
“I will,” Emerald says quickly. She straightens her long legs and pulls at the muscle. “But I’m still doing the tours, just like Hunter said. It’s called options, Eve.” She winks at me.
I lean back and toss the ball into the air again. “What do you think tunnel maintenance is, smartass? An option. But yeah, I’ll probably go pro if they’ll have me. And they might not—losing to a Preme didn’t exactly help my ranking.”
It is easier if they think I will become a professional fighter. If that is what it takes to keep them off my back about the job tours, so be it. Not that I want to lie. I don’t. Not to my best friends. But I can’t tell them the truth—they would never understand, not in a million years.
“Blue Circuit would hire you tomorrow,” Emerald insists. “Besides, you know what a bleeding heart Bruno is. He already thinks we’re practically family, and we’re just occasionals.”
“Nobody wants a weakling on their team.”
“Eve, you’re far from a weakling. That Preme was good. We’ve been over it already.”
I just roll my eyes again. “So, Maggie, which super-awesome Lower Mean position will soon be yours? Manufacturing lightbulbs? Watering potato plants?” I am not speaking off the cuff. Because the term job selections is a charade. A misnomer, one that suggests we have the power to choose whichever job we like. The reality is that no matter how hard we work in school, no matter how strong our applications are for an upper-floor position, the only jobs we are truly eligible for are Lower Mean ones. Almost always, we end up working the factory floor or the greenhouses. We end up as line cooks or cleaners or fighters for the Combat League.
In other words, we are allowed to select a job…so long as the job comes from a Preme-approved list of jobs nobody else wants.
She hits my foot. “Cut it out. Besides, you know how hopeless I am at making decisions. You guys have no idea how lucky you are to have something to fall back on. The kitchen, the Combat League…” She sighs. “I mean, it’s the rest of our lives we’re talking about.”
“Yeah, no pressure or anything,” says Emerald, and somehow I manage a short laugh.
Hunter, meanwhile, is still.
“What’s with you?” I say to him. My voice is heavy, the laughter gone.
“Take a guess.”
“Don’t be so touchy, Hunter,” I snap.
“Don’t be so secretive, Eve. I know something’s going on with you.”
“I already told you—there’s nothing going on. Can you just lay off?”
He stands and stares at me. “Sure, no problem. But next time you want to have a sleepover in the middle of the night, put some ice on your face first so it isn’t so obvious you’ve been bawling your eyes out.” Then he walks out the door, slamming it behind him.
It rattles my skull, or maybe it’s his words—whatever it is, I roll onto my side with my back to the others. After a few minutes, they mutter goodbyes and follow him out.
I don’t know who is right and who is wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have called him a coward; maybe he deserved it. Maybe I should confide in my friends; maybe it’s too dangerous. Maybe as I stand on the precipice of adulthood, I am changing. Yes, maybe I am.
Escaping Eleven (Eleven Trilogy) Page 7
