Escaping Eleven (Eleven Trilogy)

by Jerri Chisholm

  In front of me, frail arms reach upward, snatching air, waiting for me to place a small packet of lentils and a roll into their palms. There is no sense in giving them larger helpings—the kitchen only prepares so much. Bigger portions for some means mouths go hungry. I have tried it before, and it did not end well. Anger, riots, gunshots.

  I shudder.

  The Noms at the front of the crowd are never pleasant. These are the aggressive and greedy ones—the ones every floor has, I think. I don’t know any of them by name, and I like it that way. Sometimes they yell if I am late. Sometimes they yell just for the sake of it. But today they are quiet—maybe because Wren is beside me and he is big and so obviously strong. They take their food without thanks and shove off through lighting dimmer than even what I am used to. More Noms move forward to take their place. Wren works quickly now, filling packets at the same pace as I hand them out.

  The last ones to collect their lunch are the nicest. These ones I have gotten to know. These ones I feel sorriest for.

  “Hi, Monica,” I say when I see her pale, pointed face. “Where’s Mr. Avery today?”

  Avery is her young son, and he calls me Miss Eve. He is small and sweet, just like Monica.

  “Nothing to worry over,” she says in her lilting way. “Just that he isn’t feeling well, not lately.” Creases scatter around her eyes, and there is a deep line between her eyebrows. Her voice is tight.

  It’s no wonder. Too many people who get sick down here on the first floor don’t recover; treatment and aid are almost nonexistent.

  “It’s you we ought to be talking about,” she continues. “I heard you took quite a beating in the Bowl—Jules told me. I wish you’d stop with that, a nice girl like you. Feeling better, I hope?”

  Beside me, Wren tenses up. I can see his back straighten, and the muscles covering his forearms go rigid. His fingers clench into fists.

  “It was no big deal,” I say quickly. “Here. Tuck this under your sleeve for Avery. You can eat it if he doesn’t want it.” I check to make sure nobody is watching and shove an extra packet and roll to her. We aren’t supposed to give out portions to anyone not in line, but I think of Avery’s tiny voice and his dimples and I am happy to break the rules.

  She nods. “Thanks, Eve,” she says softly. “You’ve got a good heart to you, you know.”

  She turns, and I watch her until she is gone, just in case anyone saw me give her extra. It would make her a target, and she couldn’t defend herself; she is too frail. Wren watches her go, too, his face tight, and I wonder what he is thinking.

  “Hey, kiddo. Who’s the hottie? Finally get a boyfriend or something?” I blink and stare at Jules’s round face. She’s a Nom I befriended years ago, a daring one who doesn’t mind breaking the rules. Often, we spar together or hit the bags in the Bowl. I pass along clothes to her when I am through with them; I sneak her into the Mean cafeteria from time to time. She makes me laugh always. And never does she complain about her station.

  “Who has time for boyfriends?” I say as I pass her a packet.

  She rips it open and tilts half into her mouth. “You should try it sometime,” she says as she chews. “They’re a great distraction—especially the ones who are easy on the eyes.” She winks at Wren. “So, you’re not going to introduce me?”

  “She has a habit of avoiding questions, I’ve noticed,” Wren says bluntly. He sticks a hand forward. “My name’s Wren.”

  “Jules. Nice to meet you.”

  She shifts her gaze back to me and pointedly lifts an eyebrow. I change the subject before she can say anything more, my cheeks burning pink as it is. “Want to sneak upstairs later? Bring your boxing gloves; I need the practice.”

  “Can’t. I’ve got a hot date of my own. See you, Eve. Bye, Wren.” With another wink, she is gone.

  Thirty more parcels are passed through the partition before I slide it shut. “That’s it. Was it as fun and exciting as you anticipated?”

  I am being sarcastic, but he turns to me with a level expression. “It was even better.”

  “Even better,” I repeat. My fingers drum on the table. All at once, it dawns on me, and the revelation leaves me cold all over. “You plan to work in government.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  I shrug. “The fact that you’re here. I suppose having knowledge of the lower levels would be an asset on your job application.”

  He laughs, low and rumbly. “That’s not why I’m here, Eve. And you’re wrong, for the record; I don’t want to work in government.”

  I tidy up, my mouth pressed into a line. If he doesn’t want to work for the government, why is he here?

  “You know, a normal person would ask what it is I do want to do.”

  “So what do you want to do, then, Wren?”

  “I don’t know, actually.” He scratches his neck. “Something in computers, maybe?”

  Computers. Those mighty machines brought underground to ensure goods could still be produced, genetically modified food, too. The ones that keep the compound humming, the ones completely unknowable to those of us on the lower floors. “Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into it,” I mumble. “I’m glad I asked.”

  “Very funny. Dare I bring up your own job aspirations again?”

  “You don’t dare, no. Listen, the kitchen staff will come get the trays. We can go now.” I lead him up the stairs and make sure to leave the lights on—just to piss off the guard. I won’t be back until he is reassigned; that much I know.

  Then we walk along the corridor where Wren hid me from view. It feels like days ago, even though it was less than an hour prior. I remember his clean, masculine smell and clear my throat. Soon we will part ways, and it is very likely I will never again see this strange Preme.

  “Why were you on my floor the other day?” he asks into the silence. “Before we went to the shooting range.”

  The question catches me off guard, and I freeze. “I told you,” I say slowly. “I was at the library.”

  He turns so he faces me, then says, “You were well past the library.”

  “I was lost.”

  He crosses his arms and squints at me. “Hmm. Given your track record for finding and causing trouble at every opportunity, you are surprisingly bad at lying.”

  I go to protest, but he holds up a hand. “Come on. I’ve never seen anyone look like you did that day. Your eyes…” His gaze finally breaks from mine, and something resembling discomfort passes over his face.

  “What about my eyes?”

  He shrugs. “They were…on fire. Like you had just done something, I don’t know, big. I know you weren’t in the library.”

  A smile catches my lips before I can set them straight. If only he knew. But I just shake my head. “I’m sorry, Wren. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I make to walk again, but he grips my arm. “I know what’s back there,” he says quietly. His eyes burn into mine. “Not many people know, but I do.”

  My head shakes back and forth. Instinct. How does he know, how does he know? Maybe he is wrong. Maybe this is a test. I keep shaking my head. No.

  He leans forward, and his grip on my arm tightens until it hurts. “It was the Oracle, wasn’t it? That’s where you were.”

  Still my head shakes, and though I can feel my mouth hanging open, I don’t have control enough to close it. Finally, I snap to my senses and swallow. It burns my throat.

  Think.

  I could run. I could punch him. Fear streaks through me so loudly that it clouds my thoughts—he knows, he knows. He could turn me in. He could blackmail me. He could do anything.

  How could he know my secret? It is my secret, nobody else’s.

  There is no sense in running from him; he’s too fast. There is no sense in attacking him; he will win. I need to remain calm, that is what I ne
ed to do. So, as calmly as I can, I wrench my arm free from his grasp, my eyes spewing hatred as I do. “Don’t come near me again,” I hiss, and then I shove past him. Down the hall. Gone.

  “Eve. Wait.”

  For some reason, I do. I think it’s his voice. Always it is low and smooth. Usually it is cold. Hard. Right now, it is soft.

  “I know about the Oracle’s emergency exit because of my mother. Her department oversees the solar panels aboveground. Nobody else knows.”

  I turn to him and fold my arms. “Okay. Great, Wren. Great. You know my secret—you figured it out. Congrats, okay? You can turn me in now.”

  He laughs, and it sounds cold and hard, like the Wren I know. “If I wanted to hurt you, I’d go about it in a much more direct fashion. You can relax, Eve. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Right.”

  He scowls. “And what exactly do I have to gain by turning you in?”

  “I don’t know. A funny story for you and your Preme friends to laugh about?”

  He shakes his head. “You think I’m a monster; I get it. But rest assured, I have better things to do with my time.”

  I shrug. I am desperate, and the feeling is unnerving. So I force my spine to straighten, then square my shoulders to his. “Tell anyone, and I’ll kill you, understand? And trust me, it isn’t an empty threat.”

  His eyes flash, but he is calm. “Fine. So. How did you get inside?”

  “With the code, genius.”

  It is a sarcastic response. But instead of reacting to it, he simply nods. “I suppose it wouldn’t be impossible to figure out. No doubt you’ve seen enough guards open the feeding dock to pick up on patterns. Probably some of the digits are constant between doors. Compound Eleven. That would be part of it. The floor number would be in there too, am I right?”

  I stare at him. His wide-set eyes make him look fiercely intelligent, but it isn’t just show. He is intelligent. Still, I am not about to give anything away, so I say nothing. My jaw is set.

  “When are you planning on going again?” he asks.

  “To the Oracle?”

  He nods, his eyes not moving from mine. Gold shines from his pupils, outward streaks that glow. They look like the sun. His eyes are the sun.

  Don’t stare too long, Eve, or they’ll blind you.

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you will go back, won’t you.” It isn’t a question. There is no need to answer.

  Of course I will.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Zaar stands in front of me with his knuckles taped. He is a guest fighter—only his second time in the ring. He has black hair and pale skin, and his eyes look at me without emotion. He may be friends with Daniel and Landry, but he lacks their evil streak. Not that he is much better. He goes along with whatever they say, whatever they do. In fact, I don’t think he is capable of experiencing an independent thought whatsoever. I stare into his eyes and see neither wickedness nor a sense of decency. They are empty slits.

  I spent the morning with Erick, the two of us training under Anil. Erick is my age, and he is a hobby fighter like me. An occasional. Anil is a year older. He told me that Zaar has a bum left knee, to exploit this weakness as soon as the match begins. I don’t know how he knows this, but I believe him. I would trust Anil with my life.

  Erick and I train together often, and so he knows what a hard time Daniel, Landry, and Zaar give me. How they torment me. He knows how much I need to win, and he wants me to win, too. That is why he has been studying on my behalf. First thing this morning, he opened his books, showed me how my roundhouse kick would be better presented as a sharp side kick. How I will generate more power if only I can master the technique. So we practiced it again and again, too much in fact, because now my quadriceps tingle with fatigue.

  I hop up and down. Now is definitely not the time for fatigue.

  The crowd is much smaller and quieter than when I was here last. Zaar is an Upper Mean, but a lot of guest fighters are Upper Means. They are never Premes. Wren was the exception.

  Close to the ring sit Daniel and Landry, laughing, shouting words of encouragement to my opponent. I hate them, truly I do.

  “Don’t die, Eve!” Daniel shouts as the ref moves into position. I snap my knuckles and shuffle my feet back and forth. “At least not quickly. Draw it out so we can enjoy it, okay?”

  Something hot prickles my skin. I will show them. I will show them there is no X marking my back. I will crush Zaar. Just to show them.

  Zaar’s arms twitch with anticipation. I haven’t fought him before, but I know I can win. He is lean—lean enough to be quick. But he doesn’t have much muscle. And he doesn’t have much technique. And he has a bad left knee.

  Yes, this is a different fight than against Wren, when I knew I would lose. My lips curl into a smile that makes his empty eyes narrow.

  “When I blow the whistle, you may begin,” says the ref, and he looks at me pointedly. It’s the same ref as last time, and a small growl of laughter ripples from my stomach. I jump up and down, and my heart pounds with adrenaline that courses through my veins. The crowd hollers.

  Maybe I was wrong when I was talking with Wren. Maybe I do like fighting.

  Zaar pounces as soon as the whistle is blown and clips me in the jaw. Now I laugh loudly. “Was that supposed to hurt?” No sooner do the words leave my mouth than I aim a side kick to his bad knee. Just like Erick and I practiced. Just like Anil said to do.

  A perfect shot, and I can hear the snapping bone over the crowd. Blood drains silently from his face, and I take the opportunity to place an uppercut under his chin. And a fist to the eye.

  I stare at Daniel and Landry and smile as blood rushes in my ears, as Zaar screams at my toes.

  Maybe I am cruel.

  The ref calls the match; I am the winner. It took a matter of seconds, and it is hard not to feel a surge of excitement even though I think I should feel guilty. But perhaps I shouldn’t. Zaar has taunted me alongside Daniel and Landry for years now. When the others have threatened me, when they shoved me around and hit me for the fun of it when we were kids, he would laugh. He never stopped them.

  Suddenly, I want to hit him again. I look down, but he has already disappeared. He is being carried out of the Bowl, and I know where he is going. The same place I was a week ago. I glance at Daniel and Landry and see them speaking to each other, tight-lipped, their bodies wooden.

  “Let’s go!” Erick shouts from behind me. He leans over the ropes and offers me a hand. Once I climb over, he squeezes my shoulder. “Well executed,” he says as he leads me through the crush. His voice is distant.

  Bodies sway around us, and they call my name. Their faces blur into one flesh-colored mask, and then Daniel shoves into my path and lowers his head so his dark blue eyes line up with mine. “That wasn’t a very smart thing to do, Eve,” he hisses at me. But he steps out of my way without another word and disappears into the crowd.

  I watch him go—watch his tall frame and curly brown hair be swallowed up by the Bowl. My eyebrows pull together. It was a strange exchange; I would prefer it if Daniel had shoved me, thrown a punch, even. I suppose he wouldn’t do anything too stupid, especially not with Erick’s club-like arm draped over my shoulder. Or perhaps he knows now what I am capable of. Perhaps he will leave me alone.

  “Quick work of our guest,” Anil says once I’m in Blue Circuit’s training room. He doesn’t smile—he never does. “Bruno isn’t happy, I should warn you.”

  “What, with me?”

  Anil nods. “You know how he is about clean play.”

  Bruno is a good fighter, but he only wins by a slim margin each time, even when he can destroy his opponent. He is a gentle giant. I am not.

  “Whatever,” I say as I tear off my blue armband and have a seat on the couch in the corner. I toss it at the nearest punching ba
g and notice that the others aren’t looking at me. “What?” I finally demand. “You’re the one who said to go after his knee, Anil. And I did the exact kick we practiced all morning, in case you didn’t notice,” I add as my gaze shifts to Erick.

  “We didn’t say anything,” Erick says limply. His eyes still don’t meet mine.

  I stare at them, and it isn’t guilt bubbling in my stomach; it is anger.

  The door flies open before I can say anything more.

  “What the hell was that?” Bruno demands. He is bulky with muscle that pushes against his brown skin with every movement. His neck is so thick it strains the opening of the T-shirt he wears. Right now, it bulges with veins.

  I scramble to my feet. “What the hell was what? I’m just doing my job, Bruno—we got the win. Besides, what’s it to you? The guy’s scum.”

  “You broke his knee. He’s going to be laid up for months. I don’t care how big a jerk he is—nobody deserves that.” He crosses his arms, and I feel like a child being scolded. The feeling makes me hot in the face. “And don’t get me started on the last few sucker punches,” he adds.

  It is unfair. It is unfair, it is unfair, it is unfair.

  Isn’t it?

  “Nobody put you in charge,” I say. “If the League wants to stop stuff like that from happening, they can change the rules. But you and I both know when we step into that ring, anything can happen—broken bones included.”

  He stares at me like I am barely human. Like he can’t quite recognize what I am. “You shouldn’t need rules to tell you not to do that, Eve. I thought you would have the decency—”

  I push past him and out the door before he can finish. He is wrong. He doesn’t know the full story. He doesn’t know that I had to send a message to Daniel and Landry. He doesn’t know, and that is why he doesn’t understand. Nothing more.

  Without thinking about it, I head in the one direction I know my fight will be well received.