The Line Book One: Carrier

by Anne Tibbets

  We sat for a moment while I caught my breath.

  “Who’s Peni?” he asked.

  Every muscle in my body went tense. “Peni?”

  “You were calling out to her. She’s from the Line too?”

  My eyes lifted. “She’s my only friend. She’s still there...”

  “I’m sure she’s not your only friend,” he said.

  I shook my head. “Well, there’s Shirel at the boarding house too. But Peni’s still there. On the Line. The dream was about that.”

  He leaned forward. “You have more friends than that. You have Sonya and Tym. And me.” He crawled up the bed and sat alongside me at the headboard. Then he swung his arm over my shoulders, pulling me into his chest. “You’re safe now. You can trust me. Us.”

  My neck was craned in an awkward angle as he patted my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me. Though my instinct was to pull away and get as much distance as I could between us, there was an element of softness in his embrace that I found appealing. It reminded me of what a touch was supposed to be. But that recollection was buried so deep within, I struggled to accept it.

  For a moment, I allowed myself to enjoy it. The warmth. The softness. The gentle glide of his fingers on the skin of my shoulder.

  But after a while, other memories of other touches invaded my thoughts, and I had a vicious desire to yank my body away from his.

  Not wanting to offend him, as gently as I could I pulled back, looking at him face to face. “Thanks, I’m better now, I just...” The rest of my words stuck in my throat. I became suddenly aware of how I was sitting on a bed with a man, my face only a few inches from his. His lips parted, and my body quickly baked to a thousand degrees. I broke into a cold sweat of terror.

  Doc’s eyes were a brilliant green, and his dark lashes fluttered as I gazed into them. His expression clouded as he watched me fight with myself.

  He wordlessly slid off the other end of the bed. He rubbed his palms on the legs of his pants. “Okay. You’re feeling better now?”

  I nodded.

  “You need anything else, just ask.” He walked backward to the door, his hand groping behind for the handle. He reached for it, missed it and stumbled out. “I’ll be out here.” He struggled for words. Then he closed the door behind him and I sat on the bed, alone.

  Part of me was glad he’d left, and a great relief washed over me. My skin cooled and my heart slowed almost instantly.

  But then another part of me wished he would come back and touch me again.

  * * *

  I hid in my room for the rest of the day, unsure how to feel. It seemed like such a waste of time, lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling. But interacting with people was more than I could bear. My mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and feelings, and the presence of others only made it worse.

  At some point Doc rapped on the door. “Hey, you okay in there?”

  “It’s fine,” I lied. “I just need some time alone.”

  It got quiet after that.

  I saw his shadow pass by the slit under my door, but he said nothing more.

  What was there to say?

  It was oddly comforting to know he was there, just outside, out of reach.

  * * *

  On the Line, I had been numb. I had to be in order to get through the appointments and through the endless days of the same. I’d spent hours lying in my sleep compartment at night, thinking about what my life would have been like if I were elsewhere. Cradling what memories I had of my mother, father and baby sister like precious jewels.

  It had never occurred to me that I’d get retired from the Line. I figured my body would give out, which happened to a lot of girls. And then I would be euthanized and all my troubles and sadness would just end. Life after had never crossed my mind. Not once.

  And now, I was faced with just that. I should’ve been happy. I should’ve been reveling in my newfound freedom and enthralled with the possibility of my new free life. Instead, I was huddled in the bedroom of a very understanding and seemingly nice guy who wanted to help me, yet I couldn’t even look at him without breaking out into a panicked sweat.

  Would I ever be able to?

  Was I doomed to a life of emotional retardation forever?

  I lay trapped in a hurricane of emotions and thoughts. My body was unable to move. It was like my mind was free, but my body didn’t know it yet. My heart was numb, but not the rest of me. My brain was stricken dumb with hope.

  My eyes rested on the door but I couldn’t move to open it.

  I was safer inside. Isolated.

  Truth be told, I was scared.

  No.

  Petrified.

  But not of what one might think.

  Of myself. And what I could be.

  But probably couldn’t.

  * * *

  Later that night, Sonya stopped by and spoke with Doc in harsh whispers outside my door about things I couldn’t decipher. She knocked and asked if she could come in. I pretended to be asleep.

  I heard Doc make excuses for me, how I was feeling the pressure and stress of my situation, something about the first trimester of pregnancy and how exhausted a woman felt. Sonya blurted out she didn’t buy it and told Doc she was sure it was all his fault I’d locked myself away.

  He didn’t argue.

  Sonya knocked a few more times and even yelled at me to let her in, but the more she pounded, the less I wanted to talk to anyone. I just couldn’t move from the bed. She tried the handle but at some point I’d gotten up and locked it.

  Then I heard a splintering crash, and Sonya stood on the other side of where the door had once been. She’d kicked it down with her bare feet and glared at me with a fiery expression.

  “When you’re done feeling sorry for yourself, you wanna get out of here?” she asked.

  I stared at the broken door hanging off one hinge. Sonya was heaving in the threshold. Doc appeared over her shoulder, livid.

  “Dammit, Sonya!” he shouted. “You trying to bring security guards to my door?”

  Sonya walked into the room and stood in front of me.

  I was sitting upright on the bed, my feet halfway to the floor.

  “Just for a few hours,” she said. “You want to get out of here?”

  I nodded. Sure. Some fresh air. Maybe that was what I needed to awaken from this haze. Even if the air outside stank like hell.

  Sonya reached around to her back jeans pocket and dropped a pair of black motorcycle gloves onto the bed next to me. They were leather and had holes for the knuckles. “Then put those on, and come on. Can’t have your palm prints all over Auberge until the upload.”

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Don’t you worry, I’ll have you back by morning.”

  I fumbled with my boots and pulled the gloves on.

  Sonya grabbed my hand and led me to the door.

  “Relax, Doc,” she said. “Auberge won’t have any clue where she’s at.”

  He frowned. “Just be careful. Don’t fuck it up before we even get started.”

  Sonya laughed. “Don’t wait up.”

  Then we were out the door.

  * * *

  We pounded down several flights of stairs and exited Doc’s building. Out of habit I turned toward the parking lot where the motorcycle was parked, but Sonya waved me in the opposite direction.

  “This way.”

  “You never said where we were going.”

  “I didn’t, did I? Oh, don’t look so scandalized. I’m working tonight. But after I spoke with Doc, I figured you’d better come with me.”

  “Why? What’d he tell you?”

  “Some bullshit about you feeling overwhelmed. More like trapped, I say. You just
need space. Remind yourself that you’re free.”

  This made me grin. “Even if I’m too screwed up to enjoy it?”

  “Exactly. Honestly, girl. I get it.”

  “I know you do.”

  There were still several hours left before curfew took effect, and the streets were full of pedestrians. Sonya appeared to be having a difficult time navigating the crowd; she kept bumping into people.

  I weaved through the crowd behind her. When we reached the end of the block, we stopped. Sonya turned and shoved half a dozen wallets and small purses into my hands.

  “Got any pockets?” she asked.

  “Where did you...?”

  “I told you,” she said, smirking. “I’m working tonight.”

  I stuffed the wallets and purses into the pockets of my jeans and jacket, then we stopped a few blocks down at a large door with a tiny boarded-up window.

  Sonya rapped her fist against the door three times, and a tall, pale man answered it. He had no shirt, skin-tight leather pants, and his torso and arms were covered in colorful and ornate tattoos over every square inch of his skin.

  “Sonya!” he beamed, and reached out the backside of his forearm.

  Sonya lifted her own forearm, and they bumped limbs against each other. “Hi, Buzz.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “This is Amber.” She winked at me.

  “Hey, Amber,” Buzz said, stepping back from the door to allow us to enter.

  Sonya took my hand. “Stick close.”

  Inside the warehouse, a throbbing beat permeated the air. Strobe lights and spotlights shot across the walls, casting green-and-white streaks around the black dance floor. Several hundred bodies pumped and bounced to the beat in unison.

  I felt the pulse in my body and my heart quickened. But it wasn’t frightening. It was invigorating. All those people, and I was one of a crowd.

  Together, but invisible.

  Against the back wall of the warehouse, a man wearing headphones around his neck stood in front of a large computer console, pushing buttons, flipping switches and pumping his fist in the air to the rhythm.

  Sonya led me past Buzz and pulled me to the dance floor. It was hard to see where we were going, and I was getting bumped by dancers.

  A girl wearing nothing but a pink string bikini approached us with a tray of small glass vials inside slots in the center. Sonya waved her away.

  “None of that,” Sonya yelled to me over the music. “That stuff is poison.”

  The girl kept moving. Other dancers in the crowd held their palms onto the scanner board attached to her tray. They each removed a vial, downed it in seconds, then returned the vial to an empty slot.

  Sonya shook her head and pulled me farther along.

  On a stage behind the man with the headphones were several girls wearing bikinis, decorated with fluorescent body paint. They were puppetlike as they danced and glistened off the strobe lights. I was briefly mesmerized by their movements. They danced the same routine in tight synchronized motions, and I involuntarily bobbed my head along to the beat of the music.

  Sonya caught me and grinned. “Cool, huh?”

  I stopped a moment, then nodded and let my head bob all it wanted.

  I liked it. The room’s power pumped me with false confidence.

  Deeper through the crowd we reached the dead center of the dance floor. Sonya stopped for a moment and lifted her arms over her head, dancing along with the rest of the crowd.

  I did the same.

  There was a moment when a person bumped me, sending me bashing into Sonya, but she didn’t care, and I let it go.

  A touch here was just a bump, nothing more.

  The more people bumped into me, the freer I felt.

  I cheered aloud, and the music took my whole body prisoner.

  This is what it felt like to be free.

  I was having the time of my life until I felt someone’s body press up against my hip. A guy. Shirtless, and wearing loose pants so low you could see his undergarments. He was dancing in time to the music with his eyes closed, but in his revelry he’d pressed up against me and the grinding of his hips plowed through me like a bulldozer.

  I stopped dancing.

  Sonya didn’t notice. She had her back turned and was hopping up and down with a group of people beside me.

  I stood in the middle of the dancers and gave the grinding guy a healthy shove. He stumbled slightly but didn’t seem too bothered and simply turned the other direction to grind elsewhere.

  Suddenly, the bumping wasn’t okay anymore.

  I could feel the bodies pressing against me.

  The walls moved closer still.

  Cold sweat beaded on my brow. The air grew stifling.

  “Sonya!” I screamed over the music, trying to get her attention. I reached out and grabbed her shoulder, and she swung around.

  The look on my face must have spoken volumes. Without words, she grabbed my hand and we shoved our way through the crowd. When we came out the other side, I felt as if we’d swum up from the bottom of a deep lake and were coming up for air.

  Sonya used her shoulder to open the exit door, and we spilled into a back alley behind the building. It was crowded with people smoking all sorts of illegal inhalants, but it was quieter, and there was room between people to squeeze through.

  Sonya led the way.

  The sidewalk was a welcome sight, and it wasn’t until she stopped pulling me and turned around that I realized she had a pile of jewelry in her hands.

  “Where did you...?”

  Sonya shrugged. “They’ll never miss it. Why’d you think we were in there? To go dancing?”

  It was my turn to shrug. “I didn’t know.”

  “Come on, have a little faith in me.”

  I felt my heart rate slowing and I wiped my forehead with the back of my motorcycle gloves. Sonya saw me struggling.

  “Too soon?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “It gets better. You just need time.”

  I nodded again. I had the sudden urge to take another shower, crawl into the bed at Doc’s apartment and hide under the covers.

  “Come on,” she said. “I’ll take you back.”

  I followed willingly.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning I awoke, took a shower, changed clothes, and went into the kitchen. Doc sat at the kitchen bar, eating burnt pancakes with too much syrup. My gloves lay on the counter next to him.

  He motioned to a plate on the counter by the sink. “Morning. Hot cakes?”

  “You call those hot cakes?”

  He chuckled and kept on eating.

  I took the plate and fork and sat next to him at the bar, poured some of the syrup on the cakes and ate. The parts that weren’t burnt tasted sweet and melty, and I immediately wanted more.

  When I had eaten my full, in addition to the scraps left on Doc’s plate, he rinsed the plates in the sink and dried his hands on a towel.

  “Pack the rest of your things. After the upload today, I’ll pick you up from Tym’s and take you to someone who will supply you with your travel orders so you can cross the border into North.”

  “I’m not coming back here?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “After you get your travel orders, Sonya will help you settle in to your new life in North. It should take a few days before you hear back on your Institution application.”

  “Oh. Okay. When will I see you again?”

  Doc’s face contorted. He shrugged with the fakest nonchalance I’d ever witnessed and scooped up a tablet from the kitchen counter. “Probably never.”

  “Never? But why?”

  “It’s best for you to have a clean break,” he sai
d, as matter-of-factly as a doctor delivering bad news to a patient. “A complete fresh start. It’s probably for the best you start your new life, you know...alone.”

  How else would I start it?

  “You’ve got a lot to work out,” he added.

  This was true, although I wasn’t sure why he seemed so cold about it.

  When I didn’t say anything, he motioned to the door. “We’d better get going.”

  After I packed, we rode to Tym’s in silence.

  The tension there wasn’t any better.

  Tym was too distracted to even greet us when we arrived. His full attention was taken over by his wall of screens, which was mostly covered in surveillance camera footage of Auberge headquarters in downtown Central, near 20th and R. Doc crossed his arms and listened to Tym’s speech about the plan, and I found myself watching him.

  He had rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt and his forearms kept flexing as he shifted his hands up and down. His hair was still slightly damp and combed back. He was cleanly shaved. He wouldn’t look at me.

  I was invisible.

  It stung, and it bothered me that it stung.

  “The exit shaft on the south wall opens into the bottom level of a parking structure,” Tym said. “But the only way back up is through the stairwell. Which is too risky. Instead, we’re dropping Sonya here...” He pointed to the top right of a map on the wall of screens. “The northeast corner conference room, where she’ll take this airshaft to the server room and come out the same way. She can escape through the glass walls, then through this greenhouse. Doc, you’ll be parked here, by this wall, facing east. Sonya pops out here, you drive back to here. If you’re followed, split up and head to the bridge. That’s where I’ll meet you.”

  “How can you split up if there’s only one motorcycle?” I asked.

  Tym and Doc turned and stared at me like they’d forgotten I was there.

  “Doc takes the bike, Sonya on foot,” Tym said.

  “Well, that’s not very fair, is it?” I stated.

  Doc shook his head and turned away from me, but Tym cleared his throat.

  “Sonya on foot is more slippery than a fish out of water,” he said. “She can disappear a lot quicker than on the back of a motorcycle. It’s Doc here who’s got the hard part. Especially if they’re onto us and mobilize the squad cars. More than likely they’ll let Sonya slip away and keep after the bike. Worst case scenario, they’ll scoop up Doc and rough him up a bit. But his pedigree will be his ticket out, believe you me. He won’t be in custody for long.”