by Joe Hart
The room they enter is low-ceilinged and wide. It holds a sense of constriction, an air of suffocation that may partially have to do with the two separate facades that intrude on its far side.
The protrusions extend into the room several feet and line the entire length of the wall. It is like another room has been shoved into the current one but stopped short before its full bulk could be revealed. Two black doors are positioned on either end of the boxes.
The other women are already there, waiting in a half-circle of chairs, their Clerics standing behind them. Assistant Carter waits before the two boxes, his hands held behind his back. He nods to them as they enter, and Zoey takes her seat beside Lily. There is a long silence that draws out painfully before Carter finally steps forward and speaks.
“I’m disappointed in you,” he says, looking down at his shoes. “There is order and disorder. Order breeds compliance, compliance begets tolerance, and tolerance brings peace.” He flicks his ferret-like gaze across them all. “Disorder is unacceptable. The greater good depends upon all of you, and you quibble and fight like children!” His nasally voice tightens as it rises, and Zoey has to resist clamping her hands over her ears. “You should be ashamed,” Carter says, spinning away from them, his tie swinging. Lily begins to rock in her seat, and Zoey places a hand gently on her arm. “Punishment is, at times, the only language that is understood, the only . . .” He pauses, a smile curling then fleeing from his face. “. . . voice that is heard. Clerics?”
Rita’s and Penny’s Clerics move around the row of chairs as the two women rise. Rita walks with sullen steps toward the right door, while Penny strides to the left. They turn when they reach the wall and stand looking out back at the group. Assistant Carter takes center stage between them.
“Rita and Penny, you are sentenced to twenty-four hours in containment. No food or water shall be given during this time. You shall not speak to anyone nor have any contact with the outside. Remember, and do not fall outside the rules again.”
Carter nods to the Clerics, who each scan their bracelets. Zoey looks at Rita, their eyes meeting, and sees her lips are moving soundlessly, repeating words over and over.
You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead you’redeadyou’redeadyou’redead.
The doors pop open as if pressurized. Inside, there seems to be nothing.
It’s not simply dark within the boxes—the light from the room doesn’t penetrate the blackness. The void is like something alive, churning just out of sight past the threshold. Rita doesn’t move, struck by the sight as the rest of them are. Penny only hesitates a moment before stepping inside, disappearing as if she’s been swallowed.
“Rita,” Carter says. She looks at him, and there is hatred etched in her face, but also fear. She shoots one last look at Zoey before walking out of sight.
The doors clank shut, latches clacking louder than any Zoey’s ever heard before.
“Take the punishment of others and use it to keep yourselves on the path,” Carter says. “The greater good is more important than any one life.”
They repeat his last words in unison, knowing it’s expected. Then they are dismissed with a wave of Carter’s pale hand.
The dinner chime rings as they move down the hallways, and Meeka shoots Zoey a look. Zoey shakes her head before hanging back behind the rest of the group.
“I don’t want to go to dinner, Simon,” she says.
“Zoey, you barely had anything today. You need to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.” She doesn’t look at him, her eyes fastened on the tips of her shoes.
“Zoey, look at me.” She does. “It is not your fault that Rita and Penny are being punished. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one that sent them there.”
“It doesn’t matter. They blame me.”
“That’s ridiculous. What they did was inexcusable; they could’ve truly hurt you. They could’ve—”
“Could’ve damaged me, you mean,” Zoey says. “Could’ve made me sterile.”
“That’s not what I was going to say.”
“You didn’t have to.”
A long, uncomfortable silence drifts between them. “They’ll think twice before ever attacking you again,” Simon finally says.
“Or they’ll make sure they don’t get caught next time.”
“I’ll protect you.”
“You can’t protect me from everything.”
He opens his mouth to reply but stops. She follows his gaze over her shoulder and sees the digital calendar set in the wall.
“Take me to my room,” she says after a moment. She leads the way and hears him follow a second later.
Zoey watches the afternoon pass into evening and then into night. The sun slides on its track below the rim of the walls, fading to a glow before it winks out completely. The exterior lights come on, flashing to life one at a time to bathe the promenade in their radiance. But it’s the walls they want seen, even at night. Always the reminder of where they are.
She takes out the window and chews a piece of gum to quell the hunger that’s built upon itself over the last hours. She should’ve eaten something. Simon was right. Again. She chews until the flavor is completely gone before swallowing the stringy lump that is slowly dissolving on her tongue. She applies the last of the ointment to her bruised neck and face before lying back on her bed with the copy of Monte Cristo, reading in the dim light cast by the bulb built into the wall beside the headboard. The book seems to breathe the word that’s been floating through her mind for years now. At first it was insubstantial and fluttering, like the wings of a moth disappearing into the night. But now it is a pounding insistence that won’t disperse no matter what she tries to focus on.
Escape.
She comes awake to a sound, only then realizing that she had fallen asleep. The book is splayed on her chest, open to the page she stopped reading on. The light still glows beside her, the calendar minutes away from a new day.
Someone is standing at the foot of her bed.
4
Zoey inhales, a shriek building in her lungs, but the person steps forward, letting the light wash over his smiling features.
“Lee,” she hisses.
“Hey.”
“Don’t hey me, you ass,” she says, flinging her pillow at him before standing up. He catches it, flinching in a mockingly hurt way.
“You think I’d get a warmer welcome being in here for what, the fifth time ever?”
“I knew you were going to try to get in, I just thought I’d hear you.” She eyes him. “How do you get in? Do you pick the lock?” The brightness of Lee’s smile is only rivaled by his intelligence. Already he’s found solutions for several issues regarding the ARC’s mechanical maintenance that had baffled some of the best workers. It’s rumored he’ll be the head of the department before he’s twenty-two.
He shakes his head, coming closer. His true grin is back, and she can see he’s pleased with himself. “Told you before, I gotta keep some secrets from you.” Lee stops inches away and gazes at her. His hand runs down her arm, leaving a trail of tingling warmth in its wake, before he grasps her fingers gently. The urge to lean fully into him, to press herself against him, is powerful, though the thought both thrills and frightens her in equal measure. Lee seems to sense what she’s thinking and tips his head down toward her. His eyes flit to the book she holds in her free hand, and she glances at it before returning his gaze. “Where did you get that?”
“I . . .” I found it. Someone must have dropped it. “I don’t know,” she says. “It was left for me.”
Lee steps back. “Left for you? By who?”
“I don’t know, it was just in my room one day.”
“Zoey, you can’t have that, it’s too dangerous.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s contraband. And whoever left it is probably trying to set you up, get you punished.”
“My room’s been inspected and they’ve never found it. Besides, you’
re telling me you haven’t seen a book before outside of the NOA texts?”
He falters. “Well, no. But . . .”
“So you’re saying you’ve seen them but never read any?”
His jaw works. “No, I’ve read a few, but—”
“So they’re available to the men?”
“Yes, there’s quite a few in a room attached to the guards’ dorms.”
“But I’m not supposed to have one, is that it?”
“I’m just worried that you’ll get caught, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she says. She sets the book on the covers. “I can take care of myself.” She strides to the window and looks out at the wall. Lee sidles past her bed, careful to keep out of the sniper’s view.
“Zoey, I’m sorry. You know they’re not my rules. If I could choose, you’d have as many books as you want. You wouldn’t be locked up in here, either. But I’m not in charge, not yet anyway.” She watches his reflection in the window. He’s fidgeting with something in his pocket. “I talked to Dad again about what will happen after your induction.”
She lets the quiet of the room build for a moment. “What did he say?”
“He said it will be up to the Director whether or not we can go with you and your parents to the safe zone.”
“That’s never happened before, Lee, and you know it. Grace and Halie’s Clerics are reassigned now, and so are their sons. What makes you think you and Simon will be any different?”
“There’s no reason not to let us go. I’m working on getting a private audience with the Director. If I can, I’ll make him understand.”
She turns to face him. “He won’t listen, Lee. Don’t you get it? The system doesn’t make allowances. Not for you, or your father, or for me. We’re just pieces in a game.”
“Listen—”
“What’s your last name?”
Exasperation has finally stripped him of his cheerfulness. “You know what it is.”
“Say it.”
“Asher.”
“And what’s mine?”
He blinks, then sighs. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t either. No woman here does. What purpose does that serve, Lee? What could possibly be gained by keeping our heritage from us?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s control. It’s just another wall built to keep us in place.” She glances away from him. He seems to struggle with something and looks down at the floor.
“I always told you I’d give you my last name.”
She studies him and then slowly moves to stand before him. She puts a hand to his cheek, and he looks into her eyes. “I know you would. But I need my own. Do you understand?”
He nods. “It scares me a little when you talk like this. You sound like you’re going to do something rash.”
She is on the edge, the cliff beneath her feet once again. What to say? How much to tell him?
“If we were able to leave, would you come with me?” she asks, her foot hovering over the drop.
“What? What do you mean, leave?”
She looks around, knowing they are alone but unable to help herself. “I mean, escape.”
It’s like she’s hit him with something. He steps back from her, and her hand that had fallen to his shoulder drops to her side.
“Zoey, think about what you’re saying. The wrong person hears you even breathe that word, and you’re in the box.”
“I know, but there’s something wrong. There’s always been something wrong. This place isn’t what they tell us, what they’ve pounded into our heads for years.”
“Look, I know you’re shook up. I heard about what happened today, but you have to think about this logically.”
“I am. This has nothing to do with Rita.” She stops herself. “You know, maybe it has a lot to do with Rita. You know why she’s so angry? Because she’s the only one of us who’s ever seen her parents’ faces. She came here when she was five, but that’s enough time to remember. I can’t forget how much she cried. Do you remember?”
He nods. He seems to have run out of words.
“That anger she has for everyone and everything, it’s not a coincidence. She was taken, Lee, just like we all were. This isn’t right.”
“It’s for the greater good.”
“You don’t even know what that means.”
“I know Reaper and his men go out, week after week, hunting for another infant girl, and they never find one. I know my father has dedicated his life to protecting you, and soon he’s going to have to let you go. He would never turn you over to any kind of danger.”
“He has no idea what waits behind those steel doors in the infirmary.” Their voices are barely above whispers, but the vehemence in them could cut flesh.
“And neither do you. There’s no reason not to believe the Director and Miss Gwen. No one has ever hurt you besides Rita and the other two.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Zoey says, moving to her bed. She picks up the copy of The Count of Monte Cristo. “Maybe you should read this. Then you’ll have an idea how much they’ve hurt me. Hurt all of us.”
He doesn’t take the book from her outstretched hand, instead glancing at the glowing calendar. Immediately he turns away, then shuffles to the door and pulls it open. He snatches something from the lock and pockets it. She expects him to say something more, some final retort, but there’s nothing. He simply steps into the dim hallway, lets the door click shut behind him, and is gone.
She watches the curved horizon of wall until the sky begins to pale in the east. The urge to cry comes and goes, as does the fury. There is something worse about being reprimanded by Lee. It’s not only because he has been her closest friend for all the years she can remember. It’s something else she can’t put fully into words. He’s told her before that he would give her his name, but never explained exactly what he means. As thrilling as the idea is to have something so precious, the odd independence she feels holds her back and drives her forward at the same time.
There is the swift flutter of feathers outside the window and her heart leaps in her chest. Zipper? She steps to the window, eyes searching the air outside her room. A small, dark shape swoops past the glass, and her hope flattens. It is a bird, but some species she can’t identify, its outline too compact to be the owl. It glides over the top of the wall and disappears from sight.
“How does it feel to fly away?” she says, watching for the bird’s shape to reappear. When it doesn’t, she nods once to herself. “I thought so.”
She dozes for several hours and wakes, groggy and sullen with sleep, to a sharp rap on her door.
“Zoey? Are you awake?” It’s Simon.
“Yes. I need a few minutes.”
A long pause. “Take your time.”
She showers, dressing in clean clothes and making her bed afterward. She takes the cloth sack filled with that week’s laundry with her when she leaves, stopping to deposit it down the third-level chute, knowing she will most likely be washing it herself later that day.
Simon says nothing other than “good morning” to her on the way to breakfast, and they encounter no one in the halls since they’re running late.
The cafeteria is quiet as Zoey collects her plate and sits in her customary place beside Lily. Meeka nods from across the table, her mouth overly full of food. Zoey glances to her left, seeing Sherell seated by herself. The woman’s ebony skin glows beneath the lights, almost as if she’s lit from within. She looks up from her plate and catches Zoey staring. There is a hint of something in her gaze before Zoey looks away, but she can’t determine if it is anger or simply a vague interest.
“How are you feeling?” Meeka murmurs, swallowing an enormous mouthful of cereal.
Zoey shrugs. “Sore. Tired. Other than that, fine.”
“Total bitches,” Meeka says, even lower. “I was late getting out from my shift. If I would’ve been there—”
“If you would’ve been there,
we both would’ve taken a trip to the infirmary.” It’s their custom to rib one another, but she doesn’t fully believe her words. She’s never seen anyone with reflexes as fast as Meeka’s. Perhaps if she had been there, they wouldn’t have gone to the infirmary. Instead it might be them in the boxes right now.
Meeka seems to read her thoughts. She waves a spoon in Zoey’s direction. “Whatever. It’s probably better this way. Those two needed to be taken down a notch, along with someone else I know.” She says the last words louder, turning her head to stare at Sherell. The other woman glances her way and smiles poisonously. Meeka raises her eyebrows and pulls a face. Zoey laughs a little under her breath, causing pain to slide across her stomach.
“Stop, you’re only going to make things worse for me,” Zoey says.
“Why do you say that?”
“Do you really think Rita and Penny are just going to apologize and leave it at that? The next chance they get, they’re going to attack me again.”
Meeka waves a dismissive hand. “They won’t have the chance. Simon won’t let you out of his sight now. He’ll send them to the box for a week if they try it again.”
“He doesn’t have the power to do that,” Zoey says, trying to eat her food.
“What do you mean? He just did it yesterday.”
“I know he sent them there, but Assistant Carter is the one that decides the length of punishment. Lee told me,” she adds.
“I didn’t know that,” Meeka says after a time. “Why have you never told me that?”
“No one has gone to the box since Halie and Grace. It didn’t seem very important.”
Meeka stirs the remainder of her food around before dropping her spoon. “He creeps me out almost as much as Dellert.”
“Who? Carter?” Zoey asks.
Meeka nods. “It’s like he’s not really a person, just something wearing human skin as a disguise.”
The image gives Zoey pause. She imagines Carter unzipping a hidden seam in his flesh to reveal a hideous sublayer of scales and glistening skin. She shivers.
The chime comes from the speakers and they rise, filing through to deposit their trays. Zoey follows Meeka through the hallways to the lecture hall. Miss Gwen is there, waiting beside her desk. Her eyes glide over them as they take their seats, her face tight, hands clamped together. When they’ve settled she steps forward, head tilted to the side.
