The Testing

by Joelle Charbonneau

  Chapter 11

  “IT’S OKAY. CIA. It’s okay.”

  It takes a minute for the voice to penetrate the fear. For the realization that I am being pulled up and not pushed away to bloom into understanding. I stop fighting and allow myself to be hoisted up—up—up to the safety of land.

  My heart is pounding. I can hardly breathe, but I manage to croak out, “Thanks,” as Tomas’s face swims in front of me. His eyes are wary and filled with concern, but his tone is light when he says, “When we get back to Tosu City, we’re going to have to work on your long jump.”

  It’s a weak joke, but it makes me smile and helps me briefly forget where I am. Why I’m here. For a moment I am safe. Then the moment disappears. Scrambling to my feet, I peer back toward the bridge, looking for signs of the crossbow shooter. “We have to get out of here. There’s someone with a crossbow looking to thin out the competition. He attacked me while I was looking for you. He must have followed me to the bridge.”

  Tomas’s eyes narrow as he looks beyond me to the bridge. Is he looking for proof there was a shooter? Does he not trust my word? If not for my father’s dreams, Roman’s betrayal, and Michal’s warning, I would not have believed another candidate would approach this test in such a way. Can I blame Tomas for doubting?

  “Well, whoever it was must be trying to find a safer way across the river. It’s amazing you made it at all. I almost lost it when I saw you jump.” He shifts the bag on his shoulder and holds out his hand. I’m about to take it when I realize mine are bleeding. Tomas notices the cuts and says, “We’d better get those cleaned. The last thing you need is an infection. Come on. Let’s get out of the sun and fix you up.”

  We travel west for over a mile before I’m willing to stop at a waist-high pile of broken metal and rocks. They will offer some concealment while I patch up my hands and get something to eat. Now that fear no longer gnaws at my stomach, I am starved.

  Tomas sits next to me and says, “I can rip my sheet into bandages if you need me to.”

  “Not necessary.” Although I’m glad to know I was right—Tomas did strip the sheet off his bed. “I have a medical kit in here.”

  Since I don’t want to get blood all over everything in my bag, I ask Tomas to retrieve the kit and the half-full bottle of water. I wet a cotton bandage and dab at my wounds, grateful to learn that under the blood there are just a couple of scrapes. A smear of anti-infection ointment and a few bandages later, I am ready to eat. I stow the kit back in my bag, take out an apple, and offer one to Tomas. It’s the least I can do after he saved my life.

  He grins. “The medical kit was one of your three items, right?” When I nod, his smile grows wider. “I almost took one, but I figured you’d think of that. I didn’t want to duplicate anything you had just in case we hooked up.”

  It was a risky choice. One that might not have paid off had we not found each other. But we did. Knowing he was thinking of us as a team while making his choices makes me inexplicably happy considering the circumstances.

  As we eat our apples and the two cinnamon rolls Tomas pulls out of his bag, we compare equipment. I show him the water and purification chemicals, which he also figured I would take, but he did not guess my last choice. He’d been certain I would take a compass, since it was the one item almost every candidate would need on this journey. So his eyebrows rise in surprise as I pull the gun from the side pocket of my bag and admit that I already have had cause to use it.

  “That was you?”

  The shame I felt earlier at my actions resurfaces, and I drop my eyes so I don’t see the censure that must be in Tomas’s eyes. But he won’t let me look away. Fingers lift my chin so I have to meet his gaze. In it I see understanding, caring, and pride.

  “You did the right thing. It takes courage to defend yourself, and I’m glad you did. I can’t imagine what I would do if something happened to you.” He gives me a soft smile. Then he says, “Do you want to see my three items?”

  A tool kit that Tomas was pleased to find also contains matches. A late-twenty-first-century map book of all fifty of the former United States containing detailed maps of the ground we will be treading. Last is a very large, very deadly-looking knife that Tomas slides out of a leather scabbard. I don’t remember seeing that kind of knife, if you can call it that, among the weapons we were allowed to select, but it must have been there. Two hands can easily grasp the handle. The blade itself is at least two feet long. One edge is serrated on the bottom. The rest of it gleams with deadly sharpness.

  “I thought it would be useful in case we need to cut our way through overgrown bushes.” He slides the knife back in its scabbard and attaches it to something on his belt. As far as weapons go, it was a good choice even if it makes me cringe.

  I store my belongings back in my bag and then show Tomas my brother’s Transit Communicator and the pocket hunting knife I brought from home. Knowing we must be much better stocked for survival than most of the candidates makes me feel more confident as we set off through the wasted city to whatever lies to the west. Tomas thinks we should continue in this direction for a while before turning south, which surprises me.

  “Aren’t we traveling all the way to the fence?” I ask.

  “Why?”

  “To meet up with the others. You told Zandri and the others about meeting at the fence, right?”

  Tomas stops walking. “You’re the only one I told.”

  “But . . .” I’m about to ask why, but then I think about the crossbow shooter, Ryme’s offer of corncakes, the way Malachi was tripped by Roman when we first walked into the dining hall. And Roman’s trick. It comes down to trust. Tomas trusts me, and the kindness I have seen him demonstrate over and over again since we were children makes me certain I am correct in trusting him. Still, I cannot help but ask, “What happens if we run into Zandri or the others along the way?” Will we leave them to fend for themselves? Do we allow them to join us? Can we just walk away from people we call our friends?

  I see Tomas wrestling with the question as we once again begin to travel west. After a long time, he speaks. “They say we’re going to be evaluated on the choices we make. I guess that’s going to have to be one of them.”

  We walk for several more miles, rarely talking as the landscape on the horizon becomes more barren. History says that town after town once fanned out from the outer reaches of the city. That hundreds of thousands of people lived and worked in close proximity to Chicago and thrived because of the city’s heartbeat. There is little evidence of that now. Whoever destroyed the city also decimated the towns surrounding it. At least the ones we might be able to see from our location. All that is left are scraps of metal, broken walls, pieces of glass, and a lot of cracked, decayed earth—signs of the destruction man can cause against his fellow man.

  The sun fades from the horizon and darkness begins to fall as we spot a small structure that stands amid a tall patch of weeds. A survivor of the war or something built after by one of those who escaped the destruction? Whatever the structure is, it appears to be intact. We look at each other and in that glance agree to head for the building. We could walk a little farther, but who knows if we will find another structure to camp in. The idea of staying outside, unprotected, with Testing candidates and animals prowling for victims is not appealing.

  We are both hot and sweaty when we reach the building. The last vestiges of light are fading from the sky. The building is small and square—about eight feet by eight feet—with a hard concrete floor. All four walls still stand, but much of the roof is gone, leaving us with a view of the hazy sky. I’m glad there is no sign of rain. A charred area in the corner of the building suggests someone—probably a Testing candidate from a previous year—lit a fire there.

  Tomas decides the walls provide enough cover if we would like to build a small fire. But while a fire would be comforting, neither of us wants to take the risk. In the blackness of night, any light will be seen for miles. We eat dried fruit and some
bread for dinner. By the time we are finished with our meal, the light is completely gone, and though the moon is bright, I can see only the outline of the building’s door. Nothing else. While I am used to the dark nights of Five Lakes Colony, this blackness feels different. Menacing. Filled with the monsters I used to think hid under my bed. And there are monsters out there. At least one Testing candidate is intent on killing. Tomas’s hand finds mine in the dark, and I blink back tears of gratitude that I am not facing this blackness and fear alone.

  “Why don’t you go to sleep, Cia? I’ll keep watch to make sure nothing happens.”

  I need to sleep. My body is trembling from exhaustion, but I know nightmares are waiting for me when I close my eyes so I opt for conversation instead. “How long do you think it will take to get back to Tosu City?” I used the Transit Communicator to track the coordinates of this shack. Compared them to the ones where my candidate Testing box was located. Walking all day, we had traveled just under eighteen miles. The enormity of the miles between us and our goal is overwhelming.

  “Three or four weeks. The farther we get from the city the easier travel will be. If we find some kind of transportation, it’ll go even faster. Just remember one thing. Your dad made it back when he was tested, Cia. We will, too.”

  I use that thought to push worries about food and water and the actions of other candidates out of my head. With a picture of my father’s smile in my mind and Tomas’s fingers curled tight around mine, I slip into sleep.

  I wake with a start and blink up at a sky tinged with a hazy purple and pink, uncertain where I am. Then I remember. Slowly, I glance to where Tomas lies next to me. His head is cushioned on his Testing bag. His breathing is slow and even. He must have fallen asleep before waking me for my watch. He did not hear whatever it was that woke me from my sleep.

  The sound of a twig cracking makes my heart thunder. The wind? An animal or something more deadly? I squeeze Tomas’s hand and put a finger over his lips as his eyes slowly open. His eyes widen as I point to the open door and mouth, “I heard something.” Another snap, some leaves rustle, and my hand slides into the side pocket of my bag for my gun. Tomas reaches next to him for his knife. We wait in silence. If a Testing candidate is nearby, they will see the building. Will they feel compelled to look inside for anything that might be useful during the test? I would. My fingers tighten their grip on the gun as I wait for a face to appear.

  None does.

  Tomas and I sit and wait. The minutes pass, and I am reminded of yesterday when I was trapped in the candidate box with someone lurking outside. At least this time I am not alone.

  How long do we wait? It feels like forever, although it is probably only fifteen minutes. We have heard no other sounds. Tomas slowly gets to his feet and makes a motion to the door. He wants to take a look. I nod and quietly get to my feet. If someone is out there, they aren’t expecting two of us.

  Step by cautious step, Tomas crosses to the door. He adjusts his grip on his knife, takes a deep breath, and walks outside. I quickly follow behind him.

  Nothing.

  We circle the small building, looking for signs someone has been here, but find only our tracks and those made by small animals. Now that I am not terrified, I find myself smiling as I study the animal prints. Fox and maybe a rabbit. We are going to need a food source beyond the fruit and bread we have stored in our bags. I make a note to look for wires and other supplies to create traps and follow Tomas back inside the little building to gather our things. If we are going to make it to Tosu City, we need to get moving.

  We eat cinnamon rolls with raisins for breakfast, and I open the first canteen of water for us to wash it down. With two of us drinking from my supply, the water will go fast. Especially in this heat. While yesterday I was concerned with putting distance between us and the wrecked city, today I am focused on finding the tools we need to survive the weeks to come. We need to find water that is uncontaminated enough for my purification chemicals to make drinkable, and we need to find it soon.

  As we eat breakfast, we study the Illinois page of Tomas’s map book. Though most of the cities, towns, and roads have been eaten away by war and time, we are hoping that at least a few of the lakes and rivers have remained constant. We decide to head toward a river that looks like the best option and punch the coordinates into the Transit Communicator. According to the device, the river is fifteen miles to the southwest. Bags on our shoulders, we start walking, using the compass as our guide.

  All around us is flat, brittle land. A casualty of the biological weapons used on the city and the nearby towns. So different from the hilly part of the country I grew up in. As we walk, we take sips of water, trying to replace the liquid the sun is leaching out of us, and talk of unimportant things—our favorite childhood games, the songs our mothers sang us to sleep with, our favorite foods. Tomas is fond of honey-glazed carrots. I love fresh raspberries. We talk about celebrating our Testing success with both.

  After several hours of walking, we find a grove of squat trees in which to rest. Just as Tomas dumps his bag, I give a shout of joy. Growing near the trunks of the trees are dozens of small white flowers with spiky petals reaching up to the sky. Clover. My father says it is one of the few plants that never had trouble growing no matter the condition of the soil. When I was little my mother often served clover salad when other foods were scarce. Funny how some things never change.

  Tomas and I strip the ground bare of the small white plants, divide them into two piles, and sit in the shade, eating the fresh flowers and green stems with our bread and fruit. We leave the roots so the flowers will grow again—perhaps for the Testing candidates who come this way next year.

  The afternoon sun is brutal as it bakes the ground beneath my feet. Sweat pours from our bodies. The dirt that swirls in the air adheres to our wet, sticky skin. Between us, we have emptied the first canteen and have opened the second. We need to find a water supply. The device in my hand tells me we still have two miles until we arrive at what we hope is a river.

  It is late afternoon when we reach our destination. A dry riverbed. We check the map twice to make sure this is the right location. There is no doubt. An event, probably an earthquake, shifted the land and emptied the river between the time the map was created and now. And while it isn’t surprising, I can’t help the surge of disappointment that is rapidly followed by fear. I shove the fear aside and concentrate on solving the problem. Because isn’t that what The Testing is about? Finding those who can solve the problem even when put under great stress? The Testing officials want candidates to succeed. There will be water somewhere. We just have to be smart enough and patient enough to find it.

  I see a small hill to our southwest and say, “Well, the water from the river had to go somewhere. Why don’t we see if we can spot it from up there?”

  Tomas stows the map book into his bag and nods. “Sounds good to me.”

  The hill is farther and taller than it looks. The sun is starting to lose its luster when we reach the top. One look at the landscape below us makes me want to cry. More cracked grayish brown earth. More scraggly, diseased-looking trees with dry, parched leaves. More emptiness. Except off in the distance. I squint into the setting sun. Yes. There, far to our right, is a patch of green. Green that can only be created by thriving plants. And for plants to thrive they have to have water.

  With a wide smile, Tomas takes my hand and we set off at a quick pace toward the greenery. It occurs to me as we walk that while our view from the top of the hill was helpful, it might have also put us in danger. Anyone in the vicinity looking our way will have seen us. I mention my worries to Tomas, but there isn’t much we can do now. There is no place to take cover in this empty landscape. We have to keep moving forward and hope for the best.

  The closer Tomas and I get to the greenery, the edgier I feel. The proximity of the hill to the greenery and the possible water source we spotted start to feel too much like coincidence. Because this part of the coun
try has not been officially revitalized, there is the impression it’s been left untouched by the United Commonwealth’s government staff. But that isn’t necessarily the case. Dr. Barnes and his Testing officials want to see how we think, how we identify and deal with problems. It only makes sense that they would set up smaller tests within the larger one, that they would not be willing to leave the obstacles we face up to chance.

  As we approach the green patch, I begin to feel certain that this oasis is another kind of test. The perfect oval the grass grows in. The shimmer of a clear, clean, uncontaminated pond that rests in the center. Two trees filled with healthy leaves stand guard on either side. The entire area is only about twenty feet wide and half as long. There is no doubt. This small patch of paradise is man-made.

  Tomas picks up his pace at the sight of the water, but stops when he notices I am no longer beside him. “What’s wrong, Cia?”

  I explain my suspicions, and his forehead wrinkles in thought. He looks at the pond with longing and says, “They know we need water. It only makes sense that they’ve added some water sources out here in order to keep us alive. Otherwise none of us would pass the damn test. Then where would they be?”

  Tomas has a good point. But he wasn’t the one who listened as Dr. Barnes rationalized Ryme’s death. He didn’t see Malachi die. If I hadn’t, maybe I would believe this spot is a gift from the Testers. Instead, I see it as a trap.

  “Let’s walk around the grass line and take a look just to be sure.”

  Tomas wants to argue. I can see it in the set of his jaw. It’s the same reaction he had in class when a fellow student or our teacher was wrong. Instead of arguing with him, I walk up to the vibrant green grass, careful not to disturb it with my foot. Flowers grow near the edge of the pond, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. The trees are tall and straight and provide shelter from the sunshine. It’s a perfect spot to rest and be restored from travel. In this place where nothing is perfect, is it a wonder that I refuse to trust it?