The Testing

by Joelle Charbonneau

  Several more houses yield us a small pot, a skillet, and some nuts and bolts that were attached to some rotting cupboards. Not a lot, but more than we had when we started. We make camp for the night, eat two of our apples and the last of our bread, and fall asleep hopeful that we will find more treasures tomorrow.

  The next day, a few miles away, we find a cluster of several dozen buildings—these made of mostly bricks and mortar—that have stood the test of time and weather. The way they are situated I can only guess they once formed the center of a town, much like Five Lakes’ square. We search building by building. Bits of wire disappear into our bags. A wrench. Not much else.

  We are about to enter the last building when Tomas points to the ground nearby. A partial boot print. My heart catches. Another Testing candidate? We have to assume so. My first instinct is to flee. To run as far and as fast as we can.

  But Tomas wants to enter. “If there is another candidate nearby, it would be best to know who it is and what their intentions are. We don’t want them catching us off-guard.”

  It’s hard to deny Tomas’s logic. The idea of an unknown person lurking nearby, waiting for us to let down our guard, gives me a chill. Swallowing hard, I slide the gun out of my bag and follow Tomas inside and into chaos. Several small, furry animals jump off a rickety table and go racing across the room toward a hole in the wall. With my nerves taut and fear pulsing through my veins, I don’t think. I just react. Bang. Bang. Bang. Two of the white animals drop before the rest make it to safety.

  Then I come to my senses and realize that if someone is nearby, I have just alerted them to our presence. I start to apologize, but Tomas just laughs. “Don’t apologize. If someone is around, they’re probably running as far as they can away from whoever has the gun. And if they knew you could shoot like that they would run even faster.”

  He tells me to guard the front door while he checks the rest of the building. After a few minutes, I hear him let out a loud shout. At first, I think he’s encountered whoever made the footprint. But then I hear the happiness in his voice as he yells for me to join him. He’s got a surprise.

  And what a surprise. In what must have once been a vehicle storage unit are two bicycles. Tomas says he found them lying under a sheet of plastic in the back corner. The room is dark. One bicycle is missing the back tire. The other’s chain and pedals have seen better days. Both have a fair amount of rust and dirt on them. But I can’t help smiling from ear to ear. They might be old, damaged, and rickety, but these bikes are the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.

  Tomas and I carry the bikes back to the front of the building, and I laugh as I remember the animals I shot. Opossum. The fur is darker and rattier than on the ones we have around Five Lakes Colony, but the cone-shaped face, the rows of tiny sharp teeth, and the furless, scaly tail are unmistakable. And I know from experience, their flesh is edible. Between the bikes and the fresh meat, I am incredibly happy as we set up camp near a group of trees in the center of the buildings.

  Tomas volunteers to take care of dinner and scout around for a water source while I assess the bicycles and their usability. Using a strip of cot sheet, I clean off the dirt, rust, and grease. One chain has a faulty link, but with a bit of tinkering, I’m able to remove the broken link and get the rest in working order. The three remaining tires of the bikes are deflated, but that’s okay. I remove the rubber from the wheels of the first bike, and work for the next three hours to realign the gears, attach the chain, and get the brake unstuck. The seat cushion has been gnawed by mice or some other rodents, but after stuffing some of the holes with bits of dry grass and sewing a new cover made from the cot sheet, I deem it usable. By the time the sun is starting to descend on the horizon, I am coated with grease and dirt, but one bike is ridable. It might not last very long, but I’m pretty sure, even without the rubber tires, the wheels will cover a bunch of miles before giving out.

  While I’ve been fixing the first bicycle, the problem of the second one and its lack of a hind wheel has been rolling in the back of my mind. There is no way two of us can ride on one bike like Daileen and I sometimes did at home. Not for the distance we need to travel. We need two. Which means I have to fix the second bike. I think I might have a solution when Tomas calls that dinner is ready. I do my best to wipe the grease from my hands before heading to Tomas and our campsite. When I get there, I’m in for another surprise. While I’ve been working on the bicycles, Tomas has also been busy. He’s not only started a fire, but skinned and roasted both opossum, and boiled the greens and wild carrots with some pine bark. Perhaps the best surprise is the small, fresh, sweet strawberries he found growing wild near the side of one of the buildings. The warm, filling meal feeds the growing sense of hope I’ve been feeling all day.

  During dinner, I tell Tomas about the bicycles and my idea to repair the second one using the two cart wheels we found yesterday. We talk about the best way to reconstruct the bicycle and decide to spend the next day here instead of traveling, which we hope will pay off in the end.

  The next morning, we eat cold opossum and strawberries for breakfast and get to work restructuring the gear assembly on the second bicycle to accommodate the two medium-sized cart wheels I found. It takes most of the day and a lot of scavenging for parts in the town’s buildings, but by the time the sun is low in the sky I am riding the second bicycle around the town square. We eat more strawberries and opossum, drink water Tomas found at a stream about a mile away, and attach scraps of metal behind the seats of our bicycles to create shelves for our bags to rest on while we pedal. When darkness falls, we settle onto the ground and watch the stars appear in the sky. With Tomas’s arm around my shoulders, I can almost imagine we are sitting in the square back home, watching the heavens with our families somewhere nearby. I turn to say as much to Tomas when his lips find mine in a gentle kiss. My heartbeat quickens. I can’t see his face in the darkness, but I know Tomas is giving me the chance to pull away. But I don’t. I lean in and feel Tomas’s mouth smile against mine before the kiss deepens. I snake a hand around his neck and hold tight as a thrilling shiver travels through me. Despite our tenuous situation, nothing has ever felt this perfect.

  A distant scream streaks through the night. A human female scream. The sound jolts us apart and into action. I hear Tomas slide his knife out of its leather scabbard as I find my gun. Side by side in the darkness we wait for the scream to come again.

  It doesn’t. Neither does sleep.

  Chapter 13

  AT THE FIRST hint of light we are up, packing our bags, storing them on our new bicycles, and slowly riding off to the southwest. Arms wrapped tight around each other last night with our weapons a breath away, we whispered assurances that the screamer was far in the distance. That we were safe from whatever caused the outburst.

  While Tomas’s wound appears to be better, I can tell he is having a hard time finding a comfortable spot on his bicycle. Without the rubber tires to absorb some of the friction caused by riding over stones, twigs, and other debris, the ride is a bumpy one. There are also more trees, bushes, and intact houses the farther we get from Chicago. So we decide to head due south, where Tomas’s map claims a large roadway used to exist. Even a road in disrepair will be easier to navigate than the terrain we’re currently riding on. The other reason for our decision remains unspoken. Last night’s scream seemed to come from this direction. We are looking for the girl whose scream kept us alert through the night. If she is injured, we have to help. I couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t at least try.

  A flock of crows circling something from above makes my throat tighten. Without a word, we turn and pedal through the patchwork brown grass to whatever has attracted the birds. When we find it, there is no question about helping the screamer or what we would do if she asked to join our team. The body sprawled on the ground is past asking for anything. I think I remember the girl marching in front of Malachi and out the lecture hall door to take the first round of tests. Long whi
te-blond hair that is currently matted with dirt and streaks of blood. Eyes that might have once been blue now bloody sockets as the birds feast. And there in her stomach, a sight that turns my nausea and pity to icy-cold fear.

  A crossbow quarrel.

  Her Testing bag is empty. Either she lost the contents, which I doubt, or the crossbow shooter took them after bringing down his prey. Which means he is out there somewhere, hunting.

  “We should clear out of here.” Tomas gives my hand a squeeze as I stare down at the girl. “The road can’t be too far away now.”

  “You’re right. We should go. The crossbow shooter might be nearby.” And yet I do not move. I cannot leave this girl to be pecked away piece by piece. While she is beyond caring, I am not. She has family. Friends. People who love her somewhere—who think she is safely ensconced in Tosu City, showing off her skills in math and science. Those people might never know her fate, but their love for her and hers for them demand respect. This is what my mother and father taught me. It’s the Five Lakes Colony way of life.

  Tomas finds a crack in the earth large enough for this slight girl’s body. Together, we chase away the carrion crows and carry her to what will be her final resting place. I fumble with her identification bracelet until I find the right place to press. The clasp opens and the bracelet with its symbol—a triangle with a small eight-spoked wheel—falls into my hand. We then set her body into the fissure. An hour of daylight is lost as we stack rocks over her to keep the birds and other scavengers from claiming the rest of her remains.

  I mark the grave with a large reddish rock and wish I knew the girl’s name so I could at least bid her a proper goodbye. Instead, I clutch her bracelet to my chest and offer my silent promise that no matter the pressures or fears that come, I will not put aside the beliefs I grew up with in order to pass. Nor will I forget this girl’s fate.

  Tomas’s jaw clenches as he gives the grave a final look before we mount our bicycles. Silently, we travel through the rest of the day toward the road we hope to find somewhere over the horizon. We stop only to test and purify water, gather dandelions and wild carrots, and eat more of the opossum and our final apples. My legs are trembling with exhaustion, but the memory of the dead girl and her sightless eyes keeps me pushing the pedals over rocks and underbrush until darkness falls.

  By late morning on the following day, we find the road. It’s a wide paved path that travels far beyond what we can see, which should make me happy. Instead, the condition of the road fills me with dread. There are no holes. No breaks in the asphalt. Other than recent patches here and there, I see no signs of disrepair. This time Tomas doesn’t question me as I dismount my bicycle.

  “Do you think this is another trap?” I ask.

  “After the pond, anything’s possible.” He cocks his head to one side. “But I don’t think so. Look down there.”

  I squint in the direction he’s pointing toward and see it. Far in the distance is a line of bright blue cutting across the countryside. The southern Testing fence line. The one we are not supposed to cross beyond.

  “I bet they fixed this road in order to install the fence.” Tomas digs into his bag and pulls out his book. “According to the map, this road goes all the way to the southwestern side of the old state and connects with another road that leads right to Tosu City. The officials have to have an easy way of getting back and forth from Tosu City to the start of the test. I’m betting this is it.”

  The reasoning is sound. But it isn’t Tomas’s logic that sways me. It’s the map itself, which tells me this road leads through several major cities on the way to Tosu City. My father’s most vivid nightmare took place in a city where the buildings still stood. If the Testing officials are going to lay traps for us, those cities are the most logical places to set them.

  “Let’s throw a few rocks onto the road,” I say. “If it doesn’t explode, we should try it.”

  Tomas laughs and looks around for some ammunition. His arm is better than mine, but between the two of us we land about a dozen rocks onto the pavement without incident, and we decide to trust it. After riding over twigs, rocks, and tree roots, pedaling over the smooth surface is like heaven. After the horror of burying the unnamed girl, I am glad for the wind and sun on my face. The freedom of riding fast. No matter the daunting number of miles that we still have to cross, I am glad to be alive.

  After the initial joy of riding on the pavement passes, I realize taking the road has not only improved our speed. It has also increased our visibility to whoever might be watching from the thickets of trees and abandoned buildings along the way. I hope the crossbow shooter and any others intent on removing the competition have not yet found speedy transportation.

  We ride over a long bridge that spans a wide, opaque river, and I suggest we camp near the water for the night. It’s earlier than we normally make camp, but I am dirty, my hair is matted with grime and sweat, and my legs are starting to cramp. The abundance of water means an opportunity to feel clean for the first time in days. It’s also a good place to forage for food and maybe even trap game.

  Tomas is more than willing to stop, especially when he checks Zeen’s device and sees we’ve traveled just over forty-five miles in a single day. We are now a seventh of the way to Tosu City. While it’s still far, the bicycles and the road we travel give us both a more optimistic view of this test.

  The river—like all untreated water sources—is tainted. But one look into the swirling waters tells us that at least some species of fish have adapted to the contaminants. While the contaminants make it dangerous to eat the fish raw, a pan and a fire will make them more than edible. I roam the banks of the river, gathering plants for dinner, while Tomas attaches a hook from his tool kit to a braided strip of sheet. He goes fishing using the last bits of our opossum as bait. By the time I return with a pot filled with wild onions, pickerelweed, and cattail roots, Tomas has caught and cleaned three medium-sized fish—two catfish and one that looks similar to the wide-mouth bass we catch near home. We boil the cattail roots and pickerelweed, fry the wild onion and fish, and have a feast.

  With the sun still an hour or two from setting, I decide to wash. Our tests have determined the water contaminant is mild and won’t affect skin on contact so I strip down to my undergarments and wade into the cool water. The current is surprisingly strong. I don’t venture far from the bank as I scrub the mud, dust, and sweat from my body and the clothes I’ve been wearing for the past few days. When I climb out, I give myself a few minutes to air-dry before pulling on my second set of clothing and hanging the wet ones over a branch to dry.

  I’m about to call to Tomas that I’m finished with my bath when I see him still and quiet, positioned behind a clump of bushes on the hill that leads to the road. His muscles are taut. His hand clutches the hilt of his knife. He has spotted something.

  Gripping my handgun, I am careful to step softly—avoiding the rocks and branches, keeping to the grassy patches that will deaden my tread. Tomas jumps as I touch his shoulder, but then he points far down the road in the direction we have already traveled.

  People. Three of them. At this distance, it is hard to tell whether they are male or female. But their feet drag on the ground, telling us they are tired, hungry, and possibly dehydrated. Even with the slow pace the three will be here before the sun sets.

  “Do you want to pack up and move farther away from the road or should we stay put and see if they notice us?” Tomas asks.

  “What do you think?”

  Tomas frowns. “They look pretty tired to me. If I didn’t know about our crossbow friend, I’d say flag them down and see if we can help. They won’t expect us to travel with them since they’re on foot and we’re on bicycles. Still . . .”

  I can finish his thoughts. There are candidates out there willing to shoot. To kill. To get a passing grade on this test no matter the cost. But we are not like them. As if to prove it, I say, “Why don’t you catch a few more fish in case they make it thi
s far before nightfall. They’re going to be hungry.”

  Tomas’s eyes narrow as he studies the trio. After a moment, he agrees.

  There are five fish roasting over coals when the three candidates step off the bridge onto our side of the river. All three look vaguely familiar. One gangly, freckled red-haired boy. Two girls. One is tall with olive skin and short dark hair. The other has long ash-blond hair and is several inches shorter. All three look as though they are ready to drop from exhaustion.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask, stepping out from my hiding place.

  Tomas is still behind the bushes with the knife poised in his hand. We agreed that the trio might be more inclined toward aggression if they saw both of us. I hope a single, smallish girl will inspire them to think before they react. The three don’t look surprised at my appearance. I suppose the smell of food cooking alerted them to the presence of another human being. But their eyes gleam with terror as they notice the gun in my hand. I feel bad, but I don’t lower it. I’m not that naïve. “You look like you’re hungry and tired. I have fish cooking and some water down by the river if you’d like to make camp here tonight.”