Silence.
I stare at the white tiles on the floor. I blink to clear my vision, but it remains blurry.
Footsteps echo in the hall outside. A woman’s voice: “—she came up here on one of the elevators. Cadet Waller said her injection went wrong, and Commander Charlie wants her found and subdued.”
My heart skips a beat. Is she looking for me?
“I don’t get why it’s so important we have to find her right this second,” a man’s voice says.
“She’s an Extraction. The commander handpicked her himself.”
I have to get out of here.
“Check that classroom, will you?” the woman says.
Gritting my teeth, I heave my body toward the room’s back door. It opens into another corridor. I hold my breath and try to shut the door softly behind me.
My fingers slip. The clang is loud.
There’s a shout.
My feet move of their own accord, and I run, adrenaline and poison coursing through my veins. They know the injection didn’t work. They want to catch me so they can try again. I can’t let them.
I round a corner and crash into the stairwell banister.
Their footsteps pound on the landing above.
There’s no time. I careen down the stairs, praying I won’t fall and break my neck. But if I did, I’m not sure I’d even notice.
Vaguely, I’m aware of Charlie’s voice over the loudspeaker. He demands, again, that all citizens report to the Pavilion. It could be dangerous, if that’s where he wants me. But in a room filled with ten thousand people, it’d be much easier to blend in.
I throw up twice more before I get there, leaving a trail of vomit for whoever is chasing me to follow. Through a Pavilion door, I squeeze into the crowd slowly filling up the viewing pods, keeping my head low so no one will see my face. There are way too many people. Their body heat makes me sweat even more.
“Clementine?” someone says.
I jump, looking frantically around to see who spoke. Not an official—not the people who are looking for me—please.
It’s Oliver. He waves at me, and slips through the crowd to join me. Even from a distance, I can tell he’s not himself anymore. His smile is too fake; his eyes too unfocused.
I feel like throwing up again. I was afraid this would happen.
“May I join you?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say. We follow some people up the stairs into one of the viewing pods close to the wall. I glance at the crowd still below to make sure no one is following me. Hopefully, I lost that woman and the official. Please.
We settle into the seats in the pod. They’re soft, made of leather. We have a clear view of the Developers’ pod at the far end of the Pavilion. It’s empty right now. The screen above it shows the insignia of the Core.
“Are you excited?” Oliver asks, still smiling. There’s a film or glaze over his blue eyes.
My throat tightens. If I squeezed his hand, if I shook him, would that wake him up? I don’t think so. Silver aster pollen isn’t venom; there isn’t a cure for it.
I swallow, pressing my hands into my lap to still them. “For what?” I ask.
He gestures to the noisy crowd. “The instructors said something important was happening today.”
They must’ve said that after I ran away. My head won’t stop pounding. I want to curl up into a ball. I want to collapse. I want to be done with this.
I draw tangent and cotangent graphs in my head until the crowd quiets. In the Developers’ pod, people step into view, including Commander Charlie. A spotlight shines on him as he moves front and center.
“Here we go.” Oliver’s shoulder brushes against mine.
I want to make him better, but I don’t know how. Tears trickle out of my eyes again, and I feverishly wipe them away.
Commander Charlie’s face fills the video screen. There’s a harsh crease in his brow. “Good evening, civilians. I come to you tonight with news I didn’t wish to share until we were certain it was true.” He pauses, and his eyes sweep the crowd. “You are all aware that our planet is neighbor to a treacherous moon. A long time ago, Kiel’s atmosphere kept us safe from it, but pollution ripped the ozone layer apart. Then came the age of death and terror, and the need for an artificial shield. That shield has managed to keep its full terror at bay for several decades now, with some small exceptions.”
I remember the stories I used to hear about on the Surface: the random deaths of both children and adults from acid corrosion. The signs that the shield particles weakened over time and needed to be replaced to keep us safe.
“I regret to announce that moonshine levels are rising,” Charlie says.
Muttering courses through the crowd.
“Our most skilled scientists have discovered large breaks in the shield where the particles are severely damaged and some of the acid is getting through, affecting more citizens on the Surface than ever before. Hundreds of people.”
I gape at his blurry face in my vision. He must be joking. I was there, what, six days ago?
“Let me show you what I mean,” Charlie says.
His face fades away on the screen. In its place, there’s a dark, rainy street. Moonlight glints on the wall of a skyscraper. Kids huddle together on the pavement, their eyes wide and their bodies shaking.
My heart is pounding.
I hear muffled screams through the screen speakers. Officials haul bodies onto stretchers—some bloody and bruised, others blackened and charred.
The image slowly fades.
“They’re dying up there,” Commander Charlie says softly. “Our scientists have been trying to replace the damaged shield particles, but even the new ones are still allowing leaks. Our technology is no longer keeping the acid at bay, and it has become clear that our planet and people will not last long if we continue to reside beside the moon.”
Blood pounds in my ears, echoing, drowning out the Pavilion. But there’s nothing to drown out. No one speaks.
If we continue to reside beside the moon.
A strained smile touches Charlie’s lips. “Now, please don’t panic. We’ve sorted out a most efficient way to deal with this problem. I will let one of our evolutionary scientists explain.”
He steps back, and a new person steps into the spotlight. A man wearing a lab coat, whose cheeks are a bit green.
Beside me, Oliver stares with a muddled smile.
The scientist clears his throat. “Our tests have confirmed that acid levels beyond the shield have risen nearly fifty-eight percent since the time of the shield’s construction. The materials we used to build the shield are no longer strong enough to keep the acid out. We’ve tried replacing them, we’ve tried using different materials … nothing is working. And, as you saw on the video, it’s already affecting the population up there. Death has become rampant again. Last week alone, there were forty-two deaths in the work camp confirmed to be caused by acid, and in the past week there were fifty-six. It’s only going to get worse. By our estimates, the Surface population will be completely destroyed within the next five to six weeks. The acid will begin seeping into the lower sectors even sooner than that.”
I can’t breathe.
“There is a solution,” the scientist says, “and we have the original Developers to thank for it. They made a smart decision during the construction of the underground sectors: They built the Core as an actual space station. It has powerful ion engines and hyperdrive field generators, with a control room centered in Restricted Division. The engines are strong enough to break us free of the sun’s gravitational pull. In other words, we can fly away from the moon.”
More buzzing in the crowd—a buzz of excitement this time.
But this doesn’t make any sense. Maybe the Core is a space station, maybe we can fly away, but the numbers the scientist mentioned can’t be correct—forty-two deaths caused by acid last week? I was still on the Surface. I would’ve heard about this. I’d have known something was wrong with the shield.
I
play through the shots from the video in my head again: the bodies on stretchers; the officials carrying them; the kids watching. They weren’t in the work camp. They were in the Surface city.
Kids from the camp are only allowed in the city one day of the year—the night of the Extraction ceremony. It was raining that night too, I remember. The night of the riot.
I wouldn’t be surprised if forty-two kids were killed by officials that night, but I know the moon didn’t kill them.
“However, the engines aren’t strong enough to move the entire planet,” the scientist continues. “Only the Core can fly away. The engineers who built the lower sectors knew this, and left a gap of lighter steel between the Core and Lower that could potentially be blasted apart.
“Thanks to recent technological developments, this is now possible. We’ve developed a highly concentrated nuclear fission bomb—we call it KIMO—that will send a ripple of energy through the gap. The energy will split the gap and blast the outer sectors away, while at the same time we’ll put up a new, stronger shield around the Core—”
“Essentially,” Commander Charlie cuts in, stepping back into the spotlight, “we can escape, my dear citizens. We will, at last, be free of the moon’s poison. It is a sad reality that we will lose many valuable people in the outer sectors. But this is the only way.”
Murmurs of agreement slide though the crowd.
No, no, no. He’ll kill everyone up there. He must be lying about part of this, at least, but no one except me seems to be questioning him—not even Ariadne or the other Extractions who came from the Surface and know the acid isn’t killing people up there. They’re all subdued.
“We’ll be able to launch KIMO very soon,” Commander Charlie says, clasping his gloved hands against his stomach. “We’re in the midst of final preparations to ensure that the Core’s engines are in pristine condition, and that we’re capable of producing our own food and water and clean air from space matter, so we won’t die without the assistance of the outer sectors.”
I’m shaking my head and making fists with my hands, and everyone can see, but I don’t even care. I want to scream at Charlie. He’ll kill them all. He’ll kill Logan, and all the babies who never get to meet their parents, and all the kids who have only one shot at escape, but are still holding on to hope regardless.
He has a reason, but I don’t believe it.
“We’re going to need your help, your cooperation, and your trust,” he says. “But we will accomplish this soon—within two weeks at the most if all goes according to plan. We will save ourselves. We will prosper.”
Oliver’s smile widens beside me. The first citizen claps. Then another, then more and more rise, until the room fills with the noise, their controlled, rhythmic offering of thanks to the man who will save them from a terrible fate, but leave thousands of people to die. Their bodies press against me, so close I can’t breathe. They suffocate me.
Tears. My vision is still blurred, and I’m still shaking and trembling from fever. I don’t care if these people are subdued, if they can’t think for themselves. I’m sure at least a few of them still have some strength of mind. And I can’t believe them. I can’t believe any of them.
I stumble my way out of the pod. Oliver doesn’t stop me. I wish he would. I wish he would wake up and run after me, so I wouldn’t feel so alone.
25
I go to my bedroom and lock the door. It’s not smart—Cadet Waller probably still has people looking for me, since I ran after the injection—but I have to take a minute. I have to think, and I don’t know where else to go.
I throw up in the toilet. My stomach is empty now, so I dry-heave. Mucus and saliva in the water.
I want to find Beechy or Ariadne and ask them to help me stop Charlie, but I’m scared. Ariadne is definitely subdued, and Beechy probably is too. The monthly injection may have changed them, and they’ll think I’m crazy and tell everyone, and I’ll end up marked Unstable.
I’m scared because Logan is going to die if I don’t do something. Everyone up there is going to die. It makes me want to scream and rip my hair out, or curl up in a ball and sob until I have no more tears.
I switch off the lights and drop onto the floor on the other side of my bed, so I’m hidden from anyone who might stand in the doorway. Hopefully no one will think I’m here if they check. I pull a blanket off the bed and wrap it around my body, curling up on my side in the carpet. Every breath sends shivers through my body.
I clench my teeth so hard it hurts. There must be other Core citizens who came from the outer sector camps, who would care about the people up there if they weren’t subdued. Instead, they’ll take the word of Charlie and the scientist as fact and ignore how their reasoning for KIMO and their whole plan doesn’t make sense. The Surface death rate from acid can’t be that high. The shield can’t be that far gone, not in six days.
Yes, the shield’s been responsible for deaths in the past when acid leaked through, but never that many. Even if the acid levels are rising, the shield particles couldn’t corrode that fast. The death rate wouldn’t jump so high.
If Charlie’s lying about the shield not working—and he must be—this is an excuse. He wants to fly the Core away for some other reason. He just wants to keep his citizens from knowing.
I dig my nails into my cheeks, choking back a sob. I can’t let him kill them all. He said everything will be ready in a few days. I have to stop this. But how? KIMO will blast the outer sectors away. It’ll destroy Logan and everyone up there, all those children who are not worthless.
I could pretend to be subdued, that I was okay with all of this until I learned exactly what’s going on here and how to stop it, except Charlie said we only have a few days. And I don’t think I can pretend. When they find me again, they’ll give me another injection. Probably a stronger dose, since the first one didn’t work.
A stronger dose might kill me. It would definitely make it impossible for me to think clearly and figure out what to do and pretend I’m okay.
But maybe if I could find KIMO before they catch me, I could mess with the mechanism somehow, to at least slow down Charlie’s plan until I figure out exactly what’s going on. Beechy’s a mechanical engineer—he might help me.
The sound of the bedroom door zipping open makes my body freeze. It was locked, so only Ariadne or security could unlock it.
There are still people looking for me.
Giggles. Fast breathing. Two bodies fall onto the other bed.
I’m a statue.
“I don’t know why I didn’t want you before,” Ariadne whispers.
It’s not security.
“She’s poison.” Sam’s voice. “You needed a cure.”
Sam is in my bedroom.
“The injection?” Ariadne giggles again. “It made me feel funny.”
“Shh. Stop talking.”
Sam is in my bedroom with Ariadne, tangling in her sheets. My heartbeat is so loud under the blanket, I’m sure they can hear it. This must be a nightmare.
“Be careful,” Ariadne squeals.
Sam doesn’t answer.
I want to drown in the carpet. I want to die. I want to run.
A speaker crackles on in the ceiling. “Attention,” a voice says. “All citizens, please report to your rooms for a mandatory security check. Again, all citizens, please report to your rooms.…”
Sam whispers something I can’t hear. The bed creaks, and laughter follows their feet into the bathroom. Water turns on in the shower.
I throw the blanket off, stand, and get to the door, shaking. Ariadne shouldn’t be with him. He’s just as bad as the boy she ran from on the Surface, if not worse. But it’s not her fault—I bet it’s the injection. I bet Sam tricked her once she was subdued.
I’d help her get away from him, but I don’t think she’d listen to me.
In the hallway, the sound of boots clunking and people chattering reaches my ears. Citizens returning to their rooms because of the message ove
r the speakers.
I have to find somewhere to hide. If they’re doing a mandatory security check and they find me, they’ll find out the injection didn’t work. I can’t let them give me another.
I’m staggering down the corridor when I hear someone shout behind me. “Hey!”
I glance over my shoulder. Sam pushes through my bedroom door with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. Even from a distance, it’s hard to miss the smirk on his face. Vrux. He must’ve heard me leave.
“She’s here!” he yells, turning his head away from me. “The girl you want is over here!”
Citizens round the corner, and officials in gray suits and knee-high boots push past them. I see who’s leading them, and I can’t stop my feet from faltering. It’s Beechy. What’s he doing with them? Please don’t be helping them. Please be yourself. Please make everything okay now.
He sees me and slows, staring at me.
Please don’t be subdued.
“Help me,” I plead.
He narrows his eyes. I can’t see them clearly from this far away, but I bet they’re covered in film.
“Is that her?” an official says.
Beechy nods. “Get her.”
I flee.
*
There’s nowhere safe in the Core, now that I’m alone. There’s nowhere to hide.
I take the stairs and follow them down, as far as they go. They’re empty, though I hear voices through the doors on the stairwell landings. Everyone still has to report to their bedrooms for the security check. I guess I’m the only one who ignored the announcement.
I trip and fall; I pick myself up, ignoring the fever raging inside me and the sounds of the officials’ boots pounding on the steps above. If only there were a building, then maybe I could climb high enough to escape them. But I’m not on the Surface anymore.
I go to the lowest point instead: Restricted Division. It’s the most dangerous too, but maybe they won’t expect me to go there.
The stairs end at the lowest deck accessible to the average Core civilian. I hesitate in the stairwell, wedging my hand into the door frame to open it a crack. Two men in lab coats hurry down the corridor outside, talking fast. I can’t understand them.
Extraction Page 23
