by Kate Breuer
I turn to find an attractive man in his late twenties looking down at me. He holds out a strong arm, and I take it. He wipes a few blond strands that got loose from his bun out of his square face. He looks friendly, and I let myself hope I might actually get out of here.
I fumble for “Evelyn’s” vial in my coat pocket to slip into the hazmat trash by the door. I miss the opening by an inch, and the vial rolls over the floor. The man follows its movement and looks at me in suspicion.
Everything seems to happen at once. I push the man aside, and he lands in the puddle of blood and broken glass by the refrigerator. His moment of surprise leaves me with a chance to run for the exits. I don’t have time to wait for an elevator. I throw open the door to the staircase and run down—two or three stairs at a time.
I burst out of the stairwell on the first floor and see two guards at the end of the hall heading toward me. The guy upstairs must have called for backup.
I’m screwed.
I turn and run down the corridor away from the peacers. A dead end—nothing but a large window ahead. I stop and turn around, looking for another escape. There is nowhere left to run.
Both of the guards have their guns pointed at me. My hands shake with fear. My heart races. One of them has red hair. Just like Dale.
“Hands behind your head and turn around!” he yells.
I have to get out of here. I have to save my daughter.
I stare at the two guards and steel myself, willing my body to move, to run, to do something.
Without further warning, a sharp pain spreads from my chest through my whole body. Throbbing agony, then nothing. Everything’s gone—except for an empty blackness.
I failed.
12
Nate
My feet thump on the grass as I run. The sound echoes through the quiet night. Cold air stings my lungs. My heart beats heavily against my chest. It’s my final round through the park. I reach the path to the Imperium and slow to a walk. Got to cool down.
Lights are on in some of the houses around me. People walk past windows or sit around tables eating dinner. A few televisions flicker behind curtains.
I hate the dark. I wish I had a good reason to. Still, I prefer running at night. Less people. And the fear pushes me a little. The paths are illuminated enough for the joy of running in peace to outweigh the discomfort.
A black SUV drives across the path ahead. Pebbles crush under its tires. I pause in surprise.
There aren’t many cars in the city. Everything can be reached by foot. Many streets aren’t even made for cars. A guy from my unit told me it takes longer to drive than walk in parts of the city. Not that people in the Inner Circle walk a lot—electric scooters are popular there. Here in the Government Complex even those would be overkill.
Despite the darkness, the SUV’s headlights are off. It pulls up to the back entrance of the Imperium. Instinct makes me slink into the shadows.
Three security guards hop out. They close the doors quietly, looking around. I recognize two of them as guards from my own unit, Steve and Clyde. I’ve barely talked to either of them—not being able to work much means I barely know my own unit. The third man is hidden behind the vehicle. Nothing but flaming red hair over the roof of the car.
Another job I’m not supposed to be part of. My father really knows how to keep me from the interesting assignments.
Steve opens the back door. He waves Clyde over, and they pull out a woman in a gray suit. The light catches something golden on her chest—jewelry, maybe?—as she hangs lifeless between them.
Is she dead or unconscious? She looks fragile being carried like this.
The light hits her face, and I can make out her features for a moment. I feel like I’ve seen her before. Golden skin. Light brown curls.
What has she done to be brought here?
People don’t get taken into custody. The city has no prisoners. Or at least that’s what we’re told. There’s not even a prison. Too little crime. PCR prevents most of it.
So what is she doing here?
After what I’ve seen the last few days, I know there are secrets and lies in this city. My father’s secrets. My father’s lies.
They look around, then rush inside. Their attempts at stealth tell me I shouldn’t be seen. I creep backward until I reach the corner of the building. The fastest route would have been past them. But a quick detour takes me away from the back entrance. I run home, exhaustion suddenly gone.
I enter and find Liz in the kitchen. She’s in the middle of cooking. Some too-healthy-looking meal.
“I thought I’d make sure you don’t eat chips for dinner again,” she teases a little too cheerfully as she adds handfuls of vegetables into the pot in front of her.
My stomach rumbles, and we both laugh. “I think my stomach agrees with you.”
She points upstairs. “Shower. Go. I can smell you from here.”
Bossy little sister. I salute in mock submission and go upstairs.
Liz is silent during dinner. She usually keeps the conversation going. I’m not much of a talker. So if she doesn’t talk, it’s much too quiet. This isn’t like her. Something is going on.
I remember her recent confession and wonder if something happened at home. I look her up and down, expecting to find bruises.
Scared of the answer, I force myself to ask, “Are you okay? You seem distant today.”
She looks up from her plate. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Just a little tired.” She returns her attention to her meal.
Something is definitely wrong. And whatever it is, she doesn’t want to tell me.
I give her time for a few spoonfuls before trying a different approach. “This is delicious. I don’t know where you learned to cook this well.”
It’s true. The food is really good. But that’s not why I said it. I want to get her talking.
“Well, my mom taught me,” Liz answers with a pensive look on her face. “Like I’ll teach my kids someday. I can teach yours—if you ever have any. They can cook for you, so you don’t starve.” She laughs and looks at me expectantly.
“Kids?” I ask bitterly. “I’m not even married yet. Guess you’ll have to feed me a little while longer.”
She smiles and searches my face. “I know. But wouldn’t it be nice to have a baby?”
A suspicion hits me. Fuck.
I put both hands on the table and rise halfway. “Are you pregnant?”
She shakes her head vigorously. “Nope, definitely not pregnant. Just curious . . .” She pauses for a little too long. “You getting matched made me think about what it would be like—you know—if any of it was real.”
I’m not sure I like that she’s old enough to know how fucked-up this society is.
I imagine myself sitting at the table with Susan. Our young kids are there—a boy and a girl. They eat the same soup Liz made today. Susan laughs at the baby girl, who is getting more food on the table than in her mouth. The young boy is talking rapidly about something that happened at kindergarten that morning. A perfect fantasy.
But it’s not real. It makes me more certain I can’t marry Susan. I want this future. I just don’t want it with Susan. I want it with someone I care about. I want a wife I love. Kids. Go to the climbing gym with them. Read them bedtime stories.
For a moment, the fantasy changes. No longer Susan, but a stranger. A stranger who looks a lot like the woman I saw earlier tonight—I shake my head. I don’t even know the woman. Why am I intrigued by her?
Liz scratches her almost empty bowl. I’m pulled back to reality. I find Liz watching me, as if trying to read my mind. She’s really weird today.
“Yeah, it would be nice if it were real. But that’s not an option . . . Oh, I met her today.”
Liz drops her spoon. Soup splatters on the table. She checks her shirt, then looks up at me with genuine curiosity.
“How did it go? When was this? I want to know everything.” Her eyes
sparkle. This is the Liz I know.
I tell her about the weird encounter at the lab. I tell her how hopeful Susan seemed. “She probably thinks we’ll have a normal relationship. I really hate to disappoint her. You know, it’s not her fault.”
Liz looks at me in sympathy. “I know, Nate. I know.”
“Probably grew up with a perfect little family. Maybe her parents are in love. Or maybe they’re good at pretending.”
My father keeps telling me it’s in the society’s best interest to be matched. Something about curing the Disease. He says the matching system ensures the best chances of finding a cure and getting immune children. Unfortunately, most people in the city agree with my father. They believe in the matching system because they fear the Disease so much.
I don’t give a shit. I’m already my father’s fucking pawn. I don’t want to be a lab rat, too. I don’t fucking care about curing the Disease. It doesn’t seem to be out of hand. Sure, everyone has to take a pill every night with dinner. A pill seems better than arranged marriages with strangers or people you hate.
“How was she? Did you like her?” Liz asks and pulls me from my thoughts.
“She seems nice. She’s pretty. But I don’t know her. And she’s so young. Seems a little naïve. Not my type. Whatever. I don’t think it’s right to be matched anyways. I want to choose.”
“But if she’s pretty, at least your kids will be cute.”
Again with the children. What the fuck is going on with her today?
“You really want a baby niece or nephew, don’t you?” I tease.
She shrugs but doesn’t answer aloud. She chews her lip nervously, then asks, “Don’t you want to have kids at some point?”
If she’d asked me a few days ago, I would have said no without thinking about it. It was never really an issue I had to consider without being matched. A few casual hookups here and there, sure. But I’ve never been in a relationship. I sure as hell haven’t loved anyone.
All I know is I don’t want the future my father has planned for me. Even if she’s pretty.
“If we pretend the world isn’t fucked up, yes, I think so. But only with someone I care about. Let’s drop it. It’s never going to happen.” I feel a lump form in my throat.
Liz looks at me curiously.
Can she stop looking at me like that? I don’t like the attention.
“And you? Any mini-yous with matching floral onesies planned?” I ask, gesturing at her top. We burst out laughing and can’t seem to stop. Liz actually starts crying after a while, giggling.
Once we calm down, she answers, “Maybe. We’ll see. No one interesting yet.”
I don’t point out it wouldn’t matter. Interesting is not part of the matching process.
After dinner, Liz seems to feel a little better. She sits across from me on the couch, one leg folded underneath her, the other pulled close.
“Did you hear about the break-in at the hospital today?” she asks, deep in thought.
“No, what happened?” I wonder if the woman from earlier had anything to do with it. I wish I could remember why she seems so familiar.
“A small group of people broke in. One of them pretended to be an investigator. I even fell for it . . .” Liz looks down at her hands. “I was writing some reports, and a woman came in. She wore the typical gray pantsuit and had an inspector’s badge pinned to her chest. How was I supposed to know it was a disguise?”
The image of the woman pops into my mind. Gray suit. The golden something could have been a badge. Same woman? Or am I making things fit that don’t belong?
Liz’s hands tremble in her lap. “There was another woman with her, dressed like a nurse. Guess she wasn’t a nurse either. But you know, I just started working there. I don’t know all the faces yet.
“She told me a story about data being meddled with or something. I was dumb enough to believe her.” I can tell guilt is eating at her. “I should have known. I hope I don’t get into trouble for it.” She finally looks up at me.
“It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.” I should say more to comfort her, but I can’t think of anything.
Liz shrugs.
I’m finally getting to the bottom of why Liz is weird today—maybe I’ll figure out who the mysterious woman is. Curiosity is overwhelming me.
“What did the woman look like?” I can’t get rid of the image of the woman’s limp body.
Something is going on. The scientists have something to do with it—and so does my father. I intend to find out what it is.
“I’m not sure.” She closes her eyes, then goes on, “Golden hair, pulled in a bun. She was darker but not black. I’m not sure. I was looking at the screen most of the time. She was pretty—dark gray eyes. It’s what made me believe her. They were way too kind to be after anything malicious.”
For a second, I imagine the woman waking up. She’s looking at me with stormy eyes. I hope she will wake up. I hope she’s not dead.
“Do you think I should tell someone?” Liz asks, gnawing her lip.
I think about it for a moment. “I’m not sure. I think I would wait a little and see what happens. You did what you thought was right.” I nod to myself. Yeah, that’s what I would do.
Liz looks uncomfortable. “Ah, I don’t know. I don’t want to get in trouble. But maybe you’re right.”
“You said there were more people with the woman—a small group? What happened to the rest of them?”
“I don’t know. I’m not even sure what happened to the woman. I saw her running past later, and then everything was chaos. I didn’t see any of them after.”
I consider telling her about seeing the woman being carried into the Imperium. But I’m sure I wasn’t supposed to see her. I keep quiet.
“I think they escaped,” Liz says.
“Good,” I answer without thinking.
Liz raises an eyebrow. “Good? I’m not sure. Why do you think they did it?”
Liz always believes in the good in people. If someone else heard me say it was good a group of criminals escaped, I’d be in trouble. She’s too good of a person herself. She’ll get hurt at some point—especially if our father is around.
“Drugs?” But why would they need to see a patient file for that? It doesn’t fit. “Did you see anything in the files you showed her?”
Liz looks guilty for a moment. She quickly hides it, then answers, “I don’t think so. They were looking at a middle-aged woman and a young girl. I can’t see a connection. They didn’t look anything alike—different age, different names . . .” Liz closes her eyes. Her forehead wrinkles in thought.
I think it’s time to change the subject. She worries too much. I need to get her mind off this.
I suggest a game of cards. And it only takes a few rounds for Liz to cheer up. Distraction sometimes is the best medicine. I wish it worked for me. My thoughts continue to circle around the woman.
VI
Wednesday
13
Chase
My head is close to exploding, and I can’t see anything but whiteness. I blink until I can make out details. A small room swims in and out of focus. Bright lights cover the ceiling. I close my eyes and rub them. My vision begins to clear.
I focus to look around my prison. It’s definitely not a cell. The nearby black walls look elegant in contrast to the bright ceiling and floor.
I roll over, and every inch of my body tenses in pain. The memory of being shot seeps back in. The pain seems to alter the room in front of me, like a second picture on a projector overlaying a first. I touch the spot where the tiny bullet hit me. I look down and find a reddish dent and ragged lines radiating like sunbeams in a children’s drawing.
Willow.
The thought of my daughter pushes any concerns about my whereabouts from my mind. It doesn’t matter. I need to know if Willow is safe.
I swapped the sample, but there was blood on the floor right in front of her refrigerator. They’ll know something has
been tampered with. Surely they analyzed Willow’s sample—even if it was labeled as Evelyn’s. I’m sure they know who I am. They’ve probably figured it all out. Dread overwhelms me.
Did the others make it out? Were they able to warn Nina? Did they get out of the apartment fast enough? By now the peacers probably know everyone who was involved.
I jump up and have to steady myself. Pain shoots through my body, making me sway.
I find my balance and stumble toward the polished gray door in the opposite wall. I rattle the locked handle, kick the door, throw my whole body against it. The only thing I manage is to make my body hurt more. I turn around and walk along the walls, sliding my hands over them for balance. I check every single one of the tinted windows—locked as well.
I find a door leading to a tiny bathroom with nothing but a mirror, a toilet, and a sink. I open the tap, suddenly thirsty, but no water comes. I stumble back into the main room. After three circles around the room, checking every corner, window, and wall, I accept defeat and sink onto the floor, exhausted and devastated.
There is no way out. There is nothing I can do.
I return my attention to the wound on my chest. I run my fingers over each line. They don’t hurt, but the skin seems tense. It definitely wasn’t a normal bullet, or I’d be dead. The area around the wound looks burned. The wandering lines remind me of lightning. Maybe I was hit with an electric charge or something.
I need to figure out where I am. I force myself up and walk toward one of the floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s too bright in here to see anything, so I lean closer and shield my eyes with my hands. The city lies in the distance. The first bit of sunlight creeps up behind a tall building at the far end.
How long have I been out?
Below I can see a few cube-shaped houses, too small to hold more than one family each. I must be in a richer part of the city. I’ve never seen houses like these in our Circle, only apartment buildings.
