by J. Andersen
Taryn stands, packs her own bag, swings it over her shoulder, and crumples her napkin into a tiny ball to throw away. “I can walk you home. Get you tucked in.”
“No.” It’s a sharp response, and I can see the hurt on her face even when half of it is hidden by the light streaks that line her hair. “No, really, you don’t have to bother. It’s okay. I’ll be fine. Just need to rest a bit. And I don’t want to make you late for class.” Yeah, nothing like sounding suspicious. Good job, Kate.
She must know this is a total lie. Taryn’s known me forever. She’s able to see through my terrible attempt at covering up what I really want to do, which is to find Micah. I have to talk to him. Maybe there’s a chance he’ll know what to do. I hope.
“I’ll tell him, but you know how Prof is when it’s a last minute thing. He gets all grouchy and takes it out on the rest of us. Thanks for letting me do your dirty work,” she adds as a passing joke. But she’s not joking.
I allow a pout to settle on my lips and attempt to look sick. “I know. Sorry about that. I just don’t feel well.” By this time, I’m walking out the door with Taryn right behind me. She squints her eyes against the sun-kissed snow and stands, probably waiting for me to explain further. But I don’t. She’ll have to wonder. Maybe between now and when she questions me about it—which she’s bound to do—I’ll have come up with a better excuse. Probably not.
On my way home, my mind is whirling in an attempt to figure out how to halt my son’s imminent death. Half of me wants to run in there screaming and steal him away, but I can’t. It’s not that easy. I need a plan. I don’t care if it’s three weeks away; I need to do something now. By the time I reach my front door, I’ve come up with a huge bucket-load of squat. Every idea I have leads to trouble. Mostly, for me. But for my family as well. And for Micah. And even Taryn. While trouble for someone is inevitable, I want to minimize the damage as much as possible.
Thankfully, no one’s home. Mom’s at work, busy putting bad guys away using her human lie-detector abilities. Hopefully, she won’t have to use that talent on me ever, but with the way I’m going, I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. Dad won’t be home till late. Data collections work. I know how that goes. And with the new assignment I gave him, he’ll be sneaking in some overtime. Seems like that research center is our second home these days.
I’m thankful for the empty house because it means I can talk to Micah in private. I dig my phone out of my pocket and dial his number.
“Hello?”
“Micah! I need to talk to you.”
“I assume that’s why you called,” he jokes, but he must recognize the anxiety in my voice because his tone turns serious. “You okay? What’s wrong?”
His concern is comforting, and I find myself slouching into the overstuffed chair in the living room instead of pacing back and forth across the kitchen tiles like I did a moment ago. “I just found out that Taryn is assigned to my—”
“—Your lab work? Of course, I’ll be over as soon as I can. Just wait for me, okay?”
“Okay. Micah, what’s going on?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there in a few minutes, and we’ll figure everything out.”
His response totally freaks me out, but I agree and hang up. Then I spend the next few minutes working myself into an absolute tizzy trying not to worry. Not that it takes long. I’m already frazzled about Brody. So much for lounging in a cushy chair while I wait; I’m back to pacing, tapping my phone against my leg to ease the nerves.
I glance to the object in my hand. The phone! Of course. No wonder Micah won’t talk.
It’s like my entire world is crumbling one lonely stone at a time. I find out about the Natural Born, nearly get abducted, discover I have a son, my grandmother dies, and now my son is about to be killed in a procedure I’m attempting to learn in order to earn a living for the next sixty years. Um, yeah, not really a pleasant few months. My life is so twisted.
Ten minutes later, Micah knocks on my door.
I open the door to his dark face. There’s no vehicle in the driveway, but there’s no way he could have run fast enough to make it to my home in ten minutes. “How’d you get here so fast?”
“Drove. Parked around the corner. Didn’t want anyone to suspect you of anything with my truck sitting in your driveway.”
I move to the side as Micah steps past me and shut the door behind him, but not before a freezing gust sweeps into the house sending a chill over my skin. He shrugs off his coat and scarf and curls them over his arm as he enters the house. Swinging his head around, like he’s looking for someone, he says, “Your parents home?” Frantic, he rushes through the house, opening doors and glancing in closets.
“Uh uh.” I cross my arms around myself. Suddenly, I’m freezing, but I can’t tell if it was from the wind that followed Micah inside or the strange vibe he’s giving off.
“It’s my phone, isn’t it? They’re tracking or recording or something.” I offer it to him.
He doesn’t say anything but takes it from my outstretched hand. The lack of confirmation is confirmation enough.
He pops the back off and starts rooting through the mechanics. Pinching something between his thumb and forefinger, he holds it up for me to see. “Look.” It’s a tiny square chip. “Recording device.”
“They’ve been recording my phone calls. I should have known. How stupid of me.”
Finally, he calms down and places his coat over the back of a chair at the dining room table. “Sorry.” He crosses the room to me and takes my face in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, gently meeting my lips with his own. They’re cold from the icy walk around the block, but they’re still soft and welcoming.
“All phones have them. The Institute likes to keep track of the community.”
“The Institute.” Inside my blood boils. With each passing moment, my hatred for this place grows, but it’s countered by the pleasant memories, by my hope for the future. The internal tug of war is sometimes too much to bear.
Micah shakes his head and taps the chip back into my phone before snapping the cover on again. “I should have told you before, when you first found out about the Hidden City, but I knew you weren’t going to say anything, so I didn’t bother.” Pulling out a chair, he takes a seat and crosses his arms on the table. “It’s not like you use your phone a lot anyway. It’s basically this: The Institute follows your every move. They record your phone conversations, they have spies everywhere observing your activity, and when you do something unusual, it’s noted. Too many notations mean you get your very own personal spy to track your every conversation, every e-mail, and any unusual activity. And you already know about the surveillance.”
“How do you manage to do the things you do?” I ask. After all, he’s got a freakin’ secret lab in his basement. Surely someone noticed something while he set the thing up. They must have noticed parts go missing just after he was on duty.
“I’ve been doing this for a long time, Kate. I know how to cover my tracks. You’ve already seen the origami messages. We use that as often as possible. And,” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone and hands it to me. “I have a phone without a listening device. This one is for you. But you can only call me on it. If you call anyone else, it will be recorded on their end, but not on yours, which would obviously send up warnings to the heads of the detection unit at The Institute. So if you’re going to call your mom or Taryn, use your regular phone. To contact me, use the one I gave you.”
I’m staring at the phone in disbelief. I knew The Institute was strict, but I’m only beginning to realize the lengths it will go to watch the people it’s supposed to be protecting. “Why don’t you use these to call your people? Seems more effective than folded paper notes.”
“The above ground-to-underground calls can get a little sketchy. Don’t always work and t
hose signals might be intercepted. On the surface, it won’t be questioned as much. Besides, you’d be surprised how effective the origami messages are.”
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how you do all the things you do.”
“Like how I get all the lab equipment to my house without being noticed.”
“Yes, like that.”
“It’s not just me. I might take something, but I’m not stupid enough to have stolen every piece of equipment that’s in my basement. And I know what to look for.”
“Like with my phone.”
He agrees. “Like with your phone. And I obey the rules. Not drawing attention to myself is essential.” His hands flatten out on the surface of the table. “That’s basically it. Just be careful. Trust no one, even the people you’ve known forever.” His gaze is intense as it holds mine like he’s imparting the importance of his statement through his stare. But then his eyes soften and crinkle into a smile. “So, what’s this news I’m supposed to hear?”
Right! After his strange behavior, I almost forgot the reason for his presence in my house.
“It’s Brody.”
“Brody?”
“My son.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot you named him. What’s the problem?”
Just thinking about my conversation with Taryn earlier today sends the shiver up my spine again. I can’t sit still, so I push away from the table and pace. It helps me think, but judging by the look on Micah’s face, it makes him nervous. I told Micah about my conversation with Taryn. “But then I happen to see the ID number. It’s Brody’s number. Taryn’s been assigned to kill him.” Having unloaded my stress for the day, I plop down next to Micah, who takes my hand in his and covers it with his other. It’s a gesture my gran used to do. The hand sandwich I used to call it.
“I’m going to kill whom?”
The warming comfort from the hand sandwich wilts away, and I nearly fall out of my chair when I hear her voice. “Taryn! What are you doing here?” Sweat breaks out on my palms, so I rub them on my pants as I stand. Dang, the phone Micah gave me is still on the table, so I grab it quickly and shove it into my pocket, hoping Taryn doesn’t notice that it isn’t the one I’ve carried for months.
“I came to check up on you. You know. See how you were feeling since you were too sick to be in class today.” Her jaw is clenched, and she’s eyeing me suspiciously.
My face flushes, and I’m searching for an explanation, but my mind doesn’t work well under pressure, and the only thing I can think to say is, “My son! You’re going to kill my son!” Obviously, that won’t go over well, so I purse my lips and close my eyes, hoping something will come to me in the next few seconds.
“Who am I going to kill, Kate?”
Micah rescues me from my vocal mumbling. “Kate’s just a little nervous about the third trimester disposals. She’s been doing a lot of work for Professor Limbert after hours and became kind of attached to the fetus you’re assigned to dispose of.” He stands, steps behind me, and puts his hands on my shoulders.
“That’s exactly what we’re not supposed to do, Kate,” Taryn says as she sets her bag by the front door. “Get all attached. You know that. Besides, it’s not really killing. They aren’t even born yet.”
“She was just saying if anyone were to dispose of him, she wanted to do it.” Micah kisses my cheek lightly. “Right Kate? Besides, it’s not killing when they’re unviable. We’re just helping to create a better community by disposing of stuff that will harm us in the future.”
“Mmm hmm.” He obviously pulled that from some lecture or textbook. I glance over my shoulder at his steady steely eyes, and mentally project a silent, “thank you.” I hope he can read my look. “That’s right. I wanted to check with Micah to see if he could arrange a switch for me.”
Taryn crinkles her nose at me, and her shoulders drop, relaxing a bit. “Why didn’t you just say so in the café?”
I clear my throat. “Um, I didn’t think it was possible, so I thought I’d check with Micah first before I said anything to you.” Oh, please believe this pack of lies I’m feeding you.
“Oh.” Taryn’s response seeps slowly out of her. “You could have confided in me. You can trust me, you know.”
“I know.” Suddenly Micah’s recent words run through my mind. Trust no one. “Sorry. I just didn’t want to make a big deal out of it without knowing if it was a possibility or not. I suppose I could have waited until I saw Micah again, but it surprised me a bit, and I panicked.”At least that part wasn’t a lie.
“I don’t mind switching if you’d like,” she says. “I mean, if they’ll let us. I don’t care which one I’m assigned as long as I get to do the procedure. It’s the last major procedure before we get to attempt the creation of an embryo.”
“Really? That’ll be great,” I mumble. “I mean, if they let us.”
Micah grabs his coat. “Let me see if I can arrange something. I’ll talk to Professor Limbert and Donovan today and let you both know.”
“Thanks,” I whisper.
He nods silently, and I know he understands I’m thanking him for covering for me.
THIRTY SIX
IT’S TIME
THREE WEEKS PASS IN an instant, and the next thing I know, it’s D-day.
Disposal day.
Professors Limbert and Donovan agreed to the switch of Taryn and me. Not sure what Micah said to convince them, but I know he had to enlist the help of someone else he knew to get the change to pass. Another Natural Born hidden in our society. Sometimes I wish I knew who these people were, but Micah refuses to name names. No arguing that I might need to know who these people are sometime in the future has convinced him yet.
I know I can’t get out of this disposal. I shouldn’t even want to, seeing as how it’s Brody. But if something goes wrong with our plan, and I have to watch him die, I won’t be able to live with myself. I just hope Micah’s plan is actually going to work and not get us both arrested or killed or taken captive to some underground torture chamber. My mind has been reeling with torment-filled possibilities for my future.
Micah, on the other hand, has taken on an everything-is-going-to-be-fine persona with an underlying nervous current of it’s-going-to-take-a-freakin’-miracle-to-make-this-work. He’s trying to hide his fear from me the best he can, but I can tell he doubts the plan.
The worst part of this day is I know very little about what will happen. Well, I guess that’s not entirely true. I know my dad’s timing with the data systems has to be perfect. I know exactly how the procedure will work and the physical reactions the child will have to the drug, but as for Micah’s part and actually getting Brody out, I know very little. That way, I can’t be blamed if something goes wrong. So he’s kept his part in the plan secret. It’d be a nice gesture if it didn’t set me on edge. Besides, if something does happen, what would I do? Go back to my house and pretend everything is normal? I think not. How would I possibly be able to hide the fact that my boyfriend is gone or that I’d be an absolute wreck and would not be able to continue on with my career choice? No. This plan has to work. There’s no other option.
Micah told me that if we aren’t able to get Brody to his lab, I’d have to take him directly to the Hidden City. He’ll end up there eventually, but we’d rather not risk it now. Micah even drove me there once in the weeks awaiting Brody’s disposal in case I needed to know how to get there, and I hope to anything holy that I can remember the way. Especially when the entrance to that place is hidden in snow covered woods. I keep running over the turns in my head, but it becomes a blur somewhere after the back alley behind Main Street. And I don’t want to think about entering the woods where there aren’t any trails. So I’m hoping it won’t be necessary. I’d ask for Micah to write down the directions, but any paper trail leading the soldiers right to the rebels wouldn’t paint me in a very good light
with the rebels.
“If anything goes wrong, anything at all, meet me at the Hidden City.”
I hope it won’t come to that. Instead, I’m counting on Micah being at my side the entire time.
Basically, my job during the procedure is to do what the professor says. Act normal, like I know nothing. Shouldn’t be too hard, since I know nothing. I’m also supposed to pay attention to any opportunities, whatever that means.
After hours for the last few days, I’ve wandered the halls memorizing all the back exits, just in case I have to get out quickly. I’m hoping I’ll walk right out of here looking as normal as I do every day, but that means leaving the hard part—carrying Brody out of here unharmed and unnoticed—to Micah.
I know he’s willing. More than that. He’s trying to protect me and Brody, but he’s the one who has to put himself at horrible risk. I don’t like it, but it doesn’t matter. None of my protests have had any effect on changing his mind and letting me in on a few details.
“I’m not going to put you at any more risk than you already are, Kate. You know too much as it is. I’d rather not put you in any more danger than you are already.”
“But this is my son, Micah!”
“It doesn’t matter. You’ve never done this before, and I’m not going to let your first time be with a screaming newborn in your arms to alert anyone who passes us. You’ll just need to follow my lead.”
So as I’m standing next to Micah, scrubbing in, my hands shake.
“You ready?” he whispers.
“No.”
“It’ll be fine. Trust me.” But when his eyes shift toward the window of the door, I know he’s hoping all parts of his plan fall into place.
***
Pressing his back to the door, his arms bent and raised at the elbows, we enter the prep room where we put on rubber gloves and meet the professors who are already waiting, compacts in hand, ready to record our progress. The procedure itself is left up to me and Micah.
