CHAPTER TWO
ARYA’S HEAD tilted up when Meke burst into the room and flopped into a chair that squeaked its protest. Arya’s delicate eyebrows went up and her lips curved up into a small smile. “Quite an entrance.”
A five-cornered pentagon shone on Arya’s hands. She was a Fiver, quite a few steps above Meke.
Meke sighed and stretched her arms, shaking off their weariness. “I’m just tired after the exercise session. I did one hundred pushups.” Meke was proud of it. She didn't care if Arya thought her silly. The pushups had taken her mind off everything, including these phantom vibrations in her head.
“Why would you want to do one hundred pushups?” Arya asked.
Fivers, Stars, Squares and Equis all thought that Zeroes couldn’t do anything, let alone do one hundred pushups. Meke took the small pleasure of proving them wrong whenever she could. Arya would never understand that.
“I needed to.” Meke didn’t want to say anything more.
Puzzlement flitted over Arya’s fine-boned, caramel-skinned face. Then Arya decided not to say anything and just nodded as if she understood. Despite Arya’s Fiver status, she was all right. Arya explained things more than she needed to. Whenever Meke had questions, Arya would answer them, never calling her stupid or a Zero.
Arya tapped the table with her palm, the vibrations making Meke glance up. “Well, let’s proceed to our lesson. Today, we’ll talk about the Occupation period,” Arya said.
Prosperon hadn’t always been Prosperon. It was a half of the shattered remains of a continent called North America, which had faced off with the Foreign Powers and lost. North America had paid the price for losing by enduring hordes of foreign soldiers during the Occupation. During the Occupation, the Foreign Powers controlled everything and split the country in half. One half became Prosperon; the other half became The States.
The two halves couldn’t have been more different. Prosperon adopted a smooth, efficient government that allocated resources based on the maximum expected return. The States fell into chaos, fragmenting into small factions fighting for control over small strips of land. Some people from The States tried to sneak into Prosperon, but the soldiers always got them. Nobody ever tried to sneak from Prosperon into The States.
Another reminder of the Occupation was the Foreign Power’s ban on modern weapons. Nobody, nor any government in either Prosperon or The States, could touch any weapon that used gunpowder or nuclear reactors. Prosperon and The States regressed to swords, daggers, axes and crossbows as their tools of war.
Arya’s hands halted mid-air as she explained how Prosperon had flourished where The States had floundered. Meke gave Arya a questioning stare and then understood when Arya took out a handheld from her pocket. Meke frowned. This handheld was different from the one that Arya usually used. This handheld looked worn and chipped around the edges. Hardly the kind of thing that a Prosperon employee used.
Arya raised the handheld to her mouth and started speaking. After a few moments, Arya was shaking her head as she spoke. Her forehead creased and the lines around her mouth deepened. Meke chewed on her lip, hoping that Arya would tell her what had happened.
Then Arya nodded and slowly put down the handheld. Her dark eyes flickered to Meke. “Meke, do you feel sick?” she asked.
Meke looked at her hands and legs. Her hands were as they always were: long, smooth and strong. Meke towered above most women, and met many men at eye-level. Even Arya was a head shorter than Meke. Usually Meke didn’t have a problem jogging two kilometers twice a week. “Well, no. I don’t really feel sick but I know I am.”
With a careful gaze, Arya’s eyes swept across Meke’s solid shoulders. “Don’t you think that’s odd?”
Meke frowned. “Well, sure, I guess. But Doctor Ball said that the sickness affects different people differently. I guess mine moves slowly.”
“What about Amelia? And Tino?”
Meke’s hands clenched.
Amelia and Tino had been Meke’s friends. Meke preferred not to remember their names, let alone their faces. Amelia, with her long red hair, had sauntered into Meke’s life when Meke was twelve. Amelia used the same language—the language of hands and expressions—as Meke. Their empty circles glittered in the dark as they chatted into the night. Each day, Amelia had grown grayer and paler, withering away. Her luxurious red hair turned into brittle orange straw. So much of her hair had fallen out that Meke could see patches of Amelia’s bare scalp. One day, Amelia stopped showing up. Doctor Ball had patted her back, “The sickness took her,” he said.
Tino had been the same story retold. He came to the institution when Meke had been fourteen. His tall, thin frame more than matched her own rapidly growing body. Their friendship had edged on something else, something more intense, a few kisses sneaked in here and there, when he disappeared. Doctor Ball had told her once again, that the sickness had taken him. After that, Meke had no more friends among the Zeroes. Even the deaf ones had been starved and sick when they came, so they didn’t last long. Meke couldn’t bear to watch them fade away so she looked away.
“What about them?” Meke scowled at Arya, trying to push away the memories.
Arya closed her eyes and inhaled. “They were fine before they came, weren’t they? This place isn’t a hospital for sick Zeroes. This place,” she glanced about, “is a deathtrap. These injections are experiments, not cures.”
“Experiments?” Meke understood the word well enough, but their meaning eluded her.
“Yes, experiments. You’re not sick. They’re experimenting on you for their own ends. That’s why you don’t feel sick except after the injections,” Arya said. “I’m sorry.”
The dots slowly connected in Meke’s mind. It was a begrudging, grinding process. “Doctor Ball lied to me?” The idea seemed outrageous. Meke shook her head. “No, it’s not possible. He’s kind to me, despite everything.”
Arya inclined her head toward Meke. “You don’t look sick, Meke. You never have. Do you think a sick person can do one hundred pushups? Don’t believe them. You’ll be safe with us.”
The phrase ricocheted in her overheating brain, her mother’s words. Don’t believe them.
An explosion of a prickling sensation entered her brain. Meke clutched her head.
Arya’s eyes flew to the door. “There’s someone there. I have to leave,” Arya grimaced. “I wish I had more time to explain this, but there isn’t.” Meke blinked. Everything was happening too fast. She needed time. “Some people are coming tonight. We’ll be ready to get you out and get you somewhere safe.” Arya rose, brushing any specks of dust that dared contaminate her dress. She looked down to Meke and sighed. “This is for the best, you know. We’ll get you away.”
Before Meke had a chance to ask who “we” was, Arya looked at the door. “They’re knocking now. I need to leave.” Arya left, her long dress swishing behind her.
Brody stood behind the open door, tapping his foot. The constant up-and-down motion snapped Meke out of her stupor.
She knew Arya. She trusted Arya. Still, this idea seemed too outrageous to leave unexplained. There were too many missing pieces. Why would they do this? Was it even true?
Meke realized that someone was lying to her: Arya or Doctor Ball.
◆ ◆ ◆
Meke walked up to Brody and reached for him, but he flinched before she touched him. “I need to go see Doctor Ball,” she formed the words carefully, a silent pantomime of speech.
Brody stared at her lips, his eyes uncomprehending. Meke clenched her fists. She couldn’t be sure if he genuinely didn’t understand or being purposefully obtuse. Some people didn’t want to understand others.
“Doctor Ball,” Meke repeated, feeling simple and stupid.
Understanding filled Brody’s face and he nodded. As they navigated the institution’s stairs and corridors, Meke’s thoughts followed the same haphazard path. She didn’t know which answer she wanted to hear. Whether a deadly sickness infested her body or
her world had been a lie, she lost either way.
When they arrived at Doctor Ball’s office, Meke stood there, unsure of her next words. After a painful swallow, Meke wondered if she truly wanted to know the answer, whether the truth was better than lies. At least truth told you where you stood. Lies only helped you pretend.
With a large exhale, Meke walked into Doctor Ball’s office. He was sitting at his desk, sifting through pieces of paper. He looked up and blinked blearily. “Meke! What are you doing here?” His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you having more symptoms?”
Meke stood there momentarily, trying to find the words to begin. After staring at it for a few moments, she sat in the large examining room chair, feeling its familiar grooves and ridges. “Am I really sick?” she asked, drawing the question mark in the air.
His light gray-blue eyes widened, then narrowed at her; kindness turned into suspicion. “Of course, you are. I told you so.”
Meke let her hands fall away for a moment. Don’t believe them reverberated through her brain. She raised her hands again. “Someone told me I wasn’t sick. It makes some sense. I never feel sick unless it’s after an injection.”
“Who is this person?”
Suddenly, Meke feared for Arya. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No, it matters. That person is lying to you.”
Meke shook her head, trying to keep her target—the truth—in front of her. She would get some answers, even if Doctor Ball was a Star and she was a Zero. “Why do so many patients die? They looked fine before they came here. Why am I still not sick?”
“You’re strong because of these injections. You know that. You are our best patient.” Doctor Ball looked annoyed at her.
Frustration crept into Meke’s hands, urging them faster and choppier. “This injection–” Meke jabbed her finger toward the cart, “makes my head hurt. I feel things that I shouldn’t feel.”
Doctor Ball’s whole posture changed; his relaxed, stooping shoulders jerked up into a straight line. His hands moved slowly and deliberately, “What–exactly—do you feel?”
Meke threw up her hands. Her signed faster and faster, far ahead of her rational thoughts. “My head hurts and I will feel movements behind me. Sometimes I even think I can see more than I can, which is impossible.”
Doctor Ball’s eyes gleamed. He turned to his desk, shuffled through papers. His lips moved in words that Meke couldn’t understand. His thin mouth turned up in a wide smile as he pulled up her brain scan.
Meke backed into the wall, feeling its solid flatness against her back. What a fool she had been. She had swallowed everything they gave her and asked for more.
Now, he was staring at her brain scan, a gleeful grin on his face. Meke just wanted him to look at her, but he kept on staring at the glowing brain and his papers. Several minutes passed with Meke’s back to the wall and Doctor Ball sitting, facing away from her. With a shuddering breath, she touched Doctor Ball’s shoulder. He looked up, his watery eyes wide.
“Look at me.” It was more of a soft query than a demand, but his eyes still looked back at the screen. Finally, his eyes focused on hers. “Am I sick or not?”
His eyes slid away onto the floor. Meke let her hand fall to her sides. All she wanted to do was sit on the cold floor and cry, but instead she focused on Doctor Ball’s forehead and signed. “Why?”
“It was for the best, Meke. We need subjects. People like you. Zeroes are the ones sent here. Prosperon needs this.” Doctor Ball closed his eyes and slumped.
Meke wanted to laugh. This man was telling her that she was going to sacrifice herself for a nation that branded her useless and a burden. She wanted nothing to do with it.
Doctor Ball looked up and grabbed Meke’s hands. “Don’t you understand? This was for the best for everyone.”
It was for the greater good. That mantra dictated everything in Prosperon. All of the resources flowed to the Stars and the Fivers for the greater good. The most intelligent, the most capable among the Prosperous would generate the highest returns. Meke hated the phrase now. She had thought that she was contributing to a cure. But it was all a lie.
“Please, Meke! You are the only one who has withstood all of this. You are such a wonderful specimen. You can tolerate anything. We have learned so much from you already. You are even developing abilities!” said Doctor Ball, flushed with excitement.
“Without telling me.” Meke kept her signs soft, but her heart beat hard.
Doctor Ball’s shoulders slumped even further. “You’ll understand in due time. It’s not about you, Meke. It’s about the greater good.”
He opened his mouth to shout before Meke could do anything.
Meke felt a sharp stabbing pain in her arm. Hands firmly gripped her every limb. Darkness swallowed her and she was glad for it.
CHAPTER THREE
MEKE WOKE up in her room with a start. The heavy curtains plunged the room in darkness with a few rays of sunlight leaking past the edges. Meke propped herself up in her bed, muscles protesting.
Sensations flooded her mind. Movement buzzed in her head. Indeterminable shapes shifted past the walls. Her world became a morass of slithering, shifting and twitching shapes.
And pain.
Meke clutched her head. Feelings and shapes poured at her head, making it feel overlarge and heavy. She squeezed her eyes shut, but to no avail—the shapes stayed and insisted on her attentions.
Meke slid onto the floor with a painful thump. She gripped her head, shook her head, even pounding on her forehead. Nothing worked. The sensations that formed shapes refused to release her.
The sheer amount of information in her mind made her dizzy. Her world constantly shifted. The slightest movement jarred her mind. Meke curled up on the floor, letting the cold floor steady her. She spent countless minutes with her eyes shut, hands tangled in her long blond hair and knees tucked.
Meke ordered the alien feelings to go away. The unwelcome sensations taunted her with their invasion of her mind. It felt like Meke was falling into madness.
Amid the deluge, Meke scraped a few coherent thoughts together. This must be the injection. It was the same sensation she had last week, but amplified a thousand times over.
Meke inhaled shakily and eased her head up.
She wouldn't submit. No longer would she allow herself used, exploited and thrown aside. She would show all of them. That anger, in its purity, eased the sensations’ oppressive weight.
Wobbling, Meke rose to her feet. Things slowly formed sensible shapes. The world still felt unsteady and unsure, but some sense formed the shapes.
The shapes that stood beyond the walls slowly sharpened. As Meke blinked uselessly, the silhouettes came into sharp relief. She recognized the contours of the bodies outside the room. Brody stood outside of the door. Not only Brody, but four others as well. That was four more guards than usual.
This was new. Never before had Meke recognized anyone merely by their shape. Before Doctor Ball’s office Meke only had been able to feel vague movements. Not now. Now the clarity of the movement pounded at her skull. What had changed since a few hours ago?
Meke looked down at her elbow. A fresh soreness in her arm demanded her attention. Meke could see the needle mark in clear profile. It was a new wound, a red circle where the needle had pierced her skin. They had injected her once again.
This knowledge turned her anger into something twisting and permanent. She ran to the windows, flung the curtains open and let in the harsh afternoon sunlight. She pushed, kicked, punched the glass. The glass deflected her blows, not budging a millimeter.
As the energy seeped out of her body, Meke laid her forehead on the cool glass. The coolness helped her think a little. Now she wondered if she could leave or not.
Meke walked to the door and twisted the knob. It wouldn’t turn. They had locked her into her own room. Drained, Meke couldn’t muster the energy for outrage. Only now did she recognize the walls around her as what they truly were: prison walls
.
A few shapes moved outside of the door. They heard her. Good, Meke thought. They should know that I want out. The momentary pleasure of them knowing her outrage faded when she realized that she had no hope. The door was the least of it. Guards milled around all day and all night. Meke wasn’t even completely sure where they were in the mountains. All Meke could do was sit back on her bed and wonder what would happen next.
Meke remembered her mother’s words, “No matter what people tell you, you’re worth something.” Meke thought that her mother’s words would never come true since Meke would never leave this place.
Meke sucked at her teeth. A few days after she arrived at the institution, Doctor Ball told her that her mother had died in a car accident. At that time, Meke had cried and wondered why her mother was in a car. She walked to work and as an Equi, could never afford a car.
Now, Meke wondered if her mother had survived for long after she had left. Once again, Meke had been a fool to believe them all. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
With that thought, Meke watched the sun sink past the mountains and waited for something to happen, wishing that she could do something.
◆ ◆ ◆
It was well past midnight when a sharp tickle emerged from the periphery of Meke’s new sense, making her wince. It was probably just other guards coming.
Meke gritted her teeth and allowed the prickling sensation overtake her. She could discern three shapes. One was far larger than the others, a man, Meke could only tell that much. The others were women, one far shorter than the man. Suddenly, Meke recognized Arya’s small, compact body as one of the women
Arya! Meke remembered Arya’s words earlier, “We’ll get you out.” Meke had to clasp her hands together and make sure she didn’t make any noises. Perhaps there was hope, after all.
The three figures crouched in a hallway, waiting. Then the large man burst out from hiding, wielding some kind of weapon that cut down two guards within seconds. Meke’s hand flew to her mouth. Her momentary happiness turned into horror.
Secret Value of Zero, The Page 2
