“We can’t keep doing this,” I say as I lie on the bed.
Luka adjusts his pillow on the floor. “I know.”
“They won’t let us.”
Luka sits up to look at me. “I won’t give in if you won’t.”
There’s a solemnness to his face that gives me chills.
“I won’t,” I say.
It’s a vow we know will lead to awful consequences. What exactly they are, I’m not sure. I just hope I’m strong enough to survive it. I slip out of bed and join Luka on the floor.
“They have us forever,” I mutter. “They’ll kill us before they let us go.” I graze the red glow under his skin with my thumb.
Our eyes meet. He entwines his fingers in mine and rests our hands on his chest. I breathe deep and relax into the floor.
“Back home, some Ruser came in for a tattoo one day.”
“Oh no, is this another story?” I groan. I’d been subjected to one too many.
He laughs. “Just listen.”
“What did he say?”
Luka pauses for a minute and then continues. “As I’m tattooing him, he’s talking about how he was a Pigeon before he got hooked on Dust. Imagine that.”
It wasn’t hard.
“So, he fucks up his job, wife leaves him. He was high as hell at the time, but I just felt bad for him. He had this desperate look on his face like it didn’t matter if he lived or died. It was all the same to him. The whole time I’m tattooing him he keeps saying ‘they ruined my life’ over and over. I didn’t think anything of it at the time because he was so lit up from the drugs.” Luka squeezes my hand with a bit more pressure. “I don’t ever want to see that same look on your face again. Ever. Promise it.”
“Promise.” A dagger hits my heart. It’s the build-up of hopelessness that overwhelms my physical senses. I close my eyes and try not to think of how dangerous it is to lose all hope.
“There is one thing he told me I never forgot.”
“What?” I said, opening my eyes.
Luka sits up and instructs me to do the same. “He said Officials caused the Affliction.” His voice was barely audible.
“Do you think it’s true?” I say, matching his tone.
Luka furrows his brow. The guy was higher than a kite, but something about the way he said it…yeah, I think it’s true.”
I can’t even process the information. It seems too impossible. The very idea infuriates me. “But how?”
“I’m not sure exactly.
“So, how do we know he was telling the truth?”
“We don’t, but we need to find out.”
“Find out?” I scoff. “How do you—”
The doors bust open.
Chapter 10
The anger swarms in my body. I want to kick something, break something, and make something else suffer for my pain. I grab the closest thing I can find in my cell and hurl it across the room. But it’s a rubber shoe and bounces off the wall before silently hitting the floor. A faint red glow pulses under my skin. I put my thumb on the same spot to hide its existence. But it’s a part of me I’ll always have as long as I’m here.
“How well did you know my mother?”
If having someone watch you pee isn’t awkward anymore, then why not have conversation?
Margaret leans against the bathroom wall. “We’d been best friends since nursing school.”
“How come she never mentioned you?” I hand her the cup.
They're not watching us in the breeding rooms, otherwise they’d know these pregnancy tests are pointless.
“I’m not sure, Hazel,” Margaret says.
“Why did you two stop speaking?” I want to pry her for more information and hope no one interrupts us.
“I don’t really remember…”
I know she’s lying, and I push her further. “Maybe it was something you did or she did?”
Margaret shakes her head gently.
“Well, you mentioned that you owed her a debt of gratitude. What happened?”
“Why all the questions?”
I look down at the blinking light in my wrist. “What happens if I don’t get pregnant?”
“It’s too soon to discuss that now.” She hands the cup to Jasco, who waits outside the bathroom.
I hear the door of the cell close.
“Margaret, I need your help.”
Margaret glances at the space on the wall just above me. “You need to rest.”
“I’m tired of resting. It’s all I do. I need to get out of this cell for something other than breeding.” I can tell she’s considering it. “Please, Margaret.”
She starts to write something on the piece of paper in front of her. She folds it up and hands it to me. I don’t dare open it until she leaves.
I unfold the paper and read the words “I’ll try.”
It’s not much but it’s enough to reignite my hope. And sometimes that’s all it takes. I flush the paper down the toilet.
When my food tray slides into my cell, I eat every bite.
* * * *
Jasco enters my cell but this time he is alone.
“I need you to wear this.” He holds up the burlap bag.
I nod and he slips it over my head. He tugs my elbow and leads me out of the room.
“She needs examining,” he says.
A guard grunts a response, and then I’m being pulled again. It isn’t the rough dragging of the guards. Jasco’s touch is gentle, like I’m a fragile doll that could break in his grip. After several minutes of walking, I hear a door open, then close. Jasco lifts the bag from my head, and I take a deep breath.
The room is bright with floor to ceiling windows. My eyes adjust to the sunshine permeating the room.
“What is this place?” I turn to ask him.
“It’s one of the common rooms,” Jasco says. “You only have a few minutes.”
He gestures to the windows. I walk over and peer out.
Jasco closes the door after he exits.
I squint my eyes and feel the sun’s warmth. The little patch of grass I can see is green. Could it really have been a year since we’ve arrived? It didn’t seem possible. In my peripheral, a group of people comes through large double doors. They’re all females, ranging from different ends of the age spectrum. Four or five have round, protruding bellies. I scan each of their faces until I see the dark eyes and hair of someone I know.
Netty.
I call out her name, but she doesn’t break from the conversation she’s having. My gaze travels down to her midsection where lies a sizable, round bump.
“Netty!” I bang on the glass but can’t get her attention.
Jasco enters the room, but it doesn't stop me from smacking the glass and calling out to my now pregnant sister. She was barely seventeen and from the looks of it about to be a mother sometime soon.
“You have to stop,” Jasco says. He looks behind him to the door. “I can’t stop them from reprimanding you.”
“Let them,” I say. “I want her to see me.” I bang on the glass again and shout until my voice goes hoarse.
A guard barrels through the door and lunges for me. My face smacks against the glass as he restrains my arms.
“How could you,” I say to Jasco. I know my anger is misdirected, but the rage inside replaces all rational thought. “She’s just a girl.”
The guard orders me to shut my mouth, but instead I whack the back of my head into his face. He stumbles back, and I go for the window again.
“No...Netty!”
The group is being ushered away, and I’ve lost my chance.
The guard spins me around and backhands my face. Hair sticks to my cheeks in a sweaty mess. I brace for the sting of the whammy gun as it hits my neck.
* * * *
I haven’t moved from bed for anything but using the bathroom. Another tray of uneaten food lies near the door. I don’t know how much time has passed but the bruising above my eye is fading. I’m sure the mark on my
neck won’t fade as well. The cell door opens, and a guard stands with the burlap bag. On autopilot, I slip on my shoes and wait for him to put it on. It smells musty, and the tiny loose fibers always tickle my nose.
When he removes the bag in the breeding room, Luka’s eyes widen.
“What happened?” He meets me where the guard left me.
Tears prick my eyes. The lack of food has weakened my limbs and my spirit.
“I saw Netty,” I say.
“What? Luka examines my eye and then gingerly touches the burn mark on my neck. “Jesus,” he says. “What did you do?”
I wipe my eyes, mad that I’m crying. “She was in some courtyard with other women. Margaret set it up. Jasco took me to this common room, and I saw her through the window.” I brush the hair from my face. “She’s pregnant, Luka.”
He pulls me in close. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. Nothing will ever be okay again.”
My anger slowly replaces sadness.
“It’s done, Hazel. There’s nothing you can do about it now. At least you know she’s alive.”
I push away from him and sit on the bed. “Margaret and my mother were best friends. She can get us out of here.”
“She’s one of them,” he says. “You can’t trust her.”
“She helped once. She’ll do it again. I know it.”
“You can’t do this.” He sits next to me, panic rising in his voice. “If you try to escape, they’ll just catch you and torture you or kill you.”
“Well, I’m not asking for your permission.”
“You’re being stubborn!”
I turn to look at him and repeat the very words he muttered once before. “If you don’t feel the urge to fight, then I feel bad for you.”
Chapter 11
A guard snatches me out of bed. My thoughts are so preoccupied I hadn’t even heard him come in.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
No response as usual. He clutches the burlap bag in one hand and the whammy in the other. I’ve seen Pigeons use whammies back home to cripple people to the ground. The sight of their bodies convulsing against the electricity moving through their flesh was a nauseating sight. I guess I’ve earned a reputation.
The walk we take is longer than usual. We can’t be going to the breeding room; not enough time has passed since the last cycle. And Margaret came to collect my cup just a few days ago. A slight thrill passes through my body thinking there is a chance I could be seeing Netty again. Maybe we’d be in the same room and I could hug her, tell her I’m getting us out. I just have to figure out how.
We stop and I hear a door shut heavy behind me. The guard walks me a few more steps and then rips the burlap from my face. It’s a sterile room with not much in it, save for a stainless-steel table and a few chairs. A glaring bulb burns brightly overhead.
“Sit.” The guard drags me toward the chair and tightens a belt around my lap.
He removes the restraints from my wrists and then places each arm on either side of the chair before locking them there. He repeats this for each leg.
My heartbeat quickens when he walks away and through the door. The shreds of excitement about seeing Netty shrivel in the pit of my stomach. I try to move my arms and legs, but they don’t budge. It’s an exasperating feeling being stuck here with the unknown lurking in the darkened corners of the room.
Footsteps echo behind me. From either side of my vision, I see two people approach the table. One is Margaret, the other I don’t know. The expression on his face doesn’t bode well for me. He unbuttons the jacket of his suit, then sits next to Margaret. The crow’s feet around his eyes match the creping on the skin of his hands.
Margaret looks at me with a blank stare. Can she see the panic on my face? My heart may jump from my chest and land on the table.
Margaret slides a file folder to his side of the table without breaking her stare. The man opens it and pulls out reading glasses.
“Hazel Marie DeSales,” he says.
I’ve never hated the sound of my name before.
“Father, Jacob DeSales. Mother, Catherine Spencer DeSales. Sister, Nannette Lucille DeSales.”
My teeth grind as he reads the names as if it were a grocery list.
“Your mother was a nurse. I worked with her a bit in the Capital hospital.” He chuckles. “Goodness, I guess I should introduce myself. I’m Dr. Walter Freeman. I’m the Chief Doctor here.” He pauses a minute.
“I would applaud but…” I gesture to my hands.
Dr. Freeman smiles wider. “That was just the sort of spark your mother had.”
“You don’t know anything about my mother.”
He leans back in his chair. “On the contrary. Your mother was one of my top nurses. Margaret was under her tutelage and became the head nurse after she--”
“Was murdered?” I say.
The smile drops from the doctor’s face. I can’t fathom how Margaret can stand sitting through this.
“I believe we have two different versions of that,” he says.
“The truth only has one version,” I reply. I refuse to be outwitted by a fancy suit and a medical degree.
Dr. Freeman clears his throat. “In any case Ms. DeSales, you’re here to complete a very important mission. A mission that many in your same cohort have already accomplished.”
“The mission of breeding us like endangered animals?” I say.
“Why yes, how else do you think we are going to solve this crisis?”
I didn’t have the answer, and the smug look on the doctor’s face was enough to make me break through these restraints.
“Do you know what will happen if we choose to do nothing?” he continues. “Our species will careen further and further toward oblivion. You are an important part of conservation efforts.”
“Judging by the quality of our species,” I say, “that might not be such a bad thing.” An itch sits on the edge of my nose. I ignore it the best I can.
“When members of a species simply refuse to mate outside their normal habitat, it becomes a problem,” Dr. Freeman says. “Those who become an obstacle must be eliminated.”
Suddenly, the disappearance of those who made same sex pairings in the cafeteria made sense.
“You murder innocent people,” I say.
“It’s a systematic approach. The cost-benefit analysis of homosexuality was used to determine the best strategy to achieve benefits while preserving our mission.”
I scoff. “We are not lab animals. We can handle our own breeding like humans have done for thousands of years before.”
Dr. Freeman folds his hands on the table. “Such low genetic diversity doesn’t bode well for a strong population.”
“I’m not the first person to refuse, and I won’t be the last,” I say.
“Nearly thirty percent of babies born in the outside wards die at birth or shortly thereafter,” Margaret says. “The percentage of fertile men and women still surviving is even lower.” It sounds as if she’s reading a script.
“Genetic weaknesses are rampant,” Dr. Freeman says, “so the Propagation Project ensures the strongest genetic matches copulate to ensure the survival of our species.”
There’s no mention of the brutal raids and the Pigeons who abuse their power over the rest of us.
“You can’t do that to people,” I say. “Not everyone wants to procreate.”
“This is a purely functional act that is void of any emotional or mental attachments. There is no room for anyone not interested in doing their duty to society. Those who refuse will perish as the unforgiven.”
“What about fixing the real problem?” I say. “Instead of making us pay for your mistakes.”
“What are you referring to?” Dr. Freeman says.
Margaret’s facial expression subtlety shifts.
“The Affliction. The cause of all this. The Capital is responsible. The Capital poisoned their own people.”
Something stirs in the do
ctor. “You will comply and do your duty.”
“I won’t comply!” The anger is swelling like a rogue wave about to crash ashore. “You’re murderers!”
The doctor’s hand goes beneath the table and a guard rushes through the door. The doctor signals him before getting up and leaving the room.
“Hazel, just do as they say,” Margaret says.
“You’re just as bad as they are. You are no friend of my mother.”
The guard flips a switch and yells, “Comply.”
A jolt rocks my body. My adrenaline is pumping hard, so it’s just a sting.
“Children!” I say. “You force children to make babies.” Another jolt and this one is stronger.
“Hazel, please,” Margaret says.
“Comply,” the guard shouts. He delivers another shock.
My body tenses into a giant cramp and then crumples. “I won’t.”
Another shock.
Then another.
“Stop,” Margaret yells at the guard. “Anymore and you’ll fry every viable cell. We still need her.”
The guard drops his hand.
My head hangs on my chest. I feel the saliva pool at the corner of my lips. Tingles still lurk in my feet and hands. A fierce pain radiates from my jaw to my temples. Among the haze of my meek existence in the moment, one thought remains clear in my head.
The unforgiven will not perish.
Chapter 12
Margaret walks me to my cell. I can barely use my legs, so she’s carrying most of my weight.
“Margaret,” I rasp, “what happens…” My tongue gets stuck in my dry mouth.
“Rest, Hazel. We’re almost to your room.”
“What happens to the babies?” I say.
She lays me on the bed, then turns to leave. I reach out for her pant leg.
“Don’t worry about that now,” she says.
I hate the pity I see in her eyes.
“Just tell me.” I want to yell but can’t. “What happens to them?”
“They’re given good homes in the Capital. That’s all you need to know for now.”
I feel her hand push the hair from my face. It’s such a tender touch that I think I’m dreaming of my mother.
The Unforgiven (The Propagation Project Book 1) Page 5