CHAPTER 10
62 JUMPED OVER HURDLES with the rest of his brothers. Of course, 62 wouldn't exactly call it jumping. It felt more like he was hopping up on too-short legs before letting gravity help him fall over the tall bars. As always, Trainer bounded over the rails around the track ahead of them as if they were nothing.
Ten cycles had passed since his dream with 71. They had decided that 62's only option was to find a way to injure himself badly enough to be pulled from the program to heal. The idea seemed simple, but 62 was having a hard time actually getting injured. It wasn't for lack of trying, of course. His body had simply turned out to be more resilient than he had ever given it credit for.
So far, 62 had tried falling down stairs, getting caught in the jamb of a heavy swinging door, and tripping himself so he'd knock into walls. None of the attempts resulted in any injury worse than a few scrapes and bruises. The PTS had worked tenderly and efficiently to heal those. The only other consequence of his newfound clumsiness was that now all of the other Boys in the group laughed at him.
62 jogged around the corner of the track. He was just about to enter the long row of hurdles again. He looked down the line, choosing the one that he would fall on. Trying to make the coming fall look like an accident, he threw his ungainly body over the first few hurdles. The one he'd chosen to trip over bobbed into view with every jump. When the selected hurdle was just in front of him, he sprung his body forward with all his might. His left shoulder slammed into the checkered railing and he felt the metal bar crash sharply against the bone in his shoulder. The hurdle flipped over. It toppled with 62 end over end and knocked the hurdles in the neighboring lanes over as well.
62 could hear the shouts of other Boys. The quiet patter of their feet on the rubber track. Voices calling to their Trainer. 62 laid still, willing some part of his body to be hurt. He wiggled his fingers, flexed his feet and shifted his shoulders and hips. He could tell that his skin had broken from sliding along the grip of the rubber floor, but everything else seemed to be in order.
“Everyone, stay back.” Trainer appeared upside-down above 62's head. A grin curved along his lips. “Ah, my star athlete. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Good. Here's what you're going to do. First, you're going to get your sorry self up and start those hurdles over. From the beginning.”
62 sat up and turned around to face Trainer. “But I already did five whole laps before I fell!”
The Man glared down at 62. “From the beginning.”
62 nodded.
Trainer looked over his shoulder at the rest of the Boys who had huddled together on the edge of the track. “Everybody, get back to jumping those hurdles. Before I make all of you start at the beginning.”
Each Boy twitched from the threat and sprinted back to his place on the track. Two Boys picked up the few fallen hurdles before they returned to the exercise as well. 62 picked himself up off of the ground and wiped the dust from his clothes.
“Are you really okay?” Trainer asked the question in a low voice.
“Yeah. I don't think anything's broken.” 62 sighed.
“Good. It's going to take you a while longer than everyone else to finish your hurdles since you're starting over. I'll be sitting up in the bleachers. Come see me when you're done.”
62 trotted back to the track and restarted his first lap. He groaned as he jumped the first hurdle. The other Boys looked just as tired as he did, but they had the advantage of being halfway through their exercise. As he moved, feet dragging a little slower with each lap, the other Boys began to finish. He watched longingly as they disappeared back up the stairwell that led to their cubes. Eventually he was the only Boy left.
His lungs burned and a new pain crept up the front of both shins with every step he took. He was aware of Trainer watching him. 62 could feel the Man's gaze burning through him as he rounded the last turn. He tripped over the last couple of hurdles. This time it wasn't on purpose. 62 was exhausted.
Once he crossed the finish line, 62 doubled over. His head dropped below his knees and his lungs struggled for air. He felt dizzy, right before his stomach tightened and a stream of vomit forced its way out of him, landing with a wet slap on the track.
“You would make a mess of my stadium.” Trainer was suddenly standing above him. The Man tossed a towel down on the ground to soak up the new puddle.
“Sorry.” 62 croaked.
“I know what you're trying to do.” Trainer remarked.
“You do?” 62 craned his neck to look up at Trainer without standing up. The change in angle made his head swirl. His legs wobbled beneath him. Trainer laughed.
“Let’s sit down.” Trainer placed a hand between 62's shoulders and helped him over to the first row of seats beside the track. After 62 eased into a chair, the Man trotted to the end of the row to fetch a drink bottle. When he returned, he handed it to 62, who sucked the liquid down greedily. “I know it doesn't seem like it most of the time, but I'm here to help you.”
62 looked at Trainer suspiciously. “Help me with what?”
Trainer glanced at a passing PTS unit. The Machine noticed the towel on the track and went to clean it up. Trainer waved at the PTS when it looked their direction and it waved back. He waited for the Machine to finish its job before speaking again. “I'm going to help to make sure you make it through T.A.S.K.”
“Well, that's your job, isn't it?” 62 hadn't meant to sound sarcastic, and he shook his head at himself as soon as the words left his lips.
“It's my job to push Boys to their limits. To test your bodies and see how they respond to different situations.” Trainer shrugged. “Mostly, my job is to find Boys with the ability to fight and make sure they get placed into Defense. All of the other Boys’ training is superficial. They won't be too active aside from bending a wrist to turn a wrench, or stretching a finger to push a button now and then.”
“What does that have to do with me?” 62 turned to face the Man straight on. “I tested pretty well in C.A.T. but I'm not that great at anything here.”
“Maybe you don't stand out in the ways the Machines want you to. But I know that deep down, you have some hidden talents.” Trainer whispered, “The kinds of talents that need to be protected.”
“You mean...”
Trainer nodded.
“Who told you?” 62's failed whisper was louder than it should have been.
“I can't say. But, like I said before, I'm here to help. I know you've got a problem that needs solving, and I think I know what to do to help you. Are you feeling any better?”
62 took a deep breath. His innards had settled and the dizziness seemed to have passed. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Good. Come with me.” Trainer got up and headed toward the aisleway at the base of the stairs. 62 followed.
As soon as 62 got to within Trainer's reach, the Man grabbed at the Boy's wrist and twisted it back, hard. As 62 let out a startled cry, Trainer kicked him in the ribs. There was a tightness in 62's shoulder as he fell to the ground, and a pain like none he had ever felt exploded within him. He felt a pop in his shoulder and the crush of bone against bone.
The whole event happened so fast that 62 hardly knew how he had ended up on the ground. He cried out in shock and pain, crumpled on the floor against the lowest step of the stairwell. Trainer leaned over him. “How are you feeling now?”
62 sobbed. He clutched his shoulder with his good hand and screamed, “What did you do to me?”
“Oh, my.” Trainer shook his head. “It looks like when you took that nasty fall earlier, you got more injured than I realized. I'm no doctor, but I'd guess you dislocated your shoulder.”
The Man turned on his heel and walked away. He called back to 62, “Don't worry. A PTS unit will be on its way. You'll be heading to your friends in Medical before you know it.”
CHAPTER 11
62'S ARM DANGLED FROM his left side. He found that if he lay on the gurney perfect
ly still, the pain dulled enough that he could breathe. It was hard to remember to stay still, though. Every couple of minutes a new group of Boys found their way out into the stadium. Each group of trainees that passed by elicited gasps as the Boys pointed at the odd slope of his shoulder and the knot of swelling flesh under his shirt.
While the PTS had come quickly following the report of his injury, it had taken its sweet time connecting to whatever network it needed for authorization to get his shoulder looked at. It just kept chirping at him with its fake smile. Its voice cycling the same message over and over again. “Please wait for further instruction.”
Occasionally, a curious Boy would come too close to 62 to get a better look at his injury. This was the only time that the PTS took any action. Then it would spring forward on light and graceful legs and usher the Boy away.
“Why can't I have my regular PTS unit?” 62 asked the Machine. The face of the PTS flickered as it considered his question.
“Your Physical Therapy Specialist Unit is assigned to your pod. If pulled away from its post, it would not be available to the other Boys. That would be suboptimal for their care.” The unit's face took on a sympathetic gaze.
“I guess so. But it knows me. Maybe it would know better what to do.”
The PTS extended its hand and abruptly patted 62's non-injured shoulder. “There, there. I will notify your unit that you miss its attention.” The Machine's face dimmed for a moment. “I have contacted Physical Therapy Specialist Unit 74-320 to inform it of your distress. It expressed its deepest sympathies in regard to your condition and says it looks forward to your return.”
62 sighed and rolled his eyes.
The stadium lights dimmed. The end of the cycle was nearing. Finally, a Transportation Aide appeared in one of the lower-level doorways. The PTS nodded at its arrival and pushed the gurney toward the squat Machine.
When 62 and the PTS made it to the doorway, the gurney stopped. Both the PTS and Transportation Aide stared at one another for a long minute. The PTS's face glowed and dimmed rhythmically, and the Aide's lights flickered in response. Whatever message passed between them was lost to 62, but eventually the Transportation Aide gripped the foot of the gurney and pulled it down the hallway.
When 62 tried to sit up to see where the Transportation Aide was taking him, the Machine barked at him. “Please remain lying down for the duration of your transport. Keep your arms and legs inside the gurney at all times. Failure to obey may result in accidental injury.”
62 sighed as the Machine turned back around. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I've done this before.”
The Transportation Aide pulled 62 through a side door and onto the railway platform. The area was empty. “Where are we going?”
The blinking lights of the Transportation Aide's responders were visible in a crack along the Machine's neck. “You have been injured. Medical attention is required.”
“But aren't there doctors in T.A.S.K.?”
“Yes.”
62 looked up over his shoulder at the doors behind him. “Then why can't I just see one of them?”
The Transportation Aide ignored the question. 62 probably wouldn't have heard it anyway as the giant doors on either end of the platform creaked open. The familiar screech of the giant transport unit echoed through the tunnel beyond the door to their right. Suddenly the bright headlamp illuminated the void, and the doors widened, allowing the massive engine to pull slowly through the doorway.
The previous two times 62 had seen the transport unit, it had been attached to enough passenger cars to pull groups of Boys. This time there was only one short car behind the massive engine. A single door opened to the platform and the Transportation Aide pulled 62 through the doorway without another word.
Once inside, 62's gurney was locked into place along the far wall. The car was empty aside from 62 and the Machine that escorted him. Not a single chair graced the interior of the car. The door slid shut as the lights shut off. 62 blinked against the darkness as the car lurched forward. 62 could hear the pistons pump slowly in the dark, their rhythm gaining momentum as it began its trek through the dark tunnels to their destination. Wherever that may be.
CHAPTER 12
AS MUCH AS 62 ENJOYED the rail system, traveling in the dark was disorienting. The steady chugging of the engine and clicking of the steel wheels filled the air. The car bumped and swayed as it moved along. The steady rhythm made 62 sleepy, and it wasn't long before he lost track of which direction he thought the train was moving. Being strapped to the gurney in the dark certainly wasn't helping.
He allowed himself to drift into sleep. His imagination came alive and his mind escaped the confines of the gurney. He willed the lights to illuminate above him and pressed his hand to the wall. The crisp lines of reality shuddered. The railway car became pixelated and fuzzy. 62 pushed against the pixels beneath his palm. Dozens of tiny squares floated away from him into the darkness. A smile spread across his face.
62 cupped his hands around his mouth and exhaled, blowing a gust of wind that pushed the pixels that confined him away. They shattered into a billion tiny squares and fell to his feet. He waved his hands clockwise, and the air around him shifted. The wind swirled around him in a funnel, pulling bits of railway and track high overhead. The wind intensified with every exhale until the moving air thundered in his ears and whipped against his skin.
He splayed his fingers out flat in front of him, palms up, and pushed the bottom of the funnel high into the air. As it moved, the riot of pixels clapped together. Their friction snapped into a blaze of light that shot across the darkness of his dream. 62 made an “o” with his lips and blew. The swirling funnel cloud responded, swishing away from him.
62 realized that the gurney still stood beside him. He leaned against it casually, watching the storm drift. Every so often he'd dream a burst of electricity into existence and watch its sharp fingers illuminate the horizon. The tail of the funnel darted beneath the shock of light, crashing into the ground. Bursts of debris were tossed into the air each time the storm landed. Whole chunks of 62's dream were picked up by the steady cone of wind.
He wished that 71 could be here to see this. They'd once pored over a book together that discussed the theory of air movement. 62 racked his brain, trying to remember what the book had been called. He pressed his hands tightly together, and when he pulled them apart again a small blue book lay between his palms. He turned the book over to read the spine. Introductory Meteorology.
62 flipped through the pages until he found the picture that matched the destructive cone of wind turning on the horizon. The book called this presentation of air movement a “tornado”. 62 got up on the gurney, never taking his eyes off of the pages open before him. He settled in for a quick read, poring over the text. The writer of the book hypothesized that changes in atmospheric pressure could result in a variety of funnel formations. The idea was fascinating and 62 wondered what kind of Man could ever have imagined a time where the air might change.
The pages of the book fluttered beneath his fingertips. He tightened his grip to hold them down, but they flew to life, slapping against one another as if they'd come alive. The book was ripped from his hands as the tornado swept over him and the cover smacked his cheek as it flew up into the air. 62 rolled onto his back and looked up at the storm. Electricity crackled from the head of the funnel, reaching out at him in deadly cords. He tried to lift his hands to push the cyclone away, but his hands would not rise from the straps that now held them to the gurney.
The tiny pixels that the storm carried began to drop from the clouds above the storm. It started as a small tinkle of pieces falling here and there, but they began to drop faster. When they hit the ground, the tiny gray squares bounced along until they found the point where they originated and fixed themselves into place. 62 squirmed on the gurney as they rained down on him, slapping his skin with a thousand sharp points before bouncing away to where they belonged.
The more 62 tried to
turn away from the storm, the tighter the straps on the gurney became. The metal frame shuddered beneath him as the wind roared through it and 62 worried that the tornado would carry him away. He forced his eyes open and turned his head toward the edge of the stretcher. He'd lost control of the storm, but if he focused, he hoped he could force the wall beside him to build itself faster. The gurney began to drift, the wheels turning slowly as they rose up off of the floor.
“No!” 62 shouted into the storm. His voice was swallowed by the roar of the wind and the crashing of debris all around him. He forced himself to be calm. Focused on his breathing, counted his breaths until they became long and steady. “You can't take me.”
The dream responded. A thousand pixels snapped into place beside him and the gurney shuddered as the mounting brackets on the wall pulled it to them. The storm slowed. It dropped the remaining pixels into place. The funnel dispersed. The whole rail system rebuilt itself in an instant and the force of the world rebuilding itself pushed 62 awake with a start.
62's whole body wrenched against the gurney straps as he tried to leap up from his dream. He panted and shivered, clammy sweat beading on his skin. His eyes darted left and right into the dark until he remembered where he was. The rail car was silent. The Transportation Aide stood dormant, a single red blinking light the only indication that the Machine was still there. It didn't feel like the vehicle was moving. 62's erratic breathing was the only sound, and it echoed in the empty space.
“Hello?” 62 thought he heard the clang of something hitting the rails outside. The vibrating metal calmed so quickly that after a few seconds he decided he must have been mistaken. He looked at the slow blinking light of the Transportation Aide. 62 tried to steady his voice. “I am in need of assistance.”
The Adaline Series Bundle 1 Page 23