Three knocks sounded and a muffled voice found its way through. “Come out, now. This floor isn't designed for little ones. Open the door before you get hurt.”
“What is disposal?” 62 shouted back.
There was a long pause before the voice answered. “I'm sorry. Your anomaly isn't one we can repair. We have to remove you from the system.”
“But what does that mean?” 62 screamed.
“Just open the door.”
62 ignored the Man. There wasn't any way out of the room, but he wouldn't let them in to get him. A desk and chair sat in the center of the room. 62 tucked himself underneath, out of sight of the jiggling door handle.
A moment later he heard the click of the latch. The hinges swung quietly but the knob bumped the wall when the door opened fully. 62 watched a pair of shoes walk across the carpet, around the desk and stop behind the chair. “I'm sorry,” was all the shoes had to say.
CHAPTER 45
62 WIGGLED HIS TOES in protest as the Transportation Aides pushed him down a long hallway. Gone were the flickering yellow lights, replaced with overpowering white bars of illumination that made the quick moving Machines gleam. The gurney stopped rolling when it approached a group of patients waiting just outside a large metal door.
The door had no window or handle. It was set into the wall between wide steel panels that held hundreds of thick rivets. The Aides loosened the straps around 62's hands and feet, but held him tight by his forearms to keep him from running again as they guided him into line.
The others who waited at the door were solemn. Most didn’t even look up as 62 and his custodians approached. There were Men. Boys. Small fidgeting toddlers. Two babies squealed in the arms of red-eyed Nannies.
A robotic head eased down from the ceiling. One singular red eye scanned the group. A high-pitched melodic voice chimed from above. “Hello. Thank you for participating in Adaline. I regret to inform you that you have acquired an anomaly that cannot be repaired. Please, be a good citizen and enter the containment area.”
Long segmented arms reached out from the gantry. The curved grip of their hands clipped at the air above the people’s heads, waiting for someone to disobey. The Transportation Aides released their hold. The large metal door opened with a whine that rang in 62's ears and he was thankful that he had use of his arms again so he could cover them.
When the door hung open, 62 dropped his hands with a gasp. “I know this place.”
“Improbable.” The red eyed orb moved toward 62 and chirped. “This location is for biological disposal only. You are not authorized to operate this device.”
The arms gripped 62’s shoulders and pushed him forward. His feet tried to grip the floor, but the slick tile only squeaked beneath his toes. The other Boys and Men shuffled forward, entering the metal box without protest. But 62 had seen this place before when he shared a dream with the doctor from Level 2. In the dream, flames shot out from just inside the doorway. Now, as he was being pushed into the gaping opening, it lay quiet and unassuming. But he knew the fate that awaited him.
“No!” 62 shouted. He tried to pull the claw-like arms off of his shoulders, but they only tightened their grasp. “I'm not unwell! My anomaly can be fixed. I can be a good Boy.”
“Thank you for cooperating.” The red eye peered down at him as it continued to guide him into the room. It pushed him past the younger Boys near the door, toward a side wall. The vice-like grip forced him down onto a bench coated in black silt.
62 wept as the Machine strapped a belt around his waist, preventing him from rushing the door. Small, spindly bots with long, wiry arms skittered across the room, buckling the others down. The deep red eye of the Machine that tightened 62’s strap cooed, “Too tight?”
62 screamed in response.
The disposal Machine backed out of the door, waving a claw in farewell. The smaller bots collided with one another as they raced out of the closing door. The babies cried, their voices mingling in the air with 62’s screams. Men and Boys looked worried, but remained silent. Obedient.
They were all doomed to die.
CHAPTER 46
62 CLOSED HIS EYES IN fear of the flames he remembered from the doctor's dream. He held his breath, waiting for the oxygen to be sucked from his lungs. He waited, crying and trembling in the dark until he couldn't hold his breath any longer.
A slight click was heard toward the back of the room, and he felt warm air rush past his face. He braced himself against the wall, anticipating the shooting pain of his final moments. Every muscle stung as it strained against his restraints.
Between the babies’ cries from across the room, 62 heard a snicker. “Don't worry. I ain't gonna bite.”
62 eased an eye open. A low hatch at the back of the room was wedged open. Air flowed from the small gap in the metal wall near the place 62 was strapped to the bench. Light streamed in around a Boy's upside-down head, turning his hair gold and putting his face in shadow.
“What’s going on?” A Man’s nervous voice called out.
“Who are you?” 62 asked. The babies cried louder.
The Boy scrambled in, flicking on a portable light strapped to his shoulder. “You don't even recognize your old friend, Blue?” The Boy moved swiftly, undoing the restraint around 62's waist.
“What are you doing here?” 62 was exasperated, his voice coming in a shout of emotion. A stream of Boys flowed in through the open hatch. The quiet click of unbuckled straps repeated in 62’s ear.
Blue covered 62’s mouth and pulled him off the bench. “Shhhh. Not so loud. This box may be fireproof, but it sure ain't soundproof.” He waited for everyone to be unstrapped and standing. “Now everybody scream a little. Make it sound like we’re cutting your legs off.”
62 stood in the center of the dark box. “Aaaaaahhh.”
A few other voices moaned with him. The babies wailed and the Boys holding them moved closer to the hatch. Blue turned from where he was re-strapping the belt to the bench. “Come on. You all can do better than that.”
“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!” Everyone yelled in agony. A chorus of despair. The Men’s voices drowned out the crying babies.
Blue winked. “That's the stuff. Keep going.”
All of the Boys who had come in through the hatched worked in a flurry. They dumped soot onto the benches where the prisoners sat a moment before. They dipped their hands in the mess and spread hand prints over the walls.
Blue moved behind 62, pulled out a blade and cut into his neck.
“OOOWW!” 62 spun around to find Blue grinning, holding his chip between the fingers of the hand not holding a scalpel. All around him, the others did the same.
Blue tossed the chip into the soot, waved his hand toward the hatch, and everyone began climbing through. The light was blinding. It was warm in a way that 62 had never felt before. He crawled away from the large metal box, shielding his eyes with one hand and groping through the dirt with the other. Blades of grass wove their way through his fingers.
62 stopped. He sat on his haunches and forced his eyes to focus in the bright light that seemed to be coming from everywhere. Someone bumped into him from behind and he scooted forward a few more yards. Grass padded his knees and the thin blades were unexpectedly sharp between his fingers. Dozens of other bodies bounded through a field just ahead. Blue turned, looking for 62.
“Come on!” Blue shouted as he ran back to where 62 sat, dumbstruck by his surroundings. “You kids are always so stupid when you come out of that box. We've got to get out of here before one of those patrol bots comes by this side of the building.”
62 looked up and saw the fence where some of the others were standing, waving their arms and shouting for those still in the field to hurry. Blue grabbed 62 by the tunic and pulled him to his feet, urging him on again. “Let's go, dummy.”
Adrenaline pumped through 62's veins. “This isn't a dream?”
“No. Those bots are real as anything, and they're going to check on us any minu
te.” Blue looked over his shoulder and waved at the others to go on without them.
“I'm not dead?”
“Not yet.” Blue grinned.
“Okay. I'm ready.” 62's feet started moving toward the fence at the far end of the field. The long grass slapped against his legs as he ran. The sun beat down on his bare neck, making the cut on his neck sting with heat and sweat. He reached the fence and turned around, wanting one quick glance of Adaline from outside.
The structure loomed over the overgrown lawn. Its sharp lines were broken by orderly panes of glass, spread out across the building. It looked tattered and forgotten, worn beyond repair. And yet, so many lives were spread out inside of it. “Not inside.” 62 whispered. “Below.”
Something metallic gleamed around the corner. 62 gasped when Blue tugged his tunic. He spun on his heel and dove through a gap in the diamond-patterned fence, then helped Blue push the wire back into place so it looked like one continuous panel again.
“This way.” Blue urged before diving down into a ditch. 62 followed. He ducked below the protection of green plants. Sun dotted his skin from overhead. The air moved all around him, filling his lungs and whispering for him to keep going. It wasn’t a dream. He was outside, and it was more real than anything he’d ever known.
END OF BOOK TWO
Curie
For Corie, The Woman of Excellence.
She was the first reader to ask, “Why are there only Boys?”
September 13th, 1943
MARGARET,
It took several months of arguing, persuasion, and cajoling, but I’ve received word that my request for a separate laboratory and housing site is being considered. Thank you for your dedication in this great effort to convince our male companions that their subjects will survive without the servitude of our weaker sex. Oppie has taken up our cause as his own. The division of genders will dissolve this idiotic practice of Men scampering away with our research and crossing out our names before adding their own. As my mother used to say, the easiest way to get clear results is to empty the lab of incompatible specimens.
With deepest regards,
Anne
A memo from Mother to her assistant.
CHAPTER 1
AS SOON AS THEY MADE it over the hill beyond the fence line, the escapees stopped running. Their rescuers approached a few boxes hidden in a mass of plants that grew in the shade of a trench on the far side of the hill. One of the Men opened the crates and pulled out stacks of small packages. He passed them out to his helpers.
Blue approached Boy 1124562. "Eat the meal tab, drink the stuff in the little pouch. We won’t get another chance to eat again for a while. Open the brown packet and put it on as soon as you’re done. There's a pocket in the front to store the silver packet. In that white bag is a mask. It goes over your head and wraps around your ears. Put it on and don’t take it off."
Blue moved on to the other escapees so quickly that 62 didn't have time to ask questions. Blue was 62’s only remaining friend in the world. Despite the warnings that Adaline’s defense team had given him about Blue and the other renegades, 62 trusted him. 62 did as he was told, gulping down the impromptu meal, opening the brown package and unfolding it. It looked like a misshapen bedsheet. He watched one of the others drape the sheet over their head. He searched the middle of his own sheet until he found one hole for his head and another two for his arms.
“Ow,” he hissed. The heavy fabric brushed across the bleeding cut where his chip had been not too long ago. Blue had cut it out of him before leaving Adaline, and the small wound was still fresh. The sting dulled to a low throb as he adjusted the fabric. He found the pocket on the front and tucked the small silver packet inside. It took him a couple of tries to get the black mask adjusted so that it didn’t slip so low that he couldn’t see out of the eye holes or bend his ears forward. Once it was on, he scrunched his face at the discomfort it offered. At least it was a distraction from the cut on his neck. His breath blew back over his already sweating skin with each exhale. The wet heat made his face feel like it was melting below the mask.
The group was now sheathed in drab brown color, the shapes of their bodies masked by the bulky coverings they wore. It was easy to pick out who the rescuers were now, however. Instead of the black oblong face coverings that Adaline’s castoffs wore, the people who had come to save them each had a mask of a different color. One of them, a Man in a black and yellow mask, stepped onto a mound above the recess where everyone else stood, making him a full head taller than the others. He cleared his throat and raised his hands in the air, the brown fabric of the covering he wore flapping against itself noisily. The fabric of his face mask pinched in against itself when his jaw dropped as he began to speak.
"Quiet please." His firm voice made everyone hush. There was a softness around the edges of his words as they escaped his mask. "My name is Chance. I’m leading this rescue operation. If you hope to make it through the day alive, you will all listen to me. You've been given three items. The two sheets are called ponchos. They’re noisy and uncomfortable, but you have to wear your poncho until we arrive at our destination. This thing,” he poked at his cheek, denting the fabric of his mask, “is a filtration device. It’ll keep dust and other debris out of your nose and mouth. Do not take your mask off unless told to. Don’t even lift it to scratch your chin. The mask is annoying. It’s hot. But it’s necessary if you’re going to make it to your new home alive.” Chance paused a moment. A mass of brown-clad bodies and brown eyes glinting through the lenses of their covered faces stared back at him.
“As of this moment, you are outlaws. The camouflage of your poncho is all that protects you from those that hunt you. We’re lucky that it looks like we've left Adaline unseen, but there are still patrol bots on this side of the fence. If they see something that looks human, they’ll shoot. If they hear something that sounds human, they’ll shoot. From this point forward, we’ve got to appear as inhuman as possible." Another Man walked up beside him and whispered something. Chance leaned down from his improvised stage to listen and nodded. He righted himself and looked toward the back of the group. "We have infants and toddlers with us this go ’round. That’s a real problem. If you've been assigned a baby, please do your best to keep it quiet. Keep the kids in their masks without riling them up enough that they cry. We don't need a heap of sirens helping the bots track us."
A hand raised from beneath a brown blob. Chance nodded at it and a voice emerged. "I'm sorry, I don't understand. What are we doing, exactly?"
An audible sigh leaked from the leader's mask. "You, each and every one of you, were deemed imperfect in the eyes of Adaline. You were going to be murdered in the furnace we extracted you from." Whispers rustled amongst the shifting ponchos. "Our rescuing you is illegal. By virtue of remaining alive, you are now outlaws in the eyes of Adaline."
He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in. 62 looked down at the tent of material around his body. He wasn't sure how a couple sheets of noisy fabric and an odd-looking mask would save him from Defense, but he swore to himself that he wouldn't take them off. Others around him seemed to come to the same realization, and hugged the wide swaths of fabric close.
Chance cleared his throat again. "I know that committing a crime is against your nature. It goes against everything that Adaline has ever taught you. If you feel that you cannot violate Adaline’s laws to come with us, we can leave you here to be discovered by their patrol units. They’ll offer to return you to Adaline to be executed as planned. If you refuse to return with them they’ll kill you. Death as a reward for following the law doesn’t sit well with most folks, so if you think you can live with yourself for committing this crime, you’re welcome to come with us. There’s a long, silent, and difficult journey ahead. But if you follow our instructions and keep your head down, there's a safe place for you with our people in Hanford." He looked into the upturned face of each potential outlaw. "Is there anyone who wants to return to Adaline?"
62 held his breath. The pain of anxiety sparked in his chest as he waited for a voice to ring out. After a moment, it was clear that no one was volunteering to return to face the Head Machine and its inevitable punishment.
"Good." The material of the Man’s mask plumped and his eyes relaxed through its lenses. "Before we get going, there’s one more thing.” Chance raised a long, dark metal device above his head with both hands. “This is a rifle. You’ll see a few of us carrying them and it’s important for you to know that they’re dangerous. Do not, under any circumstances, try to touch, pick up, or use a rifle. We have them on hand to protect the group from bots and wild animals, and they are deadly.”
Chance lowered the rifle back down, tucking it under his poncho, the fabric so loose that the long metal tool disappeared. Once situated, he addressed the group again. “Remember, no talking until we give the all clear. You two," he gestured to a couple of the adults, "grab those boxes. We can’t leave them behind for a bot to find. Now, everyone, follow me."
The group shuffled together and forward in small steps until their bodies had sorted themselves into a single file line. They followed their new leader out past the green bushes into a vast brown expanse of dirt and dry, harsh scrub. Once beyond the shade of the larger shrubs, the heat rolled off the packed ground and over 62's exposed forehead and hands. It was a sensation he'd never felt before, and he wasn't sure he liked it. He pulled the hood of his poncho down low over the top of his mask and tucked his hands into folds in the fabric to shield him from the heat. He put his head down and followed the rippling sheet that flapped in the wind on the trail ahead of him. He wondered what kind of place they were marching toward.
The Adaline Series Bundle 1 Page 35