by Dawn Norwell
“Hey, what’s going on in there?!” Dr. Shaltra called, as he pushed unsuccessfully against the locked door. “You there! Go get Mr. Markavitch!” he called to one of his employees.
Footsteps receded down the hallway, and I was suddenly afraid for my life. If Thane were to catch me trying to escape Concord, he would show no mercy. It would be his an accomplishment in his eyes, the ultimate proof that he was loyal to the Syndicate above all else. He would love nothing more than to send me to the Ceremony of Sanctions. The idea made me nauseous.
After many failed attempts, I was finally able to surmount the impenetrable bolt. I hastily opened the large metal door to expose an underground tunnel. The passageway encompassed an iron pod big enough for just one person. With unsteady legs, I slid inside the small enclosure and shut the metal door behind me.
A massive whoosh of arctic air blew through the orb, sending a chill through me. “Decontamination complete,” a pleasant female voice said. “To continue, please provide your access code.”
My heart dropped; Leilani hadn’t mentioned needing a code to access the escape pod.
The banging on the door continued, sending tremors of fear coursing through my body. Desperate, I pressed any sequence of numbers I could think of into the small keypad. 1111. Nope. 1234. Nada. Time after time, I tried various combinations, and time after time, the numbers were incorrect.
As I continued trying, I heard heavy footsteps approaching. Thane had finally made his way to the office and was forcibly trying to open the door using his shoulder. The doors were thick and secure, but he was burly and strong and would find his way inside eventually. I needed that code, and I needed it now.
Think… think! I urged. My life depended on it.
Suddenly, I remembered Dr. Shaltra’s diploma that he’d hung so arrogantly on his wall, boasting his extensive education. He graduated top of his class in the year 2295, a high accomplishment.
I typed the year into the quarrelsome keypad, feeling a thrill of delight as the pleasant voice said, “Welcome, Dr. Shaltra.”
My elation was short-lived, as the pod lurched forward so forcefully, I was pinned against my seat, unable to move. I stifled my terrified scream as the pod was flung through the tunnel at breathtaking speed. Lights flashed around me, causing my eyes to water. I closed them tightly, feeling as though I might vomit. All I could do was hold on to the handlebars on either side of my chair, hoping and praying that the journey would be over soon.
In a matter of seconds, the orb came to an abrupt stop, nearly chucking me through the glass barrier. I opened my eyelids a fraction of an inch, as the world around me continued to gyrate. I forced back the bile that threatened to escape from my uneasy stomach.
Though I knew I had to hurry, I gave myself a moment to catch my breath, before pushing the door open, and crawling shakily out of the pod, remaining on my hands and knees until I was sure that I wouldn’t faint.
I tried to concentrate on my environment, to brace myself in case the Syndicate was on my tail, but it was so bright outside that I found my sight obstructed. After several agonizing minutes, my vision finally focused. What lay before me made me immediately question my decision to leave the dome.
For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but forsaken wasteland. Desiccated, desolate, and deserted terrain stretched for miles in all directions, broken only by the tall sand dunes hovering high overhead. The vast expanse of barren desert surrounded me, overwhelming me with its intensity. I had never felt as lonely as I did at that moment, as I stared into the abyss.
In the distance, glistening in the bright sun, I noticed a large, metallic rotunda. My heart faltered when I realized that this building, so remote that I could barely make it out, was Concord. I was officially outside of the dome- far outside.
The realization weighed heavy on my shoulders. What had I done? Should I have thought this through before acting so impulsively on Leilani’s words? Was Concord truly as bad as I made it out to be, or did it only seem that way because I had never experienced another way of life? At that moment, all I wanted was to turn back, to gravel at the feet of the Syndicate, and beg for their forgiveness.
But I knew this was impossible. The Syndicate would never forgive me for my actions, would never let bygones be bygones. If I returned, I would be made an example of for the other members of Concord who might think of fleeing.
No, returning to the dome was not an option. I had made a choice, one that was sure to mean my execution should I ever return to Concord. There could be no going back now.
Despite the overwhelming anxiety coursing through me, I knew what I had to do. I had to get as far away from the Concord and the Syndicate as possible, and hope that there really was another community out there who might be willing to take me in.
With all of the courage I could muster, I climbed to my feet and began making my way through the desert, leaving the only home I had ever known in the distance behind me.
CHAPTER SEVEN: WANDERING THE WASTELANDS
T he ground beneath my feet gurgled violently. Grayish blue steam bubbled up from the earth’s surface, invading my nostrils with its putrid smell. Decades of hearing the horror stories of radiation poisoning emerged in my mind as I glared at the angry fumes. Holding my breath, I took off my jacket and tied it around my neck to create an improvised blockade. It wouldn’t be as effective as a gas mask would be, but hopefully it would help limit my exposure to the venomous vapors.
In school, we learned about weather in the wastelands, how the depletion of the ozone layer created heat waves beyond anything our world had ever experienced before. It wasn’t uncommon for the temperatures to reach well over one hundred and twenty degrees.
I never fully appreciated the dome’s protection until I was standing alone in the sweltering wastelands, painstakingly aware of the aggressive sun as it beat down from overhead, scorching my skin and leaching my body of its moisture. Sweat dripped from my face and formed on my back, saturating my clothes within minutes.
I was able to overlook the warmth at the beginning of my expedition, using adrenaline from my escape to propel me further and faster away from Concord, the heat being a slightly annoying, but bearable nuisance. It didn’t take long for this stimulus to fade. Before long, I was dragging my feet, fatigued, and dehydrated.
The heat was unyielding, bearing down on me without mercy. The only semblance of shelter in the vast desert where the large boulders spread sporadically across the sands, offering little reprieve from the unforgiving sun.
When I first escaped Concord, my biggest fear was that I might get captured and brought back for trial. But as I walked through the desert, the sun beating relentlessly on my back, I would have gladly welcomed the Syndicate’s punishments if it meant being liberated from this hell. After twelve hours of traveling across the wretched wastelands, death looked less like a foreboding penance, and more like a sweet release from my agony.
I kept walking, unsure where I was going, but knowing that I had to get there. As I delved further into the desolate vastness, my uneasiness amplified. There was no other life in sight- no animals, no plants, no long-lost communities. I was unequivocally alone.
I took this as a bad omen- if the land and air were too contaminated for other living creatures, it would probably be just as detrimental for me. Who knew what damage my body was incurring at that very moment? Between the heat and the fumes, I began to fear that I would soon meet my death. It took all of my willpower to keep myself going.
I stumbled mindlessly along, more exhausted than I’d ever been in my life. I was violently sick on multiple occasions, depleting my body of its precious water and nutrients. By a couple of hours in, my body was visibly shaking.
You’ll find water eventually, I thought, trying to ease the discomfort in my parched throat. But I knew deep down that even if I did find water, it would be too tainted to safely drink.
It will be nighttime soon, I thought, but the sultry sun never seemed to
go away. In Concord, it would already be dark. But in the wastelands, daylight didn’t seem to follow the law of physics, because the sun’s deadly rays never faltered.
I passed bones scattered sparsely across the dried soil. I took them in with cold indifference, vaguely wondering if they were animal or human. All I could think about was how much I didn’t want to join the land of the dead, to become just another skeleton lost in the desert for some other unfortunate soul to stumble upon a few years from now.
I knew that I was in trouble when my body started to go numb. I could no longer feel my dry mouth, my raw and sunburnt skin, the hunger gnawing in my belly, my aching legs. Although the desensitization provided some respite from my agony, I would take this pain tenfold than the terror of knowing I was so close to death’s door.
Before long, my deadened legs gave out. I tried to stand, but I couldn’t muster the energy to get back to my feet. It was as if I was outside my own body, as I grabbed handfuls of sand and allowed the specks to pour slowly between my fingers, as though it were the time of an hourglass, counting down to the moments until I would leave this cruel world.
This wouldn’t be the worst death, I thought, lying in the fetal position on the withered earth. I could have been killed by the TIMs, or at the hands of the Syndicate, instead. At least being in the wastelands was my choice; at least I was going out on my own terms.
The idea consoled me, and my lips curled into a smile. I closed my eyes, my mind venturing to memories of my parents, of Leilani, of all of the other loved ones that I would being seeing soon, as I was slowly pulled into black oblivion.
**********
Am I in heaven? I wondered as a tingling sensation flowed through my body. I wasn’t sure if I believed in the afterlife, but now I knew that it must exist. What other reason would there be for the resurgence of life coursing through my limbs? Why else would I feel the cool air blowing on my face?
But if I was in the hereafter, I couldn’t be in heaven. Heaven was supposed to be a peaceful nirvana, free of the cruelties of the world. Heaven wouldn’t allow me to be in this much pain.
I had to stifle a gasp as the feeling came hammering back into my body, forcing me to acknowledge every ounce of damage done by the wastelands. My lungs burned profusely as my they tried to reject the toxic fumes I’d inhaled. My skin was scorched and tender from the inexorable sun. My legs throbbed, and I was certain that there was some extensive damage to my muscles.
I wanted to stretch out my extremities and ease some of the ache, but I couldn’t move. I was conscious enough to feel the pain in my lethargic body, but not so much so that I had control over my movements. I was trapped in this state of paralysis, causing panic to course through me.
“How is she?” a deep voice asked in the distance.
My breathing caught when I realized that there were other people nearby. A whole new level of fear flooded through me. Had the Syndicate found me after all? If I was back in Concord, the discomfort I was feeling now would be nothing compared to what was to come.
“Not much change,” a female voice responded. “She’s in an induced coma. I’m hoping that the morphine helps, but she took a lot of damage from the gasses. You barely found her in time,” the woman said. “What do you think she was doing out there? Another exile?”
“No, she still has her barcode. She must be a runner. Some privileged suit girl who decided life in the wastelands would be better than the cushy world where she grew up,” the man snorted, resentment coloring his voice.
I was surprised by the man’s take on my kind. He spoke about us the way that suits talked about unsuits. At least one thing was certain- I wasn’t inside the dome. The Syndicate would never allow someone to talk about Concord or its people this way without severe retributions.
“Don’t be so judgmental, Zander. You don’t know her situation,” the girl muttered, but the man named Zander scoffed.
“I don’t need to know her story, Ximea. Suits are all the same. They have everything handed to them on a silver platter, living safe and sound inside their precious dome. They hoard the few resources that remain on the planet, while our people are left to die. Then they come here to try and take away everything we’ve busted our asses for, just like their ancestors did before them.”
“Let’s just hear what Athena thinks before we jump to conclusions,” Ximea murmured.
“You already know what she’s going to say- the same thing she always says: ‘let’s see what they have to offer before making any hasty decisions’,” he mimicked. “Then, she’ll take them in like the stray pups that they are. But tell me, Ximea, what happens then? Suits just aren’t cut out for our world.”
Our world. I wondered what this meant. Was it possible that somehow, by sheer luck, I’d made it to this other community after all?
“You and your friends don’t exactly help the situation,” Ximea said, animosity in her voice. “You make sure the suits live as miserable of a life as possible, and quite frankly, I’m sick of it. You can’t hold them responsible for the actions of the Syndicate. They’re innocent people, just trying to get by like the rest of us.”
“I’d hardly consider suits to be people. More like robots,” he muttered. My heartbeat accelerated as the sound of boots approached my bedside. “I say let’s do everyone a favor, and put her out of her misery.”
His words were dripping with malice, and I was suddenly filled with fear that he might hurt me.
“You’re not touching a hair on this girl’s head!” Ximea exclaimed, coming to stand by Zander’s side. “Despite what you might think, I consider suits to be people, just like you and me. And my job is to keep people alive,” she said. “I love you, Zander, you know that I do. You are my best friend, and I would do anything for you. But this woman is on the brink of death, and you’re not helping matters by being here. People come to the clinic to heal, not be subjected to your negativity. If you can’t show a little more compassion, then I don’t think you should be here.”
The room fell silent as Zander absorbed her words.
“Fine,” he snapped. “I have better things to be doing anyway.” His heavy footsteps faded as he stormed from the room, slamming a door behind him.
The woman let out a frustrated sigh. She sat on the edge of my mattress and grabbed my hand in hers, the warmth feeling pleasant against my oddly frigid skin.
“Don’t worry about him,” she said. “He’s always been dramatic. You’ll be just fine.”
I was thankful for this woman, this stranger who had shown me empathy, who had protected me from the crazed lunatic who wanted me dead for things beyond my control.
She started humming a sweet melody, her voice echoing beautifully throughout the room, the music filling me with a sense of peace and serenity. I felt myself slipping into the darkness once more, my previous fears long forgotten.
**********
My eyes fluttered open, irritated by the bright fluorescent lights hanging overhead. I heard soft voices in the distance, and the beeping of machines from somewhere close by. An oxygen mask covered my face, forcing fresh air into my nostrils and cleansing my lungs of the bitter acids I’d inhaled. Various tubes were attached to my arms, providing welcomed medicines that were slowly healing my body. The sweet smell of aloe permeated the room, a thin layer cooling the sunburns on my raw and sensitive skin. The pleasant reprieve it brought made me audibly sigh.
“Tell Athena that she’s awake,” someone whispered. I searched the room with my blurry vision, seeking the source of the voice. It took a minute before I could see the tall, lanky girl with dark skin and close-cropped hair. She hovered by my bed, jotting down numbers from the monitors secured to my body.
“Good morning,” she said, revealing a lovely smile. She had a much better bedside manner than I had with patients. “I’m your doctor, Ximea. How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I croaked, startled by the hoarseness of my voice. It was true that I did feel much better than I had the pr
evious time I had woken, though my body still ached terribly. “Where am I?”
“The hospital wing. You were found in the wastelands by one of our search teams. You took a lot of damage and have been unconscious for two days,” she said softly, her face full of concern.
I knew that she wasn’t exaggerating. Every part of my body seemed to throb, even with the pain medication coursing through my veins. I glanced at the screen beside my bed and checked on my vitals, most of which were well within normal range. My heart rate was a little high, but that was to be expected, given my new environment. My blood pressure was elevated as well, which could explain the aching headache I had.
“Padomeficillin would help, if you have any,” I suggested, my years of medical training taking over.
Ximea raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You’re a doctor?”
I gave a small nod, and immediately wished I hadn’t, as pain shot through my forehead.
“Sorry, but we don’t have any Padomeficillin. Our technology isn’t as advanced as Concord’s, so I’m afraid you’ll have to do this the old fashion way- with a little bit of aspirin, and a whole lot of sucking it up,” Ximea said with a playful smile.
I wanted to smile back, to thank her for being so kind, but I didn’t have the chance, because my warm welcome was short-lived.
All of a sudden, the door to the hospital room flew open, and a dozen men and women bustled inside, outfitted in bulletproof helmets, masks, and vests. They screamed for me to put my hands in the air, and I obliged, despite the pain the movement caused. They carried military rifles, the nozzles of which were all pointed at me, causing the heart rate monitor to go crazy.