by Susan Kim
Her attempt to feed people outside the District was already floundering. Every day, more and more Outsiders showed up, desperate and demanding; and while most were happy to wait their turn for what little food and water there was, a few had begun cheating the system by means of deceit, theft, and intimidation. Gideon had been nothing but helpful, assigning his guards to try to supervise the handout. Still, it was almost impossible to police who had received the day’s allotment and who had not. What was meant to be a fair distribution was quickly turning into one that was hopelessly disorganized and even chaotic.
By now, the Insurgent leader was gazing at Joseph. Given how shy the other boy was, it was probably the first time Gideon had heard him speak or paid him mind at all. But before he could say anything, Joseph, gazing at the ground and rocking back and forth, continued.
“I didn’t mean to listen,” he said, “but I believe I know what your problem is.” Glancing around, Esther tugged on Joseph’s arm to step aside from the crowd. He shot her a look of gratitude; she knew he couldn’t bear to be surrounded by people, especially strangers. After a moment’s hesitation, Gideon followed them, squelching obvious impatience.
It was only once they were by themselves that Joseph went on, wringing his hands as he spoke. “You’re trying to distribute food in a fair way. One piece per person is fair.” Both Esther and Gideon were leaning close to hear, and Joseph hastened to speak louder. “The problem is, it’s hard to keep track that way. People come back for seconds or even thirds, when there are others who haven’t had any.”
Gideon seemed about to discount him, but Esther listened with an intent expression, nodding. “So what do we do?”
His face flushed, Joseph hesitated as he fumbled in his pockets. Then on an impulse, he drew something out which he held forth. “Here,” he said, his hands trembling.
It was a handful of the green pebbles, brilliant in the sunlight.
Gideon tried to repress a dismissive sound but could not entirely. “Glass,” he said. “What that suppose to do?”
Joseph glanced at Esther, not him. “We give everyone one piece,” he said. “It’s much easier to distribute. Later, they can exchange it for a piece of food. One pebble, one tomato. Or one carrot. Do you see?”
Esther chewed her lip, thinking. “And that would be more fair.”
Joseph made an expansive gesture. “I think so. More flexible, too. For example, someone can give his pebble to his partner. She can come here and with her own, exchange the two for two pieces. Or people can save them up and use them when they want.”
Esther frowned. It was so unlike anything she had heard of, she wasn’t sure what she thought. She was about to say something, but to her surprise, it was Gideon who spoke first.
“It don’t got to be food.” He was no longer considering Joseph; he was gazing off, as if at something important in the distance.
“No,” Joseph answered in a voice so muffled, it could barely be heard. “I suppose it could be water, too.”
“Or clothes.” Without asking, Gideon reached out and took the pieces of glass from Joseph and weighed them in his hand, clicking them together. He seemed to be talking to himself, as if thinking out loud. “Shoes. Firestarters, firebowl.” Then he looked up. “Or protection, maybe. Or even place to sleep.”
Now it was Joseph’s turn to be confused. “I don’t understand,” he mumbled. “You mean each of those things—clothing, a firebowl—could all be exchanged for one piece of glass?”
Still not looking at him, Gideon held up a hand for silence. “Not one. Maybe two, three. They worth more than a carrot.”
The redheaded boy was so confident, Esther couldn’t help but feel encouraged, too. Still, the idea of procuring anything with something as meaningless as a piece of glass was new and strange. Whenever people needed something, they mostly Gleaned it themselves. Back in Prin, everyone worked for Levi, who paid them with packaged food and clean water. It was that simple, that direct.
“What do you think?” she finally asked Gideon. “Do you really think it could work?”
Gideon moved his head back and forth, as if weighing the possibilities. “We try,” he said at last. “I make a plan. You get folks to do it. You good at that. We a good team.”
As she took the handful of glass from him, Esther tried to think what could go wrong with the idea. At the worst, she thought, we could go back to the old way. Then she smiled; the feel and color of the smooth fragments pleased her, too. “Let’s try it.”
Gideon nodded to her in a deferential way. Then he turned to Joseph, at last acknowledging him.
“Where this from? They more?”
Joseph swallowed. “There’s a mountain of it,” he said. “Down in the garage.”
It was late afternoon and shadows were beginning to fall upon the streets.
Ever since Esther had begun feeding the Outsiders, the strict safety rules had been eased. Guards no longer patrolled the roof around the clock, and people within the District were now free to venture outdoors. Few took advantage of it; most were still too frightened. Although it was a beautiful day, Esther and Aras found themselves alone as they took a rare walk with the children.
There was something, he said, that he wanted to show her.
Covering Sarah with a scarf, Esther secured her to her back with the cloth sling that had once held her brother. As for Kai, he seemed astonished at being outdoors. The enormity of the blasted cityscape made him gaze about in wonder and he would dart off to explore the things he had no memory of, things that were extraordinary to him in their newness: rusted cars, streetlamps that resembled dead trees, piles of rubble. With Esther walking alongside Aras, Pilot was allowed off his leash. Still, the dog continued to keep a watchful eye on Kai, herding him back to the others from time to time.
It was a pleasure to be out in the open as a family. Esther didn’t like living in secret, especially since it wasn’t a secret to be ashamed of.
By now, they were a mile or so from the mall, in an unfamiliar part of town. Aras lifted his head and seemed to gaze around before indicating that they take a right. Even without Pilot, Esther knew he could orient himself by counting blocks.
Soon Esther noticed that they were on a side street she had never seen before. “Where are we?”
“We on a street with an empty lot on the corner?”
“Yes,” replied Esther, puzzled. But Aras had already whistled for Pilot, who bounded to his side. Attaching the dog’s chain, he clicked his tongue and the animal led him down the block, to a row of three-story buildings. Esther called Kai to her side and took his hand. They watched as Aras approached the structures, counting under his breath as he ran his hand lightly along the black metal fence that stood in front.
Then he stopped and turned back to her. “This a brick building with a red door?”
“Yes,” said Esther again. Wondering, she helped Kai step over the trash and broken glass that littered the sidewalk. In front of her, Aras was trying the handle of the middle house. To her surprise, it turned and the door opened.
“Come on,” he called over his shoulder.
It took Esther a moment for her eyes to adjust to the relative dimness. In fact, sunlight was pouring in on all sides through windows that were miraculously unbroken. It revealed that they were in a small hallway with vibrant yellow walls and rich carpeting underfoot.
Esther was as stunned as Kai, who clung to her. “What is this place?”
Aras turned to her, a shy smile on his face. “It nice? Silas say so, but I wasn’t sure. All I know is that nobody ever broke in here. It clean, right?”
Wordless, Esther took his hand and squeezed it tight.
The place was small but beautiful. True, the mall had its own kind of splendor—soaring spaces filled with gleaming steel, brass rails, and immense overhead lights made of twinkling glass—but this was more to Esther’s taste. The floor was made up of broad wooden beams that still held a faint golden glint. A large mirror and t
he beveled glass ball at the foot of the staircase reflected the four of them, as well as wooden wall pegs, from which two coats still hung.
Without a word, the four investigated the rest of the house. Downstairs was a living room, with crumbling magazines still held in a wicker basket by the sofa. The furniture was simple yet pleasing: wooden frames set with cushions in deep blues and greens. There were even ornaments on the mantelpiece: a glass clock with frozen hands, a small animal made of dull metal, and photos of smiling people long dead. Beyond it was a dining room; a bowl in the center of the table still displayed the faint and dusty smudge of whatever it had once held long ago. The kitchen was a wonder of bright surfaces in candy colors: pale greens, yellows, and blues.
True, dust lay heavy everywhere, and muffled sounds from inside the walls and the brick chimney in the living room revealed the presence of mice or nesting birds. But other than that, the house was eerily immaculate. It was as if the previous owners had just stepped away for a few minutes, leaving everything in place until they returned.
Upstairs, Esther and the others explored the three bedrooms, the closets, and the tiled room with the tub and porcelain chair. Towels that matched the dark pink of the carpet hung on the rods, and a shriveled shard of soap still lay in a dish on the marble counter. One flight up was the top floor, a single room that was bright and sunny. The walls were painted with large and colorful flowers, and ancient toys and dolls spilled from several oversize baskets lined up beneath the curtained windows. With a happy cry, Kai rushed forward and seized a stuffed animal, sending up a cloud of dust.
It was, Esther realized with a sense of wonder, going to be their new home. But that was not all.
With Pilot left to guard the boy, Aras felt his way back down the hallway and led Esther up the final small flight of steps. It ended in a door made of heavy, tinted glass. When he opened it, warm air rushed in as he and Esther stepped out.
She gasped. Low walls separated the attached roofs of all three buildings; together, they made up what seemed like an immense expanse, open to the yellow sky. Aras put his arm around Esther’s waist and squeezed.
“For our own garden.”
Esther heard his words, but it took her several moments to process them. When she did, she was stunned by what he was proposing: After they moved into this house by themselves, they would build their own greenhouse, a miniature version of what stood atop the District.
Turning away, Esther realized that the entire conversation was starting to make her deeply uncomfortable. “I might want to wait,” she said. “To go.”
“What you mean?”
“There’s something,” she said uneasily, “I have to do first.”
“Something? What that?”
Aras’s tone was already confrontational and Esther chose her words with care. Although she loved what she and Gideon were doing and found their new responsibilities thrilling, she sensed that her partner might not understand. So she kept her explanation simple: she needed to make sure that the distribution of food and water back at the District was fair. For the first time, she described the glass fragments to him and how they would be given to all of the Outsiders, to use in exchange for what they needed.
Aras had his head down as he listened. “And this your idea?”
“No,” she admitted. “It’s Gideon’s.”
“Gideon.” Ever since he had met him when they took over the District, Aras had never trusted the boy; there seemed to be a world of meaning in the way he spoke his name. Then, without another word, he abruptly turned. Making a clucking sound to Pilot, he strode off.
“Aras!” But by the time Esther had collected Kai and followed her partner downstairs, he was nowhere to be found. She noticed that the front door was hanging open and, looking out, saw that Aras was already half a block away. He was walking fast, the gap growing longer between them.
Esther knew that Aras’s silences meant more—and were more to be dreaded—than his words. With a sinking feeling, she too stepped outside and closed the door behind her and her children with a final click.
Overhead, the pale sliver of a moon appeared in the skylight. It shone down through the clear panes, past the many layers of the mall, filtering through to the basement level far below.
Alone in the restaurant called Chipotle that was his home, Gideon sat at one of the dozen tables that was bolted to the ground. He caught the moonlight in his hands, toying with a single piece of glass. He turned the fragment so that it cast green glints on the walls around him.
Yet he was not admiring its beauty.
He was thinking instead about the new system and the sort of power it could bestow upon him. The more he considered it, the more he was astounded by its vast potential. Although Esther had initially suggested that they simply distribute the glass to the Outsiders, he soon realized that this was a foolish idea; it would be the same as giving away their food and water for nothing.
But what if people were to work for it?
There were plenty of chores in the District that needed to be done every day. The Outsiders might also Glean valuables—packaged food, bottled water, whatever they could find—and bring those in to exchange for glass. He could even arm and train a group of the oldest and strongest, to create a small army.
Gideon shivered. Mundreel was enormous, and the idea that he might have found a way to harness all the power of its people was nothing short of exhilarating.
The possibilities were limitless.
When Gideon and his fellow Insurgents lived on the streets of Mundreel, barely existing as living skeletons, he too had once been like the Outsiders. He had loathed the privileged adults who lived inside the District, obsessed about how he could destroy them and punish them for their arrogance. When they finally broke in, he and the others had tried at first to ruin everything they could find in the building, to trash the mall’s glittery goods.
But now Gideon found that he felt no differently about those outside from how the adults had once about him. He too was revolted by the grotesque faces on the other side of the glass, appalled by their desperation and helplessness. The idea that he could possibly make use of them struck him as ironic, and a small smile crossed his face.
True, for the new system to work, he would need Esther and her talent for persuasion. He had once seen a toy, a wooden man that dangled from strings. If you held the strings just so, the man would dance and wave, as if it were alive. That would be his new relationship with the girl. She would engage with and communicate to the crowds, and he would be the unseen force behind her.
A sudden noise pierced the surrounding gloom and Gideon glanced up. At the same moment, his hand went to the club he often kept by his side. As he hoisted it, he heard the sound more clearly: a rapid clicking of nails on tile approaching from across the darkened food court, accompanied by panting and the jangling of a chain.
“Who—” he was about to say.
Then a monster flew at him.
A snarling, drooling creature from a nightmare lunged and snapped at him, its jaws open, its breath foul. With a terrified cry, Gideon fell back in his seat, scrabbling to get away. As he tried to escape beneath the table, the thing came closer, its growling horrible.
Crouched on the floor, Gideon realized it wasn’t a monster, but an animal. It was the blind boy’s dog, the boy, Aras, who was Esther’s partner. Gideon brought down his hands, his heart still thundering.
There was a whistle and the animal retreated.
“Sorry to bother you,” Aras said.
Gideon didn’t answer and got back to his feet. He was already regaining his composure as he dusted off his knees. Annoyed, he assumed the boy had stumbled into the room by mistake. His dog was now sniffing around, going from one corner to the other.
“So this where you live,” Aras said at last.
“That right,” Gideon said.
Aras made a clucking sound and without hesitation, the dog returned to his side. The animal was benign now, not
threatening. Impressive how well it was trained, Gideon thought.
And that wasn’t the only impressive thing about Aras. He had met him when they first broke into the District, but the two had kept their distance ever since. The blind boy wore sunglasses, even though it was dark. His hair, in strange, matted locks, fell halfway down his back. The sight of Aras made Gideon shudder. He couldn’t bear defective things; to him, the blind were about as useful as an ugly girl or a broken bicycle.
Yet Aras was no weakling. The more Gideon studied him now, the more formidable he sensed the other boy was. The idea that Esther shared her bed with him gave him a disgusted fascination.
Aras seemed to be in no hurry to leave. He found one of the tables and sat down on its molded plastic bench. Then he stretched out his long legs and the dog curled up at his feet. Gideon realized his room had been Aras’s actual destination, after all.
“I would have thought you would live nicer,” Aras remarked.
“No,” Gideon said, still uneasy. “This all I need.”
“Really?” Aras said. “Maybe you think you could use a girl around the place. Most boys do.”
Gideon didn’t respond, unsure of what he meant. He noted that Aras’s upper lip was curled into the smallest of smiles. “But you better choose a girl,” continued the blind boy, “who ain’t somebody else’s.”
Gideon stared at Aras until the comment struck home. He and Esther—some sort of romantic connection?
“That stupid!” he snapped, louder than he had intended.
Aras continued, unfazed. “See, me and Pilot are the same. We can tell things that don’t smell right. Sometimes even before people know it themselves. That’s one good thing about being blind.”
Aras got to his feet, the dog shaking itself with a jangling of its chain. The boy approached him now, the animal guiding the way. The beast still was unnerving and Gideon had to force himself to stay still.
Aras stopped Pilot with an effort, the dog panting, champing at the lead. “Don’t worry. He ain’t gonna hurt you now. But he’s got an even better memory than me.”