by Susan Kim
Then one morning, they came for her.
It had been an unusually heavy few hours of traffic. Esther had seen many guards retrieve one or two prisoners at a time and escort them down the hall. Then, to her shock, two sets of feet stopped directly in front of her. She had barely enough time to roll away and yank back from the door before it opened.
She blinked in the sudden light.
“Get up,” one of them said. When she didn’t move, he reached in and grabbed her by the arm. Then he thrust something in her face: It was a white robe. “And don’t do nothing stupid.”
Putting on the hooded garment, Esther stumbled down the hallway, a guard on either side. Sunlight streamed in from windows at both ends; by its brightness, she judged it to be midmorning. None of the doors they passed were open, and when she tried to glance through the windows at the District below, she could see nothing.
From the dried-out carrots and rancid cucumbers she was served every day, Esther knew that Gideon and his people were having trouble keeping the garden running. For a moment, she wondered if she was being brought upstairs to work, and her heart quickened. If Gideon placed a value on her experience, perhaps he had spared her friends as well.
But once they were in the dark stairwell, one of the guards yanked her to the left. That meant they were heading downstairs. To Esther’s surprise, they stopped two levels below, on the seventh floor.
It had the same layout as the floors above, yet even at a glance, Esther could see that this hallway had seen much more traffic. The beige carpeting underfoot was matted and heavily soiled.
The guards walked her down the hall. Looking ahead, Esther saw that the central door was ajar; inside, she knew, was the largest room on the floor. One of the boys tapped on it, then pushed it open.
Brilliant sunlight poured in through the oversize window that overlooked the streets of Mundreel. It made the air, already stifling, seem even hotter. Six guards stood against the wall; the two of them holding guns flanked the door. The rest of the room was filled with dozens of people who stood in silence, their heads bowed. The only sound was a faint murmur of voices that came from the front.
As Esther was forced to join the others, one of the guards handed her something: a piece of cardboard with the number 127 written on it. It made no sense to her, and she stuffed it into her pocket. Then Esther glanced at the person standing next to her. A wisp of golden hair curled out from beneath the robe that cloaked his or her face and for a second, Esther’s heart lurched: Was it Michal? Whoever it was seemed too frightened to look up and instead turned away.
After several minutes, Esther realized they were moving forward a person at a time. She couldn’t see what was at the front of the room or who was talking. But it was clear they were waiting to see someone.
With a feeling of dread, Esther wondered, Who was in charge? And what was he or she about to do?
As he listened, Eli stared at the top of the table and traced the grain of the blond wood with one finger.
He found it much easier not to look at the prisoners. Although everyone in the room, including him, was hooded, he could still see a bit of face once in a while: a slice of chin, the tip of the nose, a strand of hair. Even one glimpse was enough to remind Eli that these were people, not just numbers. So he tried to keep his eyes averted at all times.
The numbers had been Gideon’s idea, and Eli had to admit that they helped. As each prisoner was pushed forward one at a time, Eli was handed a piece of paper that had a number written on it. Thinking of each criminal as a number and not as a person made his job a little easier. All he had to do was sit there and listen as a guard told him what the person’s crime had been.
Holding hands. Being sick. Being imperfect. Not showing respect.
It was strange, Eli thought now, to think of holding hands as a crime. Even boys and girls who were partnered with one another weren’t allowed to be together, much less show any signs of affection in public, which struck him as unnatural.
Still, he knew enough to keep such thoughts to himself.
In his new job, Eli had the power to decide what the punishment should be for each case of wrongdoing. So far, all of the people present had committed minor felonies: kissing, having a limp, not praying loudly enough. According to his instructions, Eli sentenced such criminals to a work detail. Although Eli wasn’t exactly sure what that involved, he knew that the prisoners would be given food, as well as a place to sleep; and hard work, he reasoned, never hurt anyone. He had yet to condemn anyone to death and hoped he never would.
The new responsibility had bolstered Eli’s spirits. Although he had stashed away a few bottles of proof, he had given up drinking after his appointment; he felt newly focused and alert.
Yet by now the room was stifling hot. The continual drone of the guards’ voices was like the buzzing of an insect. Glancing out at the yellow sky, Eli eased his neck and hoped they’d break soon for a meal. He took the slip of paper handed to him: 127.
The charges against prisoner 127 were so extreme, however, that they caught his attention.
“She try to kill Saith.”
Despite his own rule, Eli glanced up. So did the prisoner, who turned to the guard in surprise.
“That’s not true!”
The guard cuffed the prisoner once, hard, knocking off her hood. But Eli didn’t need to see her face. He would have recognized her voice anywhere.
It was Esther.
She glanced up, bareheaded and defiant, and in that split second their eyes met.
Esther recoiled. She must have known it was him, for the blood drained from her already-pale face. Although his head and entire body were heavily cloaked, Eli had never felt so exposed in his life.
A second guard grabbed Esther by the arm. Yanking her hood back up, he forced her to lower her head and avert her gaze. But it was too late. Eli’s mind was already whirling with a thousand thoughts and memories.
The early days when he first loved Esther seemed so far away. So did the time after their partners died and he had dared to hope she would finally be his. She had broken his heart more than once, and more than once he had vowed to forget her.
Yet one emotion crushed all of these flickering feelings, making them seem trivial: the guilt Eli felt for having killed Aras.
He knew he had to say something, but his tongue felt dry and thick within his mouth. When he tried to speak, one of the guards leaned forward to hear. Then the boy straightened up and spoke out loud.
“She try to kill Saith.” His voice rang out in accusation. “You know what that mean.”
“I know.” Eli felt sick, yet his senses were keen. Was this how it would end between the two of them, so cold and impersonal? He feared he could not delay much longer.
And at last, he knew what he had to do.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “Give the prisoner to me.”
As Eli stood, everyone in the room stared at him in open surprise. One of the guards hesitated.
“You need help?”
Eli shook his head. Then, with a brusque gesture not unlike one of Gideon’s, he motioned for Esther and the guard’s gun.
Eli led his prisoner out past the crowd and down the hall, his hands starting to shake. Then, once he was certain they were alone, he released his grip. Pulling down his hood, he turned to face her.
“Eli,” Esther said, as if her suspicions had been confirmed.
“Listen.” He spoke quickly, his voice soft. “The ones going to the work details are downstairs on six. Make sure you get there without anybody seeing you and go with them when they leave. That’s your only chance of getting out of the District alive.”
Esther listened, her head down. “It’s a lie,” she said at last. “That I tried to kill Saith.”
Eli shook his head. “Most of what they say is a lie. But if enough people believe it, no one will complain when you’re put to death.”
By now, they were standing in front of the elevators, which gaped open. E
sther glanced at the carpeting, which was blackened with dried and clotted filth. The entire corridor stank of death. Then she looked up at him in question.
“Go quickly,” said Eli. He felt too guilty to return her gaze.
Esther turned, pulling the hood up over her face.
“Thank you” was all she said.
Eli waited until Esther made it to the corner. He lifted a hand in farewell; and with a nod, she was gone.
He counted a few extra moments to make certain she had had enough time to make it to the stairs. Then he took aim and fired into the empty shaft of the elevator; the blast echoed and reverberated in its darkness.
When Eli walked back to the room of prisoners, the barrel of the gun was hot in his hand.
He would stand by Gideon’s side that evening when the Insurgent leader announced Esther’s execution. And Saith herself would praise his wisdom and present him with a reward of forty glass pieces.
SEVENTEEN
UNDER A MERCILESS SUN, DOZENS OF WORKERS TRUDGED DOWN A BROAD avenue of Mundreel. The only sound was the clank of chains that scraped and dragged along the asphalt. Everyone was shackled to someone else at the leg, and to make certain no one tried to escape, the entire group—nearly thirty in all—was bound together with a single coarse rope knotted around their necks.
The locked iron links dug into Esther’s ankle so tightly, walking was torture, and the rope scratched and chafed the soft skin of her throat. Still she gritted her teeth and said nothing. There were only half as many guards as there were prisoners, yet they were armed and watchful. Cloaked and anonymous like the others, Esther walked in silence, trying not to draw any attention to herself.
At great risk, Eli had spared her life and for that Esther would always be grateful. As he had instructed, she managed to make it to the stairwell even as the sound of the bullet meant for her rang out and reverberated in her ears. There had been such commotion on the lower floor, she found it easy to slip in among others being assigned to a work detail and, with her face obscured by her robe, to go undetected. Then, like the other slaves, she had had her head shaved and was chained to another person.
Yet ironically, Esther’s survival also meant her death.
Even as she was being shackled and bound, Esther knew that word was spreading throughout the District that she had been executed for plotting against Saith. She had heard those around her whisper about it even as they were all herded outdoors together and set on their long march.
No one knew who she was, and Esther intended to keep it that way. She had nothing left—no weapons, no allies, no glass. She owned nothing now except her anonymity. It would be her one tool, she sensed, if she were to ever escape. For she still vowed to herself that she would find out what had happened to her family and friends.
From now on, she would be Hagar.
Esther had found the name weeks ago in one of Joseph’s books, a dense collection of stories called Holy Bible. Hagar had been the slave of Sarah, wife of Abraham. Seeing Sarah’s name in print had given Esther a jolt of pleasure. So she now chose an identity that would link her to both her daughter and sister, if only in her own mind.
It was her sole comfort.
Ever since they had left the District, the small girl tethered to Esther’s left leg walked as if in a daze—she wove back and forth, and was then yanked back to the group by the makeshift collar around her neck. Now she stumbled and fell. The unexpected downward tug of the rope made those closest to her stagger as well. Esther was pulled to her knees, and as the cord tightened around her throat, she frantically dug her fingers under it, trying in vain to loosen it. Several more were yanked down beside her. Choking and on the edge of panic, the entire group was forced to halt.
Within seconds, a guard lashed out at the group with the buckled end of a leather belt. He pushed his way through as best he could, until he saw the cause of the holdup.
“Get up!”
As he rained blows on the still form, Esther took care to look away. This voice was already familiar to her, both piercing and guttural. It belonged to the one who led the slave masters, a boy named Jud.
“I said, get up!”
The girl stirred. Then she tried to push herself up, but she was too weak. No one in the group made a move to help her.
With a foot of rope and some chain connecting them, Esther found herself locking eyes with the girl. She was an Outsider who looked no older than Silas: nine at the most.
“Help me,” she whispered.
Although it hurt to do so, Esther forced herself once more to glance away; she knew that giving any aid might threaten them both. After a moment, the girl managed to get to her feet, and the group continued its forced march.
“That way!”
Jud’s harsh voice rang out in the heavy air. He was ordering them toward a large, open-walled structure, set in from the street. Esther recognized it as a parking garage.
“Faster!”
The group tried to move quickly, but it was difficult to proceed as one; people gagged and choked against their shared noose as they shuffled and stumbled toward the building. At the entrance, several of the guards untied them, separating them into pairs. Each couple was handed a length of rubber tubing and a container of some kind; Esther found herself holding an empty soda bottle. Then they were ordered to begin collecting fuel.
In Prin, people had Harvested gasoline from ancient cars and trucks, which they then traded to Levi for food and other goods. Although it was a difficult and exhausting job, his system had seemed humane compared to this. The fuel would be used by Gideon and Saith to run their generator and provide them with the comforts of electricity, yet the slaves would receive nothing in return.
Rubbing her throat, Esther glanced around. She saw at once that almost no one knew what to do. Bewildered, they wandered among the dusty cars and vans, struggling to figure out where the gas was even kept. The guards, who clearly had no better understanding of how to proceed, walked among them, lashing out. Esther winced at the repeated crack of leather on skin, followed by cries of pain.
Of all the jobs in Prin, Esther had hated Harvesting the most of all. Still, she knew how to do it; it wasn’t that difficult once you understood the basics. Tapping her partner on the shoulder, Esther now indicated a hulking car in the corner that stood well off the ground on oversize tires. Experience had taught her that large vehicles often contained the greatest amount of fuel. It took her a moment to locate the unobtrusive metal flap in the side, which she pried open to reveal the familiar notched plastic cap underneath. To her relief, it was unlocked, and with an effort, she was able to unscrew and remove it. Then, as the other girl watched, Esther took the length of rubber and inserted it, feeding it out inch by inch until she felt it hit something deep in the bowels of the machine.
Kneeling on the ground with the empty soda bottle, Esther took the other end of the tubing in her mouth. She began sucking on it, deeply at first and then with caution as she sensed that the fuel was drawing closer. Yanking out the tube at the last possible moment, she stuck the end into the container she’d been given. Gasoline, clear and pungent, gushed out and began to fill it.
Then Esther froze.
Only too late did she realize she was being watched. It hadn’t occurred to her that knowing how to perform such a simple chore might draw unwanted attention. Yet that was clearly what had happened.
“Smart,” a voice said, “ain’t you?”
When Esther didn’t look up, she felt a rough hand on her shoulder that yanked her around so hard, the gas cap in her hand flew in the air and clattered to the ground. She found herself staring up into the face of the chief slave master.
Jud was probably eighteen but looked even older; his bulk was massive and the bit of his face visible beneath his hood was dense with a black beard. Hulking and vicious, the boy seemed more like a bear than a human. Esther had known many such people in her life—bullies who preyed on the weak, yet who were themselves threatened by the
slightest hint of challenge from anyone beneath them.
“Go get that,” the boy said, pointing at the cap.
Esther stooped to retrieve the piece, half dragging the smaller girl with her. When she stood, she sensed the boy was assessing her even more closely. Praying that he hadn’t recognized her, she kept her eyes down.
“You a smart little squirrel. Ain’t you?”
“No.”
“What that mean?”
“It means I don’t know much.”
“More than the others.”
“I’ve done it before, is all.”
“Yeah? Where?”
“Someplace.”
Although she kept her gaze lowered, Esther knew that the boy was staring at her from behind his hood. Despite the fetid, humid air, she felt a chill run through her body.
“What your name?”
“Hagar.” The unfamiliar word caught in her throat for a second, but the boy didn’t seem to notice. He nodded. Then he turned and barked at the others.
“All you . . . watch Hagar! She teach you!”
Esther’s heart sank.
Although no one had paid her the slightest attention before, she now saw everyone in the garage turn to take her in: some with dull obedience, a few with curiosity, but most with open resentment. This was the one thing she had been trying so hard to avoid. She pulled the folds of her hood closer to her face as she chose another car and knelt by its side. She repeated the procedure and felt the gas rise up the tube. But this time, she secretly let the fuel drop back down to wherever it came from. When she took the end out of her mouth and stuck it into a fresh bottle, nothing came out.
Some of those watching murmured, unimpressed. A few even tittered.
To her relief, they turned away even as the bearded guard scowled at her, his fingers tightening around the belt he held. Wincing, Esther now closed her eyes and braced herself for the blow that was coming. Yet nothing happened. When she opened her eyes again, she saw that the boy was studying her, as if trying to decipher something.