by Susan Kim
“You know what happen to smart little squirrels?” he said at last. “They make trouble for others.”
Without warning, he struck out and lashed the face of the little girl chained to her side. As she cried out and fell to the ground, the boy stood over her and pointed down at Esther.
“You did that,” he said. “See?”
Sickened, Esther nodded.
After that, she did what she was ordered to do. She taught the others which vehicles were the most promising, where to look for the metal flap, and how to feed the tubing until it met the faint resistance of gasoline. She demonstrated how to siphon the deadly fluid without swallowing any by accident. And she stood by and assisted those who needed help.
Within an hour, every empty vessel had been filled.
Throughout, Esther could feel the eyes of the slave master follow her. The boy was not as stupid as he looked, she realized with despair. It was as if Jud had somehow read her mind and detected the one thing she had dreaded the most. Thanks to him, everyone was aware of her by now: every slave, every guard.
How could she possibly get away?
The slaves were given only the briefest of breaks.
A guard kept close watch as one of the workers passed around a gallon jug of stale water. Each was allowed no more than a single sip; anyone who took more felt the crack of a cudgel across the shoulders. Afterward, everyone lined up to scoop a handful of cold, congealed porridge from a large pot.
Esther drank what she could, but found she was unable to eat. She still felt guilty for what had happened to her young partner; and after she made certain no one else was looking, she handed over her share. The little girl gave a short nod of thanks before cramming the paste into her mouth, swallowing ravenously. Esther could not help but notice the red welt that snaked from the child’s cheek down the side of her throat.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Ain’t your fault.”
After that, they exchanged a few words. The little one said that her name was Ava; Esther only just caught herself before saying her real name.
“How old are you?” she asked. A bit of porridge still clinging to the girl’s chin reminded Esther of Kai and she had to force herself not to wipe it away.
“Don’t know,” Ava said. “Young?”
“That it! Time to go!”
After being rounded up and counted, the slaves were once again tethered together by the neck. Carrying their containers of fuel, they were ordered to continue down the sweltering street. They were soon joined by other workers, who, although shackled in pairs, were not roped together as a group. Instead of fuel, they carried lumber, panes of glass, coiled tubing, and other supplies. No one was allowed to speak to one another, and they proceeded in eerie silence.
They were no more than a dozen blocks from the District when the guards ordered everyone to stop.
Wary, Esther glanced around. They were surrounded on all sides by steel and mirrored glass, standing in a canyon of immense buildings that seemed to pierce the sky. To her confusion, she saw that the slave handlers were ordering them to approach the tallest structure, one that took up the entire block.
The building rose straight up like a cliff face, a vision of gleaming silver that reflected the cityscape around it. The tower was several times larger than the District; Esther attempted counting how many floors it held and lost track at forty. Most of the stores and businesses of Mundreel showed signs of vandalism, earthquake, and the passage of time—broken windows, cracked edifices, and collapsed walls. Yet this one was perfect, as pristine as the day it had been created.
Esther couldn’t help herself; she found herself shrinking in front of its enormity and splendor. And she could sense that the others, even the slave handlers, were intimidated as well. At first, she couldn’t see an entrance anywhere. Although three sets of spinning doors were set in the glass façade, they appeared locked. Then she noticed that she and the others were being led around the corner, where someone had smashed the thick glass, forming a gaping hole. Everyone edged in, shuffling their chains and staying close together.
Inside, Esther gasped.
When she and her friends had first arrived in Mundreel, the District was the most opulent place they had ever seen. Yet it was dwarfed by the sheer height and magnificence of the room they found themselves in now.
Coolness emanated from the glimmering walls that rose straight up on both sides and from the floor itself, all made of the same polished white stone. Enormous panels hung at either end of the lobby, covered with strange and colorful pictures that resembled something a child would draw. Farther back, Esther counted six separate banks of elevators; each held at least a dozen doors that gleamed silver against the white marble. An immense wooden desk faced them, its blond surface gleaming smooth and clear as a pool of water.
But the slaves had not been brought here to ogle. Already, they were being untied and herded across the lobby to an inconspicuous metal door in a far corner. Carrying her bottles of gasoline by the neck, Esther found herself pushed into a dark and nearly airless stairwell. With Ava struggling beside her, she joined the others who began trudging up the steep staircase.
Guards were posted every few levels, holding up torches to light the way. As she passed Jud, Esther saw him take note of her. “Watch her!” he yelled to the others who followed. “Do like her!”
Esther felt chilled. Jud again sought to isolate and praise her, in order to infuriate the others. It was working: Those above her glanced down with looks of hatred.
“Not fast enough! Do like her!”
Then she heard the lash of the belt.
The stairs seemed endless; Esther counted twenty-eight flights of fifteen steps each and there was no end in sight. At every landing, more and more of the slaves began to falter or drop what they held. The guards reassigned what each one was to carry: The younger, weaker ones were given the fuel and smaller tools, while the stronger were ordered to take the heavier lumber and glass. Esther struggled to lift a set of glass panes; although she was supposed to share the load with Ava, she knew the young girl was not strong enough. As they labored upward, she noticed that more and more slaves were being ordered to leave what they carried and return downstairs.
Finally, only Esther, Ava, and four others remained. The slave handlers who accompanied them no longer barked orders at them or even hit them with the belts they carried; they, too, seemed exhausted and out of breath. A final set of stairs led to a narrow door with the word EXIT written on a sign above it. The six were directed through the door, as the two remaining guards followed.
Gasping, Esther stepped out into the blinding sunlight of the roof. Already, the others were undoing their head coverings as they dropped their planks and building materials. With a sigh of relief, she too set down the glass panes before pushing back her hood and flexing her aching fingers, her arms trembling with exhaustion. After the stifling heat of the staircase, it was a pleasure to be back in the open. It took her a moment to register her surroundings: an immense roof that seemed four times as large as that of the District.
Then what she saw stunned her.
In a near corner, a garden was in progress. True, the glass structure was minute compared to the one at home; it held no more than a dozen long tables, unlike the hundreds that she was used to. Yet although crude, it was a perfect replica of the other greenhouse, with transparent panels set in soldered iron and a concave ceiling meant for catching rainwater ending in a large pipe that led to a tank below. The small building was still incomplete; Esther noticed that one wall consisted of nothing but heavy plastic, probably to allow for expansion. Still, her unbelieving eyes saw the tables were covered with long, dark green tubs. She imagined they were already filled with water and held the beginnings of a first crop.
It was her idea—the one Aras had first shared and that she later suggested to Gideon. The Insurgent leader had obviously stolen her plan. Yet instead of helping others, he had distorted her visio
n to benefit one person alone: himself.
Trembling with bitterness, Esther forced herself to look away; the sight of the thing was too painful to behold. She noticed that at the far end of the roof, a group of workers gathered around Joseph, who stood with his back to her. Stumpy weaved in and out of his feet. They were all dwarfed by immense piles of building materials: stacked glass panes, iron rods, wooden planks and beams, and tools scattered everywhere.
Before Esther could move, her heart pounding, her old friend looked up.
And stared right at her.
Joseph’s eyes grew huge; his mouth dropped open in shock. Stumpy noticed Esther, as well. Lifting her tail in greeting, she began to saunter toward her.
Esther did not dare bring a finger to her lips. She could only give a quick shake of her head and mouth a desperate word: No.
The slave master was behind her, close enough that she could feel his breath upon her neck.
“What wrong?”
Jud yanked her around so she faced him. Esther knew that her face was pale and feared what he would read in her expression. Sure enough, the boy looked up to see where she had been staring.
All he saw was the back of a boy, walking away. A cat’s tail swished from beneath his arm.
The guard turned to Esther again.
“Move, you.” He had already raised a hand to Ava, who cowered in fear.
But Esther did not need to be warned twice. She picked up the heavy glass panes and carried them to the far wall.
Late that afternoon, Esther rested with the others in the shade of the building. She was still thankful that Joseph had managed to keep her secret; she didn’t care to think what would have happened if he had not. A few feet away, the guards sat together and talked among themselves. Only Jud kept an eye on her.
Even though she was surrounded, she felt more alone than she ever had in her life. Esther closed her eyes, thinking once more of her loved ones. After so many days, she knew that the chances of their survival were slim. She conjured up Aras and the others who had been made to disappear and realized that it was all too likely that everyone else she loved had met the same fate.
The idea that she might never see any of them again hit her like a wave of physical exhaustion, and for the first time, she felt engulfed by a crushing sense of despair.
Then she opened her eyes.
Far in the distance, a wisp of dark smoke was curling up into the afternoon sky. Were her eyes deceiving her? It disappeared and her heart sank. Then another faint cloud appeared, unmistakable. It too disappeared. Then another tendril of black.
Back in Prin, this was the way she and Skar had always signaled each other.
Esther sat up, her heart pounding. The last smudge rose in the sky and was already fading; it was impossible to tell who had sent it or if it was a deliberate sign.
Esther forced herself to avert her gaze so that no one would notice what she was staring at. When she looked back a moment later, the sky was once again clear. Still, Esther felt buoyed by an irrational surge of hope.
Maybe her people were alive, after all.
And if they could stay alive, then so would she.
EIGHTEEN
AS WORD SPREAD, MORE OUTSIDERS BEGAN ARRIVING AT THE DISTRICT. They traveled from miles around, all seeking the same thing:
They came for the potion that would guarantee them life.
Each morning before the rotating glass doors were even unlocked, they congregated outside. Once they were allowed in, those who had known in advance to wear white or black robes took their patient place among the worshippers. Others had to wait to purchase them from Saith’s assistants, using items they had Gleaned or glass to pay for them. Only then were they allowed to join the line of chanting, bowing petitioners that by the first light of day was already snaking its way through the main hall.
The faithful waited to visit Saith in her altar, the structure on the ground floor that had once been a fountain. Sitting in a chair made of black mesh with metal legs that spread like a giant silver claw atop black wheels, she alone was uncloaked. With her shaved head and oversize black T-shirt that fit her like a dress, the girl priestess looked even younger than usual, surrounded by towering guards and a hooded assistant.
By her feet was a bucket, half-filled with bright blue liquid.
Once in her presence, a worshipper would bow low, chanting. Saith dipped what looked like an immense spoon in the vessel and scooped out some of the fluid. She would present it to the one who knelt before her; he or she would drink from it as Saith murmured the same words over and over:
“Live to get old.”
The follower swallowed deeply. He or she would then turn from the altar, chin wet and eyes gleaming with desperate hope. Then each would stumble away, chanting loudly and bowing before joining the others:
“Forgive us, Saith. Clean us, Saith. Heal us, Saith. Save us, Saith.”
The sound of prayer, Gideon thought with irritation, was as insistent as the droning of bees.
Though he was a full level away and his door was shut and locked, he could still hear the faraway murmur, rhythmic and pulsating. Even when he managed to block out the sound for a few moments, Gideon remained all too aware of the worshippers, hundreds of them.
Gideon had thought from the beginning that Saith’s religion was a clever way to fool and manipulate the gullible; yet it had secretly made him uneasy. He sensed that her cult, like the money system, hung on unquestioned belief and as a result was fundamentally unsound. He had been horrified to find out exactly what Saith was now promising: not merely her blessings, but long life, if they drank her concoction.
With more and more people flocking to the little priestess each day, begging for sips of her supposedly magical liquid, it was only a matter of time before they decided to test its power. That moment would come with the next rainstorm, and after that, Saith’s fervent believers would start to sicken and die. Gideon didn’t like to imagine what would then happen to her, the District, or the entire life they had set up for themselves.
More and more it occurred to Gideon that Saith had begun to believe her own words: that the blue concoction she mixed from paint and clean water would actually protect people from the disease. That she was universally beloved. That she was immortal. He rarely spoke to her anymore, so he wasn’t certain. For although they were still business partners, the boy now realized that Saith was becoming too unstable to trust.
And so Gideon had begun to form a change in plans.
According to reports, construction of the new building was going well; Gideon was due to visit the following day. He would have his boys drive the slaves to finish at least a section of the garden as soon as possible.
What Gideon now planned for the new space was a secret he shared with no one: that along with a few trusted guards, he would inhabit it alone.
Saith was driving the District toward disaster: that much was clear.
Gideon planned to be long gone by the time it happened.
By the light of a single torch, Nur wadded up the cloth once more and scrubbed at the floor. The last of the worshippers had left, and now the arduous part of her day began: polishing the central hall of the District so that it would look pristine again by morning.
The girl had to work extra hard to get the marble surface spotless, leaning in with all of her weight. The harsh cleaning paste dried out her hands and made them crack and bleed. Within minutes, her back and arms were aching, and her knees bit into the hard ground as she leaned forward.
To rest, Nur sat back for a moment on her heels. From habit, she reached up to push the heavy tumble of dark locks away from her sweating face. Her hand touched nothing but air, for of course, her head had been shaved weeks before. Even though she rarely indulged any feelings of self-pity, thinking about her lost hair gave her a slight pang. Lowering her hood, the girl gazed at herself in the surface of one of the polished silver legs that supported Saith’s chair.
Her reflection ballo
oned back at her, and Nur had to tilt her head to and fro until she could get a fair picture of how she looked.
What she saw made her cry out.
Without the lush and glossy cascade of dark brown that had once softened her features, her ears now stuck out in a ludicrous way. Her eyes looked too big and her chin too pronounced. When Nur touched her ashy cheek in despair, she saw how ugly her hand was: withered and dry, like a claw.
She did not even bother examining her figure, which all males used to stare at with desire, even Gideon. How they used to fight for her attention! Ever since she was young, her beauty had given her a feeling of power, and as a result, Nur had always felt in charge of her dealings downstairs, no matter how much the other girls looked down on what she did. They were only jealous, she thought with momentary spite. Yet now, she knew that no boy would ever look at her again. Thanks to Saith, she had become flat and bony, and old beyond her years.
Nur was not aware that tears were running down her face, tears of grief and anger. She was so busy peering at this nightmarish self in the silvery metal, she didn’t hear the person approaching from behind. Then a sound made her turn.
A cloaked figure stood still, its head cocked.
“Oh,” it said. “I didn’t know it was you.”
It was Eli.
Embarrassed, Nur wiped her face with her sleeve and started to lift her hood to once more cover her face.
“Leave it,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Nur gave a damp smile. Because of the separation of the sexes, she was no longer permitted to speak to any boy. If Nur and Eli were caught right now, they would be subject to harsh punishment.
Yet Nur had not seen Eli in many weeks and had considered him a friend—one of the few she had—when they both worked downstairs. It had saddened and bewildered her that he drank so much proof; it turned him into a pathetic relic of a person, and she wondered why he had allowed that to happen. Many nights, she had had to physically roust him from his chair and help him stagger outside and back to his room.