The Slave Series

by Laura Frances

  “What’s the point?” he says, his voice quiet and challenging.

  How am I supposed to know?! I scream in my head. I look back to the mirror and center my gaze on the woman who looks so much like my mother. I beg her to tell me what to do, what to say. My mother always said the right things.

  Tomorrow will be better, my mother said. I had just returned home from school in tears. A little boy in my class had been punished for drawing on his paper. I could still hear the way he cried when the whip hit his hands.

  Wait for tomorrow, Hannah. You’ll see. Each day has a way of blurring the past, until we almost forget it ever happened.

  She was lying. I knew she never forgot the evil she witnessed. I knew she cried in the middle of the night, and that Father would sit up with her, holding her until she stopped shaking. She was lying. But maybe she didn’t know there was truth in her words, too.

  We will never forget. But maybe there are better days ahead. Maybe I’ve been hiding away hope that surviving will eventually lead to something good. Tears slip down my cheeks. I miss my mother and her words. Maybe my parents’ promises were empty, but they were relentlessly hopeful.

  “Tomorrow,” I say, leveling my gaze on Takeshi again.

  Three seconds tick by. Ten seconds. I hear nothing but the pulsing in my ears and the thumping in my chest. A slow smile crawls across Takeshi’s face.

  “Tomorrow,” he echoes quietly, nodding. He steps back, and I quickly wipe the tears from my face. For some reason, I don’t want Cash to know that I cried.

  “Tomorrow,” he says again to himself. He turns on a heel and heads back through the office, landing a hard pat to Edan’s shoulder as he passes. I stand frozen a few seconds. So many emotions are sitting too close to the surface. My head turns, and my gaze lands on my reflection again. This time, I don’t see my mother. I see me. My eyes are red, my nose is red, and my skin is pale white. But my jaw is tense, and when I stare into my own eyes, I feel as though my reflection is daring me.

  “What’s tomorrow?” Edan asks. He’s still staring at the floor when he asks it; still leaning against the open door. A second later he looks up, turning to me. His mouth is bent upward in a half grin. I take too long to answer. I’m still adjusting to seeing him in Watcher clothes.

  I say, “My mother.”

  Edan nods. We stand in silence for several long seconds.

  “Is she here?”

  A knot forms in my throat, and I swallow, shaking my head. His expression falls.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping.

  I’m sorry says the Watcher in black. The one wearing black boots that stomp into homes and break families. I can’t get a thank you to rise from my throat. I only stare back at him, lost.

  Takeshi pops his head into the office again and tells us to get a move on. Edan motions for me to pass, and I walk ahead into the hall. I glance over my shoulder as we walk and see the way he’s glaring at the ground, adjusting the rifle strap across his chest like he hates the feeling. Ahead, Cash waits, standing in the doorway to the Infirmary, arms spread and his hands pressing into the frame. He’s watching the sick being tended. He looks worried.

  I’m so confused.

  12

  The wind bites my face when we step outside the factory. It’s been nine days here, and already I had forgotten the sting of a cold, wet wind.

  We travel in the darkness through a deserted alley. Takeshi, Edan, me, then Cash taking up the back. They each walk with pistols in hand, green lights glowing. It’s strange to look along the dark alley walls and see no bodies lying against the brick; no Outcasts shifting and turning, trying to find a comfortable position on the asphalt. They are all indoors, sheltered and fed—at least in this corner of the valley.

  The air still smells like waste, and the scent blends with smoke drifting across the valley from fires that were only just recently extinguished. Solomon told me that in the most recent attack, two factories were damaged to such a degree they were rendered unsafe. If the Council isn’t allowing expendable Workers to enter the buildings, the damage must be bad. The scent of smoke makes my nose burn.

  On what seems like every corner stands a figure with a weapon in hand. Polished black boots glisten in the dim street lights. Solomon told me about them, too. They are like Edan and Cash, former Watchers, standing guard over the Resistance. Takeshi nods at each soldier when we pass them. Up close, I realize the friendly soldiers wear the same white bands around their arms, the way the medics do in the Infirmary. I’m beginning to recognize that this Resistance is well organized. It makes a small spark come to life in me.

  There is no sound other than the quiet stamping of our boots. We walk close to the buildings, pausing before open streets, waiting for Takeshi to give us the go ahead—a quick flick of two fingers. The closer we get to the Council controlled sectors, the more soldiers I see—along alleys and open streets and milling around on rooftops. I wonder, as I listen to the sound of Cash’s footsteps behind me, how many of them are trustworthy.

  We’ve been walking for an hour when Takeshi stops, motioning toward a door cut into the side of a massive brick building on our left. He motions for Cash, who enters with him, gun raised. When the entry is cleared, Edan and I follow. Inside, it is too dark to see more than a foot in front of me.

  “This is it,” Takeshi whispers. “Just ahead is the end of our territory.” And it’s clear he’s talking to me. Edan and Cash know the layout. I nod, then realize he can’t see me.

  “Okay,” I say, too quiet. My body trembles, from cold and from fear. I’m glad no one can see me. Whoever is standing to my left is radiating warmth, and my impulse is to shift closer. But I realize it’s Cash, and the idea is immediately snuffed out. We are all already close enough that our arms touch with the slightest movement.

  “You can do this, Hannah,” Edan says. “Remember the plan. And if you think you’re in trouble, we’ll be close by.”

  “Edan will make his way to the back of the building and enter through a door in the alley.” Takeshi says. “He will enter close to the lab and wait for you. Do you remember how to find the lab?”

  “Yes. Look at the map while I’m scanning my thumb. Find the blue room.”

  “Get in there and show the techs what?”

  I breathe out slow, hoping my voice will be steadier than my body. “The yellow paper.” I reach into my pocket and feel the paper against my fingertips.

  “Right. That paper means you have been sent to do what?”

  “Transfer antibiotic samples from one lab to another.”

  “Right again,” Takeshi says. “The labels will read TCD.” He pauses. “You can do this. Are you ready?”

  No. No, I’m not ready. Is it too late to back out?

  “Yes.”

  The smoke in the air thickens as we approach the border. Ahead, I see mounds of metal and wood and plastic piled in a long line, blocking the road. When we get closer, I see that it is the machinery missing from the factories. Massive washers and dryers. Sewing machines and sergers and many more appliances I don’t know. Tables and chairs and desks toppled on their sides and mangled—destroyed. Even in the dim light of early morning, the message is clear. My first instinct is to shrink into myself—to hide. I don’t want to be associated with this level of rebellion. But it only takes a glance at the men around me to ignite something braver in me. I’m surprised by the feeling. It’s something alive, and it rises unexpectedly.

  The night air is moist, and my body trembles. I rub my hands together, breathing into them, but it doesn’t do much against the sting. The cold wind whips through my clothes, and the muscles around my spine are clenching, sending pain rippling through my back. I hate shivering. My body hunches forward, and I fold my arms and dip my chin in the collar of my coat.

  “Time to split up,” Takeshi whispers. He points east, addressing Edan. “Four blocks, then over the barrier. Stay out of sight.”

  To Cash he says, “Take Hann
ah another block. Cross the barrier under shadow covering. You might need to help her.”

  First, I want to step forward and say that I don’t need help. I can do it on my own. Second, and most importantly, I don’t want to be alone with Cash. But I’m too nervous to say anything.

  I don’t look at Cash when the decision is made. I don’t look at Cash after Edan drops an arm across my shoulders and squeezes. Or when Takeshi walks backward, pointing at me, mouthing tomorrow once before disappearing around the corner. Only when I am completely alone with Cash, defenseless and staring wide-eyed after Edan, do I risk a glance upward in his direction.

  I’m surprised to find him doing exactly the same thing. Both of his hands grip the strap across his chest. He stares off in the direction Takeshi took, and swallows. His jaw sets, and he breathes out hard through the nose. He turns to meet my eyes. At first his gaze is hard, and I think Watcher and trained killer and heartless. I don’t dare look away, so I plant my feet, forcing them to stay put though I’d rather run. It’s long seconds and eyes shifting away and back again before either of us moves.

  A gust of wind whips through the alley, and shivers rack my body. These clothes are too thin and worn. These boots are too tattered and ripped. I turn to start in the direction Takeshi indicated, but Cash stops me with a hand on my shoulder. I freeze, my teeth chattering. I hear him rustling with something behind me and slowly turn to find him opening his coat halfway and reaching inside. He pulls out a small packet, no bigger than my hand, closes his coat, shakes the packet, and holds it out to me.

  “It will help with the cold,” he says. “Put it here.” He touches the center of his chest. I stare at his outstretched hand until he shakes it at me and says, “Come on. Take it.” When I hold it, I’m shocked by the warmth that seeps in to the palm of my hand. I turn away and open my coat enough to slip the packet into my undershirt. I button my coat and turn back. Already, I can feel my core warming. I look up, about to say thank you, but he’s moving again. I hurry to keep up. I’m racing to match his pace, and my mind is swimming, trying to process all of these changes. Edan apologizing for my mother’s death. Cash offering me warmth in a freezing alley. Watchers doing and saying nice things to slaves. Maybe it’s all a means to an end. Maybe it’s all an act. But I don’t want it to be. I’m finding that, like Aspen, I want to believe them.

  13

  The only way across the barrier is to climb it. Cash goes first, maneuvering awkwardly over the slick metal machinery. The pile shifts beneath his weight as he makes his way on his hands and feet. Beside me, a man leans over an industrial washing machine, pointing his rifle into the distance through a hole they’ve created. He continually peers through the scope.

  I don’t sense much movement on the other side of the barrier. I don’t hear any Watchers at all, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. I have known Watchers to materialize out of the shadows.

  “Where is everyone?” I whisper to the man. “Are there Watchers defending the other side?”

  The man glances at me. Everyone is so surprised when I speak up. I keep forgetting that I am a Worker. Workers are silent. My cheeks warm.

  “We control another quarter mile in,” he says, peaking through his scope again with one eye closed. “Your turn.”

  I nod, but don’t move. I swallow hard. I don’t want to do this.

  There’s a rustling, and Cash appears over the top of the barrier. I brace for his scolding, but it never comes. He’s propping up on one gloved hand and holding out his other to me. I look toward the gray sky growing lighter every minute. We will run out of time, and it will be my fault. I have to move. His hand is so much bigger than mine. It swallows the tiny fingers that look just like my mother’s. His grip is tight, and I scramble gracelessly over the pile. My foot slips over the slick metal, and a jagged edge catches my left leg, tearing a hole in my pants. Pain sears through my cold skin. I press my lips together and haul myself up. Cash keeps pulling until I’ve cleared the top. Once my feet are on solid ground, he’s tugging my hand, and we’re running into the shadows, crouching beneath a fire escape.

  “We have to wait,” he whispers, eyes surveying our surroundings. I see shadows of men, hunched over guns on rooftops and standing beneath the street lamps, rifles pointed down, but fingers resting near the triggers. Cash leans forward, peering at the sky, then pulls back his sleeve and checks a bulky, black watch.

  I should be asking him what we’re waiting for or reviewing the plan or something. What I shouldn’t be doing is staring at his profile as he scans the streets. I shouldn’t be fixating on the way his breath fogs in the air, or how he’s so close I can see tiny strands of gold peeking from beneath his hat, near his ear. It’s like no matter what Solomon or Edan said, Cash was never really one of us. Not to me. He was one of them. But something is shifting.

  When I move, the fabric of my pants brushes against the gash in my leg, and I suck in a breath. I move to a sitting position, my back against the wall, and pull the pant leg up to my knee. There’s a three-inch cut, not too deep, running along the side of my shin. I touch the tender skin around it and hiss through my teeth.

  “Let me see,” Cash says, dropping against the wall beside me. My head barely clears his shoulder. I feel like a child. He reaches out like he’s about to touch my leg, then hesitates. His hand stills mid-air, fingers closing into a loose fist. He changes his mind, removes his glove, and touches the skin on either side of the cut with his index finger and thumb. He leans in closer to examine it. His fingertips are warm, and a shiver runs through me. I try to continue breathing; try to act like this is normal behavior for someone like him and someone like me.

  “Not bad,” he murmurs, his eyebrows pulled in. His eyes flick to mine, then away. “You’ll need stitches.”

  He returns to watching the street. I slowly lower my pant leg, staring at the back of his head like I might find some explanation there.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, waiting. The shadows begin to pull back. I have questions tumbling in my mind—things about Cash that suddenly intrigue me. It’s that curiosity that my mother warned me against. It creeps up at the worst times. Like now.

  “Why a feather?” I say through chattering teeth. I can’t see it now, but I remember the single, white feather tattooed behind his ear. I don’t expect him to answer, and I don’t know why I asked. The longer he ignores me, the more embarrassed I feel.

  After a long, uncomfortable silence, Cash looks back to me. Even his eyelashes are golden, framing brown eyes. He looks at me too long, and my face heats. I deeply regret saying a word. He doesn’t look amused.

  “It was a gift,” he finally says, looking away. I know I should leave it at that.

  “From who?” I ask, drawing his eyes back. This time he studies me like I’m an anomaly.

  Workers do not talk. Workers do not ask personal questions.

  Workers and Watchers are not friends.

  “Never mind who,” he says, holding my gaze. I squirm.

  “Oh,” I stutter. “Well…it’s nice.”

  His shoulders bounce in an empty laugh. He smiles without emotion, looking to the streets again.

  “Thanks,” he mutters.

  In the distance, I hear clanging. It’s a quiet sound at first, only loud enough to detect if I try. But soon the sound multiplies, and I know what I’m hearing.

  Workers. They are descending the spiral stairs of their living units.

  “It’s time,” Cash says. He shifts forward. “We have to blend in now, while the streets are full.” He pauses. Looks back at me. Hesitates. “This is where I leave you.”

  Weight hits my stomach. I knew this was coming. Workers and Watchers cannot be seen walking together. We’ve been over this. I will walk half a mile to the pharmaceutical factory and make my way inside. Cash will remotely signal the techs back at base when I am entering the building. I’ll scan my thumb. I’ll go to the lab, show the yellow slip, get the medicine samples, meet Edan
, and hope we get back safely over the barrier. What I didn’t expect was this resistance to leaving Cash’s side. I’m nodding my head, but I’m stuck in place.

  Cash moves to go but hesitates again. Leaning close, he says, “You can do this.”

  He says it so quiet the sound barely passes his lips. I’m surprised when a flash of embarrassment crosses his eyes, like it’s the first time he’s encouraged someone. Maybe it’s the first time he’s encouraged a Worker. For some reason I cannot explain, that means more to me than any other time those words have been said today. I meet his eyes, my face warming from the close proximity, and form a smile just for him. I wonder how often he’s smiled at. When I’m this close, I can remember Norma’s words, telling me that no person is without hope.

  “Okay,” I say, nodding once.

  “Okay,” he says, matching my nod. When he pulls on his mask, I find myself praying that no one recognizes him. I watch as he stands and moves to the other side of the street. From this distance, it would be easy to forget the last few seconds. From here, he looks terrifying.

  Blending with the Workers isn’t hard. But keeping my eyes trained down is, and this was never a problem before the revolution began. I am not the girl I was just days ago. Scales have fallen from my eyes. Now I see Watchers, and I wonder who they are working for. I see Workers and I want to take them with me; to pull their weary bodies into the shadows and tell them that there is a safe place. That there’s a man named Solomon, and he wants to save us. And that I think I trust him.

  I peek over my shoulder and see Cash patrolling several yards back, slowly making his way toward the factory that looms ahead. He shakes his head so slightly I barely see it. He’s telling me to stop that. I look too curious. I drop my eyes and face forward again.