The Slave Series

by Laura Frances

  I grunt, my eyes closed again.

  “I mean, I get that they need to practice, so whatever. But I don’t remember hearing any gunshots. Do you?” A pause. “Silent guns. That’s…freaky.”

  I grunt again.

  “Oh!” Aspen shifts, and something heavy lands on my stomach. My eyes fly open. “I’m supposed to give you these.”

  She sets her hands behind her head and closes her eyes.

  I stare at the black combat boots. Pushing my palms to the mattress, I sit up fast.

  “Aspen, where did you get these?”

  She grunts, mocking me. I nudge her with my hip.

  “Aspen.”

  “Oh my gosh, I was falling asleep,” she whines.

  “Where did you get these,” I repeat.

  She sighs dramatically. “I’m not supposed to say. I think. Well, I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say.”

  She looks at me, and I widen my eyes at her.

  “The jerk,” she grins. Her eyes close.

  “Cash?”

  “Yeah, that guy,” she says in a long, tired breath. “He ran into me in the hall and asked me to give them to you.”

  “Why?”

  Aspen huffs a laugh. “Does it matter? Have you seen your boots? They’re shredded.”

  She grabs a blanket from the end of the bed and turns on her side. I lean against the wall and stare at the black boots in my lap. They are the same variety that the Watchers wear. They haven’t been shined, and they look worn in, but they are in much better condition than the pair I’ve walked in for years.

  Cash must have seen my boots during our assignment to get the medicine. My face warms. I shouldn’t be embarrassed. Most Workers have worn out shoes. I set the boots on the floor and lie on my belly. Propping my chin on my folded arms, I stare at them. Next to my old pair, they look brand new.

  A smile forces its way across my lips.

  I turn on my back, which is hard with Aspen pressed to my side.

  I stare at the ceiling, but this room is darker than the first one. I can barely make out the plain square tiles. Two rectangular strips cut through the middle, at the center of the room. When they are on, the light is an ugly yellow.

  Beside me, Aspen is snoring quietly. Maybe it’s strange that I enjoy the sound. I remember several years ago, before Albert became sick, that Norma would fuss about the noise he made at night. I would laugh, but inside I was longing to trade places. I prefer the noise over the loneliness that silence brings.

  My eyes fall closed. I try to sleep, but my ears catch on to every sound and my tired muscles jump. We are only two doors down from the Infirmary, and I can hear the activity continuing into the night. I think of the window frames without glass, the wind blowing through the hall, and I don’t think I’ll be able to fall asleep. I am nowhere near the exterior walls of the building, but I imagine the sound of boots treading lightly on the glass, sneaking into our compound, and suddenly my heart is racing.

  I huddle under the blanket next to Aspen and press my hands over my ears.

  When I wake up, my pillow is damp. I dreamed about hollow-eyed soldiers in black tiptoeing through the halls, surrounding us while we slept. I dreamed that Cash was among them, and when they demanded to know who stole the medicine, he dragged me from my bed and threw me at their feet.

  I don’t know if it’s morning when I wake up, only that I don’t want to sleep anymore. I rise from the mattress slowly, taking care not to wake Aspen. Tiptoeing, I make my way to the closest bathroom to shower. The hot water is gone.

  The boots Cash gave me fit well, with a small bit of room at the front that I’m grateful for. My old boots were so tight, the ends of my toes stayed bruised. I find dark green pants and a gray long sleeved shirt in the bins. I shrug on my coat before slipping into the hall.

  As I’m stepping out of the bathroom, a scream is echoing through the facility. Hairs raise on my arms, and I take off running, the soles of my new boots grabbing the linoleum, propelling me forward. A few others are running too. The man in front of me swings his arm to push aside the blanket when we reach the Infirmary. I duck through before he drops it.

  I look over the room, frantic. But the sound seems to be coming from everywhere. It’s a piercing sound, the kind of scream that means deep pain. My eyes land on movement in the corner, and I hurry through the gathering crowd to get a better look.

  Several people stand around a woman who plants her feet on the bed, using her legs to lift off, writhing in pain. Cash leans over her, trying to hold her still. His arms strain to control her thrashing. He murmurs something I can’t hear. Solomon is standing off to the side, arms crossed, a hand over his mouth—his eyes lit with anger.

  A man plunges a syringe into the woman’s arm. In seconds, the screams turn to moans, broken whimpers falling from her mouth.

  I inch closer. When I am only feet away, I stop, cold washing over me. Her hand is barely intact, her arm mangled, with bone exposed. The skin on the right side of her face is bloodied and burned. I fight back the bile rising into my mouth. I need to see this. This is the reality we are facing, and I want to be as fully informed as possible.

  I sway a little.

  Whatever they gave her has calmed her almost to sleeping, but soft moans still tumble over her lips. Cash backs away and catches his breath. When he sees me, he crosses to my side.

  “What happened?” I say. I watch as the woman is carted away to another room. I wonder what kind of treatments they will have available here in this clothing factory.

  “She picked up a can,” Cash says. “It exploded.”

  “What?”

  I feel sick.

  “They must have dropped them into the streets when they blew out the glass.”

  I shake my head. My hands are shaking. My knees feel like buckling. “But that doesn’t make sense,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “Because they don’t need to do that! Wouldn’t it be easier just to attack?”

  Cash faces me, lowering his voice. “That isn’t their goal. They want control back.”

  “So they get that by dropping rigged food cans into the streets?”

  My head won’t stop shaking. I stare at the door they carried the woman through.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” I mutter.

  Cash looks to the crowd dissolving around us. He leans closer. “Look at their faces.”

  It doesn’t take long to understand his reasoning. Most of the people wear fear plainly. Some have wide eyes and tightly pressed lips, the color drained from their faces. Others breathe too heavy, their bodies trembling. A few are angry, faces red, fists clenched. They whisper to one another, the way we are whispering now. I recognize the same reaction in myself. Tremors are running through my body, from adrenaline and fear. Fear of what they will do next. Fear of not knowing.

  “The goal is terror,” Cash says quietly. “Terrorize the Workers until they come crawling back. Do the same to the Watchers until they submit.”

  “So what can we do?” We have no way to predict what the Council will do next. How can we fight an enemy who doesn’t play by the rules?

  Cash crosses to a sink in the far corner of the room. I follow him, walking fast to match his long strides. He washes the woman’s blood from his hands, taking time to clean beneath his nails.

  He dries his hands and turns to me.

  “We give them hope,” he says. “Hope that can’t be scared away.”

  19

  “It’s time. They can no longer be allowed to live in ignorance.”

  Solomon crosses his arms, one hand rubbing over his tightly closed mouth. He stares at the table, deliberating. We are in the brick room. Solomon, Cash, and several other soldiers I don’t know. I stand against a wall, listening. I don’t think I should be here for this, but Cash insisted that I come.

  He continues. “This isn’t working. And with all due respect, it was never going to.” He leans forward, pressing his palms to the table. “I
t is time we tell them.”

  Slowly, I push off the wall. All of my senses are sharpened, straining toward whatever truth they have been withholding. I barely move, barely breathe. The air in the room has stilled, like a great inhale. I wait, feeling my pulse everywhere.

  Solomon continues to stare at the table in silence. He is a statue, but inside I know that every wheel is turning. There is a decision to be made. And it will change everything. I feel it.

  Some of the men glance at me. Cash follows their looks, but he doesn’t linger. He isn’t concerned that I am here. Maybe he brought me to push his point to Solomon. Maybe my presence will force a decision.

  We all wait. When Solomon leans forward, pressing his hands to the table, I can feel the lift in the air. His movement draws all eyes, all hopeful hearts, all inquisitive minds. I do not envy him his responsibilities. In this moment, he looks as though he carries the weight of the entire valley.

  Edan pushes through the door, followed by Takeshi. Takeshi nods to me, eying me curiously. He must be wondering why I am here. The more people look at me that way, the more I feel it too. This is need to know. Maybe I am the reason Solomon is hesitating.

  Edan walks past, touching my arm before joining the other men around the table.

  Takeshi slaps Cash on the back. “What’d we miss?”

  “We were discussing the inevitable,” Solomon says. It is the first he has spoken in several minutes. We all turn his direction.

  “Hannah,” he says. This is the part where I am dismissed. My eyes shift, and my face reddens.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Are you prepared for a history lesson?”

  My mouth falls open, and I stutter over a response. The men are glancing at me. The attention makes me want to be invisible. But he said history lesson. I want to hear this. I need to hear this. I nod.

  “Yes. Very.”

  “Join us.”

  The men shift, and I step forward, standing between Edan and another soldier with a scar running the length of his forearm.

  Solomon rolls out a map.

  “The valley has been run as a slave system for one hundred and three years.”

  One sentence, and all I have believed about this world has shattered with the glass. I have always viewed the valley as a forever thing. It always has been, and it always will be. But suddenly that idea feels foolish. Of course there was a beginning. And I can’t help but think: Things with beginnings can end.

  “There was once a mighty nation that stretched over this continent.”

  I’m already lost. I have no idea what a continent is, but I can imagine, by his description, that it is big. I don’t voice my confusion. Somehow I don’t think it matters. And even though everyone in this room understands that I have lived my life in the shadows, my ignorance is embarrassing. I remain quiet.

  “When civil unrest divided the people, war became unavoidable. But just as the tensions were reaching their peak, a voice rose out of the crowd, suggesting the peoples separate into two nations. They would split the land, split the funding, and begin again on their own terms. After much debate, this was decided. One great nation became two struggling nations.”

  “The southern lands adopted a monarchy. They elected a king, and his line has ruled ever since. The northern lands chose a different approach. They felt that one man could not be trusted to rule an entire country. Therefore, they elected a panel of five leaders.”

  “The Council.” I didn’t mean to say the words out loud, but they tumble over my lips before I know what I’m doing. Someone has scooted a chair behind me, and I slowly drop into the seat. Maybe they saw my legs shaking. Maybe I swayed or gripped the table too tightly. I don’t dare peel my eyes from Solomon, so I have no idea who to thank.

  “Yes,” Solomon nods, meeting my eyes. “One hundred and four years ago, the southern kingdom was devastated by a massive earthquake. Some of the largest cities were leveled, including the capital city. Already a poor nation, and facing economic collapse, they had no choice but to seek aid. But the North was hesitating. The sovereign of the South chose a man to travel to the North and negotiate aid. This man was young and, I truly believe, naive. He could not have known what lay ahead.”

  Solomon’s eyes flick to something over my shoulder. After a moment, he continues.

  “This young man’s name was Turner Gray. To avoid a lengthy story, I will simply state that he betrayed the South for a seat on the Council.”

  Solomon pauses so long that I think he must be done. He stands, like he’s leaving, and I stand too, the chair scraping the floor behind me.

  “But…how did they get the people to become slaves?” I demand. “Why would anyone accept that?”

  Solomon continues walking, but instead of leaving, he is pacing. His hand rubs his mouth, his eyes distant. After a few seconds, he settles in his chair again. After a beat, I do too.

  “You must understand, Hannah. The earthquake left many desperate people. It was late in the fall and many homes had been destroyed. The Council simply offered help to anyone who was willing to volunteer with their labor force. They were offered food, shelter, and medical care—all in exchange for their work.” He sighs. “And not everyone agreed. In fact, of the millions of Southern citizens, only some thirty-three thousand took the deal.”

  My body heats—angry.

  “Why didn’t the South rescue their people?”

  “They didn’t know,” the soldier with the scar says. He is older than many of the others, but not as gray as Solomon. “Workers have never been allowed to send communication. Anywhere.”

  “Did no one try to escape?” I’m trembling now. I clasp my hand in my lap to control it.

  Solomon nods. “A young couple did try, many years later. They were successful in escaping the valley. They were given shelter by another young couple and were to be assisted to the border. But that young man aiding them had one problem. He was one of Taylor Gray’s twin sons. In the end, they were found out. All four were sent back into the valley.”

  “He sent his son?” Edan’s eyes flash with anger.

  “The entire panel voted, and Turner Gray attempted to make a deal. But in the end, four out of five voted to send Alex Gray and his young, pregnant wife into the valley. Allowing for leniency would be too risky.”

  “Did she survive?” I say it so quiet, I’m not sure anyone hears me. “Did…the baby survive?”

  “Yes,” Solomon says gently. “They both survived.”

  Voices rise, and questions spring from all directions. It hadn’t occurred to me that the soldiers would not know these accounts. But if the Council was willing to send Alex Gray and his wife into the slave system to keep them silent, they certainly wouldn’t trust their soldiers.

  Except, I think, Cash knew.

  I sit in silence as the men discuss and debate. Closing my eyes, I block the noise, my thoughts narrowing to one, singular fact:

  I belong somewhere.

  I try to imagine what the South must look like. I try to imagine what it must be like for the millions of others who did not take the deal. Their descendants are living free, somewhere beyond the mountains. I wonder what situation convinced my family to say yes. I feel anxious, even now, wishing I were there to convince them otherwise. They had a choice.

  They chose wrong.

  20

  The plan is to gather the people into the old cafeteria sometime this evening. The hope is that a deeper understanding of where we came from will inspire bravery and a willingness to fight. As for myself, I am too consumed by my own imaginings to be good company. All the possibilities sit waiting, and now that I know they are there, it’s all I can think about.

  I asked Solomon to let me tell Aspen. It didn’t seem like it would matter, since he’d be telling everyone today anyway. To my surprise, he said yes.

  We’re sitting in an empty hallway, scraping food from cans that we pass back and forth between us. It’s hard for me to eat from these cans, after wha
t happened to the woman. Even though it’s open and most of the contents are in my stomach, I’m still waiting for it to explode.

  I’ve just finished telling Aspen what I learned when she stands abruptly.

  She paces a few feet, spins around, and holds a hand up.

  “So you’re telling me there’s an entire country—our country—out there, and they haven’t come to get us? For like…a hundred years?”

  “I told you,” I say. “Workers have never been allowed to communicate outside the valley.”

  “And no one outside the valley thought it was something that ought to be shared?” She crosses her arms and presses her lips in a firm line.

  I shrug. “Maybe they didn’t know. Or maybe…I don’t know…maybe the Council threatens everyone.” I think about Edan’s sister, and my heart aches.

  Aspen drops to the floor beside me. “I guess someone must have said something,” she mutters. “That’s why Solomon is here.”

  Her forehead presses to her knees, arms around her legs. I feel like my mother in moments like these. I know what she would do for someone in need of comfort. I drop an arm over Aspen’s shoulders.

  “That’s right,” I say, hoping I sound encouraging. “And he has a plan.”

  Though I’m not sure what exactly that plan is. We’ve been in this factory for almost two weeks. So far, we’ve stolen medicine, been rained on by glass, and discovered exploding cans.

  It’s comforting to share information with Aspen. I want her to feel like she can trust me, and keeping secrets, no matter how important, hinders that. It feels good knowing she knows.

  The hall we sit in is quiet. I chose one farther into the factory so we could talk. We’ve only been sitting in silence for a minute when shouts begin echoing off the walls. Aspen and I jump to our feet. After sharing a glance, we take off running.

  Everyone is in a frenzy when we reach the hall of sleeping rooms. Workers are shaking one another awake and gripping arms, running out the door. My stomach twists. I can’t imagine what the Council has done now, but I know it’s horrific. That’s how they operate.