I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. Words are flying out of me, my mind grasping at anything I think might hurt him. I pause with a gasp of breath and realize I’m about to hyperventilate for the second time today. And that’s one thing I can’t afford for Connor to see, so I get up and do my best attempt at storming off on my crutches into the trees.
It’s not long before I can hardly see my own hand in front of me in the growing darkness, and the fear of exposing my weakness to Connor hits up against the fear of being by myself in the woods in the dark. I slump onto the ground against a tree and try to steady my breath.
Within minutes, the smell of bread and meat and seasonings floats out, and I realize how dumb I am for leaving before I could grab some dinner. My stomach growls, but it’s too late now. There’ll be another meal in the morning, and I remind myself, I can eat however much I want.
Breathe. In, two, three, four, five… out, two, three, four, five…
As my breaths begin to quiet, I hear the crunch of footsteps over leaves and twigs.
I really want to be alone right now.
“Don’t worry about me, Kinlee. Go eat.”
The footsteps stop. “Actually, it’s me.”
“Connor?” Shit. The last thing I want is to go another round with him. “Can you just not.”
“I'm not here to argue,” he says. “I’ve got food.”
I really don’t have anything more to say to him. But my stomach rumbles.
“If it makes you feel any better, Kin completely laid into me after you left. She really let me have it.”
“I don’t need Kinlee fighting my battles for me.”
“No. You really don’t.”
Is that respect I hear in his voice?
“She called me ‘squirrel’ the whole time, too.”
I can’t help it, a laugh slips out. He steps a little closer and I can see his face. He really does look penitent.
“Look, I know I can be somewhat…”
“Annoying?” I volunteer. “Pushy? Stupid?”
“Thank you, Thesaurus,” he teases. But his voice is friendlier now, not the combative tone he threw at me before. “And yeah. All of those. And I’m… I’m…” He sighs. “I’m sorry.”
Wow, that was really hard for him. He looks down to his feet, his wild waves of hair falling over his face. For a moment I’m almost softened by how cute it is, but my stubbornness kicks in and protects me.
“Kinlee made you do that.”
“Well. Yeah. But I am. And if I go back with this plate still full, she’s gonna kill me.”
He raises his eyebrows, pleading, his hand tapping against the side of his leg.
My stomach growls again. My resistance melts. Real food is an indulgence I’m not used to, and I like it, a lot.
“Fine.” I pat a spot on the ground next to me. He plops down and pushes the plate into my hands. I dig right in.
While I eat, he talks.
“I don’t mean to be so difficult,” he says. “I really don’t. It has nothing to do with you.”
“So then why are you?” I ask, mouth full.
He sighs, and his resistance is almost tangible between us. I take another bite and wait.
“I’ve lived in the camp my whole life. That’s unusual. Most of the people here, they’re either from the Directorate, or they’re activists from ally nations who can’t sit by and do nothing.”
The mention of other countries catches my imagination – what else is out there in the world beyond the Quads? But I let him keep going.
“My mother was one of those. When she came here she was just out of school. She only planned to be here a few years, to learn, so she could go back and tell others what’s really going on inside the Directorate.”
He looks away and stares down at his fidgeting hands.
“But she ended up staying and working with Intel & Recon. Then she met my dad. My dad was like you; he lived in the Quads, and the serum the Directorate uses for departures didn’t work on him. The Alliance got him out. And, well, he was my dad, so he and my mom got together. And they had me.”
“He chose for himself who to be with?”
I’ve heard of people trying to do this, but it never works out. The stories get passed around; every once in a while, rumors from other Quads. A person who believes she’s found a mate on her own – at work maybe, or someone she knew in school. I’ve even heard stories where perfect strangers meet on a shuttle, and that’s it, they’re hooked.
They say it feels so good at first; that you don’t you think it’s going to happen to you. That all the bad things they warn you about, when a person casts aside the Directorate’s careful matching assessments, won’t happen this time. But they always do.
Because even if they’re not matched to someone when they meet, they will be soon. And then what? It always ends in pain. And I don’t just mean heartsickness – sometimes it ends in injuries, or even deaths, when people get really desperate and start making reckless choices.
People used to choose mates for themselves, but it had to stop. The anxiety of trying to find a good mate, the depression when it didn’t work out, the divorce rates and upheaval to their children. It was a huge mess of emotional trauma for everyone – like a drug that people couldn’t stop themselves from craving, no matter how much damage it did.
The Directorate uses all the best technology and research to pair us comfortably, optimized for compatibility and genetic potential. How could anyone think they could do better on their own, based solely on the people they happen to meet, from a fleeting first impression?
But now, my parents’ lackluster coexistence comes to mind. They never struck me as liking each other particularly well. But it was normal. It was peaceful.
“Yeah, they chose each other,” Connor continues. “I mean, that’s what most people do, outside of Directorate. But my dad thought it was really special. He thought everything about our freedoms here were special. He told me everything he could about the Quads, so I would understand all I have, living out here.”
What you have is a world of pain and chaos, I think. A life of hiding in the woods. But I don’t want to argue again. So all I say is, “He sounds really great.”
“Yeah. He was.” Connor shrugs. “Then he died.”
“Oh.”
I should have guessed. That’s why we have departure dates. But then – he had time before it happened, too. And look how much he did with that time. “What happened?”
“Cancer. In his brain.”
“That’s awful.” It seems like such an empty word for it, but it’s the best one I’ve got.
“We can save a lot of the people who come to us from the Quads. But not that, it was too fast. We were glad the Directorate was off by so many years, that we had the time with him that we did.”
I think of Rosie. I can’t imagine facing her day after day, that sunken, exhausted face, the terrible IV and blipping machine, and know that I could only make the pain a little less, that I couldn’t do anything real for her.
“You know what kills me, though?” Connor’s voice is all bitterness. “The Directorate, they have all that technology and advancement and funds. If they’d put it all to work towards saving people, maybe they could have done something for him. But instead they have become so obsessed with avoiding any discomfort, they’d rather kill him.”
That biting bitterness he threw at me earlier is back, raw and crackling in his voice.
“I don’t mean to take it all out on you. The Directorate just makes me so angry.”
I stop eating for a moment and think. He’s right, about what the Directorate does. It’s no secret, that’s the whole idea. We’ve got the technology to make it possible for people to live for two hundred, maybe three hundred years if we kept working at it. But with the treatments and surgeries it would take to prolong lives to that point, it’s putting the number of years in a life over everything else.
Who wants to live in a preservat
ion chamber, unable to interact with the world, just to keep on going? Who wants to undergo three, or four, heart transplants? But left to our own devices we would, it’s just instinct – we did, for most of history. So the Directorate made the choice we couldn’t and gave us the departure dates instead. We all accepted it.
But now that Connor puts it this way, it’s impossible not to see it. It sounds like Connor’s dad got a lot out of those extra years. Hell, if he hadn’t gotten them, Connor wouldn’t even exist. The idea makes me sad, even if he is infuriating. We sit there for a while. I chew my dinner and pretend I don’t see him rubbing at his eyes.
Overhead the sky grumbles again, and then a wet drop falls from the sky onto my cheek. I reach up to touch it, then look at the wetness on my fingers.
“Oh no!” By the time I have wiped it off, two more have fallen on me. “We have to get out of here.”
Connor cracks a smile. “It’s just a little rain. A sprinkle, really.” He tilts his head back as if he is enjoying it.
“But it’s poisonous,” I shriek.
Connor tilts his head and raises his eyebrows.
I pause, waiting for the water to burn into my skin or… I realize I don’t know what. I look up to the sky and squint. “Isn’t it?”
The Directorate always said so. But then, so much else that they have told me has been wrong. Lies.
“I mean. I wouldn’t drink it without a filter.” Connor shrugs. “But it’s fine.”
“Oh.” I relax back onto the ground. Another drop hits me. Even if it’s not poisonous, I am still getting all wet. I’m not sure I like it. “Does this just happen randomly all the time?”
“Yeah, well, you know,” Connor says. “Nature. Climate change. Etcetera. So yeah, the weather tends to shift pretty fast. Though I mean, those clouds have been gathering all day. We had a little warning.”
The rain comes down harder, soaking into my hair and matting it against my head. My face scrunches with distaste. Connor laughs, then hands me his sweatshirt to shield myself from it.
“Wanna get inside?”
“Yes please.”
He helps me hobble onto my crutches, takes my plate, and leads me back to Raina and Kinlee’s cabin. A bright bolt flashes over the sky. He laughs when I flinch in response, but it’s not like before, this time it makes me feel better, like there’s nothing to be afraid of. When we get to the door, we pause.
“How long ago was all that? With your dad?” I hand his sweatshirt back to him.
He balls it up in the crook of his arm and stares down at it. “About ten years now. I was only six when he died.”
No wonder he’s so angry.
“And your mom? What does she do here?”
His eyes flicker. “She’s gone too. After Dad, she started getting… well… She joined the squads working on the bombs at the Directorate’s border. One of them went off while she was too close a few years ago.”
He’s all alone?
It’s like a punch in the gut, and for a moment I’m so struck I can’t speak. I stutter to catch back up. “And… you stayed anyway? Here with the Alliance?”
He shrugs. “I’ve lived here my whole life. And I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. Raina’s my guardian now, so I’m here until I turn eighteen, unless she and Kinlee decide to leave. Though when I do, I’ve got some big plans. Go see the world. All of it.” His entire body lifts with energy as he says it.
I don’t know what to say. How can someone the same age as me already have so much pain in his life? How can he still find so much to look forward to? But I don’t need to say anything. In the quiet that passes between us in that moment, with thunder rumbling and rain pattering over us, something shifts between Connor and me. Our eyes meet and I hold his gaze too long. Something in me tugs to lean into him. But lightning flashes again, I flinch, and the moment is gone.
“Well,” he nods, “See you.” Then he heads back out in the rain to his own cabin.
Chapter Nineteen
Gracelyn
I think I’m going to like working for LQM.
I think I’m going to be good at it.
All day long they throw information at us, and we do our best to keep up. In the mornings, we shadow Quinn, absorbing as much as we can, watching her in meetings and discussing ongoing projects. In the afternoons, there are lectures on department history, the foundational science behind enhancing painless lives, organizational policies and protocols.
It is a deluge, and I throw myself into it. It is exactly what I need right now – the perfect distraction to block out my thoughts about Evie, and what I heard that morning. There is nothing I can do about that anyway, and it is a relief to stuff my mind with so many other bits and pieces.
It feels good to contribute to the Quads, too. Once I am past training, I will make a real, quantifiable difference, helping to hone food plans, assign marriage pairings, or something else to optimize well-being throughout each citizen's span of life, as described in the LQM Handbook.
But for now, we follow Quinn around and take notes.
Everywhere we go, there are two layers of chairs around conference tables. One for the employees, and one for the trainees. Our ring is usually sparse, Quinn's audiences typically being supervisors and directors who far outrank her in years.
The unspoken implication is that Hanna and I are expected to out-perform our peers, too. We have done it everywhere else in life so far, edging each other out for top placement. But here, everything seems so big and unknown, and I cannot imagine ever pacing these halls with Quinn's cool confidence.
At meetings, she pulls forward, her bright eyes focused and those red curls framing her face. When she speaks, she does so with clarity and efficiency, delivering pointed thoughts in short, crisp sentences through red lips and a crooked smile. She is only a few years older than Hanna and me. But it seems like she is from a completely different world.
Sometimes I get so caught up in her I forget to listen to what she is saying.
Hanna is not so enamored as I am. In fact if she were allowed to apply for another mentor, I am certain she would. She starts venting about Quinn as soon as we are out of the building in the evening and doesn’t stop until I get off the shuttlebus.
“Can you believe she told that deputy chief his idea wouldn't work today? Flat-out said it. Like they were equals.
“Mhm,” I reply.
She shakes her head, still offended.
I stare out of the shuttle window, turned away so Hanna can't see my face. On the matter of Quinn’s behavior, she and I could not disagree more, and I am not about to let her know it.
***
As I wrap up my studying to go to lunch, I catch a voice from across the room.
“Hey Phil, are you looped in on that Code Twenty-Seven from oh-eight-oh-three?
That date. It is a date I know all too well. It is Evie’s departure date. Hearing it sends a prickling jolt down my spine.
Stop it, I scold myself. I shake out my shoulders and try to calm down. Plenty of other things happened on that date. Plenty of other departures, even. If it were, somehow, about Evie, I still should not have a reaction to it – it has been almost two weeks since her departure. Life is moving on. I’m moving on. If I keep telling myself that, I am sure I can make it true.
But.
What is a Code Twenty-Seven?
I have been studying the department codes and terms since I got here, but I don’t remember a Code Twenty-Seven. And I remember everything.
I stare down at my syncscreen and pretend to study, listening for more hints. But Phil rushes over to the other man, and they keep their voices low.
“Ready to go?” Hanna chirps from behind me.
I jump, startled, and choke back the urge to hush her. Then, I force a smile.
“Sure.”
As we cross the open office space, I glance back to the men, taking in all that I can about them. The first one has steely gray hair clipped tightly around his head
and deep wrinkles around his mouth. This first name is too small for me to read from here, but the last name is Gunders. The other – Phil – is starting to bald, with a blond mustache. Last name Johnston. A green stripe runs across the bottom – Green Level. Under it is a dark blue line for his subdivision. I strain to remember what that correlates to, but there is no dark blue subdivision. Not in the Handbook, at least.
The elevator dings, and Hanna and I step in. As the door is closing, a hand sticks in to open it again, and Johnston and Gunders join us. I can’t believe my luck.
“… still can’t identify what causes the anomaly,” Phil mutters as they step in. He looks at Hanna and me, then leans towards Gunders and mutters in a lowered voice. “They’re talking about wiping the whole initiative if they don’t get some answers.”
The two look at each other, eyes steely with the implied significance of this. Gunders shakes his head.
Anomaly?
Later, as Hanna makes her regular complaints on the shuttlebus home, the word is still on my mind. I chide myself to stay out of it. No point in putting your entire future on the line for someone who’s already departed and gone. That’s what Evie would say.
I go home, eat dinner, have a normal evening and go to bed. But through all of it, the conversation I overheard nags at me.
Chapter Twenty
Evie
Maybe I have skills after all. Against all odds, I seem to have become actually useful to Sue and Noah. I know where all the supplies are now, and even know how to use a lot of them. Caught up in it all, the days pass faster than I can blink, and I can’t believe I have to leave Medical soon and find something else to try.
Even better, the humidity has cleared out, and the weather has settled into a crisp coolness that isn’t so bad. At least, so long as I don’t forget my sweatshirt, which I do constantly. I’ve never needed extra layers before.
Maybe it’s going to be okay. Maybe this can turn into a life.
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