I look at the uniform again. It’s a dense black material with no markings or pockets. The fabric doesn’t feel like fabric at all––more like fuzzy rubber––and the legs end in little sewn on shoes, like the pajamas Dekker wore as a toddler. Weird.
Taking off his shirt, Silas starts to change in front of me.
Mortified, I rush into the bathroom. Are all Unbound men like this or is it just Silas?
I stare at the uniform in my hands. I have no idea what the penalty will be for breaking the rules. A beating? Starvation? Worse?
I picture Juda, his face pressed into the grass as he tried to tell me something before he got dragged away. Before I got him arrested by Apostates.
I pull off my green clothes and put on the strange black suit. Whatever the penalty is, I’m ready to pay it. I need to see Juda. I have to make sure he’s safe.
The thick material feels light and is surprisingly easy to move in, but it clings to my body in a way that makes me self-conscious. I want to put my big sweater over it, but I assume that would defeat its purpose.
When I come out, Silas has put on his suit and is holding gloves and a mask. I look away at once, embarrassed by how much of his body I can see in the tight rubber.
Telling myself this is normal in Kingsboro, I try to make my face neutral. If Silas notices how form-fitting my uniform is, he doesn’t let it show.
He puts on the mask. It fits snugly, so that I can still see the shape of his head, but it has no holes for his eyes or mouth. It looks very claustrophobic.
He hands me my own mask. Reluctantly, I put it on and am surprised to find that I can see and breathe very easily. The fabric looks thick but feels thin, just like the uniform.
He hands me gloves and once covered, we both have not an inch of flesh showing. The Prophet would be proud.
Going to the largest window, Silas opens it, letting in a night breeze. A large tree branch is just outside, and I see immediately what Silas has in mind. But even if I manage to climb down the darn thing, how does he expect me to get back up?
Silas pulls a tiny container out of his pocket. Sitting on the windowsill, he motions for me to take a seat as well. He sprays something on the souls of my shoes and then the palms of my gloves. He does the same to his own gloves and shoes.
The next thing I know, he’s swinging his legs over the windowsill and scurrying down the wall of the house like a spider! I’m too shocked to do anything but stare.
When he reaches the bottom, he looks up and waves me down. Is he crazy?
He waves me down again, then puts his hands on his hips, annoyed. Seeing that I’m not budging, he puts his hand on the side of the house and pulls. The hand doesn’t move.
I get it. The spray is some sort of adhesive. That doesn’t make his descent seem any less bonkers to me.
He looks around nervously and signals to me again.
Think of Juda, I tell myself. Think of Juda.
I scoot to the far edge of the windowsill, reach over, and place my right hand on the outside wall of the house. I pull back, but the hand is very firmly in place. I do a small hop and twist and my right foot lands on the wall with a thud. I wince at the noise.
My legs caught in the splits between the windowsill and the wall, I hold my breath, waiting for lights to flicker, for sirens to sound. But there is only silence.
I exhale.
I’m amazed that the adhesive, with just one glove and one shoe, holds my body weight. Quietly, I bring my left foot to the wall and then my left hand.
I pull away my right hand to begin climbing down, but it doesn’t move. I try my left hand and both my feet, and they’re stuck as if they’re an inch deep in plaster.
From below, Silas whispers as loudly as he dares, “Push your hand up, not down.”
What is he talking about? I’m trying to pull my hand out, not down. I try to pull my hand out and up. Nothing. The moon is bright, and even in the dark suit, I’m sure I’m incredibly conspicuous hanging off the side of this house.
“Like you’re washing the wall,” whispers Silas.
I push up, keeping my hand on the wall as if there’s a rag in it, and my hand comes flying off. Praise God I didn’t try both hands at once.
I move my free arm level to my waist and place my hand on the wall again, rubbing down and resticking it to the wall. Then I slide up my left hand, releasing it. Now it seems simple.
Until I try to do the same thing with my feet. I’ve never used a rag with my feet. But soon I figure out a releasing motion that is a bit like biking backward. Once I understand how to stick and unstick both hands and feet, it doesn’t take me long to get to the ground.
As soon as I land, Silas signals for me to follow him across the spacious lawn in back of the house. We rush into a thicket of trees and then cross behind a few more houses. Before long, remarkably, we’re walking on the dirt path that Ram took me down to reach the pond.
As soon as we’re out of earshot of the houses, I hiss at Silas, “Why didn’t you explain how to climb down before you jumped out the window?”
He shrugs. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t know how to use StickFoot.”
I scowl at him but then realize he can’t see me through the mask. “Don’t assume I know anything, okay?” I say.
“No problem. You’re a total moron. Done,” he says.
What am I doing with this person? I’m tempted to run back to the house and back into my bed.
“I’m kidding,” he says. “Relax. Tabby and I do this all the time.”
I’m shocked. “Tabby sneaks out with you in a rubber suit?”
“We don’t do it together.”
“Why do you do it at all?”
“Things around here are pretty strict,” he says and then his voice changes. “Sorry. I mean, not, like, strict in the way that your life was strict. But it can still feel suffocating.”
I wonder how much he knows about life in Manhattan, but I don’t want to talk about it. “Where did you get these suits?”
“The Smokers?” He laughs. “This kid David Pellman stole them, I don’t know, maybe twenty years ago? His dad’s lab was trying to create technology that would make it impossible to brainwash people. They managed to invent material that blocked outgoing brainwaves, but they couldn’t block any information going in. His dad thought the experiment was a complete failure, but David snuck out a handful of masks before they were destroyed. Kids have been handing them down ever since. I think there are maybe, like, ten of them floating around. Very benny.”
“This suit is blocking my brainwaves?” I ask.
“Just the mask—and yeah, it is.”
“My Bee reads my mind?” I say with unease.
“Not really. It’s connecting to your mind. Your brainwaves are as unique as, say, your fingerprints. So when your Bee senses your brain in action, it can find you instantly.”
“If it’s just the mask why am I wearing the rest of the suit?”
“It’s black and makes you hard to see at night,” he says matter-of-factly.
Now I feel dumb.
The wind rushes through the trees with an eerie whine. Could someone be following us?
“Why do you call them ‘smokers’?” I ask, distracting myself.
“Oh, uh, I think because in olden days people used smoke to calm down bees.”
I nod. “Oh, yeah. They do that with hives on the island.”
“You have live hives in Manhattan?” he says, incredulous.
“Yes.” I didn’t know this was remarkable.
“Wait until I tell Mom. How’s the honey?”
“Expensive,” I say, not wanting to admit I’ve never tasted it. “How far are we going?”
“Not far at all,” he says. “Just across the park.”
Before long, I see Peace Pond. The fastest way across the park would be to run across the huge expanse of grass, but Silas takes us around the perimeter, sticking close to the creepy trees. It’s hard for me to go slowl
y, knowing Juda is close by.
“Do you know the family who has them in custody?” I ask.
“You mean who’s ‘hosting them as guests?’” he says, correcting me. “A little bit. You know everyone around here sooner or later. The Delfords—parents of the otter daughters.”
“The what?” I ask.
“Oh, um, well, they’re both kind of round, and they have these kind of strange short arms.” He turns toward me and pulls in his arms. “You know, like an otter?”
“That’s so mean!” I say, stifling a giggle.
“I know,” he says, shrugging. “Everyone might stop saying it if the girls were a bit nicer to people.”
“Or maybe they’d be nicer to people if everyone stopped saying it,” I suggest.
He sighs the Dixon sigh. “You’re probably right.” He stops walking. “We’re here.”
Looking around, I see a dozen houses. “Which one?”
He points to an emerald green house that overlooks the park, and although the color is cheerful, the house seems menacing.
“What do we do?” I say, feeling nervous now that we’ve arrived.
“We can’t make contact yet. You can only watch and hope to see someone.”
If I can’t make contact why did he bother bringing me? “I need to talk to them!”
“No way. Not tonight. We’d be caught immediately.”
I’m sure he’s right, but I can’t imagine seeing Juda and then just walking away. “Let’s get closer,” I say.
We stay in the cover of the trees, approaching slowly. We pass a blue house with all its lights on, and I can hear a baby screaming. The sound frays my nerves. All I can think about is Beth and the sirens and how quickly we were surrounded by dozens of men.
Silas kneels behind some bushes, so I do the same.
The green house has two large picture windows on the first floor and two small windows on the second. A faint light shines on the first floor, but we’re too far away to see inside. Upstairs the rooms are dark. Won’t this family be asleep like the Dixons? What’s the point of coming after bedtime?
“I want to get closer,” I whisper. Silas shakes his head.
We wait for movement downstairs. We wait some more. Nothing happens.
“My legs are cramping,” I say.
“Then stretch them,” Silas says without sympathy.
“This is pointless,” I say. “We should get closer.”
“Trust me. We should not get closer.”
“Why?”
“Because the Delfords own an uzi.”
I don’t know what an uzi is, but I’m guessing it’s very bad.
“Look!” says Silas.
In the bottom left window there’s movement. My breath catches, but I can only see a shadow.
I can’t stand it. I have to see more.
Rising, I run to the next cluster of trees. I hear Silas protesting behind me, but I don’t care. I can still only see vague shapes in the window, so I dart behind a tree that’s even closer.
Breath catching, I peek around the trunk and look into the house.
In the middle of a sofa, in a living room that looks exactly like the Dixon’s, sits Dekker. He wears black pants and a black shirt and he looks freshly bathed, his hair combed and parted to one side. He sits with a large, very fit man, also in black, who speaks to him forcefully. I can’t hear the words, but his body language suggests he’s very confident about his lecture. Dekker nods and smiles at him. At one point, Dekker laughs. Then the large man, who I guess is Mr. Delford, laughs as well, and pounds Dekker on the back.
Leave it to Dekker. He’s playing along and doing whatever they want, because Dekker will always do whatever is best for Dekker.
I feel disgust, but then . . . isn’t that what I’m doing? Going to the Leisure Center and taking a walk with Ram and eating my meals and saying “thank you?” I’m just as pathetic as Dekker.
I watch them for a while, the two of them chatting like old friends. I wait breathlessly for Juda to enter the room. Feeling a tap on my shoulder, I nearly scream.
Silas stands an inch behind me. His words tickle my ear. “We have to go.”
I don’t budge. I haven’t seen Juda.
He pulls my elbow. “Now. We’ve been gone too long.”
He’s gotten us this far without getting caught, so I know I should listen to him. Nyek. I turn away from the house in angry frustration. “Fine,” I say, a little too loudly.
He sprints back the way we came. I follow.
On the way home, there’s no conversation. We run the entire way. When we finally reach the tiny grove in back of his yard, Silas looks at the wall of his house and says, panting, “You go first.”
“No way,” I say. Is he trying to sacrifice me or something?
“If you start to fall I can help,” he says.
I nod but hesitate to cross the lawn, where we’re clearly visible.
“Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my hand. He darts across the grass, leaving me no choice but to join him.
When we reach the wall, he gives my hand a squeeze of support.
I don’t stop to think; I just climb. I rise up the house. The natural movement of climbing creates the push-down, pull-up necessary to stick and unstick my hands and feet. Why couldn’t we have started with a climb up instead of a climb down?
Within no time, I’ve reached my window. I swing my left leg over and then my right and I’m back inside. I’m relieved to find no one waiting in my room.
I look back out the window. Silas is making his ascent. He’s quicker than me, of course, and he’s incredibly graceful. He’s almost to the window when his left foot pushes up instead of down. Instead of sticking to the wall, his foot comes free and his leg swings backward. His balance completely thrown, he grasps for the windowsill, but he isn’t close enough to grab it.
I reach out my hand, but it’s too late. As he plummets to the ground, he cries out, “Mina!”
The scream is loud, causing houselights all down the street to flicker on.
Silas lies on the ground, his arm at an odd angle.
“I’m coming!” I say. I’m not sure what to do. I could climb back down the wall or run downstairs and out the front door––I don’t know which will be faster.
It doesn’t matter, because the Dixons heard Silas’ shout, and Bithia and Gilad are already searching for him.
Within seconds they’re outside, discovering their injured son. Bithia takes off his mask and his face is a grimace of pain. She strokes his cheek. “Oh, baby boy. You’ll be okay. I promise, Honeybear.”
Silas looks up at me and we lock eyes, just for a second.
Glancing up, Gilad sees me crouching in the windowsill. “What did you do?”
I’m filled with misery and regret. Silas was only trying to help me, and I’ll pay a large price for what’s happened.
Sitting on the bed, I hear Tabby outside and then other neighbors, as they gather to ask what’s happened. Soon a car or van pulls up, and I listen as men talk to Silas about his injuries. They must move him, because I hear him shriek out in pain. Then the van drives away, and there is silence.
I wait for Gilad and Bithia to come punish me.
I replay Silas’ fall over and over in my head––the way his foot detached, when he’d seemed so experienced. And how, when our eyes met, there was pain, but there was something else: apology.
I can’t explain it, but I could almost swear he fell on purpose.
Six
The next morning, Bithia and Gilad walk me through the quiet streets of the neighborhood. They haven’t spoken to me since last night when Silas fell. They didn’t offer me breakfast or tell me where we were going. They waited for me to be dressed and then led me out the door.
I’m used to my mother’s screaming. As soon as I broke a rule, she would screech, frequently slapping me. Done. This silence is really frightening. Perhaps they’re walking me back to the subway tunnel, and they’ll just point at
it. I’ll have to climb down the stairs and swim back to the island alone, without a raft. I think I would rather be shot here than drown alone down there.
After several blocks, I realize we’re headed for the Leisure Center. I recognize a few of the houses and numbers from my first day. I relax a bit. Nothing about the Leisure Center seems to be about torture or punishment.
My Bee hums above me, seeming louder than before. My imagination is telling me that it’s angry about last night and my achievement of sneaking out undetected.
When we arrive at the Leisure Center, we don’t go to the atrium like before. Instead we head to a set of metal stairs that loops around the side of the building. Climbing up the stairs, Gilad has to stop to catch his breath.
Hands on hips, Bithia sighs, and I see where both her children get it from. “If you walked around the block everyday like me, you wouldn’t be huffin’ like a hundred-year-old man on a hamster wheel!”
I should run. Whatever is at the top of the stairs will be my punishment. And watching Gilad wheeze, I know he can’t catch me. But my Bee hovers nearby, ready to sound the alarm. I’m stuck.
After a minute’s rest, we continue up the stairs, and soon we’ve reached a glass door that says, “Let in the Light.” Bithia pushes it open and cold air rushes out.
We enter a room that’s all white––white desk, white chairs, white walls. It reminds me of Mrs. Asher, and I shudder. Each wall contains a door with no handle, which I find disconcerting.
Marjory, the woman who sits very straight, stands in the middle of the room as if she’d been expecting us. “Welcome, Dixons.”
“Morning, Marjory,” says Bithia.
“Have a seat. Ram will be with you shortly.”
Ram. The man who said I was “special.” He probably won’t be thinking I’m so special today.
After we sit in a row of white chairs, I turn to Gilad. “I’m very sorry about what happened last night. I never meant––”
“No talking,” says Marjory crisply.
On the wall above Marjory’s head is a long, old-fashioned gun in a glass frame. Inscribed into the glass are the words semper paratus. I have no idea what that means. Is the gun being commemorated, or is it being held there until Marjory needs it?
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