Escaping Eleven (Eleven Trilogy)

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Escaping Eleven (Eleven Trilogy) Page 29

by Jerri Chisholm


  Probably, they are headed for the Oracle, then outside. Probably there is a mass grave somewhere close by, a place to dump the deceased. I picture myself playing dead to get outside, and the thought is so ridiculous, so macabre, I almost laugh out loud. Almost.

  Wren is watching me closely, and I give myself a shake.

  “When did you first find out about this?” I ask in a low voice. More and more guards exit the elevators, all of them with arms full. Some loads look large and heavy, some heartbreakingly small.

  “I heard it was going to happen this morning. Hence why I rushed down to warn you.”

  I go still. “First of all, Preme, you didn’t warn me. Secondly, you found out about it this morning, or you found out about the timing this morning?”

  “Well…the timing.”

  I cross my arms. “So you knew this was going to happen.”

  “I didn’t know anything, okay? But there’s been talk of it for some time. I was doing everything I could to stop it from happening at all.”

  “Bullshit!” I shout again. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat. When I speak, my voice has gone hoarse; it is little more than a whisper. “What about when I took you down there for the feeding?”

  He raises both hands. “Eve—”

  That old tendency toward violence resurfaces quickly, and I lift my hand to strike him, but he grabs it, and then there is a wailing that comes from the elevator, one that grows louder as the doors slide open. One that is so coated in anguish it makes my muscles unclench, and my hand is free; it drops to my side. I stare at the elevator, at the guards who empty out of it. The last guard is slower, for there is a child clutching the full body bag in his arms.

  My heart stops beating for a moment in time.

  I wish that it wouldn’t start up again, but it does. I keep on living, and so I have to see Avery, red in the face and smothered in tears, his little hands clenched around plastic so tightly his knuckles turn white with effort.

  His mother is in that body bag. There is no question. Monica, my friend.

  No. My feet are moving me forward, my own tears are falling, my voice is screaming. No. But before I can reach the boy, a guard wrenches him away from his dead mother’s side and he is shoved onto the elevator from which he emerged. I scream his name and bang on the door, but it’s no use. He is gone. And when I turn around again, the guard carrying Monica has disappeared, and it is over; it is all over.

  My eyes find Wren, and I know he feels something now—something beyond a generic, requisite disgust. His back holds him upright, and his jaw is squared, but his eyes betray him. There is a glimmer of emotion—guilt, too—and it only makes me madder.

  I breathe heavily, but otherwise I am composed. My voice sounds normal, except that it is laced with fire. “Don’t come near me. Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me, don’t set foot on my floor. I never want to see you again.”

  And then, as fast as my boots allow, I push through the stairwell door. Gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I lie facedown on my bed in the darkness and squeeze my eyes closed. Sleep won’t come; I know that. I am going through the motions because that is what society dictates. At a certain time, each and every day, we change out of our clothes and brush our hair and shut out the lamp. Time for sleep.

  But the sound of gunshots plays over and over again in my mind. Avery’s screams do, too, sounding just like Jack’s when he was taken, and I tell myself to stop, stop. But in the darkness there is no fighting it. I think of Avery’s tiny face, eyebrows drawn to the top of his forehead in disbelief, in horror, his hands clutching at his mother, desperate to feel her skin against his, desperate for her to wake, to calm him down, to tell him everything will be okay. Nothing will be okay for him—not now and not ever. He is just a child, and he watched his mother die.

  I pray she went quickly, before she could realize what was happening. Before she realized that her beloved boy was watching, that his life was changing by the second in the most horrible way imaginable. Looking forward to it. Those were my last words to Monica. Looking forward to seeing her at lunch duty, a time that never came. That will now never come. Why didn’t I try harder to get her upstairs? I want to scream just thinking about it.

  All that terror and pain and misery, just to control population growth. Surely there is a better way. A more just and humane way. But what else should I expect from the man in charge of Population Control, Ted Bergess? The same man who ordered Jack’s removal—it has to be. For him, today was just more of the same.

  I wonder if Commander Katz felt any remorse when he signed off on the “cleanse.” Whether he so much as blinked when he considered the tremendous loss of life committed at the flick of his pen. Then I remember the ease with which he had Sully tortured, and I know that he didn’t.

  My pillow is already wet with tears, but still I cry harder, harder still. I cry so hard and for so long that when I do pull myself to my elbows, I am dizzy; the blackness of my cell oozes around me like tar. I need to calm down; I need to breathe.

  At least one thing is crystal clear to me now. I am leaving Compound Eleven.

  I am not staying here, where such hideous acts of inhumanity are not simply tolerated by Katz and Bergess and the rest of our leaders, but ordered by them. I’m not even going to wait until job selections, like I originally planned. In a day or two, once I get my affairs in order, I will no longer be a citizen of Eleven.

  And that is the only thought that brings me a sliver of peace.

  I sit up in my bed and chew my thumb until I taste blood. The darkness doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I chew my thumb because I am thinking of him, even though I do everything in my power not to.

  Don’t do it, Eve, don’t.

  But I can’t stop. Every single time I blink, I see the look on his face when I told him I never wanted to see him again. His lips ever so slightly parted, his eyes—usually so alive with intent—dull. But goddamn it, they should be dull.

  They should be full of guilt and sorrow, because he knew, he knew, he knew. Even if he didn’t know for certain this was in the pipeline, he suspected it, and he didn’t do anything about it, no matter what he says, and never before have I felt so betrayed. What a fool I was for trusting him—he is a Preme; he is his mother’s son, through and through. I want to punch him; I want to make him bleed. But more than anything, I ache because I am sad, and I miss him, and I want the comfort of his embrace.

  I straighten my back and wipe away tears. It is better this way. It will be easier to go now, without having to say goodbye. I may feel like a million pieces of shattered glass smashed to sand by the heel of a boot, but it means less pain later.

  This is good. It’s good.

  Things with Wren have reached their conclusion—one I always knew would come—and though I didn’t expect such a violent end to our relationship, I never really expected it to begin in the first place. And if there is one thing about life that I know, it’s that it is perfectly unpredictable.

  I will move on, my heart will heal, and I will pick myself back up.

  I just have to get out of this godforsaken compound.

  …

  I am lying on my stomach again, but this time my friends surround me. Hunter sits at the foot of the bed, and my feet are on his lap. Emerald sits on the floor, her back against the wall, a ball passing slowly between her hands. Maggie sits next to her with her head between her knees. None of us talks. There is so little to say. So much to say, and so little.

  News of the cleanse has made its way around the compound. A government-sanctioned mass murder. Unthinkable.

  Finally, Maggie lifts her head. “My granddad said they did the same thing when he was a boy. He was too young to understand it but old enough to remember the sound of gunshots and people, you know…freaking. He said it sounded just like yesterday. No different at
all.”

  I turn my head and look at her. “If they do it every so often, how come nobody does anything to stop it?”

  She shrugs. “Like what? This is Compound Eleven. If you don’t like it, too bad. There’s nowhere else to go.”

  “Actually, there is somewhere else to go,” I say and take a deep breath. The others stare at me. “To another compound.”

  “Come off it,” mutters Hunter quietly.

  I roll over on my back so I can look at him. “Why not? Do you have any idea how big the world is? There have to be hundreds—maybe even thousands—of compounds out there. Are you really telling me that none of them is better than this shithole? Look around, Hunter. This place is a dump. I’m sick of seeing dirt and garbage everywhere, and—and filth. Blood. Bodies. I’m sick of the burned-out lights and walking on broken glass. I’m sick of being treated like shit because I was born on the second floor and not having any decent job options. I’m sick of all of it.”

  “Maybe you’re right. Maybe there are other compounds out there that are better than here. Maybe. But how exactly are you going to get to any of them? And what are you going to do once you get there? Ask to stay awhile?”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I admit as I draw my feet off his lap. I sit upright. “But I do know how I’m going to get there.”

  He stares at me. “How’s that?”

  “The tunnel to Compound Ten runs from downstairs. I’ve seen it. There’s only one guard in the way—it’ll be no problem to force my way past.”

  “You’re serious right now?”

  I take a deep breath and nod. “I’m going tonight.”

  There is a commotion in the hall, yelling, but it has been happening all day, and I tune it out. “The guards will be distracted dealing with that,” I add, nodding in the direction of the door to indicate the aftermath of the cleanse.

  “Tonight.”

  “Tonight.”

  Maggie’s back straightens. “Are you seriously telling me I’m losing my best friend tonight?” Her mouth hangs open, and her bloodshot eyes grow round with bewilderment.

  “Not necessarily…” I hesitate. “You could come, too. All of you.”

  They say nothing, which of course says everything. I never expected them to come—not under normal circumstances. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have even mentioned it. But given the cleanse—

  I shake my head. “Look, it isn’t something I’m rushing into. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time now. Why do you think I haven’t been doing the job tours? It’s not because I was planning on going pro; it’s because I need out. I hate it here. I hate everything about this place. I hate how unfair and unjust it is. I hate how low the ceilings are; I hate what they did to Jack. I hate it.”

  There is no point in telling them about the Oracle. About how much I crave proper freedom, how much I want to see if my mother’s song holds any truth, how much I want to search for my brother even if it is a mission in futility… Even if the expense of all that is probable death. They won’t understand it; few can. But they can understand this, especially now, especially after the cleanse. They can understand why I would want out—who could possibly want to stay?

  Hunter makes a sound at the back of his throat. “I think you’ve covered that, Eve. But I’m sure Ten is just as much a shithole as Eleven. These compounds were founded by the same group of people, don’t forget.”

  “Yeah,” says Emerald. “Even without the wondrous Katz dynasty at the helm, it might be just as unfair.” She throws the ball at me, and I catch it. “The ceilings might be lower.”

  “I know that. But it’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

  “What about us?” Maggie says, and when I look at her I see a tear glide down her cheek. “What about us? And Wren? And your parents? How could you walk away from all of that?”

  “Please don’t start crying, Maggie, or I will, too. Please don’t.” I sit straighter in an effort to keep my emotions in check.

  She wipes the tear away and frowns. “Well?”

  “You know how my parents are. They won’t care. And you know things are finished with Wren.” My voice breaks at the mention of his name. I can’t bear to think about him right now. Not now, and not ever again. Because whenever I do, my stomach feels like it is filled with lead, and it hurts so deeply it is beginning to scare me. “And as for you guys…” My hands cover my face; they try to push back the tears before they escape.

  “What, Eve? We’re not enough, are we? We’re not enough to make you stay.”

  “You guys are the reason I’ve stayed as long as I have! I’ve been miserable for so long. And now…and now nothing is enough. Nothing could ever be enough. Think what they did to so many innocent people yesterday. Think what they did to Jack!” My face is wet, and my bottom lip quivers. “I’m going to miss you guys like hell, but I’ve made my decision.”

  Maggie shoots toward me and rests her head on my shoulder. She is crying, and I cry, too.

  When the tears finally clear, I see Emerald sits on my other side, her brown eyes wet. She grabs my hand. “I don’t want you to go,” she says, and her voice is hoarse, “but I’m not going to stand in your way. Promise me you’ll find a way back if Ten’s not everything you want and more.”

  My eyes meet hers. “I promise,” I say.

  Hunter sits at the end of my now-full bed, and his eyes are dry. The hardness of his features makes all my muscles clench—he doesn’t like change; he won’t understand. But I need him to.

  “Hunter,” I begin, but he shakes his head.

  “If you’ve been so unhappy, how come I haven’t heard about it? We’re best friends.” He glances coolly at me. “Or at least we used to be. It’s nothing but secrets with you anymore.”

  I know he is referring to Wren, and I am shaking my head, back and forth, even though I know he is right.

  “Stop it. Stop with the lies. I’m so sick of it,” he says in a tight voice.

  I don’t know what to say. There is nothing to say, not really. Nothing that could make him understand. So we just stare at each other, a lifetime of friendship and familiarity and closeness between us, until three sharp knocks pierce the uncomfortable silence. With one last desperate look at Hunter that gets me nowhere, I shove off my bed and go to the door.

  Jules.

  Immediately, I rub at my face to get the last of the tears away. Not that she looks much better. Her cheeks are streaked, and her blond hair is tangled with knots.

  “I need to talk to you,” she says before I can collect myself. She pushes her way past me, then freezes when she sees the rest of them. “Oh. Perfect. You’re all here.” Sarcasm. She turns to me and jams her finger into my chest. “You knew,” she spits. “You knew. You knew, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I didn’t know,” I insist, even as I feel my face reddening. It looks like I’m lying even though I am not. I didn’t know; I didn’t.

  “You expect me to believe that you just so happened to invite me upstairs right before my entire floor gets shot at? Before a bunch of my family and friends get killed?” She is yelling now. “Monica, too, by the way. Her kid is fucking heartbroken. Goddamn it—as soon as I saw your face at breakfast, I knew something was up. The whole thing about going to the Bowl and wanting me to come along—it was all bullshit, wasn’t it? Don’t lie to me, Eve.”

  “It wasn’t bullshit; it wasn’t.” Hunter’s words ring in my head, and I take a deep breath. “But…I had been warned to invite you upstairs. That’s the entire truth, Jules. I promise. We really were going to the Bowl and—”

  “What do you mean, you’d been warned. By whom?”

  I run my fingers through my hair. It is still wet from my shower, and my fingers snag in tangles. “Wren. He caught up with me on the way to the Bowl. He told me to invite you and Monica up, but that’s all h
e said. I had no idea what was going to happen, Jules—you have to believe me.”

  “But he knew. Is that right?”

  I feel that familiar weight in my stomach. When I speak, my voice is barely audible. “I’ve already ended things with him, if that makes it any better.”

  She stares at me, and it is several long moments before she speaks again. “It doesn’t,” she finally breathes. “And for the record, you and I are done, too.” She walks out the door, slamming it so hard the thud echoes through my ribs.

  The concrete wall of my cell is cold against my back, and I slide down it until my chin rests on my knees. Five minutes ago, I didn’t think I could possibly feel worse, but I was wrong.

  “I guess it doesn’t exactly matter, seeing as how you’re leaving, but if it brings you any peace, she won’t stay mad at you.”

  I give Maggie a look. “Did you hear her? She hates me. Rightfully so.”

  “No, Eve. You did nothing wrong. If anything, you saved her life.”

  I stare at my thumbs. “I trusted Wren,” I say quietly. “I trusted a Preme.”

  “Yeah…that.” She slides off the bed and onto the floor in front of me. “What exactly did he do again?”

  My eyes snap to hers. “Are you serious?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, I am. Sorry—I don’t see it. He found out what was happening, so he risked missing the biggest test of his life to make sure you kept your friends safe.” She opens and closes her hands. “And you’re angry at him why?”

  “It isn’t that simple.”

  “Maybe not. But I think he deserves a proper goodbye. How do you think he’s going to feel when you just disappear?”

  “I ended things with him. I told him I never wanted to see him again. I’m not saying goodbye to him now.”

  She looks at me, then shakes her head. “Your call.”

  I stare at her. I’m right; I know I am. So why does my stomach feel like it is twisting into knots? When did life get so confusing? I thought it was supposed to be black and white, and instead it is a million pixels in between.

 

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