Her eyes widened as she nodded and accepted the bulletin he offered. He knew what she would see. Hours had been poured into each pamphlet, wanting them to appeal to high Numbers just as much as low Numbers. There had to be more people like Lady Beryl out there, who saw the injustice even if they didn’t feel it personally.
This latest bulletin had two parts. On the top half, Jeremiah had asked the artist to draw two people, a low Number and a high Number, each tied to a post, as well as a Regulator swinging a whip, inflicting punishment, while a crowd looked on. He’d asked for detail on the faces in the crowd, reflecting fear and anger at the sentence. Below this first picture were the words, “SOMEONE NEEDS TO STOP THIS.”
On the bottom half, the artist had rendered the same image, but changed a few important details so that it told a vastly different story. The low Number and high Number were still tied to their posts, and the Regulator still had his whip. But now the crowd stood with arms locked together, making a barrier between the victims and their abuser. Their faces were no longer afraid, but determined. Keeping the wording as simple as possible, since the majority of the population never finished school, Jeremiah wrote just three words across the bottom, “TOGETHER WE CAN.”
Watching Evie’s face as she took it in, he watched her bite her lip, her eyebrows knitting together. Her eyes widened in surprise at the second half, the idea of others standing up to a Regulator, especially for a low Number. She blinked, not looking up right away, just staring at the piece of paper. He was beginning to wonder if she would speak at all when she whispered, “This reminds me so much of my mother.”
His eyebrows surged upwards as curiosity sparked in him. “Is that a good thing?”
She met his gaze then, serious, haunted by some memory. “Very good,” she said softly, and looked back at the pamphlet. “I wish I was more like her. And you.”
The hatch squeaked as it opened. Someone was coming in from the mess deck. He didn’t want to be interrupted by other passengers now, not after she’d just begun to share her story. Standing impulsively, he said, “Come with me.” He held out his hand, and then, realizing his tone was commanding, he added, “We can talk somewhere more private. If you’d like.”
Evie took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. He let go when she tugged her hand away, turning to lead the way back through the mess deck. Meekly, she followed him without a word as they wove through the crowded room. He’d probably scared her. He held in a sigh. Opening the door to the bridge, he tried to be a gentleman like Luc and wave her through first. As they entered the dim orange lighting of the bridge and he pulled the door closed, it again became quiet. With everyone in Operations still setting the course, and Luc busy getting the passengers settled in the mess deck and racks, this was one of the rare times the bridge was completely empty.
He stopped. This was the best place they would find to talk privately. “Evie, listen,” he began, stepping towards her to close the gap, but stilled when she stepped back. Struggling with his words, he spoke over the distance between them, “I’m sure you can guess from the bulletins that we’re involved in an uprising, but I haven’t told the rest of the passengers yet. I need you to keep that a secret until the meeting tomorrow. Can you do that?”
She nodded. “Thank you,” Jeremiah accepted her promise. Sometimes people still guessed, but from his experience, if the group of refugees were told outright, they tended to let their emotions get the better of them. Sometimes it got out of hand. The ship was too small for such outbursts, and he and the council had learned to save that disclosure until they neared the end of the trip. But Jeremiah trusted Evie with this secret. Maybe because he knew one of hers. That brought him to the second part of their conversation, which was much harder.
He rubbed a hand across his face. After a moment, he forced himself to begin before someone came in and interrupted them. “Evie, when I first found you in the store, you were unconscious.” He scratched the back of his neck, searching for the words. “I need you to know… I looked at your Number before you woke up.”
Her hands flew up to her neck and touched the scarf there, and she looked small, scared, like a dog in a cage.
Jeremiah moved towards her, and she stood frozen this time. Standing in front of her, just a couple inches taller, he held her gaze. “I won’t tell anyone. But I wanted you to know that it doesn’t mean anything to me.” He stressed the word anything, wishing there was a stronger word that could convey how he felt. “Honestly, Numbers are not who we are. This Number that they gave you – it’s not you.” He softened his voice, trying not to scare her. “You are safe here. You’re not your Number anymore. From this point on, you are free. Do you understand?”
Slowly she nodded at his hands, then after a moment, she dared to look up at him and shook her head a little. He frowned. “What don’t you understand? I’ll try to help.”
“It’s not,” she said, “that I don’t get it… I just… I can’t imagine it.” She bit her lip.
That was normal. It often took refugees weeks or even months to adjust to the idea. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t know what else to say. The idea of telling her his Number sprung to mind.
As the leader of the revolution, he kept his real Number carefully guarded. People were still so easily influenced by the system. Only Luc and Lady Beryl knew. Because if no one knew his true Number, then he could be the first to prove to the world that they were not necessary.
Jeremiah’s mouth was open, the words on his tongue, wanting to be set free, when the metal door’s hatch twisted and scraped open. Luc walked in, noting Jeremiah alone with the girl. Though he put on a clueless smile as he approached, when Evie wasn’t looking, he raised a brow at Jeremiah.
“Evie,” Luc said, nodding to the girl, then to Jeremiah, “Jer.” He cleared his throat, putting his hands behind his back and becoming serious as he gave an account of the ship. “Everyone is settling in now. I was on my way to find you and check on Operations.”
Jeremiah nodded his approval, glad his friend had caught him. He barely knew this girl. If he had revealed his Number to her, she could have told others until the entire ship knew. And once they landed, it would’ve spread to the people on the island. He hated to think that their revolution was still weak, but he had to admit the news could hugely undermine his authority.
Luc relaxed his stance now that he’d given his report, and turned to the girl. “Didn’t you say you’d wanted a nap? I believe the racks are quieting down now.”
As if her feet were un-glued, Evie nodded and darted around them, not meeting their eyes, disappearing through the door. Before Jeremiah even had a chance to say anything, she was gone.
Luc crossed his arms. “What happened to not getting attached until after the war?”
“I’m not getting attached. Nobody’s getting attached,” Jeremiah waved off his concerns. Luc misunderstood his intentions. He was simply helping the girl get her footing after everything she’d gone through.
Jeremiah frowned at the closing door. He wouldn’t really have told her his Number. He knew better. But he wished he could. She would immediately feel safer. Maybe even relax completely.
After all, he was only one Number higher than she.
He was a 28.
19
An Olive Branch
E VALENE ARRIVED AT THE bunks in a haze, overwhelmed. Her emotions over Kevra, the past few days, the pounding in her head from her wounds, and her fears of the future all took a back burner to this new revelation.
He knows.
He’d seen her Number. He knew. He saw through the blue clothing disguise every time he looked at her. He knew the Number didn’t match.
But he also said he wouldn’t tell anyone. This reaction was unexpected. It didn’t make sense. Crawling into an empty floor-level bunk, she pulled the little red curtain across the bar until the light was blocked out. The darkness and quiet provided a much-needed sanctuary. Not one to enjoy crowds and loud noises anyw
ay, her senses were screaming in exhaustion.
She lay down to sleep, feeling drained. Her head still ached from her injuries. But her mind refused to stop thinking about him and what he’d said. He was a high Number, but how high, she didn’t know. Party member eligible for sure. Yet he planned to fight on behalf of low Numbers like herself. He even seemed like he meant it when he said that her Number didn’t define her.
But she knew it did.
Curling up in a ball on her side, Evalene ripped the blue scarf off her neck in the safety of the private bunk, tossing it in the corner. She dropped her head back on the pillow with a sigh and cocooned herself in the blanket. Though her muscles were tightly strung, she tried to relax.
Closing her eyes, Evalene saw her mother’s face the way it had been the day that Evalene came home from school, eight years old, sobbing. “Tavis said let’s play Numbers, and then he gave me a 19!”
Her mother had pulled her into her lap and held her while she wept, rubbing her back. “Shhh, Evie. You’re not a 19, and you know it.”
“But he drew it on my neck with permanent marker, look!” she’d cried, scratching at her neck as if to rip off the skin along with the ink. “He says I’m garbage!”
“Well he’s wrong,” Pearl had told her, catching her hand and standing to bring Evalene to the sink. She’d wet a rag and gently washed the side of Evalene’s neck. “You don’t need him or anyone else to give you a Number, because I already know,” she’d told Evalene as she scrubbed, “you are priceless.”
Those words from ten years ago melded with Jeremiah’s words just a few minutes ago. Had Pearl really believed the same as Jeremiah, that the Numbers weren’t real?
She was so tired. A day and a half of driving followed by a mostly sleepless night left her eyelids feeling heavy and her body drugged. Finally, she felt herself begin to doze off as her mind relaxed its iron grip, and she slept a dreamless sleep.
An hour or two later, maybe more, Evalene groggily pulled back the soft curtain and poked her head out of her bunk.
“Good afternoon!” A cheerful voice sang out, coming from somewhere above her head. “Or at least I think it’s afternoon. Time of day is hard to tell on a sub. Are you hungry? I’m starving. It’s got to be time for dinner soon.”
The voice came from the blonde girl wearing the illegally colored flower-print dress who had waved earlier. She looked like she was around the same age as Evalene. Sitting in one of the bunks on the second level with her feet dangling out, swinging idly, her blue eyes crinkled almost closed as she laughed, and her smile was wide and genuine. Afternoon? Almost time for dinner? Had Evalene really slept the entire day?
Blinking at the bright lights, Evalene felt her eyes adjust, taking in the long hallway of bunks on both sides. The girl hopped down from the bunk to come closer. “I work with the female recruits, and there are hardly any this trip. I’ve had breakfast and lunch with all the women except you! My name’s Olive, what’s yours?”
Evalene felt thrown off balance by the abrupt beginning of the conversation. She gave her nickname, like she’d done for Jeremiah. “Evie.”
Not wanting to engage the girl, she began to pull the red curtain closed again, but that didn’t deter her new acquaintance in the slightest. “Evie, I have got to tell you. I love your hair.” Olive plucked at her long blonde hair flowing over her shoulders as smooth as silk as if it were pieces of smelly straw. “Mine is so much work, but you just wake up naturally fresh. I’m so jealous.”
“Um… thanks,” Evalene mumbled. She touched her hair subconsciously, and as she did her hand brushed her bare throat – she’d taken off her scarf before sleeping!
Jerking back out of sight, Evalene frantically tore at the blankets until she uncovered the blue scarf and quickly tied it around her neck so tight it nearly choked her. She spread the edges of the fabric up towards her chin and down towards her collarbone, making it as wide as she possibly could. Then she sat, unsure what to do now, berating herself. How could she have let someone else see her tattoo? With her hair down, what were the odds that the blonde girl had seen the full Number?
Evalene crawled back to the entrance of her bunk. Reaching the opening, she tentatively poked her head out.
She almost had a heart attack when she found Olive sitting in the bunk directly across from her. Just a couple feet away now, she eyed Evalene’s neck, “That’s a pretty necklace.”
Evalene frowned. Did she mean her scarf? She lifted a hand to her neck and felt the jewelry from her father. Usually tucked underneath her shirt, it must have fallen out in her scrambles. It now rested in plain sight, just below her collarbone.
Evalene breathed a sigh of relief that this was all the girl had noticed. “Thanks, it was a gift,” she said as she slipped it back under her shirt.
“I love the tree. It’s so unique,” Olive replied. Leaning forward, she rested her elbows on her knees, still staring at Evalene. “So is your tattoo.”
Evalene blinked in surprise, then squeezed her eyes shut in frustration, but Olive said, “Hey, don’t be mad! I’m sorry. I don’t care about your number, I swear.”
“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” Evalene muttered, not believing it for a second.
But Olive shook her head violently. “No, I promise! I was born on the island and I’ve lived there my whole life. I’ve never even stepped foot in Eden. I’ve only heard stories about your ‘numbers.’ Okay, look, I’ll prove it!” She sat up straight, dragging her thick hair back so her neck was visible, twisting her head to show Evalene. Her skin was smooth, unbroken. There wasn’t a tattoo. Not even a hint of a tattoo that might’ve been erased.
Could it be true?
“See?” The girl’s voice came out high pitched in sincerity. “I don’t even have a Number!” She faced forward again, letting her hair fall back around her shoulders. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not removed.” Evalene had barely considered that. It was illegal in Eden. But now her hand touched the left side of her neck as she imagined her own skin without the offensive ink.
Leaning forward on her knees again, Olive grinned. “Yeah, they can be removed. It’s a bit expensive since new skin is pricey. And you’d have a bit of a scar, just to forewarn you. But I see refugees do it all the time. Anyway,” she flipped her hair back over her shoulder, not noticing when it fell right back down, “I never had a tattoo, so the fact that you’re a 29 doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Shhh!” Evalene shushed her, tensing. She glanced down the hallway at the other sleeping compartments to see if anyone was near enough to have heard. With most of the red curtains closed, it was difficult to tell how many people, if any, were in the room, and equally impossible to know if they were awake.
Evalene pulled herself forward to sit on the edge of her bunk as well, and spoke in a stern whisper. “Don’t you dare tell anyone my Number, do you understand? Don’t even say it aloud again,” she repeated for emphasis, staring the girl down until she nodded back. “Nobody can know!” First Jeremiah and now this girl? The chances of having a successful life outside of Eden without anyone knowing she wasn’t good enough seemed less and less likely.
Number-free Olive surprised Evalene by tearing up as she reached across the aisle to touch Evalene’s hands lightly, “I’m so sorry. I really am.” When Evalene pulled away, Olive waved her hands wildly in the air instead. “I know better. I wasn’t thinking. I won’t do it again, I swear!”
Evalene ignored her promise. Pulling on her boots and lacing them up with sharp jerks, she tied them at the top and mumbled, “Nothing you can do about it now.”
Olive stiffened. “Well, maybe no one heard! I’ll check every bunk!” She hopped to her feet and began whipping curtains aside to peer into each bunk.
“No, no!” Evalene tried not to yell, jumping up.
“Are you sure?” Olive’s hand was gripping a curtain as she looked back over her shoulder.
Evalene moved down the hallway towards the hat
ch in a hurry as she said, “I’m sure, thank you.” If anyone had overheard Olive speak her Number, at least they hadn’t seen Evalene’s face yet. She wanted to keep it that way. “Did you say something about food?” Her stomach growled as she brought up the distraction; she was starving. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Since Kevra.
“Oh yeah!” Olive lit up at the idea, smiling widely again. “I’m sure it’s dinner time by now! Let’s go see if they have the food laid out yet. I want to get to know you, and it’s my job to answer any questions you might have about the island.”
She surprised Evalene by hooking her elbow with her own, linking them together as they walked. “Submarines are known for having the best food ever. Did you know that?” Olive told her as they went. “Not many people do, but you’ll love it!”
She let go of Evalene’s arm to go through the hatch, but she was still talking as they passed into the mess deck, full of people eating and socializing, and continued as she led the way towards the dinner line.
Following Olive’s lead as they went through the short line, Evalene piled food on her plate, and the girls sat at an open table to eat. Evalene resigned herself to listening to Olive’s chatter through the meal. The one upside was that Olive didn’t ask many questions.
Taking another bite, Evalene glanced around the room. Most of the tables were full. On the far side, Jeremiah sat with Luc and a few others wearing blue, black, and gray uniforms. The illegal mix of colors intrigued her. Averting her eyes, she tried to ignore him, but couldn’t help glancing over again in curiosity.
He was in serious conversation with his chief officer, Luc, from her tour. She wondered what they were talking about. The uprising he’d mentioned? She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about that, although with Olive’s commentary, Evalene couldn’t get a word in even if she wanted to.
Evalene's Number: The Number Series Page 13