by Casey Hays
“Well-trained.” I finish. “Yeah. I know the Code, Dad. It’s all up in here.” I tap my temple twice for emphasis. “But there’s more, isn’t there? There’s more to it all than just memorizing a code and following the edicts.”
He shakes his head, alarmed. “What more could there be?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I take an oversized bite of the biscuit. The rest of my sentence is muffled around it. “A dead baby. Dead from a toxin she was never exposed to. How about that for starters?”
It’s a brave step, and it silences Dad completely for a good minute. I continue to chomp on my biscuit, staring him down, waiting for his excuse. It comes.
“Dr. Phillips told me about your misguided theory. I can assure you, Ian, the toxin is not leaking. Not through the walls and not through the entrance. We scan the perimeter every half hour. We manually check the equalization chamber every month, including a test of the gaskets and the gauges. If they were compromised, we would know immediately.”
“I know what I know,” I say, refusing to allow him to sway me. “I know where that baby came from. She’d never been to Eden.”
He crosses his arms over his broad chest. He’s wearing a bright, red tie. It’s the exact color of fresh blood.
“Are you going to tell me where you happened to come across this baby? The truth this time?”
I stiffen. My answer is in direct defiance. “No.”
It comes out softer and weaker than I intended. Dad frowns. I shove the last of the biscuit through my lips to avoid saying more. It sticks to the roof of my mouth like plaster.
“Then I am going to have to side with Dr. Phillips on this one. If you aren’t going to be honest, we can’t believe anything you say. When you’re ready to be open with me, I’ll be here.”
He lifts the worn briefcase which rests against one leg of the table and turns to go.
“Why do we do it, Dad?” I straighten, another flush of bravery prompting me to ask the question I’ve never dared to ask before. “Risk the lives of all those babies?”
Dad pauses, rests his briefcase on the table. An irritated frown graces his brow.
“We give them a chance at a better life, Ian.”
“And the ones who die from exposure? What are we giving them?”
He sighs and rubs at his temples. “Ian, the lab consistently endeavors to improve the Serum. There are fewer deaths from exposure than ever before because of the efforts made. Our goal is that one day—hopefully very soon—no one else with have to die from exposure. And right now, we are saving lives. Paving the way for our own people to bear and raise their own children again without fear.”
“But that’s my point,” I raise my hands, eager for him to see it my way. “We are so willing to expose other people’s children but rarely our own. We aren’t courageous enough to watch our own die, but we bring others in and wait to see what happens. It’s wrong.”
“Those babies are already doomed, son. Born to drug addicts, dying of starvation, abandoned to the streets. What should we do?”
I close my eyes and sigh as I lean against the counter. “I don’t know. Take them to another village, maybe.”
“Don’t you think we considered that?” His voice rises slightly with the question. “No other village wants the responsibility of tending to a hopper’s child. We have the means to give them a better life. It’s a worthwhile risk. Many of those babies have grown up to become productive members of our society, strengthening our community. There is power and safety in numbers.”
I don’t know what to say, and I can’t argue with him. My sister is a prime example of the good life Eden can provide. If we hadn’t taken her in, she’d more than likely be dead. Dad shakes his head, a disappointment causing his eyes to glisten. I know what he thinks. I shouldn’t be questioning the Code or the mandates set forth by the Board. To question them is to question everything he and my mother have taught me. But my mom is right; I have changed. The Pit changed me, and I will not accept things at face value. Not ever again.
“I know it’s difficult to understand,” Dad continues. “I know for every baby we save, we lose one. Or more. But it’s a good thing we do. You have to see this. It benefits us and the people of Gaza. It makes our world a better place to live.”
I stare at him. He truly believes this. He lifts his briefcase indicating that the conversation is finished.
“I’m late for work, son.”
Desperation rushes through me. I straighten, my muscles tensing.
“Can you have them check the chamber, at least? Please?”
He sighs, setting his lips into a hard line. “This is pointless, Ian. But I’ll talk to the Board. See if we can call for an early manual inspection. But I can guarantee it’s a waste of time. We will find nothing. The toxin is contained.”
I nod with a flush of relief. Because I know what I saw. The toxin poisoned Tabitha on the other side of the river.
They will find a leak. I fear they will find it too late. And when they do, there will be more to worry about than rescue babies from Gaza.
Chapter 20
The streets are busy today, and I move along swiftly, avoiding eye contact as much as possible, hoping to blend in with the rushing, morning crowds. Dad’s warning is fresh in my mind, pricking my conscience. I argued with myself for half an hour before I stacked the guilt aside long enough to bury it. I hate my disobedience, but in my mind, I have no choice. I’m in too deep; I’ve got Kate to consider. And so, I head toward the gate, the urgency to know the odds stronger than any warning. I’ll face the consequences when she is safe.
Eden hops to life as people make their way to work or school. Men in suits and ties, members of the research team donned in fresh, white lab coats, nurses, teachers. Clerks pull up shades to reveal merchandise in the windows. Butcher shops fill their displays with cuts of meats. I slip into the bakery and flash my whitest smile, charming Mabel, the owner’s wife, into giving me a chocolate donut fresh from the oven. She’s overjoyed to see me as she has been since I started this habit at the age of eight.
Outside again, I shuffle through the hoard of people surging into the streets. I don’t like being meshed in with the crowd. Jostled. Compact. I feel trapped. In fact, I prefer the other side of the wall. The freedom of the forests and the fresh air and the wind.
I would never admit this to anyone but myself. The idea would be comparable to heresy. Because “On the inside, we have the freedom to be ourselves. To test our limits without fear of exposure. To live together in harmony. To be normal. There is no better life than what Eden has to offer its people. Outside, you will not find it, and when you are gone from it, you will long for it with all that is within you.”
The words of the Code are embedded so deep that I can recite them in my sleep. In the Pit, I did. Every night, I would let them roll over me with their comfort and hope that one day I would be home again.
I was never more grateful to see Eden when I finally laid eyes on the outer wall. It was like a fresh drink of water after a long drought. I was home; I was safe. Mom hovered over me for days. At first, I didn’t mind. It was nice even. But then something in me, something I tried to bury along with my memories of Kate, twisted itself to the surface. And Mom’s hovering became stifling to the point of insanity. She was only trying to help, I know. But her over-attentiveness was more than I could take. With it, memories of my imprisonment in the cave flooded me as the walls of my bedroom seemed to shrink in around me. And when the panic set in—when feelings of drowning in my own restlessness began to overtake me, I knew I had to get out.
So I requested permission to leave the city—just to sit outside—near the gate. I sat for hours sometimes, watching expeditions come and go, staring off in the direction of the river. I think it called my name a few times, beckoning me to cross it and find my way back to Kate. Back to the worst days of my life where I’d found the one thing my life had always been missing.
Her.
It was on one of those d
ays that I devised the camping trip. And on the same day, I confessed to Justin everything I’d kept hidden for so long. That was the first day since leaving Kate behind—since leaving her tied to a tree—that I felt hope rise in me.
The very next day, I shifted. And a resilience settled over me that has never left.
Few people pay me any attention this morning. They are preoccupied with their own business, and so they stay out of mine. Only two or three connect with me as they whisk by toward their destinations. Their eyes scope out my bow—one end standing tall behind my head—more than they do me. I see no one I know this morning, and I can half-way rest in the fact that none of them seem to know me, either.
And then . . .
“Ian!”
The voice is more than familiar, and for a split second, I contemplate ignoring it. I hitch my collar up a notch, lower my head and trudge on. But in that split second, she strides up beside me, sets her pace to mine.
“Hey.” Bethany Ryan grabs my arm and squeezes. “I heard you were back.”
I turn, toss a smile that lands somewhere between a grimace and a snarl, but I don’t speak. Of course she knows I’m back. Our parents would have spoken by now.
“You going hunting?” she asks, indicating my bow with a jolt of her head. She smiles. My fingers tense where they encircle the handgrip resting across my heart. If she discovers even a hint of my plan, it’s over.
“Thinking about it.”
She nods. I keep my eyes tapped on the back of the person in front of us.
“I know you’re restricted,” she advises. I bite the edge of my tongue. Go away, Beth.
If only my thoughts were strong enough to penetrate her hearing. I press my feet forward, lift my speed a bit. Bethany follows suit.
So. She’s shifted.
“Ian, can we stop for a minute. Please. We need to talk.”
We don’t. I have nothing to say her, but I skid to a stop, causing the lab technician traveling behind me to dodge around with an angry glance and a curse. I scramble off to the side in front of a beauty shop. The hairdresser in the window talks nonstop as she snips at her customer with large scissors. I face Bethany.
“So talk,” I say flatly.
She frowns. “Why are you being like this?”
Her eyes search mine for the answer. Beautiful eyes—almost violet-colored in the morning lighting. She is pretty, no doubt. Blonde with perfectly arched eyebrows and a slight, upturned nose. Great skin. I’ve always thought so. I linger on her face for a moment. She relaxes, reading in this an invitation to reach for me. Her fingertips graze my cheek.
“I miss you, Ian,” she whispers. I close my eyes, and the people glide past us, oblivious to the way her words, her voice, everything about her is a temptation to revert. To ease back into the life in Eden our leaders have worked so hard to perfect. “I want us to . . . get back to where we were before.”
I’m frozen with her fingers against my skin, and my mind whisks me backwards, tumbling into old memories. Bethany at six, wearing a pink lace dress and blowing out six yellow candles. At ten, skipping rope. When we were thirteen, I held her hand for the first time. The gesture was stiff and precise—an obligation. At fifteen, I kissed her. It was like kissing stone, rigid and formal, and it was the first time I doubted us.
Last year, she began to talk about our future. She began to talk about it. I never talked much. Never contributed to any of our conversations, really. I was a disengaged party. Her plans meant nothing to me. They were for somebody else. Someone I didn’t know.
I should have felt something, but everything was out of place. Something was missing.
Something is missing.
I know what it is now. Even as she tries her best to coax me back to her with the touch of her fingers and the lilt of her voice, I suddenly see it. Bethany represents everything I don’t want. She has bought into the idea of an Eden where all of us are conformed into submissive, obedient citizens who never stray across the drawn chalk line. Citizens who never ask questions. Citizens who move into identical houses to raise children who will believe the same. We train. We uphold the Code. We believe we are superior to everyone else on Earth.
And above all, we don’t cross the river. To cross the river is to find the truth.
My eyes fly open, and I catch Bethany by the wrist. I fling her hand away and take a forceful, backward step. She gasps in surprise.
“What are you doing?”
The hairdresser and her customer have stopped mid-haircut to leer at us nosily through the window.
I stare down at Bethany. I believed it all once myself. Before Kate and the Village invaded my space, collapsing the idea of perfect life; proving to me it is impossible to eliminate all the ugliness and violence and hatred from the human race. The only option is to forge through it in all of our imperfection. It’s what makes a weakling the strongest player.
It’s what makes love work.
“I have to go,” I say quickly, and Bethany, still as air, blinks once.
I fade into the crowd, picking up speed. I don’t want to hurt Bethany; I never did. But I have to follow my heart on this one. And whichever imaginable avenue I take, every single one leads me away from her.
I reach the wall. It’s full of people, mingling in and out in a chaotic jumble. Expedition teams line up outside the guard post, registering permission to leave the city. I spot a group of traders headed for Shiloh to see what they can barter—bags heavily loaded with materials for trading. Batteries, medicines, some food and clothing. The biggest commodity needed in Shiloh, which is situated farthest from the river, is water. And so water has been purified and loaded into huge metal barrels, sealed and ready for rolling.
A trading expedition doesn’t suit me. Especially one moving farther from the river. I check it off my mental list.
I scan the other teams as I slip between one person after another, trying to be discreet. A research party has assembled closest to the inner gate. The smart ones. I can tell by their gear they’re headed to one of the forests. Always they’re looking for new anomalies, anything that might spark an answer to some question our scientists and doctors have yet to find. Anything worth studying, collecting, observing. They say this is how they found the Serum, saved the lives of our ancestors, and made it possible for us to become what we are.
I breathe deep, and as my lungs fill, I know I can’t deny this—even if I wanted to. I sense the surge of delicious strength that characterizes us—that binds us together as one invincible unit. And I get it. Everything my dad said this morning just . . . makes sense.
A hunting expedition loiters at the guard post window. The guard checks each of their names against a list, assigns a number, and clears them one by one. I move closer, listening. One guy with a long, red beard mentions something about heading south this time—along the river. The man next to him nods, and I catch a glimpse of his face as he turns. I know this man. I’ve known him all my life. Jeb Anderson. He taught me how to shoot my bow when I was eleven. I take a deep, hopeful breath and make my way over to him.
I hunted with his party a couple times before I shifted. He’s the only hunter my parents trust to train me. His long, black bow is massive—and therefore, impressive. It’s been in his family for generations, surviving the Fall. I’ve admired it from afar for as long as I can remember. It’s the sturdiest longbow I’ve ever seen. It’s made of yew, and it’s the only one of its kind. I let my eyes linger on it for one more second before I speak.
“Jeb.”
He turns, his eyes lighting up. “Ian, my boy!”
He slaps me hard on the shoulder, a toothy grin plastered to this face. His dark beard is longer than I remember, nearly touching him mid-chest. Standing at seven foot two, he’s one of the tallest men in the city—a true giant—and when he wraps a big arm around my shoulders and squeezes, I feel every bit of his strength. I even gasp a little.
“What brings you to the gate this morning?” He nudges me, and
whispers in a teasing, confidential manner: “Shouldn’t you be in training?”
I grin up at him. “I should. But I’m thinking about taking the day off.”
“Well, every man needs one from time to time.”
“Right,” I nod at his bow. “I see you’re headed out today.”
“Yes sir.” He adjusts his heavy pack, shrugging it a bit higher on his shoulders. “Planning to head down to Golan Woods for a few weeks, see if we can find some elk.”
“Elk?” I raise an interested brow. It’s been years since we’ve had elk meat in the city.
“That’s right. Heard a rumor from a guy in Gibeah last week. Said he and his boys saw a whole herd come through there. Thirty or more.” He grins like someone who’s found hidden treasure. “Might be having ourselves a regular feast here in a few days. And the butchers will pay nicely for it.”
I’m impressed. And before I take the time to formulate my request in my head—in hopes that it will sound like a good idea in his—I’m blurting, “Do you need another hand? I could come with you, and I’d sure like to get my shot at an elk.”
His jovial expression fades the moment my words begin to tumble from my mouth, and so does my hope of getting past the wall.
“You know I’m good, Jeb.” I ramble on, desperate. “I won’t get in your way. I’ll pull my weight. You won’t even know I’m there.”
He grooms his long fingers down the edges of his beard and tugs once, thinking. “That’s just it, Ian. You weren’t there last time. I lost you, if you recall. I don’t think it’s such a good idea to bring you out with my team again.”
Redbeard leans into our conversation. “You lost him?” he says in a gruff, sand-papery voice. He chuckles. “How do you lose something this big, Jeb?”
“He wasn’t quite this big when I lost him, okay? He was just a pup.”
“Oh. And they let you take him?”
“Special occasion. Just shut it, Ralph,” he grumbles, and Ralph turns away with a laugh. Jeb faces me. “Sorry, kid. Without specific, written permission from your parents, I have to say no.”