by E. R. Arroyo
“I’ll never be yours,” I mumble. Something flashes in his eyes for a brief moment then he strikes me with the back of his hand so hard I stumble backwards.
“Guard.” He lets himself out of my cell and slams the door.
I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. I had often wondered why my punishments never escalated, so I guess it’s about time.
A moment later, a handsome young guard steps up, ready for orders. A badge on his chest reveals his identity, 497. Not much older than me. He doesn’t look Nathan in the eye. Guess Nathan was right, I see no bravery.
“Yes, sir?” 497 asks.
“Feed her now. Keep her another night.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nathan looks me over one last time before heading to the door, and slamming it behind him. I notice 497 pulling a wadded cloth from the cargo pocket by his knee. He pulls out a half-eaten piece of hard bread, drops it on the floor at my feet. Then he, too, is gone.
Two cells over, I see Pete, the only other inmate, trembling. He’s only a boy, maybe ten or eleven, and he doesn’t understand things, so he breaks the rules.
“You hungry, Pete?”
He nods. Something about Nathan’s presence has taken last night’s joy.
I scoop up the bread and slide it through the cell between us. It skirts across the floor and lands in his fingers, though he has to stretch to reach it.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, Cori. Thanks for the bread.”
As the next twenty-four hours pass, I think about many things, the most frequent of which is the hunger tugging at my belly. Pete’s been in here even longer, so I’m sure he’s worse off than me.
Getting antsy, I walk circles around my tiny cell, stretching my arms and legs, and shaking them to stay loose. I take the opportunity to attempt my exercise routine, though I haven’t quite got enough energy to complete it. My pushups come up short, my pull ups even shorter. I dangle from the rusty pipe above the bed, trembling with my own body weight dragging me down--and I don’t weigh much. I’m halfway through a final pull up when the door slides open. I let myself fall onto the mattress, landing with my tailbone on a hard metal piece of the bed frame under the flimsy mattress.
497--I still don’t know his name--returns to free me, I assume, and as it turns out, he’s freeing Pete, too. He walks to the control pad on my cell door, presses his right index finger on the sensor, and scans his chip, which is in the same place as Nathan’s. The control pad beeps, and my door springs open. He does the same for Pete.
An elevator carries us to ground level where we walk into the yard and the elevator disappears back into the ground, barely noticeable now. The colony is awake, milling around the grounds, none making too big a deal of the two of us hobbling our way across the lawn. Normally close contact would catch attention, but I’ve got Pete’s arm draped over my shoulder. I assume everyone understands why, since no one screams at us to keep our hands to ourselves.
No touching is the only rule around here I actually like. If Pete were in better shape, I’d yell at him myself for touching me, but right now he feels fragile and I pity his weakness. I’ve got to get him to the cafeteria before he passes out.
I pound on the door and yank the handle even though I know it’s locked. A moment later, a pair of brown eyes peer through the small glass panel. The door opens to the owner of the brown eyes, Dottie. She’s about as big and mean as a woman could possibly get, but sometimes she’s kind. I can’t tell if today is a kind day or not.
“We just got out; he’s starving.” Maybe she’ll pity us.
“Breakfast ended thirty minutes ago,” she groans.
“He hasn’t eaten in over a day. Maybe we can take out the trash for you,” I offer, hoping she catches my meaning.
She shifts to her other leg and I think I hear her ankles creak under her weight. “Yeah.”
“Thank you.” We push through the cracked door. I settle Pete into a seat as I follow Dottie into the kitchen where a large black, plastic bag sits open on the floor, nearly full.
Without a word, I grab the bag and drag it out to Pete. The two of us dig through it for something decent to eat. He finds several scraps of bread and throws them down. I look over my shoulder and see Dottie looking at us with a conflicted expression. Finally she huffs and clanks around in the kitchen, then she waddles out and hands us small bowls of breakfast slush. Besides bread, slush is all we ever have, though the breakfast kind is usually a little sweeter.
“Thank you,” Pete says, overwhelmed and sincere. We don’t even bother with spoons, simply tipping the bowls back and drinking the contents.
When we’re done, I tie off the trash and carry it to the dumpster chute for Dottie, then help Pete to the boys’ floor. He feels a little stronger, but I still want to make sure he gets there safely. Since we’re late, we’ll be excused from morning classes. Hopefully, now that there’s food in his belly, rest will do Pete some good.
After I drop him off, I head back outside and over to the hidden elevator. I push a button on the access pad, then open the manual keypad and type in a code. A few minutes later, the elevator arrives with Vance inside it.
“Causing trouble, again?” He smiles. He’s not handsome, but he smiles a lot, which makes him more endearing. He’s probably in his thirties, brown hair cut close to his head like Dylan and all the other men. His muscles fill out his green shirt, and he stands only a couple inches taller than me.
“Of course. Can I see him?”
We ride the elevator down to the very bottom floor, twelve. Down the hall, we turn left and walk all the way to the end of another hallway. We stop at the door, and I try to smash my hair down and straighten up my clothes. I’m hardly presentable, but I didn’t think about changing clothes before coming.
Vance scans his chip on the door, then his fingerprint, then a four-digit security code. The door opens and we slip inside Cornelius’s apartment.
Cornelius sits at his desk in a robe and reading glasses. When he sees me, he closes a folder and sets a book on top of it. His face lights up with a warm smile. Sometimes I think he and Vance are the only pleasant people in the whole colony.
I walk to him and lean in for him to kiss my cheek, as he always does. He’s the only person whose touch I allow. That’s mostly because I need his protection from Nathan, so I tolerate his affection.
As I pull away from him I realize Titus sits across from Cornelius. I usually only see him coming or going, so I never quite know how to act around him. But if he’s here, Cornelius trusts him. Titus is the only person besides Vance who Cornelius doesn’t hide his affection for me from.
Vance is always here because he’s Cornelius’s personal guard. I’m here because Cornelius cares about me--the daughter he never had or something like that. But why is Titus here?
I plop down in the empty chair beside Titus, and he quickly rises to offer his seat to Vance. He stands near the desk with his hands behind his back. Usually he leaves when I arrive.
“So let’s hear about it.” Cornelius smiles.
I can’t help but grin. “Oh, nothing big. Testing out some new idea. You know, same old.”
“She could have broken her leg or something,” Vance chimes in, tapping the armrest with this fingertips. “I’d really love if you could put some of that energy into endurance training, or more importantly for you, strength training.” He finally looks at me instead of Cornelius.
“I worked out in my cell.” I cross my arms, embarrassed to be scolded in front of Titus. A couple years ago, he was a familiar face in the Underage cafeteria, but I don’t really know him.
“What happened to your face?” Vance asks.
“I got hit.” I think back to Nathan hitting me, and try to push the memory away. Cornelius would be angry to hear it, and I don’t think I should tell him. I don’t think he’s feeling well today.
“Why didn’t you defend yourself?” Vance sits forward in his chair, meeting eyes briefly with Titus.
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I scowl at him, and he seems to get my meaning immediately.
“You know, not fighting back makes you look weak,” Titus interjects, obviously not knowing that my attacker was Nathan. I can’t fight back against him. Sure, it’s Cornelius who’s really in charge here, but I sense that even Cornelius fears Nathan.
Titus shouldn’t be encouraging me to fight anyway. I wonder if Titus knows that Vance trains me, since it’s technically illegal.
“Do you want to look weak, Cori?” Vance reaches across the space between us and pokes me in the ribcage. I grab his hand and twist it back, throwing my body into him as we both rise from our chairs.
He wraps his free arm around my waist and lifts me off the ground, carrying me into the open space in the center of the room. When he sets me on my feet, I duck and swipe at the hand that reaches for me. He taunts me with his fists, coming at me from multiple directions. I deflect every attempt. But he’s not trying very hard.
Vance finally gets a hand past my guard and slaps me somewhat gently on the chin. “Pay attention.” I remember Nathan’s cold fingers on my jaw, and heat rushes to my cheeks. Anger, too.
I glance over my shoulder and see Cornelius propped forward with his elbows on the desk, smiling. Titus watches intently, but without expression.
I grit my teeth and throw a punch at Vance’s shoulder, and miss. In return, he plants his fist into my deltoid. With pain searing through my arm, I take a step back from the fight.
“You have to learn to take a punch, Cori.” He steps toward me. “You’re distracted. Focus on me. Don’t think about him.” He means Nathan. He knows that’s who hit me. He says it softly enough that Cornelius probably didn’t hear, and I appreciate it.
But I don’t stop thinking about Nathan, instead he’s all I think about. The threat. The strike to my face. The slimy look in his eyes. The fear I felt in that cell. And I attack Vance, punches flying, arms flailing. I’m not even guarding myself anymore. I take a shallow punch to the ribcage, but deliver one as hard as I can muster directly to Vance’s face. And I keep hitting.
He grabs me by the wrists to stop me. “Enough.” I resist, tugging my arms, but he holds tightly.
“Cori,” Cornelius says. I stop in my tracks, embarrassed by the red mark on Vance’s cheek.
As Vance lets go, Cornelius rises to meet me. “Are those boys bullying you again?” His eyebrows are drawn inward with concern, further accentuating his deeply wrinkled skin. Bullies were the original reason Cornelius made Vance start training me. That was ages ago.
“No, sir. It’s nothing.”
“Let’s take you to get some rest.” Vance grabs my elbow.
“I’m sorry, V.” I look up at him as I pull my elbow away.
On the way to the door, Vance simply nods. He doesn’t look angry, but he has a right to be. I’ve never hit him that hard, not in the face. “If you do it again, I’ll give you a hug.”
Nice play, I think.
Cornelius follows us, and before I reach the door, I turn back to him. He wraps a fragile arm around me and kisses my temple--something my father used to do. When I turn to the door, it’s already open and Nathan stands there, glaring at me. His jaw is tight, and he thrusts his hands into his pockets.
If Nathan had come a few moments sooner, he would have caught us fighting. Nathan can’t know that Vance trains me. For my safety and Vance’s.
Titus begins to follow us out, but Cornelius stops him. “Remember what I told you, son.”
Titus nods. “I will, sir.”
As I pass through the doorway with Vance and Titus on my heels, Nathan backs away, not so big and bad with his father in the room. Vance shuts the door a little harder than necessary before leading me back to the elevator.
My room is how I left it, and my bed looks inviting if for no other reason than it’s warm and dry. I check the hall before closing the door then check under the bed as well. With the coast clear, I slide my dresser--the only other piece of furniture besides the bed--to the opposite wall and climb atop it. I move the metal grate away from the large vent and reach my hand inside. I’m pleased when I wrap my fingers around the small canvas pouch and rip it from the velcro holding it there.
After I return the vent cover, I sprawl on my bed and open the case. Inside is a hand-held device that Dylan found for me. The tiny screen is broken, but the projector still works. When I turn it on, a light shines and I point it at the ceiling, where words appear. The device has tons of memory, storing hundreds of books--history, fiction, poetry. Today, a man named William Shakespeare attempts to teach me of love, as he often does, but I fear I’m not a worthy student of affection. His beautiful words exhaust me and I allow myself to close my eyes.
I do not understand Shakespeare, and I don’t understand love. But the lady poet, Millay, who speaks of freedom, I can relate to. I think of her as I drift to sleep.
“I will be the gladdest thing
Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
I will look at cliffs and clouds
With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
And the grass rise.
And when lights begin to show
Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
And then start down!”
Chapter Two
Still dreaming of walking free with flowers and endless green hills, I drag myself into consciousness. It takes a moment for me to realize I haven’t woken myself up, something else has. It’s alarming--no, it’s actually an alarm. There are many types but this one is less severe than others. They are calling us to assemble.
When I reach the yard, most of the colony is already there, and Nathan is standing atop some wooden crates with a microphone and some type of amplifier. From the look of pleasure in his eyes, I can’t help but think this must be bad news.
“People of Antius, please, come close.” He waves people closer, though I can’t see how we can pack in any tighter. I already feel the heat of those around me, and I’m thankful I’m standing near the back so I’m not completely closed in.
“Today we suffer a great loss together. Our fearless leader, my father, has passed away.” With absolutely no reaction from the crowd, he rephrases. “Cornelius is dead.”
Whatever he says next rushes past in a blur. I’m stuck in the moment with the words “Cornelius is dead” reverberating in my skull. Every hair on my arms stands on end as I realize all at once the gravity of what he’s said. Cornelius is dead. Cornelius, my saving grace--who I saw just hours ago--is dead. The man who laughed at my sarcasm when Nathan was enraged by it. The ruler who disapproved of my tricks and schemes but forced Nathan to punish me mercifully. The only person keeping Nathan from really hurting me, is dead.
I scan the crowd and manage to locate Dylan, whose eyes are already locked on me and filled with concern. I look away to find another pair of eyes, Nathan’s. My body goes cold, and I think I see him smirk for a fraction of a second. This is bad.
At lunch, the room is somber, but normal and orderly. Kids file by the buffet and sit quietly with their trays. I sit with Alyssa, wishing it were Dylan instead. She’s dear to me, but our friendship is shallow. She doesn’t know me like he does, and I don’t trust her as much. I catch Dylan’s gaze several times and wish he would relax. Our friendship has always managed to offset the best and worst of each other’s moments--though I have more bad moments than anyone here--but right now I need him strong because I’m on the brink of falling apart.
I can’t imagine what the death of Cornelius means other than Nathan is now the number one. He has total control, complete authority. His rule will be sovereign.
A commotion draws my attention away from my bowl of muck, and I see him standing in the doorway, Nathan. I’ve rarely seen him set foot in this building. Usually government and military dine in their own underground facilities. Only civilians live topside.
He’s messing with me, I think, scared but a little pissed off, too.
When he strides over and sits beside me, all I can think is that I should have sat with a random today and not Alyssa. I hear her spoon shaking against her bowl and I shoot her a quick look. She rights herself and pulls the spoon from the bowl.
Nathan takes a long, deep breath and exhales so slowly it irritates me. I just watch him, transfixed, not sure what to do.
“Good afternoon, 1206. Nice to see you again,” he says.
“Hello,” is all I can manage.
“A bowl for me, please,” he shouts across the room, which has been dead silent since he entered. A moment later, Dottie comes through the kitchen door with a fresh, steaming bowl of slush. She sets it softly before him then hands him a spoon, careful not to make eye contact. Smart lady.
Nathan stirs the slush gently and scoops out a little. As he blows on the spoon to cool the food, I glance over my shoulder and notice two guards by the door.
Nathan takes a small bite, considers the food, moving it around in his mouth. It seems to take forever before he finally swallows and says, “It’s horrible but it contains the necessary nutrients. It keeps us alive. Sometimes the things we need come in packages we don’t enjoy.” He seems to be talking to no one in particular, but I know it’s directed at me.
I can feel Dylan staring, but I don’t chance looking back and Nathan following my eyes to him. I’ve already put Alyssa at risk by sitting with her. Can’t put Dylan in danger, too.
All of a sudden, Nathan perks up and drops his spoon in the bowl. He stands and addresses the whole room. “The funeral for my father will be held at 1800. Your caretakers will make sure you have something proper to wear. All minors must be present for an announcement immediately following the service.”
Many citizens have died, but none have earned a funeral, so this is new.