inDIVISIBLE

by Hunter, Ryan

  “He’s dead. His father is dead and his mother has been sent to work in the factories in Section Twelve.”

  “Why?”

  T grimaced. “Remember what he said that night on the beach?”

  I remembered. It had nearly started a fight amidst our group until T had diffused it. For someone who bragged up his party life, Kamp had turned out to be a mean and angry drunk. “He talked about a revolt, a group in Section Nine but we all know he was just talking.”

  “Was he?” T asked.

  “Of course—” but I didn’t know. How could I know when everything I knew came from the schools and the carefully worded codes my father had shared? Besides, why would anyone want to revolt? Unless what T said was true about the Alliance carrying out the murders at the City Center, making up terrorists to excuse more killing—

  “Alcohol creates free speech,” T said. “Why do you think they offered us so much?”

  I tried to remember what I’d said that night, how we’d behaved, losing ourselves in drinks and our first real taste of freedom. I’d said things to T I’d never want repeated, done things on that beach I wouldn’t want anyone listening to. I had a right to my privacy and I wanted it back. I dropped my head into my hands and shook my head as the truth dawned more dark and ugly than I could have ever imagined. “They wanted us to talk, to implicate ourselves—our families.”

  He stood and walked in a circle. “Exactly.”

  “And we did—we gave them everything they needed to put them on watch lists, to order hits to take them out of society.”

  “They were on watch lists long before the trip or the Alliance wouldn’t have wasted their time on us.”

  “But the things we said, they didn’t help.”

  “They didn’t help them and they won’t help us either.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying we need to remember what we gave them on us,” T said.

  A shock tore through my spine. I recalled bits of our conversation as we watched the waves beat the shore in Greece. The white sands had been so comforting, the ocean a buffer against the structure of One United. We’d said as much, mused aloud at how we could escape that life, live as my father wanted … as I wanted. “It’s my fault, T. I should have realized.”

  He came back to me and clutched my hands, his tanned skin couldn’t hide the rage that filled him, the anger he fought so hard to keep just below the surface. “You didn’t plant the bug. You didn’t shoot your father.”

  My hands felt limp in his, lifeless. “But I gave them the information they needed to carry it through.”

  A bird chirped and T hesitated. “You have to believe me when I tell you that they already had enough information or we wouldn’t have gone to Europe. All they wanted was to see how far that attitude had already spread, see how many they’d have to take out to do damage control.”

  “Why not just take us out to begin with?”

  “Because you have something they want too, a reason they want you alive.”

  “What’s that?”

  He shrugged. “That’s what we need to figure out.”

  “Yours?” I asked.

  “I was slated to compete in the World Olympics.”

  “Was?”

  He now offered the bandaged hand, unwrapped the white linen carefully until he revealed a gash in the webbing between his thumb and first finger. “I removed it, Brynn. They can’t track me anymore.”

  I caught my lip between my teeth and flipped the bandage back around the wound. “They’ll kill you for this, T.”

  “I’m already on their kill list.” His whispers grew urgent, his hands pressing harder into mine. “My best friend died in a car accident on the way to track practice, in the same vehicle I was supposed to be in. My room was ransacked at the training facility and a man with a gun chased me through the darkened streets near my home until I found a piece of broken glass and dug that tracker out, leaving it in the alley for him to find.”

  My heart pounded relentlessly and a fine sheen of sweat covered my forehead. “Without your sensor, you can’t buy food. You have nowhere to live; and what if that becomes infected? You know how bad infections can be.”

  Again, he placed his fingertip on my lips. It quieted my words but did not remove the panic.

  “I need you to stay calm when I tell you, Brynn, that it’s time to remove your sensor too because you’re next. You’re on their kill list too.”

  I backed away from his fingertip, shook my head. “I can’t be. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Your father spoke openly to you.”

  “Not in the house, in the woods where nobody could hear—” my words faded as my eyes fell to the jammer in my hand. “They were listening, weren’t they?”

  He nodded and came closer, placing his hand lightly on my arm. “They’ve been listening to every word since we were outfitted for international travel.”

  I took his hand again, flipped the bandage open. “Did it hurt?”

  “Like the devil.”

  “Then how?”

  “Grit your teeth when you realize there’s no other way out.”

  I pulled my hands away and T wrapped the bandage around the open wound. “It’s the only way they’ll let you go—not being able to find you.”

  “And how did you get away?” I asked. “You live in Section Six. You couldn’t travel without that—thing.”

  “Not on conventional roads,” he said. “But if you know the countryside …”

  “You could get picked up for being off the approved trails.”

  “Only if they catch me.”

  I folded my arms over my chest and asked, “How long have I got?”

  He looked away, watched the leaves sway before he answered, “I don’t know. It could be tomorrow, could be a month from now, but they’ll come for you.”

  “So what do I do?” I asked.

  T rubbed my arms. “Run away with me.”

  I laughed. “Right.”

  He nearly smiled. “I’m serious. We’ll find a place to live where the Alliance won’t touch us. Out of their hands, we’ll be free.”

  “What about my mother?”

  “She’s a Citizen, isn’t she?” he asked.

  I nodded. “She’s never broken a single rule, doesn’t complain …”

  “Then she’ll be fine, but you have to realize that the longer you stay, the more you put her in jeopardy too.”

  “Because they’ll assume we talk,” I said, “even if they don’t hear it.”

  T nodded. “I want you to go with me, but I can’t wait too long before I attract attention here. I don’t want to rush you either, so take a few days … you know where to find me if you decide to leave.”

  T led me back toward the trail, to my pack stashed in the bushes but before we reached it, I asked, “How do you know about the kill list?”

  He hesitated. “I have a feeling.”

  “A feeling?”

  “It’s real, Brynn. Just think about it. I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Sleeping became a chore. I lay in bed staring at the faint bit of moonlight streaming through the glass that marked the center of our home, and I wondered if T was warm enough, safe enough. Strange how I now wondered about safety from the Alliance when my whole life I’d been convinced I was safe only because of the Alliance.

  I cringed and rolled to my side, trying to block the light but too lazy to get out of bed and pull my curtain. Could it be true? Could my conversations with my father have really marked me as a target? If not, my actions with T over the last few days surely would. Because of that jammer, I kept disappearing off of Alliance radar and they’d either begin to suspect I was dodging them or they’d think the sensor was having issues. Either way I’d earn a visit soon, and I had to decide what to do before that happened.

  If I removed my sensor, I could either save my life or lose it. They’d kill me if they ca
ught me but if T was right, they’d kill me anyway. If something happened to me, what about my mother? I tossed on the mattress, the fabric crinkling, the bed creaking. Would they kill her too? They’d have no reason if I weren’t around. She never once participated in anti-Alliance talk. She’d never accompanied us to the woods, and my father had strictly told me not to discuss any of our private conversations with her. He had protected her from the Alliance’s anger, so why had he not done the same for me? I wished I could ask him, demand answers, but I supposed I already knew. My mother wanted peace. She’d have refused to speak with him about the Alliance and if he’d known there was something to fear, he’d want to tell the person who’d already expressed similar sentiments. Me.

  I buried my face into my pillow, stifling the urge to scream. Dinner conversation with my mother replayed in my mind, the looks of disapproval she shot at me over who knows what, the one word answers, and the nervous flittering around the kitchen like she didn’t know how to live without my father. Would she be okay without me there to take care of her? I rolled to my back again, the anxious fluttering of my heartbeat returning. I didn’t have a choice that I could see. If I wanted out of here without dying, I had to do it now. T only had another twenty-four hours before he had to move on. Any longer and they’d track him down for sure.

  It was time.

  I moaned loudly and tossed atop the hard mattress once again, feigning sickness. Kicking off the covers, I opened yesterday’s water bottle and splashed a bit of cool water on my face as I waited for my mother’s alarm to sound. I’d have to be quick and convincing when it actually went off as she always headed straight to the bathroom to get ready for work.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, stared at the dull display on my PCA and began counting down. At 6 a.m. her alarm beeped three times. I bolted out of my room before it hushed and slammed the bathroom door behind me. I turned the lock and knelt over the toilet before shoving my first two fingers into my throat.

  I gagged immediately. I pushed my fingers in again and choked, tears springing to my eyes.

  Her footsteps tapped across the concrete just outside the door, pausing in the hallway. She knocked on the door and I stuck my fingers in my throat a third time, vomiting what was left of my late supper.

  “Brynn?”

  I pushed away from the toilet and ran water in the sink, rinsing my mouth and face with water as cold as I could manage. “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay?”

  I blotted my face and opened the door. My mother’s graying hair frizzed around her face and the wrinkles she usually covered with makeup made her look old and vulnerable. What stopped me from speaking, however, was the genuine concern in her eyes. My mouth worked but I had to concentrate to make it speak. “Fine,” I said.

  Guilt bubbled its way in my chest and colored my cheeks. I pushed past her to hide in my room before I gave into the feeling and stayed. I couldn’t put her in danger. She’d already lost too much.

  She stopped me before I could return to my room and placed a hand on my forehead, sticky and clammy, she pulled her hand away almost immediately. “You’re not fine. You’re sick.”

  “I’ve got an exam today,” I countered. “It’s important. I’ve been studying for it all week.”

  She turned me toward my bedroom. “Go back to bed. Log your symptoms and wait for the doctor to call. You’re not going to school today.”

  “But finals are coming up,” I half-argued, speaking in a breezy tone to suggest exhaustion.

  “All you need to do today is rest, and maybe a little later, get some fresh air.” Her eyes caught mine and held them. Tears appeared in the corners of her eyes, and I worried she’d have another breakdown over my father. I couldn’t hear her sobs again. I was leaving her today and that was hard enough without the tears.

  “I think both will be good for me,” I said, throat tight. I wanted to explain so she wouldn’t worry. I wanted to tell her goodbye but I couldn’t.

  She pressed her lips together tightly and pulled me in for an embrace where she rocked me several minutes before she released me.

  When she let go, she sniffed and said, “School can wait, Brynn. Take care of yourself first.” Could she be that worried or had she already suspected I’d leave? I kissed her on the cheek, something I hadn’t done since I’d been tiny and shuffled through the garden back to my bedroom. Once inside, I crawled into bed and curled into a ball, with my face away from the glass—and waited.

  She didn’t come in to check on me before she left, but I felt her outside my doorway, staring through the glass while I lay unmoving, forcing my emotions deep inside where I could ignore their nagging. She stood there at least five minutes and when she left and I finally rolled over. It was then that I saw the handprint on the glass, the spot where she’d rested her forehead and on the ground outside, a teardrop.

  I would likely never see my mother again, but I would pay that price to save her life. And that knowledge is all it took to spur me into action.

  Remembering the bug, I went back to the bathroom and made gagging noises before getting another drink of water. It had been bad enough to have them know where I was but to realize they listened to everything I said and did was nauseating in and of itself.

  My heart thudded. They knew I was home alone and if they were intent on taking me out, they could easily make me disappear today. I bolted for my mother’s room and pulled my father’s chest from beneath his bed. The corners of his personal papers were creased, the edges of the stacks not lining perfectly as I’d seen them last. Had my mother gone through them or someone else?

  I closed the lid and shoved it back before going to the closet. Below his black suits were his black dress shoes, all neatly arranged on a shoe rack that had been built into the wall behind it.

  I had seen him fiddling in his closet before, through a crack in the curtains between our rooms, and I knew there was something else in there.

  I ran my fingers along the rack but nothing felt out of place. I stood, paced the room and opened his top drawer. His clothes all sat neatly folded, the second and third drawers the same. When I got to the bottom drawer, however, his sleeping clothes were askew. I felt along the bottom of the drawer and found nothing. I pulled the drawer out and would have missed the subtle clue if I hadn’t seen something similar before. A paperclip lay at the bottom of the dresser in the corner as if it had fallen off the dresser or from a pocket. A tiny hole beside it made its use obvious and I unwound the paperclip and pressed it into the hole. Whatever waited inside the hole gave and the tension fell away, but nothing else changed. I searched the dresser before returning to the closet. Perhaps I’d been wrong about the closet, the dresser, all of it—but I couldn’t give up without trying one more time.

  I felt along the shoe rack again and it moved slightly. My breathing came in gasps now, my hands frantic as I checked the clock to see that an entire hour had passed since I last gagged into the toilet.

  I moaned the sickest sound I could manage and pulled on the rack. It slid to the side and I found my father’s stash. Notebooks piled atop one another, a pen clipped on one cover. I grabbed them, pushed the shoe rack back into place and wondered how to reset the lock only briefly before realizing I didn’t have time.

  My PCA beeped, indicating the call from the doctor I’d been waiting on. I took a calming breath and returned to my room. I dropped the books on my bed out of view of the monitor and swiped my hand to sign in. I didn’t need to force myself to look flushed. The search had done that by itself. The screen came to life and a thick woman in a lab coat greeted me.

  “Brynn Aberdie,” she said, her face too smooth, eyes too wide.

  I nodded.

  “You don’t look well.” The words were clipped, automatic.

  I coughed, a result of the dust from the search I was sure, but it worked for the doctor too. “I don’t feel well either.”

  She cleared her throat and moved back from her camera, a subconscious reaction m
eant to avoid my germs. “I read over your symptoms. There is no need to come to the office but you do need an immune booster. I’m sending one over in the next half hour. You must drink the entire bottle, rinse the remaining medication down the drain and use the recycling bin to return the empty bottle.”

  It was a script I’m sure she’d read at least a dozen times that morning, and I simply nodded.

  “Be sure to get plenty of rest.” Her face moved closer to the camera, her nose growing as the lens distorted her image. “This bug that’s going around can get pretty nasty.”

  Bug. I forced myself not to look at my hand, clutching my stomach instead. “I can tell.”

  “And don’t leave the house. We’re containing everyone who’s caught it so it doesn’t spread.”

  Icy eyes stared through me and the hair on my arms rose.

  The screen went black and I pressed the power button on my PCA to shut it off. I only had a few more minutes before someone arrived with the booster and they’d want to watch me drink it so they could check it off my chart. I knew how this worked too well, and it annoyed me that they could control even the medication I took. The problem now was that I didn’t need the booster and something inside me demanded I avoid it.

  I opened my father’s first notebook and scanned a page, the next, then the next. My mouth gaped and my breathing became shallow.

  He was far deeper entrenched than I’d ever realized, had more anger toward the Alliance than I could ever have guessed. I closed the book and opened the second to discover similar writings, cryptic like he enjoyed speaking at times.

  The third focused on me and his concerns about my welfare. A bulleted list caught my attention, the first being to remove the sensor.

  It was settled. I shoved the books into a backpack and took it into the kitchen with me, grabbed a butcher knife and set my right hand on a cutting board.

  My stomach squirmed and I gagged for real.

  I took a deep breath and gripped the knife tighter, my knuckles whitening on the handle.