by C. B. Stone
My heart plummets despite myself. I have to work hard to keep my shoulders straight and continue to stand tall. He’s not going to let me in. “But—”
“Good day, Ms. Reardon,” he barks, closing the door in my face with a thud.
I stand on his porch for several long moments, just staring at the closed door while snow falls down around me. I’m almost oblivious to the cold though, adrift as I am in my thoughts and disappointment.
I know I have to find a way to see Samantha, I owe it to Jacob, but every time I try, I never make it past the porch. And Carol Cales isn’t any better than her husband, either. Both of them might as well be the Elite for all the warmth and trust they grant me.
It makes my stomach twist into knots thinking of little Samantha stuck living with them now. They might have more money than most people in the Gate and they might be able to provide for her better than most anyone—myself especially—but they are truly two of the coldest people I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.
Whatever they can give her, it’s definitely not love. I sigh, feeling sad, angry and frustrated at the same time.
I finally leave the Cales’ porch with their stubbornly closed front door and head back to the Girls’ Home. The wind outside has picked up furiously, icy snow blowing in my face. I try huddling up inside my worn sweater to keep warm but with little effect.
After nearly twenty minutes of trudging through the ice and slush, I reach home. I’m so cold I’m shaking, my fingers and toes numb. My nose and cheeks are rosy, and my eyes are sore from the blast of cold wind. I’m used to it, though. This is what it’s like going out into the ruins of the Old World during the winter. That’s why me and Jacob always made a point to get as much as we could before it got too cold.
Thinking of Jacob makes something in my chest ache and I remember again how much I miss him. Stomping the snow off my boots, I head up the stairs toward my shared bedroom. The other girls are there, too. Most sit hiding from the cold, bundled up in sweaters and blankets. The Girls’ Home doesn’t boast particularly great heating, but it’s warmer than outside and each room, with the exception of hallways, has its own fireplace. The one in our room burns cheerfully and all the girls sit huddled together on beds closest to it, regardless of who the beds may belong to.
Miriam is sitting near them, but not directly next to any girl or too close to the fire. My brow crinkles as I glance her way. She’s kind of like me, I realize. She doesn’t have any friends I know of and keeps to herself a lot. Although, at least I had Jacob.
Have, I correct myself. I have Jacob. I have to believe he’ll come back. I have to believe he’s okay. I can’t really accept any other reality except one in which Jacob is still in it.
I move across the room and take a seat next to Miriam. We sit in silence, staring into the flames while the other girls talk quietly among themselves. After a while, I hear Miriam’s quiet voice penetrate my thoughts, drifting my way just faintly over the popping and crackling sounds of the fire.
“I heard they took that boy,” she murmurs, not looking at me.
I freeze. Is she talking about Jacob?
“He was your friend, right?”
I turn my head to gape at her. She’s still not looking at me, her gray eyes staring instead into the flames of the fire. Her expression is blank, revealing nothing, and I wonder what she’s heard, why she’s bringing this up at all. What’s her interest in Jacob? In me?
Finally, I answer, “Yes. His name is Jacob.”
She nods her head slowly, still staring into the flames of the fire. “He’s at Rehabilitation.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“Yes... Do you... do you know about Rehabilitation?”
At this, she finally turns to look at me, her gray eyes boring into my own. “I know all about Rehabilitation.”
Looking at her now, up close, I see in her what others have described to me before. The best word I can come up with is haunted. My lips twist, the constant ache in my chest since Jacob disappeared increasing in intensity. “How do you know?”
Her eyes search my face, clearly deciding something in her mind before she finally answers me, “Because I’ve been there.” She says it simply, her tone matter of fact before turning her gaze back to the flames.
Shock registers in me. It feels like being sucker punched. Or what I imagined being sucker punched to feel like. Been there? I haven’t known anyone personally that’s returned from Rehabilitation. I do know there are some here in the Gate, folks who have gone through Rehabilitation and returned to reintegrate into regular life, but I’d never interacted with them much.
Our town isn’t close-knit for the most part. We all keep to ourselves, with only a few exceptions. Like me and Jacob. Our relationship is rare though, and I think if we hadn’t both been sneaking out into the Old World all the time, we likely never would have been close at all. Our relationship was perhaps born more of necessity than anything. Now, staring at this tiny, gray eyed girl I’ve slept in the same room with for over a year now, I think maybe it might be nice to know the people I live with—and I wonder how I’ve never noticed her before.
“What?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet so none of the other girls can overhear our conversation. I don’t know if Miriam would care if the other girls know or not, but I think it should be her choice to tell them. “When? What was it like?”
Her mouth twitches, not like she’s going to smile, but more like a grimace. Like she’s thought of something bad. “It was... I was only fourteen when I went. They kept me for a few months.” Her eyes glaze over as she stares off into space, forgetting I’m even there. Several minutes tick by before she shakes her head, like she’s shaking off something unpleasant. “When I came back, my parents were gone and they put me here.”
My chest thumps painfully. I think about my own parents, both long gone now, and what it was like to wake up to one of them gone and the other gone mad. Imagine if I had been the one to leave... and then come back only to find everyone I’d loved gone.
Swallowing past a lump in my throat, I ask the question I’m not entirely sure I want the answer to. “What did they do to you?”
She grows still, seeming to shrink in on herself and I notice her start picking at her nails, looking nervous. “Told me what I should think,” she says vaguely. “Made me remember it.”
I frown, my eyebrows pulling together. “But what—”
She shakes her head abruptly and I realize she’s not going to give me details, she’s not going to tell me what happened to her. It disappoints me, but not because I want to know. I don’t. I don’t want to know what’s made her so... small. I do want to know what’s happening to Jacob though.
And if he’ll come back to me the same.
As though she knows what I’m thinking, she speaks again, her tone abrupt, “If you want to save your friend, you’ll have to get him back yourself. I wouldn’t wait.”
VI
Outside is freezing. The snow has piled up so high it’s up to my thighs and I wade through it more like water than anything. It makes my progress slow going. That coupled with the biting wind doesn’t help me stay warm. It would be better if I were just walking through town. It’d still be freezing of course, but the buildings would help block some of the harsh wind.
Unfortunately, I’m not in town.
I’ve hopped over the little rock wall—I couldn’t even see it beneath the snow—and now I’m heading out in the icy cold toward the tall ruins of the Old World.
Normally, I wouldn’t be out here. It’s stupid being out here during winter, especially alone. It’s why me and Jacob always hunted and worked together. If something goes wrong, if I fall through a rotted floorboard or get caught by a hungry animal, or if I just get lost in the never-ending white, there is no one out here to help me or save me. What’s worse, it’s incredibly illegal.
That wouldn’t worry me too much most of the time, but lately it’s been a bad idea to do anything illegal. Selector
s and other Elite have been unusually active in the Gate lately, taking people in the middle of the night for Trials and Rehabilitation, then throwing what’s left of their family to foster care... It’s never been this bad before. What I’m doing is just dumb. The worst kind of dumb. The kind of dumb just asking for punishment.
Which is exactly why I’m doing it.
It’s maybe another mile until I hit the edge of the Old World. From there, I’ve decided I’ll head west. Jacob and I haven’t seen all of the ruins, but we’ve seen a lot over the years and I’ve got a good feel where things are now. Most days, I’m only out here looking for things to take back to town. Stuff I can either use myself or things I can sell to the denizens of the Gate. Today’s different. Today, I’m looking for something specific. So I’m headed to the west end of the Old World town, in hopes of finding it.
I pull my coat tighter around me, tucking my chin so I can cover my face, ducking low into my scarf. Only my eyes are visible, looking out across the wide expanse of white snow. Each step I take I struggle with. It drains my energy and I wonder fleetingly if I’ll even make it back when things are all said and done. I tighten my jaw, determination washing through me.
“I’ll make it,” I mutter to myself, my voice whipped away immediately by the fierce wind. The cold air feels like needles against my skin, but I push forward anyway. Sometimes my stubbornness pays off.
After nearly forty-five minutes, I reach the edge of the ruined city. It doesn’t normally take me so long, but then I usually don’t go out in the midst of a blizzard to trudge through thigh deep snow. All things considered, I’ve made good time.
Entering the city makes an instant difference. It’s still cold outside and there’s still lots of snow, banks of it piled up against decaying buildings, and roads completely covered by it. But the wind is less, thankfully. The buildings break at least some of it and what raw skin I have exposed is grateful for any reprieve.
I’m careful while I move through the city ruins. Although it’s winter and no other sane person is going to be out in all of this, I know animals aren’t quite the same. Most of them, much like people, will be hiding wherever they can find warmth. But not all of them. Some will be out scrounging around for food, searching for whatever protein and fat they can find. A frail little human girl would make an awesome meal for the big cats that like to roam the area. I’m quiet as I move, making for slow going. Every so often I’ll pause to make sure there isn’t anything moving out there, or worse, stalking me. I’ll listen and watch and wait, then when I decide it’s safe, I continue moving.
Most of the ruins look the same. The tall buildings boast dirty or broken windows, gates bent or torn down altogether, and doors leaning open on their hinges. Inside, they’re filled with filth. A mixture of collected dirt, rubble, and remains of whatever poor animal took shelter inside to die. That’s how I know I’m getting close to the west end of the city. Things start changing, fast. The buildings surrounding me get shorter. Some of them I’m sure were always short, but others look like they were once skyscrapers like the rest of the city and have just crumbled since being built. As they get shorter and shorter, other things start to change too. Black tar and charcoal covers the structures.
There are square patches with metal skeletal remains, the only thing left of whatever structure was once there. Nothing ever grows here, not even in spring or summer months. There are scorch marks that cover the ground and even snow doesn’t seem to linger in these places. I shiver, unable to control it. My eyes roam the ruins, glinting grimly, eager to get what I need and get out of here.
Once, we came across a map of a small portion of the old city. I remember not being able to read it, not because I couldn’t read, but because the symbols and everything on it didn’t make any sense. There aren’t any official maps left of the old cities, at least not complete one, only fragments here and there like what we found. It’s difficult to say what exactly this place used to be, but Jacob had a theory. He always had a theory. My lips quirk at that. I miss his theories.
He used to say this area was destroyed so much worse than the others that it had to have been important. People only destroy things, try to erase them completely, when they rabidly hate it—or when they know it’s truly important to someone else. He said when the God Wars happened years ago, the Elite targeted places that were most significant to the citizens of the Old World.
I don’t know if his theory is true or not, but I wouldn’t put it past the Elite to destroy the thing that was most important to someone. I wouldn’t put anything past the Elite. My lips tighten as I keep trudging, eyes constantly scanning the area around me, trying to quicken my pace.
Walking through the charred landscape makes me uneasy now. The snow and the wind and the cold were bad enough, but here, in this particular section of the ruins, things are... eerie. It is weird there isn’t any snow on the ground, even though snow still falls from the sky. It is weird the ground feels warmer and the air here feels thicker and harder to breathe.
I never liked being in this part of the city, but Jacob used to always want to come here.
“This is where we’ll find it,” he always declared, tone adamant, eyes lit with hope and determination. “If there’s anything they’d want gone, completely eradicated, it would have been that. And they tried to get rid of everything around here.”
Whether he was right or wrong, we never found what he was looking for and after a while he finally agreed the place was creepy and promised he’d stop making me come back here.
“Guess you broke your promise,” I mutter into the creepy too still air.
Because he is making me come out here, whether he meant to or not this time. My boots clop over the blackened cement as I keep a sharp eye out. I’ve come here for something specific, something that will guarantee attention.
Last night, I didn’t sleep. Not even a wink. Every time my eyes tried to slide shut, I had this image of Rehabilitation flash in front of them. Like it was burned into my eyelids. I pictured Jacob there, horrible things happening to him... and then Miriam would be standing beside him, limp and just sort of staring with those wide gray eyes. She would watch, horrified as he was hurt, hurt badly even, but she wouldn’t do anything. And then there was the body.
I always tried not to look at the body lying on the ground near Miriam’s feet, but I didn’t have to to know instinctively who it was. My dad. Dresden Reardon, his light brown hair matted down to his face and his hazel eyes just staring out at nothing... I shove the picture hastily from my mind, refusing to give it a foothold. That’s what kept me from sleeping last night. The idea people I care about are trapped there in Rehabilitation, being tortured just because they believe in something the Elite doesn’t like.
At this point, I can’t help Miriam or my father. Miriam has come and gone from Rehabilitation and whatever damage they did is already done. I can’t stop it or change it, and my Dad is dead. Jacob is there in that camp now. And I can still do something to help him. I’m determined to do something.
The problem is, I don’t quite know what that something is. I don’t know how to help him. Miriam told me last night as we sat in front of the fire if I wanted Jacob back—and I do, I desperately do—then I’m going to have to bring him back myself.
But she didn’t tell me just how I’m supposed to do that. So I stayed up, trying not to think or dream, and came up with an idea during the night. It’s a stupid plan. It’s a plan that’s going to get me into more trouble than I know how to get out of, I’m certain. But what do I have to lose? Jacob is gone. My best friend, the only person in this world I still care about is stuck in some glorified concentration camp. He’s basically a prisoner.
No one will let me see his sister, so I can’t take care of her. I can’t keep her safe or be of any comfort to her, and that would be the only thing that would stop me from trying the unthinkable. So... I came up with a plan.
I’m going to break into Rehabilitation.
“Yeah, brilliant plan,” I say to the cold, trying not to focus too hard on the other part of my big plan.
I try not to touch anything in the blackened area, still worried there’s something not quite right about the region and it’s going to make me sick if I touch any of it. Instead, I use the toes of my boots to kick at things, moving them around as I search the barren ruins.
I have to find something provocative. Something forbidden. That’s the other part of my big plan. Once I realized I would have to get into Rehabilitation, I also realized there was only one way I could do that: fail at Trial. Except that’s the kicker. I’ve had only one Trial the last few years, compared to most people who have anywhere between two and ten Trials in a single year. I never get Selected for Trial. Why? Because everyone knows I’m not a Believer. There’s no point in testing me, it’s always been a wasted effort. After my mother’s death, I’m surprised they test me at all anymore.
Most of the time, I would consider that a good thing. I always knew I didn’t want to go to the Hall of Science and sit in a white room for hours while they tried to decide if there is something in my head they didn’t like. Except now I know I need to get there, so things are much more complicated.
First, there’s the problem that Selections are random. Random time, random place, random person. Selection might be at the Gate this month, or up at one of the other sectors instead. They might take only one person or they might take twenty. It’s impossible to predict, which is deliberate. They don’t want to give us any time to prepare for our Trials. They like to catch us off guard so they can discover the truth about what we think.
That’s not a huge problem though. Random Selections don’t affect me in this case seeing as how I want to go to Trial. I just have to be patient and wait. Not my strongest virtue, but what choice do I have?