by Tarah Benner
All of the sudden, Miles appears in the mass of bodies. He’s yelling at two of the controllers and trying to push past them.
When they try to hold him back, he rushes them and makes a break for the stairs.
I open my mouth to call out to him, but I never get the chance. A controller’s nightstick shoots out and makes contact with his ribs. Miles lets out a guttural yell and then collapses onto the ground.
Anger and worry shoot through me as the crowd surges forward. People are shoving each other so violently I worry he might get trampled.
“Hey!” shouts Eli. He lunges forward and starts pushing through the mass of ExCon and Waste Management guys near the megalift.
“Eli!”
I hurry behind him, but I don’t have the strength to break through the wall of bodies. Eli is quickly engulfed by the mob, and soon all I can see are the controllers’ masked faces protruding through the crowd.
Being surrounded by a horde of unruly tier-three men is making me nervous. Taking a deep breath, I stick out my elbows and dive into the crowd to find a friendly face.
It’s slow going, but a few strategic foot stomps allow me to clear the mass of ExCon guys blocking my path.
Finally, I make it to the line of Recon workers. There’s still no sign of Miles or Eli, but a moment later, Lenny and Blaze wave me over. Blaze is wearing a grim expression, and Lenny still looks pale and gaunt from her injury.
“What the hell is going on?” I gasp, shooting an apologetic glance at the people I just cut in front of.
“They’re yanking tier-three workers out of the lower levels, but no one will tell us where we’re going,” says Lenny.
“They could be transferring us,” says Blaze.
“Transferring us where?”
“Out.” His eyes dart around the riotous crowd. “To another compound.”
“I don’t know . . . What about the other sections?”
Lenny shakes her head. “I have no idea. I just woke up and someone was banging on my door. I wasn’t even dressed yet.” She gestures down her body at her baggy T-shirt and sweatpants. “Two controllers in masks told me I had to come with them. They wouldn’t let me grab anything; they just dragged me out and put me on the megalift. That’s when I found Blaze.”
“Same thing happened to me,” he says.
“I guess it’s a good sign that they’re trying to move us all,” Lenny adds. “If it started in the medical ward, maybe it hasn’t spread to Recon yet.”
Suddenly she goes red around the ears and claps a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god, Harper. I’m so sorry. I forgot your friend was in Health and Rehab.”
I swallow and shake my head. “It’s okay. I don’t know if she was infected or not. I don’t have my interface, so I can’t . . .” I trail off, fighting the panic that’s threatening to overwhelm me.
“Did you guys see Eli?” I ask, changing the subject to keep my mind off Sawyer. “Miles went down, and Eli ran in after him. I don’t know what happened.”
“No,” says Blaze. “But they could have sent him on already.” He nods toward the group of ExCon men being pushed down the tunnel by four controllers in a tight formation.
“Where are they going?” I ask, craning my neck. “There’s nothing down that way except the main hall.”
“Name?” snaps a voice in front of me.
I turn. We’ve reached the head of the line, and a tired-looking Operations woman is addressing Blaze.
“Blaze Adams.”
“Recon?”
“Yes.”
The Operations woman stares into the projection of her interface, pulling up Blaze’s records to confirm his identity.
“Mr. Adams, when was the last time you left this compound on a mission?”
Blaze looks confused. “A few days ago.”
The woman enters that information on the tablet in front of her and then holds out a gloved hand expectantly. “Arm.”
Blaze holds out his arm, and the woman sticks what looks like a white plastic clothespin over his finger. Blaze blinks, and the woman pulls a tiny slide out of the clothespin. She puts it in a small plastic bag and slaps a barcode sticker on it.
“What was that?” he asks, putting the tip of his finger in his mouth to suck off the blood.
“Just a quick test to check for antibodies.”
“I’m not infected!” Blaze exclaims. “I haven’t been anywhere near the medical ward or the commissary.”
“Mr. Adams, are you carrying any weapons or other Recon property at this time?”
“No!”
“Okay,” says the woman, pointing to her left without looking up. “Please take a care bundle and proceed to the next line.”
“Where are we going?”
But the woman has already moved on. “Next!”
Lenny scoots up, looking anxiously at Blaze.
“Name?”
As Lenny gives her information, I continue my frantic search for Eli. I don’t want to be separated from him — especially since I have no idea where we’re going — but I don’t see him or Miles anywhere.
“Next!”
I turn to the woman. “Oh, no. Sorry. I’m not ready yet. I’m just gonna —” I point over my shoulder, but she’s already shaking her head.
“Ma’am, all Recon personnel must undergo processing at this time.”
“But —”
“Please step to the head of the line,” she says in that flat voice of hers.
“No, I —”
But before I can protest again, the woman waves over a controller. He looks vaguely familiar, but he doesn’t seem to recognize me from the cages. He grabs me roughly by the arm and yanks me toward the table.
“Name?”
I clamp my mouth shut. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m starting to get a very bad feeling.
“Answer the question,” growls the controller.
I don’t say a word.
“Answer her!” the man shouts, shaking me by the arm.
I’m starting to attract attention, but I don’t care. I need to find Eli.
The controller seems to lose his patience. He fumbles with something at his side, and a second later, I feel a powerful jolt shoot through my body. All my muscles seize painfully at once, and when the sensation subsides, everything hurts.
“H-Harper Riley!” I choke, fighting to stay upright.
“When was the last time you left this compound on a mission?”
“I don’t know,” I murmur, wincing at the pain in my side. “Eight days ago?”
“Arm.”
Still trembling from the shock, I hold out my hand. I feel a tiny prick on my finger, and the woman files away my blood sample.
“Do you have any weapons or other Recon property on your person?”
“No,” I snarl.
“Please step —”
I don’t hear the last part of that sentence. The controller shoves me forward toward Blaze and Lenny, who were watching the entire exchange. Lenny looks genuinely afraid.
Blaze hands me a lumpy bundle, and I hug it to my chest as I scan the crowd of ExCon workers being herded down the tunnel. Eli is nowhere in sight.
The people in front of us begin to move, and we all shuffle forward. Then suddenly the line stops.
There’s a rumble of panic and protest from the front of the crowd, and people start stumbling back on their heels. We scramble to get out of the way, but a few controllers working along the perimeter stick out their riot shields and bark at people holding up the line.
I can’t see what’s going on, but it doesn’t sound good. After several minutes, the line begins to move again.
“You think they’re quarantining us in the main hall?” Blaze mutters.
“Could be. The Operations guy guarding the mid-levels said they were using the hall for overflow.”
“It’s gonna be cozy,” says Blaze, looking over the heads at the hundreds of workers crammed into the tunnel like sardines.
Back then, I’d known what I was supposed to do. I’m not that certain about anything anymore.
We continue to shuffle toward the hall, and the double doors come into view. Two controllers are posted on either side, and they look as though they’re prepared to take out anyone who tries to rush the hall.
I wait for the doors to open to admit a fresh wave of people, but the line keeps moving down the tunnel. There’s some kind of commotion up ahead, and the sounds of a scuffle make my palms sweat.
As we get closer, my heart speeds up. The doors are made to look delicate and airy, but I know from my compound-security class that the pretty frosted-glass panels are actually reinforced in case of an emergency.
I can see dark shapes moving inside the hall on the other side, and when I get close enough to peer in through the unfrosted side panels, I see it’s bustling with Health and Rehab workers.
I recognize a few of the nurses. They usually work in the postexposure wing. These must be all the Health and Rehab workers who could have come into contact with an infected Recon operative in the past few days.
The line trickles forward, and it occurs to me that we won’t be joining them in the hall. The controllers along the perimeter and behind us are forcing the mass of workers toward another set of doors that I’m all too familiar with.
“W-where are we going?” asks Lenny in a shaky voice.
My breathing speeds up as we draw closer and closer to the doors leading outside the compound.
“They’re sending us out to the Fringe,” Blaze mutters.
“You can’t send us out there!” shouts a worker a few feet ahead.
“It’s just a precaution,” says a calm voice from the front of the line. “We’re keeping all tier-three personnel quarantined to contain the virus.”
“Why are we being sent out to the Fringe when Health and Rehab is in there?” someone shouts.
“The hall is at capacity. But I’ve been assured that you will be relocated as soon as space allows.”
“This is bullshit!” Blaze yells.
I don’t say anything. It might be bullshit, but it’s definitely what’s happening.
A few angry Recon workers are holding their ground and throwing their bundles on the floor. For the first time, I examine mine more closely and see that it’s a bedroll with an air filtration mask tucked in the center. A dark feeling creeps over me, and I have to fight to keep my breathing steady.
The crowd in front of us begins to thin, and I see the compound’s motto embossed over the first set of airlock doors: “Strength as one is strength for all.”
Standing in front of the doors are four more controllers. These aren’t the fat, incompetent ones I usually see around the compound. These are the enforcers. They’re outfitted in riot gear as the controllers disembarking the megalift were, and their expressions betray no mercy.
I hear a loud beep, and the first set of doors opens to reveal the airlock chamber. An ExCon foreman is waiting there to punch in the code that will release the secondary doors leading out to the Fringe.
One of the controllers brandishes his electric nightstick at a group of four privates. Two of them are already wearing their masks — resigned to being pushed out onto the Fringe — but one of their friends is holding his ground, and another is on the fence.
The private standing farthest from the chamber shakes his head, and his friend gives him an imploring look. He doesn’t want to abandon him, but he knows this isn’t going to end well.
It doesn’t take long for the controllers to lose patience with the two privates holding up the line. One grabs the scared-looking guy roughly by the collar.
“Get in the fucking chamber!” he yells, spraying spit everywhere.
“Let him go!” yells the determined private, throwing down his mask.
The controller’s face is screwed up in disgust, and he produces his electric nightstick and shocks the man in his grip. The scared private convulses violently, and the workers nearby push forward in protest.
As if on cue, half a dozen more controllers burst through the line to hold the other Recon people back. They shove their riot shields into the fray, and a few workers catch shocks from their nightsticks.
The sight of his friend being tormented by the controller seems to break the defiant private’s will. Glowering up at the men in blue, he pulls on his mask and steps forward.
The controller releases the scared private and shoves him into the chamber, and then there are just two more people waiting in front of us.
“This isn’t right,” murmurs Blaze.
“I know,” I say. My throat feels suddenly very dry, and I’m terrified of being separated from Eli. Part of me thinks he might put up a fight as the privates did, but if he does, he isn’t going to back down.
“I’m not going out there,” says Blaze.
“We have to,” Lenny murmurs, clutching her bundle tighter to her chest.
I can only imagine how she’s feeling right now. The last time Lenny came through those doors, she had just been shot by a drifter.
“No,” says Blaze. “They can’t treat us like this.”
His voice is quiet, but it’s so full of conviction that I start to feel nervous. He’s already attracting attention from the workers around us.
The pair of cadets eye Blaze bashfully and step forward, unsure if they should listen to him or not.
“Come on!” growls the controller closest to the doors.
The cadets pull on their masks and hurry into the chamber, and the doors close with a loud hiss.
Suddenly I’m overcome with anger. If I’d scored higher on my VocAps test — if someone had called a different number during the bidding ceremony — I wouldn’t be preparing to step out into the radiation-soaked desert. I’d be up in Systems, more bored than worried, waiting for the danger to pass.
I’m not prepared to face the Fringe again, but one of the controllers punches in a code on the keypad, and the doors slide open. He beckons us forward with his gloved hand, but Blaze doesn’t budge.
“Let’s go!” growls another one of the controllers.
But Blaze just stands there, fists clenched at his sides.
“Move it!” barks the controller. “Now!”
“You can’t throw us outside like dogs,” says Blaze in a loud voice. “We have rights.”
The crowd behind us jostles and murmurs in agreement, and I notice that the Operations workers standing off to the side are starting to look a little nervous.
“Get in the chamber!” booms the controller.
“I’m not going out there,” says Blaze, crossing his arms over his chest.
I swallow. I hear the scuff of plastic as the controllers squirm in their riot gear. The pair to my left seem to confer with one another, but the controller addressing Blaze has lost all patience after dealing with the rebellious privates.
“I’m not gonna tell you again,” he snarls, taking a step forward and jabbing Blaze in the chest. “Get — in — the fucking — chamber.”
“Don’t move, Blaze!” shouts somebody behind us.
Lenny and I exchange a worried glance. The crowd of Recon operatives is getting whipped up by Blaze’s refusal, and the controllers are growing agitated. I can almost see their brains shifting into defense mode, and I don’t like the idea of being on the front line of a full-blown riot.
“Blaze,” I murmur.
He doesn’t budge. His jaw is set in determination, and there’s a fire blazing in those blue-green eyes.
He’s not the happy-go-lucky burnout he was when he first got to Recon. Facing down the prospect of certain death has made him hard, brave, and unyielding.
My gut is screaming to make him back down, but my heart is roaring in approval.
He’s right:
The compound has gotten away with kicking us around for far too long. Now may not be the best time to make a stand, but it’s happening.
“Get in the chamber!” shouts the controller.
Blaze jerks his chin up in defiance. “I won’t.”
As if he was waiting to pounce, the closest controller whips out his electric nightstick and shoves it into Blaze’s side. Blaze doubles over in pain, arms wrapped protectively around his abdomen, and the controller draws away slowly.
I want to smack that smirk right off his face, but I can’t afford to be arrested again.
Blaze lets out a quiet groan but glares up at the controller with true hatred in his eyes.
My heart is pounding. I find Lenny’s hand and give it a squeeze. If he’s not moving, then I’m not moving, either.
But then the controller ratchets up the current on his nightstick and stabs it into Blaze’s side again as though he’s trying to skewer him. A girl behind us gasps.
This time, Blaze collapses onto the floor and lets out an audible moan of pain. Even though he’s down, the controller continues to shock him.
“Stop!” I yell, pushing forward and shoving the controller in the chest.
That’s when all hell breaks loose.
Another controller shoots forward and shocks me. I cry out, and then I feel the side of my face smash into a glass wall.
Lenny yelps, and people begin to converge around us. More controllers push forward to control the crowd, but that just seems to make the swarm of workers more aggressive.
I try to squirm out of the controller’s grip, but he’s got a fistful of my hair, and he’s twisting my arm to keep me restrained. I can smell his strong aftershave, and his sweaty hand is tugging painfully at my bare skin.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Blaze pull himself up into a standing position. He’s slightly hunched in pain, but he’s determined.
“You had enough?” the controller barks.
“Screw you,” Blaze growls.
“Get in the chamber!”
“No.”
Suddenly the controller’s expression shifts as he makes a decision. He draws his handgun on Blaze, and someone in the crowd screams.
“I’m warning you,” he growls. “Get — in — the fucking — chamber.”