by Aimee Carter
Our eyes met, and a chill shot down my spine.
The picture in Daxton’s file. He was the man on the left, the one who’d looked familiar then, too.
Mercer. The name rattled around my head until an image of an airstrip in the middle of the woods appeared in my mind. He was the official who had met Daxton and me the day I’d visited Elsewhere.
What the hell was he doing in my cell?
“Miss Hart,” he said, his voice laced with admiration I didn’t expect. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, though I do wish it were under different circumstances. I don’t believe we’ve ever been formally introduced—I’m Captain Jonathan Mercer. I’m the one in charge here.”
He paused, as if he was waiting for me to say something, but I stayed silent. I had nothing to say to him. I wasn’t going to beg and plead for my life—I wasn’t going to ask for his mercy. Neither would work, and with Benjy dead, I didn’t want them to, either. Growing up in the Heights, the roughest part of D.C., had taught me how to survive, but seeing the deadened eyes of the IIs who were days away from working themselves to death and the smiles on the faces of the corpses who already had—that had only proven to me that sometimes, death was a relief.
I would be another smiling corpse. Whether that day would be today, tomorrow, a week from now—I didn’t care, as long as it was soon.
Once it became clear I wasn’t going to say anything, Mercer cleared his throat. “Right, then. Before we begin, I wanted to extend an invitation for you to stay with us at Mercer Manor once you’re moved from the holding cell. I think you’ll find it a far sight better than your other accommodations would be.”
“I’m not staying here?” I said before I could stop myself.
Mercer looked down his blunted nose at me, and the corner of his lips twitched upward, as if he were pleased he’d made me talk. “No, no, this is just a holding and prep area. You’ll be released once we’re through.”
“Through with what?” I said, but as I spoke, I noticed Hannah digging through the medical supplies bag she’d brought. “I’m fine,” I added hastily. “I don’t need anything.”
“This isn’t for your benefit,” she said coolly, and when she straightened, she held a syringe and a strange tool that looked like the tip of a knife attached to a pen. “Stay still.”
Her gloved hand ran over the back of my neck, and I jumped to my feet, scrambling into the corner of my cell. “Don’t touch me,” I said in a strangled voice, but it was already too late. Her blue eyes had widened a fraction of an inch, and though she quickly wiped her expression of any trace of surprise, I knew she’d felt the three ridges on the back of my neck, unlike the VII Lila should have had.
She knew I was Masked. She knew I wasn’t a real Hart. I braced myself for her to blurt it out to her husband, but instead, as if nothing had happened, she rose smoothly and crossed the cell to join me.
“It won’t hurt, I assure you,” she said, setting her hand in the tender spot between my shoulder blades, exactly where Daxton’s boot had nearly crushed my spine. Underneath my hair, her fingertips brushed against the back of my neck again, slower this time. Our eyes locked, and for several infinite seconds, she searched mine. I stared back, silently daring her to speak. She said nothing.
At last she guided me back to the cot and gathered my hair in a clip. Fighting would do me no good—she was close enough that I could grab her gun and shoot, but the memory of what had happened with Augusta was too fresh in my mind, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it again, even if it meant the quick death I was hoping for. If I couldn’t do that—the one thing that might save me from dying alone in the woods, hunted by the madman who ran the country—then in that moment, I decided I would do one last thing with the time I had left: figure out why she was keeping my secret from Mercer.
The pinprick in the center of my tattoo was nothing compared to the way Daxton had stabbed me with his needle, and I closed my eyes as the liquid she injected burned underneath my skin until the back of my neck was numb.
“What are you—” I began, but before I could finish, Hannah unclasped my necklace and handed it to Mercer. “Hey! That’s mine.”
“Wearing something like that here could get you killed,” she said as he pocketed my lock pick. “I’m doing you a favor. Stop moving.”
I gritted my teeth. “You will give that back to me,” I said, but both Mercer and Hannah ignored me. I opened my mouth to protest again, but something pressed against the numbed skin, and my words caught in my throat as a warm trickle ran down my neck.
Blood.
Instinctively I reached behind me, but Hannah caught my hand in an iron grip. “I’m not done yet.”
I yanked my hand away. “What are you doing to me?”
“Removing your rank,” she said. A sickening burning smell filled the air, and at last Hannah rose from the cot. “There.”
My fingers trembled as I brushed them against the back of my numb neck. The three ridges were still there, but two diagonal slashes of puckered skin cut through them now, forming a scarred X over the spot where my tattooed VII was.
I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. It didn’t matter what rank I was now—death wouldn’t care if I was a III or a VII. Or an X. But the loss of that VII felt more real than this cell or the rough cot I sat on, or even the cold concrete beneath my feet. That VII had given me a chance to be someone—to matter in the world more than I ever would as a III. It had given me a purpose, and now all I had to show for it was a scarred X and a life that dwindled with every passing second.
The despair I’d been struggling to hold at bay crept through me, and I rapidly blinked back tears. I wouldn’t let the Mercers see me cry, not over something this stupid. But it wasn’t stupid, not to me—it was the death of any hope I’d ever had. And it was the crushing pain of reality setting in. This time, there would be no Benjy or Celia or Knox there to save me. This was it, and I’d never been more alone in my life.
“Change into this, and I’ll take you to the manor,” said Hannah, tossing a plastic-wrapped bundle of clothing into my lap. A shirt, underwear, bra, and jumpsuit—all the same stomach-churning shade of blood-red.
“I’m not going to the manor,” I mumbled, slowly unwrapping it. Red had never been my color.
Hannah started to reply, but Mercer cut her off. “You will,” he said, his kind voice taking on a note of authority. “Believe me, with your name and former rank, the last thing you want is to mingle with the general population.”
“I don’t care,” I said. I’d been nothing special for nearly all of my life. With my VII gone, there was no point in pretending to be Lila anymore. “I’m not staying with you.”
Mercer’s forehead furrowed, causing a well-worn crease to form between his eyebrows. “You don’t understand. The people out there, they aren’t civilized like you and me. They’re—”
“If she wants to stay with the other criminals, then we’ll let her,” said Hannah. “If she survives the night, she’ll be knocking on our door by sunup.”
Mercer’s lips thinned, and he eyed me with concern, but I couldn’t muster up the energy to care. “Very well. Bring her to Scotia—she’ll keep an eye on her.”
Hannah’s expression darkened, but she nodded shortly. “Change,” she ordered. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”
The foreboding edge to her voice almost made me change my mind. No matter how much I loathed them already, maybe staying with the Mercers was the smart thing to do.
They aren’t civilized like you and me. Mercer’s voice cut through my thoughts, and my resolve hardened. They were human. They were no less than the Mercers or the Harts or the Ministers of the Union. They probably wound up in this place doing nothing more than trying to survive a world that had cast them aside the moment they’d earned less than a IV. Not everyone here would be a
III and below, but what laws would a IV or above ever need to break? The system was designed to cater to their every want and need, while IIs and IIIs had to fight just to stay alive.
Hannah and Mercer slipped out of the room, closing the metal door behind them. I took a shaky breath and touched the X scarred into my skin. No matter what rank the others in Section X had been before, we were all equal now.
* * *
The napkin Benjy had drawn for me was still in my pocket.
That discovery nearly pushed me over the edge all over again, and it was only through a supreme act of willpower that I managed to change my clothes with dry eyes. I tucked the napkin in my pocket, careful to fold it along the same lines, and the slight padding was enough to make me feel I wasn’t completely alone.
As promised, Hannah came to fetch me five minutes later, and she led me out the door and into the area beyond it. My cell wasn’t located in the maze of concrete I’d expected. Instead, the short hallway outside my door opened up into a much wider and brighter corridor. I trudged after Hannah, my head down as I memorized the path she was taking.
“This building is the holding area,” she said as we turned a sharp corner. “All citizens of Elsewhere are processed here, and if you decide you don’t want to play by the rules, this is where you’ll end up for however long I deem fit.”
“What are the rules?” I said as we passed through the short hallway filled with nondescript doors. There were no frills or flourishes in this place—it was exactly what it needed to be, nothing more. Even my bare-bones group home in the Heights had had more soul.
“Do whatever I tell you,” said Hannah shortly. “Don’t piss the guards off. And whatever you do, don’t try to escape. No one ever has, and no one ever will. Be respectful, be obedient, and you might just live longer than you think you will.”
“And if I’m not interested in a long life expectancy?” I said before I could stop myself. Hannah eyed me, and her hand crept toward the weapon holstered to her hip.
“Then I’m sure you’ll find a way to get what you want soon enough. Through here.”
She passed her wrist over a sensor on the wall, and a heavy metal door slid open, revealing a flood of sunshine. I squinted, but I didn’t dare shield my eyes. We stood in a snow-covered yard with two guards on either side of the metal door, holding rifles and standing at attention. As soon as my eyes adjusted, I looked around, taking in Section X of Elsewhere.
It also wasn’t the destitute collection of cramped jails and cells I’d thought it would be. Instead it looked almost like a small town, with a main road that ran farther than I could see. The gray buildings were shoved together, but unlike the cluttered feeling of the Heights, every inch of this place seemed to have a purpose. In the distance, an impossibly high chain-link fence rose above the slanted roofs, and I spotted more uniformed guards on a raised walkway surrounding the perimeter, guns in hand.
Every half block or so, a smaller street crossed the main road, and I spotted several men in orange jumpsuits walking down the road carrying metal crates. Beyond them, a collection of women in red jumpsuits like mine lined up at the door of a building, each wearing a bulky khaki jacket that didn’t look like anything that would have ever graced Lila Hart’s wardrobe. None of them were shivering, though.
Guards stood stationed at the entrance to many of the gray buildings, but none so much as glanced at us as Hannah led me down the street. Despite the foot of snow on the ground, someone had cleared the road, and chunks of salt crunched underneath my boots. The men in orange headed toward us, but instead of passing by, they crossed to the other side of the road, giving Hannah and me more space than we needed.
“Are those people prisoners?” I said.
“We prefer the term citizen,” said Hannah, her hand still lingering on her gun. “But, yes, they were either born in Elsewhere or arrested and sent to us. Everyone has a role to play here, and should you choose to cooperate, you can live a decent life. It isn’t as hopeless as you think.”
My only experience with Elsewhere had been a forest where Daxton had hunted down people for sport—not a village where people lived and worked like they did in society. “So, if you get in trouble here, that’s when the VIs and VIIs get to hunt you?”
Hannah arched an eyebrow so high that it disappeared beneath her hat. “Some prove to be unfit for any society, even one as regimented as ours. However, we make every effort to give each of our citizens a chance at rehabilitation. No matter what you think of us, Lila, we’re not barbarians.”
I bit back a sharp retort. As far as I saw it, anyone who allowed another human being to be hunted like a wild animal lost any opportunity they had to be considered civilized.
She led me through the snow and salt at a brisk pace, and I had to nearly trot to keep up. The streets formed a grid—easy to remember and impossible to tell apart with the same gray buildings again and again. Only two stood out: a looming three-story building toward the center of the section, only a few places down from the holding area we’d left, and a pristine white manor in the distance, near one of the corners.
“Mercer Manor,” said Hannah, nodding to the property. “Should you change your mind about living among the general population, my husband insists you’re welcome to stay with us instead.”
“But you’d rather I not.”
“I don’t care what you do, as long as you behave.”
I itched to ask why she hadn’t immediately told her husband I’d been Masked, but the words turned to sawdust on my tongue. I didn’t know the value of my secret here, and the thought of trusting her with it made my insides churn. I had no choice, though, and in the meantime, I wouldn’t give her a reason to use it against me.
She led me down another street, and at last she stopped in front of a two-story building with a 23 stenciled and spray-painted near the door. There were no windows, only endless gray stone, and Hannah opened the door delicately, as if she were afraid it was infected with some flesh-eating bacteria.
“Your new home,” she said with a sniff. “The other girls will help you find a bunk. Once you’re settled, ask for Isabel Scotia. She’ll find you a welcome kit, which will have your basic necessities. If you want anything more, you’re going to have to earn it.”
I didn’t want to know what the Mercers did and didn’t consider to be basic necessities. At this rate, I’d be lucky if I got a toothbrush.
“If you change your mind, you know where the manor is,” she said, but once again, her tone made it perfectly clear that if I were smart, I’d stay as far away from her home as possible.
I stepped inside the bunkhouse, certain that whatever waited for me inside was infinitely better than standing there in increasingly uncomfortable silence with Hannah. She let the door spring closed behind me, and the sharp rap of wood against rock made me jump.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. Like the streets of Section X, everything in here was gray. Two rows of bunk beds covered in gray blankets were packed tightly together, leaving a narrow aisle running down the center of the room. At first glance, it looked as if there was no space between the beds at all, but as I moved closer, I noticed the few inches that separated them. If I wanted to get into one of the beds, I’d have to climb into it from the end.
On the other side of the door was a tiny room barely bigger than the holding cells, but it had some semblance of privacy. Beyond that was another door, and though it was only cracked open, I spotted gray tile. A bathroom. At least I wouldn’t have to trudge into the cold to pee.
Daylight flooded the bunkhouse again, and behind me, a voice drawled, “Look what we have here.”
I whirled around. Standing in the doorway and blocking my only exit was a pack of four girls, each wearing the same red jumpsuit. They seemed like they were around my age—seventeen, eighteen at the most, but they looked r
ough in a way that only the older IIs in the hardest parts of D.C. did. Their skin was already showing signs of aging from being underneath the sun all day, and their eyes were hardened and devoid of hope. Instead, all I saw was malicious glee, and the dark-haired girl at the front of the pack—the one who’d spoken—stepped forward.
“Mercer told us to expect a very special guest,” she said in an accent I didn’t recognize. “He never said you were a Hart.”
The girls shifted toward me, effectively surrounding me in the doorway. I’d dealt with plenty of territorial girls growing up in a group home, but with all four of them eyeing me like I was their ticket home, this would be anything but a fair fight.
“Was a Hart,” I corrected calmly. “Not anymore.”
The leader smirked, showing off her chipped front tooth. “No, not anymore,” she agreed, and without warning, her fist flew out, connecting squarely with my jaw. “Welcome to Elsewhere, bitch.”
VI
SCOTIA
All four girls descended on me, punching and scratching and pinching every square inch of me they could find. On my way down, my head hit the doorway with a resounding crack, and for a split second, everything went white.
I lay there motionless as the leader pummeled the air out of my lungs, leaving me wheezing. I didn’t fight back. It wouldn’t help, and besides, maybe these girls would do what Daxton and Knox and the Mercers refused to—maybe they would kill me, and this all would end. Despite the pain, relief flooded through me. It wasn’t the easiest way to go, but at least I’d be going.
Suddenly a shout echoed through the bunk, and the leader cried out. She flew backward, and with quick succession, the other three joined her on the other side of the door, each cursing in protest. One girl held the left side of her face, and even with my blurred vision, I could see a red mark the shape of a boot print forming on her cheek.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to fight in my bunk?” growled a new voice. I squinted upward. Looming over me was a tall, thin woman with dark skin and sleek hair pulled back into a ponytail. She glowered at the girls, and the look on her face would’ve made Daxton piss himself. “You’re already on probation, Maya. You want the cage, too?”