Extraction Page 19

  But I don’t get what he means.

  “In training, I mean,” he says slowly, as if prodding me to think. “I came here five years ago an Extraction. I did well in most of the training modules until…”

  I stare at him. He must mean the intelligence machines—he messed up while he was inside them too.

  I open my mouth to ask him how he fixed everything, how he kept from failing his training, but a muffled scream from the mother snaps my attention to the glass. The child seizes in the arms of the nurse, no longer crying. Like it’s been electrocuted, and its whole body is heaving from too much energy.

  My eyes widen.

  Another nurse streams into the room, then another and another. A doctor arrives and waves his hands, giving directions. A nurse shoos us away through the glass. Another grabs the mother’s arms and pulls her away from her baby. The mother’s still screaming. “No, you can’t!” I hear her say, though her words are muffled. “You can’t kill her! She’ll get better!”

  The child goes limp in the nurse’s arms.

  This can’t be happening.

  Beechy slips his hand around Sandy’s arm. She is stricken, wide-eyed. “Come on, we should go,” he says.

  She doesn’t move at first.

  I stare at the tiny hands poking out of the bundle of blue, no longer grasping the air.

  No, no, no, they didn’t kill it. It’s sleeping. They’ll fix it. They’ll make it better.

  “Sandy,” Beechy says.

  She moves away from the glass and into his arms, her face pale. He leads her down the corridor.

  “Come on, Clementine,” he says.

  I’m frozen, my hand stuck to the glass though I can’t remember putting it there. My fingers shake. A nurse screams at me to go away, but I have to see the doctor revive the child. They do that here, don’t they? They have nurses and doctors and medicine, not just mud and water, like we had. They can save anyone, if they want to.

  But they don’t seem to be trying. People are dragging the mother out the back doorway.

  A nurse arrives with a small black bag, which she unzips and sets on top of the capsule where the child once laid.

  It hits me like a knife: They’re going to put the baby inside, and take it away to a morgue and burn it in a furnace. Or do whatever they do with the dead here.

  Beechy grabs my arm. I let him pull me away.

  But I can’t breathe, and I can’t stop shaking again because everyone lied. My instructors said children don’t die here; Commander Charlie said everyone would be safe here.

  They lied. Safety isn’t a guarantee for people anywhere, no matter what anyone says.

  Even in the Core, they kill children.

  19

  I run a hand down my arm in the elevator.

  “That doesn’t happen often,” Beechy says. “They only put down the babies they can’t cure no matter what they do.”

  I don’t say anything. What does that even mean? I thought they could cure anyone. That’s what everyone always said.

  “And it won’t happen to us,” he says to Sandy, quieter.

  “Daddy won’t let it,” she whispers, and laughs at the strange hardness that seeps into Beechy’s face. Her fingers intertwine with his.

  I stare at their hands. Beechy runs his thumb in a slow circle over the back of Sandy’s palm. Logan used to do the same thing on my palm. It was meant to be a calming gesture, but sometimes it made me more agitated.

  “I’m tired,” I say. “I think I’ll head to bed early.”

  Beechy’s eyes meet mine, and a flicker of regret runs across his face. But all he says is, “Okay. I’m sure you’ll do well tomorrow.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nods. He presses his lips together.

  When I get off the elevator and the door has shut behind me, I remember I didn’t get to ask him about his training. I didn’t get to ask how he didn’t fail.

  I try to forget about it. I realize I’m hungry, so I take the stairs to the cafeteria. I count the steps to focus my mind. I count ninety-five steps, until I reach the proper floor level and move into a corridor near the edge of Slumber Division, near Nourishment Division and the cafeteria.

  It’s quiet here. I pass doors with lock-pads that lead to bedrooms where people sleep at night, some with roommates and others with their families. But it’s too early for people to be sleeping. Right now, most everyone is finishing their day’s work or relaxing somewhere. Ariadne and Oliver will be in Recreation Division. I wonder if they’re still not themselves, or if they’re better now.

  I hope they’re better.

  I’m near an elevator landing when I hear voices.

  “The planet Marden has ships,” a man is saying. “High-tech ones.”

  “They haven’t come for us yet. So why flee?”

  The two men wait for an elevator. I hesitate, unsure whether I want to be seen.

  “The moonshine is an integral part,” the first man says. “A related problem, along with the problem of the outer sectors. This is the right step to take; we can fix all three.”

  “When will it happen?”

  The elevator dings, and the door opens.

  “As soon as the injections have been administered.”

  They move inside, and the door closes behind them.

  I frown a little, and wonder what they were talking about as I move ahead to Nourishment Division.

  The cafeteria is almost empty at this hour. Lunch was earlier and dinner will be later. Four girls sit giggling at a table in the corner, but they’re the only ones here, except for me.

  Tray in hand, I sit at one of the tables far from the girls. My hands tremble a little as I pick up my raerburger. Maybe it’s a remnant of the fever that still makes my face warm, but I’m also starving. I take a bite and chew slowly, savoring the taste. Cheesy sauce dribbles down my chin, and I wipe it away with a napkin.

  Thoughts play on the edge of my mind. Worries about the baby I saw die down in the maternity ward. Worries about tomorrow and my last training session.

  I don’t know what they’re going to make me do. I hope it’ll be easy; I hope I’ll be able to raise my Promise to 80 with no trouble, but I can’t count on that. I was sure I’d done well during the test earlier, and then I screwed everything up.

  I clench my teeth, hard. I can’t screw things up anymore. I can’t fail. I have to raise my Promise, so I’ll be safe, or as safe as I’ll ever be. So I can pick a career that will get me close to Commander Charlie, so I can get on his good side and convince him to bring Logan here. So I can feel Logan’s fingers on my cheek again. So he can run his thumb over my hand somewhere other than in my memory.

  So we can grow old together.

  I take a deep breath to steady my heartbeat.

  I’m bringing my raerburger back up to my mouth when I notice, out of the corner of my eye, someone step into the cafeteria. A blond-haired boy in a gray suit with a gun in the holster attached to his belt.

  Sam freezes, noticing me.

  Maybe he’ll walk away. Maybe he doesn’t care anymore; maybe he already forgot his promise to make my life hell, and his anger with me for beating his score in Phantom and beating the obstacle course.

  A cruel smirk touches Sam’s lips. He strides toward me.

  I’m on my feet before I know what I’m doing, moving to the trash slot. A detail clings to me: Sam has a gun. He’s armed, and I’m not. So I don’t throw away my knife or my fork; I clench both of them inside my fists.

  Sam is halfway across the cafeteria.

  There are two exits. I hurry through the one that isn’t blocked, into the plaza outside. It’s empty. I break into a run.

  I reach the elevator on the far side and slam my palm against the call button. Come on, come on, come on. Sam knows I went this way, and he’ll be able to catch up if the elevator doesn’t get here fast enough.

  Ding. The door opens, and I slip inside. I jab the button for the floor where my bedroom is. Sam d
oesn’t know where it is, and even if he did, he can’t break inside my room without my or Ariadne’s thumbprint.

  But he’s coming. He sprints through the cafeteria entrance as I jab the button again.

  “Come on, close!” I yell at the doors.

  They start to slide shut, and I press back against the glass, sure I’m safe now. Sure he won’t make it in time.

  His arm blocks it from closing.

  Sam pushes the door open and steps inside with me, his face devoid of emotion. The door closes. I want to slip out. I want to scramble away, but there’s nowhere to run. He pulls the emergency break knob so we won’t go anywhere.

  My heart races. I clasp my hands behind my back, hiding the fork and knife between them.

  “Get out.” I won’t let him touch me.

  “You think you’re clever, don’t you? Trying to run.” He steps toward me with that smirk still on his face. I press harder against the glass, wishing it would disappear.

  “Well, I am smarter than you,” I say. “I got a hundred on the intelligence test earlier.”

  “That’s funny. You got the same score I did.” He moves even closer, slipping his arms around my waist.

  Every inch of my body turns rock solid. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m starting to wonder if I was wrong about you,” he says. “We’re both smart. We both got excellent times on the CODA. We both like to throw knives.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Colonel Sam and Colonel Clementine, leaders of the army, and lovers. Don’t you think that sounds nice?

  “I think you’re vruxing stupid.”

  He laughs, leaning in toward my lips.

  He’s trying to mess with me, I can read it in his eyes. I don’t know what his game is, but it’s a thousand times worse than him threatening murder.

  I grit my teeth, pull the fork out from behind my back, and stab at his side.

  He blocks it easily and places his other hand on my shoulder, pushing me back against the glass. He smiles and presses the fork into his thumb. “Did you really think you could stop me with this?”

  “Get off me,” I say through clenched teeth, aware that I’m still gripping the knife in my other hand. I can still use it. But I have to wait for the right moment.

  “Make me,” he whispers.

  And then his mouth is on mine.

  I want to shove him off, but he traps me with his hands, his body. My eyes burn. This isn’t fair. I don’t want to kiss him—I want to kiss Logan. It should be him, not Sam. I hate Sam. I hate him.

  But there’s something besides anger inside me too. There’s a curiosity I’m embarrassed about, and an anxious feeling in my chest as he molds his lips against mine and forces his tongue into my mouth. He tastes like salt and something smoky. His hands clutch my face.

  Disgusting, disgusting. I have to make him stop.

  I slide down the glass of the elevator, dragging him with me. I tangle five fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

  The other five tighten around the hilt of the knife.

  I lash it at his leg. The sound it makes coupled with his cry tell me I did some damage.

  He lets go of me. I rise and push past him, and slam a button on the elevator panel. The door opens. Sam reaches for me, but I slip away from his grasp, out into the corridor.

  I scramble into the nearest stairwell and down the steps. Sam’s shouts echo behind and above me. The stairwell door opens and closes again. His boots pound on the stairs. I wipe his saliva off my mouth with the back of my hand, and hope I won’t get in too much trouble for this.

  Seven flights down, I burst through another door and race down the hallway toward Slumber Division.

  “Clementine!” he shouts.

  I glance over my shoulder. His leg seems fine—I must’ve only scraped it—and he’s catching up. He has a gun. He could shoot me if he wanted, but he must not want to, because he doesn’t touch it. Or maybe he’s afraid someone will hear.

  Around a corner, my room lies at the end of the hall. I grit my teeth and force my legs to move faster.

  “You wait until I get you!” he yells. “I’m gonna report you for this.”

  The way he says it, I’m not sure I believe him. Making a big deal over a scrape like that might damage his reputation, after all.

  I jam my thumb into the lock-pad, and the door slides open.

  Inside, I push the other pad, and the door shuts and locks, leaving Sam out in the hallway, pounding on the wall and snarling. “Open up. I said open up.”

  I move into the bathroom and lock the door behind me. Inside, I strip off my clothes and climb into the steam-clean capsule. I turn it on the highest setting, and the spew of steam and water from the ceiling faucets drowns out Sam’s voice and pounding fists.

  I let out my breath. I’m safe now. But he touched me again, worse this time.

  Dropping down onto the tile, I pull my trembling legs to my chest and spread my lips apart so water gets inside them, to clean the taste of him out of my mouth.

  At least I stabbed him today. That makes me smile a little.

  But he kissed me, and it was wrong. It should’ve been Logan. It should’ve been his hands on my face, his fingers in my hair, his breath on my neck, his taste in my mouth.

  I curl up in a ball on the shower floor, wishing I could hear his voice tell me that I’ll be okay. That this is another nightmare, and I’ll wake up in one more minute.

  He’s too far away.

  I clench my teeth and blink until the tears stop trying to form in my eyes. I have to do well tomorrow. Better than everyone, no matter what. Because I have to convince Commander Charlie of my loyalty, so I can see Logan again.

  So I can make Sam pay.

  *

  Ariadne finds me a couple hours later, sitting on the floor at the foot of my bed. I tried to fall asleep, but it didn’t work. So I sank into the carpet, pulled my knees to my chest, and waited. For what, I don’t know.

  “Clementine?” Ariadne whispers.

  I tense a little. If she’s still emotionless, if there’s still something wrong with her, I don’t want to see her.

  But her eyes are wide, and color fills her cheeks. She hesitates when I don’t say anything, then drops to the floor beside me, her shoulder against mine.

  She fiddles with her hands in her lap.

  “What did he do?” she says quietly.

  “What did who do?”

  “Sam.”

  I press my lips against my knobby knees. “How can you tell?”

  Her eyes move this way and that, not stopping anywhere. When she speaks, her words are no more than a breath. “It’s something I was familiar with back on the Surface.”

  A shiver runs through me, though it’s warm in here. I don’t want to be right about what I think she means.

  “At five,” she says, and I’m surprised at how steady her voice is, “a boy built me a small shack beside his, where I could sleep. He was kind to me, at first.” She gives me a strangled look.

  I nod, understanding. But I know that even if he wasn’t kind, she wouldn’t have refused his help. Children on the Surface should never refuse help.

  “At first, he was kind,” Ariadne repeats. She pulls her hair over her shoulder and braids it with shaky fingers. “But soon he wanted something in return. I wanted to run”—her voice cracks—“but I had nowhere to go. Until I was picked for Extraction.”

  She pauses to take a breath. “The night after the test,” she says, “I didn’t go back to my shack. I slept in the sewer because I knew if I went back, he’d sneak into my bed, and he wouldn’t let me leave for the ceremony. I didn’t know if I’d get picked, but I knew I had to run.” She brushes tears out of her eyes. “So, I ran. Finally.”

  “I’m glad,” I whisper.

  Her hand falls away from her hair and settles in her lap. I reach for it and give it a squeeze. It trembles in my grasp.

  We sit like that for a long time, huddled together,
not speaking.

  And I understand what she said before, about how fear isn’t a bad thing. Fear made Ariadne brave enough to run. Fear made me brave enough to leave Logan behind, which was the only way I’d ever be able to save him. And it made me brave enough to shoot that Unstable, and take a risk in Phantom, and fight Sam when he tried to hurt me.

  Fear makes me feel weak, but facing it makes me strong.

  Over and over, I remind myself of this as we sit there in the silence. Soon, we stand and climb into our separate beds. I pull the sheets up over my head.

  I fall asleep with a whisper on my lips, telling myself to be brave.

  20

  “Clementine,” Ariadne whispers. She squeezes my shoulder.

  I stir, stuck halfway between my sheets and a dream of Logan.

  “Clem.”

  “Hmm?”

  “We have to go.”

  With a groan, I open my eyes. It’s not morning yet. It’s the middle of the night. “What?”

  Ariadne bites her lip and turns her head to the doorway, where Cadet Waller is standing.

  “Your final training session starts in thirty minutes,” she says, her voice tight and clipped. “I’ll be back in five minutes. You’d better have clothes on.” She turns, and the door slides shut behind her.

  I sit up, fully awake now. “Wait, what? It’s tonight?”

  “I guess so,” Ariadne says, slipping out of her nightclothes.

  My heart races.

  I don’t even get until the morning.

  With a swallow, I push the covers back, stand, and move to get dressed. My fingers shake zipping up Ariadne’s suit and knotting the laces of my boots.

  Ariadne offers me an elastic to tie up my curls. “One more session and we’ll be citizens. Can you believe it?” Her voice is strangled.

  I hold my breath as my hands fall away from my bun. I shake my head.

  “No, I can’t.”

  *

  Lights flash in the darkness outside Phantom, where Cadet Waller leads those of us who slept on the same floor. Many Extractions are already here, yawning and trying to wake up. No one looks as though they have any idea what we’re doing.

  “We’ll wait for the last few stragglers,” Cadet Waller says, “and then I’ll explain the session.”