Independent Study (20 page)

Tomas says nothing as I soak his shirt in tears. His arms hold me tight, offering comfort and protection. When my emotions are wrung dry, he doesn’t ask for an explanation. He just places a soft kiss on my lips, tells me he loves me, and says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get here. I was worried you’d think I wasn’t coming.”

“I knew you’d be here.” It might be the only thing I really was certain of. “Were you worried someone was following you?” I know I backtracked once on my way here just in case Dr. Barnes had someone trailing me.

Tomas shakes his head. “I ran into Professor Kenzie, the head of our residence. He wanted to talk about whether I’d be interested in adding another class to my schedule.”

“How many have you been assigned?”

“Six. Agreeing to take the new class was the fastest way to get here to you, so I guess I’m now taking seven.”

That’s a lot, but still two less than me.

The tension I feel must show on my face, because Tomas’s eyes narrow with concern. “How many classes do you have?”

“Nine.” By the way Tomas’s eyes widen, I can tell none of the first years in his field of study have been assigned as many. I doubt anyone in any discipline has. Dr. Barnes has singled me out. Already, I feel the pressure. Pushing that aside, I ask, “What is your residence like?”

“At first it was great. There are ten labs in the basement for us and a greenhouse out back so we don’t have to walk to the controlled environment dome in the stadium. We were excited to get our class schedules and start work. Then our Induction started.”

Dread grips me as he talks about walking with his fellow first-year students into the large stadium at the edge of the University campus. Our Early Studies orientation instructor told us the stadium contained a greenhouse. Inside that greenhouse, the final-year Biological Engineering students had constructed an obstacle course designed to test the knowledge and resourcefulness of the incoming class. I try to picture what Tomas describes—seven stations where students were required to identify plants or animals by touch or smell or by reading lines of their genetic code. A correct answer meant passing to the next station. An incorrect one required the first-year student to face a physical challenge. Failure to pass the physical challenge resulted in elimination from the obstacle course and Redirection out of the Biological Engineering program and the University.

Redirection.

Bile rises in my throat. The word rings loud in my head, so I barely hear Tomas talk about the one question he answered incorrectly and the hundred-foot-long, fifteen-foot-wide path filled with hazardous plant life he had to navigate before being allowed to proceed to the next station.

“Most of the ground and shrubs were covered with poison ivy. Not the kind with the pink veins, although I saw a few of those near the edges of the path. Mostly, it was the typical variety we have growing at the edges of my father’s farm.”

Tomas is healthy and whole and seated beside me, but I still let out a sigh of relief. The garden-variety poison ivy isn’t fun. I walked through a patch of it when my father let me tag along on a scouting mission when I was six. If it weren’t for the salve Dr. Flint put on my ankles, I would have scratched them raw. The red, itchy skin was unpleasant, but it didn’t kill me. Had I run into the other kind of poison ivy, I wouldn’t have lived. My father says radiation interacted with the oily allergen contained in the leaves, transforming that strain into something incredibly deadly. While brushing the skin with the allergen will only cause blister-laden rashes, a touch of the oil on the tongue or an open wound as small as a pinprick will allow the poison to penetrate. Once the poison is inside the body, it attacks the cardiovascular system and typically results in pulmonary failure. Burning the plant and breathing in the fumes causes an even speedier death.

My father and brothers have carefully destroyed several small patches of pink ivy around our colony, using gloves to pull the roots from the soil and a special chemical to kill the plant and counteract the effects of the poisonous oils. I shouldn’t be surprised that someone would think it appropriate to use such a dangerous plant as part of a residence initiation, but I am. Perhaps because I know from my father’s work that pink ivy has been spotted in only six colonies. Never once has it been reported in the area surrounding Tosu City. Students who grew up in the city might never have come across or even heard of the deadly plant. Unless they got lucky, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

Tomas continues. “Your dad would have been able to identify all the plants there, but I couldn’t. I spotted poison sumac, prickly poppy, and the red-flowered jessamine that killed off Scotty Rollison’s goats when we were kids.”

The red flowers are another wartime mutation; they’re filled with pollen that attacks the immune system.

“Since I didn’t know all the plants, I tucked the bottom of my pant legs into my boots and stuck with the path I knew wasn’t going to kill me. I walked across the poison ivy, reached the other side, and moved on to the next station.”

Smart. Although, by the way he scratches at his left calf, I’m guessing he might need some salve.

Tomas doesn’t seem to realize he is scratching. His eyes are far away. Lost in a memory. “There were fifteen of us first years when we started initiation. Only eight made it through. Five of us from the colonies and three from Tosu City. The rest . . .” His voice trails off, but I know the ending to the sentence.

The unsuccessful students were Redirected out of the program. Removed from the University? I picture Obidiah being loaded into the skimmer and feel tears threaten again as I grieve for students whose names I don’t know and wonder about those I care about. What has become of Stacia? Did she survive the Medical Induction? And what has become of the others? Will I see their faces on campus, or will they join the ones in my dreams?

I take Tomas’s hand and entwine my fingers with his and then tell him about my experience. The scavenger hunt. Picking teams. The snake. The airfield. The trek around the city that showed how much work still needs to be done to rewind the clock to the days before the wars. I don’t tell him about the conversation I had with Michal before moving to the residence or about the rebels. Not yet.

Tomas’s hand tightens around mine when I mention teaming up with Will. Ever since listening to the recording, I’ve wondered if Tomas’s subconscious remembers the events I outlined on the Transit Communicator. But now I’m forced to consider whether my dream was right. If this dislike of Will is proof that Tomas’s memories of The Testing are intact.

Ignoring the gnawing anxiety, I tell the rest. Being maneuvered into climbing into the steel box. My certainty that I had been abandoned. Choosing to free Damone despite his horrific behavior. Reaching the final task. Learning that Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt are watching my every move. Waiting for me to do something that will result in my elimination from the University. My Redirection.

I hug my arms to my chest as I tell of Rawson’s final moments. The hands that pushed him and sent him stumbling to his death. The shattered reaction of the girl who killed without understanding what effect her act of frustration would bring. Finally, the guilt I feel over my part in the loss of Rawson’s life.

“It’s not your fault, Cia.” Tomas shifts so he is sitting across from me. His eyes meet mine with fierce intensity as he reaches for my hands.

“I know.” I do, but part of me still believes my choice in teammates would have made a difference.

I glance down at my hands held tight in Tomas’s and notice he no longer wears the bracelet of the Early Studies colony students. Circling his wrist is a heavy gold and silver band. Etched on the center disk is a stylized tree underscored by three wavy lines. The tree is an obvious symbol for a field of study dedicated to revitalizing the earth. The tangible proof that Tomas has become a part of something I am not tugs at my heart. For the first time since we left Five Lakes, we are not part of the same team. Separated by symbols. Maybe more.

Removing my hands from his, I know it is time to find out how great the divide between us is.

“I’
VE STARTED HAVING
dreams,” I say. “Like my father.”

Before I left for The Testing, my father told me about his dreams. Dreams filled with a decaying city and explosions that ripped apart flesh and bone. Whether the dreams were real or imagined my father couldn’t say, but he shared them with me in the hope they might prepare me for what was to come. He used the dreams to demonstrate a lesson he needed me to learn. Not to trust anyone. But I did.

The way Tomas stills and the wary look in his eyes makes my nerves jump. “How long have you been having them?”

“A while.” The scars on my arm tingle, and I swallow hard. “I don’t recall everything yet, but I remember some things.”

His eyes search mine. “What do you remember?”

“Not much. Mostly flashes. Malachi dying. Will smiling over the barrel of a gun. You and me plotting to prevent the memory loss.” My heart slams against my chest as I wait for him to say something. Anything. The silence lasts a minute. Two. Each second that passes stretches my nerves. Pulls at my heart until I can’t take it any longer. “You remember.”

Sorrow, horror, and an emotion I can’t identify flicker across his face before his features go blank. “Remember what?”

“Everything. You took the pills. You kept your memory of The Testing. All this time. You remember.” I scramble to my feet even as my conscience is pricked by the fact that I too have some memories. That the Transit Communicator gave me a glimpse into the past. Something I never shared with Tomas.

But that self-reproach burns away as I hear guilt and fear snake through Tomas’s words. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” He climbs to his feet and holds out a hand I refuse to take. Pacing the small area between the windows, he says, “We were each supposed to take one of the pills, but I didn’t have time to get you one before they gave out the results. I thought there would be time. I’m still not sure why I took one of the pills before getting my results. Maybe I was hoping the medication would wear off before they performed the memory erasure. You wouldn’t think I went back on our agreement, and I wouldn’t have to remember. But I do.”

Pain blooms deep at the confirmation of Tomas’s betrayal. Hot anger. Icy terror. How could he not have told me? I force myself to stay strong and not give in to the rush of emotion. There are things I have to know if I want to survive. Answers that only Tomas and his memory can give.

I take a deep breath, swallow down the suffocating hurt, and will my voice to stay steady. “Dr. Barnes is watching me. Something I did during The Testing made him think I’m some kind of threat. What did I do?”

“I don’t know.” The words and concern on his face ring true. “You figured out how to remove the identification bracelets, which allowed us to talk without being overheard. Maybe Dr. Barnes is wondering about the silences that occurred when we left them behind.”

A possibility I’d already considered.

“When you realized the bracelets contained microphones, you were worried that Testing officials recorded our conversations before we reached The Testing Center. I didn’t think they would bother since they had cameras watching us, but maybe they did. Dr. Barnes could have heard you mention spotting the cameras or you telling me about your father’s dreams.”

The idea that Dr. Barnes might know about my father’s flashes of Testing memory makes me shiver. But while that would give Dr. Barnes cause to strike out at my family, I can’t imagine why my pre-Testing conversation with Tomas would draw his attention now. Surely, if that discussion was recorded, Dr. Barnes and the other Testing officials would have listened to it before finalizing their decisions about who would attend the University.

If Dr. Barnes were concerned about those things, he would be targeting Tomas, too. But Tomas hasn’t been assigned nine classes, and he has not had a sense of being watched more closely than anyone else. Which means something else has prompted Dr. Barnes’s interest. Something Tomas doesn’t remember or refuses to say. I will have to figure out Dr. Barnes’s motivation on my own.

Now there is only one last thing to ask.

I look into Tomas’s handsome face. His gray eyes are filled with worry, guilt, and love for me. I yearn to touch him, but keep my hands firmly at my sides. I open my mouth to speak the words that have the potential to shatter everything between us.

But I can’t do it.

I would rather live with speculation and uncertainty than lose the one piece of my life that connects me to my home and family. The alternative is too painful to think about. If that brands me a coward, so be it. I do not want to face being here at the University alone.

Tomas takes my hand, and I let him web his fingers through mine and pull me back to the ground. I lean my head on his shoulder and try to ignore the hollow ache I feel. We talk of inconsequential things—the size of the rooms at our residences, our guides, the attitudes of the first-year Tosu City students.

“The ones in my house didn’t have any interest in talking to those of us from the colonies until after the Induction. Maybe that was part of the reason for those tests. To make us realize that, no matter where we grew up, we all have the same problems to solve. We’re not that different,” Tomas says.

I wonder if he’s right. Are the Tosu City students more likely to think of us as equals now?

Tomas pulls me close. I lay my head against his heart. Its beat is steady and strong. Quietly, he says, “I meant to tell you that I kept my Testing memories, but I didn’t know how. You were so happy when The Testing was over. So much like the girl I graduated with back home. I wanted to give you time to just be happy. I promised myself I’d tell you after your birthday, but I could never find the right moment. The subject would change, or you’d smile and kiss me and I’d put it off. I kept telling myself that I’d do it tomorrow.”

He’s not wrong about the subject changing. I knew Tomas had something to tell me, and I didn’t want to learn what it was. I was a coward. Terrified that whatever secrets Tomas harbored would shatter my fragile hope that the stories on the Transit Communicator weren’t real. I didn’t want to face the truth, so I ran from it then. Now I have to face my fears.