Infraction (17 page)

“
What happened?”

I reach for his hand.
She
hit me.

“
How badly?”

Hard. Is it ugly?

He manages to laugh. “I've seen worse. Let me get
you an ice pack.”

He motions me into the equipment room with the serum
fridge. He disappears behind a few filing cabinets, and a fridge
door opens and he rummages around. I slip off the bed and open the
serum fridge. The vials are marked with numbers and letters. I have
no idea what they mean or which symptoms they'll bring on. I don't
think it really matters. I haven't seen any of them produce
anything close to a positive side effect, so I just grab one from
the back and slip it under the elastic of my waist band. The cold
glass brings goose bumps, and I worry for a moment. Do they have to
stay cold? I think of my cell window and my hand print on it. That
will have to be cold enough. I can't do any better.

Dr. Benedict comes back with an ice pack and
eases it onto my cheek. His face is inches from mine, and the scent
of woods is too close. I pull back, and he smiles at me.

“
Keep it there for a few
minutes.”

I press it to my face, sighing as the cold works its
way past the sting and numbs me. I tuck my shirt down over the vial
just a little bit more, hoping the bagginess will hide the small
tell-tale lump.

“
I'll get your injection
ready.”

I'm paralyzed remembering the hallucinations. The
color drains from my face, and the ice pack chills me to the marrow
of my bones. How will I lose control of myself this time? I grab
Dr. Benedict's arm, my fingers pressing into his skin. He
looks at me and I shake my head. I'm suddenly startled by the
sadness in Dr. Benedict's eyes. I don't often see anything
there I can name.

“
You know, Terra, I am sorry about
all this. I'm following orders.”

He fills up a syringe, and I grit my teeth, bracing
myself for whatever horrors this one will bring. I watch as he puts
the needle in me and feel the familiar burn as the serum works its
way through my veins. Dr. Benedict lets his hand linger on my
arm for another moment before he puts the stupid smiley face
bandage over the pinprick of blood. Then he caresses my hand as he
takes the ice pack away. I clench my fist. How long until my brain
isn't in control? Could I ever do anything to convince
Dr. Benedict not to give me another injection?

“
I'm sorry about your face too. It
should feel better soon. Might be bruised for a few days, though.
Come back and see me, Terra.”

I just nod. I have something to get done; of course
I'll come back. I jump down off the table and go to the door. The
soldier sees me through the small window and opens it. He takes my
arm and is about to lead me away when Dr. Benedict clears his
throat.

“
I'd actually prefer it if you took
her back to her cell. I think she'd better rest.”

The soldier pauses for a beat as if he's unsure he's
heard right. “There's still an hour of work hours left.”

“
True.” Dr. Benedict looks down
at his tablet and makes a few notes. “But she'd better get some
rest if the agents would like her to still be of use to
them.”

The soldier isn't happy about it, but he leads me
down the corridors and into the maze of cell doors.

Once inside my cell, I listen to the sound of his
boots retreating down the hall before I move away from the door.
When there's nothing but silence—and there's too much of that with
everyone else on work hours—I climb the bunk, slide the vial from
my pants, and put it on the window ledge against the glass. I wipe
away a circle of condensation and look out across the forest. The
frost-tipped pines are grayish green against the blue sky. There
are clouds coming, though, across the ocean toward us. There will
be a storm tonight.

I'm sure Dr. Benedict thought he was doing me a
favor letting me come back to my cell, but just lying on the bunk
for a couple of hours does nothing for me. I would rather keep my
hands and my mind busy, and the nasty headache forming behind my
eyes doesn't help. All I can think of is how our plan can
fail—there isn't enough serum to go around, the keycard doesn't
work, the serum actually isn't contaminated and all the soldiers
and agents are at peak form, we can't move fast enough, the sub
never comes. Kai can't move fast enough and is caught, Jack and
Mary and Dave are shot before my eyes, Madge claws at a soldier who
pops out of nowhere, Jane and her small frame can't contend with
the obstacles placed before us. Every way I imagine it, it always
ends in death. The tears prick in my eyes, but I can't let them
fall. I rub my palms across my face. Stop thinking of it, I tell
myself. Thoughts like this won't help. This is going to happen;
we're going to try.

Finally the intercom lets me know it's dinner time.
I slide off the bunk as the door opens and think maybe I do just
want to lie on my bunk for the rest of the night. There's no one
else in my hall—they are coming from work hours—but as I get closer
to the mess hall, trickles of women converge and we go in to
dinner. I sit by Madge and it's all I can do to fight back the
tears and give her a hopeful smile.

One down.

“
You look horrible.” She grins and
her smile is genuine. I don't know if she's still angry with me,
but she's excited about the progress we've made.

Interrogation
. I feel so
pathetic at the thought of it that a few tears do finally spill
over.
How many do we need?

Madge raises an eyebrow at the tears on my cheeks.
“No idea. As many as you can get.”

“
Are you okay?” Kai asks. She leans
toward me, instinctively wanting to comfort, and I know she will be
a good mother. The concern on her face for all of us just about
breaks my heart. I think of Nell who could have been a mother too.
Do she and Red have children? I never thought to ask. I never
really knew any of them, my family at the settlement, and I'm so
overwhelmed with grief for the family I lost that I bury my head in
my hands and sob.

“
Get a grip, Terra,” Mary hisses,
glancing up at the soldiers.

Madge studies me. “Did you see Dr. Benedict
after interrogation?”

I nod and wipe the back of my hand across my
nose.

“
Get an injection?” she asks
pointedly.

I realize. Of course. This overwhelming sorrow
wouldn't come over me just from sitting in my cell for a couple
hours.

How long does it last?

Madge shrugs. “I've seen it last a couple hours.
Seen it last more than a day.”

The tears start afresh because I can't imagine
sitting for more than a day with this pit of grief inside me. I'm
pathetic right now and I know it, but I feel so out of control of
my body. I'm a sniffling, wet mess, and I hate the way everyone is
looking at me with pity in their eyes.

I'm about to bury my head in my arms when the screen
drops down again and the lights dim. The familiar male voice comes
on, accompanied by a picture of a pristine white building.

“
The third hospital offering free
medical care has just been completed in Salt Lake City. This marvel
of modern technology hosts private rooms for every patient,
state-of-the-art diagnostic equipment, and a staff of skilled
doctors and nurses trained to serve you. You are the citizens of
New America, and you deserve the best health care
available.”

Someone snorts off to my left, but no one looks. No
one wants to rat anyone else out. The soldiers look around, but we
all keep our eyes carefully on the screen. Even me, while I'm
bawling my eyes out.

“
This new facility has a comfortable
birthing center—” Kai goes rigid “—an incredible surgical ward, and
all the amenities you could ever want from a place where you can
come to heal. All brought to you by your government. Dedicated to
providing for your needs.”

The lights brighten again and the soldiers look
around, seeing if anyone bought into it this time. No one moves.
There are more glares than I've ever seen, and I hiccup with my
sobs. The agents are really wasting their time, and it's just so
sad that we all have to sit here while they do it. I wipe my
nose.

Then I think of the conversation that the film
interrupted.

Don't you get injections?
I
ask Madge.

“
I did for the first few months I
was here. Guess they figured they pricked me enough times, gave me
enough mood swings. Who knows. They stopped though. Sometimes I
still have the same nightmares I used to have from one of the
injections.” She leans forward. “It's stupid, but I dream the
soldiers are bees stinging me.”

I manage to smile, and salty tears
drip into my mouth.
I thought they were
scorpions.

“
Yours is better.”

I nudge Jane.
You?

She shakes her head and whispers, “Later.” She's the
one who rarely talks. She doesn't want to strike up a conversation
now and break appearances.

“
How come they haven't given me one
yet?” Mary asks.

It's a good question. She's been here a couple days.
I already had one by this time.

“
Don't know. It's weird the pattern
of who gets them and who doesn't. Not everyone does.”

I'm a nomad. I needed inoculations.

“
Not a good enough reason,” Madge
says, taking a bite of bread. “Most people here were nomads, and
not everyone gets them.”

But before I can work past the tears to try to
puzzle it out, two soldiers approach our table and we fall
silent.

“
Worker 7488?” one says. With those
masks on, I have no idea who they're looking at. No wonder Madge
imagined them as insects too. Then I realize the number comes after
mine. It would have to be Mary.

“
Yes?” She doesn't look up from her
stew. It's all she can do to keep an ounce of civility in her
voice.

“
Come with us to the medical
area.”

Mary's eyes dart to me. “Think I'll get some of the
crazy juice?”

Madge snorts into her stew, and I grin. We try to
wipe it clean off our faces—the soldiers shift their weight,
looking like they're ready to pounce—and Mary jumps up to appease
them.

She runs a hand over her scalp and says, “Lead on,
boys.”

We watch her walk out the door, and I wonder if
she'll be crying into her pillow tonight or imagining the soldiers
are some kind of insect. What other varieties of injections are
there? The tears start flowing again when I realize it's just a
matter of time until I find out.

As soon as the door of our cell closes, Jane sits on
the bunk, draws her knees up, and announces, “I have a theory about
the shots.”

I pull the pillow off my bed, and sit on it on the
floor against the wall opposite her. I nod for her to continue.

“
I've never had a single
shot.”

Why?

She shrugs her shoulders. “Because I don't think
they ever saw me as a threat. I'm too small and too skinny and too
broken. They didn't need me. But they need you. The same way they
need Madge and Mary. They see it in you, the anger and distrust.
They're trying to force our loyalty.”

My eyebrows shoot up and Jane half-smiles.

“
I know—it sounds so out there.
Injections to make us loyal.” She tucks her hair behind her ears
and leans forward, and the earnestness on her face tells me she's
thought about this. A lot. “Think about it though. They've made you
hallucinate and they've made you cry. I've seen other people get
horrible paranoia or turn so mean they're like different people. If
they can do that with a shot, why couldn't they find one that will
make us trust them? They just haven't gotten it right
yet.”

She could be on to something. Her
words stir a memory in my brain, something I had forgotten in the
midst of one of the most awful nights of my life. Between being
chased by soldiers and running for my life with Jack, I had
forgotten what the agent said to me as the cloying sweetness of his
breath mint washed over me.
Trust is always an issue. I
shouldn't tell you this, of course, but seeing as you have no
future left, I think it's safe. The trust is what we're working
on.

Is this what he meant? They know how hopelessly
messed up their system of government is, so they're not trying to
engender trust and loyalty. They're trying to force it upon us. I
have to ask Jack. He'll know if it's possible. But a small part of
me already knows it's true without even having to ask. It terrifies
me, and I feel the urgency of escape more powerfully than ever. I
have to get them all out before the government does find a way to
force them into being loyal. They deserve to make their own choices
and not have that one last remaining right taken away.

The anthem begins again, and I climb up next to
Jane. I remember a lesson in Burn History. Mr. Klein stood at
the front of the room and showed us a picture of the flag that the
United States used before the Event. It was simple but beautiful. I
loved the pattern of red and white, and I was especially drawn to
the stars. I had no stars then, and anything from the heavens
captured me. Then he played a recording of their old anthem, with
words about the flag still standing even though their nation was
being ripped apart by war. It was moving in a way I hadn't felt
before, and I knew then I wanted to meet some of the people who
belonged to such a strong heritage.

The anthem now is so slow it feels like a funeral
dirge. How can they hope for people to trust them if every time I
hear the music all I can think about is death?