Authors: Megan Curd
“Hey, Avery! Wait up!”
Alice’s voice carried over the busy hum of everyone else, and I forced myself to hold my ground as I waited for her to catch up to me. Little turd; she’d promised to lay low today.
I smiled as she bounded to my side. “So much for you keeping your promises, brat. What are you doing here?”
Her eyes were bright with excitement and she practically levitated off the ground. “I got permission to attend a class with you!”
“Really? How’d you manage that?”
“I appealed to my boss at the seamstress shop, and they agreed to allow me ‘
some education
,’” she said, quoting the words as she mimicked the woman’s voice from her work. “I got to choose one, and I wanted to do Histories of America, so here I am!”
“Of all the courses I take, you wanted to take Histories of America? It’s the dullest class I have.”
Alice’s eyes darkened, but she kept her smile from faltering. “I wanted to know about the war. Haven’t you ever wondered if something might pop up about your parents? Maybe they were part of the Alliance. You never know. It’s been eight years since they disappeared. I bet they were part of the Alliance and had to go fight against the Resistance. Maybe that’s why the Polatzi can’t find them.”
The hallway crowd was beginning to dwindle. I pulled her with me into our classroom. “Don’t talk about that stuff here,” I murmured. “You don’t know who’s listening.”
Alice’s eyes widened, confused. “I didn’t think you cared what the government said we could and couldn’t talk about…”
Before anyone could hear her dig us further into the grave, I cut her off. I didn’t need the Polatzi on my case today. “I don’t want to give them any reason to take you. I’m an Elementalist,” I smiled sardonically, “They have to tolerate me.”
“And that doesn’t apply to me,” she said, sadness seeping into her voice. “I’m a seamstress. A Traditional.”
Without another word she passed by me, handed her paperwork to our professor and took the seat he pointed out. The desk was the one farthest from me. Figured. Alice gave me an apologetic glance as she opened her tattered satchel.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Wallace, the professor, called out, “today we’re going to be watching a film on the war. ‘
What war?
’ you may ask?”
Like we really needed to ask. There was only one war anyone talked about, and it was only spoke of in approved situations. Otherwise we swept it under the rug, like it was normal to live in a glass dome.
He looked around the room, hopeful that he was pulling us all into some mesmerized excitement. We weren’t. When he came to this conclusion, he smiled anyway. He looped his pudgy fingers through his black suspenders and rocked on his heels. “We’re looking at the only war that matters: the one that put us in this predicament. World War III. Can anyone tell me anything about it?”
Of course we couldn’t. Or it was more that we didn’t want to appear to know too much. We weren’t allowed to talk about World War III outside of government-sanctioned education classes. The people who did went missing and
if
they came back, they had a healthy respect for letting sleeping dogs lie.
He motioned to a tattered sheet was taped to the ceiling and hung down, its ripped portions swaying in the gentle breeze of the oxygen purifier that hummed in the corner of the room. An old film projector sat between desks in the center of the room, modified to run on steam.
My stomach clenched. Not again. Not today.
Mr. Wallace gestured to the film projector and he eyes rested on me. “Well, Miss Pike, if you could be so kind as to rev up our projector, we’ll see what devastation the war imposed on us.”
“It’s not my responsibility to provide steam for your class, Mr. Wallace,” I said, hoping my voice came across stronger than I felt. I didn’t want to use my abilities, but I didn’t need Mr. Wallace angry with me. I’d already pissed off my quota of people today.
Mr. Wallace’s smile slightly fell before he hitched it back into place. Menace laced his words. “You are the only one in the class capable of making this machine run, Miss Pike, and I plan on teaching this course today.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d made me his own steam provider, and I was tired of being used like some on-demand tool. “Maybe you should have planned how you were going to provide the course a little better. I’m not your personal generator.”
His face turned red as he puffed out his chest and fought to keep his smile from turning into something hateful.
It didn’t work.
He stalked to the back of the class; each student’s head turning to follow his movements. His plump hands came down on my desk quietly and he pushed down on the front, lifting the back legs of my chair off the ground. I slid forward, forced to inhale the stench of coffee and cigarettes that impregnated his clothes and breath. His voice was dangerous and quiet. “You’ll do as you’re told, Miss Pike.”
My fingers gripped the sides of the desk. I longed to strangle him with his stupid bow tie. I forced a smile. “Of course, Sir.”
The legs of my desk shattered the silence as they hit the floor.
“Now,” he whispered.
I pushed out of the chair and stood by the projector, my fingertips tracing the lip of the rusty tin can. It sat on top of a burner beside the film projector. I looked down into the can filled with dirty, debris-ridden water. A dead fly floated belly up, its legs curled inward. The water stank of refuse. I crinkled my nose in disgust.
Mr. Wallace lit the burner below and sat an elaborate glass seal on the top of the can. Clear tubing ran from the top of the convex seal and into the mechanisms on the side of projector, waiting for the fuel to move the pistons.
In a few moments, a fine mist began to swirl inside the glass and dew formed in the tubing. That was my queue. He looked at me expectantly. “Well?”
I closed my eyes and put my hand on the top of the glass, focusing on the miniscule amount of water within. Professor Evans had taught me that thoughts were powerful; that mine could manipulate elements when I willed them to. It was something that the exposure to radiation had caused, but we didn’t understand completely. The past few years, under the direction of Professor Evans, I’d become an asset to our Dome.
I’d also attracted a lot of unwanted attention, Mr. Wallace being a primary culprit.
His hot breath tickled the back of my neck and made my hairs stand up. With all my might, I focused on the task at hand. The sooner it was over with, the sooner he’d leave me alone. I willed the steam to multiply, and felt what little energy I had drain from my body.
It was as if providing steam took some of my own life force each time I called on my ability. I could feel my knees going weak. My hands trembled, and I steadied them by leaning on a nearby desk.
I hated the after-effects of using my ability. Every fiber in my body felt stretched beyond their natural limit, and I was exhausted. I’d never had a hangover, but it was the first thing that came to mind when I tried to explain the feeling to Alice.
When the pistons began to crank on the side of the projector, I broke the connection. Haphazardly I slid back into my seat, my fingers gripping the edge of the desks for support. Sounds crackled from the side of the projector. Words ran together, and the images on the screen slid in and out of focus. I’d seen Legs’s dad after his alcohol binges. This was definitely hangover-like.
“World War III was caused by the greed of men. When oil prices rose in 2016 and fuel became scarce, the Resistance originated in Europe under the belief that a singular government would solve the problems of the world. Not everyone agreed.”
I looked over at Alice, who sat enthralled, her hands propping up her chin as she leaned forward in her seat. The words droned on and the images showed men in their military garb, marching in unison while flying the red and white Resistance flag. A black fist was ensconced in the white circle at the center of the red fabric.
“When the Resistance attacked the Alliance, the side that believed in the good of man, it was by surprise in the dead of night. They set off nuclear bombs that took out thousands of civilians and soldiers alike, and also ruined the soil. The survivors of the attack in 2019 banded together and created what were called Domes, an enclosed area that we as a population attempted to make inhabitable. To a degree this worked, but many died. Only one Dome remains. That is Dome Four, where you live. Now in 2030, we simply aspire to live with a reasonable oxygen level. We must survive. We must be resilient. We must rebuild our world.”
Those last three sentences were the slogan that every inhabitant of Dome Four could recite. Over and over the government drilled it into our heads until it became our mantra. The screen began to flicker again.
“While not much is known about the leaders of the Resistance, we do know…head of…and was an excellent doctor before…”
the words faded out along with the film.
Mr. Wallace flicked on the gas lamps and looked pointedly at me with his arms crossed. “Class is dismissed. Please take this worksheet to fill out over the film, and note that what you do not know
will
be counted against you.” The class groaned in protest.
He moved quickly for a large man as he weaved his way between the desks back to mine. I looked away from him, refusing to give him my attention. His breath was hot in my ear, and he was hardly an inch from my face as he growled his hateful venom. “You’re an orphan, Pike. That’s all you are. You’re an orphan and a government tool. Don’t ever think you could amount to more.”
He might have been right, but I would never let him know how deeply his words cut me.
I would make sure I amounted to more. I wouldn’t be anyone’s tool.
CHAPTER
FIVE
When we were out of the classroom and far enough away from everyone, Alice pushed me against the concrete wall. “What do you think you’re doing? No wonder the power in the dome has been hit or miss if people are making you do them favors.”
The coolness of the concrete seeped through my clothes and made me shiver. My head still hurt, and the flickering lights didn’t help. I rubbed my eyes and avoided Alice’s gaze. “There’s not a lot I can do to stop it.”
“I didn’t know you were being used like some illegal generator,” Alice said, anger etched in each syllable. She kicked a spare bolt that lay on the ground. It skipped down the hall, echoing as it went.
She wrapped her arms around me protectively, the way she did when she tried to cheer me up. “Anyway. You’re not an orphan.”
“Last time I checked, I don’t have a mom or dad.”
“They could still be alive. And you know what I mean. You’re not alone, and you’re more than an Elementalist. You have friends. You’ve got me.”
In my heart I knew she was right, but I missed having a family. It hurt to watch the kids in the market with their parents. I wondered how things would be different had mine not disappeared. My thoughts wandered to Alice’s predicament. “It’s lucky your parents sent you and your brother here and we crossed paths. Do you ever wonder why they didn’t come?”
Alice huffed and poked me in the shoulder. She didn’t like talking about her past. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Avoiding talking about yourself by putting it back on me. You always do that when you don’t want to talk.”
“Alice,” I said, feeling bad. She knew me better than I gave her credit for.
She lifted her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I have to get home. Don’t give anyone else steam, please.”
“Sure, sure,” I said as the bell tolled at the top of Wutherford Tower, signaling that it was three-thirty. People filled the hallways once more as they set out for their next destination. The din of footsteps, conversations, and excitement reverberated off what were moments before cold, concrete walls. I looked for my opportunity to disappear into the crowd. “New World Remedies starts in fifteen minutes. I’ll see you afterward.”
I left Alice standing in the middle of the hallway with her arms crossed, visibly irritated. She’d get over it; she always did.
As I navigated the throng, a black-gloved hand curled around my shoulder and I turned to slap it away. The man who stood before me was seven shades of strange.
He was easily six-seven or six-eight before considering his tattered black top hat. His pants and jacket were a matching tweed stripe in dark gray and inky black, and his jacket tails were still long enough to drag the ground. The train of dust that accumulated behind them was astonishing.
But the strangest thing of all wasn’t his attire; it was his right arm.
It was enveloped with brass and copper cogs and wheels of all sizes. He leaned casually on his cane that was covered in odd carvings, and the gold monocle in his right eye made it look three times larger than the other.
His arm sprang to life as he smiled at me and extended his hand; the whizzing and whirring made me wary of touching him. The cogs turned on a dime as though they knew his every desire. I idly wondered if he were made of cogs and bolts inside, too.
“Avery Pike?” he inquired congenially.
I narrowed my eyes. If this was a Polatzi trick, I wasn’t going to fall for it. “Who wants to know?”
“Not me, I assure you,” he said, his smile not faltering, “But I have been sent here to fetch her, and whether or not you’re her, I’d suggest we both duck…now!”
Before I could argue, his mechanical arm shoved me to the floor. A clockwork piece larger than my head spun overhead, my hair fluttering as it went past. I looked around for the source of the attack, ready to dodge another cog. The assailant quickly identified herself by unleashing an ear-splitting screech of indignation.
“You rude old man! You have no business here, and certainly have no business telling me whether or not my clothes are too tight! I made these myself!” screamed the same fourth year that had complained to me about her goggles. Erin. It was always Erin causing a scene. The girl lived for drama.
Good, someone else thought she looked like she had to drop into her dress from three stories above. The man seemed thoroughly amused by the entire situation, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “You seriously told her that her dress was too tight?”