Stronger (7 page)

The next morning the feeling of love still warms me. I barely notice the cold as we walk toward the greenhouse.

We put on our hazmat uniforms and check in.

Our foreman tells us we’ll be trimming the overgrown branches today, with a little bit of harvesting. When the classical music starts, signaling the beginning of our shift, I push my wheeled basket to Olivia.

“You collect, today,” I tell her. “You’re still exhausted from the other night. I’ll do the pruning.”

She puts her hand over her heart and bows. “Thank you.”

The other Debs nod their heads or wave as I walk down the perfectly straight rows with the arm-length shears over my shoulder. The first empty ladder is perched in the branches of a lofty apple tree. I touch the round fruit as I climb, checking the ripeness. The tallest branch is pressing against the dark, colored glass of the greenhouse and needs to be trimmed. I can’t reach it from the ladder so I step out onto one of the limbs, careful to keep my suit from snagging on any twigs. I take a step and then another, but miss the next one when the piped-in music shuts off. My foot slips, sending a shower of bark to the ground as my arms encircle the branch above me. I press my face against the tree trunk, the mask digging into my skin.

The music stutters back on for a moment before shutting off for good. More disturbing is the sudden silence. The scrubber fans have stopped, too. Hugging the tree with one hand, I check my wrist monitor again. The indicator still reads green.

The silence in the greenhouse is eerie. It’s never supposed to be quiet. The lack of whirring fans means death.

I shift my feet and find my balance again, trying no to think about the thirty foot drop below me.
Don’t worry, Lex; those sharp, pointy branches should slow your fall.

Keeping one hand on the trunk, I lean out and position the shear’s head around the branch. I pull the trigger and the pneumatic blade lops off the offending limb. My eyes follow it tumbling to the ground. Below me, a small group of Debs gather in a circle, checking their monitors and talking. I glance at my own. Orange. My foot skips rungs on the ladder as I clamber down, careless of the twigs snagging my suit, hoping I can get down and to the doors before my monitor reads red. Even our suits can’t help us much if the oxygen buildup reaches a level Red. Oxygen is dangerous for everyone. Even the Vals.

The other workers have formed a huddle around the exit and I sprint to join them. Someone at the front is banging on the door, and I hear another girl failing to hide her sobs.

A voice comes over the monitors. “Do not be afraid.” It’s an Orion speaking and the crowd suddenly calms. My electronic ear inserts do their job, and while I hear the voice, it doesn’t control me the way it does the others. “Return to your work.” As one, the group turns and walks clear of the doors, spreading out into the room. The identical steps and swing of their arms makes me shudder.

“Wait!” I scream, but no one pauses. My own voice lacks the compelling power of an Orion.

“Nothing is wrong. Keep working,” The soothing voice intones. I check my monitor. It’s bright red.

Blasted stars! Nothing’s wrong, except the whole crew is about to die of oxygen poisoning!

“Olivia!” I chase after my friend—perhaps my only friend—and grab her shoulder, turning her to face me. “We have to get out of here!”

She blinks and nods, but before she can move, the voice returns. “Remain at your places. There is nothing to fear.”

Olivia’s features go slack, her eyes dull. She turns away from me, walking back to her cart.

I run back to the entrance, and hit the speaker with my hand, but the voice continues. “Everything will be—”

Swinging my shears like a club, I smash the comms panel. The camera lens shatters, so no one will see us die, but the speaker I was aiming at shuts down. The melodic voice disappears, and the room is quiet once more, until the first scream erupts. Around the room, workers emerge from their stupors, and stumble back to the entrance, shouting and pounding on the door. This time, the crying girl makes no effort to hide her wails. My lungs start to burn. I look down and notice that there are rips in my suit. At this point, I doubt it matters.

At the door, elbows are being thrown and people are trampling each other, trying to reach freedom. I shove my way to the front, and bang on the door with my shears. As I swing the tool, the crowd moves back. After several blows, the edge comes free. The crowd surges in again, grasping for the sliver of opening. I struggle to stay at the entrance and shove the handle of my shears into the slim crack, using it as a lever. Pushing with all my strength, I manage to force the door open wide enough to squeeze through. Dropping the shears, I slide my body into the gap and push my back against the door with all my might. It presses into me, bruising my shoulder blade, but opens wide enough to let the others pass. I grit my teeth and dig my heels into the ground. I’m gasping to breathe, the oxygen burning my lungs.

“Go! Go!” I shout, waving people past me. The metal doors are strong and push me forward. I can’t breathe. I’m searching the crowd until I see Olivia! She’s only a few people away. I can keep it open. I have to. Someone trips over my feet and falls, taking me with them. The last thing I see is the group still inside. Olivia is in front and her hand reaches for me, her eyes wide in terror as the door slides shut with a final thud.

“I’m sorry,” I mouth, unable to get enough air to breathe. “I’m sorry, Olivia.”

My lungs are on fire and I can’t catch a breath but I drag myself to the door, digging my nails into the slit, trying to pry it open, to help the people in there. To save Olivia. My friend.

But the doors are too strong and I’m too weak. I drop my head against the barrier and stare at the tile floor, watching as my tears plink against the inside of my hood. My hand pounds uselessly against the door. The screams from the other side turn to whimpers, then moans, until there’s only silence. Not only in the greenhouse but around me, too. I roll over and stare at the mass of escapees. No complaints, no screams, no groans. Their chests aren’t moving; their blank eyes stare up at the ceiling, void of life. They’re dead. All of them. No one escaped but me. And I struggle for air knowing I’m about to die too.

I bury my face in my hands and rock back and forth. All this time I thought I could help the rebellion. Show them all that a Deb could make a difference. But today proves how worthless I am. I can’t even save my friend. The people I kept the door open for didn’t even survive. I’ve failed. I blink away my tears. I can cry later; right now I have to move. Maybe if I get to fresh air I can live.

My head is so heavy I can barely lift it, but I push away from the door and crawl toward the airlock exit. There’s no empty floor space; every inch I crawl forward I’m passing over a corpse. It’s impossible not to notice the rigid fingers, the blue lips and the grotesquely turned bodies. But it’s the eyes that make me cringe. Minutes ago, they showed intelligence and life, but are now nothing more than dead tissue. I apologize as I crawl over them. For climbing across them, for failing them, for surviving.

Over the mounds of people, I crawl past the two containment stops, their red warnings still blinking, casting red shadows on the mass of bodies.

By the time I reach the final door, I’m shaking and covered in sweat, but my tears are finally dry. I pause, listening, but don’t hear anything. Large gray spots cloud my vision as the oxygen seeps deeper into my lungs, entering my blood stream.

With shaking hands, I bang as hard as I can against the door but it comes out as a gentle tap. Another girl is lying next me. When I see the little scratch on the palm of her hand I cringe. It’s the girl I tried to comfort two nights ago, the one I told she’d be fine. I’ve failed everyone.

My eyes close and my heart slows. It sounds like everything is happening far away when the safety doors slide open and the clean-up crew enters. No one bothers checking for a pulse as they toss each body into a truck they’ve driven right down the interior hallway of the building.

For once the cold weather doesn’t faze me as the truck drives out into the afternoon sun. The bodies keep me warm. I greedily drink in the rich nitrogen air, feeling lucky to be alive. Even for the Vals, oxygen is deadly. It’s one thing—perhaps the only thing—that won’t strengthen a Val. They’ll build a stronger immunity to anything else, but not to oxygen. I take another deep breath.

How am I alive? What will they do to me if they find out I survived. I flinch as I think about the tests Uncle Charlie described to me. I don’t want that.

The lavender clouds bounce above me as I travel. I can see it as pinpricks of light, gaps between overlapping limbs and torsos. I concentrate on the beauty of the sky and the graceful fall of the pale pink snowflakes, instead of the corpses that surround me.

Eventually my breathing and heart rate return to normal, and I’m able to swim up to the top of the pile. My hand grasps a head full of hair to pull me out the last bit, and I bite back a whimper at Olivia’s bright red curls still clutched in my hand. Tears course down my cheeks as I wait for a place to jump free. Ahead, a curve in the road will force the truck to slow. I give Olivia’s hand one more squeeze.

Music drifts from the audio panels of the old electro-truck and the Val driving doesn’t notice as I drop from the tailgate and roll into the crop of rocks jutting out from the side of the road. I land hard and come to a stop flat on my back. A sharp rock presses into my shoulder, right where the greenhouse door bruised it. Within a few yards, the truck comes to an abrupt halt but I’m too tired to care if they have seen me. The doors open and slam closed, but the deep voices of the Vals don’t sound angry or frantic. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but it sounds like they’re laughing. Too exhausted to move, I stare up into the purple sky and watch the fluffy pink clouds slowly drift by.

I don’t realize I’ve drifted off until I wake up to the sound of truck tires rolling on gravel. For a moment I’m back at the bottom of a pile of dead bodies, but when my eyes fly open, I’m staring at clouds in the sky. The constriction in my throat eases. I’m not buried alive or being suffocated by the dead. A splatter of cold mud splashes my face as the vehicle drives by. I look up to see the truck that brought me here heading back to the school, its bed empty. The thought of how close I am to the mass grave of my co-workers makes my stomach turn. For once I’m glad at the tiny portions of food they give me, otherwise it would be coming back up.

How long has it been? One hour? Two? The light is different, but it’s not dark yet. The rock still juts into my shoulder, but it’s different, softer. I fish it out and stare at it. The top of it is as sharp as a blade. I run it along my finger and it draws blood. I wipe the blood off, and marvel again that it stops, that I can actually heal.

I stand up, stretching my limbs, feeling exhausted and yet energized. My biohazard suit is torn beyond repair, but I won’t need it. I can’t be Emily anymore. I rip the tattered remains of the suit from my body, and it tears off more easily than I would expect. Either it was damaged worse than it looked, or I’m stronger than I was, but even Vals don’t improve that fast.

Looking up and down the road, I collect my bearings. Following a mental map, I plan my way to the spot where Ty wanted to meet me. It will be quite a hike, but I think I can make it.

“Lexie!” someone calls and I freeze.

“Lexie!”

It almost sounded like Ty. Staying close to the rocks, I lean around them, hiding in their shadow until I can see the large open grave. At the sight of the bodies, I put my hand to my throat and force myself to breathe, letting myself sag back against the stone.

The voice comes again and this time I know it’s Ty. Where is he? It sounds like… My feet move forward and then pause as I take in the sight of my brother waist deep in the gruesome hole, digging through the bodies and calling my name.

“Ty?” I manage to choke out.

“Lex?” His head snaps up and he’s running, pushing through the awful barrier between us. In an instant I’m in his arms being squeezed, his face buried in my hair. He keeps saying my name and soon I’m saying his as the trauma of what happened pours out of me in a wave of tears.

He pushes away enough to see my face, tears trailing down his face. “I thought you were dead. I heard about the accident and there were no survivors. I thought I’d lost you again after I barely got you back.”

His voice cracks and he stares up into the sky, blinking furiously. “An oxygen leak. And no survivors. How are you not dead?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I thought I breathed it in, but I must have gotten out before I inhaled any. It was a near thing, Ty. So close.”

He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I went to the rendezvous point and you didn’t come.”

“I was barely conscious when they loaded me on that truck. When I could, I jumped off. I made it just before it stopped. I think I fell asleep again after that and just woke up when they drove off.”

Ty nods and gently pulls me away from the grave. “I wanted to strangle them. After they unloaded the bodies they sat there and talked for about an hour. I was going crazy.”

“I was out the whole time… after I got off the truck. I had no idea it had been that long. Sorry, Ty.”

He takes a deep breath and chucks me lightly under the chin. “Just don’t do it again.”

“I’ll do my best.” I start to turn toward the grave but Ty stops me. “It was awful Ty. I was covered with the bodies of my friends. I—”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Lexie.”

He takes my hand and leads me away like he did when we were kids, making light conversation until we end up at the rendezvous point. It’s at the edge of campus, right on the seashore. I sit on the sand and breathe in the salt-scented air, letting it cleanse all the death from my nostrils and lungs. The waves break against the shore, breaking up the ice deposits that form between the rocks.

I keep reminding myself I’m alive. So many aren’t. Olivia’s face flashes in my mind and I shiver at how close I came to death.

Ty drops down beside me and gathers me in his arms.

“I have to keep reassuring myself you’re really here,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I thought of you all morning, and then I heard a whole crew of greenhouse workers died.”

“They did.”

“Not the most important one. Not the one that mattered to me.”

I shove him away. “They’re all important. They all mattered.”

He brings me back to his side. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s sad they died, but it’s not the same.”

My jaw clenches. “Because they’re Debs?”

Ty shakes his head. “Of course not. Because they’re not my family. I don’t know them!”

“I did.”

He lets out a huff of air. “I know. I’m sorry. But it’s almost expected; Debs die so easily.”

“Yeah, the excuse everyone uses. But it doesn’t change the fact they’re still people.”

Ty runs his hands through his hair. “Why are we fighting? We should be celebrating that you made it out! I know they’re people, but I didn’t know them. They weren’t my friends. I’m not going to apologize for being glad you’re alive! I thought you were dead, again!”

I choke back a sob. “I almost did die.”

Ty squeezes me tighter and rests his chin on my head. “I know.”

The three chimes of shift change make us both sit up.

Ty stands with his back to a rock and counts off steps, then bends and digs through the sand until he brings out a metal box.

“What’s this?”

Ty shakes the sand off the box and opens it, pulling out a pile of clothes, a packet of new ID papers, and a vial of hair dye. “After seeing you last night, I was worried about you working in the greenhouse. I wanted you out, but I know they won’t let you transfer out of the greenhouse. It’s a job they don’t let you leave, so I created a new identity for you. I even put some extra points onto your new ID to make up for losing the hazard pay. I didn’t expect we’d need it this early, but…” He hands me the box.

“A new identity?”

“You can’t go back to your old life. You talked about how they like to experiment on Debs who are sturdier, stronger. What would they do to you now?”

I gulp. “You’re right. Should I go to work in the city?”

Ty shakes his head. “No. I just got you back.”

“What if someone recognizes me?”

“People don’t look at Debs.”

“Ty, other Debs look at each other.”

“Oh.” He sits back on his hands. “You’ll be working in a different section, staying in a different dorm. The people you worked with died. You should be fine.”

“True.” I riffle through the box, picking up the hair color. “Blonde?” I ask, holding it up to examine in the light. It’s so boring. A shade a Val would choose.

“It’s different from the pink.” He shrugs. “But blonde isn’t unusual for the girls in the clothing department.”

That’s true. Debs in the textile department often express their individuality by braiding bright ribbons of leftover fabric into their hair rather than dying it.

Ty touches my hair. “Not to mention, it’s your natural color.”

I study my new identity. A new dorm, a different cafeteria, a new job. And another new name. “Jewel?”

“It goes with the blonde hair. It’ll fit in with the other seamstresses.”

“I don’t know how to sew.”

“Jewel’s in her first year at school, you’ll learn. I wanted you away from the dangerous occupations. Try not to volunteer for the hazardous stuff this time.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“There’s some scissors in there too. The hair’s got to be shorter.”

My pink, waist-length hair is a vain weakness, but I agree; it will stand out too much. Ty checks the time on his signacom.

“I’ve got to go. If you’re worried about being recognized, you should get some warrior-tats. I’ve loaded your ID with enough points. Maybe get the one Jonathan has across his cheek. Anything to change your face.”

I roll my eyes. “I know.”

“You’ll have enough to eat again, too. I’m so glad you’re not dead.” He gives me a hug before walking back toward school.

With him here, it was almost enough to make me forget about my horror-filled afternoon. I shake off the images creeping back into my thoughts. No, that was Emily’s existence. Jewel? She’s happy to be alive. Jewel has a big brother who loves her.

Afraid to see anyone I know on campus, I pay to use a public bathhouse with Jewel’s ID. I lock myself in one of the restroom stalls and shear my hair to my shoulders. I apply the hair dye and let it process while I collect the loose hair and flush it away. A few extra points allow me to use the shower too instead of having to wash it out in the sink.

I scrub away my old life until my skin’s an angry shade of pink, but it doesn’t erase the clamminess of the dead bodies, the burning in my lungs, or the memory that no one cared.

Right now, I wish I could snuggle with Polly, the way I always did when I was little, but she’s lost to me now. She’ll be gathered up with the rest of ‘Emily’s’ things, and I can’t risk trying to get her back. But I don’t need her anymore; I have Ty again. I allow myself a smile. He’s better than any doll.