Chapter 3

“Peter!” My voice breaks and my palms slam against the walls of my barracks to make as much noise as I possibly can. I pound until my hands are sore and breaking but still I scream.

She’s torturing him for something that I’ve done. For information that I failed to give her. She’s doing this on purpose. But how did she know? I never so much as mentioned Peter’s name. He was at school before I got there. Nothing points in his direction, I made sure of that. Yet he is the one that is screaming out in pain. 

Don’t they know they’re juicing a dry fruit?

I take the white plastic chair by the bed and throw it as hard as I can against the wall. Small pieces of it and the white powder shatter over the mattress and all around the room.  

After a moment, everything goes quiet. I don’t know which one is worse. The noise or his silence. 

I climb back on the bed. “Peter!” I scream with my mouth pressed against the wall. “Let me out of here! Peter! Answer me!” 

This isn’t right. We don’t torture, we don’t condemn. My head is so clouded with every irrational thought that it can produce. I can’t remember the mantra that I’ve had memorized since first year. It all means nothing now. Peter is being tortured for information that he doesn’t have. 

And it’s my fault.  

The sound of a door opening fills the hallway drawing my attention back to the front door. From where I stand on the bed, my hands still sprawled across the wall, I look back at the door to see the dull silhouette of a figure on the other side of the fogged window. 

I stop my commotion for a moment and step off the bed soundlessly and duck before they can see my movement. My breath comes out in fast even torrents as I press myself against the wall beside the door, waiting for her to open it and step inside. 

If she wants information from someone, it’s going to come from me. Peter is not going to take the fault for this. I’m going to make sure she listens to me this time and she'll have to let Peter go. I’ll tell her the truth and take the punishment. I'm still the minor, they can't hurt me for information.

Realization hits me like setting a hand on a hot stove. She knew. She knew that she couldn't extract information from a minor with a Read but Peter isn't a minor. If she wants the information from me about my parents, about what was involved in my stealing, then she'd have to go through the only person that I affiliate with. She knew and now she's using him against me.  

As the door slides back into the wall, I forget all about my calm, rational plan and instead launch myself towards the door. I expect the body to be small and nimble like the Questioner but instead I collide with this a new solid body. We fall in unison onto the hard cold floor in the middle of the brightly lit hallway.

I’m up on my knees in a second with a leg on either side of her. My hands have a mind of their own as I wrap my fingers into tight fists and take one weak swing after the other. My knuckles connect with soft skin then hard muscle. 

I'm going to be spending a lot of time inside of that Thinking Room for this but in the moment, it seems absolutely worth it.

After I get two solid hits in she grabs me around the waist and pivots her hips to push me off and then rolls me over so that I’m pinned down to the ground. 

Both of my wrists are locked beside my body. I have to focus my eyes through the blinding chaos that’s raging through my mind. Only then do I realize that I’m staring at a boy. He’s no older than me. A clear pair of hazel eyes stare down at me from a mop of dark brown hair. He looks confused. He has a sharp red mark growing on his right cheek bone and a tiny trickle of blood drips from his lip, otherwise he looks unscathed.

He groans something I can’t hear and then suddenly he on his feet. He’s in clean white Dystal clothes that fit him wrong. They come up short on his long legs and the arms are too tight around his biceps. 

He reaches down and pulls me to my feet without question but before I can step away from him, he wraps his arm around my neck and twists me around as something cold and hard presses against the back of my neck.

“I have a gun.” He whispers urgently against my hair. “If you make one sound, I’ll kill you.”

What is with this Quarter? Do they not live by the same rules as the others? Am I missing something in the guidelines where it’s all right to threaten and violate people as long as you're on Level 2 of Quarter 2. This isn’t right? These people should not be able to get away with this.  

 I lower my hand and look straight forward. I fight to keep my voice calm, but I can’t hide the irritation. “Where is Peter?”

“Who?”

“Peter.” I say louder. 

“Shut up!” He growls into my left ear. “Or I swear I’ll blow your head off.” 

Threatening other Citizens is a Top Ten Critical in the Dystal Handbook. He can’t be serious. He probably doesn’t even have a gun but I want to get out of here as fast as I can, so I play along in order to distract him. “Look, I know you work up here. If you’re new, I’m sure they see a lot of promise in you. Now, if you help me get to my friend, I will tell you everything that you want to know.”

His arm shakes where it’s wound tight against my neck. The hard muscles of his shoulder press against my cheek as I try to stay still. 

He’s scared but of what? His breath comes out in harsh uneven currents that make my skin hot as he keeps whispering, “I’m not supposed to be in here. This wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

Then suddenly it registers. “You don’t work here do you?”

He doesn’t answer me but his labored breathes give me my answer. 

“I can help you.” I offer, trying to calm him down. “I know a way out of here, but I need you to help me first.”

“Shut up!” He whispers urgently.

“Help me first.”

“Did you miss the part where I said I was going to shoot you?”

I sigh. “Did you miss the part where I said I know a way out of here?”

The boy stills. I can feel the ease of his muscles relax as he takes a slow steady breath. Who is he? I don’t recognize his face from any of the other Levels. 

“What do you need?” He asks calmly.

“My friend is in one of these rooms.” I say. “They’re hurting him for information he doesn’t have and I need to help him.”

“No,” he snaps. “No. I wasn’t supposed to speak to anyone. I was just supposed to- No. I can’t.”

“Please,” I can’t save him alone and if I don’t save him quickly who knows what they’ll make him forget. “Please.” I beg desperately.

He turns me around so I’m facing him and at my chest he points a very real and very solid hand gun. How did he get a hold of a gun? Coppers are only permitted to carry electric weapons. They just temporarily paralyze the victim, he can't possibly "blow my head off" with it. 

If he doesn’t work up here then that means he’s here because he’s committed some kind of crime. 

And now he has an electric weapon pointed at my head. 

His hand is shaking. I’m afraid to make even the smallest of movements because of the way his index finger jumps around the trigger.

I get a better look at him now and see that he has thick tanned skin that stands out against the pale clean Dystal clothing. His hair is too long and sun dyed and cut in uneven curls around his face and neck. He has long dirt filled nails and scars covering his long fingers. 

He is unlike anyone I have ever seen. A wild, guarded look in his pale green eyes that make me feel compassion for him. I've never seen someone look so afraid before. 

How long has he been in this place? What have they done to him to make him find a gun and use it against another Citizen?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He barks.

My eyes turn to his feet and see that he’s wearing woman’s slip on shoes. Odd. Very odd. “I’m not- I’m not looking at you.”

“Which room is your friend in?” His eyes dance around the quiet hallway.

“That one.” I say, pointing at the door that stands beside the room I was in.  

His teeth skim his bottom lip nervously as his eyes dart around the room, never meeting mine, as the gun continues to shake in front of me. The distant thrum of voices around the corner behind the boy alerts me that we don’t have much time. 

He nods his head towards Peter’s door. “Open it. Slowly. Get your friend and then you show me the way out.”

I don’t argue. I lunge for the button on the wall. The door disappears in a hushed exhaust.

Peter is slumped forward in a chair. His arms are bound to the rests with buckled straps. His shirt is ripped open revealing his bare chest and stomach. There are four bright red burns marks where sticky pads were strapped to his skin and a quiet Read machine is deactivated beside him.  

I run over to him and immediately start to remove the straps. He moans against the movement but I continue, talking to him and trying to wake him back up.

“Hurry.” The boy snaps. “Hurry up.”

I have all four straps off but I haven’t managed to wake Peter yet. His eyes roll and his face is ashy. His blonde hair is stuck to his forehead in a thin layer of sweat that’s dripping down the side of his neck and pools at the spot between his collar bone.

“They’re coming back.” The boy whispers ardently and steps into the room. He closes the door and presses his back against it, grimacing when foot steps start approaching. He starts pacing across the room muttering to himself, "Stupid mistake. You really are a right idiot."

I glance down at Peter whose eyes are slowly starting to flutter. My hand pats his cheek gently coaxing him back, but whatever they did to him, it took a lot out. He was always so much better at escape plots. I just executed the plan. I look up at the glazed glass window, then back to the boy, and then down at the gun that’s hanging from his hand by his leg.

“The girl is gone.” Shell’s voice is muffled by the layer of thick walls separating us. “The boy probably released her. I knew it. You two go find them. No one send an Alert. Do not let anyone know they are here.”

And all of a sudden, I have a plan.

“Stand behind me and keep the gun at my head.” I say and carefully set Peter’s arm over my shoulder and pull him to his feet. He’s barely conscious but enough so that he can hold some of his own weight. I struggle to carry us both but I imagine this won’t take long. 

The boy gets behind me, and points the gun at the back of my head. 

I’m not so afraid of this fact anymore.

“What are we doing?” He asks.

I shift Peter’s weight a little. “Just follow my lead and don't shoot me.”

My hole body start to tremble, which isn’t hard considering I'm trying to carry someone twice my size. I push the button for the door with my free arm and step out into the hallway. Still carrying Peter’s weight, he limps beside me, groaning as I move us forward. The boy walks behind me, his aim close and his eyes forward. Peter lifts his head and peers around the hallway but he still can’t form audible words.

 As much as I want to attack her, I know that’s not in the best interest of Peter. Once he is safe, I can tell her everything she wants to know and accept the punishment myself. 

Shell stands a few feet away from us with her back turned.  

“He found me in my room.” My voice fills with panic. “He told me he’d kill Peter if I didn’t help him.”

Shell turns around slowly and looks at us with malicious greed in her cold blue eyes. Her lips stay in a thin line as she crosses her hands in front of her. “Help him what?”

“Escape.” He answers for me. “Show me the way out of here and they live.”

She laughs cooly. “There is no way that I’m allowing you to escape.”

His voice turns sharp and desperate from behind me "You said this would work." I feel the end of the gun press against my hot neck.

“She was trying to survive.” Shell says, looking between the two of us. “It’s human nature to say anything that means one’s survival. Kill her. It will make little to no difference to me or anyone else in this Community. It’s you I’m interested in.”

“No.” He whispers, turning his gun so it’s pointed at Shell. 

She stands alone in the hallway. The two Coppers are probably long gone and searching for us on another floor. Peter, slowly lifts his head again and looks around the room. I try to talk to him, but the boy’s heavy breathes are too loud in my ear.  

Peter moans and holds his stomach, his arm hangs heavily over my shoulders. I’m still taking most of his weight but he seems to be coming back now. He looks from me, then back to Shell, and straightens up a little further. 

“Where are we?” He asks.

“At a stand still.” I answer, and tighten my arm around his waist. 

I read somewhere that the body has two responses to threats; fight or flight. While I have lived in the peaceful community of Dystal for my whole life, I have never been challenged to make the decision. I realize now that it’s not a reaction at all, it’s a choice, and my body chooses to fight.

My hand reaches out without command and I grab the boy’s gun from his shaking fingers. It feels heavy against my skin and warm where his hand was pressed against the metal. My finger finds the trigger and before I can fully register what is happening, or what I'm about to do, I hear a loud pop ring through my ears and down through my bones.

BANG!

Author's Note

This chapter is still a little rough. I've been working on it for a few days now, trying to iron out the kinks, but I think I need different perspectives. What do you think?

Reviews

[Wolven]

Nicely done. We got some science of deduction s**t going on in here. (Her analysis of the guard boy, checking his nails, hair, eyes, and the women's shoes.) Odd she didn't deduce that the guy obviously isn't from Dystal, but perhaps that was intended. I imagine he is of greater plot significance than expected. I like the progression of Story. Her thought processes are somewhat sharper than i imagine an average Dystalian girl's might be, and the fact she starts learning how to formulate plans I think is great.
Its a very invigorating chapter, loaded with suspense, and I can't wait to read more.

[Hannah]

Hey Wolven, good to hear from you. Thank you for the review. I struggled with her not realizing that he is obviously not from around there, but then I figured, she's never been introduced to anything other than Dystal. She wouldn't know what a normal human being looks like. We would because we know the difference between a Dystal Citizen and a normal human being, but she doesn't have that distinction yet. So her logical conclusion is that he's crazy. I don't know if that is working in my favor or not. Story is definitely one of my favorite characters to write, I'm so glad that she's a good character to read along with. Thank you again for commenting. I appreciate it.