The sleek black pistol sits at the bottom of the drawer. It has a blue, fluorescent light stretching from where the bullet comes out of the gun, down the barrel, to the magazine. The weapon's handle is thick and coated with a gripping material that makes it easier to hold. The side of the gun has the safety button on it, and I can see from where I'm standing that it's turned on.
Paige stares at the gun with wide eyes. Her hand hovers over the computer keyboard, her fingers twitching. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, and her shaky breath is the loudest thing in the room. Her eyes peel away from the gun and meet mine.
I understand being nervous about seeing the gun, but why is Paige so terrified? Mr. Smith is the founder of the compound, so there's a good chance he would have one for safety. There's a target on his back, and Paige should know this.
"Did you know about this?" I ask, pointing to the gun.
"No," Her eyes flick down, looking at it nervously. "My father and I talked about this before, and he told me that guns are for the guards."
"It makes sense that he has one."
Paige takes a deep breath. "I suppose. I just don't like that he lied to me."
"It was probably for your protection."
"What is he protecting me from? I can only think that he doesn't want me to use the gun myself. We're the only other people that know it's here. If an intruder got in, despite the fingerprint ID, they wouldn't know where to look."
"I guess you're right. Do you know if your father keeps a gun on him?"
"He shouldn't, I mean, he told me he didn't. I'm starting to think otherwise." She says.
"Who would want to harm you?" I ask, my eyebrows raising.
"That's a great question. Maybe the other higher-ranked people here would probably use me as collateral to get what they want. If there was a gun in here, wouldn't you think he'd want me to know where it was?"
She's right. This isn't making sense. With Mr. Smith not wanting to investigate the knock and now the gun, he has to be hiding something.
I glace down at the gun again and notice something hidden underneath it. I slide the gun over with my forefinger to reveal a clear keycard. It has a small green microchip embedded into its left side. And on the right is the number 32 printed in big, bold, black lettering.
"A key," I say as I grab it out of the drawer.
I hold it up so Paige can see it. "Do you know what this is for?"
"No clue." She says while looking through the computer again.
"Thirty-two," I say. "It's not a key to any of the gates. This has to be for a different door."
"Hey, look at this." Paige motions for me to come over to the computer, and I learn over her to see the mouse hovering over a file named Blueprints.
"I bet we could find this mysterious room in this file." She says.
Paige clicks through the different files. The blueprints are extensive and hard to read. The main areas we look at are the career sights, like the labs, cultivation, mechanical, and the presidential control room where Mr. Smith does most of his work. But there's no room 32.
"It's no use," Paige grunts in frustration. "We're never going to find the secret room that this key goes to."
"Wait," I say as I stare at the computer screen. "What's that?" I point to grayed-out area under the Hub. It's not labeled a room, but it looks like one on the blueprint. It seems like some sort of basement or bottom level.
"Looks like it's nothing." Paige tries to dismiss it.
"No, I feel that it's something we need to look into," I say, scanning the blueprints for any other grayed-out areas.
"It's just how the blueprints are created," Paige says. "But if you think we should look into it, we can."
"Maybe the number 32 room is down there."
"Possibly, if it's even a room. How are we going to get down there anyway?"
"I have no idea. We're going to have to find a way."
"Alright, we'll keep an eye out." Paige says. "Let's get out of here before my father gets back."
"Right," I say. "I'm going to keep the keycard, just in case," I put it into the pocket of my jeans.
Paige exits the "Blueprint" folder and locks the computer. We leave Mr. Smith's office looking untouched.
...
I was lucky enough to score a meeting with one of the scientists in Air Purification. I plan to talk to them about potentially working here, but I'm going to be asking questions about the air outside. Hopefully, I can find out something.
My meeting is with someone named Dr. Chris Shepard. I have no idea who he is, and I'm nervous about meeting him. He's a Richling, and I'm a Grub. Those two don't mix, and there are destined to be condescending remarks put my way. If he doesn't laugh in my face and walk away, I'll be surprised.
The lab doors open abruptly as I near them. The room buzzes with people in crisp white lab coats that hold clipboards or science-looking tools in their hands. A potent smell of disinfectant fills my nose as I make my way through the room. As expected, I get weird glances, and some scientists even whisper to others and point at me. They try to be subtle, hiding their faces behind their clipboards or nodding their heads in my direction. But I can sense the unease in the air, it prickles my skin as I walk with my worn-down shoes across the laminate flooring.
Lab tables cover the walls. I see tabletop microscopes, filters, air cleaners, humidifiers, sterilizers, centrifuges, and equipment I don't know the names of covering the tables. Glass boxes are hanging down from the ceiling by silver tubing. There must be dozens of them. They look familiar, and I think we went over them in class a few weeks ago.
I walk up to one of the glass boxes and look inside. Embedded into rich, black soil is a plant. It's only a few inches tall, but it already has a strawberry starting to grow from one of the buds. The tubes wiggle as a green puff of air comes into the box. Slowly, the green air starts to disappear, looking as if the plant absorbed it.
"Isn't it amazing?" I turn to see a scientist standing a few feet away, watching me observe the plant.
"What is it?" I ask.
"Newly engineered air with just enough carbon dioxide to grow plants at a faster rate." He says, his lips curling into a smile.
"Oh, neat," I say, still looking into the box.
"You'll be learning more about them if you can start working in Air Purification, Mr. Cooper."
"You must be Dr. Shepard," I say, eyeing his nametag clipped to his coat. On the nametag, Dr. Shepard's dark skin stands out against the crisp background of the picture. Dr. Shepard has a clean lab coat on, and his hair is short, unlike the afro he has going on right now.
"I looked at your grades earlier today when you contacted me about this meeting. They're not the best." Dr. Shepard's dark eyebrows come together above his charcoal-colored glasses.
"I know," I take a deep breath. "My grades aren't perfect, but I have a great work ethic, and I know I would work well in one of these positions."
"Ah, I see. We have a dreamer." He jokes. The comment makes all my muscles tense up. "In all seriousness, you'll need higher marks and test scores to work here. We want to make sure all scientists have the knowledge and drive possible for this position." I see Dr. Shepard look down at my tattered clothes with a curious eye. "What's your family's occupation?"
I can feel the shame fill my body. All I want to do is lie and say I'm from a higher rank, but my appearance would sell me out quickly. I look around and study how far away the other scientists are. "Dining Hall cook," I say with a voice not loud enough for anyone to hear. "I know we're low rank, but I'm willing to get the help I need to move up."
"Do you have enough food ration tickets to hire a tutor?" He asks, his hand pawing at the hem of his lab coat.
"Uh, I mean, I can skip my meals a couple of days a week." I can feel the hunger pains at the thought.
"I see." Dr. Shepard's face falls. "You seem like a nice kid. Maybe there's a way I can be your mentor if you help keep my office clean." His finger rubs at his chin. "What do you say?"
"Oh my gosh, of course!" I hold out my hand and give him a firm handshake. "Thank you so much, Dr. Shepard."
"Well, I guess the first thing you need to do is see my office's state. Follow me."
We walk through the lab towards a long hallway, and I try to let my newfound confidence drown out the unwanted staring. Once we turn into the hallway, I notice that the doors are numbered.
"How many offices are in the lab?" I ask, looking down the seemingly endless corridor.
"Fifty, I believe. This department has forty-three scientists, but we have offices to withstand fifty."
"So, there's an office 32?" I ask, my eyebrows raised.
"Of course. Why do you ask?"
"Uh, it's my favorite number." I lie.
Could this possibly be room 32? Why would Mr. Smith have a keycard to a random office in Air Purification?
We arrive at room 17, and Dr. Shepard pulls down his nametag strapped to his collar by an extendable nametag holder. The nametag has a barcode on it along with his picture.
He puts the nametag into the scanner, and it flashes green. The door slides open to a room covered in papers and file folders. The computer desk is littered with trash and used beakers, and Petri dishes. Many of those glass boxes that the little plant was in hang from the ceiling. The tubes have the green carbon deoxidized air Mr. Shepard told me about running through them.
"This is it." Dr. Shepard motions to the room with his arms. "In all its glory."
"Wow," I try not to act overwhelmed. "It could use some tidying up."
"That's where you come in. You clean my office once a week, and I'll tutor you in math and science. Sound good?"
"Sounds great. Thank you for giving me this opportunity." I say with a smile.
"You're surely welcome. I know the lower class has got it rough here, and I believe everyone should have a chance to succeed no matter the background."
"You work on the air quality throughout the compound, correct?" I ask.
"Yes, I do. It takes a lot to keep everyone here able to breathe."
"Do you know how long it will take until we go outside?"
Dr. Shepard's eyebrows furrow. "Sadly, no. Every air sample we've taken from outside has been full of nuclear radiation, and it's lessening but slowly. I'm estimating we're looking at least another ten years."
Ten years or more? I cannot take another goddamn minute in this metal box, and I must figure out a way to prove the air is breathable.
Dr. Shepard sees my face slump. A smile grows on his face. "Don't worry. We have it good down here. The alternative is much worse. If you can become a scientist, you can help us with experiments on the outside air."
"I guess that's something to look forward to," I sigh.
How do the scientists not know that the air is breathable? Either he's lying to me, or the air is poisonous. What was the knock on the door then?
"Could there be people out there?" I ask.
He laughs, his nose scrunching. I don't know why it bothered me so much, but the fact that the idea was so absurd that it was funny makes my stomach turn. "No," He shakes his head. "The radiation outside is too high for any living thing to be able to survive."
"Are you sure?" I ask, defeated.
Dr. Shepard's eyes look at me. "Why do you ask?"
Flustered, I move my hand up to my neck. "No reason. I'm just as eager as everyone else to get out of there."
"I see." He sits down at his desk. His eye goes to the microscope sitting on top of it. "Here, come take a look." He motions me over with a wave of his hand.
I put my eye up to the lens and look inside. At first, all I see is a blur. But once Dr. Shepard changes the power of the microscope, what I'm looking at radiates with life. I see tiny organisms squirming around a petri dish, and if I remember correctly, it looks like bacteria.
"Bacteria cells?" I ask, removing my eye from the lens.
"Someone knows their single-celled organisms," Dr. Shepard jokes. "This one is called Staphylococcus aureus. The bacteria that cause staph infection." He pulls on one of the glass boxes hanging closest to his desk and swings it over to the microscope. The glass box is full of black dirt. He takes a glove out of his drawer and puts it on. Then, he pops open the box, pinching a small amount of dirt in his fingers, and puts it in the middle of the petri dish on the microscope. "Have a look," he says.
I see the bacteria swarm around the soil. But to my surprise, they shrivel up and die when they get close to it.
"It's the radiation," Dr. Shepard says. "The dirt is a sample from outside. We had a rover get it about a week ago. It's still lethal."
Does this prove the airs deadly? How in the hell was there a knock on the door if there's no one alive out there? I must find door 32. It's the only thing that will tell me the truth about what's going on.
"Oh," Is all that I allow out of my mouth.
"I'm sorry to disappoint." He says.
"It's alright," I clear my throat. "Thank you for showing me what's going on outside, even if it's not what I'd hoped. I better get going. Curfew is in an hour or so."
Dr. Shepard looks down at his watch. "I've lost track of time. I need to get going if I'm going to make it back before curfew myself."
"It's been nice meeting you," I say as I give Dr. Shepard another handshake. "When should our first appointment be?"
"How about Monday after you get out of school?"
"Sounds great. I'll see you then," I say as I step up to the door. It slides open, and I step outside.
I look down the hallway. It's deserted. I walk as quickly as I can to room 32 and pick the keycard out of my pocket. I enter it into the slot.
This is it. I'm going to find out what Mr. Smith is hiding. It all comes down to this moment.
The scanner flashes red.
"What?" I whisper under my breath. I enter the keycard again, and red flashes over the clear coating of the scanner.
"Fuck. This isn't the door."