Hours later, I wake from my stupor. The rising sun casts exaggerated, elongated shadows through the screened windows and the sound of the television--long faded into the background--stands out to me as actual words instead of muffled rumbles. I hadn't slept all night, rather lay awake trapped in the realm between wakefulness and numbness. I rub my eyes and stand up from the couch. Instantly my legs collapse beneath me as pins and needles travel up through my shins, and I fall back onto the cushions again. I wish I could say I was tired, but I'm too nervous to feel anything.
"How long have you been out here?" Matthew's low voice drifts towards me from the hallway. I tug my useless legs towards me, gasping shortly in pain. He joins me on the couch.
"All night. I couldn't sleep."
"I couldn't either," he admits around a yawn. "Are you ready for today?"
I shrug. Part of me desperately wants to take action, while another, smaller part begs me to remain here, where I know I will be safe and comfortable.
"Have you seen your mother?" He asks. I shake my head.
"She's still sleeping. Well, she is if she isn't outside for a breath of air."
"Or a nice morning stroll."
"Or a jog in the park."
We dissolve into a bit of laughter, and I press my forehead into his shoulder, taking a couple deep breaths to steady myself. His skin smells sweet and heavy. I close my eyes.
"Do you think we're going to live through this?" I mutter. Matthew sighs and lowers his forehead to my own.
"How can you ask something like that?"
"Because our chances of failure are so large." The edges of his hazel eyes turn upwards as he smiles.
"Why am I hearing this from the girl who escaped her Graduation Ceremony without a scratch? The girl who infiltrated the Pillar?" He swallows. "The girl who risked her life to spare mine?"
"Maybe that girl is gone. Maybe she's changed."
"I don't think so." He whispers, shaking his head a little. I lift my chin and we kiss. Slowly, carefully, as if someone may be watching even though we know we're all alone. I force myself to pull away, because if I didn't then I don't think I ever would. He makes me feel warm and safe and... good. But I can't feel that way. Not now, when there is so much resting on our courage and still-mindedness. I brush down my stained white t-shirt, even though there's nothing on it.
"I guess I'll prepare our last meal," I say, not knowing how else to excuse myself. Matthew sits up straighter and stares at the floor as I stand and make my way towards the kitchen.
* * *
"We have to be there in thirty minutes," my mom states matter-of-factly. The dying scent of fruit and peanut butter wafts towards us from the kitchen. "We'd better leave now."
I still can't get used to the long, scratchy fabric of my grandmother's clothes. Matthew had suggested that I wear something less recognizable than the Training Facility's uniform. After digging through piles of my grandma's old clothes, I finally found a long-sleeved sweater and some jeans that fit me. If only they were comfortable.
"Are you sure we won't need to bring anything else with us?" Matthew asks, eyeing the closet.
"If you are implying that we bring the gun, then absolutely not." My mother states sharply. I catch his eye then quickly look away, amused. Little does my mother know about Matthew hiding the weapon on his person.
"It's time," she mumbles, glancing at her watch. "Let's go." Before I get the chance to take a final glance at my old home, I'm rushed out the door and into the cold, hard morning air. The breath in my lungs freezes for a moment as I fight to adapt to my new surroundings. It's been over a week since I'd last been outside. Brick- and steel-walled buildings tower up towards the clouds in all directions. I feel extremely uneasy and vulnerable: we're in the clear path of a potential bomb.
"Lead the way, Enna," my mom whispers. I never thought I would make the trip from my grandmother's apartment to my old school again, though here I am, trailed by my mother and Matthew. As I've done countless times before, I dull my expression and walk straight-backed, purposeful. Today it won't be nearly as hard to reach my destination. Usually the streets are swarming with Members, but today they hide in their homes. Occasionally we're joined by a young child. I gather that they are heading towards the Academy of Global Doctrines to be plugged in. My throat tightens and I feel like warning them. But that would ruin the whole purpose of acting in secrecy.
I follow the familiar paths, meeting no obstacles. Soon the sidewalk curves upwards and we ascend a slight hill. Behind me, Matthew and my mother begin to breathe with much less ease. They must not be used to walking this far, like I am. Once the hill levels out, I pause in shock. A titanic crowd flocks in front of the large doors of the AGD, competing for entry. The throng is mostly comprised of young children wearing the identifiable school uniform of red and beige.
"What's going on?" Matthew wheezes. He comes up beside me and pauses mid-step. "What are they doing out there? Shouldn't they already be inside? This is their school." I stare in disbelief.
"The students could have been sent home during the bombings," my mother suggests. It makes sense to me. Mr. Sykes, the principal, must have wanted the kids out of his hair while setting up the school to have people chipped.
"Come on," I whisper. I walk stealthily towards the right side of the crowd. A ten-year-old girl with long blond hair stands on the outskirts of the group, attempting to force herself through the crowd. I watch for a few seconds as she grabs people's elbows, yanking on them to no avail.
"What's going on? Do you know what's happening?" I ask her softly.
"The doors are going to open in five minutes! I want to be plugged in first." I place both of my hands on her shoulders.
"No, you don't. They're trying to control your mind, and you can't let them. Please, run away now." She stares at me wide-eyed. "Now!"
"Enna, come on," my mother hisses, dragging me away. I turn to follow her and we hide inside a small nook set in the perimeter of the building. "What the hell is your problem? Are you trying to scare her to death?"
"I'm trying to wake her up!" I snap. "There's no use in sugar-coating the truth!"
"She's only a child!"
"Shut up." Matthew hisses, hazel eyes flaming under the glare of the sun. I've never seen him look so angry. I find myself almost taking a step back. "Are we going to help people or stand here and argue like five-year-olds?"
My mother glares at the ground and I take a few deep breaths, slightly embarrassed and ashamed. He's right, of course. We have no room for arguments.
"Come on," I mutter, leading the others back towards the crowd. We begin to push our way through the mass of children.
"What are we doing?" Mom asks indignantly.
"We'll go in with the kids and see what happens from there."
"Your plan is to walk right into the place-?"
"Just trust me."
We continue to push through the crowd until we're near the colossal front doors. Excited murmurs clash around us, impossible to decipher. In a few moments, a black-clad man with a scowl on his face appears between the doors. The crowd rises to a deafening roar then quiets down suddenly.
"You will step through in a silent, orderly fashion. Line up in front of the tables according to your last names. This should only take a moment if you do what you're told. Understand?"
"Yes sir." The children's voices chant together as if part of a single entity. It's almost as if they're already plugged in. My heart twists. The man steps back and holds open the doors as the crowd fluidly surges into the lobby. I find myself stepping onto the tile floor, carried forward by the momentum of the crowd. The school's motto-engraved onto the pillar at the end of the room-looks reinforced, as if someone had just carved over it recently. On one end of the circular room I see a long row of tables. Blank-faced men and women with sterile-looking lab coats stand behind each table, lazily holding syringes in their latex-gloved hands. A metal tub full of minuscule cylinders occupies each table. Behind every station a poster reads a different letter of the alphabet. The A station is closest to the front entrance, while the Z station is farthest. Being here again causes my hands to tremble in fear, and I blink to call away the images that begin to plague my mind.
"What's the plan?" Matthew whispers in my ear as we let the crowd carry us towards the first station. "There's no way we can make it out with all of these chips."
"Let's split up, then. I'll stand in line here, you stand in line at B. My mom will stay with me. When I give the signal-" I pinch my nose between my thumb and my forefinger "-we'll take the nearest tub of chips and leave through that door." I point towards an emergency exit door, on the far left side of the entrance. It occurs to me that the exit door on the opposite side was the same one I used to escape during my Graduation Ceremony. My stomach twists uncomfortably. Hopefully this plan will work as well as I want it to.
Matthew nods and starts towards the table next to mine. My mother stands directly behind me. About forty children wait in front of me to be chipped, about thirty in front of Matthew. I must give the signal before he reaches the table. The process occurs quickly, much more quickly than I'd like. Soon ten children from each of our lines are led by black-clothed guards towards a holding room behind the row of tables. I can catch a small glimpse of motionless children sitting on identical benches just before the door swings shut. More guards stand positioned against the walls. I'm acutely aware that one stands sentinel not ten feet from the escape door, a gun strapped across his chest by an elastic strap.
The lines progress forward again, and Matthew steps even closer to the table. Hopefully, the sea of ten-year-olds surrounding us will help to disguise our presence. My throat tightens and my hands begin to tremble. I shove them into the pockets of my baggy jeans before anyone can notice. Act normal. I lift my head and look around the room casually, as if I've never been here before. As if I haven't walked through this lobby practically every day of my life, altering every behavioral decision so as not to look suspicious in front of the security cameras. I turn my head towards the door and the nearest guard meets my eyes. For a second too long, I can't seem to look away: our gazes are held, suspended in the space between us. He smiles slowly, cruelly, and then whispers something into a portable radio. His eyes never stray from mine. My gut drops. He recognizes me.
"Now!" I shout.