Chapter Seven

A guard could be by at any second, or even one of the Premes, so I step quickly inside and flip on the light, let the door close behind me. The thumping inside my chest is fast and pronounced… I got in.

I got in.

A glance around the room brings to mind the Mean floors, particularly my own: utilitarian, nothing more. No glowing plastic, no pristine shade of white. Just a stack of orange crates sitting in a concrete corner. And the ladder. I stare at it and breathe.

Months and months and months of focused, concentrated effort have led me to this moment. It makes everything else feel inconsequential, even my plan to leave Eleven for another compound before jobs are chosen. For the first time in my life, I am going to see what it looks like aboveground. To that place where Jack was sent. To that place where there is too much space, too much light for me to comprehend. And as far as I know, I will be the only person of my generation to see it.

The truth is, I should have been spending the past few months working on a plan—something definite—regarding how I will break free from my compound. How I will break into another. Which compound that should be. Instead, I have been consumed with this pet project, a burning, inexplicable desire to see the outside world displacing all reason.

Suddenly, I sway with anticipation. Or maybe it’s nerves. Whatever it is, I give myself a shake; I grit my teeth.

Be strong, Eve.

I slap my right cheek, then my left. Better.

One boot starts up the ladder, then the next. Up and up until the emergency exit is within my reach. There is no lock, nothing but a smooth sheet of plywood hinged at one end. I stare at it and frown. What if someone is inside the Oracle right now? Unlikely, I know that. It serves no function that I know of, not since they stopped using it as a novelty for children below.

So a shaky hand shoots up—shoots up and strokes it, finds that it is rougher than it looks. With another breath, I gently push, push. Hinges creak, and I smile. It is opening—it is actually opening. I am almost inside the Oracle.

I shove it all the way back, and there is a flash of light, one that makes my eyes squeeze shut, one that makes me fall backward. Down. I land hard on the floor with a thud, and the wind is knocked from my lungs. Excitement is replaced by pain radiating to all extremities, and I struggle to breathe.

What’s worse is that when I open my eyes, I see nothing but blazing white. So I blink and I blink, and finally spots of black appear, and finally the spots of black pool into one large spot that opens to reveal the room around me.

Okay. I am not hurt, not seriously, and other than seeing shots of electricity when I blink, my vision is fine. It had been blinding, though, whatever it was that made me fall. Surely it wasn’t the sun. If it was, I know why the field trips to the Oracle were canceled. They said it would happen. The earth would grow more and more barren; the sun would burn brighter and brighter. We are not safe from it even under a protective barrier.

Do I dare venture up again?

A silly question, one that makes me smirk. It isn’t just the months I’ve spent trying to get here. It’s the years I’ve spent poring over books that describe the world up there. It’s the heart-wrenching knowledge that my little brother took his last breaths there. I am tethered to it, even if I don’t want to be. Tethered, intrigued, repelled, and a jumble of a million other emotions.

Stomach muscles draw me upright, and I start toward the ladder once more. But now I am more careful. Each step burns brighter than the last, and so I go slowly; I give my eyes time to adjust. Just as my head nears the emergency door, it happens again. This time I turn away and squeeze my eyes shut. This time I don’t let go of the ladder. Instead I climb another step, even as the inside of my eyelids burn red, even as I feel warmth pressed against my cheek.

So it is the sun, a burning ball of fire indeed. I take a few moments to collect myself, then open my eyes a sliver.

It isn’t so bad, so long as I turn away. With my heart pounding in my ears, my hands reach up and through the door, onto the gritty floor of the Oracle itself. Muscles spring into action, and I hoist myself up. I crouch above Compound Eleven.

I crouch above Compound Eleven. It isn’t something I ever thought I would experience.

My eyes are still squeezed into slits, and I am afraid to open them. I don’t know why. Perhaps it is fear of shooting white-hot pain through my retinas, but maybe it is more than that. Maybe I am afraid of seeing a red, grotesque plain littered with bones. Or maybe I am afraid that this quest won’t make me feel any closer to Jack. Or that there is nothing interesting to see up here in this curious, dirty, warm place. Maybe it is better to stay as I am, full of accomplishment at making it here, and, more importantly, full of hope that something more beautiful than compound life persists in the world.

Lemon juice, Eve. The pain won’t be as bad this time. And so what if the Oracle is a disappointment? All of Eleven is a disappointment. What’s the difference?

So I open them slowly, keeping them trained on the floor, where the light is dullest. I can tell without looking up that it is brighter here than anywhere in the entire compound, even the fifth floor. I have never in all my sixteen years had so much brightness filtering through my pupils. Perhaps they will burst.

But after what feels like hours, my eyes adjust. I blink, and they open wide, still staring at the planks running below my boots.

I take a deep breath and lift my gaze.

I haven’t moved in more than a minute, and I’m not sure my heart is pumping properly, I feel so faint. When I swallow, it feels like acid burning my throat.

In front of me is a slanted wall made of nothing but a thick sheet of glass in the shape of a triangle. And through the glass is the most magnificent thing I have ever seen.

When movement finally finds me, I inch forward, barely daring to breathe. Barely daring to blink. What if I do and all of it is gone? What if it’s a dream that I wake from? Never to return again…

But the floor underfoot is true, and one step turns into several, and finally…finally the glass wall is in front of me, and I raise both hands—I reach out and touch it. My fingers draw back at its warmth, but then they relax into it. Not burning hot, no. Just warm. A special technology, I remember. One that protects us from the murderous heat out there.

Out there. It might be dangerous out there. It might be killer and cruel. But it is poetry. It is artistry. It is grace.

It is life like I have never known.

There is no low-hanging ceiling. No broken lightbulbs. No unending concrete. There is no waste of red and no collection of bones.

I stare through the glass at a cord of brown that clings to the Oracle just left of my fingertips. From it bursts flaps of vivid green. Like no green I have ever seen. It is electric, and it is alive. Beyond it is a solid-looking growth with haggard skin, one that has soldiered through the earth perfectly linear, one that bursts into a million different offshoots as it reaches for the sky. Olive circles coat it at all angles, shuddering constantly, swaying in imperfect, perfect rhythm.

I have seen it before, in my books. It’s a tree. I am sure of it.

Something black and violent bursts from behind it, and I jump, I swear, but then I see what it is and I smile, then laugh. I laugh for a long time as my eyes watch it go, as they find another, as they seek out even more. Birds. They must be birds. They can fly, and not many creatures can, according to my sixth-grade teacher. Insects can, but they are tiny, barely visible. Yes, those are birds.

So much freedom, so much latitude, so much space. I close my eyes and picture myself flying with them, my belly skimming the green on the tree, the breeze pushing my hair back and filling my nose. Tickling my skin. But I know the sun would scald me and the heat would suffocate me, and it is a wonder that even the birds can survive.

That scalding sun that shoved me down the stairs and filled my eyes with white-hot pain remains behind me, and I am careful to keep my gaze away from it. I have no need to look that way, not right now. Next time. There is enough to see here on this side of the Oracle. There is more to see than I could have ever imagined.

I take a seat and push my palms into the glass. I watch the birds. I watch the circles of green sway and tick. I watch the colors mix and mingle and change with every movement.

I thought it was better to be caged and alive.

I thought wrong.