As Darius leads Mahlah through the Underground corridors, she stops at an open door. Inside the room, a group of people in their early twenties are listening to loud, heavy-bass music. A few people smile at her. One, the woman with the thin, tattooed arms, waves.
A couple makes out in the corner. Mahlah gawks at their intertwined tongues and forbidden, frisky hands. It takes her breath away.
Darius yanks Mahlah away from the door.
A teenaged boy with flaming-red hair, freckles, and piercing green eyes approaches Mahlah. He’s wearing a black T-shirt, black jeans, and black sneakers, all highlighting his uniqueness.
“Hi, I’m Matias,” he says, reaching out his hand to shake Mahlah’s. It’s a gesture she’s never seen before — she doesn’t know what he wants her to do with his hand. She doesn’t want to double-tap it because this guy is a stranger.
Darius comes over and swats the guy’s hand down. “Knock it off,” he warns. “She’s only thirteen.”
Matias mumbles an apology, all the while smiling at Mahlah, who blushes.
Darius leads her further down the hallway. “You shouldn’t have seen all that. You’re way too young.”
“Shouldn’t have seen that? I shouldn’t be down here, period.” Mahlah says. “Mom’s going to kill you when she finds out.”
Darius sees Aysa is within earshot — he shoots him a look not to intervene. Aysa complies against his better judgment and heads into a room.
“We have to talk,” Darius says to Mahlah. “About Mom.”
“How did you find this place?” Mahlah is too consumed by curiosity to be hooked by Darius’s bait.
“Don’t worry about that right now.”
“You’ve made a real mess, Darius.”
“I’ll fix it,” Darius promises.
Mahlah rolls her eyes.
Aysa comes back out and runs up to Darius. He grabs him and pulls him all the way to his office.
“Matias,” Aysa calls out over his shoulder, “watch the girl.”
“Absolutely not!” Darius shouts.
“Just keep her occupied,” Aysa tells Matias. “I need a minute with this one. Now!”
Matias leads Mahlah into the treats room as Aysa throws Darius into the office, slams the door shut behind them, and locks it.
“What’s the matter with you?” Darius asks.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back here after what I just saw.”
“What? Why? Why wouldn’t I?”
Aysa switches on the large screen in his office. He flips through channels then stops on one before he leans in to turn up the volume. The public service announcement has already started, and it shows Abram sitting in the doctor’s office with his hand over a blood-soaked bandage on his side. Abram is mid-spiel. “… His name is Darius Anah. He’s just under six feet tall. He has brown, buzz-cut hair and very blue eyes.” Abram removes the bandage, exposes the gash from the letter opener, and winces in pain. “He’s armed and very dangerous.”
A photo of Darius flashes on the screen before a Datura newscaster takes over. “Most Daturas are nonviolent, but sometimes, I’m afraid to say, sometimes we pass a point of no return.” Security footage (footage that will no doubt be a surprise to all Zalmons) shows Darius running through the parking lot, forcing that driver from his vehicle, and assaulting him. The newscaster continues, “Darius’s motives are unclear. He speaks nonsense, and we fear that he will stop at nothing to ruin everything … to ruin Zalmon. Together, we cannot let that happen. If you spot him, keep your distance and report him to authorities at once.” The newscaster glances at Abram, who nods approval at the messaging.
Finally, a montage of happy, healthy families graces the screen. “In Zalmon, we unite.” The photo of Darius reappears. “If you capture Darius Anah, you will be rewarded threefold: a Finance-Free Card, a Vocation Break Card, and a Quiet End Retirement Package.”
Aysa mutes the rest of the announcement. He fixes his stare on Darius, while Darius stares at his own image up on the massive screen.
“Hand it over,” Aysa orders.
“I don’t have a weapon. It was his own letter opener.”
“Savage,” Aysa declares.
“Are you going to turn me in?”
“I have half a mind to.”
Darius puts both of his hands out in front of him as if Aysa is ready to tie him up and drag him in.
Aysa clubs him on the side of the head.
“You’re anti-Zalmon!” Darius yells at Aysa. “You disagree with everything! Why do you care what he says? What is the point of this place, anyway?”
“It’s about people who stay. People who stay and manage to live freely. Outsiders fuel our rebellion.”
Darius laughs at the word.
Aysa ignores him. “We’re people who stand tall and don’t Leave.”
“Listen to me, Aysa.” Darius is more serious than he’s ever been. “No one’s ever really Left.”
Aysa clubs him on the side of the head again. “What is wrong with you? Make sense, Datura.”
Darius leans right up to his face, ignoring the insult. “Dead! They’re all dead.”
Aysa slams Darius into a chair. “Dead? Dead from Leaving? What’s out there?”
“Nobody knows what’s out there because nobody’s Left!”
Aysa goes to smack Darius again, but Darius catches his hand. “Are you listening to me, Aysa? No. One. Has. Ever. Left. Zalmon. All those people who we thought Left? They all died … unexpectedly. They were deaths Zalmon couldn’t predict because Zalmon doesn’t know! It only knows what’s self-serving. And anyone who witnessed those deaths suffers tracking and warning shots of pain for the rest of their lives to keep them silent!”
“Datura.” Aysa gets it.
“What?” Mahlah’s small voice comes through the locked door. Doom devours Darius.
“Go away, Mahlah!” Darius calls. “You should be with Freckles.”
“Open the door!” Mahlah yells.
Aysa nods to Darius.
As soon as it’s unlocked —
“Dad is dead?” Mahlah’s eyes well with tears.
Darius is at a loss for words.
“Yes, Mahlah.” Aysa steps up. “Your father is dead.”
“Who are you? Stop talking to me. Is Dad dead, Darius?”
Darius nods.
Mahlah falls slowly to the ground. “And that’s why Mom is Datura?”
“Your mother is dead too, Mahlah,” says Aysa.
Darius is enraged. “What is the matter with you, man?!”
Darius and Mahlah stand close at Sela’s burial site, near the edge of the hidden entrance to the Underground. Darius puts his arm around his little sister. At first, the contact catches her off guard, but then she leans into it. She cries.
“She saved your life,” Darius says.
“When?” Mahlah asks.
“The night you were all torn up from your illness. She blasted into the room and stuck some insulin in your belly when Priya and I were too scared to do it.”
The silence is thick. It lasts longer than either of them can stand, but they don’t know what to say.
“I think we’re alone now,” Mahlah says. “No Gramps. No Grams. No father. No mother. What do they do with kids like us?”
“I’m almost an adult, Mahlah. I will take care of you.”
“I heard the PSA, Darius. We’re in big trouble, aren’t we?”
“You’re not. But I might be.”