8

000.175.19.01.00

My blood turns to frozen tar. Over the course of a second, I register what feels like a thousand thoughts: I’m in danger. They know my name. I don’t have my Numbers.

He betrayed me.

The Enforcer stands from his desk, knocking the edge with his knee. His chair scrapes backward.

I bolt.

My shoulder clips Skelley Chase as I slam through the swinging glass door with both hands, fleeing the sounds of frantic shuffles behind me. My legs feel like weighted baggage and my arms shake almost as fast as my unnerved heartbeats. I sprint across the entry, eyes fixed upon the exit.

Oh God, oh, God, oh, God . . . The desperate plea sounds over and over. I dare a look over my shoulder just as the Enforcer tackles me. I scream.

We fall to the ground and the back of my head cracks against the marble. My body tumbles to a limp stop, pinned under his weight. Pain overtakes all sensation. I shut my eyes, but flashes of light and thick blackness invade my vision. I groan. My head rolls to the side. The cold marble soothes my flushed cheek as every zing of panic ebbs into a thick pool of surrender.

God . . .

The Enforcer moves to the side, holding my arms with one hand. My wrist bones press against each other, grinding, bruising. My head throbs. I moan. “Stop.”

I need to hold my head. It pulses, begging for relief. The grip relents and I pull my arms close to my body. He must know I can’t flee now. I curl into a ball and slide my shaking fingers up my cheeks, through my hair, and around my head.

“Only a Radical would run like that,” the Enforcer says. “Thank you, Mr. Chase.”

“Is everything okay?” I know this voice—Rat Nose. Her rasp comes as an odd comfort and her next words sound confused. “She can’t be a Radical. She’s been meeting with Mentor Trevor Rain for her Last Year.”

“She’s a Radical. Unregistered, at that.”

Skelly Chase’s voice erases my agony. I open my eyes. “Traitor . . .” I intended to scream at him, but my voice is weak, pinched by too many negative emotions.

Rat Nose looks between us with a frown.

Blood pounds inside my head so I close my eyes again, taking a deep breath. The Enforcer hauls me to my feet, but my legs are still weak.

“Stand up,” he grunts, but I bounce on useless puppet legs until he throws me over his shoulder. Humiliated, I squirm, despite the continued ache in my head, and he sets me back on my feet. I cooperate this time, swaying a little, but determined not to crumple.

“Take me to my parents.” They must be back by now. Mother will know what to do. I close my eyes against ripples of nausea.

“You’re going to the containment center until we set up a hearing.”

“A hearing?” I’m dizzy. Is this really happening? “I’ve lived in Unity my entire life. I was born here. An Enforcer checked my Clock just last week!” But I know better than to think he’ll listen. I watched that other Enforcer drag Frenchie away.

I look at Skelley Chase. I may have never finished schooling and I may have wasted my life, but I inherited my Mother’s cunning and it’s not hard to see his plan. “You’re using me for a good story.” Chilled fury rises inside.

He just stares down at me with a creased brow and his lips pursed to one side. He pulls the sentra from his pocket and holds it in front of my face. “Press this.”

I let out a sharp, “Ha!”

He grabs my bruised wrist and presses the button with my palm. I yank my hand away. “Yes.” He smiles now and returns the sentra to his pocket. “I’m getting a good story.”

He turns and walks away. Rat Nose trots behind him with a nervous glance over her shoulder. The Enforcer yanks me toward the exit.

How did this happen?

I don’t register the trudge to the containment center until the Enforcer shoves me into a cell made up of bars and a single wooden bench. “What happens now?” I lean against the bars. My heart pounds my chest. “Can I see my parents?”

“You get a hearing tomorrow morning. You’ll see them then . . . if they come.” The Enforcer walks into a different room and out of sight.

“They don’t even know I’m here!” I cry after him. “You have to tell them!”

He doesn’t respond. A shiver races down my spine and I twitch as goose bumps follow like a swift shadow. Why didn’t I suspect Skelley Chase—a famous biographer knowing all my secrets and wanting to help? How stupid could I be?

I lower myself onto the bench. I should have seen it coming. I was too desperate—desperate to trust, desperate to share my story, desperate to tame my restless dragon. I trusted the wrong person.

Or was my mistake in trusting You, God?

Hasn’t He seen my fears of the Wall? My desperation to help Radicals? Why would He do this to me? Is it because I took the Bible verses out of my biography?

“Why would You do this?” He and I seldom talk unless I’m angry. I tried to be nice to Him on the hospital floor last week, when I asked Him to do something with my dwindling time. But I think when He decided to form Parvin Brielle Blackwater He wrote my story on a pitch-black canvas with a stark ending.

I’m in a cell and will be given a hearing tomorrow—me, with nothing to my name. Yet now I’m a criminal. Will my village turn up to save me?

The bench is rough against my clothing. I sit on the floor, curled against the one wall not made of bars. I’ve never joined in the world’s ability to throw the topic of death around in flippant afternoon chatter. I can’t treat death lightly because Reid and I have never known when we’ll die. Without knowing, I can’t prepare myself—not for my own death or for his. Is this how people lived before Numbers? Uncertain? Fearful?

I pull my knees close and rest my forehead on them. My stomach growls, I swallow some tears to feed it. As my thoughts swirl themselves into a hopeless stupor, I think of nothing. It’s calming. I’ve heard men can do it—think about nothing—and women aren’t supposed to be able to, but I must have stolen a few of Reid’s triplet genes.

I drift in and out of consciousness, aware of the growing hardness of the floor and agony in my head. It’s pulsing again. Someone once said falling asleep can be dangerous with a head injury. Right now, I don’t mind the idea of danger. My thoughts go blank. I’m running back from Nether Town. It’s raining. I trip and land in mud, startling myself awake, only to drift back into a dream of Mother arriving at my cell.

She’s here. She can fix it. She’s Mother.

The rays of dawn arrive with a clatter on the bars of my door. I look around and my heart slips. Mother’s not here. No one is, except an Enforcer with a stern face. He opens my door and pulls me to my feet. I’m still groggy and the saliva in my mouth feels thick. It’s hard to swallow.

His face spins a bit before I’m able to focus. Are all Enforcers cold and stoic? Are they trained that way? Don’t they have hearts?

He leads me out of the containment center and into a black beetle car small enough to fit three people and squeeze through the narrow streets of Unity Village. I pass the painted gold backward E on the exterior. We climb inside and it moves with a high-pitched electric whine toward the village square.

Is this what other Radicals experienced? Did they feel alone and ashamed? Wonder who would show up at their hearing? Now more than ever, I’m thankful I vouched at hearings, even if I never succeeded. At least the Radicals had someone on their side.

Mud squelches beneath the wheels. “This is my first time in a car,” I say to my Enforcer. Someone might as well know.

We arrive at the square at 5:20 a.m.—the hour most people in Unity rise to make the most of their Numbers. I’m led to the weathered, wooden platform in the center, surrounded by bare dogwood trees, due to bloom any day. Will I even see them?

We walk up the warped steps next to the empty vegetable stand. Master Gardener Harman isn’t here yet. I wish he were, to attest I grew up in Unity, but my parents will testify.

On top of the platform, flanked by two Enforcers, I wipe the sweat off my hands before looking up. The twelve people at the base of my guilty podium are all I have to show for my empty life. More than half are probably here out of curiosity. They want to see if I’ll cry or plead, scream or faint, freeze or run.

I square my shoulders and look out at them. I’ll explain what happened. I’ll remind them who I am. I’ll show them I’m worth saving.

I scan the faces. My chin quivers of its own accord and I bite my lip. Mother’s not here. I would have spotted her in a moment. Is she ashamed of me? Father’s here, though. He stands in the center of the tiny crowd. The Newtons aren’t present, but I meet the eyes of the young Enforcer who helped repair their roof thatch. His mouth forms a grim line and his eyes slant downward. A tiny crease brings his eyebrows together. I don’t remember him looking so sad before.

“Parvin Brielle Blackwater is reported of being an unregistered Radical,” the black Enforcer beside me says in a detached voice. Can’t he at least act like I’m human instead of talking like I’m an old potato? I want to smash his Clock and see how he talks then. “Is there anyone to vouch for her Clock?”

I don’t even get a moment to defend myself. No Radicals ever do. Words push against my throat, but I must let others speak first.

The black Enforcer stares ahead without a twitch. The Enforcer on my left gives my arm a tiny squeeze. Father stares past me with a set jaw.

I imagine him running at the platform and thrashing the Enforcers for my freedom, but he stands stiff and silent. Isn’t he going to save me? The stillness of raw morning drifts around us.

“She was born and raised in Unity Village,” Father finally says.

And I’m your daughter. This means far more to me than being raised in Unity.

“I went to school with her.” It’s Dusten Grunt, speaking from the back of the crowd. People turn to look at him and he shrugs. “I’m just sayin’ she’s been here as long as me.”

How could I have allowed my loathing to have sunk so deep for Dusten? He’s standing up for me when all I’ve ever wanted to do is kick him.

“Has anyone seen her Numbers?” The Enforcer returns to the original question. No matter how well people know me, it all comes down to the Clock. My palms sweat even though the morning air numbs the tip of my nose.

Both Father and Dusten say, “I have.”

My skin tingles and, instead of relief at their support, I grow nervous. My heart beats faster.

“They were empty Numbers,” Dusten says and I renew my desire to kick him. “She’s only got a few months left.”

“I’ve seen her Clock, too.”

I jerk my head around at this voice. Trevor Rain stands to the side of the platform, hands in his pockets. I’ve never seen him stand before. He has a tiny potbelly and unusually short legs for his height. “I’m her Mentor.”

Bless his heart for coming out of his office. He wants to be a good Mentor after all. The Enforcers attend to him because his voice and words hold weight. Why don’t they talk to the Mentors before holding an unbalanced hearing like they do? Government is government, I suppose. That doesn’t mean it’s efficient.

“I vouch for her Clock,” Trevor says.

I can’t stop the growing panic. Even if he can vouch for my Clock, then I’ll need to produce my Clock, but it’s in Nether Town with Reid.

More people trickle into the square and I glare at them. Stop staring! I want off the platform. I want to be safe in Father’s arms or asking Mother why she’s not here.

A voice from beneath a green fedora startles my already frantic heartbeat. “She’s been sharing a Clock with her brother.”

I zone in on Skelley Chase, who appears from the shadow of the glasswork shop. He looks bored even though he just revealed my life-protected secret to the people of my village, the Enforcers, and my Mentor.

Trevor Rain’s eyes transform into question marks and he looks between Skelley Chase and me. I’ve never considered myself a violent person, but thoughts of murder enter my mind.

What if I take Skelley Chase down before they send me across the Wall? But I can’t change his Numbers. I couldn’t murder Skelley Chase even if I made him swallow dynamite.

“She’s been sharing Numbers?” someone asks. “How?”

“They’re twins with one Clock.” Skelley Chase shrugs. “Passing it back and forth.”

I can see Trevor piecing together this news with my odd answers and the meetings without my Clock.

“Isn’t Reid in the hospital?” someone asks. “They wouldn’t let him in unless he had a Clock, right?”

My mouth goes dry. If people don’t know whose Clock it is, the Enforcers will terminate services. Reid will go back into the Radical Ward. My mind screeches like the train whistle. God, do something!

“But whose is it originally?” the same person asks. “Is it hers or Reid’s?”

Mine! Mine! Mine! But I can’t forget the memory of Reid’s pale body on the straw mattress, blood dripping down his skin. He needs these months.

Skelley Chase looks at me for several silent seconds. He’s giving me a choice. I clench and unclench my fists. My body shivers like when I stepped into the Radical Ward. He turns to the Enforcers and takes a breath.

“It’s Reid’s!” I lurch from the Enforcers’ grasp.

The freedom behind my force startles me and I stumble off the platform. I land on my hands and knees in the mud. “It’s Reid’s Clock!” I look at the surprised faces above.

Father pushes through the stunned crowd. The Enforcers jump from the platform after me, but I launch myself into Father’s open arms. I want to be held before I die now that I’ve sealed my fate.

He holds me tight to his chest and I inhale the scent of sawdust and fresh soap from his clothes. I add my own dose of tears and a choked sob, “It’s Reid’s.” Father strokes my hair.

The Enforcers yank me out of his embrace and back onto the platform. “You stole your brother’s Clock?” The black Enforcer grips my arm tighter than before.

I gulp once and nod, daring Skelley Chase to refute my next words. “I’m a Radical.”

Father shrinks to the back of the murmuring crowd, covering his face with his hands. My heart breaks for him.

“How dare you!” a woman shrieks. “You’ve been offsetting our system? Our village resources are diluted by unregistered Radicals.”

“We don’t make our goods to support rebellion.” The milkman chimes in. “At least other Radicals were accidental.”

“My boy could have gone to school earlier if you hadn’t taken his opening,” a pudgy lady squawks. I’ve bought fabric from her store once a month the past four years.

I bite back a sob as my own people assume I’ve taken advantage of them my entire life. They don’t remember me. I hid in my own life too long to imprint their memories.

I used to think Unity Village was my safe haven. I was so wrong. My village comes together when it’s against something—and right now they’re against me.

With a hard swallow, I stand with my chin up like a brick wall because I’m finally standing for something: Reid. My family. Radicals.

I am strong. I am confident.

At last, my restless dragon is tamed.