I blink and rub the jagged scar hidden beneath the sleeve of my shirt. It’s still tender, two months later.
“You have a message for Fiona Tarsis?” The militiaman asks, snapping my attention back to him. “What kind of message? Is she overdue for a cleaning?” He starts laughing and elbows his companion, a black-haired man I have never seen before. “Get it? The dentist’s son coming to tell someone they’re overdue for … Never mind.” He rolls his shoulders and scowls. “She’s sort of busy today.”
“It’s a really, really important message. Life-or-death important,” I explain.
Brow furrowed, he studies me for a moment before taking a walkie-talkie from his belt and saying, “Hey, Tommy. Tell Dreyden Bowen to come to the east side of the wall, exterior. Someone needs to talk to him.”
“No way, man. He’s busy today,” a voice crackles over the walkie-talkie.
“I know he’s busy, but it’s a matter of life or death. Just send him out for five minutes.”
I fold my arms over my tackle vest and tap my toe, studying the militiaman—Rory is his name. I never forget a name. “Rory, I need Fiona Tarsis. Why did you ask for Dreyden Bowen to come out here?” I know—knew—Dreyden Bowen. And he’s definitely not the person I am looking for.
“Where Bowen is, she is.” There’s a yearning in Rory’s voice, a tightening in his eyes. He clears his throat and I might as well have disappeared as his focus returns to the lifeless, silent city.
Dreyden Bowen takes his time coming, sauntering down the street with his arm around someone, and a rifle in his free hand. He’s dressed in clean blue jeans and a long-sleeved pinstripe button-down shirt, and his dark-brown hair is brushed neatly to the side, barely covering a short patch of hair above his left ear. He sees me standing with one shoulder pressed against the wall, and his body tenses. His eyes quickly move over every millimeter of me, lingering momentarily on my gun, and then on the knife attached to my belt.
The person with him is wearing tan pants and a dark-blue blouse that does nothing to hide her curves. Her long, blond bangs are being held out of her face by a dark-blue headband and all I can think is, She’s so dead if the raiders see her! She hasn’t once looked at my face because she is too intent on my right hand. I glance at her hand, at her ten-legged tattoo, before flashing my tattoo-free hand at her. Finally, she looks at me—right at my face—and her brown eyes go wide.
I glare at her and clear my throat. “It’s Jack,” I growl, gaze darting to Rory and his partner to see if they’ve noticed. They have. Rory’s eyes are traveling over my entire body, searching for the subtle signs that I am, in fact, female. His partner is doing the same—both of them squinting at my flat, vest-covered chest, like if they look hard enough, they might see something.
“Do you know this kid?” Bowen asks Fo.
“Yes! It’s Jacqui Bloom,” Fo says, grinning.
Bowen frowns and looks me up and down again, and then focuses on my face. “Jacqui Bloom!” He smiles and clasps my shoulders in his hands. And then he laughs and hugs me.
I stand there, rigid and confused, bulky pockets of my tackle vest digging into my bony ribs. This is the guy who used to steal my homemade school lunch because he was too embarrassed to tell the teacher that he couldn’t afford to buy a hot lunch and too broke to make a bag lunch. I was so scared of him beating me up if I reported it that I started packing two lunches—one for him and one for me.
My mom used to leave a turkey—fully cooked, with all the trimmings—on his front porch every Thanksgiving afternoon. She would have Dean and Steve ring the doorbell and run. I was sworn to secrecy.
“Jacqui Bloom. How have you been?” he asks, pushing me to arms’ distance. He is so happy to see me that I wonder if he knew it was my family all those years ago giving him Thanksgiving dinner.
“Um . . .” I have no words. How have I been? I’ve been a prisoner in my own home for several years, pretending to be a boy, training to run for my life, living on near-starvation rations. I slide my hand over my buzzed hair and shrug. “I’ve been better.”
“I almost didn’t recognize you. You look like a boy. And you’re … thinner,” Bowen says.
“Yeah. That’s sort of an inevitable consequence of living in a world without food,” I say. He laughs. So do Rory and his black-haired partner. And then I’m being smothered with another hug—Fo. I put my arms around her and hug back. She’s soft, a sign of being well fed. “I need to talk to you,” I say, breathing in the floral smell of shampoo.
She lets go and looks at me. “Thanks for the peanut-butter crackers. I didn’t know how big a sacrifice they were when you gave them to me.”
Peanut-butter crackers. My mouth waters at the thought. “You’re welcome. Where can we talk?” I glance at Rory in time to catch him checking out my butt. My cheeks flame. So do his. I grab Fiona’s elbow and pull her away, and Bowen follows.
When we’re out of Rory’s earshot, I blurt, “So, you know your mom used to live inside the wall, right?”
Fiona glances at Bowen before nodding.
“Well,” I continue, “when they kicked her out, she came to my family for help. She didn’t know what to do or how to survive outside the wall. Dean said he’d help her.”
The color drains from Fiona’s cheeks, and her dark eyes lose focus.
“The problem is,” I say past a lump in my throat, “my brother never came back.”
“Your brother, Dean, agreed to leave your home to help Fo’s mom survive outside the wall?” Bowen asks, studying me.
I nod. “He was going to take her out of the city and try to find a safe place for her to live. There are rumors of safe places.”
The beginning of a smile tugs at Bowen’s mouth and he looks at Fo. “Do you know what this means?”
She blinks slowly and takes a deep breath. “It means,” she answers, voice trembling, “that there’s a chance she’s alive.”
“And I’m hoping you will help me find them,” I say, explaining the reason for my visit.
Bowen throws his arms around Fo and spins her in a hug. I stare at them and wonder how they can look seventeen when I look twelve. I don’t want to be a little boy anymore. I want to be like them. Normal. Happy. Free. Myself—female. He kisses her, right on the lips, and my eyes pop open wider. Dreyden Bowen and Fiona Tarsis are together? A couple? I rub my nose and try not to look as shocked as I’m feeling. They’re the last two people from junior high that I’d match up.
Bowen sets Fo down and she clasps my hand in hers. “I’ll help you find them,” she says. “But come inside the wall with us. We have something important we need to do first, and then we’ll pack.”
I shake my head. “I’ll wait here.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod.
“All right,” Bowen says, tugging Fo down the street. “Give us three hours and we’ll meet you here.”
I watch them walk down the street, watch how Fo’s hips swing when she moves, and call, “Fo, dress like a boy!”
“Are you sure you won’t come with us?” she asks, looking at me over her shoulder.
“Positive.” I will never set foot inside the wall.
My hair fell long, thick, and wavy over my shoulders. I wore my best dress. I filed my fingernails the night before and took a sponge bath. My teeth were brushed and flossed, my face was scrubbed, I wore makeup, and I held a plate of apricot scones made with dried apricots, since there was no more fresh produce.
“Remember to smile,” my mother said, wedging Dad’s Glock into the waistband of her floral-print dress. She straightened Chris’s tie, then combed his hair away from his forehead with her red fingernails. She painted her nails only for special occasions. I guess this was a special occasion.
She turned back to me and tucked my hair behind my ears. Her hands were cold and damp. “Don’t forget to hold the plate of scones out to Governor Soneschen!” she whispered.
I hardly heard her. I was too intent on the militia stationed at the south gate. A few of them looked really good in their brown uniforms and short hair, with stripes shaved above their ears. The new legal age to marry was fifteen. I was less than a year away from fifteen, and one of the militiamen—the one I’d been staring at the longest—was checking me out. And then I realized all of them were staring at me. Some of them started laughing. One man was trying to get others to bet on whether they’d let me and my mom inside the wall. No one would bet with him. They didn’t want to lose their food rations.
My face started to burn. My soft, round fingers squeezed the plate of scones a little too hard and I crushed the corner of one. Little white crumbs spilled out around my polished black shoes.
“Careful,” Dad said, brushing a few crumbs from my belly. He looked at his watch and then looked through the open gate. People were inside the walled city, peering out at us with curious, guarded eyes. Green things were in there too, and hummingbirds darted past the entrance, their wings making a high-pitched buzzing noise. Dad combed his fingers through his thick black hair and then looked at his watch again. He frowned and took a tiny step inside the gate. The two militia standing guard stepped in front of him, blocking entry. “No admittance without the governor’s approval. And no civilian guns inside the wall,” one of the men warned, looking pointedly at my mom.
Dad stepped back, and the guards retreated to the sides of the entry, but they didn’t take their eyes from him.
Inside the wall, two men flanked by four guards dressed in stiff, black uniforms were walking toward us. One man was tall, the other short. The short man saw my dad and smiled. His shoes clicked on the clean-swept pavement as he approached.
“Hello, Dr. Bloom. Thank you for coming to speak with me on this glorious Sunday,” the short man called as they approached.
“Hello, Governor Soneschen.” My dad put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me forward the slightest bit.
Governor Soneschen stopped at the gate’s entrance, one tiny step away from being on the outside of the walled city, and smiled down at me like I was ten, not fourteen. “Who do we have here?” he asked. I played the part of obedient daughter and did just what I was told. I held the plate out to him and smiled my prettiest smile.
“This is my daughter, Jacqui,” Dad said. I held the plate of scones closer to the governor, waiting for him to take it, and cleared my throat. He stared at me as if he didn’t even see the food. “Remember we talked about my daughter last week?” Dad added after an awkward silence.
I looked at my dad. I didn’t know he’d been to the wall before.
“Oh, yes. I do recall that.” The governor blinked and let his gaze sweep quickly over me, but he ignored the scones.
“This is my son, and my wife.” Dad took his hand from my shoulder and touched Chris’s head, then put it on Mom’s arm. Mom smiled and held her hand out to the governor. He didn’t shake it. Dad leaned toward the governor and said in a quiet voice, “You said to come speak to you today, and to bring my wife, my youngest son, and my daughter. I talked things over with my three older boys, and they understand that there aren’t enough resources inside the wall for them to live here with us, but they can fend for themselves. They just need to know that the rest of their family is safe. That is … I am hoping that you have changed your mind?”
The governor looked at me again, looked at my brother, and then looked at Mom. His lips thinned and disappeared, sucked tight against his teeth. “I absolutely have changed my mind,” he said.
Dad whimpered and reached out for the governor’s hand, clasping it. “Thank you, sir. I knew you wouldn’t be the type of man to make my wife and children live out here. I am so grateful you’ve reconsidered.”
The governor pulled his hand away from Dad. “This city has a great need for someone with your dental and medical background. We want you to live here with us and be the official oral surgeon. Your son is welcome to live here too.” He ruffled my little brother’s dark curls. “And, in exchange for your services to those of us privileged enough to live inside the wall, your daughter is also welcome to live here with you. Or your wife. Your choice.”
Dad’s body went taut. He took a step closer to the governor, so that his worn brown boots were on the line dividing the outer city from the walled city. The men surrounding the governor gripped their guns and leaned toward Dad. The militia guarding the gate did the same.
“But the gangs,” Dad whispered, as if I couldn’t hear him. “They’re moving farther and farther from the city. It’s only a matter of days before they make their way to my neighborhood! They’re looting everything! Even the . . .” He looked at me and his bottom lip quivered. “Your city is the only place where my wife and daughter will be safe!”
“But we have rules, Dr. Bloom. If I break them for you, I will have to break them for everybody.” The governor folded his arms over his chest. “And if I break them for everybody, we won’t survive. Our survival is dependent on balance. If there are too many mouths to feed, the balance will be ruined, and we will run out of food.”
“That’s not true! If you have more people working, there will be more food produced, and more—”
“Your daughter and your wife”—the governor snapped, cutting off Dad— “do not meet our health requirements. They are obese. They will consume more food than others. They have a higher risk of acquiring diabetes. They have a much higher risk of stroke, heart attack, kidney failure. We can’t afford to waste food on anyone who has these potential health risks.”
Dad took another step forward, so that the toes of his worn boots were touching the toes of the governor’s glossy brown loafers. The governor’s guards swung their guns up point-blank at my father. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“Waste food? This isn’t about how much food they will or will not eat! They are not safe out here!” Dad yelled. Silence slammed the world. Everyone inside the walled city stopped what they were doing to stare at us. Behind me, the militia had frozen in place, their eyes riveted on my father. “The beasts are getting more desperate for food and are becoming more violent! The Fecs are all turning into beasts! The gangs are growing in number! They’ve moved from the inner city and are now raiding the suburbs for food, weapons, and women! My daughter . . .” Dad whimpered and a sob tore at his chest.
“Can I have a moment with you, Governor Soneschen?” The tall man said. I’d forgotten about him, standing silently one step behind the governor, blue eyes narrowed, with his arms folded across his chest.
“Not now, Dr. Grayson,” the governor snapped, not even bothering to look at the man.
The doctor unfolded his arms, stepped forward, and loomed over the governor. “Yes, now, Jacoby. This is important! If I have more help taking care of the comatose beasts in the lab, if I have another person with an extensive medical background helping me do research, I might be able to find a cure for the beasts.”
The governor slowly turned and studied the doctor. “There is no cure. There is no hope for the beasts and Fecs, and you know it. Finding a cure is just a fantasy! A waste of time! I will not risk this city’s entire population’s dying from starvation by letting too many people in just to appease your irrational fantasy.”
“The entire population wouldn’t die from starvation. We will only be letting four more people in!” the doctor yelled. “And it isn’t a ‘fantasy’! It’s called hope.”
The governor glared at the doctor. “Please don’t make me order you to stand down, Charlie. It is imperative to our survival that we do not over-populate! Look at these people!” His eyes swept over mom and me again. “They are obese! They will deplete our food supply! We cannot—”
“I’m leaving,” Mom blurted, her voice choked. Dad turned to her, eyes startled. She pressed her soft hand to his damp cheek. “Take care of my babies. The boys will take care of me.” She grabbed me and hugged me to her, squishing me against her full, dough-soft belly, pressing her tear-covered cheek against mine. She did the same with my little brother. And then she pushed the two of us forward a step, turned, and started weaving her way through the silent militia.
Governor Soneschen smiled and nodded his head. “Never underestimate the love of a mother. It looks like the decision has been made for you, Dr. Bloom.” He swept his arm toward the city and stepped aside. “Welcome to our city.”
Dad clenched his hands into fists, took a small step back, and glared at the governor and doctor. “There is no way I will help you and your privileged class of people. I will never leave any part of my family out here in exchange for a life inside your wall. My family is my life. We will never set foot inside your city!”
The governor blinked twice and his arm dropped. Dad grabbed me, jerking me backward, and the plate of scones fell and scattered over the ground. The militia started cheering as Dad dragged my brother and me toward my mother.
“Wait, Dr. Bloom,” Dr. Grayson called. Dad ignored him.
That was the last time I left my home. That was also the last day my father’s hair was black. When he woke up the next morning, it was as white as snow. Three days later, we cut off my hair.