9

The night after Laila was taken to quarantine, Logan and I climbed to the roof of my shack. We lay up there watching the stars shimmer beyond the shield. Logan’s arms were around me, and my head was buried in his shoulder. I’d used up all my tears already.

“Maybe she’s the wind now,” Logan said. “Maybe she’s making us cold and laughing because we don’t know it.”

I almost smiled. I could see her doing that, if it were possible.

“She’s not, Logan.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“Well, maybe she’s not. But she is safer now.”

A hovercraft flew by overhead, heading somewhere beyond the force-field fence. “I guess so.”

“You’ll be safe someday too,” Logan said, pulling me closer.

“When I die?”

“No, someone will fly you away before then. Wait and see.”

“They’d better fly you away too.”

“If they don’t, you’d better come back and visit. You’d better tell me all about it so I can pretend I’m safer too.”

I shook my head. “They can’t take me without you.”

“You still have to promise,” he said.

“Fine. I promise.”

*   *   *

It’s harder to breathe underground. I know I’m sucking enough air into my lungs because I don’t feel faint, but I clench my fists with every rise and fall of my chest. I taste air that’s too sweet and smells like antiseptic.

I hope this will get easier.

“This is the flight port, as you already know,” Cadet Waller says, gesturing to the deck around us. Red and orange lights flash everywhere. Steam spouts from vents in the floor here and there, blocking much of the hangar from view, but it seems massive. There are ships bigger than the hovercraft to my left, and a row of smaller flight pods to my right.

I glimpse a man in an orange worker’s suit over by the flight pods. He holds a hand over his eyes. I think he might be staring at the group of us.

“Follow me,” Cadet Waller says. “The Extractions from the other sectors are in the Pavilion. Commander Charlie is waiting for us to begin the welcome ceremony.”

She leads us across the port—I glimpse two more workers along the way—and through a set of sliding doors into a hallway. Dim blue lights flicker on the curved ceiling, mixing with translucent colors. They’re like stars, but a strange, fake kind of stars.

Of course the stars are fake here. The real ones are a million miles away.

I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth. It’s going to be okay; it’s going to be okay.

We follow the same corridor for a long time, as it curves and bends in places. The other Extractions are talking around me. They talk about what our meals will be like, and our beds will be like, and our lives will be like. Cadet Waller explains that we’ll divide our days between the various divisions of the Core. There are five primary ones, each devoted to a different facet of daily life. Nourishment is home to the kitchens and cafeterias; Slumber contains the living apartments; Training is where people receive education and job training; Invention is where most job centers, especially the science-related ones, are located; and Recreation offers fun and relaxation.

We’re on one of the first floors of Invention Division right now, a few levels above Restricted Division, the sixth and final division. The core of the Core. It houses the Developers and their control rooms. It’s the one place we’re not allowed to go.

I learned most of this a long time ago in school, so I don’t really listen. I count the doorways and elevator landings and stairwells we pass. I count the lights dotting the walls. I count the number of tiles on the stark white ceiling—278 so far.

I can’t make sense of this place. It looks like just another building. It looks like just another skyscraper on the Surface with a hundred corridors and a hundred rooms, but it smells different and sounds different and feels different—not hot or cold, but somewhere in between. And it goes on forever.

I’m in a never-ending building with no exits.

Finally, we turn left. We take a different corridor, and walk up a flight of stairs, and then down another short corridor. I hear voices ahead—lots and lots of voices.

The doors zip open ahead of us, and we move through them into blinding spotlights. I have to blink and hold my hand over my eyes to make the glare go away.

When it does, I see the pods floating above us. At least, they look sort of like pods, and they would be floating if they weren’t attached to the ground by spiral staircases. There are at least a hundred of them filling this massive room. The ones closer to the wall are higher than the others, so the group of them slopes downward like stadium stands. Each pod has about ten seats inside, and each is filled with Core citizens.

I think I’ve forgotten how not to stare.

I’ve seen adults before, of course. I’ve even seen lots of adults together. And I’ve also seen lots of children together.

But I’ve never seen lots of adults and children together—not like this, with adults and children together in each pod, when the adults don’t look like officials. And the kids resemble some of the adults, and they’re smiling and laughing and don’t look skinny as sticks.

They’re sitting with their families.

Something deep inside me loses a couple stitches. Some part of me that I thought was sewn tight and strong and whole, but now I’m thinking it might not be.

I wonder what it feels like to sit up there in one of those pods and know the woman on your right is your mother, and the man beside her is your father, and the kid next to you is your little sister or your older brother.

I wonder what it feels like to know you belong without having to ask.

Cadet Waller leads us across the floor beneath the viewing pods. The Extractions from the other sectors—fourteen from each—are waiting on the floor beyond the last viewing pod, near the far end of the Pavilion, surrounded by several officials and instructors. Waiting for what sort of welcome, exactly, I don’t know.

To distract myself from the fluttery feeling in my stomach, I wonder how the Developers keep enough air in the Core for everyone. It gets recycled, I suppose. Or they grow plants in special laboratories that produce enough oxygen to replenish what people use.

When we reach the other Extractions, I’m pressed into their throng. The heat of their bodies makes me feel trapped. Boys and girls with torn clothes and sweaty palms press in from either side. They look as nervous as I am.

A flicker of light catches my eye on the far wall of the room, about twenty yards away from our group. There’s a single glass box over there, about the size of my shack on the Surface. I’m not sure what it’s for.

My eyes wander up from the glass box. A last, lone viewing pod juts out from the wall above the box. It’s smaller than the others. This one doesn’t have a staircase rising from the floor; instead, it’s attached to the wall by a short ramp. It looks empty right now.

Above the pod is a large screen on the wall. It shows a faint image, the symbol of the Core: a full moon embossed in bronze.

“There are ten thousand one hundred and ninety-two people here,” someone whispers.

I turn. Ariadne, the girl who sat next to me on the hovercraft, is standing beside me. She’s scanning each of the viewing pods, her eyes wide, the clearest green I’ve ever seen.

“Six thousand nine hundred and fifteen adults, and three thousand two hundred and seventy-seven children,” she says, her voice soft, as if she’s talking to herself instead of me. “Five thousand one hundred and twenty-seven females, and five thousand and sixty-five males. Two point seven percent are potentially Unstable.”

My brows furrow. Is she counting everyone?

“Please quiet down.” Cadet Waller hushes us with a hand.

Behind us, the families in the viewing pods quiet too. The lights in the room darken, casting everything in shadow except for the wall screen with the Core symbol. A solitary light comes on—a thin red beam pointed at the viewing pod beneath the wall screen.

A man in a slick navy uniform steps into view, followed by four other figures in white. These must be the five Developers, the descendents of the scientists who headed Project Rebuild. After the Developers quelled the people’s rebellion and established the work camps to secure their power, they passed their rule onto their offspring when they died, instead of letting new leaders be elected. They didn’t want new blood ruining their system.

The man in the navy uniform is the only one who stands beneath the light. His face and upper torso replace the symbol of the Core on the screen. He’s older than I expected, with many creases around his mouth and on his forehead. His hair is a light shade of gray, flowing in waves down to his neck. His cheeks are a bit pale. He wears white gloves, and clasps his hands against his stomach.

Something magnifies his hoarse, cracking voice when he speaks: “Extractions, welcome to the Core.”

His eyes are a dull shade, but they burn through the screen, and a stone settles in my stomach.

This must be Commander Charlie, the superior of the five Developers. The leader of the planet. He’s the man who decided my fate, who picked death for Logan.

“Some of you,” he says, “we picked for your intelligence—for your capacity to understand things the average person cannot, for your potential to become the scientists and physicians we need so desperately. Others we picked for your physical strength—for your stature and your build, for your potential to become the patrolmen we need to keep order and keep everyone safe. We’ve observed you your whole life, both in the classroom and in the work camps.”

I bite my lip, thinking of the cam-bots that monitored us all the time back on the Surface. I wonder how much Commander Charlie has seen of all that footage.

He continues: “Your reactions to the situation you experienced during your Extraction test, as well as the brain scans we collected, were a final checkpoint, an assurance of the qualities we already knew you possessed. We have high hopes that you will offer much to our society.”

His words draw applause from the people in the viewing pods, and mutters of relief and excitement from the people around me. But Commander Charlie’s lips stretch into a smile that sends an icy shiver down my spine.

When the clapping dies down, he continues, “Of course, you’ve all come from societies very different from this one. You have much to learn, and many skills that need to be strengthened. Over the next week, you will participate in training sessions that will help with this. They will elevate each area of your Promise—intelligence, strength, and obedience—and raise you to a level of worth that will stay with you for the rest of your lives. We will mold you into perfect citizens. And you will reap the rewards: safety, nourishment, and the freedom to help us decide what your place will be in this society, based on your particular skills.

“Traditionally, Extraction training begins in this room.” He gestures below him. “Notice the glass box in front of you.”

I glance at the box against the wall. The glass lights up, a soft blue color, that helps me see inside better. It has a metal door at its back wall and a small square of red glass on its front.

“In a moment,” Commander Charlie says, “the box won’t be empty. Through its back door, two officials will lead in an Unstable, fresh from the Karum treatment facility on the Surface. This is your chance to help us cleanse our society of their dangerous presence. There will be one Unstable for each of you to shoot.”

I’m a statue made of steel. He doesn’t mean … he can’t mean …

“We strive to cure all Unstables,” he says. “We strive to make them better. We do everything within our power, but some people who were once useful to our society endanger us. Some we cannot cure. Hopeless cases … must be exterminated. I ask you, my dear Extractions, to assist me in sending them on their departure. It is for the safety of all, and it is an honor.”

The Core crowd hoots and hollers.

I don’t want to believe him.

“Each of you will receive a gun,” he says. “A small part of the box will open, allowing you to aim your gun inside. All you must do is pull the trigger. This will be your first contribution to Core society.”

The other Extractions mutter in worry, their faces pale again in the dark. Across the floor, more instructors and officials are descending from a pod stairwell, carrying crates with the guns they’ll pass out to us.

“If you refuse to do this,” Commander Charlie says, “then it is possible we were mistaken about your Promise. Maybe you are intelligent or physically strong, but if you cannot understand that this is the safe and right thing to do, it’s possible you are one of them. It’s possible you are Unstable, and therefore a threat to our society.” He sighs and rubs his temple. “Regrettably, in the case of your refusal, we will not be able to send you home. An … alternative method of departure will have to be used. I truly hope you will make the right decision.”

No one says a word. No one moves an inch.

My heart beats fast—fast—faster.

He’s going to kill us. I thought he’d send us back to our old sectors. Then I wouldn’t be alone anymore. I’d die at twenty, but at least I’d have a couple more years with Logan.

Now I wouldn’t have any more years. I would become nothing, because that’s what death is. We don’t go somewhere better when we die; we go nowhere. We become nothing.

I ball my hands into fists. I have to do what he wants. I can’t die tonight.

Beside me, tears sparkle in Ariadne’s eyes. “It’s not fair,” she whispers.

I almost ask her what she really expected. Our whole lives have been unfair.

“Let’s form a single-file line,” Cadet Waller says, directing us to move with the help of the other instructors and the officials.

I don’t want to move, but shoulders bump mine and jostle me, separating me from Ariadne. I don’t want to kill, not now, not ever. But I have to do this or I’ll die.

So will Logan. I won’t be able to save him.

Someone presses a gun into my palm. An instructor, I think. She’s a young woman with short black hair and a metal stud in her nose. “Don’t be scared, sweetie,” she says, and smiles.

I swallow, staring at the weapon in my hand. The barrel is thin and dark.

I’ll pretend it’s fake. I’ll pretend this is a dream.

A boy from another sector knocks his shoulder into mine as he gets behind me in line. “Sorry,” he says quickly, and gulps. His clean, pale palms are different from the callused fingers of Surface kids.

“Are you nervous?” I ask.

“Aren’t you?”

I press my lips together. Give him the slightest nod of my head.

I’m terrified of the guilt, of the ache in my gut, and the shaky hands. Of not being able to breathe because I will have killed someone. I’ll have killed a person.

“But … we don’t have a choice.” My voice cracks a little. “We have to do it, even if we’re scared. We have to save ourselves.”

The boy looks at his gun and doesn’t say anything.

The door at the back of the glass box opens, and pain stabs at my chest. Two officials with green light beaming from their helmet visors lead in the first Unstable.

This one is a man, probably middle-aged. Cloth covers his eyes and nose and part of his mouth, but he’s bitten through most of it.

Bruises and mud cover his bony legs. His torn clothes reveal places I don’t wish to see on anyone. And there is blood: on his fingernails; on his raw, bare feet; and trickling from cuts on his wrists and calves.

Bile threatens to fill my mouth. I swallow again and again to make it go down.

His wrists are already clasped in chains. One of the officials attaches the shackles to a small brass ring in the roof of the compartment, chaining him to the ceiling so he can’t move much at all. But he’s still trying.

The square of red glass on the front of the box slides to the left, leaving an opening for a gun. I can hear him sobbing.

“Whoever would like to go first may begin,” Commander Charlie says. “Impress me.”

Please don’t make me do this.

The girl at the front of the line waits several moments, then steps aside to let someone take her place.

A boy takes a hesitant step closer to the glass box, lifting his gun to shoot. But his hand shakes. He’s too afraid.

I wonder if I should go first. I wonder if I should shove my way to the front, aim, and fire, so I’ll be remembered. So I’ll prove my obedience in front of everyone and in front of Commander Charlie.

But my feet won’t budge.

My hands won’t move.

My heart won’t stop fluttering.

Crack.

Red splatters all over the glass. My eyes widen.

The shot didn’t come from one of the Extractions at the front of the line. It came from a boy standing well off to the side, a solid fifty feet away from the small hole in the glass. Yet he made a perfect shot.

The Unstable inside the box is limp as a wet rag now, hanging from the ceiling by his shackles.

The shooter turns and grins at us, a sly, cocky grin. He’s wearing a tight gray suit, a belt with gun holsters, green gloves, and knee-high black boots. His blond hair sticks up a little. His gun still smokes.

“See? That’s how you do it,” he says.

He must be an official-in-training. That’s the only way he could shoot like that, kill like that, and still smile like that.

“Thank you, Sam, for that lovely demonstration,” Commander Charlie says on the wall screen, his eyes full of approval. “Extractions, it’s your turn. Prove you are Promising.”

Cadet Waller and the other instructors move to the front of the line, and direct the kids to begin. They have to wait for an official to bring in a new Unstable first, though. They have to wait for the dead one to be taken away.

I tighten my hold on my gun. I don’t want to shoot, but I have to. It’s my life or the life of an Unstable.

They’re dangerous, anyway. It’s like Commander Charlie said: It isn’t safe for them to be allowed to live.

One by one, each Extraction in line steps forward, pulls the trigger, and flinches at the gunshot. The glass box turns into a river of red and black chunks. Officials drag bodies away and return with fresh, living ones. The Unstables slip on the bloody floor as they’re chained to the brass ring in the ceiling.

People are talking, laughing, cheering in the viewing pods. The sound makes me sick to my stomach.

Ariadne fires. Her arm shakes so badly she nearly drops her weapon. But her fire blasts a man’s head to bits. She’s led away by an instructor to one of the nearest pods, where all the Extractions are going once they’ve finished.

The girl in front of me walks away, and it’s my turn.

“As soon as your Unstable is inside, you can go ahead,” Cadet Waller says to me. Her smile isn’t as warm as I’d like it to be; it’s full of expectancy.

I hold my breath as two officials bring in a new Unstable. A woman. I stare at the brass ring where her chains will go, afraid to look at her face too closely.

Behind me, the boy with the glasses is breathing loud. Heavy. I risk a glance at him. His face is white as a cotton sheet.

“What’s your name?” I ask, to distract myself.

He takes a hoarse breath. “Oliver.”

“Clementine, your Unstable is ready,” Cadet Waller says.

I take a shaky breath. “Don’t think, Oliver.”

I take a step forward. Then another, until I’m only three feet away from the hole in the glass.

Gritting my teeth, I raise my weapon. Now I can’t help but stare at the face of my Unstable. She’s bitten off so much of the cloth, I can see one of her eyes. It’s the color of the sky, and tears trickle from its corner. She struggles to get her hands out of the shackles, but they’re too strong for her.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t do this if I’m looking at her, if she seems real and not dangerous at all.

I have to do this. I’ve come all this way.

I open one eye, only enough to check that my gun is still aimed at her face through the hole. When I shut it again, I block out her sky blue eye from my mind and focus on the crowd’s voices echoing in my ears. My heart’s beating a thousand times a minute, and my hands are sweaty, but I have to shoot. It’s the only way I’ll be allowed to stay here, and that’s the only way I might be able to save Logan. I have to save him. I have to.

My finger almost slips when I pull the trigger. But not quite.

The shot rings in my ears. The recoil makes me stagger back two steps, breathing fast.

My Unstable screams. I force myself to look at her.

Blood trickles from her side, so the bullet must have grazed her. But she isn’t dead. She’s slipping out of her shackles somehow. My limbs freeze up.

One of the officials who brought her moves to stop her, but he’s not fast enough. She breaks free all the way and half-stumbles, half-lunges for his neck.

Mutters and shouts peal through the crowd. I can’t say a word. I can’t do anything.

A second shot rings out. Her body slumps to the floor behind the glass. The official tucks his gun back into its holster, looking disgusted.

The crowd all around me is silent. On the balcony, Commander Charlie purses his lips.

I didn’t kill her. Someone else did.

He’s going to kill me.

“What a shame,” Charlie says. “Your fellow Extractions played a key role in the protection of our society, while you failed.”

He’s going to kill me.

I’m shaking so badly, I don’t think it’s ever going to stop. This can’t be it. This can’t be over.

Please.

You have to let me stay.

“Still, your efforts will be rewarded.” He gives me an odd smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You were willing to shoot her, at least.”

The crowd goes wild. Relief stills some of my trembling, but not all of it.

“Come on,” a voice says. The young woman with the metal stud in her nose slips a hand around my wrist to guide me to the stands.

My legs feel like rubber when I walk, and every breath trips on its way out. I’m safe. I didn’t kill her.

But I still feel sick. I almost did.