Independent Study
Page 30

Or am I?
I look around and my heart begins to pound. Something is wrong. I take several steps forward and run smack into a barrier. A wall. I turn and race in the other direction. Five steps. Ten. Another wall. One wall meets another. Then another.
A cage that cannot be seen is no less there than if the walls were made of steel.
The Testing candidates chained to the wall stand still as stone. In their eyes I see terror combined with a hunger that can only be sated by freedom. It’s a look I know. The same one I have seen in my own reflector. A look I must wear now.
I stumble backward, yelling that I can’t help them. But I can try.
The walls of my prison are cold to the touch. The chill seeps through my fingers. I shiver, pull my hand away, and the cold recedes. I step closer to the center of the confined space and feel warmer. Less frightened. Safe. A step closer to the wall, and panic gnaws my stomach.
And I realize—the walls are constructed of my terror. To escape, I will have to not only face, but defeat, my fear.
Nausea rolls through me as I push my hand against the wall. A drop of water hits the floor. Then another, until it becomes a steady stream. Water pools at my feet. The wall weakens beneath my hands. I push against the barrier and feel it tremble, but it does not break. I take several steps toward the center of the space and prepare to run as a voice inside tells me to stop. That what I’m doing is dangerous. That breaking this wall of ice could result in my death.
I know.
I accept.
I run.
The ice shatters on impact—as do the Testing candidates’ chains. I feel shards of ice slice my flesh. The pain I feel makes it hard to see whether the others have survived. But when I put my head on the blood-streaked earth, I know it doesn’t matter. Whether we are dead or alive, we are better off because we are free.
I jolt awake and run my fingers along the five Testing scars. They burn just like the shards in my dream. I slide out of bed, turn on the light, and pace the length of my bedroom. When the dream doesn’t fade, I run my hand along the wall. I feel the same chill I did in my nightmare. But these walls are real. Hours ago, hiding behind the walls of this room made me feel safe. I now see it for what it is. A prison. The safety is just an illusion. No matter how careful I am or how good my grades are, I will never be free of the threat Dr. Barnes and his system present. None of us will be until Dr. Barnes and his officials are removed from power.
Unlike in many of my nightmares, none of the faces in my dream were familiar. But I know who they are. Future candidates. Current University students. People who, like my friend Daileen, are at this moment seated at their families’ kitchen tables or in their residence rooms, studying late into the night, hoping to ace the next test. To get closer to their dream. They don’t know that the people who safeguard that dream are making choices that could lead to their deaths. But I do. No matter the excuses I make or the fear I feel, I cannot turn away from that knowledge. The president must win her vote. Dr. Barnes must be removed from power. The Testing must end.
So far the rebels have not found the evidence the president needs to win the vote and defeat Dr. Barnes. If the vote fails, the other rebel faction will attack, and—if the man I overheard is correct—Dr. Barnes’s team will be ready for them. They will do whatever it takes to crush those who wish to end The Testing, and they will sentence the rebels, generations of candidates, and perhaps even the president and her staff to death. I may not be able to find the information that can keep this from happening, but I have to try.
I glance at the clock. It is just past midnight. There’s plenty of time to prepare and search the abandoned airfield for information the rebels can use. I strip off my nightwear and pull on my clothes. Lacing my boots, I come up with a plan. First stop, the residence library. Last week, I left without learning the exact boundaries of the airfield. During the Induction, I logged the coordinates into the Transit Communicator, but the airfield is large. It would be best to have a more complete picture of the area I will be searching.
The hour is early enough that students are still in the hangout room when I walk by. After looking through the library rooms, I find a tattered atlas of the former fifty United States shelved near the floor. The old airfield base is marked on a detailed map of Kansas, along with its longitude and latitude. Step one complete.
An empty lab completes step two. I find several boxes of matches and a small penlight. I also unearth a narrow, razor-sharp folding knife used to cut up plants. It isn’t much, but between this knife and the one in my pocket, I will have protection if I run into trouble.
Back in my rooms, I slide the signaling receiver I built into my pocket. While I do not want to put Tomas in danger, I know he will want to be by my side. Studying the map, I plug the coordinates for the center of the airfield into the Transit Communicator. The machine calculates and tells me it is just shy of ten miles away. If Tomas and I leave within the hour, we should be able to reach it, look around, and get back to our residences before our absence is noticed. I place the map book in the bottom of my bag and then add the change of clothes, food, water, and matches on top. I hold the penlight in my hand. The knives go in the side pocket. Just in case.
When the clock strikes one, I open my door, step into the hall, and listen for sounds from my fellow students. There is silence.
The moon isn’t as bright as last week, which makes it easier to cross the residence property without notice. A crack of a stick makes me jump, but when I squint into the darkness, I see nothing. Thanks to the penlight, I find my bicycle quickly. As I start to wheel it away, I hear a shuffling noise.
My heart leaps to my throat as a figure fills the doorway and says, “I knew you were up to something. Wait until I tell Professor Holt about this.”
Chapter 17
DAMONE.
I hit the signal button in my pocket and then lift my penlight to his smirking face.
“You scared me to death.” I force a quiet laugh. “What are you doing out here?”
He leans against the doorway. “I think you’re the one who should be answering that question.”
Tension floods me, but I shrug as though I haven’t any concern. “I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. So I thought I’d take a ride.”
“That’s a good lie.” He laughs. “I wonder if Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt will believe it. They might, unless you have something in that bag that clues them in to what you’re really doing.”
I clutch the strap of the bag and pull it tight against me. If Dr. Barnes gets ahold of the Transit Communicator . . .
“What’s in the bag, Cia?” Damone pushes off the wall and saunters forward. “Griffin thinks whatever’s in there must be pretty important, since you never let the thing out of your sight.”
“Why does either of you care what I have in my bag?” I shift the bag on my shoulder so I can reach the side pocket. Sliding my hand inside, I say, “Are you failing your classes and need to borrow my homework?”
My fingers close around the handle of the lab knife as Damone’s eyes narrow. “We don’t need a colony brat’s help to pass. We’re the ones who deserve to be here. We should be the ones working with the president. Griffin figures whoever turns you in will be able to request that assignment. He thought you’d never have the guts to venture out after dark, so he went to bed.” Damone smiles. “But I know you better.”
“I saved your life,” I whisper, hoping Tomas has received my signal. That he is at this moment looking for me.
“I saved myself.” Anger crackles in his voice. “The snake only attacked because of you. And I was only in danger of being left behind at the second challenge because Will and Enzo were too weak to do what was necessary to ensure we’d win. Your lack of leadership made them weak. You don’t belong here, and I’m going to be the one who removes you for good.”
I grab my bicycle and throw it forward as Damone lunges for me. He lets out a shout of anger. The clatter of metal and a yelp of pain give me a burst of satisfaction as I flick off my light and dart to the left side of the shed. I slide the knife free of my bag and swing it toward the shadows in front of me as I try to think my way out of this.
But there is no way out. Even if I fight my way past Damone and flee, he will report me to Professor Holt. Dr. Barnes will send officials to look for me. Tomas and I only planned to escape if our disappearance would be covered by the outbreak of fighting. People might then believe we were casualties of that action. Now there is no chance for my flight to go unnoticed. My family could be punished, as could Tomas and all the students who dared to be my friends. If I turn myself in, they might be safe. Unless Dr. Barnes gives me the drug used in The Testing interview. Unlike during my Testing days, I have nothing to counteract its effects. My secrets will be in the open. My family still at risk. Right now the only war that is being waged is here. No matter what happens, there will be consequences to this night.
I race for the moonlit doorway. Hands grab me from behind and yank me back. Instinctively, I lash out with the knife. I feel the blade make contact with fabric and flesh, and Damone screams. His grip loosens and I run.
I am in the doorway when I hear the footsteps. I run faster, out of the shed, toward the bridge. I stumble over a small bush. That one moment is all it takes for Damone to catch me. His body hits mine, and we crash to the ground. I roll to the side and am stopped as hands close around my throat from behind and squeeze.
I can’t breathe. Pressure builds in my chest. The world goes hazy around me. I claw with my free hand at the fingers digging into my flesh and then do the only thing I can do. I grip the knife and stab behind me with the last of my energy.
The knife punches into flesh. I hear a gasp as the hands release their hold on my throat. Blood runs over my hand. The knife plunges deeper. Air slides into my lungs. There is a loud thunk, and Damone’s body slumps on top of me.
Gasping for breath, I struggle out from under the weight and hear “Let me help you.”
Not Tomas’s voice. Raffe.
I look up. He is standing in front of me holding a large wooden bat in one hand. The other is held out in front of him. I close my hand around his and climb to my feet. Only then do I look down at the body sprawled on the ground.
“Is he dead?” It hurts to speak, and my voice sounds unfamiliar. Low. Harsh. Swollen.
“Not yet.” Raffe puts the bat on the ground, grabs Damone’s legs, and begins to drag him. Not toward the residence and the help that lies inside, but away.
“What are you doing?”
“We can’t risk Damone telling Professor Holt about this.”
“We can’t prevent him from talking.”
“Yes.” Raffe looks up at me. “We can. No one will question a student disappearing from the University. Especially one who is barely making the grade, like Damone. Students know failure requires a price. Some are too cowardly to pay it.”
“I don’t understand,” I whisper. But I do. Raffe is dragging Damone to the ravine. If Damone isn’t dead now, he will be when he hits the bottom. “We can’t kill him.”
Raffe stops at the edge of the crevice. “If we don’t, we’ll both suffer the consequences. I’m willing to face Professor Holt if you are. Your choice.” He puts his foot on Damone’s back and waits.
My choice. Save Damone or myself. Kill or be killed.
I wish Tomas were here to help me make this choice. I know the one I should make. All my life I’ve been taught to respect each and every life. To do whatever is necessary to preserve it.
Moonlight glistens off the blood on my hands. I picture myself running inside. Calling for a doctor. Following the teachings my parents instilled in me.
But I don’t. I tell myself Damone has lost too much blood to be helped. That no matter the choice I make, he will die. Both are true. But I know in my heart the real reason behind my choice. Choosing to attempt to save Damone’s life means ending my own.
I look out into the darkness, willing Tomas to step from the shadows. When he doesn’t, I take a deep breath, swallow the bile building in my throat, and nod.
That one movement is all it takes. Raffe puts his arms under Damone and rolls Damone onto his back. Someone lets out a low groan. Raffe from exertion? Damone from pain? Before I can find out, Raffe gives one final push, and Damone’s body plunges over the edge.
I can’t breathe. Bending over, I put my hands on my legs and force air in and out of my lungs. Without missing a beat, Raffe walks back across the grass, grabs the bat, and drops it into the emptiness below. “Okay. Let’s get going.”
There is no guilt in his voice. No concern for the life he has just taken. None of the tears that make my body tremble and my eyes burn.
“Cia. We have to go.” He grabs my arm and pulls me toward the shed. “We don’t want to be out here if someone inside starts wondering what the shouting was that woke them up. If we don’t want to get caught, we have to get out of here now.”
I flinch at the icy tone of Raffe’s voice. Nausea rocks my stomach. A knife slick with blood is clutched in my hand. A body lies broken at the bottom of the ravine. Raffe appears unfazed as he picks my bike off the shed floor and wheels it out to me. A moment later, he returns with one of his own.
“Where are we going?”
“You’re not going anywhere with him.”
Tomas.
I turn and see him step out of the darkness into a patch of moonlight. His face is filled with worry and rage as he looks from me to the knife in my hands to Raffe.
“I should have figured you’d turn up.” Raffe takes a step toward Tomas. “Did you and Cia plan to meet tonight, or did the two of you figure out some kind of emergency contact method?” When neither of us answers, Raffe shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. Cia didn’t need you to come to her rescue. She saved herself from Damone. The two of us were just about to head out. Do you want to come with us?”