• Chapter One


    I sat in the corner, knees hugged to my chest, long, black silk hair hanging over my verdant green eyes blazing with anger. I rarely blinked and I never looked away from the metal door. The door was white, like bones picked clean by the birds.

    My roommate sat on the lower bunk of the bed. I could see her out of the corner of my eye. She nervously fingered a strand of her wavy blonde hair while chewing her lip nervously, an old habit that emerged when she was afraid. "Ashta," she whimpered quietly, "Can’t you just let them do their job and go?"

    I didn't bother to turn my head to look at her. "I don’t want them doing this to me anymore, Claire," I answered her flatly. "They’re not going to know that unless I tell them."

    "But do you have to—"

    "Claire," I irritably interrupted the words she had been about to repeat for the hundredth time that day. "I told you, I’m not hurting anybody; I’m just making myself heard. I’m not letting them stick anything into my veins tonight."

    Claire shook her head but said nothing, her fingers returning to the strand of hair hanging in front of her pale cerulean blue eyes.

    We sat in silence for a few moments that seemed to stretch into an eternity.

    Finally, I heard the familiar sound of the key in the lock, and the door began to swing inwards.
    Every muscle in my body instantly tensed up. The sight of them made me angry, but a new feeling tickled at my belly as they stepped into the room—apprehension. I forced myself to relax as much as I could. I pushed my knees a little farther from my chest and unclenched my hands.

    One of them was a man, the other a young woman who looked to be about in her twenties. Her skin was tanned, her eyes were brown, and her dark brunette hair fell around her shoulders in loose ringlets. Both of them wore spotless white coats reaching to their knees, with deep pockets on each side at hip level.

    The objects in those pockets were what I wanted to stop.

    I glared at the woman as she came towards me. I saw the question in her eyes, why are you so upset? but she didn't ask. Well, she should have. She was so unsuspecting, showing no concern. She had no idea it was her that made me so upset.

    She crouched down in front of me and reached for my arm. "My name is Susan," she introduced herself as she gently pulled my arm straight and turned up the soft underside. She reached into her right pocket. I stared at her hand. I knew what she was going to pull out, and I forced myself not to tear her hand out of that pocket right then and there. I clenched and unclenched my jaw.

    She withdrew her hand from her pocket, a clear syringe filled with clear liquid clutched in her fingers. Wait...

    She flicked the cap off the needle with her thumb. Hold on…

    Turning the syringe upside down so the needle faced the roof, she carefully pushed on the plunger until any excess air was gone from the inside. I watched it intently.

    She moved the syringe down to my arm. Now!

    As quickly as my muscles would allow me, I reached up and smacked the syringe out of her unsuspecting grip.

    She gasped in surprise, wide, confused eyes following the syringe on its journey to the floor. It landed in the dark blue carpet with a soft thud, a few feet to my right. Susan's lips parted in open shock, her eyes huge when she turned her gaze back on me.

    "You're not doing this to me anymore," I whispered, my gaze unwavering, my voice steady. Then I stood, stepped up to the syringe on the floor, and crushed it under my heel. Normally I took off my shoes at the door, but today I’d put them back on for just this purpose. I didn’t want shards of plastic, or whatever these syringes were made of, in my skin. The syringe cracked then broke under my weight. The liquid soaked into the carpet.

    When I turned back to Susan, her eyes were wide and shining with fear, as if she expected me to turn on her next. I had no intentions of any such thing. "Dave..." she whispered her partner's name. She took a shaky breath and opened her mouth to call louder.

    I turned to face the bearded man, who was standing a few steps behind Susan. His face was set in a small, disapproving frown, and he came towards me. I suddenly realized I hadn’t thought past wrecking the syringe. What would they do now? I was stupid to think they’d just leave without trying.

    Dave slipped his hand into one of the deep pockets of his lab coat. I wondered what was in there. A phone? A walkie-talkie? A weapon? My heart started beating faster, even as I wondered to myself what I had to fear. It wasn’t like he was going to hurt me… was he?

    Each time he took a step forward, I took a step back, glancing around for… anything, really, and nothing. My mind was blank as to what to do, how to handle this situation. Soon I was backed into a corner, fighting to keep my breath steady. As far as I knew, no one had ever defied these guys, and I had no clue what the punishment would be. You don’t know they’ll punish you. Just let them do their thing and go. I should have listened to that bit of sanity in my conscience, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I was sick of their injections without explanations. I couldn’t make myself fall back into passivity.

    Backed into a corner, with Dave still advancing with hand in pocket, I panicked. My eyes quickly flitted around the room, stopping to rest on random objects for hardly a second. My breathing quickened until I started hyperventilating. Was I overreacting? Yes. Did I know why? No. All I knew—I did not want anything more injected into my body.

    Dave stopped just out of reach, seeing I was on the edge of a panic attack, and extended his free hand towards me, palm outwards. His other hand, though, he kept in his pocket. Glancing down at his hidden hand, I swallowed heavily, and a finger twitched nervously at my side.
    “Don’t panic, Ashta. Neither of us is going to hurt you.” He spoke slowly, soothingly, turning his hand so his palm was facing upwards, beckoning calmly to me. “Take a deep breath, come over here, and sit down for a bit. Okay? Relax.”

    I shook my head, pushing myself back against the wall. “No,” I muttered. “I’m not letting you touch me.” Then I screamed, “I’m not letting you touch me!” and tried to shove past him, push him over, anything. But as soon as I approached him, he stepped to the side, his hand flashing out of his pocket, and punctured the skin of my neck with a needle. I felt the cold liquid flowing into my body, and suddenly I felt lightheaded. My vision swam, several copies of the room suddenly swirling in front of my eyes. I blinked, trying to clear it, but when I reopened them, it was only worse. Everything was fuzzy and indistinct. I was vaguely aware of Claire calling my name, but everything sounded so distant, like I was floating farther and farther away, unable to come back.

    My body sagged, my legs failing me, and I thought I felt someone catch me before I crumpled to the floor. “Ashta, you’ll be okay. I promise. You’ll be okay…” Claire’s voice trailed away, a foggy sleep taking its place.

    ~*~


    I woke up in the morning, in my bed, trying to figure out why my head was pounding so intensely. I slowly sat up and slid back until my back rested against the headboard, groaning and rubbing my temples.

    Morning sunlight streamed through the window. The spot where my neck met my left shoulder was strangely stiff, and I rubbed it, frowning.

    I looked up as Claire walked in from the kitchen bearing a bowl of yellow liquid.

    "Morning, sleepyhead," she greeted me lightly as she passed the bowl up to me.

    I took it and took a whiff of the steaming contents. "Mmm... chicken noodle soup." I closed my eyes and sipped a spoonful as Claire made her way up the ladder to my mattress. "You're the best, Claire."

    "I know," Claire replied jokingly. She settled down on the other end of the bed.

    After downing a few more spoons of my delicious and much-needed breakfast, I asked, somewhat reluctantly, "So, what happened last night?"

    She stared at me like I was crazy. "You don't remember?"

    I shook my head. Ouch.

    Her face darkened. It was like a cloud had descended on her head and was about to dump all its rain over her parade. Clearly whatever I'd done was not a pretty memory. She looked away. "You decided you were going to ‘stand up for yourself’," she answered quietly and clenched her jaw.

    She didn't need to elaborate. "Oh, right..." It all came rushing back to me, every horribly
    humiliating moment of it. How I’d panicked and overreacted, made a big scene…
    I sighed. And they'd still given me my daily shots.

    "It... wasn't a pretty sight," Claire said, barely above a whisper.

    I knew what she was really thinking. It was terrifying.

    "I was afraid you would wind up getting hurt," she continued, "Or worse."

    I didn't know what to say and just shoved another spoonful of soup into my mouth.

    "What's so bad about them, anyway?" she stared intently into my eyes.

    I couldn't tell if she was curious, angry, or both. "About who?" I asked, buying myself time.

    "The needles," she replied in a no-nonsense tone that said, duh, stop stalling. When I simply took another slow, time-consuming bite, she rolled her eyes and said, "Just answer the question, Ashta."

    The problem was, I wasn't sure how to answer the question. Yeah, I knew the answer in my head, but how could I put it all into words? It was more like a feeling, rather than simple knowledge. I guess it all boiled down to one idea.

    "It's not right. We don't know what it is they put in us, and... it's not right."

    "How do you know what's right and what's not when it's all you've ever known?"

    I let out my breath in a quiet sigh. "You just know," I answered, tipping the bowl to my lips to get the last dregs. "It's my body. My body is my property."

    Just then, Claire's wristwatch beeped. "We should get downstairs," I said. Claire started down the ladder while I shifted onto my knees to crawl over to the ladder as well. As soon as I moved I knew it was a bad idea. I doubled over and held my pounding head between my hands. "Oww, owowowow," I complained to myself.

    Claire was halfway down the short ladder. She looked up at me worriedly. "Are you all right?"

    "Yep," I managed to squeeze out. I sat back up, trying not to sway dizzily as my vision spun. I closed my eyes, waiting for the miniature bombs to cease their incessant explosions inside my skull. "I think I'll stay up here today." I tried to smile weakly, but I think it showed as more of a grimace than anything.

    "I'll stay with you," Claire offered quickly, taking a step up back up the ladder.

    "No, Claire," I sighed, my eyes still closed and my head tipped back and resting on the headboard of my bed. "You go to school; I'll be fine."

    She stood, undecided, on the center rung of the ladder.

    "I'll stay in bed, if that makes you feel any better."

    Claire stared up at me; she seemed to be searching my eyes for something. Finally, she nodded and slid down the ladder. "All right," she agreed, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. She opened the door, but, before leaving, she turned around. "But if anything happens while I'm gone... just, be careful, okay?"

    I nodded as clearly as my headache would allow, and Claire stepped out of the room, closing the door as softly as she could behind her.

    I laid my head on the pillow and closed my eyes, already forming plans in my mind.

    ~*~


    "Excuse me?"

    Having recovered from my dizziness, I strolled through the grounds alongside Claire. School hours had ended, and a few other residents were outside as well. Most, though, had decided to keep out of the cold.

    I tightened my red scarf around my neck to keep out the persistent fingers of wind. "I'm leaving," I repeated, doing my best to keep my voice neutral, unsure of whether I was excited, sad, or maybe neither.

    "And, when are you planning to pull this off?" I could tell by Claire's voice she was caught between being worried, shocked, or sceptical—leaning towards sceptical.

    "In the spring," I answered. "So I won't be caught in the snow right away. Let's see, it's November now, so the snow will be here soon, and it'll melt in about March. So that gives me..." I counted the months in my head. "Four months to figure it all out." I turned my head to face Claire, my eyes shining.

    Our shoes made almost no sound on the trampled dirt path as I waited for Claire to respond. The path was just wide enough for two people, and bordered on each side by a line of small white stones, each about the size of my fist. Rolling meadows spread out to either side of us, and ahead was one of the many large patches of forest.

    Finally Claire said, "You don't know what's out there. You don't know if anything's out there. So what makes you want to escape so badly? Why do you think you need to leave everything behind to go somewhere we've always been taught is dangerous, deadly?"

    I found myself almost repeating my words from this morning. "Something about this place isn't right. I don't know what, it's just..." I shook my head. "Something."

    We walked into the forest in silence. The shade of the trees was even cooler than the air outside, and I pulled my coat tighter, even though I knew it wouldn't help any. As we followed the path winding its way through the trees, we were both deep in our own thoughts.

    Maybe I did know what that 'something' was; I just wasn't sure how to explain. I supposed it was a lot to do with the needles, the curfews, the wall. The feeling of being owned. The feeling of being locked in, caged like an animal, with no explanations of why. Why we were forced to be in our rooms by six; why we were stuck with needles every night; why there was a huge wall around us to keep us in.

    "When I think of staying here," I broke the peaceful silence of the forest with my thoughtful voice. "It makes me more afraid than the thought of going."

    "So you're going to risk your life on a gut feeling." It was a statement rather than a question.
    "I'm not..." I began, then stopped myself. Yes, I was risking my life; to say otherwise would be lying. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess you could say that,"

    Claire's brow furrowed, but she said nothing more.

    We stepped out of the trees. Across the next meadow, the high wall loomed, racing in a straight line to either side, disappearing behind a hill or obscured by forests. The wall was built of smooth stone, reaching at least fifty feet up, and was interrupted only by the wide entrance gate. The gate was composed of tall, black, vertical bars. The bars extended up even higher than the wall, curving into twisting, spiralling patterns at the top. Two guards were posted at the gate, one on either side. Each guard had a long tranquilizer gun slung over his shoulder.

    There was no getting through here, unless the guards had a sloppy schedule. Even then, there was no way I could get over that gate or slip through the bars.

    "There's a road!" I whispered, pointing to a dirt road coming in under the gate and disappearing into the trees on the other side. "So there has to be something else out there."

    Claire sniffed, clearly not yet convinced. Then, after a few moments of silence, she whispered, "They look so bored."

    I followed her gaze to the two guards. She was right; they definitely looked like they wished they could be somewhere else. The one on the right was leaning against the wall. It looked to me like he was inspecting his hands with a very bored expression; I soon realized he was holding something, when he lifted another hand to polish it. The other had his head tipped back with his eyes closed, letting the breeze blow through his shaggy brown hair.

    I wondered what was going through his mind right then.

    We stood and watched them for a while.

    "I wonder what would make them want this job?" Claire wondered aloud.

    I shrugged. "Maybe they were forced into it."

    "They don't look very forced."

    Shrugging again, I answered, "People forced into things don't always resist."

    Claire frowned a little, perhaps sensing the underlying meaning to my words, and opened her mouth to reply. Just then, the brown-haired guard tipped his head forward. I watched him pull something from his belt, holding it in his hand while lazily resting his hand on his shoulder, by his ear. He listened for about half a minute then moved the object closer to his mouth, spoke briefly, and hooked it back onto his belt. He leaned his head back against the wall again.

    “Wonder what that was about,” I murmured.

    Claire shrugged beside me. “They probably answer calls like that all the time.”

    A few seconds later, the guard languidly tipped his head forward once again, and paused as he spotted us.

    "He's staring," I whispered, even though I knew he couldn't hear from this distance.

    "Do you think he's suspicious?" Claire murmured back. "Maybe he overheard you talking about 'something out there'."

    "Nah," I shook my head, choosing to ignore the slightly bitter, mocking tone in her voice. "There’s no way he could have heard that. Besides, he would've shown signs of it before now. He’s probably just wondering what we're doing way out here."

    "Lots of people come way out here."

    "Well then, he's probably wondering why we're way out here staring at him."

    "Then why are we still staring at him?"

    "Yeah. We should go."

    But as Claire turned to go, I was rooted to the spot, unable to move my feet, unable to tear my eyes away.

    "Ashta," Claire called my name in a whisper, tugging on my sleeve.

    I barely heard her. The brown-haired guard turned to the second guard, who looked up and waved his hand dismissively then went back to wiping the thing in his hand.

    "Ashta!" Claire yanked harder, forcing me to take a step back and pulling me out of my reverie.
    I looked up at her, not quite remembering why she was yanking on my arm.

    "Let's go!"

    "Oh, um, right," I stammered, and followed her back into the trees.

    After walking back along the path for a few minutes, Claire asked curiously, "So what was all that about?"

    I stared at her as if I didn't know what she was talking about. "What was what about?" I asked innocently.

    “That . Back there." She pointed a thumb back over her shoulder.

    "Oh, that? It was nothing." Because I didn't know, myself.

    ~*~


    I lay on my bunk, staring at the ceiling, rubbing the crook of my arm absentmindedly.

    They'd come back, of course. I had expected nothing less.

    The man with the needle seemed hesitant when he'd taken my wrist in his fingers, and his eyes shone with insecurity.

    I hadn't resisted, just smiled with what I hoped was superiority and asked innocently, "You're pretty new at this, huh?"

    He didn't smile, didn't laugh, didn't do anything; not that I'd expected him to. He just finished his job, with very unsteady hands, might I add, and gulped visibly before turning to Claire, who sat in her usual spot on the edge of her bed. He'd finished his job as quickly as he could, without saying a word to anybody, and fairly raced out of the room, followed more slowly by his partner.

    Claire lay down and snuggled up under the covers with a book in her hands. "Was that really necessary?" she asked, flipping her book open.

    I grinned as I climbed up the ladder. "I suppose not, but it was fun."

    Now I rolled onto my side, staring out the window until I fell asleep late at night.