I said eagerly, and stopped resisting.
As soon as I stepped into the corridor, the lights stabbed into my eyes. When I shut them, I felt harsh magic buzzing against my temples, my head bursting into a pain that was strangely, achingly familiar. “Wait,” I said, but Emila pulled me onward.
“Don’t worry, that’ll go away after we harvest you.”
She led me through a maze of corridors, my light-dazzled eyes failing to track where we were going. I was both floating and heavier than lead at the same time.
She brought me to a room full of red coats, who crowded around me to stare at my face, to shine another light into my eyes, to prick my skin with tiny needles I barely felt. I heard them talking in low voices, though I couldn’t understand what they said. The sounds melded with the rushing in my ears as though they were speaking underwater.
Then abruptly I was in a different room altogether, without any surprise that I was there. In this room a woman in a black coat—what did black mean?—took off the tunic and the drawstring trousers I wore and scrubbed me from head to toe.
Then there was another room, this one filled with a huge red coat and Gloriette’s simpering face and saccharine voice. I threw up on the floor, and she barely seemed to notice. She connected strange clips to the tips of my fingers and asked me questions while staring at something I could not see. I couldn’t understand what she was saying, nor could I understand the words I spoke in response.
A room full of green things. Plants , I thought dimly. Am I in the museum? A vine with pale, sickly yellow flowers all in a row that turned toward me when I entered the room.
Then a room so cold my breath steamed in the air, and I shivered. From somewhere I had acquired a simple, thin white shift that went down to my knees. I gasped and shook, the cold stabbing my body. Our world was strictly climate-controlled inside the Wall. I had never been cold before.
A room lined on either side with mirrors, so I could see myself repeated endlessly, stretching around a barely perceptible curve. Dimly I saw the farthest-away reflection shake itself and lean out so that I could see the empty holes where my eyes should have been.
I cried out and tripped as I turned to run—and then found myself on my hands and knees in a different room altogether. Warm, familiar hands helped me up. Kris. I reached for him, but my hands slid past him. He stepped aside, and the dream fell away in tatters.
They had brought me once again to the Machine. And with sudden cold clarity, I remembered everything. My illegal Resource use, my panic, the trip to the Institute. Emila, my paper bird torn from me, wandering the maze of corridors alone. The tortured creature of light in the huge spherical room. “ Run .”
The Machine .
The chair was in front of me, long and squat and black. Lined with the glass panels that would turn into the shards and pierce my back. And there, pulsing, the field of magic that would hold me to it.
I turned to run and hit Kris square in the chest. His hands came out to take hold of my arms and I found I had no strength. He led me, sobbing, to the chair. I remembered the pain so clearly now that it was as though I was feeling it again, already.
“No,” I gasped. “Please, no. No. I’ve been harvested already. There’s been a mistake.”
Kris squeezed my arms and pushed me down into the chair. “Please try to relax, Miss Ainsley,” he told me loudly. “It’ll be over soon, and then you can see your family.” He bent low over my face, lip caught between his teeth and brow furrowed. Pretending to make sure I was settled, he said in a voice barely louder than a breath, “Just hang in there for now. I’m going to get you out of here, Lark. I promise.”
And then he was gone, the room went black, and I was screaming before the vibrations reached my skull.
• • •
Out of the burning darkness, a voice.
?
No, not a voice. A touch.
As soon as I stepped into the corridor, the lights stabbed into my eyes. When I shut them, I felt harsh magic buzzing against my temples, my head bursting into a pain that was strangely, achingly familiar. “Wait,” I said, but Emila pulled me onward.
“Don’t worry, that’ll go away after we harvest you.”
She led me through a maze of corridors, my light-dazzled eyes failing to track where we were going. I was both floating and heavier than lead at the same time.
She brought me to a room full of red coats, who crowded around me to stare at my face, to shine another light into my eyes, to prick my skin with tiny needles I barely felt. I heard them talking in low voices, though I couldn’t understand what they said. The sounds melded with the rushing in my ears as though they were speaking underwater.
Then abruptly I was in a different room altogether, without any surprise that I was there. In this room a woman in a black coat—what did black mean?—took off the tunic and the drawstring trousers I wore and scrubbed me from head to toe.
Then there was another room, this one filled with a huge red coat and Gloriette’s simpering face and saccharine voice. I threw up on the floor, and she barely seemed to notice. She connected strange clips to the tips of my fingers and asked me questions while staring at something I could not see. I couldn’t understand what she was saying, nor could I understand the words I spoke in response.
A room full of green things. Plants , I thought dimly. Am I in the museum? A vine with pale, sickly yellow flowers all in a row that turned toward me when I entered the room.
Then a room so cold my breath steamed in the air, and I shivered. From somewhere I had acquired a simple, thin white shift that went down to my knees. I gasped and shook, the cold stabbing my body. Our world was strictly climate-controlled inside the Wall. I had never been cold before.
A room lined on either side with mirrors, so I could see myself repeated endlessly, stretching around a barely perceptible curve. Dimly I saw the farthest-away reflection shake itself and lean out so that I could see the empty holes where my eyes should have been.
I cried out and tripped as I turned to run—and then found myself on my hands and knees in a different room altogether. Warm, familiar hands helped me up. Kris. I reached for him, but my hands slid past him. He stepped aside, and the dream fell away in tatters.
They had brought me once again to the Machine. And with sudden cold clarity, I remembered everything. My illegal Resource use, my panic, the trip to the Institute. Emila, my paper bird torn from me, wandering the maze of corridors alone. The tortured creature of light in the huge spherical room. “ Run .”
The Machine .
The chair was in front of me, long and squat and black. Lined with the glass panels that would turn into the shards and pierce my back. And there, pulsing, the field of magic that would hold me to it.
I turned to run and hit Kris square in the chest. His hands came out to take hold of my arms and I found I had no strength. He led me, sobbing, to the chair. I remembered the pain so clearly now that it was as though I was feeling it again, already.
“No,” I gasped. “Please, no. No. I’ve been harvested already. There’s been a mistake.”
Kris squeezed my arms and pushed me down into the chair. “Please try to relax, Miss Ainsley,” he told me loudly. “It’ll be over soon, and then you can see your family.” He bent low over my face, lip caught between his teeth and brow furrowed. Pretending to make sure I was settled, he said in a voice barely louder than a breath, “Just hang in there for now. I’m going to get you out of here, Lark. I promise.”
And then he was gone, the room went black, and I was screaming before the vibrations reached my skull.
• • •
Out of the burning darkness, a voice.
?
No, not a voice. A touch.
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