The scarlet harvest, p.9
The Scarlet Harvest, page 9
“Please, step out.”
I exit the rocket and study Dr. Sorrell’s expression. “Did I score okay?”
“You will receive your test results tomorrow.” Her face remains neutral, unreadable.
I didn’t expect a direct answer, but I hoped to at least have an inkling about my results today. I follow Dr. Sorrell into a room with glass-enclosed desks along the back wall. Some desks are occupied by other students.
“Sensory input chamber number three.” Dr. Sorrell walks to one of the glass-enclosed desks and opens the door.
“Have a seat. This cap will monitor your brain waves while you complete the next tasks.” She attaches to my head a thingamajig with cascading wires. “You will be shown a series of short video clips for the emotional intelligence test. The next test will assess your reading, science, and math skills. Use the stylus to select the best answer from the choices on screen.” Dr. Sorrell steps back and closes the door.
The screen above the desk lights up. WELCOME, WREN WEISS. THE TEST WILL COMMENCE IN 3-2-1. The screen displays a video of sleeping kittens. Fuzzy cat hair tickles my fingertips. One of the kittens wakes and climbs over its siblings. I smile. The image fades.
A musty odor fills the chamber. Cockroaches scurry across the screen. They crawl up my arms, their antennae scratch my skin, their hungry mouths salivate across my neck, their sticky legs run up my nose and out my ears. My mouth expands as it fills with crispy cockroach bodies. I run my tongue across the back of my teeth relieved to find no bug legs stuck between them. I make a fist and feel cockroach exoskeletons pop in my palm.
I recall stepping on cockroaches in McDonald’s right before maggots fell in my hair. My heart rate spikes. Calm down. It’s not real.
The odor disappears. A baby swaddled in pink coos at me. The chamber fills with a scent that reminds me of lazy days on the beach. The sun warms my hair. Sand presses into my skin and waves crash at my feet.
A blazing building appears. Flames erupt from the door and windows. Smoke fills the chamber. My skin scorches. I start coughing and reach for the door. The sensation passes. The screen goes black. A start button appears.
I pick up the stylus and start solving equations and analyzing reading passages. When the test is over, I exhale and roll my shoulders. I aced this test, but I’m not so confident about the symmetry scan or the genetic screening.
Dr. Sorrell opens the chamber door. “Remove the cap and follow me, please.”
I toss the cap on the desk, spring to my feet, and take long strides to catch up with Dr. Sorrell. Other doctors shuffle students past us, doors open and close in adjacent halls, and a murmur of voices float down the corridor. The students we pass avoid eye contact. It's a nerve-wracking day—the doctors hold our futures in their hands.
“Is the strength test next?” I ask, trailing behind Dr. Sorrell.
“The hearing and vision tests are next.”
Dr. Sorrell stops abruptly and waves her hand over a microchip scanner. The internal mechanics of the nearby door grind, hiss, pop. I don’t know anyone in Hillcrest who has a microchip implanted. An eye chart with letters and numbers hangs on one wall of the small, windowless room.
“Enter and raise your right hand each time you hear a sound. After you finish the hearing test, the vision test will begin. Any questions?”
I shake my head. I have questions, but I no longer expect her to provide answers. The door slams. Spinning in a circle while staring at the black dome overhead, I try to picture the viewers behind the camera, but I conjure up faceless blobs.
After the hearing test, the speaker crackles and Dr. Sorrell instructs me to read the eye chart. When I finish reading the bottom row, the door opens.
“Good job, Wren. I ran preliminary tests on your blood sample. Based on the results, I would like you to complete one more test. Then, we will move on to the strength assessment.”
Dr. Sorrell leads me into a room with tables covered in game pieces and approaches a table. “This set of dominoes includes twenty-eight pieces. You have one minute to memorize their placement. After one minute, I will mix them up and you will put them back in the order you see here.”
A memory test. I’m totally going to fail.
“One-minute timer begins now.” Dr. Sorrell punches a stopwatch.
I prop my arms on each side of the table, lean over the dominoes, and pick out memorable patterns. Six dots next to none. Three dots above six. Four dominoes in a row with two dots on the left.
“Time’s up.” Dr. Sorrell sweeps the dominoes into a box, shakes it up, and pours the dominoes back onto the table. They clack and clatter across the surface. “Take as much time as you need,” she says.
I flatten the pieces, turn them upright, and slide them around. Four dominoes in a row with two dots on the left. I try to ignore the ticking of the stopwatch and the clicking of Dr. Sorrell’s high heels as she paces behind me. I flip a domino through my fingers. Where was this one? Somewhere on the bottom. Done. I look at Dr. Sorrell. She walks to the table, reviews the results, and makes a note in her transceptor.
“Did I get it right?” I ask.
“You will receive your test results tomorrow.”
I roll my eyes at her back, pretend to walk on high heels, and mimic her: You will receive your test results tomorrow.
The next hour is spent doing pull-ups, push-ups, sit-ups, and running. I return to the locker room sweaty and weak. My whole body trembles. I shower, change clothes, and wait for Dad to pick me up. Tomorrow I’ll learn my fate.
I expect Dad to interrogate me on the way home, but he’s silent. Is he thinking about how disappointed Mom was when she received her test results? It must have bothered him that, if given a choice, she would have chosen a life in Clairemont over a life with him.
A thread of guilt needles me because, if given a choice, I would choose Clairemont, too. Mentally and physically drained, I lean against the headrest and zone out on the short drive home.
Dad pulls into the driveway, and we exit the car. Climbing the porch steps, my shoes feel as heavy as bricks. Nervous energy crackles behind the front door. The moment I step inside, the smell of coconut sauce greets me. My stomach celebrates.
Addie launches herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. She breathlessly babbles, “I have been waiting for you all day. Was it hard? Will you be an Enforcer like Mom and Dad? Will you cut your hair like Mom’s? Cody told my class his brother had to eat chocolate covered lizards to pass the Assessment. Is that true?”
I smile and affectionately cup her cheek. “Next time you see Cody, tell him it’s chocolate covered grasshoppers you must eat. Rubbery lizards would take too long to chew.” It’s tradition for older siblings to provide material for the rumor mill at school.
“Ew.” Addie scrunches up her face.
“How did it go?” Mom places utensils on the table.
I’m reminded of Dr. Sorrell’s instructions to refrain from discussing the Assessment. “Easier than expected.”
I join Dad in the kitchen. “How can I help?”
He hands me a platter overflowing with steamed rice. “Take this to the table. I’ll be right behind you with the shrimp and plantains.”
“Abe, Addie, time to eat.” Mom raises her voice.
I pile my plate high with rice and liberally spoon coconut sauce over it until the rice swells from over-saturation.
“Will we ever see you again?” Abe asks.
I put my fork down. “What do you mean?”
“What if you get taken away?” Abe’s face is etched with concern.
“Don’t be stupid, Abner.” Addie rolls her eyes at Abe. “Wren is going to be an Enforcer like Mom and Dad.”
“Apologize to your brother. We don’t call people stupid,” Dad says.
Addie looks at her plate. “Sorry.”
I reach across the table and rest my hand on Abe’s. “Don’t worry, Abe. Even if I were placed outside of Hillcrest, I would find a way to stay in touch, okay?” I make the promise without knowing if I can keep it.
Mom says, “The Nuclei requires everyone to pack a bag prior to receiving test results. I packed some things in your Grandmother Eliza’s old suitcase.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Does Mom believe there’s a chance I could be placed in Clairemont?
After dinner, I help clean up and then head to my bedroom. I approach the suitcase on my bed and trace its worn leather edges with my fingertips. Suitcases are relics from the past when people traveled around the world. I’ve never thought about leaving Genova Island. Why would I? Nothing but sea surrounds us.
“Come in,” I respond to the knock on my bedroom door.
Abe enters. “I wanted to give you this.” He places a photo in my hand. Mom, Dad, the twins, and I smile into the camera from the front porch.
“Thanks, Abe. That’s sweet of you.” I wrap his hand in mine. He studies my face. Then, he leans close and places his head against my chest. I cradle his head for a minute before he pulls away.
As he backs toward the door, he says in a quiet voice, “You’re not like us. They’re going to take you away.”
After Abe leaves, I frown at the closed door. What has gotten into him? Turning back to the suitcase, I note that Mom packed clothes and toiletries. Should I pack anything else? I doubt anything will change tomorrow, but shouldn’t I be prepared?
I’m excited about the possibility of becoming a doctor in Clairemont. I’ll be devastated if I receive a career assignment outside of Hillcrest that doesn’t include travel privileges. But then again, I won’t be exactly happy if I have to spend the rest of my life in Hillcrest either.
While the neighborhood sleeps, I meander through the woods. A gentle breeze stirs the leaves and feathers my hair. Most summer nights the air is thick and humid, but tonight it’s clean and crisp. I fill my lungs with the scent of the forest: pine, moss, earth.
At the cliff, I listen for voices. Concerns about Fritz plague me. I need to see him. I need to know he’s okay. The night offers only silence. Frustrated, I kick a piece of shriveled fruit. I locate the place where we hid from the Valley boys, brush twigs out of the way, and sit.
Near my feet, paper edges poke out from under a stone. I dislodge the paper, shake off the dirt and debris, and find one word handwritten in the ultraviolet spectrum: Wren.
My stomach flips as I unfold the paper and read the handwriting glowing brightly before me: Until we meet again, keep your eyes down and trust nobody.
I reread the letter until the words are imprinted on my brain. What did he learn that makes him think we can’t trust anybody? Fritz’s words reverberate through my head on the walk home. Are we in danger? I need answers. But how will I get answers if I can’t find Fritz?
Fourteen
Noise, commotion, voices. I check the clock on my nightstand. It’s 8:00 a.m. Addie is asleep next to me. She must have snuck in overnight. I slide out of bed, tiptoe to my door, and crack it open.
“There must be a mistake.” Mom’s voice is high-pitched.
“No mistake, ma’am,” a man responds.
“How long do we have?” Dad asks.
“Transportation leaves in fifteen minutes.”
I step into the hallway. A flashing blue light penetrates the front windows and boomerangs around the living room. Two men stand near the door with my parents. The tall one wears a formal white uniform. The silver stars on his shoulders match his hair.
The other man wears the gray Security Forces uniform. Syringes and other questionable items hang from his belt. His face is scarred from acne and leathered by the sun.
“Commander,” he says, without taking his eyes off me.
I wish I wasn’t wearing flamingo pajamas. Government officials at our house on a Sunday morning could only mean one thing: they know I breached the Hillcrest boundary. I open my mouth to defend myself, but the words and sentences pile up in my throat like a log jam choking me.
“Wren…” Mom starts to say more but stops and stares at the floor. This is the first time I’ve seen Mom speechless. Dad stands next to her with his brow furrowed, arms folded.
The silver-haired one referred to as Commander says, “Wren Weiss?”
I place a hand on my bedroom door frame to steady myself. “Yes.” The whisper wheezes out my windpipe. I wait for the Commander to approach with handcuffs.
“I’m Commander Cossington and this is Sergeant Lewis. It is our responsibility to ensure your safe journey to Clairemont.”
I grip the door frame tighter.
Dad puts an arm around Mom’s shoulders. “Wren, you have been assigned to Clairemont. Say goodbye to Abe and Addie and get your things.”
Conflicting emotions yank me back and forth, as if I’m the rope in a game of emotional tug-of-war. On one side, fear and anxiety pull with crippling force. On the other, excitement and disbelief grip me.
My mouth goes dry, my legs go weak. Fear and anxiety take the lead. Isn’t this what I wanted? Shouldn’t I be happy?
Faced with losing my family and leaving Hillcrest, I don’t know what I want.
“I heard voices.” Addie sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes.
I take Addie’s hand. Years of preparation, of hard work, studying and late-night running, didn’t prepare me for the moment I would be forced to say goodbye to my family. Goodbye to the only life I’ve ever known, to the only place I’ve called home.
A dull ache starts in the center of my chest and branches out farther and farther, deeper and deeper, growing stronger and stronger until my heart and lungs and stomach feel tied-up, twisted, tangled in a ball of regret. Regret that I spent my time studying when I could have spent more time with the twins. Regret that I didn’t appreciate my parents’ desire to keep our family together in Hillcrest. And regret that my decisions have affected not only me but my entire family.
I lick my lips and clear my throat. “I have to go away for a little while.”
“Please don’t go.” Addie scoots closer and presses her face into my shoulder.
“I was assigned to Clairemont.”
“Will you come back to see us?” Her voice wobbles as if she’s holding back tears.
“Of course.” I force a smile despite my uncertainty and pull her into a big sister hug.
I grab Fritz’s letter from under the pillow, hurriedly change into jeans and a t-shirt, throw on my favorite flannel, and slide Fritz’s letter into my back pocket.
Turning back to Addie, I say, “Study hard for the Assessment and maybe you can join me in Clairemont someday. I love you, Addie Bee.”
“I love you, too.” Her bleak tone and cheerless eyes break my heart.
I pick up the suitcase and join Mom, Dad, and Abe in the living room. The smell of coffee makes me wish I could sit at the table and dine with my family, if only one more time. They all wrap their arms around me.
Footsteps pitter-patter down the hall. Addie throws herself against me. Ten arms intertwined, five sniffling noses. I imagine my tonsils as a dam, holding back the tears building in my chest.
I don’t want them to see me cry.
The front door opens. “Two minutes!”
“I’m proud of you.” Mom’s voice cracks and her lips tremble. “We love you more than you’ll ever know.”
Mom is usually so brisk and business-like. Seeing her struggle to hold back her emotions makes it harder for me to do the same.
“I love you, too.” I give Mom, Dad, Abe, and Addie a final squeeze and ruffle Abe’s hair.
Outside, flashing blue lights mounted to the roof of the Security Forces vehicle have attracted a crowd. The car parked in front of it is silver and futuristic-looking. A digital timer on the car door appears to be counting down.
“One minute!” Sergeant Lewis loads my suitcase into the trunk and returns to my side. “I need to update your passport.”
I pull my hair to the side and feel a slight vibration on my neck. As I marvel at the miniature car, the passenger door slides up.
Commander Cossington says, “Take a seat in the Helix and make yourself comfortable. The center console contains water and snacks.”
After I lower myself into the car, a seatbelt automatically locks over me and the door closes.
A voice inside the car starts counting down. “Ten… nine… eight…”
My heart starts racing. Where are the door handles? The steering wheel? I search the interior for a hidden latch or button, but there’s no way out. I need fresh air. I need out of here. I beat on the interior of the passenger door.
On the porch, Dad holds Addie while Abe leans on Mom, wrapping his arms around her waist. Their eyes are fixed on me. Relax. I don’t want them to see me panicking.
“Three… two… one…”
Houses and faces whiz by the windows, but it doesn’t feel like the car is moving. It feels like I’m in the quiet eye of a hurricane as it rips everything from me that I’ve ever known or loved.
I rest my forehead against the window until my house and family are out of sight. A familiar face runs toward my house. It’s Opal. I press my hand to the window. She stops, puts her hand in the air, and maintains eye contact until we can no longer see each other.
Warm tears blur my vision. The last time I cried was during a race in middle school when a fellow runner tripped me moments before I would have crossed the finish line in first place. I hear Mom’s voice: Never let them see you cry. Never show weakness. I take a deep breath, dry my eyes, and stare out the window as the car carries me away.
Fifteen
The Helix glides down the tree-lined road. Sunlight strikes the windshield through the shadows of passing trees. Light and darkness, like love and loss, cannot exist without the other.
