“And so are the Pins, you know.” Orion stares at my wound for a second. When she notices me looking, she stands and puts everything back in the box. “Your Orb’s programmed and ready to go. It’s tough, won’t break even if your arm snaps in half. Won’t break even if you want it to. Now the Pin, that’s a different story. Take that sucker out and you can say good-bye to your health. I knew the person who made them, you know. . . .” She trails off, and for a second, I think she’s lost in her memories. They seem like sad ones, by the look on her face.
Someone pounds on the glass. We both jump, and an Initiative soldier motions for her to join him.
“Your next shift is tomorrow at dawn. I think I like you, so don’t be late, Blondie.” She leaves without another word.
CHAPTER 14
ZEPHYR
“The pre-Initiative Shallows were once known as the Everglades,” Talan reads from a propaganda pamphlet we found after cleaning out the overflowing gutters in the streets a few days ago.
She could’ve been shot for stealing the trash. It’s breaking Commandment Four.
We’re supposed to send any propaganda to the Graveyard, so they can dig through the skitz and find whatever they want that’s useful. I think it’s just because they’re scared we’ll riot. But Talan has never been one to turn from the threat of danger, and she’s obsessed with pre-Fall stuff.
While she reads, I’m so bored I feel like spearing out my eyeballs and roasting them for lunch. I’m hungry enough that I could. I swirl my fingers in the small pool of water beside me. Tiny minnows scatter.
I remember the first day I came here. The Ward Mark on my neck was still bleeding. I had a tent in my arms and a torn shirt on my back. I lost both before the moon took the sun’s place in the sky.
That’s when I met Talan. She was alone, too, but she was stronger, in her stubborn way. I watched her drop a boy twice her size for calling me a name, and from then on we were friends. We spent the night side by side staring up at the stars, telling each other stories about our parents. Telling each other we’d do whatever it took to stay on the same side and keep each other safe.
We kept our promise, but a lot has changed. I was softer then. I was scared of everything. Now the only thing I fear in this world is myself.
“You aren’t paying attention to me, Zephyr,” Talan huffs. “You want to figure yourself out? Then we have to do this. Either you read it, or you put on your big girl panties and listen up.”
Why bother trying anymore? There is no conspiracy behind the murders. The pamphlet is just someone’s pathetic attempt to deal with the loss of a loved one. What Talan and I should be learning about is how to survive. This crap is useless. “I’m so bored,” I groan, and she slams the pamphlet down and stomps away from me, the ground making slushy suction noises with each step she takes.
“You’re hopeless. Absolutely hopeless!” she yells.
Skitz, now she’s pissed. If I could go back to that night we first met, I’d make her swear not to become such a girl about things. “Come back, Talan, I’ll listen, I’m just messing with you. . . .”
But my words are cut short when the wind flips the pamphlet over. It takes me a while to sound out some of the words, but I manage.
“An anonymous tip from a long-time member of Propaganda Research states that the Dark Time is protected by the governing Initiative. The act of murdering may not simply be caused by Madness, but could be fueled by a common long-term goal to use the bodies as rations . . .”
“Oh, come on! That’s sick.” I throw the pamphlet aside. “Talan!” I’ve heard every crazy conspiracy theory before, but none of them hold any answers for me.
Like clockwork, I murder.
I can’t stop. And I never will. Not unless someone finds a way to stop me.
Talan was right. I’m hopeless. There’s nothing good about me, not really. No matter how hard I try to make myself better, I can never take back the things I’ve done.
My knife is homemade, sharp enough to cut through the bark of a tree. I clasp the handle. It feels warm and right. It would be easy to do it. To sink the blade into my chest, the way I’ve done to so many others.
I feel a jolt of pain.
Horrible, horrible pain, and in my head, there’s a voice.
Stop.
The knife falls from my fingertips. I must be going insane.
I try it again, put the blade to my skin, and there’s the same pain, the same voice commanding me to stop.
For a second, I think I recognize her.
But no. That’s not possible. Either I’m as crazy as the conspiracy theorists, or it’s just my conscience. I should have Talan tie me to a tree each night, or give up all of my rations so I slowly starve.
But I’d still be here. I’d still be a threat to everyone, every waking moment of my life. I turn my knife toward my wrist. Slow and painful. That is the way I deserve to die.
The voice yells at me, and the jolt of pain comes, but I push it all away, tell myself I have to be strong.
I cut myself like butter. Twelve times. Twelve even lines, one for each life I’ve stolen. I even try to dig for my Pin, take it out so the nanites can’t heal me. But the dizziness comes, and I feel the world floating away.
“Freedom.” I smile as I lie back under the warm sun.
Sometimes in the winter months, a thick fog rolls through the Shallows in the early morning.
It sticks to the sides of the buildings and blankets everything with a strange sort of coolness.