“Really?” I try not to let my voice squeak with excitement. Tomorrow is my birthday. Sixteen years old, and it cannot come fast enough. It is June, the sixth month of the year, when two special trains will run through the Shallows—the Red and the Blue Train. If I make it on, I will have my placement test, and if everything goes well, finally, a real paying job. That will mean more food and water rations for my family.
“Yes, really.” My father motions for us to join him inside. We saunter in after him, and he lights a candle once we close the doors and shutters. I think I smell lilies, my mother’s favorite flower. But the scented candles are long gone.
Across the room, I can see Peri sprawled on her mattress, arms and legs spread wide as if she’s just collapsed after a long, exhausting run.
“Are you nervous?” Koi pulls up an old wooden chair and swings it around so he’s sitting on it backward, arms spread casually across the rounded top.
“No,” I lie, because I don’t want Koi to think I’m weak. “Tell me how to get on the train.”
He chuckles under his breath. “I’ve already told you, Meadow. A thousand times. Just keep your head down. Don’t draw attention to yourself. You’ll be fine.”
I cast a sideways glance at my father, and he confirms Koi’s words with a silent nod. Our rations bag lies open on the table. My father’s earnings for the week. I use my dagger to slice off a piece of bread from one of the loaves. It crumbles in my fingers when I lift it to my mouth, but I don’t complain. We have learned to be thankful for what little we can get our hands on.
“What if I don’t make it on?” I cast a glance at Koi. “Just tell me again. Please.”
His eyes hold mine for a second, and he smiles. It is something Koi and Peri do often—a rare thing in the Shallows. “You’ll make it on. You do what I’ve told you to do. Everyone else is going to scramble for the first train. It’s a bloodbath, trust me, so you’ll stay back and wait. You get on the second train, and instead of going for the cabin, climb right onto the top of it.”
He made it on the train, three years ago. But he failed his placement test.
He hates himself for it. Every day I see it in his eyes.
“You’ll get on the train,” Koi says again. He reaches forward and places his hand on top of mine. It is something my mother used to do. “You’re strong. When you make it to the test, you’ll pass.”
We are quiet for a while. My brother takes out an old piece of driftwood and starts to carve. I hear the scratching of his knife, the steadiness of his breathing. His carvings are always so real, like little snapshots of life, and I silently thank the world for not taking this little piece of happiness away from him. Tonight, his carving is of my father, cleaning his fishing hooks after the day’s work. Sometimes I feel like I could just sit here forever and watch Koi. It is a simple thing, putting the tip of a blade to wood. But the end result is always something beautiful.
“Why didn’t you pass the test, Koi?” I’ve asked him before. He’s never told me the reason. He has always changed the subject, or gone back to whatever he was doing without a word.
But tonight, he sighs and sets his knife down.
“You remember your training?” Koi asks.
My father walks in and sets a pot of boiled water on the small table. I scoop my hands into the pot, take a mouthful, and let the warm water trickle down my throat. My father leaves without a word, and a few moments later, I hear the rumble of a storm overhead. “We’ve practiced survival for years,” Koi says. “And what does Dad always tell us?”
I look over at Peri. “Kill or be killed,” I whisper.
Koi nods his head. He picks up his knife again, and his knuckles turn white. “When you get into that room, and you will, Meadow,” he says, when he sees me open my mouth to protest, “there will be you and someone else. They’ll test you with questions. The results will be inconclusive. They always are.”
He flips the driftwood over and starts on another carving. “I failed, because I wasn’t strong enough.” His marks become rough. I think I see my mother’s face, but he slams his knife into the tabletop and throws the driftwood aside before I get a close look. “The only reason I made it back is because I’m a coward. I fought my way out of that room so the boy up against me could live.”
“Just because you didn’t kill anyone doesn’t make you a coward,” I say. “It makes you good.” Koi is brave because he still knows how to love, and how to be soft, in a world full of hate.
But me . . . I would kill for my family, even for a single loaf of bread.
“Only one of you will leave that room alive, and with a job, Meadow. And it will be you. You will do what I wasn’t strong enough to do.”
We stare at each. “Kill or be killed,” he says. He goes back to his carving, silent and calm and so different from me.
Because suddenly I know what Koi is trying to tell me.
I am a killer, trained by my father, and I always have been. I stand up and grab the driftwood. Peri will want to keep this one.
“I’m sorry for what I am,” I sigh, as I crawl in bed next to her. She rolls over and I feel her hot breath on my cheek.
Tonight, I am safe.
In the city, safety is a thing of the past. The murder rate has risen to 300 deaths a month and anyone could be next. My mother was.
Tomorrow, I will kill so that it will not be me.