No one who chooses the Perimeter train ever comes back.
The Initiative Headquarters is the only building in the Shallows that’s not crumbling. Its walls are made of titanium, nearly as thick as the Perimeter itself, and when I look closely, I can see security cameras along the top. The symbol of the Initiative is painted on the walls, a giant, all-seeing eye.
The train rolls to a stop and everyone piles out, the kids my age rushing for the gates at the front of the building. The older people, the ones who made the wrong train choice, run for the marshes, hoping to get lost in the undergrowth before they are shot.
Half of us entering this building will not come back out. Not alive, at least.
I look at the scarred girl standing beside me. I wish I had a pair of heels like the ones she is wearing. They are red, shiny, and pointed at the toe. She wears them with pride, as if she’s killed someone for those shoes. Her scars tell me that she probably did. I stand 5′4″ in my mother’s old leather boots. They are cracked and worn, and suddenly I feel hopeless.
An Initiative officer approaches me, Catalogue Scanner in hand. He holds the scanner up to my forehead and it reads my number out loud. “72049. Meadow Woodson.”
His eyebrows lift for a fraction of a second. “Woodson?” he asks me. “You got a brother?”
I sigh. Not now. “Does it matter?” I say, and clap a hand to my mouth. My mother’s seashell charm dangles from my wrist, silver and bright under the hot sun. I expect him to correct me with a slap across the face. My other hand slides around my back, where my father’s dagger is concealed. But the officer only studies me for a moment, a smile on his lips, and then he turns and moves farther down the hastily assembled line.
Inside the building, the ceiling fans churn above my head. Another Initiative officer sends the boys left, the girls right. We are ushered toward a waiting room. The second I walk in I wish I could turn around and go right back out. The walls shine and shimmer under the lights, and black Pins, from floor to ceiling, fill every square inch of space. Each one belonged to a citizen. The nanites have been removed, recycled for someone else. But the Pins bear our catalog numbers. Each Pin represents someone who maybe came to this building in hopes of a job, who stood in the middle of this floor and probably had the same thoughts I am having now.
Finally, we are led down a long white hallway, into a room too small for our group. We all pile onto couches and chairs. Some sit on the floor, others stand, and two girls get in a fight over a spot by the front of the room. They are both removed by the Initiative Officer.
Another girl breaks Commandment Four: Thou shalt not harbor useful items from the days Before. She shifts, and something small falls from her pocket: a coin. The girl is removed with the other two. I wonder if they have families at home who will starve because of their foolishness.
I end up on a wide leather couch that sticks to the backs of my thighs. Beside me is the girl with the red heels. We are so close together our legs touch. She is rough-looking, with a jagged scar running down the side of her face.
“Nice.” I nod at her scar with a grin.
“You, too,” she says, appraising the tiny scars that dot my arms.
We sit in silence for a while as girls are called into the testing room in pairs. Soon the room is so hot there is sweat dripping down my neck. After what feels like hours, there is no one left but the two of us.
“Looks like we’re next.” She turns to me. “You don’t stand a chance.”
“We’ll see who comes out of there with a job.” I keep my hands still in my lap. They are covered in sweat, and I want to rub it away, but I don’t. “In case you had any doubt . . . it’ll be me.”
She shrugs, and then the door in front of us swings open. An evaluator with a large NoteScreen calls out our names. We stand together and follow him.
I gasp in shock as we walk through the door. It feels like I’ve been dunked into a pool of cold water. Air conditioning—who knows how much energy they are burning to keep this place cool today? I can hear the girl gasp as well.
Cameras line the walls of this room. We step forward and sit side by side in metal chairs. There is one evaluator, one work badge on the table beside him. That badge will go to the winning candidate. I cast a sideways glance at the scarred girl. She glares back, and I wonder when I will have to kill her.
“Woodson?” The Evaluator stands. His brown hair is greased back, like he’s just spread a spoonful of oil all over it.
I smooth my palms over my denim shorts. The fabric is worn and tattered, and I feel so unprepared, so underdressed, so small. The room could swallow me whole. “Yes,” I stammer. “Sir.”
He stares at me. “Stand up.”
I shove off my chair and swallow my nerves as he steps forward, examining me. “You’re puny,” he says, looking me up and down, and I grit my teeth.
Hold your tongue, Meadow.
It would be easy to kill him, to slip my fingers around his neck and stare straight into his eyes while he takes his last breath. Instead I dig my fingernails into my palms.
He looks at his NoteScreen. He licks his lips. “Your mother,” he says, his voice full of acid. “Lark Woodson.”
“You knew her?”
He taps something onto his screen. We are not supposed to speak unless directed to.
“We know everyone. Even the insignificant ones.” I do not look away as he appraises me. “She teach you anything . . . worthwhile?”
“Of course she did. Did yours?”