The Wall (The Woodlands) (19 page)

“
I know,” he said.

We touched hands
, and I swear I could feel the heat burning through, like if we concentrated hard enough on reaching each other, we could melt the glass. How was I ever going to survive another week of this hell?

That
night I slept in fits and bursts, my body knotting and unknotting around the cool, white sheets. I continuously woke screaming but there was no one to hold and comfort me. Most of the dreams I couldn’t remember. But I knew my mind was taking me back to the facility, to the four months I lost. And I wished they’d stayed lost.

I awoke with my hands around my throat. Not screaming but gurgling and gasping for air. Joseph was kneeling on his
bed, trying to get my attention. His eyes panicked, his muscles tensing at the fact they couldn’t reach me. When I shook myself free from the dream, I slumped down on my pillow and shoved my face against the cold, cotton pillow, letting out one pathetic whimper.

The dull thud on the glass continued until I turned to face him.

“Tell me what you dream?” he asked, his eyes flicking back and forth, searching my own.

“
I don’t want to,” I said with a scowl.
How could I?

“
Why?” He looked down at his knees, the bed bowing and squeaking under his weight.

“
It will hurt you.”

He sighed, frustrated.
“I can handle it. You need to stop protecting me.” He used his eyes against me, staring deep into mine, until I felt incapable of resistance.

“
Ok, but I warned you.” I kept it as brief as I could. “I’m in the underground facility. I wake up, suddenly aware of what they’re doing. I start to fight, to scream, and try to pull myself out of bed but they’re always there in a second. People in white coats hold me down, tie my ankles and wrists to the bed with leather straps, then they put a mask on my face. A man holds me by the neck and presses his hand down on my forehead because I’m thrashing my head around so much. Then I feel like I’m dying. Or I’m dead. Like I’ve floated away, out of my body. But it’s not peaceful; it’s terrifying and I’m always fighting, scratching, grappling to get back to myself.”

His mouth twisted and I could see his neck and sh
oulder muscles tightening. I knew it hurt him. I knew he found it hard to hear but all he said was, “Thank you for sharing that with me, Rosa. I appreciate it,” in an oddly formal tone.

“
S’ok,” I shrugged, a little confused.

“
Can you sleep?”

“
Probably not, but you should.” I could feel the dark, craggy fingers of sleep trying to wrestle me under but I was fighting it.

“
No, I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep. Close your eyes.” He lay facing me, propping his head up with his hand. His body caused the rollaway bed to sag in the middle, his big feet hanging off the edge.

I lay on my side facing him and closed my eyes, opening them a couple of times to see if he was still awake. He was. He just watched me softly, his eyes muted in the safety lights, his warmth radiating through the glass and wrapping around me.

Eventually, my eyes became heavy and I slept without a single nightmare. But I knew as long as I was in here it would only be a temporary reprieve.

After my meltdown, Matthew came to visit. He casually walked up to the glass like this was a normal experience, knocking like it was my front door. And if it were, he would have got no answer. He explained that he and the others we were with had been quarantined too. But they were allowed out earlier because the doctors already had most of the data on them. I tried to avoid his eyes.

“
You lied to us,” I muttered sulkily.

“
No, I didn’t, Rosa. I said you had to go into quarantine,” he said unconvincingly.

“
Don’t pretend like you didn’t keep details from us so we would go more easily. Just don’t. I am so tired of being lied to or half-lied to or whatever.”

He sighed
, pulling his shoulders back proudly like he was shaking me off, moving on to the others who were happier to talk to him. I was disappointed and resigned. Maybe he was done with me. After a while, everyone was.

“
How much longer do we have to stay here?” Joseph asked.

“
One more week,” Matthew said.

“
She won’t make it,” I heard him whisper. “You have to understand—this is much harder for her than the rest of us. It brings back too many bad memories. I think she’s traumatized or something.” I stiffened at this. The number of times I’d heard someone say that about me was starting to add up.

Matthew
’s tone was terse when he replied, “Look, this is just the way it has to be. You have no choice.”

No choice.
Back to the Woodlands we go
, I thought.

Most of the
time, Matthew seemed ever-patient and willing to help but sometimes something else slipped through—a shred of impatience, a tight knot of rope that constricted around his throat when he spoke, like the burden of being our caregiver was wearing thin.

After
that, Matthew stopped talking to me. He would wave, but took his steaming mug of coffee and pulled up a chair at one of the other pens. I didn’t acknowledge him. But a parade of guests started arriving. I don’t know whether he sent them or if they came of their own volition but they were all unwelcome.

I was
an animal on display. A static exhibition—an example of a Woodland citizen.
See how she snarls at passersby. It’s because of the way they treat people over there. They have lost their humanity
, the tour guide would say.

First was Cal. I was so rude to him but he didn
’t seem to get the hint. Pushing my headphones on my head, I turned my back and ignored him. But he just sat there, tapping along to imaginary music, and smiling gawkily at me.

Joseph tapped on the glass and beckoned him over to the far corner of his room
, as far away as he could get from me. I watched them curiously while trying to seem uninterested. He whispered something and then I saw Cal’s eyes widen as he nodded. He waved to me and left, walking jauntily off like he had just heard fantastic news.

I walked over to the glass separating us and glared at
Joseph, who had a ridiculous grin on his face, distracting me with his white teeth. I picked out my favorite one, the broken one, and focused on that instead of his eyes.

“
What did you say to him?” I was sure it was something unkind.

“
Nothing,” he said mischievously, his hands behind his back, looking up at the ceiling.

“
What?” I threatened. Most of the time, I wanted to break the glass so I could hold him. Right then, I wanted to get through so I could shove him over.

He wouldn
’t answer me but was obviously very amused with himself.

“
Well, at least you think yourself funny,” I snapped. I flopped down on the bed and put my finger to my mouth. I’d started biting my fingernails. Nervousness and fear had manifested itself and my nails were disappearing. I flashed back to when I had first seen Clara ahead of me in the line of dopey, pregnant girls. Her hands were raw and painful looking like someone had tried to strip the skin from her fingers with a vegetable peeler. Would she have been able to make this easier for me or would she have found it just as hard because she was also ‘traumatized’?

C
areen finally came to see us. I think they asked her to. She repeated some lines I was sure they’d fed her about how she’d been through it too. I knew it wasn’t her own words because she talked slowly for once, her mouth chewing over every word carefully before she spewed them out. She told us it really wasn’t so bad and once she was out, she was free to do whatever she wanted.

“
Which is what?” I asked.

“
Um. I’m in the hunting party,” she said, twisting uncomfortably under my gaze for a second and then jumping up and down like a toddler again, lifting her butt off the chair with her arms and legs swinging. “Yeah, I get to use all sorts of weapons. We hunt for food and share it with the rest of the people. It’s fun. When you’re out, I can show you how, if you like?” Her words mashed together.

Take a breath
, I thought. I wanted to pinch her lips together with my thumb and forefinger. I’m pretty sure that would be the only way to stop her from talking. But I was glad she had found something she enjoyed, even if it was slightly disturbing.

“
How fun for you,” I said sarcastically. I was being unkind, but I was jealous of her freedom, and jealous of her ability to assimilate into this new society so easily.

She sat
cross-legged on the floor and her face went smooth and serious. Her tied-back hair revealed a scar seamed across her left temple I hadn’t seen before. It was jagged, like the skin had been split apart or burst. “I never told you this before but my father was a butcher,” she said. “He taught me everything about the trade. I know it sounds terribly simple. I mean, to want to be a butcher, but I had a dream that I would set up my own shop once I left the Classes. But then I got pulled into Guardian training and that was the end of my dream.”

This threw me. M
y assumptions about Careen flew off her body and landed in a pile at my feet. Another person I was wrong about. Her dream was not dissimilar to my own. There was a question I wanted to ask her, but it meant bringing up my own downfall at the Classes. I hadn’t told Joseph yet… I’m not sure I ever would.

I said it anyway
. “What did you do to end up underground, with me?”

She shrugged and held her stomach,
holding a baby long gone. “I said ‘no’.”

Her eyes meandered around the room
, avoiding mine, and I knew she wasn’t going to say anymore.

I put my hand to the glass, remembering the hammer breaking my face, breaking my dream apart in an instant.
“Me too.”

T
here was a moment’s silence, then she shook her perfect hair free of the tie and started jabbering again. She talked about the surrounding woods, which were overflowing with life. There was good game in there. The words just made me ache and I started to feel like the walls were closing in on me, or that I was getting smaller. The glass cube would fold over on itself and I would disappear.