Unplugged (14 page)

WHEN I CAME
to I was in bed, my mind ablaze with surreal thoughts of being watched, being chased, and being rescued from the sea. Of Rain Holt's arms wrapped around me, my head against his chest. A spot on my scalp throbbed. Gently, I touched it with my fingers. A hard bump had formed, the kind of thing that would never happen at home, the virtual self immediately fixable with an App.

But somehow, I felt stronger, too.

I could almost picture my muscles knitting themselves back together, my limbs becoming more nimble and sure. I was getting to know my body. Learning its
possibilities and limits, just like I would in a game. My head felt clearer, too.

There was something new at my bedside this morning.

A lamp.

I reached out and turned it on, prepared for the light to blind me, surprised when it didn't. The glow was soft. I pulled the sheet aside so I could get up, and saw the edge of something on my leg. An ugly splotch of purple and blue ran along the bottom of my thigh. I reached out to trace its outline.

It was tender.

Mrs. Worthington would always tell us how even at seventeen when we'd unplug for Service, the skin on our bodies would be like new because during our years on the plugs the bodies had never seen sunlight. Then she'd laugh, and explain how the moment we unplugged, our perfect skin would begin to ruin.

But then, Mrs. Worthington was an idiot.

I drew back the sheet farther. Large round marks on my calves were purple and blue and yellowing at their centers. I took in my arms, thrusting them into the light, only to find that there were plenty more spots.

Bruises, they were called. I remembered them from when I was small.

I had them everywhere.

I swung my legs around to the side of the bed, and the movement tugged the hem of my nightshirt higher. A
long, dark seam stretched up the top of my thigh, cutting into the skin, its center a deep, fiery red. I pressed my thumb into it. The pain burned so intensely I gasped.

A memory nudged at me. I couldn't quite make it out.

I shook off the pain and planted my feet on the floor, bracing myself—I expected dizziness, unsteadiness, too—but I was fine. For the second time since waking up, I rose and walked out of the bedroom.

The Keeper was standing in the middle of what looked to be a large living room, folding long, white linen dresses, the kind I was wearing right now. She was piling them onto the end of a sofa that seemed from another era, the 1920s if I had to guess from what I knew from the History Apps in school. The rest of the furniture was the same ornate style. To my right was the door to the outside, the one Rain had come through, and next to it I could see into a large kitchen with a table and chairs. Doors were cut into the center of the living room walls, but they were closed. Crown molding, once elegant but now crumbling, edged along the ceiling. Hanging at the center of the room was a great, decadent crystal chandelier. Its lights were dark, some of the crystals missing from their hooks.

The Keeper looked up from her work. “You're feeling better.”

I nodded. “What is this place?”

Her eyes flickered to the chandelier, then to an enormous painting on the wall so covered in grime it was
impossible to make out the image on the canvas. “It's one of the old mansions built during the gilded age of New Port City.”

Static rushed across my skin. I was born in New Port, a city built on an island by the sea. The sense that after all these years, I was finally home, gave me chills. “Does anyone else live here?”

“No one,” she said. “It's abandoned. We're alone.”

I sighed. A part of me hoped that once I got my bearings, I would discover that my mother and my sister were right here, waiting for me. That they were close by, somewhere in this city, helped soothe me a little. I walked over to the coffee table in front of the Keeper to look at a tiny bowl the color of the ocean, the only decoration she seemed to have put here herself.

She watched me with narrowed eyes. “Your steps are steady today.”

I shrugged. “I guess.”

The Keeper shivered. “It's just . . . ,” she started. “You know what? Never mind.”

I held out my arms in the pool of light left by the lamp. I wanted the Keeper to see them clearly. “Where did I get these bruises?”

She waved her hand through the air casually, like she was tossing something aside. “Probably while you were being unplugged and moved here.”

I cocked my head. “Does unplugging involve being
tossed down a flight of stairs?”

“You'll heal soon enough,” she said.

I studied the Keeper, who'd gone back to her folding. “I didn't ask if I'd heal.” I grabbed the end of the nightshirt in the Keeper's hands so she had to stop. “Rain Holt was here. Why?”

She frowned, but didn't say anything.

I stared at her, waiting for answers. When I got tired of her quiet, I shrugged and headed to the door I'd seen him walk through.

“What are you doing, Skylar?” the Keeper barked from close behind me.

I whirled around to face her. “If you don't want to give me answers, then I'll go find Rain and ask him myself.”

She shook her head. “You're not ready to see Rain. You're not ready to go outside either.”

I swept a hand across my body. “Why not? Look at me. I'm totally fine!”

The Keeper sighed, long and heavy. Her face seemed to sag. “Skylar. Please.”

“Am I a prisoner?” I pressed. “Are you my prison guard?”

“Of course not.” She seemed surprised by this question, maybe even a little offended. “I'm here to protect you.”

“I don't need protection,” I said. “What I need is to see my family. What I need are answers. I want to know what
my presence here has to do with the Holts.”

The Keeper walked away from me and I followed after her. “Don't be foolish,” she said, her voice thick with disapproval. She swiped at the clothing on the edge of the sofa, taking the stack into her arms.

“Why is that foolish?”

She studied me over the pile of folded laundry in her arms. The expression in her eyes softened. “You really don't know,” she stated, surprised.

“What don't I know? Tell me,” I demanded.

But the Keeper shook her head. Laundry in hand, she disappeared through one of the doors in the wall, leaving me standing there alone, trying to decipher what she could possibly have meant.

I heard a key turn in the lock.

Maybe I was a prisoner after all.

Later that evening, the Keeper made me some tea and asked me questions about life on the Apps. We sat on the couch in the living room, and I told her all that she wanted to know. If I was honest with her, maybe she'd be honest with me in return. I needed to be on her good side if I was going to get access to her keys. The more I talked about my experiences in the App World, the more she seemed unimpressed. “You don't mind the ban on virtual technology here,” I finally said.

“No.” She took a sip from her cup, eyeing me over the
rim. The hot liquid sent steam curling up into the air. “The existence of the App World is tragic.”

I eyed her back. “The only thing that stops people from plugging in is capital.”

“No,” she said. “Not having enough capital saved us.”

I remembered the signs people held after Jonathan Holt announced the borders closing, how so many of them said
You are saved!
Everyone talked about being saved, but from totally different things. “How did the ban save you?” I asked.

“From giving up the body so easily,” she said. “Like it means nothing at all.”

“Are there a lot of you who feel this way?” I was surprised by her statement. It went against everything I'd learned in school about how all Keepers in the Real World hoped to someday be plugged in. I couldn't help wondering if my mother and my sister might agree.

The Keeper shifted position until she was facing me on the sofa. “It depends on what you mean by a lot. When you plugged in, the population here was already low because of the exodus to the App World. Since then it's diminished drastically. Then a few years ago, an epidemic ripped through the Keepers and another third of our population was wiped out.”

I swallowed. I knew that sickness was passed from one person to the next through the body, and how easy it was to die because of this. Living in the App World
sheltered us from this sort of danger.

The Keeper dabbed her lips with a napkin. “The last epidemic was over two years ago,” she went on. “Everyone is vaccinated now—you were, too, while you were on the plugs. But some Keepers are fearful another epidemic is on the horizon. You know them by the way they wear scarves to cover their faces and protect their noses and mouths from breathing in a virus.” She balanced her tea on the arm of the sofa. “Between the epidemic and everyone plugging in, we Keepers had to consolidate territories and jobs. Even if a Keeper doesn't work directly with the plugs and the bodies, they're supporting some task or function that affects maintenance. Little by little, all plugged-in bodies were transported to one central geographic location so we could care for more people with fewer resources. Once the other cities were evacuated, everyone relocated to New Port City.”

My throat went dry. Lacy had said something to this effect, but I hadn't known whether to trust her. “New Port is really the only city left?” It was hard to imagine this could happen in a mere decade.

The Keeper nodded. “We had to pool our skills to keep at least one urban area running with electricity and transportation and hospitals. New Port was chosen because of its facilities to accommodate both the plugged-in and unplugged populations, plus it's an efficient place to get around on foot, so we could save energy.” She paused to
pour more tea. Then she settled the saucer in her hand again. “We're more than Keepers of plugged-in bodies now, Skylar. We're Keepers of humanity's way of life.”

I studied her, trying to comprehend all she was saying. “What about the rest of the seventeens on this side of the border? Will they become Keepers, too? And where does Rain Holt fit into all of this?”

The Keeper set her cup back onto the table, so gently it didn't make a sound. “Don't worry about him right now. Worry about yourself.”

“But he wants to talk to me,” I said, frustrated. “He needs to talk to me. I
heard
him say it. Why don't you just let him?”

The Keeper's hands balled into fists. “When you talk to Rain, I want you to do it on
your
terms, Skylar, not on his,” she said. “When
you
are ready, not when he simply decides it's what he wants. He has to learn that the Real World is different from the App World. That everyone isn't at his beck and call.” She leaned forward so we were eye to eye. “I risked my life to harbor you here because there are things in both worlds that are unfair. I want so much for you—I want so much for
all
of you—every plugged-in child who will no longer be allowed the freedom of Service, who will soon lose their body once the Cure is enacted. No matter what people tell you about who you are, and what this body means or doesn't—whether it's Rain or someone else, even your family—I want you to
discover it for yourself first, because it's
yours
. It will always and forever be
yours
, Skylar. Don't you dare let anybody tell you differently, do you hear me?”

The Keeper's eyes were fierce.

She wanted me to trust her, and I felt myself yearning to. But as we looked at each other now, I also knew that when she said the next time I saw Rain it should be on my terms, what she really meant was on
her
terms, when it suited
her
schedule. When
she
decided I was ready. And her advice was good. I would go to Rain on my own terms.

Just not on hers.

So I nodded slightly. “Yes, I do hear you,” I told her, feeling slightly guilty as the words slipped from my lips. Her instincts to keep me safe and hidden were nearly parental, drawn from a well of good intentions, however stifling.

But my instincts pulled me in another direction, and I wouldn't look back.

It's in looking back that we lose the game.

Over the next few days I stretched and bent and worked at my muscles, biding my time, keeping my eye out for the Keeper's keys. The more adept I was at getting around, the more I found that my body was hungry for movement. Each step warranted another. Everything I touched made my hands seek the next thing. It was both exciting and disconcerting to discover how my arms and
my legs seemed to have a mind of their own.

I began to feel . . . real.

And in a way that I hadn't in a long, long time.

The Keeper seemed pleased with my progress.

For dinner, she made a big salad with bright-red tomatoes and crunchy green leaves and vegetables. Apps may have made life easier and safer on so many fronts, and even more fun, but nothing compared to real food. Each time I discovered a new texture or flavor I thought of the Sachses. And each time, thoughts of them made me feel sad.

“How much do you know about the Race for the Cure?” I asked her as we ate. “You mentioned it the other day.”

The Keeper chewed her food slowly. “Enough.”

“Do you know that it's . . . that it's been won?”

She nodded. Then shifted her attention back to the bowl.

I speared a wedge of tomato with my fork. “Liberation is set to begin soon.” I'd called up Emory Specter's exact words. They made my stomach queasy.

The Keeper was still staring into her food. “Liberation?”

“Yes,” I said. “That's how most App World citizens understand the Cure.”

She put down her fork. “The process of removing the bodies will begin soon—that much is true.” She snorted. “And I suppose that some App World citizens might
regard it as being ‘liberated' from their bodies—in a way.”