Independent Study (The Testing 2)

The smug expression vanishes. “Rawson? Our Rawson?”

The tears that glisten in her eyes make the ones I’ve been holding at bay surface. Wiping the wetness from my cheeks, I nod. “They postponed our Induction ceremony so people could get counseling. I needed to get away.” It’s the truth, even if it isn’t the entire reason for my being here. “Do you know where Tomas is? I want to tell him about Rawson before he hears it from someone else.”

“I think he said he was going to the library. A few of our final years were talking about a new gene-splicing technique we’ve never heard of. He wanted to see if he could find out more about it.”

Before she finishes the sentence, I’m turning and yelling my thanks. Then I run as though I can outdistance the sorrow that threatens to spill over.

The library is large. Made of concrete, glass, and faded brick, the building somehow survived the worst of the wars with its contents intact. Most of the damage it suffered was caused after the wars were over by people using the books and furniture for kindling. No one knows how much of the history once contained inside is now missing because of the cold, sometimes chemical-laden winds that whipped through the Midwest during the Sixth Stage. When the United Commonwealth was officially established, one of its first laws banished the practice of book burning. Though our leaders agreed that warmth was important, they believed preserving the written documentation of our history and culture was even more vital. All citizens who had books were directed to bring them to this library, where an official exchanged the valuable pages for blankets, clothing, or other resources. The exchange allowed the country to retain memories from the past that could help rebuild the future.

The result of that law is housed inside this building. Row upon row of books. Some filled with mathematics and history. Others with stories meant for entertainment. Books deemed too faded or damaged to be of use are sent to Omaha Colony for recycling. As revitalization expands the borders of Tosu City and the colonies, new books are found and added. Each colony has its own library. Our collection in Five Lakes is housed in a small waterproofed shed next to the school. But none can rival the pages of our past that can be found here.

I catch sight of a figure bounding down the library’s concrete steps. My heart swells as Tomas’s handsome face turns in my direction. I can tell the minute he spots me standing in the shadow of a tree, and I wait for happiness to light his face.

But it doesn’t.

Love doesn’t leap to his eyes. The dimple that makes me sigh stays hidden from view. His expression and the defensive way his arms are crossing his ch

est tell me loud and clear that my appearance is unwelcome. After the death of Rawson and learning that Professor Holt is monitoring my life, I should be incapable of surprise or of feeling more hurt. I’m not. Despair builds inside me, making it hard to breathe. A cold chill of panic follows closely behind.

“Hey, Tomas, wait up.” A small, wiry-haired boy with a pointed nose hurries down the stairs. Tomas turns so I can see only his profile, but it is enough to spot the dimple appear as he waves his hand in greeting. The other boy reaches Tomas and says, “I’ll walk back to the residence with you.”

“I’m not going back to the residence yet. There’s a plant I spotted yesterday by the chicken coop. Because of the Induction, I didn’t have time to look . . .” Tomas’s words trail off as he glances at the pointy-nose boy, who is sagging under the weight in his arms. “I could find the plant after I help you take your books back to our residence. They look a little heavy for you to carry on your own.”

The boy frowns. “They’re not that heavy. I’ve carried far more than this back to the residence. Go ahead and track down your plant. I can take care of myself.” The boy shifts his grip on the books and trudges down the walkway as if to prove his point.

Tomas immediately walks in the opposite direction. Not once does he glance at me or encourage me to follow. But I do. Because, despite his earlier expression, I know Tomas. He will be waiting for me.

With classes out of session until Monday, few people walk the campus. Still, I am careful not to walk behind Tomas in case someone is watching. I leave the walkway and cross the grass, taking a more direct route.

The chicken coop doesn’t contain chickens. At least, it doesn’t now. Though a great number of animal species were killed off by the wars, for some reason chickens survived mostly unscathed. Scientists speculate that the genetic enhancements and antibiotics given to the female chickens to help protect such an important food source helped keep them immune from the worst of the postwar afflictions. Male chickens, however, were not as lucky. In the years leading up to the Seven Stages of War, roosters were given fewer drugs since they weren’t as vital a source of sustenance. Fewer of them survived the onslaught of chemicals released by biological warfare. Those that did survive suffered a variety of physical ailments, including partial paralysis, nerve damage, or cancerous growths. With so few living roosters, the chicken population began to die off, so this coop was created.

Through a great deal of trial and error, Commonwealth scientists boosted the roosters’ immune systems, filtered out the genetic changes caused by the wartime chemicals, and created a new breed of rooster that could thrive in this new environment. This old brick building was too small for most of the University’s needs, so it was chosen to house the new generation of roosters as they were studied and refined. During orientation, we learned that the building was last used to house animals over sixty years ago. Since then, the building had been cleaned of chicken feathers, but no other official use for it had been found. Instead it has become a destination for the occasional student looking for a quiet indoor place to study when the tension of the residence and the library gets too high. Of course, this is only when the weather is nice. The roof is known to leak.

The red brick of the building is faded. The bright sunshine highlights every crack in the mortar. I stand on the walkway in front of the door and look around the area to see if anyone is watching before I turn the handle and step inside.

The interior of the building is filled with bits of grass and dried leaves. My nose wrinkles as it catches the scent of a mouse or small animal who must have died somewhere nearby. Though it would be more pleasant to go back outside and wait, I do a thorough search of both the main room and the smaller one to the right for hidden cameras, all the while pretending to examine the electrical systems. If someone is watching, I don’t want that person to know I’m aware of it. When I find no signs of observation, I walk to a corner of the main room, where I will be out of view from anyone who might glance through a window, and slide to the dusty floor. Slipping the bag off my shoulder, I pull my legs up to my chest, rest my head on my knees, and wait. I shiver as the cold of the concrete seeps into my body.

More than once, I stop myself from moving around to keep warm or glancing out the window to see if Tomas is coming. Instead, I close my eyes and think about the happiness I felt when I first arrived at the University and saw this building. It was a week after The Testing. The sun was hot on my skin and I couldn’t stop smiling. I had made it through the Testing. I was living my dream of following in my father’s footsteps. Everything was possible, especially with Tomas holding my hand firmly in his. I hadn’t known then how precious that happiness was. How free I felt or how quickly I would realize that nothing about my life was as I thought. That I was trapped.

Did Tomas know that then? I try to picture his face as we walked around the campus, discussing our futures. Were there signs that he retained his Testing memories? Did he understand then what our future really held? And if so, can I live with not only the betrayal of his silence but whatever actions his silence is hiding?

All thoughts of betrayal and secrets disappear as the door swings open and Tomas walks inside. When he opens his arms, I don’t hesitate for a second before rising and stepping into them. No matter what has happened, Tomas is part of my past. He is part of my home. In the warmth and safety of Tomas’s arms, the tears fall unchecked. As I bury my face in Tomas’s chest, the picture of Rawson stumbling into nothingness replays in my mind. I was too far away to see the look on his face, but I can imagine how the frustration over the task jolted into terror as he slid into the abyss. He left his colony to come here and provide aid to the country. So much hope. Gone in an instant.

Tomas says nothing as I soak his shirt in tears. His arms hold me tight, offering comfort and protection. When my emotions are wrung dry, he doesn’t ask for an explanation. He just places a soft kiss on my lips, tells me he loves me, and says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get here. I was worried you’d think I wasn’t coming.”

“I knew you’d be here.” It might be the only thing I really was certain of. “Were you worried someone was following you?” I know I backtracked once on my way here just in case Dr. Barnes had someone trailing me.

Tomas shakes his head. “I ran into Professor Kenzie, the head of our residence. He wanted to talk about whether I’d be interested in adding another class to my schedule.”

“How many have you been assigned?”

“Six. Agreeing to take the new class was the fastest way to get here to you, so I guess I’m now taking seven.”

That’s a lot, but still two less than me.

The tension I feel must show on my face, because Tomas’s eyes narrow with concern. “How many classes do you have?”

“Nine.” By the way Tomas’s eyes widen, I can tell none of the first years in his field of study have been assigned as many. I doubt anyone in any discipline has. Dr. Barnes has singled me out. Already, I feel the pressure. Pushing that aside, I ask, “What is your residence like?”