Independent Study (The Testing 2)

“At first it was great. There are ten labs in the basement for us and a greenhouse out back so we don’t have to walk to the controlled environment dome in the stadium. We were excited to get our class schedules and start work. Then our Induction started.”

Dread grips me as he talks about walking with his fellow first-year students into the large stadium at the edge of the University campus. Our Early Studies orientation instructor told us the stadium contained a greenhouse. Inside that greenhouse, the final-year Biological Engineering students had constructed an obstacle course designed to test the knowledge and resourcefulness of the incoming class. I try to picture what Tomas describes—seven stations where students were required to identify plants or animals by touch or smell or by reading lines of their genetic code. A correct answer meant passing to the next station. An incorrect one required the first-year student to face a physical challenge. Failure to pass the physical challenge result

ed in elimination from the obstacle course and Redirection out of the Biological Engineering program and the University.

Redirection.

Bile rises in my throat. The word rings loud in my head, so I barely hear Tomas talk about the one question he answered incorrectly and the hundred-foot-long, fifteen-foot-wide path filled with hazardous plant life he had to navigate before being allowed to proceed to the next station.

“Most of the ground and shrubs were covered with poison ivy. Not the kind with the pink veins, although I saw a few of those near the edges of the path. Mostly, it was the typical variety we have growing at the edges of my father’s farm.”

Tomas is healthy and whole and seated beside me, but I still let out a sigh of relief. The garden-variety poison ivy isn’t fun. I walked through a patch of it when my father let me tag along on a scouting mission when I was six. If it weren’t for the salve Dr. Flint put on my ankles, I would have scratched them raw. The red, itchy skin was unpleasant, but it didn’t kill me. Had I run into the other kind of poison ivy, I wouldn’t have lived. My father says radiation interacted with the oily allergen contained in the leaves, transforming that strain into something incredibly deadly. While brushing the skin with the allergen will only cause blister-laden rashes, a touch of the oil on the tongue or an open wound as small as a pinprick will allow the poison to penetrate. Once the poison is inside the body, it attacks the cardiovascular system and typically results in pulmonary failure. Burning the plant and breathing in the fumes causes an even speedier death.

My father and brothers have carefully destroyed several small patches of pink ivy around our colony, using gloves to pull the roots from the soil and a special chemical to kill the plant and counteract the effects of the poisonous oils. I shouldn’t be surprised that someone would think it appropriate to use such a dangerous plant as part of a residence initiation, but I am. Perhaps because I know from my father’s work that pink ivy has been spotted in only six colonies. Never once has it been reported in the area surrounding Tosu City. Students who grew up in the city might never have come across or even heard of the deadly plant. Unless they got lucky, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

Tomas continues. “Your dad would have been able to identify all the plants there, but I couldn’t. I spotted poison sumac, prickly poppy, and the red-flowered jessamine that killed off Scotty Rollison’s goats when we were kids.”

The red flowers are another wartime mutation; they’re filled with pollen that attacks the immune system.

“Since I didn’t know all the plants, I tucked the bottom of my pant legs into my boots and stuck with the path I knew wasn’t going to kill me. I walked across the poison ivy, reached the other side, and moved on to the next station.”

Smart. Although, by the way he scratches at his left calf, I’m guessing he might need some salve.

Tomas doesn’t seem to realize he is scratching. His eyes are far away. Lost in a memory. “There were fifteen of us first years when we started initiation. Only eight made it through. Five of us from the colonies and three from Tosu City. The rest . . .” His voice trails off, but I know the ending to the sentence.

The unsuccessful students were Redirected out of the program. Removed from the University? I picture Obidiah being loaded into the skimmer and feel tears threaten again as I grieve for students whose names I don’t know and wonder about those I care about. What has become of Stacia? Did she survive the Medical Induction? And what has become of the others? Will I see their faces on campus, or will they join the ones in my dreams?

I take Tomas’s hand and entwine my fingers with his and then tell him about my experience. The scavenger hunt. Picking teams. The snake. The airfield. The trek around the city that showed how much work still needs to be done to rewind the clock to the days before the wars. I don’t tell him about the conversation I had with Michal before moving to the residence or about the rebels. Not yet.

Tomas’s hand tightens around mine when I mention teaming up with Will. Ever since listening to the recording, I’ve wondered if Tomas’s subconscious remembers the events I outlined on the Transit Communicator. But now I’m forced to consider whether my dream was right. If this dislike of Will is proof that Tomas’s memories of The Testing are intact.

Ignoring the gnawing anxiety, I tell the rest. Being maneuvered into climbing into the steel box. My certainty that I had been abandoned. Choosing to free Damone despite his horrific behavior. Reaching the final task. Learning that Dr. Barnes and Professor Holt are watching my every move. Waiting for me to do something that will result in my elimination from the University. My Redirection.

I hug my arms to my chest as I tell of Rawson’s final moments. The hands that pushed him and sent him stumbling to his death. The shattered reaction of the girl who killed without understanding what effect her act of frustration would bring. Finally, the guilt I feel over my part in the loss of Rawson’s life.

“It’s not your fault, Cia.” Tomas shifts so he is sitting across from me. His eyes meet mine with fierce intensity as he reaches for my hands.

“I know.” I do, but part of me still believes my choice in teammates would have made a difference.

I glance down at my hands held tight in Tomas’s and notice he no longer wears the bracelet of the Early Studies colony students. Circling his wrist is a heavy gold and silver band. Etched on the center disk is a stylized tree underscored by three wavy lines. The tree is an obvious symbol for a field of study dedicated to revitalizing the earth. The tangible proof that Tomas has become a part of something I am not tugs at my heart. For the first time since we left Five Lakes, we are not part of the same team. Separated by symbols. Maybe more.

Removing my hands from his, I know it is time to find out how great the divide between us is.

Chapter 12

“I’VE STARTED HAVING dreams,” I say. “Like my father.”

Before I left for The Testing, my father told me about his dreams. Dreams filled with a decaying city and explosions that ripped apart flesh and bone. Whether the dreams were real or imagined my father couldn’t say, but he shared them with me in the hope they might prepare me for what was to come. He used the dreams to demonstrate a lesson he needed me to learn. Not to trust anyone. But I did.

The way Tomas stills and the wary look in his eyes makes my nerves jump. “How long have you been having them?”

“A while.” The scars on my arm tingle, and I swallow hard. “I don’t recall everything yet, but I remember some things.”

His eyes search mine. “What do you remember?”

“Not much. Mostly flashes. Malachi dying. Will smiling over the barrel of a gun. You and me plotting to prevent the memory loss.” My heart slams against my chest as I wait for him to say something. Anything. The silence lasts a minute. Two. Each second that passes stretches my nerves. Pulls at my heart until I can’t take it any longer. “You remember.”

Sorrow, horror, and an emotion I can’t identify flicker across his face before his features go blank. “Remember what?”