Vanquished (20 page)

I scan the part of the letter that says lawlessness is allowed and encouraged in the Lesser cities. Fischer hinted at this when he said the Lessers are given pills and are encouraged to trade their allowances for entertainment. Of course, I know that there is more crime there. The people are violent, which is why most aren't allowed into the Middle cities.

I try to reconcile this with what Fischer's group is trying to do—spread the message about God. Would their knowledge of God change the Lessers' behavior?

Of course, not all Lessers are dangerous. Fischer and his family aren't, and what about Jamie? She isn't violent. She can't help it that she's a Lesser. Being one in and of itself doesn't make her violent and lawless. What if that's how it is with most Lessers, at least in the beginning? What if it's only later that they realize there is no hope for them?

My eyes fall on another part of the letter.
You've never heard of heaven or hell
. I've never heard these words, except “hell” as a curse. It's not used in a good way. Is it a real place? I feel like I'm going to be sick.

I tear the paper to shreds and take it downstairs to burn. If anyone found it in my possession, I could be arrested. I don't think they would let me off as easily as the last time.

I watch the paper burn, but I can see the words as clearly as if they were printed in my brain. I'm glad. I don't want to forget them, not ever. I'm not entirely sure I believe them, but in case they're true, I want to remember.

 

 

 

 

35

 

It's a few days before my Test. My stomach protests at the thought. I no longer want to be whatever
they
will make me. I don't want to work in the government or for the Greaters. The only thing I look forward to about Test day is Keegan's return. So much has changed in the last three weeks, and I ache for something familiar. I miss Keegan's silly jokes and our easy companionship. I miss my friend.

Still, I feel anxious at his homecoming. Will he visit Mom? Will he mention her? Will he only talk about Greaters? Will he understand the changes in me?

At school I scrawl a half-hearted speech about all we've learned over the years and how proud we should be of each other and ourselves for making it as far as we have. It's pathetically short, but that's because I refuse to mention our bright futures or the benefits we have as a society.

“What's that you're working on?” Mrs. Sewell asks.

“My speech.” I want to draw the words back as soon as I say them. Mrs. Sewell thinks my speech was completed days ago.

“How's it coming?”

“Not as smoothly as I'd like.”

She smiles. “I'm happy to take a look if you need me to.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Sewell. I'm going to polish it a little more.”

It's a few minutes before class starts, and I put the paper away. I had hoped to talk to Ava before school, but so far, I haven't seen her. What's taking her so long? Class starts and she doesn't make it in time.

We go through the motions of the graduation ceremony again today. Why do we have to do it so often? How hard is it to walk down an aisle?

Finally, school lets out, still with no sign of Ava. Worry settles in my gut, and I'm surer than ever that I want to talk to her.

Instead of going straight to the hospital, I go to Ava's. She could have spent the day outside of Markus' room, but she might be home sick.

No one answers at her house, and I knock several times. I press my nose against a window off her front porch, but the drapes are drawn like they were a few days ago. I let out a sigh and start to the hospital. Is Markus out of his isolation? Maybe Ava's family has finally been allowed to visit.

How would that work, if he really has seen something he shouldn't? Can they erase his memory? The thought gives me chills, even in the heat. What exactly can the Greaters do, and how far will they go?

The second floor is busier than usual. Medics scurry back and forth between rooms as I head toward Markus's.

The door hangs open, and I stop and stare. Has Ava's family been allowed in after all this time?

But as I near the door I see I'm wrong. The room has been gutted. The bed has no sheets, the room has no other furniture, and the windows are open to let in fresh air and light. There's a sole occupant in the room, and he's bent over scrubbing something in the floor.

“What's going on? Did they move Markus to another room?”

The cleaning man looks up and shrugs. His appearance stops me in my tracks. His cheeks are hollow, and his eyes sunk in. He looks like he hasn't eaten in days. “I can't give information on the patients, ma'am.”

It hits me then, why he looks so terrible. He's a Lesser. He must be! He must be safe or they wouldn't let him out of the Lesser city, but terror worms its way down my back.

I force myself to calm down. Fischer was a Lesser. How would he treat this man? The answer comes almost immediately.

“Thanks,” I say, doing my best to smile, and I hurry from the room. Markus is gone. Ava is gone. Their house is empty. What happened to them?

I head to the stairs and jog up two at a time. Fischer might know something—anything—even if it's only an idea. He's sitting behind his computer, and I lean on the counter in front of him. “Ava's gone,” I whisper.

He glances up from the screen. His eyes are clear, and he doesn't seem surprised. “Yes?”

“So is Markus.”

He glances around, and then his eyes land back on me. “You know I can't talk about other patients, Hana.”

“Ava isn't a patient, and I'm not asking you to tell me specifics. I want to know your theories.”

He leans back and sighs. “Ava's been on a lot of pills lately.”

What does that have to do with anything?

“Once you're hooked, you're not much good for anything else. Where do they send people who aren't helping society progress?”

My heart stops for a fraction of a second, and then it restarts at triple speed.

“They made her a Lesser?” It comes out in a shocked, tiny whisper. My two friends are gone. And then I think of Markus. “Him too, right?”

Fischer glances around again and shrugs. “Medical allowances run out, Hana.”

Is he trying to tell me something? If so, I can't think of what it might be. My throat feels like it's swelling shut, and I swallow hard. They're making everyone around me Lessers, and I don't understand why. Has this happened in the past? If so, why haven't I heard about it before? Why is it happening now?

Fischer puts his hand on my arm. It's warm and soft. He gives a tight squeeze, and then lets go quickly. It's enough to get my attention, though. He's never touched me like this before. I wasn't prepared for the way my skin would tingle, or the way it would make my heart skip.

“Don't think about it right now,” he says. “Go see your mom. She's waiting on you.”

I know he's right, but I feel frozen in place. “Do you know these things for sure, or are they only theories?” I feel like I need to know this.

“They're theories. I stop by the second floor every day on my way in, just to see what I can find. I never find anything, but today I found an empty room. I put two and two together.”

I nod and push off the counter. Maybe he's wrong. Maybe we're both wrong. “OK.”

My mom is asleep when I get to her room. The lights are off, and the room seems unbearably dark and gloomy. I sit in a chair beside the bed, and that's when I notice a paper sticking out of Mom's book. It's like a page marker.

I pull it out and read. “
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life
.”

I suck in air so quickly I choke on it. A glass of water sits on the bedside table and I grab it and gulp.

What are these words? Why are they in Mom's book? I scan them again and can't believe what I'm seeing.

What do the words mean? God loves the world. He has a Son? That seems strange. I've never heard of this Son before, but apparently God gave up His Son, so that whoever believed in Him wouldn't perish. Whoever believed in Him would have eternal life.

My mind whirls. I really can't make sense of these words. Did Fischer leave this for me? Or is the paper really and truly Mom's? I'm afraid to bring it up, in case it gets her in trouble, but I don't want to just take it.

My mom's chest rises and falls as she takes a deep, rattling breath.

Watching her makes my nose and eyes burn. My mom is sick. She's really, really sick. She thinks she's going to die.

The realization hits me in the stomach and causes so much pain I wish it were me instead. I have terrible, wretched, unforgivable thoughts. Why couldn't it be Dad? Or Jamie's mom? After all, she gave up her own daughter to the Greaters. Why Mom?

Does anyone have an answer to that question?

Does God? Does He have a reason behind Mom's illness?

If He does, then I hate Him.

As soon as the thought comes I dismiss it. If there is a God, He is the only one who can help Mom.

I don't hate Him. I need Him.

I make a split decision and shove the paper in my bag. I want these words. I crave these words. I'm obsessed with these words.

I don't mention them when Mom wakes up, and neither does she.

 

 

 

 

36

 

“Can we talk?” I whisper to Fischer.

He's about to take a glass of water to someone, but he stops for me. “What is it?”

I glance around, and then show him the paper. “This was in my mom's book. Did you put it there?”

His eyes widen and he shoves the paper back in my bag. Water trickles down the glass as he sets it on the counter, and he takes my arm and walks me to the stairs.

I should be thinking about the words on that paper, or Mom, or anything—but I'm not. I'm only thinking how this is the second time today Fischer has touched me. Tingles race down my arm all the way to my fingertips.

“I didn't put it there.” He lets go and I feel the absence of his hand like the absence of the sun.

“Then who did?”

“I don't know.” He runs a hand through his hair, a frown on his face.

Obviously, he doesn't like not knowing something of this magnitude.

“What are these words?” I ask.

“It's part of the Bible. It's called a Bible verse.”

“A Bible verse? Like poetry?”

He gives me a half smile and shrugs. “Exactly like poetry, only much more truthful and important.”

I run the words through my mind again, and my throat feels tight with emotion. “Can you explain it to me?” Does Mom understand it? Has she even read it? She did want to know what happens to her when she dies. I swallow back my tears.

Fischer doesn't hesitate, and his eyes are soft and understanding. “Yes, I would love to explain it to you, but I can't do it here.”

“My house, tonight,” I say before I can change my mind. If I could get away with talking to Easton in the middle of the night then I can get away with talking to Fischer. “Can you come?”

“Are you sure?” His eyes watch me as if he's studying me, gauging how serious I am.

“Yes,” I say.

“Then I'll be there.”

Dr. Lane comes around the corner and smiles at me. “Hi, Hana. Did you see your mom?”

“I did,” I say with a wave. “I'll see you later.”

Fischer holds the door for me, and I slip away without another word.

I act as normal as possible when Dad comes home. He acts short with me. Frustrated. He's obviously thinking of last night, and trying to gauge whether or not I was actually doing something I shouldn't be.

Minutes pass like hours as I wait for dark, and then bedtime, and then much, much later than bedtime.

Finally, I tiptoe downstairs to wait for the knock that will come. I'm tempted to peek out the window or even step outside, but the thought of a guard seeing me stops me.

Just when I think I can't wait a moment longer, he comes.

“Sorry it took me so long. There are more guards than usual.” He's wearing a black hoodie, and he pulls it away from his face. A brown curl falls in his eye, and I want to push it away for him.

I don't.

“Are you OK?” I ask. I know how it feels to run from guards.

“Yeah, they didn't see me.”

I don't want to admit how glad I am. What if he were to get caught? What if he were to get sent away, too? Every friend I have would be gone. I sit on a stool and pat the seat beside me. “My dad's asleep. Whisper, please.”

He grins. “I can do that.” He pulls something from a bag slung over his shoulder. I recognize it right away, because I've seen it before, in the box of recovered books from the Baily's Book Store.

“A Bible,” I say.

He nods. “That's right. The verse you found is from John chapter three, verse sixteen.” He flips it open and finds the page he's looking for. “
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.
”

I read the words to myself, running over them again and again. “So God gave us His son, to trade for our everlasting life?” I ask. “It's kind of like our allowances. We give up a food allowance to pay for food. Only God paid that price for us. He gave up His son to pay for everlasting life.”

Fischer's eyes light up with excitement. “Exactly.” He leans closer and lowers his voice. “God made this world, Hana. He made you and me, and the trees and the birds. He made it all! And He gave us a choice whether or not to follow him. He loves us, though, and hopes we'll choose to go with Him.”

I force my mind away from the feelings I get from hearing Fischer say my name. He says it softly, reverently. I like it.