TOBIAS
CHRISTINA STOPS THE car outside of a small building, surrounded by huge oak trees. Most of the area outside the city is deserted and dry, so we must be farther into the fringe than I've ever been before. The pathway leading to the door is dimly lit by two streetlamps, one of which is on the verge of life and death.
I'm the first to get out of the car. I grab my gun from the seat and slam the door. The sound resonates through the trees and I flinch, aiming the gun into the shadows. It feels strange in my fingers—I haven't held a gun in months. I gave up the use of force to start using my words, but despite how long it's been, I know that I could hit the knot on that tree at the edge of the circle of light—about fifty feet away—without blinking an eye.
It's not just something you can erase from your mind.
Nothing stirs from the trees, so I lower the weapon and turn back to the group. Christina leads the way down the stone path and to the wooden door. The frame is rotting so the door sags a little and there's no handle. She pushes it open with her shoulder, her gun positioned in front of her. I do the same, followed by Amar and Zeke. Inside, it is complete darkness. I don't know how Christina knows where we're going, but I can hear her stepping confidently around the room.
"Wait," calls out Amar. "Just come this way."
"Can't…" someone croaks. It must be Zeke, but his voice is tight and small.
"I've got a flashlight," I say, reaching for my backpack. I find it in the side pocket and flip the switch. A harsh yellow light illuminates Amar, with his hand outstretched in Zeke's direction and Zeke, his eyes wide, staring at nothing. For as long as I can remember, Zeke's been afraid of the dark, because he didn't like not knowing what he might be facing, what could be waiting in the shadows to take him by surprise.
After a moment he relaxes and comes closer, taking the flashlight from me. We continue on, crossing the room, which is filled with old lamps and chairs and bookshelves whose books haven't been opened in ages, their bindings cracked and dusty. At the far end is another wooden door, this one in much better shape than the first one. When I get closer, I can see why. From the glow of the flashlight, I notice silver hinges holding the door to the frame and when I run my fingers over the wood, it's not the rough texture of sanded bark that I feel, but rather the cool smoothness of steel.
"Wow, that is some serious detail," remarks Amar, touching his fingertips to the door gingerly, like he's testing to see if it's really even there.
Christina reaches for her neck and grabs a thin chain I hadn't noticed before. On it is a miniature key, simple and black. She inserts it into a small hole on the door and I hear an almost inaudible click. She replaces the key and leads us silently through to the other side. A flight of stairs leads straight down to another door, this one silver, not trying to hide its true strength. Beyond it is a brightly lit hallway, people flocking up and down, with more doors lining the walls.
"A secret entrance," explains Christina. "No GD rebel would think to come searching for a Bureau entrance in an old shack."
"But what about the car?" asks Amar. "It's not exactly a rusty old truck."
"Already taken care of," she replies, gesturing to one of the doors on our left. Through a window, I can see the Panther sitting just like we left it, but inside this high-tech garage.
"I parked it on a panel which lowered it to this room, and which will raise it again tomorrow so we can reach our destination. But right now, it's time for some dinner. And then some sleep."
I nod and we head through the throng of people until the crowd thins. I can smell the food before I see it and my mouth waters. I haven't eaten since the muffin this morning, and by the sounds of Zeke's stomach he hasn't had much, either.
"Sorry," he mumbles, but I just laugh.
We enter through a set of tall double doors. The huge room is filled with long tables running the length of the room, all of which have platters piled high with burgers, sandwiches, fried chicken, rolls, and corn on the cob. In the some of the silver basins sit mashed potatoes, soup, fried rice and spaghetti.
"Is this even real?" asks Zeke.
He's right; the copious amounts of food remind me of a Dauntless initiation feast.
But one hundred and ten percent better.
Without hesitation all four of us run to the nearest table and drag helpless pizza slices, garlic potatoes and macaroni salad onto our plates. Amar isn't even halfway though his burger before I go back for seconds. When we've stuffed ourselves until I think the only logical explanation for why we haven't burst yet is delayed reaction, people in uniforms come to clear the plates.
"Well, that was…what would you call that?" Zeke nudges Amar, who looks at him contentedly.
"Beautiful."
"Yes, it was very…beautiful."
I move my chair to rise, but Christina holds me back by my arm.
"Wait! Or you're going to miss the best part." She smiles and I sit, unsure of what's coming next. When I look up in the direction that the food left in, I understand why Christina had not eaten as much as she could.
Dessert.
And by the looks of it, more delicious desserts than all the chocolate cake in the world.
When they set the final course down in front of us, I hear someone groan. There's carrot cake, Tiramisu, lemon meringue pie, chocolate pudding, éclairs, red velvet cookies, and triple chocolate cake. But this time I leave the chocolate cake and take a slice of the pie. The light cream on top doesn't look too filling and I've never tried it before. The tangy lemon flavor mixes with the sweet airy taste of the meringue and I close my eyes for a moment, savoring the delectable combination.
We finish with our desserts and head out of the room. Christina leads us down a hallway and down a flight of stairs. At the bottom, we turn right into another hallway, this one with white tiles and industrial lighting. Since we're the only ones here, I can hear the buzzing as the lights pass the electricity.
It's an eerie sort of quiet, now, and I can't help but remember the long twisting hallways of Erudite headquarters, and how one wrong move could lead you to a trap.
I'm so deep in my own memories that when a girl passes by on my left, I don't even notice her and accidentally knock her shoulder.
"Sorry," I say, extending my hand to steady her. "Are you all right?" I know how strong I can be without even trying.
Her face is familiar. Brown hair, thin frame.
"Cara! What are you doing here?" asks Zeke, coming up behind me.
She looks at him, panic in her eyes, and then back at me.
"Umm…nothing." She hesitates and then avoids my bewildered gaze, shoving past our group to the end of the hallway and around the corner. I listen until her footsteps fade.
"What was that all about?" Christina breaks the silence.
"I don't have any idea," I answer.
Cara was fine the last time I saw her, five weeks ago at Tris' funeral. There was nothing that I knew of which would bother her, unless she was still grieving about Will's death. I think about Cara the rest of the way to our sleeping quarters for the night. It's not just her actions that bother me; there was something about her face, like she didn't recognize any of us.
Had she used the memory serum?
Or had someone used it on her?
The bed Christina shows me is plain, but comfortable. I fall asleep without trouble, still in my clothes from the day. When I wake, I hear the rustle of someone getting ready next to me. I blink sleep out of my eyes and see Amar putting on his shoes.
"Hey, sleepy, time to get ready. It's an early start today."
I groan and roll back over, pulling the blankets up to keep out the light. A few minutes later, something large lands on my bed, squashing the air out of me. I hear Zeke's laughter and peek from behind the covers. His face is inches from mine.
"Get off of me," I grunt. "It's not your business whether I sleep in or not."
"Maybe, but it becomes my business when you keep me from getting breakfast."
I shove him hard and he rolls off the bed, landing on his feet. Reluctantly, I sit up. There is a stack of clothes on the end of the bed, ruffled from where Zeke landed on them. There's a bathroom just outside the room that Christina told us about last night. I take a quick shower to wake up and change into the clothes they brought for me. It's a gray sweater and jeans.
"It's practically summer," I say, as I enter the room. "Won't this be a bit warm for the weather?"
Christina comes out from behind the wall divider that separated us boys and her while we slept.
"It's chilly out today," she replies. "The air around here is…different…because of Bureau experiments. They keep trying to see if they can change the temperature outside so they can make winters less harsh and summers not so dry. And I guess they've done something because… it's snowing."
I notice that Zeke and Amar have bulky jackets to put on over their police uniforms and Christina has on earmuffs and gloves. Not only have we changed the way we live, but now we're altering the seasons, as well. I never fully trusted the Bureau after what happened, with all the genetically pure stuff and how they tried to hide the past from everybody, not caring about who's lives were lost, as long as it was all in the name of progress. Christina says they've changed since we altered their memories, which I wasn't totally on board for either, so I'm willing to give them the benefit of a doubt.
But one wrong move is all I need to change my mind.
We eat breakfast and head back out the way we came in last night. At the top of the stairs, I can feel the cooler air. When we get to the front door, it takes both Amar and I to shove against it and move the snow that piled up overnight. When it finally gives, I bring my hand up to shield my eyes as the sudden light rushes in. White covers everything, from the clearing where we stood last night, to the lampposts, to the trees, their branches dipping slightly from the weight. The Panther looks like it hasn't moved. The only indication that it hasn't been sitting there all night is the lack of snow on its black rooftop.
We trudge trough the drifts and pile in. The car drives through with ease; it's large tires crunching snow beneath them. We twist and turn until I can see the main road again, and leave the trees behind. Ahead of us is nothing but white. It looks like the sky has fallen and the ground is covered with clouds.
Frost gathers on our windows and I'm thankful for the sweater now instead of the thin t-shirt I wore yesterday.
After about thirty minutes, I can see small dots of what I assume are buildings. The first time I went to the fringe, I was with Nita, believing that I was meeting GD rebels for a good cause. A cause I stood for because I was damaged.
But now I know that my genes do not define who I am.
Only I can do that.
Within ten minutes we've reached the edge of the small town. Bushes grow up against some of the buildings and trees are unevenly spaced throughout streets. This part of the fringe is more fertile than most, I guess because the Bureau experiments have caused it to rain, even in the dry seasons. There's nobody out, probably because of the weather.
Christina pulls up to the front of a brick building with a faded green door. A tall extension on the rooftop bulges in and out, the curves becoming smaller as it goes up, finally ending in a point. On either side of the door are colorful windows. The early morning light shines through them, so the glass looks like it's glowing. The different shades create pictures, some of people kneeling over a small bed and another of a bright yellow star, faces turned up in reverence.
We get out and as we walk towards the building, my feet fall into other footprints.
Someone is already here.
At the front, Amar pounds the large knocker against the peeling paint, and stands back. After a moment, someone opens the door: an older man with withering gray hair and black robes. His face looks like it has seen compassion, but there's something in his eyes that suggest he is feeling something other than kindness at the moment.
His eyes dart from Christina to Amar to me.
"We're here for the city transfers," says Christina gently, as if the older man isn't completely aware.
But I can tell he is very, very aware.
"Can we come in?" she asks after a moment.
But before he can say anything, a scratched voice replies. "Please, enter."
The man at the door trembles and mouths the word "run".
I'm about to take his advice when a loud bang sounds and he falls trough the crack of the door, landing facedown in the snow at my feet.
As I watch in horror, dark red stains the innocent white surrounding him. The door opens fully to reveal a tall man with a scraggly beard and a few missing teeth. His clothes are torn and his knuckles are calloused and bruised. In his hands, pointed at the four of us, is a gun.
"Please, enter." He gestures to the space behind him, farther into the room, but keeping the gun trained on us.
A warning.
The look in the old man's eyes was a warning.