Chapter 37: Tris – Sacrifice
I wonder if the Dauntless ever noticed that it's easier to ignore pain when you're afraid? Probably not. It would be too much like admitting that there's a type of strength in fear, and they're absolutely determined to believe that no good can come from it. But as the soldiers pull me along between them, I find myself much more worried about what's ahead than I'd like to admit, and I almost forget the burning in my ribs during that time.
The fear gets worse as we walk, and it's not just because of what's ahead. It's also because of where we're heading. We seem to be making a beeline for the building with the Control Computer. It never occurred to me before that NUSA might question their prisoners there, but now that I think about the possibility, it makes sense. They would obviously have the right equipment there, and the people to control it. But if that's true, it means I'm bringing a dozen soldiers to where my friends are, right as they're in the middle of the most important part of our mission. I can't let that happen.
For a couple of blocks, I seriously consider making a break for it. There aren't many possible outcomes, after all. I could die, in which case the soldiers might go searching for Amar and Cara. Or I could get away and lead them off. Or I could fail, and nothing would change.
I'm about ready to risk it when we finally start veering south, giving me hope that we're going somewhere else after all. Three blocks later, to my enormous relief, the soldiers pull me into the other building we spent the last few days observing. Of course. It's owned by the government too.
Inside the entrance, my guards shift so we're walking single file as we pass through a room filled with strange equipment. I've never seen anything like this before, with long conveyor belts and arches that are not much bigger than a large adult. It's hard to imagine what all this is used for, but I'm glad that it's silent and unmanned right now. On top of everything else, it looks downright frightening, and I almost shudder as my captors push me through one of the arches and into the lobby beyond it.
I don't notice much about the lobby, since the soldiers surround me the moment we step into it, and their tall forms block my view on all sides. But I'm glad when they lug me over to the bank of elevators instead of a stairway. I don't want a repeat of being hauled up the stairs. The pain from the last set is still far too fresh in my mind.
We get off the elevator on the fourteenth floor, and my captors pull me down a series of long hallways. I catch glimpses of white walls and closed metal doors as we pass. The lights overhead flicker a little, casting an eerie reflection on the ugly green tile beneath my feet, and I can't help but remember being dragged through another set of long hallways in another building a lifetime ago. I don't want to do this.
Eventually, they shove me into a room that is an unnerving mix of the Erudite labs where I was tortured and the control simulator we used in the bomb shelter. On one side of the room stands a metal table with restraints hanging from all edges of it; it is surrounded by several smaller tables that are covered with surgical equipment. I shudder at the sight, knowing that's where they'll connect a probe to me the way they did with Amar.
I try to focus on the other side of room, hoping to find it less unsettling. But that's debatable. Two chairs sit a little apart from a computer, with wires and electrodes hanging from hooks on the walls and chairs. I know they'll connect me to that soon, as well as hooking up someone to question me. Perhaps it's because I know what's coming, or perhaps because I don't know enough about it, but to me, the entire setting screams torture.
The soldiers must have done this many times, because they don't pause for instructions before taking me to the metal table. Briefly, I think about struggling, but then they pick me up, and the pain surges so strongly that it's all I can do to gasp for air. So instead, I do my best to relax as they lay me down on the table. Focus on breathing, I remind myself as they strap restraints around every part of my body. But it's hard not to panic as they clamp my head in place.
It gets harder when I hear the clipping of scissors and feel blades snipping the hair away from the left side of my head. I know why they're doing it, of course, but that's not the only thing that bothers me about it. It's also abhorrent to everything Abnegation in me.
Growing up, my mother always trimmed my hair, and it feels wrong to have strangers removing the tresses she so lovingly handled. As if they're taking away a vital part of me – one of the few things that still connects me to her.
A moment later, the buzz of an electric razor replaces the scissors, and that's followed by cold wipes and the sight of a small plastic tent in my peripheral vision. They're clearly getting the area ready for surgery. A fresh stab of fear goes through me as I wonder if they'll give me any anesthesia. I've heard that there are no pain receptors in the skull or brain, but they'll still be slicing through skin and flesh to get there. I don't want to feel that.
But I do. It starts with a different buzzing sound. I can't see the source of the noise, but when it touches the side of my head, I realize it's a drill. And it slices into me with no warning. The pain is fierce, definitely worse than what my hands have suffered, though on balance I'd have to say it's not as bad as the vicious ache throbbing and burning through my ribcage. A strange desire to laugh bubbles up inside me as I realize I'm getting through this by comparing the different pains assaulting my body, as if this is just a scientific experiment in school, and I'm creating a chart of my results.
1. Cracked rib and bruised diaphragm
2. Drilling through skull
3. Lacerated fingers
4. Sprained wrist
I'm trying to figure out where the old bullet wound on my shoulder fits into the list when I feel them attaching something over the drill point. It must be the type of receiver Amar had on his head. Everything in me screams out in protest, but I stay silent. I can't stop them, and I won't give them the satisfaction of knowing how much they're getting to me.
I'm startled by a stinging in my arm. With everything else going on, I almost missed it, but now I realize that they've just given me an injection of some sort. Presumably, it's an intensive dose of the Suggestibility Serum. At least that doesn't frighten me; I can handle serums just fine.
That must be the end of the process, because most of the soldiers leave the room at that point, and the remaining ones wait in silence. I try counting the minutes, remembering how much it bothered me in Erudite to not be able to measure the passage of time, but I have too much adrenaline running through me to count accurately. I'm probably treating every tenth of a second as a full second.
An eternity passes as the serum seeps through me. I can feel it making my thoughts fuzzy, but at least it's not an entirely bad feeling. It dulls the pain and fear and helps me relax.
I think I must drift off for a bit, because I'm vaguely surprised when hands remove my restraints and lift me off the table. For some reason, the motion hurts. That shouldn't surprise me, should it? I'm pretty sure I'm injured.
The hands set me in a chair, and the people attached to them position themselves behind me, one on either side. I blink, struggling to remember where I am and what's happening. It would be easier if my head weren't spinning so much.
Eventually, my eyes begin to focus again, and I realize that someone is sitting in another chair near me. He reminds me of someone – someone I like. Is that because I know him? I try to remember, but I can't quite place him, and after a little while, I realize it doesn't really matter. I just know that he's kind. I can trust him.
"What's your name?" he asks gently. My throat starts to form the answer immediately, but some instinct stops me. There's something odd about the way he asked the question. It takes me a second to realize what – his mouth didn't move when he spoke.
I stare at him, wondering if I imagined the question. For some reason, I feel the urge to answer it anyway, but that stubbornness inside me still says no. It tells me this is wrong. Something to do with all the wires attached to him, connecting him to a computer….
After a moment, he repeats the question, and this time I realize that somehow the man is transmitting it directly into my brain. That doesn't make sense. People can't do that, can they? But clearly he is, and now that I think about it, the idea seems familiar. I think maybe I did that once.
I blink again, trying to recall when that was, and where. The words "bomb shelter" come to mind, along with images of faces. My grandmother. And Tobias. And Amar.
For some reason, the thought of Amar seems important – even more than the other two. There's some connection between him and this place. I puzzle over what it is.
The third time the man asks for my name, I finally remember. They're questioning me the way they did with Amar. I'm a prisoner like he was, and I have to do what he did. With a huge effort, I clear the fog away enough to focus. He told them a lie, to buy time for the others. It's my job now to continue that story.
My eyes turn to the man who is questioning me, and I realize I need to answer him. Anyone else in my position would, after receiving the message he's transmitting so strongly. But I need to be consistent with what Amar said, that there were only four people involved in our plot.
"I'm Margot," I gasp, surprised that it's still difficult to breathe. I'd forgotten about my ribs.
"Ah," the man responds. "Welcome to our facility, Margot." He smiles, and again I feel an enormous desire to like him, to trust him, to tell him the truth. I manage to push the impulse down, but I can already tell it will be difficult to lie completely while under this serum. It would be much easier to tell a half-truth. With a slight jolt, I realize that that's why Amar led them to our hiding spot instead of to a totally different place. I have to be stronger than that.
"Would you like to tell me why you were shooting the soldiers who serve our government?" the man asks me calmly, his voice again sounding only within my head. And I feel a message with the words. It was wrong to do what I did. I should try to make up for it by assisting him now.
"I was trying to help my friend," I answer. It's not a complete lie.
"Which friend is that?"
"Amar. He was in their custody, and I wanted to help him be free again."
The image of Cara drifts through my mind, but I shut it down firmly. I won't reveal anything about her if I can avoid it.
"Where is Amar now?" The mental voice is soothing this time.
I have to think about that for a moment. The honest answer is that I don't know, at least not for certain, and it would be easy to say that. But I need to find a way to mislead these people, to focus their attention in the wrong direction, and this question seems like a good opportunity.
I open my mouth to begin that effort, but I'm stopped by the sound of a commotion in the hallway. My questioner turns to look, and something about his expression makes my heart rate increase. Something is wrong. Have they recaptured Amar, or gotten Cara? Or has something happened to the others?
Within thirty seconds, the source of the noise becomes clear as three soldiers drag a frantically struggling Caleb in between them. My heart leaps into my throat, pounding crazily as every muscle in my body tenses. What happened? Has the mission failed completely? Images flood through me, thoughts of Tobias, of Christina, of Uriah. The closest people I have left in this world. Are they…dead?
Caleb's eyes are flitting wildly around the room, and I'm flipping just as quickly through thoughts, when his gaze lands on me. For a second, he simply stares, his eyes wide with panic. Then his scrutiny passes over the rest of me, taking in my injuries, and the device on my head, and my lack of restraints, and the guards standing behind me. An idea must occur to him, because I see certainty replace his fear, and a calculated act replace his struggling.
"Ha!" he laughs, looking at the soldier who was questioning me. "We're the only two you caught? Well, the joke's on you because four of them got away, and you can't catch them!" His eyes turn to me again as he adds intensely, "Do you hear that? Four got away!"
Too many emotions catch in my throat at that statement, because I know exactly what he means, and why he's telling me that. Tobias is alive, and we have to buy him time to get to the Control Computer. And Caleb doesn't think he's resistant enough to do that. As his eyes hold mine, I understand what he wants me to do. He's asking me to kill him for the sake of everyone else. For the sake of the mission. For the sake of everyone back home. For Tobias' sake. And maybe for mine.
My Erudite brother has rediscovered the Abnegation inside himself, and he is choosing to sacrifice his life for it.
But he needs me to do it for him, and I don't know if I can. I think back to my fear landscape, when I chose to die rather than kill my family, even as they assured me I should shoot them. How can I make a different choice now, when it's real?
Caleb's eyes hold mine desperately as the soldiers begin to drag him across the room toward the metal table. And I can see how much he wants me to do this. How important it is to him not to betray me again, not to be the person who brings us all down. And realistically, I know I would want the same thing in his position.
In that moment, I fully forgive him for helping Jeanine. I forgive him, and I love him. I try to convey that with my eyes as I force my resisting body to lunge from the chair in a single, fast motion. I leap at him, moving past the surprised soldiers before they can stop me, my injured hand managing to form a tight fist despite the pain. And that fist connects – hard – with a pressure point under his jaw, the same point that Marcus hit back in Erudite a thousand years ago. As he did that day, Caleb drops like a rock, unconscious. It's the best I can do. I can't kill him.
"Traitor!" I force myself to yell, somehow getting the sound out through my tight chest and aching ribcage. "How dare you betray our government!?"
There's a commotion as the soldiers scuttle around, trying to figure out what to do. After a few seconds, two of them grab me while two others try unsuccessfully to lift Caleb's limp form from the floor.
"He betrayed our government!" I say to the room at large. "And he was happy about it! How could he do that?" My eyes meet those of the man who was questioning me. "He should die."
The man looks startled, and completely discomposed. But he also looks like he believes me – believes that I've succumbed to the serum. I make my expression as contrite as I can as I slowly add, "I betrayed the government, too…didn't I?" He nods gravely, and I manage a sob as I moan, "Why did I do that? How could I?"
The man gestures to the soldiers to leave Caleb where he is as he turns his attention fully to me. His voice sounds aloud this time. "Exactly what were you doing?"
"I need to show you," I tell him. "Right now. We planted a bomb that will be going off soon. It's too hard to describe where it is. I need to take you there."
The man hesitates for several seconds, his gaze passing over Caleb's collapsed form and to the soldiers before he finally nods. "Okay." He begins disconnecting himself from the computer, his hands working rapidly. As he does it, he looks at the two soldiers by Caleb, gesturing to my brother with his chin. "Lock him up for now, and call Victoria in to question him once he wakes up."
As he finishes disconnecting himself, he turns his focus back to me. "Lead on," he says, holding his hand out, palm up, and I move forward, my two guards loosely flanking me as I make my way out of the building and into the city beyond, heading for the only place I can think of at the moment: the doctor's office where we stole the vaccines. It will draw the soldiers away from Tobias – and from Caleb. It will buy them the time they need.