Lev tells him. “No more waiting.”
“Hey,” says Blaine, “I decide when we do it, and I say not yet.”
“The longer we wait, the longer we risk going off by accident.”
“So? Randomness works too.”
He wants to hit Blaine but knows if he does they’ll probably leave a crater in the field fifty yards wide, so he tells Blaine the only thing he knows for sure will get him to give in, “They know about us,” whispers Lev.
“What?”
“They don’t know who it is, but they know there are clappers here—I’m sure they’re reviewing the blood tests right now, looking for anything unusual. It won’t be long until they find us.”
Blaine grits his teeth and curses. He thinks for a moment, then starts shaking his head. “No. No, I’m not ready.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re ready. You want chaos? Well, it’s coming today, whether you want it or not— because if they find us, what do you think they’ll do?”
Blaine looks even sicker at the prospect. “They’ll detonate us in the forest?”
“Or out in the desert where no one will ever know.”
Blaine considers it for a moment more, then takes a deep shuddering breath. “I’ll find Mai at lunch and tell her. We’ll go at two o’clock sharp.”
“Make it one.”
Lev rummages through his cubby, getting more and more frantic. Those socks have to be here! They have to be—but he can’t find them. The detonators aren’t crucial, but they’re cleaner. Lev wants it to be clean. Clean and quick.
“That’s mine.”
Lev turns to see the towheaded kid with the emerald-green eyes standing behind him. “That’s my cubby. Yours is over there.”
Lev looks around and realizes he’s off by one bed. There’s nothing in the unit to identify one bed, or one cubby, from another.
“If you need socks, I can lend you.”
“No, I’ve got enough of my own, thanks.” He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes to get his panic under control, and goes to the right cubby. The sock with the detonators is there. He slips it in his pocket.
“You okay, Lev? You look kinda funny.”
“I’m fine. I’ve just been running, that’s all. Running on the treadmill.”
“No, you haven’t,” says the kid. “I was just in the gym.”
“Listen, mind your own business, okay? I’m not your buddy, I’m not your friend.”
“But we oughta be friends.”
“No. You don’t know me. I’m not like you, okay, so just leave me alone!”
Then he hears a deeper voice behind him. “That’s enough, Lev.”
He turns to see a man in a suit. It’s not one of the pastors but the counselor who admitted him a week ago. This can’t be good.
The counselor nods to the towheaded kid. “Thank you, Sterling.” The boy casts his eyes down and hurries out. “We assigned Sterling to keep an eye on you and make sure you’re adjusting. We are, to say the least, concerned.”
Lev sits in a room with the counselor, and two pastors. The sock bulges in his pocket. He bounces his knees nervously, then remembers he’s not supposed to make any jarring motions, or he might detonate. He forces himself to stop.
“You seem troubled, Lev,” says the counselor. “We’d like to understand why.”
Lev looks at the clock. It’s 12:48. Twelve minutes until he, Mai, and Blaine are supposed to meet and take care of business.
“I’m being tithed,” Lev says. “Isn’t that enough of a reason?”
The younger of the two pastors leans forward. “We try to make sure every tithe enters the divided state in the proper frame of mind.”
“We wouldn’t be doing our job if we didn’t try to make things right for you,” says the elder pastor, then offers a smile so forced, it’s more like a grimace.
Lev wants to scream at them, but he knows that won’t get him out of here any faster. “I just don’t like being around other kids right now. I’d rather prepare for this alone, okay?”
“But it’s not okay,” says the older pastor. “That’s not the way we do things here. Everyone supports one another.”
The junior pastor leans forward. “You need to give the other boys a chance. They’re all good kids.”
“Well maybe I’m not!” Lev can’t help but look at the clock again. Twelve fifty. Mai and Blaine will be in place in ten minutes, and what if he’s still here in this stinking office? Won’t that be just great.
“Have somewhere you need to be?” the counselor asks. “You keep checking the time.”
Lev knows his answer needs to make sense or they truly will become suspicious of him. “I . . . I heard the kid who kidnapped me was being unwound today. I was just wondering if it had happened yet.”
The pastors look at one another and at the counselor, who leans back in his chair, as calm as can be. “If he hasn’t been, he will be shortly. Lev, I think it would be healthy for you to discuss what happened to you while you were held hostage. I’m sure it was horrible, but talking about it can take away the power of the memory. I’d like to hold a special group tonight with your unit. It will be a time for you to share with the others what you’ve been holding inside. I think you’ll find they’ll be very understanding.”
“Tonight,” says Lev. “Okay. Fine. I’ll talk about everything tonight. Maybe you’re right and it will make me feel better.”
“We just want to ease your mind,” says one of the pastors.
“So, can I go now?”
The counselor studies him for a moment more. “You seem so tense. I’d like to talk you through some guided relaxation exercises. . . .”
63. Guard
He hates his job, he hates the heat, he hates that he has to stand in front of the Chop Shop for hours guarding the doors, making sure no one unauthorized enters or leaves. He had dreams back in StaHo of starting a business with his buddies, but no one loans start-up money to StaHo kids. Even after he changed his last name from Ward to Mullard—the name of the richest family in town—he couldn’t fool anyone. Turns out half the kids from his state home took on that name when they left, figuring they could outsmart the world. In the end, he outsmarted no one but himself. The best he could do was find a series of unfulfilling jobs in the year he’s been out of StaHo—the most recent of which is being a harvest camp guard.
On the roof, the band has started its afternoon set. At least that helps the time to pass a little more quickly.
Two Unwinds approach, and climb the steps toward him. They’re not being escorted by guards and both carry plates covered with aluminum foil. The guard doesn’t like the look of them. The boy’s a flesh-head. The girl is Asian.
“What do you want? You’re not supposed to be here.”
“We were told to give this to the band.” They both look nervous and shifty.
This is nothing new. All Unwinds get nervous near the Chop Shop—and to the guard, all Unwinds look shifty.
The guard peeks under the aluminum foil. Roast chicken. Mashed potatoes.
They do send food up to the band once in a while, but usually it’s staff that carries the food, not Unwinds. “I thought they just had lunch.”
