'Think of it this way, you're worth more than any other kid in your unit.'
'Lucky you,' says one of the guards as he grabs Roland by the arm.
'If it's any consolation,' says the counselor, 'your friend Connor is scheduled for unwinding this afternoon.'
Roland's legs feel weak as they bring him out into the light of day. The red carpet stretches out before him, the color of dried blood. Any time kids cross that terrible stone path, they always jump over it as if touching it were bad luck. Now they won't let Roland step off of it.
'I want a priest,' says Roland. 'They give people priests, right? I want a priest!'
'Priests give last rites,' says the counselor, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'That's for people who are dying. You're not dying—you'll still be alive, just in a different way.'
'I still want a priest.'
'Okay, I'll see what I can do.'
The band on the roof of the Chop Shop has begun their morning set. They play a familiar dance tune, as if to mock the dirge playing inside his head. He knows Risa is in the band now. He sees her up there playing the keyboard. He knows she hates him but still he waves to her, trying get her attention. Even an acknowledgment from someone who hates him is better than having no one but strangers watch him perish.
She doesn't turn her eyes toward the red carpet. She doesn't see him. She doesn't know. Perhaps someone will tell her he was unwound today. He wonders what she'll feel.
They've reached the end of the red carpet. There are five stone steps leading to the doors of the Chop Shop. Roland stops at the bottom of the steps. The guards try to pull him along, but he shakes them off.
'I need more time. Another day. That's all. One more day. I'll be ready tomorrow. I promise!'
And still, above him, the band plays. He wants to scream, but here, so close to the Chop Shop, his screams will be drowned out by the band. The counselor signals to the guards. They grab him more firmly just beneath the armpits, forcing him to take those five steps. In a moment he's through the doors, which slide closed behind him, shutting out the world. He can't even hear the band anymore. The Chop Shop is soundproof. Somehow he knew it would be.
60. Harvest
No one knows how it happens. No one knows how it's done. The harvesting of Unwinds is a secret medical ritual that stays within the walls of each harvesting clinic in the nation. In this way it is not unlike death itself, for no one knows what mysteries lie beyond those secret doors, either.
What does it take to unwind the unwanted? It takes twelve surgeons, in teams of two, rotating in and out as their medical specialty is needed. It takes nine surgical assistants and four nurses. It takes three hours.
61. Roland
Roland is fifteen minutes in.
The medical staff that buzz around him wear scrubs the color of a happyface.
His arms and legs have been secured to the operating table with bonds that are strong but padded so he won't hurt himself if he struggles.
A nurse blots sweat from his forehead. 'Relax, I'm here to help you through this.'
He feels a sharp pinprick in the right side of his neck, and then in the left side.
'What's that?'
'That,' says the nurse, 'is the only pain you'll be feeling today.'
'This is it, then,' Roland says. 'You're putting me under?'
Although he can't see her mouth beneath her surgical mask, he can see the smile in her eyes.
'Not at all,' she says. 'By law, we're required to keep you conscious through the entire procedure.' The nurse takes his hand. 'You have a right to know everything that's happening to you, every step of the way.'
'What if I don't want to?'
'You will,' says one of the surgical assistants, wiping Roland's legs down with brown surgical scrub. 'Everybody does.'
'We've just inserted catheters into your carotid artery and jugular vein,' says the nurse. 'Right now your blood is being replaced with a synthetic oxygenrich solution.'
'We send the real stuff straight to the blood bank,' says the assistant at his feet. 'Not a bit gets wasted. You can bet, you'll be saving lives!'
'The oxygen solution also contains an anaesthetic that deadens pain receptors.' The nurse pats his hand. 'You'll be fully conscious, but you won't feel a thing.'
Already Roland feels his limbs starting to go numb. He swallows hard. 'I hate this. I hate you. I hate all of you.'
'I understand.'
Twenty-eight minutes in.
The first set of surgeons has arrived.
'Don't mind them,' says the nurse. 'Talk to me.'
'What do we talk about?'
'Anything you want.'
Someone drops an instrument. It clatters on the table and falls to the floor.
Roland flinches. The nurse holds his hand tighter.
'You may feel a tugging sensation near your ankles,' says one of the surgeons at the foot of the table. 'It's nothing to worry' about.'
Forty-five minutes in.
So many surgeons, so much activity. Roland couldn't remember ever having so much attention directed at him. He wants to look, but the nurse holds his focus. She's read his file. She knows everything about him. The good and the bad.
The things he never talks about. The things he can't stop talking about now.
'I think it's horrible what your stepfather did.'
'I was just protecting my mother.'
'Scalpel,' says a surgeon.
'She should have been grateful.'
'She had me unwound.'
'I'm sure it wasn't easy for her.'
'All right, clamp it off.'
An hour and fifteen.
Surgeons leave, new ones arrive. The new ones take an intense interest in his abdomen. He looks toward his toes but can't see them. Instead he sees a surgical assistant cleaning the lower half of the table.
'I almost killed a kid yesterday.'
'That doesn't matter now.'
'I wanted to do it, but I got scared. I don't know why, but I got scared.'
'Just let it go.' The nurse was holding his hand before. She's not anymore.
