Tears begin to well up in his eyes. Quin tries to choke them back before they spill over. “I’m sorry,” he says to me after a long pause.
I hold him tight and begin rocking him, my own tears falling. My life in the Wasteland was trouble-free compared to the cruelty Quin suffered. He wraps his arms around me, weeping softly. We stay there, holding each other for over an hour, afraid to let go.
Quintus has returned.
After another hour of rest, we climb back into the vehicles, and continue our journey. We traverse over small foothills, past dried-up lake beds, and watch as the moon shines brightly overhead. The next day we make another two hour long stop. I elect to stay inside the vehicle and sleep. Quin stays with me.
The next morning, just as the sun is rising over the cracked ridge, we come across a transport road that should take us right into the hatchery. The vehicles pick up speed now that the terrain has leveled out. Thin pine trees line the left side of the narrow road as the right side cascades down, jagged red and brown rocks leading the way. We wind our way up the elevation, making a sharp right once we’re at the top. Another hour passes before we reach the outskirts of Hatchery Nine.
The road is blocked by a heavy metal gate, coated white. When our convoy stops at the entrance, Braxton exits the vehicle walking towards the front. The post on the right side of the entrance that holds that side of the gate in place, slides open at his approach. He steps inside the opening and a few moments later the gate opens. He climbs back into our vehicle before we pass through, the gate closing quietly behind us. About a half-mile later we’re at another gate identical to the first. This time Rey gets out and approaches. I can’t see what security device he needs to trigger, but within moments the gate swings wide allowing us to pass.
We travel only twenty miles per hour for the next half hour, even though the road is straight and flat. I look over at Braxton who is continually monitoring our speed on the digital dashboard. Looking out the window on my right, I notice conflagration artillery hidden amongst the trees.
“The road is speed sensitive,” Braxton says, now keeping his eyes on the vehicle in front of us. “If anyone goes over twenty miles per hour, the vehicle is showered with artillery fire.”
“What about the other security devices we passed?”
“The first gate is a full body scan. The biometric scanner inside the post maps out the person’s structure. If you’re in the data banks, the gate will open.”
“And if you’re not?”
“You’re incinerated.”
Jagger grunts at Braxton’s comment.
“Gate two is triggered by weight. The person needs to be between two hundred to two hundred and forty pounds. The sensor is directly in front of the gate. If you’re over or under by a quarter of a pound, you’re electrocuted by a pulse from the gate.”
“How many more gates do we have to go through?”
“Just one more…and you’re going to have open it.”
“Why me?”
“You’ll see.” He looks at me with a large grin on his face.
Another half hour passes before the convoy stops again.
Braxton gestures for me to exit the vehicle. I hesitate and he doesn’t rush me, but waits patiently as I contemplate what might be waiting for me at the head of the line. I open the door, carefully placing my feet down onto the asphalt, and make my way slowly up to the gate, all eyes on me from every passenger in the first two vehicles.
The gate is a simple archway, nothing visible blocking our procession. I stand in front of the first vehicle, staring up at the white granite keystone perfectly centered in the arch. Focusing my gaze forward, beyond the haze that has settled over the landscape, I slowly advance, aligning myself directly under the keystone.
A red veil drops down on me, my skin prickling hot from the waves of energy bombarding it. The heat begins to increase; I feel my molecules accelerate, colliding into each other. I close my eyes, not wanting to see my flesh break apart, but just as the sensation reaches the level of pain I can barely tolerate, it stops. I open my eyes. The red veil is gone, and the haze lifted. Moving beyond the keystone, I step off to the side to let the vehicles pass. Braxton stops to allow me back inside.
“Even though I’m whole, a part of me feels as if I’ve been ripped into pieces and hastily reassembled,” I comment as I secure myself into my seat.
“That’s a side effect of the gene decoder.”
“What was it looking for?”
“It was looking for your X chromosomes. In order to unlock the last gate, you have to be female.”
“Why go to such lengths to protect the hatcheries?”
“You’ll see.”
We maneuver around a tight ridge, and a large, white square building comes into view. The drive circles in front of the building; a group of short pine trees adorns the center. The structure stands two stories high. It’s long, with precise ninety-degree angles at the corners. It appears to be sitting on the edge of the rock face, and I guess there are more stories below the surface.
Braxton is first to the door, placing his right palm over a scanner next to
