Across the Universe - Beth Revis [50]
“So?”
Steela looks at the backs of the people who had crowded around me as they fade into the town. “You’ve got to understand. The Feeders are simple people. If you complicate their world, they’ll get rid of you just to eliminate the problem. Why do you think they round up every person with a shred of creativity and jam them in a building clear on the other side of the ship?”
My first instinct is to protest, but then I remember the man in the fields. The way he clutched his trowel, the blade of it turned to me.
“You best head back to where you came from,” Steela says. Without glancing back at me, she continues on her way into the town. She walks briskly, and quickly overtakes the man from the crowd who spoke to me. He turns as she passes, and he catches my eye.
Then he starts walking back to me.
I take three steps behind me, almost stumble, turn around, and race away faster than I’ve ever run. This is not my measured run from before. I am not pacing myself, counting my breaths, conscious of my strides. I race like a monster is chasing me; I race as if they were chasing me. I cannot go fast enough. I tear through the tall grass of the fields, the thin blades slicing my skin like paper cuts. I break corn stalks as I pound through the field.
I run and run and run.
Past the hospital, through the garden, past a pond.
And to the cold metal wall.
I stop, gulping at the air, my heart racing in my ears. I reach up with one hand and touch the wall. My fingers curl into a fist, but it falls weakly to my side.
And that’s when I realize the most important truth of life on this ship.
There is nowhere to run.
22
ELDER
THE HATCH DOOR SLAMS SHUT. BEHIND ME, DOC AND ELDEST are talking in low, frantic whispers.
“Do you think it was—?”
“That’s not possible.”
“Does he know?”
Pause.
“Of course not.”
“Did you—?”
“Of course not.”
But I can think of nothing but the stars.
It is like a piece of my soul had been lost, empty, and it is now filled with the light of a million stars.
They are all that I had ever dreamed of; they are nothing I ever expected.
How could I have ever thought the lightbulbs in the Great Room were stars?
I will never, never be the same.
I have seen stars.
Real stars.
23
AMY
MY FACE IS PRESSED AGAINST THE METAL, BREATHING IN THE dust that clings to the rivets curving around the interior wall. My eyes burn; my vision is so blurred all I can see is the grayness of the metal world.
Something inside me snaps.
I. Can’t. Do this. I can’t. It’s too much. This—all of this—living—I can’t. I just can’t. To have given it all up, and be left with nothing but this metal wall—
I slide down its slight curve, leaving a trail of sweat and tears and snot, but I don’t care. As I fall to my knees, the damp earth seeps wetness through the knees of my pants. My fists clench the dirt. It feels like dirt—real, honest dirt.
But it’s not.
“Are you all right?”
A man is standing on a path that connects the Hospital to a big brick building farther down.
I lift my filthy hands in front of my face, dirt falling in clumps from my fingers. I try to wipe the tears and snot from my face, but I’m pretty sure I’m just a muddy mess.
I press against the wall to stand. “You must think I’m crazy,” I choke out, attempting a half-laugh.
“I think you’re very upset,” the man says, rushing forward to help me stand, “but not crazy. What’s wrong?”
I snort. “Everything.”
“It can’t all be bad.”
“It really can.”
The man stands there, totally ignoring the mud I’ve smeared on his sleeve.
“I’m Amy, by the way.”
“Orion.”
“Nice to meet you.” As I say it, I realize it’s true. This is the first person on the whole ship who either didn’t creep me out, threaten to kill me, or both. He’s older, almost as old as my father, and although the thought feels like a splinter in my heart, it’s also a little comforting.
Orion starts leading me toward the brick building, away from the Hospital. “Let’s clean you up before I send you back