Noelle turned red. “We were just leaving.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me out of bed, seemingly unconcerned about the fact that just sitting up was enough to make me groan, let alone standing. “Come on. Are you hungry? It’s cheeseburger night.”
“Cheeseburgers?” My stomach growled, but the thought of red meat only made me remember Lila’s birthday party the night before. And with that flood of memories came the image of Benjy’s smiling face and the picture he’d drawn for me of our future together—a future we’d never have now.
Nausea replaced the hollow feeling in my stomach, and I swayed on my feet. “I’m not hungry.”
Noelle looped her arm in mine. “I know it’s hard here, especially at first, but you’ll get used to it. If you don’t want to eat, that’s okay, but at least let me show you around.”
I started to say Hannah had already done that, but Noelle dragged me out of the bunk before I could form the words. It was strange—when Benjy’s life had been in danger, used by Augusta as a bargaining chip to ensure my behavior, I’d imagined what it would be like to lose him. Not by choice, but it had been impossible to ignore that ocean of fear and darkness lingering in front of me, stripped of all happiness and hope. I’d thought it would be quicksand, the way it had been when his death had first hit me. I’d thought I would go under, and there would never be anything more than that all-encompassing grief.
But I hadn’t drowned. I was still breathing. I was still moving, and no matter how badly I wanted it all to end, life didn’t work that way. Not without a bullet or a broken neck. I was floating over that grief, skimming it with the tips of my toes, always aware of it beneath me and always in danger of falling. As Noelle led me down the snowy street, chattering on about what each day was like in this place, I focused on each breath I took. In and out, in and out, until only the crunch underneath my boots felt real anymore.
I’d never imagined it, but there was life after Benjy. And in a way, it was fitting that it was entirely new and foreign—at least now I wouldn’t have to look at anything familiar and pretend it was still the same.
Noelle didn’t seem to notice that I’d tuned her out, or maybe she didn’t care. We reached a large dingy building a few blocks from the bunker and a quarter mile from the fence. The only difference between the dining hall and the rest of the makeshift town was the smell wafting from the kitchens. It reminded me sharply of the market Benjy and I used to frequent—sizzling meats, baked bread, even the rich aroma of coffee. My stomach flip-flopped, torn between hunger and that sick knot of despair.
We stood in a winding line with dozens of others, and when it was our turn to order, Noelle pointed to a pair of cheeseburgers wrapped in foil. The cook—also dressed in red, and clearly another citizen—tossed them onto our trays, and we continued down the serving line, Noelle mindlessly piling my plate with limp, gray vegetables, something yellow that might have been fruit once upon a time, and a brownie that looked hard enough to break a window. Before becoming a Hart, I’d never been picky about food, but apparently they’d stolen that from me, too.
“Why does it smell so good and look so awful?” I said as Noelle led me through the rows of tables, most already taken by others wearing red and orange jumpsuits.
“They make the guards’ food here, too,” she said brightly, seemingly not at all bothered by this. “Sometimes, if they make too much of it, we get it for the next meal. The corn bread’s really good. You just have to be careful when you’re biting into it, else it could break your teeth.”
She sat down at an empty table in the corner of the room. Nearby, a handful of old men and women ate together quietly. Their hair was gray, their skin turned to leather in the sun, and their bodies curled in on themselves as if they’d spent their entire lives leaning over. I stared. Other than Augusta Hart, they were the oldest people I’d ever seen in my life.
“You should eat before it gets cold,” said Noelle. She had already taken three massive bites of her burger. Reluctantly I unwrapped mine and stared at the first cheeseburger I’d been allowed in months.
So this was what it took to have red meat, or whatever passed for it in Elsewhere. Would last night have turned out differently if I hadn’t argued with Knox over those stupid puff pastries? Would he have still turned on Benjy when he found out about the file? Would I have gone after them at all?
I took a bite. It tasted nothing like real meat, and only months of eating food I hated prevented me from spitting it out. Chewing slowly, I forced myself to swallow it, then set the rest of the cheeseburger down. I could put starving to death back on the list after all.
Noelle patted my hand sympathetically, and she pushed her stale brownie toward me. “Here, you can have mine.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, and I broke off a corner. It was crunchy, but still edible, and though my stomach protested, I managed to keep it down without gagging. The smell of freshly baked bread and seasoned steak attacked my senses, and I began to breathe through my mouth. Of course they cooked the better meals where the prisoners could smell it. Why waste such a perfect opportunity to torture them?
Us, I reminded myself silently. I was one of them now.
My eyes watered, and my breaths came in short gasps. Benjy was dead. I was Elsewhere. Nothing would ever be the same again, and I was griping about the food. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to cry, but my cheeks grew hot. Hastily I rubbed my eyes. I wouldn’t break down in front of everyone like this. I couldn’t let them think I was weak. One wrong move, and—
“Hey,” said Noelle softly, and she set her hand over mine again. Her kindness only made a fresh wave of hopelessness wash over me, and I laced my fingers through hers and squeezed.
“I—I’m sorry—” I began, but I hiccupped before I could say anything more. Noelle handed me a rough napkin, and I dabbed my cheeks, flinching. They were still sore from Maya and her friends.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” said Noelle. “I shouldn’t have dragged you to dinner if you weren’t hungry. I just thought...” She hesitated. “I just thought if you saw that it isn’t so bad here, you wouldn’t be so afraid. It isn’t all hopeless.”
“Isn’t it?” I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my cracking voice. “What’s the point to all this? You sleep. You eat shit. You work and do whatever they tell you, and then what? You get to do it all over again the next day? You get to live as long as they feel like?” I shook my head. Tears flowed freely down my cheeks now, and I caught several people staring at us, but I didn’t care anymore. “You don’t understand. This is all you’ve ever known. This isn’t a real life. You don’t get to—to have hobbies or fall in love or have a family or—or any of that. We’re slaves. We don’t matter to anyone anymore.”