Free Crossed by Ally Condie

at me and I know we think the same thing. We’re tempted to stay and fight this out. I shake my head at Vick. No . He can stay, but I won’t. I have to get out of here. I have to try to get back to Cassia.
    Flashlights move and shift in the light. Dark figures run and scream.
    “Now,” Vick says.
    I drop my gun and grab Eli’s arm. “Come with us,” I tell Eli. He looks at me, confused.
    “Where?” he asks. I point in the direction of the Carving, and his eyes widen. “There?”
    “There,” I say, “now.”
    Eli hesitates for just a moment and then he nods and we run. I leave the gun behind on the ground. One more chance, maybe, for someone else, and out of the corner of my eye I see Vick put his gun down too, and the miniport next to it.
    In the night, it feels like we’re running fast over the back of some kind of enormous animal, sprinting over its spines and through patches of tall, thin, gold grass that now glimmers like silver fur in the moonlight. Soon enough we’ll hit hard rock as we get closer to the Carving, and that’s when we’ll be the most exposed.
    Less than half a mile later I feel Eli falling back. “Drop the gun,” I tell him, and when he doesn’t, I reach over and knock it out of his hands. It clatters to the ground and Eli stops.
    “Eli,” I say, and then the firing begins.
    And the screaming.
    “Run,” I tell Eli. “Don’t listen.” I try not to hear any of it either—the screaming, the yelling, the dying.
    We hit the edge of the sandstone, and Eli and I pull up next to Vick, who has stopped to get his bearings. “That way,” I say, pointing.
    “We have to go back and help them,” Eli says.
    Vick doesn’t answer but takes off again, running.
    “Ky?”
    “Keep running, Eli,” I tell him.
    “Don’t you care that they’re dying?” Eli asks.
    Pop-pop-pop.
    The pathetic little sounds of the guns we rigged come from behind us. Out here, it’s nothing.
    “Don’t you want to live?” I ask Eli, furious that he’s making this so hard, that he won’t let me forget what is happening behind us.
    And then the animal underneath our feet shudders. Something big has hit, and Eli and I move fast, no instinct left but to live. Nothing in my mind except run .
     
    I’ve done this before. Years ago. My father told me once, “If anything happens, run for the Carving,” he said, and so I did it. As always, I wanted to survive.
    But that time the Officials came down in an air ship in front of me, making short work of the miles it had taken me hours to run. They pushed me to the ground. I struggled. A rock scraped against my face. But I held on to the one thing I’d carried out of the village—my mother’s paintbrush.
    On the air ship I saw the only other survivor—a girl from my village. Once we were flying again, the Officials held out the red tablets for us to take. I’d heard the rumors. I thought I was going to die. So I clamped my mouth shut. I wouldn’t take mine.
    “Come now,” said one of the Officials sympathetically, and then she shoved my mouth open and pushed a green tablet in. The false calm came over me, and I couldn’t fight when she put the red one in my mouth too. But my hands knew. They gripped the paintbrush so hard that it broke.
    I didn’t die. They took us back behind a curtain in the air ship and washed our hands and faces and hair. They were gentle with us while we were forgetting and gave us fresh clothes and told us a new story to remember instead of what really happened.
    “We’re sorry,” they said, arranging their faces into expressions of regret. “The Enemy made a strike on the fields where many in your village were working. Overall casualties were low, but your parents were killed.”
    I thought, Why tell us this? Do you think we’re going to forget? Casualties weren’t low. Almost everyone died. And they weren’t in the fields. I saw it all.
    The girl cried and nodded and believed, even though she should have known they were lying.