Free Creators by Tiffany Truitt

couldn’t look at Lockwood, not when I was sure my face radiated all the characteristics that defined the old me. It was the one part of myself that hadn’t been changed since leaving the compound. Even after seeing how great Sharon was with her kids and despite knowing I wouldn’t share my sister’s fate, I couldn’t see the point of bringing any child into such a messed-up world.
    I had learned the hard way that us humans, naturals and chosen ones alike, were fragile. And not just in a physical way. We hurt each other with wounds and scars that no one would ever see, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Often, they were the injuries we could never come back from. My mother certainly hadn’t been able to.
    I couldn’t even begin to fathom why women like Emma even thought of risking childbirth. So, how was I supposed to offer hope when it all felt so hopeless? Either Louisa was like me and would bring a fatherless child into a world where there were no certainties, only millions and millions of questions that no one bothered to answer. Or, she would be like Emma.
    She would die.
    I still could remember every moment of watching Emma’s death. Despite the fact that I was currently standing in the middle of a makeshift town miles and miles from the place where she had died, I saw and felt everything from that day. It replayed in my mind like a warning—a more convincing propaganda film than any produced by the council itself.
    She had screamed. I’d been able to hear it stick in her throat, caught in a mixture of saliva and blood. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do.
    She’d reached out her hand to me. I’d hesitated.
    I had glared at the midwife who was vainly trying to keep my sister breathing. I wondered what it would feel like knowing no matter how hard you tried, you would always fail. The midwife looked to me and I could read the emotion in her eyes: she was asking my forgiveness. I gritted my teeth and moved my gaze away.
    I’d knelt down beside my sister, hoping the action would quiet her unnerving, unceasing cries for me. Her bright, feverish eyes bore into mine. “Did she live?”
    “She?” I asked skeptically.
    Emma repeated her question. Her longing for an answer was evident in her voice.
    “No,” I’d said. “It didn’t live.”
    Now, I swallowed, forcing down the shame that washed over me every time I thought about how I’d acted during Emma’s final moments. That was the reason I couldn’t be any comfort to Louisa. That was why I had to wait. Let whatever ending fate had decided for her play itself out.
    I wasn’t strong enough to be there for her. I could stand up to a room full of people I barely knew and threaten to sacrifice myself for the boy I loved. I could learn to shoot guns, willing and able to fight if the need arrived.
    But I couldn’t be a good sister.
    I cleared my throat. “I…I just can’t.”
    Lockwood clenched his jaw and looked away from me. For the first time in our friendship, I felt his disappointment in me. He threw his hands in the air and walked away without saying another word.
    As I watched him disappear back toward the infirmary where they had permanently placed Louisa, I felt my chest tighten. It heaved up and down, vainly trying to gather air. But I couldn’t breathe. I clutched at the collar of my shirt and pulled it from my neck, but still I couldn’t manage to force air into my lungs. I stumbled back. My eyes went wide, searching for someone, anyone to help me.
    It had been so long since I’d had a panic attack.
    I couldn’t watch her die. I couldn’t do that again.
    Not again.
    Not ever. Not ever again.
    A gentle hand landed on my shoulder, and I spun around to find Robert. As soon as I saw him, I fell apart, crumpling into his arms.
    “Let it out, Tess. Just let it out,” he urged.
    And so I did. I sobbed and sobbed into the chest of my brother-in-law. The more I cried, let go, the better I felt, until my wild, incessant sobs turned