Free Divided by Elsie Chapman Page B

Rain washes over our faces, mingling with our lips, the heat from our mouths. My hands are on the back of his neck, where his skin is still warm.
    Our kids could be free … but it’s too late for me.
    I shiver, and Chord feels it, wraps me up tighter. “It is kind of cold out here,” he says, laughing. “I’m ready to head inside if you are.”
    I grab towels from the hall closet and bring them to the kitchen. Chord’s deep in the fridge, looking for something we can eat.
    “I’m sorry, Chord,” I say to his back, placing the towels down on the counter. I start unwrapping the gauze from around my wrists; it got damp from the rain, the feel of it now chilly and clammy. I don’t bother covering up my marks when we’re alone. “I … you’re not going to find much in the fridge.”
    Chord emerges, a container in his hand. He looks at me questioningly. I only shake my head. “Don’t eat that,” I tell him. “That’s old.”
    “How old?”
    “I can’t remember what it is.”
    He chucks it back in the fridge, shuts the door. “You do know food’s a good thing to keep in the house, right?”
    I pass him a towel. Instead of using it to dry his hair, he reaches over and starts in on mine. My dark hair goes everywhere, loose and wild. It’s growing back, playing catch-up after I cut and dyed it back in the winter. When I needed to be someone else to kill my Alt.
    “Sorry,” I say again to Chord. “If it makes you feel better, I do keep my other kitchen well stocked.”
    “Yeah?”
    “It’s just five houses down from here, believe it or not.”
    He grins, tosses the towel on the counter behind me. “We could go back to my place, but it’s raining even harder out now. And I brought the rest of my math homework to finish for tomorrow. Ordering pizza okay with you?”
    “Sure. Go crazy with the toppings.” I’m hungry now; things feel almost normal, buffered by the familiarity of my surroundings.
    You have until morning to come to a decision.
    “Still?” Chord takes out his cell, taps in the order.
    “Still.” My attempt to sound fine, to wipe away the Operator’s voice continuing to sound in my head.
    “Idle pizza or not, I kind of miss it. You know, the kind where I could tell what I was actually eating, mystery meat aside.” He places his cell on the counter.
    “Humor me?” I’m not used to being a complete yet. I can’t help but order as much as possible from the complete menu, with its better-quality food. Whatever I decide to eat now is only restricted by what I can afford to spend. And I still have my striker savings.
    Chord’s turned on the kitchen news screen, and even as I turn to see what’s on, my cell thrums in my jeans pocket. One long purr that lasts for a good ten seconds.
    Chord looks down at his own cell. It’s humming, too.
    It’s a citywide news file being released by the Board. Announcing the fulfillment of a black contract.
    Rebels.
    Strikers.
    Like me.
    We both pick up our cells, tap them awake, and read the words as they scroll by.
    A complete was caught and killed while digging a tunnel underneath the barrier in Calden Ward. A small tunnel that he would cover up with plywood and a layer of fresh turf before going back to work on his farm for the rest of the day. Six years of furtive, secretive work, gone just like that.
    The funny thing is, the guy wasn’t trying to leave Kersh—he was building the tunnel for someone from the Surround to enter the city. He claimed that a voice in his head kept talking to him about someone preparing to come to the city, this safe haven. The voice said if he didn’t help this person get in, Bad Things Would Happen.
    “Something happened on my tour that I never told you about, West,” Chord says quietly, startling me so I look up from the news file on my cell. “Out there along the barrier.”
    He’s watching the news screen, where the same news file on our cells is playing out. Just words, no picture of Level 2’s latest