Free The Maze: Three tales of the future by Charity Tahmaseb Page B

the corridor. Instead, he stretched his fingers and pressed them against the wall. Warmth ran along his skin, pooled in his palm. The girl. It had to be, standing like he was, her hand against his.
    “What’s your—?” he began.
    The claxon alarm rang. The walls faded. The floor vanished beneath his feet. The plummet stole his breath, felt endless until the jolt of hitting the ground. He found himself in the assembly yard, like he had after every twelve-hour shift, along with all the others in his class. Lines formed for the dining hall. By rote, Hank joined one.
    “Hey, Hank!” someone called.
    He didn’t answer. Instead, he traced patterns across his palm. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel her warmth. When he opened them, Hank realized one thing:
    He didn’t even know her name.
     
    Eppie
     
    Eppie scanned the dining facility, gaze darting, hopeful and quick. Too many times, she’d spotted someone, someone like her, someone with a secret. Her heart would speed up. She’d open her mouth to call out, raise a hand to wave, only to have that someone turn away.
    Could she find the boy? If so, what then? How would that help them tomorrow, when they both went back inside the maze? She took her seat and pushed her dinner around her plate. Eat, she told herself. Build up your strength. Tonight’s stew was smooth, at least. And hot. The center of the spoonful burnt her tongue, and the heat of it seared the back of her throat.
    Eppie clutched her water cup, brought the rim to her lips, and drowned the heat. When she set the cup down, the sharp gaze of a matron fell on her.
    “What did you do?” her friend Chara asked.
    Eppie shook her head. “I didn’t do anything.” Except make the maze move. Except talk to a boy, who was somewhere beyond the yellow dividing line that ran the entire length of the dining facility.
    But what if the cadre had seen Eppie and the boy, heard them talk? Well, what of it? Eppie folded her arms across her chest. She raised her chin and stared back at the matron.
    The woman glanced away.
    “Eppie ...?” Chara said.
    Eppie put a finger to her lips. “Not here.”
    She was scraping her plate clean when the bell sounded. Normally, they’d be released into the yard for a precious hour of social interaction, but not at this point in their training, not while they were all navigating the maze. Instead, they walked the lines to their separate dormitories, were pushed through showers, and watched the lights flicker above their bunks.
    “Wakeup at zero four hundred, ladies,” the matron said. “That comes awfully early.”
    “Actually, it comes at the same time every day,” Chara whispered.
    Eppie giggled. The feel of it in her throat made her think of dancing with the maze. The boy. His warmth.
    “There’s more to the maze,” she whispered to Chara.
    The matron’s footfalls sounded in the aisle between the two rows of beds.
    “I’m not sure it’s a maze at all,” she added.
    The footsteps grew louder, then slowed, then stopped—right beside Eppie’s bunk.
    “Cadet Langtry?”
    “Yes, Matron?”
    “If I were you, I’d conserve my energy by not speaking.”
    Eppie stilled her breath even as her thoughts raced. “Yes, Matron.”
    So they knew? They must. If the cadre couldn’t use the maze to observe them, then they had planted something in their uniforms, a tracking device, perhaps. A sudden, delicious thought of flinging off her uniform filled her head. Flinging it off and running through the maze naked. Flinging it off and finding that boy. He’d keep her warm.
    Now that would be a dance worth doing.
     
    Hank
     
    Hank stood at the entry point to the maze. He was alone in his own little corridor. They all were. If he held still, he could hear the others, their breathing, an occasional shoulder slam against the wall. No one liked going in, but the sooner they did, the sooner the day would end.
    Day thirteen.
    When his door whooshed open, Hank took soft steps. He let