Chapter 7

The room is filled with paintings. They’re stacked along the walls, some still in their frames, others just naked canvas. Some are painted on trimmed boards of wood, others on slim offcuts of metal sheet. The collection of pigments burst alive in the light of my illuminator and I gasp. I’ve never seen so much color in one place. I have to blink so my eyes adjust. I move around the room and gaze at the images. There are stacks of oils and watercolors, foreign landscapes and portraits. There must be more than a hundred of them piled against each other. The floor and ledges in the room are clear of dust and grime and the picture frames are polished.

I circle the room, trailing my fingers along the edge of the closest frames. Someone is collecting the city’s artwork and storing it in this room. Why? It’s not valuable, what use do Osirians have for art? It seems like a pointless endeavor, but someone is going to a lot of trouble to store the items carefully, away from detection.

I’m still uncovering new art when I hear the curfew horn blare from outside.

I leave the room reluctantly, take one last look inside before I close the door behind me. I return to the stairwell and jog to the bottom. I’m outside in three minutes and six seconds and already the perimeter is lowering its light levels. I tuck the illuminator into my belt and sprint toward the monorail. I’m breathing heavily when I reach the boarding station at its final stop. I bound up the wide staircase and squeeze through a gap in the barrier that’s loose enough for me to shimmy through. There’s no charge to ride the monorail but it would scan my entry and I don’t want that on record.

I’m the only one at this station this late in the day and I wait impatiently for the next carriage to arrive. It slides into the station with a soft whirr and the doors sweep open. I duck inside and press myself into a corner, away from the gaze of the security camera mounted at the front. I keep my head down, using my abundant hair as a shield.

The mono moves smoothly along the rail and the city scrolls past the window, now in deep shadow. I have five stations to travel through and at each one a cluster of people enter the carriage. I avoid making eye contact and they ignore me, too busy making their own way home.

I watch them surreptitiously as they fidget with bag straps and buttons, read from tablets, stare out the window. They look ordinary. They’re all dressed in the same green uniform of Osiris. Sturdy and loose fitting and appropriate for most allotments in the city. No one talks. Each person is sealed in a bubble of his or her own thoughts and their expressions give nothing away. One man is nodding as if he’s listening to music, but he doesn’t have ear buds in. The other passengers give him lingering sideway glances. I smile at their unease.

By the time we reach the six hundreds, a crowd of people disembark from the train and I follow them out. There are too many people to try sneaking around the scanner – I’d attract too much attention. I’m hoping my ID number will get lost in the collection of data they record at this station and will go undetected.

I’m shadowing the man in front of me as he skips down the stairs when I hear the swelling shouts of a crowd. Everyone on the staircase stops moving and cranes to see what’s happening. I sidestep the man and peer over the railing. The street is full of people in green. They’re chanting, thrusting their fists in the air.

WHAT DO WE WANT?

FREEDOM.

WHEN DO WE WANT IT?

NOW!

WHAT DO WE WANT?

CHOICE.

WHEN DO WE WANT IT?

NOW!

The air feels electric with tension and the shouting fills the night air. The men and women on the stairway stand motionless, watching the sea of people parade along the road. There’s nowhere to go but into the chanting rally.

I have to figure out how to get away from this throng in less than six and a half minutes or I’ll be noted as missing at TWOC.

I trot down the last set of stairs and slip through a gap in the crowd. I’m immediately swept up by the surge of body heat and clamor.

FREEDOM. CHOICE. FREEDOM. CHOICE.

I try to weave my way between the clusters of people but they’re so close together. I have to shove at them to make room. Everyone is so intent on their chanting they don’t notice me and I have to struggle to make any progress at all. It’s hot and humid and I push my hair away from my sticky face. I’m pretty sure I’m down to my last minute when a voice booms over the crowd.

CURFEW IS IN EFFECT. RETURN TO YOUR RESIDENCE. CURFEW IS IN EFFECT. RETURN TO YOUR RESIDENCE. BY ORDER OF THE CITY GUARD, RETURN TO YOUR RESIDENCE.

The crowd screams back at the voice and I’m carried forward with the momentum. They are no longer chanting, just yelling furiously and I feel the orderly movement of the crowd change to a desperate struggle toward violence. I need to get out before I’m trampled.

BY ORDER OF THE CITY GUARD, DISPERSE NOW. DISPERSE NOW.

The relentless monotone from the loudspeaker seems to incite the crowd. They rush forward, their shouts swelling into a riot of noise. I push desperately at the person in front of me, trying to stay upright. The minute I lose my footing, I’ll be crushed underneath. Someone elbows me in the side and I feel the air rush from my lungs. I gasp for breath and grab at a man to my left, he shakes me off and I stumble, almost tipping over. I’ve never been afraid in the city before, but I’m afraid now. I could be seriously hurt, killed even, and I really don’t want to die.

I scrabble at the people, trying to move to the edge of the crowd so I can get to open air. I see a glimpse of space and I lunge for it, but before I make it, something slams into the back of my head and I see stars. My feet slip from beneath me and I fall to the ground. My elbows hit the pavement and the skin scrapes away through the fabric of my shirt. Someone kicks me in the ribs and someone else steps on my calf. Pain shoots through my leg and I scream. I fold my arms over my head, trying to protect myself from the stomping boots.

Next Chapter: Chapter 8