I nod, but turn from him before he can see the cracks in my expression, thoughts I can’t let crystallize hovering too close to the surface.
A figure thick with layers of clothing steps out from behind the pillar beneath the sign, making for a good distraction. Winter is coming, leaving this man with his coat buttoned up to his throat and fur hat pulled down around his eyebrows with the flaps tied tightly under his chin. He looks a little like one of the grainy old photographs from the Great Wars, needing only a bolt-action rifle and mustache to complete the picture. Lantern light glints off the two stars pinned to his red coat. A member of the Watch.
My smile is back by the time he gets to us, ready to face whatever he might say, trying very hard not to notice Tai-ge’s arm nudging mine in apology. There’s no reason for him to apologize. I am not my stars, whatever most people believe.
The Watchman eyes me and then looks pointedly at his wristwatch. “Do you know what time it is, Fourth?”
I wish hiding my stars weren’t a punishable offense, but I suppose keeping them out of sight wouldn’t help anyway. The Watch knows my face, the birthmark curling out from under my ear and onto my cheek. They know the burn that mars the skin between my thumb and forefinger. It’s their job to know. I pull my ID card from my coat pocket and hold it out to him. “Yes, I know I don’t have much time before the walls close, Comrade.”
He takes it, scowling. Looking at the bright silver likeness of Yuan Zhiwei printed next to my picture, he spits on the ground at my feet. “Trash like you shouldn’t even be allowed to disgrace his image.”
Tai-ge steps forward. “She’s not late yet. Let her go past.”
The Watchman takes a careful look at Tai-ge. “You should watch where you go with her kind of garbage. Even if you are the General’s son.” He spits again on the ground and walks back to the Watch station policing the door between my quarter and Tai-ge’s.
I shrug off Tai-ge’s interjection and wave good-bye, the bridge’s lights framing my friend in a warm glow.
As soon as I cross the barrier, my eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness, as if even the light on this side of the wall is gray. It’s hard to make out the peaked roofs down the hill, where most families don’t have the electricity rations to use their cheap incandescents at night. I wait until the empty stalls from the afternoon market hide me before I start to run, not wanting Tai-ge to know just how late I actually am. I’ll have to explain missing dinner, but I don’t care. A smile steals across my face as I fall into line with the uniforms hurrying between the blocky factory buildings towering over the cracked cement walkways and the worn brick cafeteria. The thought of Tai-ge’s face when he realizes his pencils are near useless is worth missing dinner any day. Especially today. The whole Third Quarter smells like cabbage.
The crush of bland clothing streaked with factory dirt closes in around me as I push through the school gate, students with similar tardiness problems rushing back from evening meals that went a tad too long. The hallway outside Remedial Reform is especially crowded, those with work shifts during the day here at night class to get their required dose of history and ideology in short sentences and small words so they can understand. I manage to slide onto the bench at the back of our little classroom before Captain Chen comes in.
My roommate, Peishan, waves from the front row, giving me a questioning smile when I wave back. She knew I was up in the Second Quarter with Tai-ge and will want to hear about the visit down to the pitch of Comrade Hong’s annoyed sniffs. She starts to mouth something at me, but stops as Captain Chen hobbles into the room. The old Captain frowns at her as he limps toward his chair on his ancient pair of crutches, then heaves a deep sigh as he leans them up against the wall. He sits, pulling at the two metal stars on his collar, which had folded inward so that the metal scratched at his throat. The two hash marks carved into his hand look faded and stretched. Remedial Reform isn’t important enough to merit a First teacher like the other quarters get. The finer points don’t matter much when your days are filled with twisting wire or picking bits of gunk out of the industrial looms. “Did we stop with the Great War invasion, or were we all the way to Jiang?” he grumbles. I try not to flinch.
A boy sitting two seats away raises a work-worn hand, angry red scars lining his palms and forearms like a grid. “You left off with Yuan Zhiwei, sir.”
“Yuan. Right.” Scratching at his sparse gray hair, Captain Chen turns toward the front of the room, pointing at the portrait of Yuan Zhiwei hung at the head of our classroom. “Salute.”
We all stand, each raising a fist toward the portrait. “We stand united, our City dedicated to equality, honesty, and hard work. We strive to protect our homes and families from infection, shoring up our walls against the anarchy poisoning Outside. We destroy complacency within our own ranks. We pledge to follow the teachings of Yuan Zhiwei, each of us dedicated to our own tasks. Thirds to the glory of labor that forms the backbone of our society. Seconds to protecting our walls and defeating our enemies. Firsts, in their superior wisdom, to lead us toward dignity and enlightenment.”
And Fourths, I add silently, my mother’s face still pulsing in the back of my mind after what Tai-ge said about Kamar discovering our City. To betrayal. To infecting our own children and murdering our leaders. Even saying the number four out loud is unlucky. As if just one syllable could bring death and destruction to anyone who heard.
“Shoulder to shoulder we stand, comrades building a society strong enough to find the cure to SS.” With that, we finish chanting and sit down, waiting for Captain Chen to start.
He rubs his left temple with two fingers, eyes closed. “Kamar’s invasion of our country started with Sleeping Sickness bombs. That beyond anything was their biggest mistake, as SS was not only the cause of our destruction, but also the cause of their own.” He pauses to let that sink in, as if this weren’t something we’ve all known for as long as we can remember. Sleeping Sickness—SS—the weapon that bit back at that hand that wielded it. If not for Kamar, the whole world might still be living freely in peace instead of fighting for scraps.
After the moment of silence, Captain Chen continues. “Bombs infected our armies, our cities. Those who weren’t infected ran or were killed. Yuan Zhiwei argued not to use SS as a weapon of revenge. Deciding to destroy them with their own weapon would only leave a blasted continent, a pile of ashes where there was once a great civilization. Our ancestral leaders did not listen to him. Yuan led as many as would follow up to this City. They hid in these mountains as SS destroyed everything during the end of the Influenza War. Why would he trap us up here like that and then call it ‘Liberation’?”
Peishan raises her hand, smoothing long hair out of her face before answering his nod. Her voice chirps like a little bird, every word measured and confident. “The walls, sir. Yuan Zhiwei wanted to find a cure, and walls were the only thing that could keep out Sephs. . . .” She falters, crossing her arms tightly when she realizes the ugly slur slipped out, but Captain Chen doesn’t stop her. “I mean, walls were the only thing that could keep out those infected with encephalitis lethargica—with Sleeping Sickness.”
Captain Chen considers her. “They never figured out how to make the engineered flu that causes SS contagious. Why would keeping SS victims out matter?”
“Not contagious.” Peishan bites her lip. “But even one infected inside our walls that goes untreated . . . is . . .” She shivers, not finishing the sentence. “Yuan chose this place in particular because it’s so remote that Kamar couldn’t find us.”