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Automatyczne logowanie. Before I open my eyes, I watch him crumple to the pavement again. My doing. Tobias crouches in front of me, his hand on my left shoulder. The train car bumps over the rails, and Marcus, Peter, and Caleb stand by the doorway. I take a deep breath and hold it in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure that is building in my chest. An hour ago, nothing that happened felt real to me.
Susan is there, and some of our old neighbors, and rows of wooden tables as long as the room itself. It will help you sleep as it helped some of the others sleep. No dreams. I grab the cup and drink it fast. For a few seconds the heat from the liquid makes me feel like I am full of something again.
And as I drain the last drops from the cup, I feel myself relaxing. Someone leads me down the hallway, to a room with a bed in it. That is all. But I am not running through the streets of the city or the corridors of Daunt- less headquarters. I am in a bed in Amity headquarters, and the smell of sawdust is in the air.
I shift, and wince as something digs into my back. I reach behind me, and my fingers wrap around the gun. I get out of bed and lift the mattress with one hand, propping it up on my knee.
Then I shove the gun beneath it and let the mattress bury it.
Once it is out of sight and no longer pressed to my skin, my head feels clearer. Now that the adrenaline rush of yesterday is gone, and whatever made me sleep has worn off, the deep ache and shooting pains of my shoulder are intense. I am wearing the same clothes I wore last night.
The corner of the hard drive peeks out from under my pillow, where I shoved it right before I fell asleep. On it is the simulation data that controlled the Dauntless, and the record of what the Erudite did. Someone knocks on my door. I sit on the edge of the bed and try to smooth my hair down. The door opens, and Tobias steps halfway in, the door dividing his body in half.
He wears the same jeans as yesterday, but a dark red T- shirt instead of his black one, probably borrowed from one of the Amity. Oh, I brought you something. Take a dropperful every six hours. The medi- cine tastes like old lemon. I was about to rattle off a few more holidays, but only the Ab- negation celebrate them.
Just the thought of saying the words out loud makes me feel so heavy I could break through the floorboards. He slides his hand over my cheek, one finger anchored behind my ear.
Then he tilts his head down and kisses me, sending a warm ache through my body. I wrap my hands around his arm, holding him there as long as I can. When he touches me, the hollowed-out feeling in my chest and stomach is not as noticeable. I can just try to forget—he can help me forget. But something about his expression reminds me that he does know something about loss. He lost his mother when he was young. Suddenly I remember him clutching the curtains in his living room, about nine years old, wearing gray, his dark eyes shut.
My feet sink into the ground, and above me, the branches grow into one another, forming a kind of tunnel. Dark fruit hangs among the leaves, ready to drop.
The sharp, sweet smell of rotting apples mixes with the scent of wet earth in my nose. He leads us past the first building to the second one on the left. All the buildings except the greenhouses are made of the same dark wood, un- painted, rough. I hear laughter through an open window. The contrast between the laughter and the stone stillness within me is jarring. Marcus opens one of the doors.
I would be shocked by the lack of se- curity if we were not at Amity headquarters. They often straddle the line between trust and stupidity. In this building the only sound is of our squeaking shoes. Marcus stops before an open room, where Johanna Reyes, represent- ative of Amity, sits, staring out the window.
A scar stretches in a thick line from just above her right eyebrow to her lip, rendering her blind in one eye and giving her a lisp when she talks.
I have only heard her speak once, but I remem- ber. She would have been a beautiful woman if not for that scar. She walks toward him with her arms open. She is referring to the group of Abnegation who were with my father and Marcus in the safe house.
I can grant you all permission to stay the night, but tomorrow, our community must decide together. I of course ask you to turn over any weapons you might have. I am still wearing a gray shirt. At that moment, his smell, which is an even mixture of soap and sweat, wafts upward, and it fills my nose, fills my entire head with him.
I clench my hands so hard into fists that my fingernails cut into my skin. Not here. Then he laces his fingers with mine to cover up what he just did. But it would have been a re- lief to hand it over.
A Dauntless greeting. I am impressed by her awareness of the customs of other factions. I always forget how considerate the Amity are until I see it for myself. Outside Dauntless headquarters, I remember why he hid that name from the world. It binds him to Marcus. An Amity nurse gives me a salve—developed by Erudite to speed healing—to put on my shoulder, and then escorts Peter to the hospital ward to mend his arm. Johanna takes us to the cafeteria, where we find some of the Abnegation who were in the safe house with Caleb and my father.
Susan is there, and some of our old neighbors, and rows of wooden tables as long as the room itself. It will help you sleep as it helped some of the others sleep.
No dreams. I grab the cup and drink it fast. For a few seconds the heat from the liquid makes me feel like I am full of something again. And as I drain the last drops from the cup, I feel myself relaxing. Someone leads me down the hallway, to a room with a bed in it.
That is all.
But I am not running through the streets of the city or the corridors of Daunt- less headquarters. I am in a bed in Amity headquarters, and the smell of sawdust is in the air. I shift, and wince as something digs into my back. I reach behind me, and my fingers wrap around the gun. I get out of bed and lift the mattress with one hand, propping it up on my knee.
Then I shove the gun beneath it and let the mattress bury it. Once it is out of sight and no longer pressed to my skin, my head feels clearer. Now that the adrenaline rush of yesterday is gone, and whatever made me sleep has worn off, the deep ache and shooting pains of my shoulder are intense.
I am wearing the same clothes I wore last night. The corner of the hard drive peeks out from under my pillow, where I shoved it right before I fell asleep.
The Choosing Ceremony will be tomorrow at the Hub. Plan to arrive at least ten minutes before it begins. You are dismissed. I know the path my fellow Abnegation will take out of here, down the hallway and out the front doors to the bus stop.
They could be there for over an hour letting other people get on in front of them. I don't think I can bear any more of this silence. Instead of following them, I slip out a side door and into an alley next to the school.
I've taken this route before, but usually I creep along slowly, not wanting to be seen or heard. Today all I want to do is run. I sprint to the end of the alley and into the empty street, leaping over a sinkhole in the pavement. My loose Abnegation jacket snaps in the wind, and I peel it from my shoulders, letting it trail behind me like a flag and then letting it go.
I push the sleeves of my shirt up to my elbows as I run, slowing to a jog when my body can no longer stand the sprint. It feels like the entire city is rushing past me in a blur, the buildings blending together. I hear the slap of my shoes like the sound is separate from me. Finally I have to stop, my muscles burning. I'm in the factionless wasteland that lies between the Abnegation sector and Erudite headquarters, Candor headquarters, and our common places.
At every faction meeting, our leaders, usually speaking through my father, urge us not to be afraid of the factionless, to treat them like human beings instead of broken, lost creatures.
But it never occurred to me to be afraid of them. I move to the sidewalk so I can look through the windows of the buildings. Most of the time all I see is old furniture, every room bare, bits of trash on the floor.
When most of the city's residents left-as they must have, since our current population doesn't fill every building-they must not have left in a hurry, because the spaces they occupied are so clean.
Nothing of interest remains. When I pass one of the buildings on the corner, though, I see something inside. The room just beyond the window is as bare as any of the others I've walked by, but past the doorway inside I can see a single ember, a lit coal.
I frown and pause in front of the window to see if it will open. At first it won't budge, and then I wiggle it back and forth, and it springs upward. I push my torso through first, and then my legs, toppling to the ground inside in a heap of limbs.
My elbows sting as they scrape the floor. The building smells like cooked food and smoke and sweat. I inch toward the ember, listening for voices that will warn me of a factionless presence here, but there's only silence.
In the next room, the windows are blacked out by paint and dirt, but a little daylight makes it through them, so I can see that there are curled pallets scattered on the floor all over the room, and old cans with bits of dried food stuck inside them. In the center of the room is a small charcoal grill. Most of the coals are white, their fuel spent, but one is still lit, suggesting that whoever was here was here recently.
And judging by the smell and the abundance of old cans and blankets, there were quite a few of them.
I was always taught that the factionless lived without community, isolated from one another. Now, looking at this place, I wonder why I ever believed it. What would be stopping them from forming groups, just like we have? It's in our nature. I wheel around and see a smudged, sallow-faced man in the next room, wiping his hands on a ragged towel. That's all. He wears black Candor pants, patched with blue Erudite fabric, and a gray Abnegation shirt, the same as the one I'm wearing.