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I need to sleep. My body is trembling from exhaustion, but I know nightmares are waiting for me when I close my eyes so I opt for conversation instead. “How long do you think it will take to get back to Tosu City?” I used the Transit Communicator to track the coordinates of this shack. Compared them to the ones where my candidate Testing box was located. Walking all day, we had traveled just under eighteen miles. The enormity of the miles between us and our goal is overwhelming.
“Three or four weeks. The farther we get from the city the easier travel will be. If we find some kind of transportation, it’ll go even faster. Just remember one thing. Your dad made it back when he was tested, Cia. We will, too.”
I use that thought to push worries about food and water and the actions of other candidates out of my head. With a picture of my father’s smile in my mind and Tomas’s fingers curled tight around mine, I slip into sleep.
I wake with a start and blink up at a sky tinged with a hazy purple and pink, uncertain where I am. Then I remember. Slowly, I glance to where Tomas lies next to me. His head is cushioned on his Testing bag. His breathing is slow and even. He must have fallen asleep before waking me for my watch. He did not hear whatever it was that woke me from my sleep.
The sound of a twig cracking makes my heart thunder. The wind? An animal or something more deadly? I squeeze Tomas’s hand and put a finger over his lips as his eyes slowly open. His eyes widen as I point to the open door and mouth, “I heard something.” Another snap, some leaves rustle, and my hand slides into the side pocket of my bag for my gun. Tomas reaches next to him for his knife. We wait in silence. If a Testing candidate is nearby, they will see the building. Will they feel compelled to look inside for anything that might be useful during the test? I would. My fingers tighten their grip on the gun as I wait for a face to appear.
None does.
Tomas and I sit and wait. The minutes pass, and I am reminded of yesterday when I was trapped in the candidate box with someone lurking outside. At least this time I am not alone.
How long do we wait? It feels like forever, although it is probably only fifteen minutes. We have heard no other sounds. Tomas slowly gets to his feet and makes a motion to the door. He wants to take a look. I nod and quietly get to my feet. If someone is out there, they aren’t expecting two of us.
Step by cautious step, Tomas crosses to the door. He adjusts his grip on his knife, takes a deep breath, and walks outside. I quickly follow behind him.
Nothing.
We circle the small building, looking for signs someone has been here, but find only our tracks and those made by small animals. Now that I am not terrified, I find myself smiling as I study the animal prints. Fox and maybe a rabbit. We are going to need a food source beyond the fruit and bread we have stored in our bags. I make a note to look for wires and other supplies to create traps and follow Tomas back inside the little building to gather our things. If we are going to make it to Tosu City, we need to get moving.
We eat cinnamon rolls with raisins for breakfast, and I open the first canteen of water for us to wash it down. With two of us drinking from my supply, the water will go fast. Especially in this heat. While yesterday I was concerned with putting distance between us and the wrecked city, today I am focused on finding the tools we need to survive the weeks to come. We need to find water that is uncontaminated enough for my purification chemicals to make drinkable, and we need to find it soon.
As we eat breakfast, we study the Illinois page of Tomas’s map book. Though most of the cities, towns, and roads have been eaten away by war and time, we are hoping that at least a few of the lakes and rivers have remained constant. We decide to head toward a river that looks like the best option and punch the coordinates into the Transit Communicator. According to the device, the river is fifteen miles to the southwest. Bags on our shoulders, we start walking, using the compass as our guide.
All around us is flat, brittle land. A casualty of the biological weapons used on the city and the nearby towns. So different from the hilly part of the country I grew up in. As we walk, we take sips of water, trying to replace the liquid the sun is leaching out of us, and talk of unimportant things—our favorite childhood games, the songs our mothers sang us to sleep with, our favorite foods. Tomas is fond of honey-glazed carrots. I love fresh raspberries. We talk about celebrating our Testing success with both.
After several hours of walking, we find a grove of squat trees in which to rest. Just as Tomas dumps his bag, I give a shout of joy. Growing near the trunks of the trees are dozens of small white flowers with spiky petals reaching up to the sky. Clover. My father says it is one of the few plants that never had trouble growing no matter the condition of the soil. When I was little my mother often served clover salad when other foods were scarce. Funny how some things never change.
Tomas and I strip the ground bare of the small white plants, divide them into two piles, and sit in the shade, eating the fresh flowers and green stems with our bread and fruit. We leave the roots so the flowers will grow again—perhaps for the Testing candidates who come this way next year.
The afternoon sun is brutal as it bakes the ground beneath my feet. Sweat pours from our bodies. The dirt that swirls in the air adheres to our wet, sticky skin. Between us, we have emptied the first canteen and have opened the second. We need to find a water supply. The device in my hand tells me we still have two miles until we arrive at what we hope is a river.
It is late afternoon when we reach our destination. A dry riverbed. We check the map twice to make sure this is the right location. There is no doubt. An event, probably an earthquake, shifted the land and emptied the river between the time the map was created and now. And while it isn’t surprising, I can’t help the surge of disappointment that is rapidly followed by fear. I shove the fear aside and concentrate on solving the problem. Because isn’t that what The Testing is about? Finding those who can solve the problem even when put under great stress? The Testing officials want candidates to succeed. There will be water somewhere. We just have to be smart enough and patient enough to find it.
I see a small hill to our southwest and say, “Well, the water from the river had to go somewhere. Why don’t we see if we can spot it from up there?”
Tomas stows the map book into his bag and nods. “Sounds good to me.”
The hill is farther and taller than it looks. The sun is starting to lose its luster when we reach the top. One look at the landscape below us makes me want to cry. More cracked grayish brown earth. More scraggly, diseased-looking trees with dry, parched leaves. More emptiness. Except off in the distance. I squint into the setting sun. Yes. There, far to our right, is a patch of green. Green that can only be created by thriving plants. And for plants to thrive they have to have water.
With a wide smile, Tomas takes my hand and we set off at a quick pace toward the greenery. It occurs to me as we walk that while our view from the top of the hill was helpful, it might have also put us in danger. Anyone in the vicinity looking our way will have seen us. I mention my worries to Tomas, but there isn’t much we can do now. There is no place to take cover in this empty landscape. We have to keep moving forward and hope for the best.
The closer Tomas and I get to the greenery, the edgier I feel. The proximity of the hill to the greenery and the possible water source we spotted start to feel too much like coincidence. Because this part of the coun
try has not been officially revitalized, there is the impression it’s been left untouched by the United Commonwealth’s government staff. But that isn’t necessarily the case. Dr. Barnes and his Testing officials want to see how we think, how we identify and deal with problems. It only makes sense that they would set up smaller tests within the larger one, that they would not be willing to leave the obstacles we face up to chance.
As we approach the green patch, I begin to feel certain that this oasis is another kind of test. The perfect oval the grass grows in. The shimmer of a clear, clean, uncontaminated pond that rests in the center. Two trees filled with healthy leaves stand guard on either side. The entire area is only about twenty feet wide and half as long. There is no doubt. This small patch of paradise is man-made.
Tomas picks up his pace at the sight of the water, but stops when he notices I am no longer beside him. “What’s wrong, Cia?”
I explain my suspicions, and his forehead wrinkles in thought. He looks at the pond with longing and says, “They know we need water. It only makes sense that they’ve added some water sources out here in order to keep us alive. Otherwise none of us would pass the damn test. Then where would they be?”
Tomas has a good point. But he wasn’t the one who listened as Dr. Barnes rationalized Ryme’s death. He didn’t see Malachi die. If I hadn’t, maybe I would believe this spot is a gift from the Testers. Instead, I see it as a trap.
“Let’s walk around the grass line and take a look just to be sure.”
Tomas wants to argue. I can see it in the set of his jaw. It’s the same reaction he had in class when a fellow student or our teacher was wrong. Instead of arguing with him, I walk up to the vibrant green grass, careful not to disturb it with my foot. Flowers grow near the edge of the pond, filling the air with their sweet fragrance. The trees are tall and straight and provide shelter from the sunshine. It’s a perfect spot to rest and be restored from travel. In this place where nothing is perfect, is it a wonder that I refuse to trust it?
