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;We're gonna suffocate! I know it!" announces the Mouth Breather.
"Will you shut up?" says Connor. "I'm sure there's more than enough air in here for us."
"How do you know? I can barely breathe already—and I got asthma, too. I could have an asthma attack in here and die!"
"Good," says Connor. "One less person breathing the air."
That shuts Emby up, but Connor feels bad having said it. "No one's going to die," he says. "Just relax."
And then Hayden says, "At least dying's better than being unwound. Or is it? Let's take a poll—would you rather die, or be unwound?"
"Don't ask things like that!" snaps Connor. "I don't want to think about either." Somewhere outside of their little crated universe, Connor hears a metal hatch closing and can feel the vibration in his feet as they begin to taxi. Connor waits. Engines power up—he can feel the vibration in his feet. He's pushed back against the wall as they accelerate. Hayden tumbles into him, and he shifts over, giving Hayden room to get comfortable again.
"What's happening? What's happening?" cries Emby.
"Nothing. We're just taking off."
"What! We're on a plane?"
Connor rolls his eyes, but the gesture is lost in the darkness.
* * *
The box is like a coffin. The box is like a womb. Normal measures of time don't seem to apply, and the unpredictable turbulence of flight fills the dark space with an ever-present tension.
Once they're airborne, the four kids don't speak for a very long time. Half an hour, an hour maybe—it's hard to tell. Everyone's mind is trapped in the holding pattern of their own uneasy thoughts. The plane hits some rough air. Everything around them rattles. Connor wonders if there are kids in crates above them, below them, and on every side. He can't hear their voices if they are. From where he sits, it feels like the four of them are the only ones in the universe. Emby silently relieves himself. Connor knows because he can smell it—everyone can, but no one says anything. It could just as easily have been any one of them—and depending on how long this trip is, it still could be.
Finally, after what feels like forever, the quietest of them all speaks.
"Unwound," Diego says. "I'd rather be unwound."
Even though it's been a long time since Hayden posed the question, Connor knows immediately what it refers to. Would you rather die or be unwound? It's like the question has hung in the cramped darkness all this time, waiting to be answered.
"Not me," says Emby. "Because if you die, at least you go to Heaven."
Heaven? thinks Connor. More likely they'd go to the other place. Because if their own parents didn't care enough about them to keep them, who would want them in Heaven?
"What makes you think Unwinds don't go?" Diego asks Emby.
"Because Unwinds aren't really dead. They're still alive . . . sort of. I mean, they have to use every single part of us somewhere, right? That's the law."
Then Hayden asks the question. Not a question, the question. Asking it is the great taboo among those marked for unwinding. It's what everyone thinks about, but no one ever dares to ask out loud.
"So, then," says Hayden, "if every part of you is alive but inside someone else . . . are you alive or are you dead?"
This, Connor knows, is Hayden bringing his hand back and forth across the flame again. Close enough to feel it, but not close enough to burn. But it's not just his own hand now, it's everyone's, and it ticks Connor off.
"Talking wastes our oxygen," Connor says. "Let's just agree that unwinding sucks and leave it at that."
It shuts everyone up, but only for a minute. It's Emby who talks next.
"I don't think unwinding is bad," he says. "I just don't want it to happen to me."
Connor wants to ignore him but can't. If there's one thing that Connor can't abide, it's an Unwind who defends unwinding. "So it's all right if it happens to us but not if it happens to you?
"I didn't say that."
"Yes, you did."
