Authors: Jill Williamson
Captives (52 page)
But it had gone bad.
Martyr blamed himself.
The door opened and Dr. Goyer entered. The light glinted off the man’s head as he looked down at a chart, and Martyr wondered why this doctor had to see the groomers when the other doctors were allowed to grow hair.
Dr. Goyer jumped back a step when he saw Martyr on the table and put a hand to his chest, but then moved about the lab as if he hadn’t seen Martyr at all. Martyr waited and watched Dr. Goyer file some papers, wipe down his counter, and sit at his desk. He was no longer wearing the orange napkin tie, only a white coat over a white shirt and black pants. Martyr frowned. Dr. Goyer would probably never wear the orange napkin tie again.
He hoped Dr. Goyer wouldn’t use pain today. Occasionally he got lucky with his marks and only needed to answer questions or try new foods. Dr. Goyer hadn’t carried in a steamy sack full of food, though.
Dr. Goyer suddenly spoke. “What am I supposed to do with?
Martyr met the doctor’s eyes. They were brown, like the eyes of every Jason on the Farm. Martyr knew the color brown well. “What do you
want
to do?”
The doctor rubbed a hand over his head. “I don’t know … I
don’t know. They gave me a list of starter questions, but you’ve probably had all those by now.”
Martyr had answered them often. “What’s your number? Do you have a nickname? What’s your purpose?”
Dr. Goyer smiled. “That’s right. Can we just … talk?”
Martyr relaxed. Talking would likely be painless. “Yes, we can.”
“Do you like living here?”
The question confused Martyr. Where else would he live? “What do you mean?”
“Do you enjoy it? Do you find it fun?”
“Some days.”
“What makes a good day?”
“No marks. No fights. Food with color. Being with Baby. Especially a day where no one is trying to hurt Baby.”
“Is Baby your friend?”
Martyr nodded. “He needs me.”
“Why?”
“Baby is a Broken, so a lot of Jasons pick on him.”
“Broken.”
“Yeah, you know. Something went wrong when he was made. He’s small and doesn’t speak. The doctors think he’s ignorant and can’t learn, but they just don’t know his language. He talks with his hands, so I’m the only one who understands him.”
“Why did the guard call you Martyr?”
“It’s my nickname. I got it because I help Baby and the other brokens.”
Dr. Goyer paused for a second. “Tell me about a time you helped one of them.”
Dealing with bullies wasn’t Martyr’s favorite thing to talk about, but it was better than being poked with needles. He didn’t want the doctor to change his mind, so Martyr answered quickly. “A few days ago, Iron Man and Fido attacked Baby, and I called Johnson to stop them. Fido found me later and was angry.”
“What happened?”
Martyr saw no harm in pointing out the wound since he was
already in a lab. He jerked his head to the strip of bedsheet tied around his wrist. “Rolo was close by, so Fido only bit me.”
Dr. Goyer stood and walked toward the exam table. “And that’s why they call him Fido?”
“Fido is a dog’s name.” Martyr knew this because Rolo said it almost every time he spoke to Fido. “Rolo says that Fido acts like a dog.”
“Have you ever seen a dog?” Dr. Goyer released the strap holding Martyr’s wrist to the table, loosened the sheet, and inspected the bite marks. Then he went to his counter and opened a cupboard.
“Only pictures we’re shown in class. Have you seen a real one?” Martyr had heard dogs were small and hairy and drooled a lot. Sometimes Hummer drooled, but no one called him a dog. Baby drooled a lot when he cried, but no one called him a dog either. Apparently Fido’s dog-ness was due to something else, because he certainly wasn’t small or hairy.
Dr. Goyer closed the cupboard. “I’ve seen lots of dogs.”
Martyr’s eyes flickered around the lab while he waited. A thick, black coat was draped over the back of Dr. Goyer’s chair. “You can go outside?”
“Of course.” Dr. Goyer stepped back to Martyr’s side and rubbed cool alcohol on his wrist.
It stung and Martyr stiffened. “You take the antidote?”
Dr. Goyer paused and looked away. His throat bobbed. “I, um … yes.”
Martyr blew out a long breath. He couldn’t even imagine what it must be like in the outside world. “I know I’ll never see things like dogs, but someone has to stay underground so people and dogs can exist.” Sometimes, the knowledge of his purpose was the only thing that made the Farm bearable. “You took off your napkin tie. Will you wear it again?”
“It’s a necktie, not a napkin tie, and I’m not allowed to wear it. I’m sorry I broke the rules today. It was a mistake.”
“I’m glad you did. Orange is very rare on the Farm. So is red. Red is my favorite. Where did you get the … necktie?”
Dr. Goyer peeled a bandage and stuck it to Martyr’s wrist. “My daughter gave it to me for Christmas.”
A tingle traveled down Martyr’s arms. Daughter was woman. He lifted his head off the table. “You have a woman?”
Dr. Goyer’s eyebrows crinkled over his eyes. “My daughter. She’s seventeen.”
“What does she look like?”
Dr. Goyer reached into his back pocket. He unfolded black fabric and showed Martyr a colored picture. The doctors sometimes showed them pictures, but never in color. Martyr had never seen so many colors in one place. He stared at the face and exhaled a long breath. The daughter had orange hair! And it was long, past her shoulders, and very curly, like spiral pasta. His eyes were the color of peas.
“He is very colorful.” Martyr’s eyes did not leave the picture when he asked, “What are the colors of peas?”
“Green.”
Martyr stared at the daughter’s eyes. “His eyes are green.”
“Her eyes.”
Martyr glanced at Dr. Goyer. “Her?”
“Women’s belongings are
hers
instead of
his.
They’re called
she
instead of he. Personal pronouns are gender specific.”
Goose pimples broke out over Martyr’s arms. This was why Dr. Woman had been called Her. Martyr wished he could remember more about Dr. Woman, but it had been so long ago, and he had been so young. “I would like to see a woman.”
Dr. Goyer’s eyebrows crinkled together again. He put the picture back into the black fabric and tucked it into his pocket.
“What’s that you keep the picture in?”
“A wallet. It holds my money and credit cards, my driver’s license.”
Martyr shook his head slightly, confused by the strange terms. None of the other doctors ever showed him things like this. He wished he could see the picture again—wished he had his
own
picture—but Dr. Goyer had seemed upset when he put his wallet
back into his pocket. Martyr hoped Dr. Goyer wouldn’t stop showing him fascinating things in the future.
As the silence stretched on, Martyr tried to think of something to say so Dr. Goyer wouldn’t get bored and decide to use needles. “What is Christmas?”
Dr. Goyer leaned against the wall by the door and folded his arms. “It’s a holiday. You don’t celebrate Christmas here?”
“What’s
celebrate
?”
“Celebrate is … being happy together.” Dr. Goyer straightened and looked into Martyr’s eyes. “What do the other doctors do when you have marks?”
Martyr swallowed, torn over how to answer. If he didn’t tell Dr. Goyer the truth, the other doctors would, and Dr. Goyer would know Martyr had lied. Lying always made things worse. “Mostly they use needles to test the contents of different vials. Medicines for outside, I think. Sometimes the vials cause pain, sometimes they make us sleep. Other times the doctors put sticky wires on our bodies that buzz our insides. And occasionally they just ask questions.”
“What kind of questions do they ask?”
“Questions about pain. Questions about math and science. Questions about Iron Man and Fido, or Rolo and Johnson.”
“Who is Iron Man?”
“The doctors call him J:3:1. He’s the oldest who is still living, which makes him the leader. But many of us choose not to follow him. He’s cruel. He’s cruel to Baby.”
Dr. Goyer walked to his chair and sat down, glancing over the papers on his desk. He picked one up and read from it. “What’s the most important rule here?”
It was the standard list of questions. “Obey the doctors.”
“What is your purpose?”
Martyr swallowed and closed his eyes. “My purpose is to expire. To be a sacrifice for those who live outside.” Martyr opened his eyes and met Dr. Goyer’s. “Like you.”
Dr. Goyer folded his arms and stared at his lap.
Did the doctor want a longer answer? “I expire in twenty-five days, when I turn eighteen. Then my purpose will be fulfilled.”
Dr. Goyer looked up. “Does that scare you?”
No one had ever asked if he were scared. “I don’t want to expire.”
“Because you want to live?”
“Yes, but not for myself. I’m content to sacrifice my life to save thousands from the toxic air. But if I’m gone, who will take care of Baby? And if Baby doesn’t live until he’s eighteen, he’ll fail to serve his purpose. That wouldn’t be fair.”
“It’s important to you to serve your purpose?”
“It’s why I’m alive.”
Dr. Goyer rubbed his mouth with his hand. “Can I answer any questions for you, Martyr?”
Martyr thought about the orange necktie and the picture of the daughter. “How do you celebrate Christmas?”
“You give gifts to those you love.”
Dr. Max had explained gifts once, when they talked about being nice to others. But the other word was new. “What is love?”
Dr. Goyer ran a hand over his head again. “Uh … it’s when you have kind feelings for someone.”
Dr. Goyer had been kind. He had given enjoyable marks and mended Martyr’s wrist with no lecture. “Will you give me a gift?”
“Maybe someday.”
“An orange necktie?”
Dr. Goyer pursed his lips as if fighting a smile. “Probably not.”
JILL WILLIAMSON
is a novelist, dreamer, and believer. Growing up in Alaska led to a love of books, and in 2010 her first novel,
By Darkness Hid
, won the Christy Award. She loves working with teenagers and gives writing workshops at libraries, schools, camps, and churches. Jill lives in Oregon with her husband and two children. Visit Jill online at www.jillwilliamson.com.
www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Other books by Jill Williamson
Replication
The Blood of Kings series
By Darkness Hid
To Darkness Fled
From Darkness Won
The Mission League series
The New Recruit
Chokepoint
ZONDERVAN
Captives
Copyright © 2013 by Jill Williamson
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