The Burn (5 page)

Mr. Klein can help me. If anyone knows what to do, he
will. He’ll have studied sunburns, or at least know what can help
it feel better. I get on the transport. I left early, without
eating breakfast, so there are only a few people, and they’re
involved in catching up on messages, getting ready for their day.
My hair is too short to cover everything, but I let it fall around
my face to hide the redness.

The transport stops at the vocational quarter first.
Then the doors close and the transport zooms along to the education
quarter. The doors open and I get off in a circular foyer with
corridors jutting off like wheel spokes.

There are more people down here, teachers preparing
for classes, students who are on early schedule (they even schedule
us according to our bodies’ natural rhythms). I take the fifth
corridor that holds the teacher’s offices. I stop outside Mr.
Klein’s and hope he’s there by now. I knock.

“Come in,” says a muffled voice. The door slides open
and I hear the click of his laptop closing.

He flips through a thick book laying open on the
desk, and a cup of coffee is in his left hand. He hasn’t looked
back to see the monstrosity his prized pupil has become.

I clear my throat. “Um, Mr. Klein, I was wondering if
you could help me?”

“Mmm,” is all he says as he puts a bookmark between
two pages, closes the book, and then glances up at me. He drops his
coffee, spilling it all over the tile.

“Terra! What in the world?” He picks up his mug, then
grabs the napkins that are neatly stacked on the edge of his desk.
“Did you go out on the field without a suit?”

I nod, and I’m not ashamed in front of him. I felt
mortified when faced by my dad, but I know Mr. Klein will
understand.

He opens the small silver laundry chute and throws
the napkins in it. His stack of napkins will be refreshed by this
evening.

“I would ask why, but I think I know.” He sits back
down. He glances at the watcher, reminding me not to say anything
out of turn. He clears his throat and laces his fingers together. I
remember our conversation a year and a half ago. Once again, he
will choose his words carefully.

“Nothing too serious that the infirmary needs to take
a look at. I think that’s why your father didn’t send you there. I
have something that will help that burn feel better.” He stands up
and I start leaving the office.

“No, no.” He ushers me back in and motions me into
his chair. He rolls it into position so I face his laptop and my
back conceals it from the watcher.

“If you wanted to get started reading about what
we’re covering in class today, that would be great. I had it open
before you came in. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Then he walks out and carefully shuts the door behind
him. The lock slides automatically in place.

I turn to the laptop. There’s something on here he
wants me to see, and I have a feeling it’s about escape. But as far
as I know, Mr. Klein has never left the colony, and he doesn’t seem
the type to actually do it in the future. So what will I find on
here? And then I realize I am here, where I wanted to be tonight,
doing exactly what I wanted to do, and Mr. Klein has set it up so
perfectly for me—he won’t get in trouble and neither will I. My
heart lurches.

I open the laptop and the screen flickers on. First
glance: a messaging window and a list of past communications.
They’re all from someone named Gaea. The name sounds familiar. I’ve
heard it recently, but where? Then the computer blips at me. The
message window is still active. Mr. Klein was messaging with Gaea
when I interrupted.

Rint. Are you still
there?

My fingers hover over the keyboard, not sure what to
do. Should I respond? Maybe Gaea is who I needed to talk to all
along, and here is my chance. So why am I frozen in this position,
my fingers inches from writing a message to this person?

If I do not hear from you in ten
seconds, I will terminate our connection.

Ten seconds.
Agony. My mind races, reaching
out. Gaea. Who could it be? Someone in the colony? Surely not.
Messaging connections are all routed through the watcher servers
where they can be documented forever.

Nine
. Who is Gaea? Think! No one has enough
control to terminate a connection themselves. This is an
independent connection. It has to be an outside source.

Eight
. The name Gaea is from Mr. Klein’s
class. Someone ancient. Before modern Burn History.

Seven
. A suspicious thought flutters into my
head before I can even stop it. Would Mr. Klein set me up? And why
would I even think such a dumb thing? So what do I type?

Six
. Don’t I want to escape this insane
asylum? All these people whose lives are scheduled, meals are
prescribed, recreation, exercise,…

Five
…vocations all assigned to them. The
field, the stupid corn field that is hell for me when it’s my job,
but a mystical, magical place when I’m not working and is burning
my skin from my bones. The smell of the corn, the smell of the
soil. Dirt. Earth. Gaea. Greek mythology.
The earth goddess.
Which, for Mr. Klein, translates into the Burn goddess.

Four
. My fingers start typing before I even
realize it.

Three
.

Two
.

One
. I press
send
.

Not Rint. One of his
students.

Agonizing, terrible silence as I wait for a response.
Will she cut the connection when she realizes it isn’t Mr. Klein? I
close my eyes, mad at myself. Stupid. Always stupid. Admitting I’m
not Mr. Klein. Acting and not thinking. Then the computer blips at
me again. I open my eyes.

Terra?

I almost jump out of my seat. How does she know
me?

How do you know my
name?

I know all about you. Rint talks a
lot.

Who are you?

Gaea.

Yeah, I know. The earth goddess.
But what does it mean?

From what Rint’s told me, I think
you’re smart enough to figure it out.

She’s being forthright. Maybe I will be too.

I want to leave the colony. I want
to go to the Burn.

Just a second too long of a hesitation, but I suppose
anyone would have that reaction.

I can help you if you’re willing
to make sacrifices. In the Trench. On the far side of the
observation station. On the east wall, look for a fold in the rock.
It hides the entrance to my home. Tonight.

The message window goes blank and the screen says,
“Connection terminated.”

Then there’s a whirring sound. Mr. Klein is on the
other side of the door, his hand up against the scanner. I close
the laptop and turn around in the chair. I give a furtive glance at
the watcher. Did I stay in front of the screen well enough? My
heart races. Will I leave tonight? Am I ready for that? I think so,
but then why am I shaking?

The door slides open, and Mr. Klein carries a clear
bottle. He holds it up.

“Aloe vera.” He tosses it to me. “Rub some of that on
your skin.”

I squeeze some onto my palm and rub it on my burned
arms and face. The goopy gel feels cool and tingly on my skin, and
I sigh in relief.

“Just apply it every couple of hours. You aren’t
blistered, so you should be fine.” Mr. Klein clears his throat. “Do
you think today’s lesson will be interesting?”

He’s studying me, a look of worry etched in his eyes.
I nod.

“Yeah, very. Thanks for letting me prep for it.” I
walk to the door. He stands to one side to let me pass.

“Are you going to the dance tonight, Terra?”

I turn around. Mr. Klein is sitting down and opening
his laptop. This time he really does look at lesson plans, and he
doesn’t care if the watcher sees the screen or not.

“Um, yeah. Some guy I met on a transport asked
me.”

“That’s good. Good you’ll be out. Everyone will be
out, you know. No after-hours vocations tonight. No farmers, no
sanitation crew, no submarine dockers.”

And I know instantly what he’s telling me. If I’m
going to meet with Gaea, if I’m ever going to leave for the Burn,
tonight is my chance. If I’m serious about this, as Mr. Klein
apparently hopes I am, this is it. No more dreaming, no more
complaining about the colony. I have to act. This is what I’ve been
looking for for so long. So why am I terrified?

I leave Mr. Klein’s office. I need to be to class in
twenty minutes, so I’m not in a hurry. Just chemistry and then Mr.
Klein’s class. Two hours that I know will stretch interminably.

I’m right. As soon as my chemistry teacher starts
talking, my mind shuts off and my eyes drift to the map of the
earth tacked to the wall behind her. The land is all shaded gray,
and the oceans are shades of bright blue, a different shade for the
territory of each colony. My colony, the Mariana colony, has the
largest territory. Then I have a gut-wrenching thought.

Where am I going to go?

When I actually leave for the Burn, where will I go?
It isn’t labeled on the map, but I know the closest country is
Japan. I don’t speak Japanese. Everyone down here speaks English.
“The language of science” had been the logic when everyone came
down here in the beginning, without much other thought to what
language they would use. The language of the colonies.

So what is it like on the Burn? Does everyone still
speak their own languages? Did they choose one common language—the
language of the survivors? Was it English? Will I be able to speak
with anyone up there? I glance to the United States.

I could go to Hawaii. But it is such a remote island.
Will there be anyone left? The mainland United States just looks so
far away. How long will it take me to get there by myself? But do I
have another option? I could go to Australia. But Australia wasn’t
very densely populated in the first place.

But why do I want to go up on the Burn in the first
place? Is it for the freedom or for the people? I thought it was
for freedom, but asking myself all these questions about languages
and survivors, I realize I am just as hungry to experience my
freedom
with
someone.

The United States then. Somewhere on the west coast.
Anywhere on the west coast. I don’t know too much about the United
States—we haven’t devoted much of our class time to its history
yet. I’ve only learned bits and pieces of its history as it relates
to other nations—so mostly economic and war facts. Periods of
plenty followed by war and deep depressions. Are they in a
depression now? Perhaps, I tell myself, but that’s just the way
nations’ economies go. Where else would I go? Before WWIII, the
United States took away all freedom of speech and personal privacy
in a dramatic attempt to eradicate terrorism. They had watchers in
every classroom, every home. There was even a bill in congress for
personal identification implants so the government could always
track their citizens’ movements. Too much like down here, that
voice in my head says again. But where else can I go? The United
States dropped the first nuclear warhead that began the Event. I
shudder, but silence the voice. There isn’t anywhere else to go.
And if I keep this debate up, I’ll scare myself into staying home.
Forever.

My head is still awhirl when my class is dismissed,
and I gather my things without realizing what I’m doing. I walk
past the other students, probably bumping into some—I don’t
remember—on my way to Mr. Klein’s class.

He doesn’t say anything to me when I walk in, so I
assume he doesn’t even look up. I’m not paying attention. I just
sit in the first available desk and stare at the wall in front of
me as Mr. Klein begins his discussion. The kid next to me leans
over and hisses a whisper.

“Did you catch that last date?”

I stare straight ahead. I’ll leave tonight and never
come back.

“Hey, Terra, did you hear me? The last date?”

I’ll go somewhere I’ve never been before.

“Are you even listening?”

I won’t know anyone. I’ll have no friends.

“Whatever.”

Am I sure I want to do this? It would be easier just
to stay home.

I shake my head. I need to focus, pay more attention.
Letting my thoughts wander like this will get me into trouble. I
know what I want. I’ve known it for a long time, and I won’t let my
fears talk me out of it.

I remember Gaea’s words: I can help you if you’re
willing to make sacrifices. In the Trench. On the far side of the
observation station. On the east wall, look for a fold in the rock.
It hides the entrance to my home. Tonight.

I rub aloe on my arms as I watch Jessa put the last
touches on the maze of curls and braids she has transformed her
hair into. It took her an hour to do her hair. Jessa isn’t usually
high maintenance, but she is willing to spend time on her hair.
It’s 18:20, and Matt and Brant will be here in forty minutes. Jessa
is already in her skirt and top, but my stomach keeps flipping and
my hands shake as I try to zip up my red dress, making putting on
the flimsy piece of fabric nearly impossible.

I growl in frustration as my unsteady hands slip from
the zipper again. Jessa does it for me.

“Seriously, Terra, calm down. Take a deep breath or
something. I know this is your first date in a while, but you’ll be
fine. Really.”

I give her a weak smile. Just let her think that’s
what is giving me anxiety. It’s the easiest explanation I can offer
her. Then she snags my hand as she pulls away from the zipper, and
she looks into my eyes. Her face—like looking into a reflection,
except for the slightly upturned nose, the narrower chin—is so like
mine. But we are so completely different, and I’ll miss it. My
throat catches with a sudden ache as I think of leaving her
forever. Her green eyes continue to bore into mine with a stare
that becomes too perceptive. I slip into my shoes.