The Burn (4 page)

I sit electrified. I’ve noticed the way Dad cries,
the way he consoles himself by talking to someone who will never
talk back to him. But I’m hardly concerned. He brought it on
himself. But then a sliver of guilt pricks my heart. Dad lets the
grief eat himself from the inside out. The devil in me wants to
tell her why he cries so much about it. But I can’t.

I sit up. “You’re right. I’ve got to go.”

Jessa’s eyes can meet mine again. “What? But what are
you going to wear?”

“The red one’s great,” I say as I leave.

Dad looks over from the monitor as I make for the
front door. Several other colony councilors are on the screen. He
mutes the discussion.

“Where are you going?”

“Umm, just to the pod at Field #3. I left something
there this afternoon.”

“It can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“No, it’s important.”

Dad checks his watch. “Okay, but be quick. You need
to clock in for bed in forty-five minutes.”

I nod and hurry out the door.

The corridors are quiet. Most colonists are inside
for the night. A few stragglers come off the transport, and most of
them eye me with surprise as I hurry by. They all know who I am, of
course. Everyone knows who I am. My dad is the speaker, so there
are countless times I’ve been seen with him at official functions.
And I am a twin. That stands out in people’s minds too. And my
mother left us. That’s the stain that nabs me the most glances. I
can just imagine what people think.
We strive for peaceable
living. So why did the speaker’s wife run out on him?
If only
they knew. It is a dirty secret I am too ashamed to tell. Maybe
that’s part of the reason I am so eager to get out of here. Too
many secrets, too many things to hide. Too many times Dad tried to
overcompensate for being the only parent. With the ocean pressing
down on me, it feels like it could bury everything under its
weight. The Burn feels more exposed—more honest.

The transport doors gape wide open and the transport
is empty. This is the last transport back to the vocational
quarter, and then one more transport back to the living quarter to
arrive at 21:55, just in time for me to clock in before bed. I
glance at my watch—perfectly synchronized with the clock on the
transport—and tell myself not to miss it. I can’t imagine how much
trouble I’ll be in if I don’t make it home for curfew.

The door slides closed behind me, and the voice comes
on, “Last transport to the vocational quarter. Upon exiting, you
will have thirty minutes before the last transport leaves for the
living quarter.”

The transport jumps up the tube and whisks me toward
the vocational quarter. I feel a rush of adrenaline. Pathetic, I
know. But I’ve never been on this last transport. I gaze out the
clear sides. The transport enters part of the tube that runs next
to the ocean, and I stare at the blackness. Am I really considering
leaving? Even though all this monotony is really grating on me,
this is home. It is unchanging. Reliable.

And black. Much too black. Black surrounds me all the
time. Sure the artificial lights cut through the dark, but if those
go out, there would be nothing to guide me. One of the first things
I learned when Dad was teaching me to use a submarine was to check
and double check my instrumentation before undocking. If any of
that failed when I was out in the Trench, I’d get so turned around
that I’d be lost forever. I think about what Mr. Klein said in
class once on a day we studied Burn navigation, that even on the
darkest nights up on the Burn, you can use the stars to guide you.
I wonder if he is the best man for what the councilors want to
happen in Burn History classes. Mr. Klein makes it all sound so
hopeful
.

I press my hand to the glass, and wonder if there’s
anything to feel out there besides the empty cold. Then the tunnel
burrows back into the colony, and all I can see is a blur of lights
and machinery.

I get off by Field #1 and walk down the corridor to
Field #3’s pod. I put my hand on the scanner and the door hisses
open. There’s a lot of security around here, though not a lot of
violations. The founders were meticulous from the beginning. I am
only given access to the field I am currently assigned to. That
protects our food from kids who could just be goofing off or
someone who is sleepwalking, I guess. No one comes down to the
fields to goof off. There’s nothing to do down here. And they can’t
get into one of the lockers to grab a radiation suit anyway, so
they’d totally fry.

Which is kind of what I have in mind.

This plan of mine is stupid. I will march into the
field with those solar lamps blazing and lie down among the corn
and just try to catch a glimpse of what it might feel like to be up
on the Burn. Just a peek. For just a minute. To see if it can be
all I have been building it up to be in my head.

The importance of the solar radiation suit was the
second lesson I learned when I switched vocations to agriculture.
The first was how dangerous the solar lamps are. All of that
overloads my brain as I walk toward the door that opens onto the
field. But I don’t hesitate. I need to do this. It is my last test
to see if I really am ready to abandon all this.

The door opens too slowly.

“Let me out there.” I realize I said it aloud. It’s
like the door gives me time to change my mind, but it’s pointless.
I squeeze out through the gap.

I gasp and feel my arms. I’m warm. Actually, truly
warm. I glance at the temperature monitor on the wall. 85 degrees.
I’ve never felt warm down here. Sure, under my covers at night, or
after a shower. But never just walking down the corridor, or
sitting in the Juice Deck—everything is too perfectly climatized.
Even our radiation suits are temperature controlled. A shiver of
pleasure runs down my back. I walk into the corn.

I never realized how green the corn is. Through the
filtered visor of the suit or the filtered plastic looking into the
field, the corn is green, a dull grayish green that looks half
alive. Now with naked eyes, this is vibrant and soft at the same
time. The leaves shine under the artificial light. I have the
wackiest urge to just touch the leaves. I do. They are smooth under
my bare fingertips. The tassels on the ears of corn flutter in air
currents swirled by the air circulators. The tassels feel fuzzy and
ethereal. The soil is rich brown and smells alive. I never even
knew dirt had a smell.

I kneel down between rows of corn, my bare hands in
the dirt, my fingers raking through it. How long have I been in
here? I look at my watch. Twenty minutes until the last transport.
I will stay for five more minutes.

A trickle of sweat runs down my back. It’s 85 degrees
in here, and I never knew that was enough to make me sweat. With
the added humidity, I feel deliciously slippery. My head feels
tired and sluggish, and I lie down in the dirt, squinting up
through the overlapping leaves of corn at the artificial lamps over
head that I imagine are the sun.

Then the speaker crackles on. “The last transport
leaves in five minutes.”

I jump up. Did I actually fall asleep down here? I
look around. I’m still alone, and I don’t see anyone through the
field’s glass. No one knows I’m here. I look down at myself. I’m
covered in dirt. I run to my locker and rip off my shirt and pants
and change into the spares.

I bolt out into the corridor and jump onto the
transport. There are two other people there, probably getting off
cleaning shifts. One of them raises her eyebrows at me, but I shrug
it off. Probably wondering what the daughter of the speaker is
doing on a transport by herself so close to curfew. What have I
been doing? I took a cat nap without a radiation suit lying on the
dirt in Field #3. It sounds so crazy. But then I smile, remembering
the warmth and the smells. The reddish light through my closed
eyelids. Definitely not wasted time.

I make it back to my house at 21:57. Dad is still up,
reading a bulletin. He doesn’t look up when I come in.

“You’re cutting it close, young lady. Next time you
forget something and feel the need to go get it so close to—”

Then he looks up, shocked. My clothes are clean, so
are my hands. He shouldn’t be able to tell what I was doing. Then I
notice my arms.

“Terra, you are bright red! What have you been
doing?”

A burn? For only being on the field for maybe fifteen
minutes? Could I really have a burn already?

“The only place you could have—” Dad clamps a hand to
his mouth. “Were you out on the field without a suit on?”

I nod and hurry toward my room.

“If your mother could only see—”

“Well she can’t, can she? Because you made her
leave.” Why am I doing this to him? Only an hour ago Jessa helped
me realize how much Dad is hurting. But I can’t stop; the momentum
behind my words propels me on. “You really must have loved her to
mess things up so badly.”

Dad’s mouth hangs open, and the tears surge up in his
eyes. All I want from him is the truth. To set the ashes free from
just one of the dirty secrets we all hide down here. To watch the
remains of it fly on the wind and go rest somewhere in peace. The
guilt claws at my stomach and I have to escape that look on his
face.

“I’ve got to clock in.” I turn my back on him and go
to my room.

If I had known how agonizing sleeping in a bed would
be with a sunburn, I would have stayed up and faced my dad’s wrath,
sorrow, and the punishment I will face from missing clock-in. Some
time in the middle of the night, I wake up feeling like the skin is
being peeled from my arms. Just having sheets on my burned skin is
torture. I roll to one side, but my cheeks on the pillow aren’t any
better. A tear slips out, but the salt water running down my face
is even worse than the bedding. I grit my teeth, sit up, and stay
sitting up the rest of the night.

When Jessa wakes up, I’m already dressed and packing
my bag for the day. She yawns and stretches, and then finally looks
at me.

“Good grief, what happened to you?”

I shrug and try to keep the light fabric of my shirt
away from my burned skin. “A few minutes on the field without a
radiation suit.”

“No way. For real?”

I nod. Her mouth opens in the wackiest smile I’ve
seen on her.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. They just
had another radiation suit reminder last week. How could you
forget?”

“Don’t tell Dad that. I’m already in enough trouble
as it is.” I go into the common room.

Dad waits in the kitchen, sitting in front of his egg
white omelet with his hands on each side of the plate, palms down,
like he holds the table steady to keep himself from chucking it at
me. Or he could be holding himself together from the outside in.
Gram eats her omelet in dainty bites. I sit at the table, and Dad
gives her a look. She grabs her plate.

“I think I’ll finish this in the other room while I
get a sneak peek at lunch.” She darts out into the common room. The
monitor hums to life, but the volume isn’t up very high. If I
weren’t in so much trouble, I would have laughed at Gram trying to
eavesdrop on what’s going on.

Dad doesn’t waste any time.

“Terra, how could you be so completely thoughtless?
So forgetful? So negligent? I know agriculture isn’t your strong
point and you’re probably considering changing vocations
again—”

I nod.

“—but I really wish you wouldn’t be so reckless. You
don’t know how damaging those sun lamps can be.”

I look at my skin. I have a pretty good idea.

“Why did you really go there anyway? I know you’re
not so idiotic as to forget a radiation suit. And don’t tell me you
forgot something. You wouldn’t go out on the field just because you
forgot something. I don’t want excuses. That’s not something anyone
in this family would do. It’s not something a daughter of a speaker
would do.” He finally takes a breath. I don’t know what to say. I
haven’t thought ahead to come up with some excuse. Anything to save
me from trouble.

Then Dad takes another deep breath. He brings his
hands up and rubs his eyes. I know he will let it go. Then he looks
at me.

“Speaking of vocation changes, considering your work
record, I thought maybe it was time you made a change. Have you
thought about trying public service?”

My temper flares. So that’s it? I’m being groomed to
be the next speaker? I was determined to keep my mouth shut, to be
kind, but everything I’ve been feeling over the past few days comes
spilling out before I can put a clamp on it.

“Really, Dad? Public service? You think I have any
desire to be a speaker like you or Gram? I hate it down here, and
if you knew anything about me, you’d know that. Why would I want to
be an advocate for this stupid, messed up place? I’m very seriously
considering following in Mom’s footsteps, and I don’t mean being a
nutritionist.”

I shouldn’t have said it. That Mom comment goes way
too far. But I have to tell someone what’s rolling around in my
head before it explodes, even if it is my dad.

He’s horrified and looks like his nose has just been
punched—his eyes water and his face is red. His mouth quivers, with
sadness or rage, I don’t know. I don’t want to stick around to find
out. I grab my bag and run out the door as fast as I can. He
doesn’t even have time to collect himself to tell me how much
trouble I’m in.

My feet pound down the corridor, and the only thing I
can think about is my scorching skin. I need something for it, but
I have no idea what to do for a sunburn. It’s not something they
teach us in first aid; it just doesn’t happen down here. Well,
except to neurotic teenage girls who are planning to defect.

I need to go to the infirmary, but I’m terrified of
having to give a report. They’ll observe me, they’ll know what I
did, and they’ll call Dad in. Then we’ll have round two of our bout
this morning, and I’m too physically and emotionally exhausted to
face him again.