Sanctuary Read online

  Sanctuary

  Wall of Fire Series Companion Novella

  By Melanie Tays

  Chapter 1

  I stand in a meadow of fragrant flowers at the edge of Sanctuary, the city where I’ve lived all my life, and look out into the beyond. I press my hand to the barrier field that encapsulates us in a Safe Dome, a protection from the ravaged and deadly world outside. Though the barrier is utterly impenetrable, we can see right through it, like a window into another universe. Inside Sanctuary, the world is beautiful and clean and vibrant. Outside, it is bleak and brown and barren.

  I like to come here to the meeting place of these two disparate worlds. For some reason, the contrast helps me think. Maybe it’s the different perspective, or the realization that life doesn’t have to be the perfect, unchanging drone of days that Sanctuary provides.

  The eight o’clock bells chime, tearing me from my reverie, and I take off running—late again. Honestly, of all days, why did I have to let time get away from me today?

  I race through the paved streets, past the windows covered in beautiful lace curtains, and between the cars shepherding people to and fro. I don’t even pause along the way to take a flyer from Toren. He’s on his usual street corner, decrying one of the Governor’s imagined crimes. Last week, he was trying to convince us that the Withers—the virus that nearly destroyed the world and drove the survivors into Safe Domes like this one—never really existed in the first place. My mother, who watched her own parents die a gruesome death from the disease, had some choice words for him over that one. Even though the things he says are always preposterous, it’s the best entertainment around, so I’m disappointed I didn’t have time to stop and see what he’s going on about this time.

  I enter the school building, gasping for breath, and slink into my seat at the back of the classroom. At least this is the last day I’ll have to come here. After I present my final project this afternoon, my school education will be officially complete.

  Maxel spares only a single disapproving glance for me, then turns back to the board. He’s not very tall, so his entire lecture is neatly printed across the bottom half of the transparent, electronic writing surface. I’ve suggested that he have the board moved lower, but he dismissed my proposal, claiming it would disturb the uniformity of the city.

  I take out my tablet so I can follow along with today’s lesson. The screen flickers repeatedly when I turn it on. I tap it, and the glitching stops. I must have messed up something when I was tweaking the programming last night. I’ll have to take a look at it later.

  I set the tablet on the desk, and before long I’m mindlessly weaving a lock of my hair into an intricate braid. It’s a habit I picked up years ago—something I did to increase my fine motor control, pretending that the tiny golden strands were wires in a piece of delicate machinery. I do it without thinking now.

  I truly am trying to concentrate on the lesson, but it’s really difficult to make myself care about the harvest rotation pattern. It seems like a lot of useless information for anyone who isn’t assigned to be a harvester. I can’t imagine I’ll be assigned to harvest crops. That’s usually a job for people much stronger than I am, so this is pointless information for me to waste brain cells on.

  Tomorrow, I’ll receive my Duty—the job that will be my responsibility to perform to benefit the continuation of Sanctuary and its inhabitants. This is essential, considering we’re quite possibly all that remains of humanity on this planet.

  In addition to harvester, I can think of a long list of Duties I’m unlikely to be assigned. Things like caregiver, rules monitor, and teacher are definitely out. Basically, anything that requires me to follow a prescribed set of tasks day after day is pretty much out. The problem is, in order to survive, Sanctuary is built on rules, structure, and above all, predictability. So where does that leave me?

  I don’t know, but the Governor will find a place for me. That’s the nice thing about living in Sanctuary: everything has a place and a purpose, even if it isn’t always obvious at first. Tomorrow, I’ll finally find out what my perfect yet not-so-obvious place is.

  Something hits the back of my head, and I turn to find a wadded piece of paper on the floor behind me. I wait until Maxel is busy scribbling on the board before retrieving it, and I stare down at Toren’s latest publication.

  The Governor Is Dead, the headline reads. The article goes on to claim that the Governor, Willard Hydes, hasn’t been seen in public for nearly two months. If he were merely ill, we would have been notified. The only explanation, Toren claims, is that the Governor was murdered by someone who has taken over Sanctuary and is secretly running things in the name of Governor Hydes.

  An involuntary laugh escapes my lips. I stifle it quickly, but not before drawing Maxel’s attention.

  He walks to my desk and rips the paper from my hand. “This is a room for learning truths, Mara,” he chides me. And then to the class at large he adds, waving the flyer in the air, “I don’t ever want to see this rubbish in this room or in your hands again. Are we understood?”

  The class murmurs assent, and he returns to the pointless lecture.

  It isn’t until after the break for lunch that we finally get to matters of actual relevance—the presentation of our final projects. This last assignment in our schooling consists of doing something to demonstrate both our ability and willingness to help build and strengthen Sanctuary.

  Mataya goes first, and I’m not one bit surprised that she spent thirty hours helping to cook in the Dining Hall. That might explain why the food has been so bland lately. All the flavor was probably drowned out by her complete and utter lack of personality.

  “Excellent work,” Maxel praises, and I roll my eyes.

  The next presentation is equally unimpressive. Jaxon spent the last three weeks carving a statue that can be displayed in the Main Square to help “beautify” the city—as though we don’t have enough pretty trinkets around.

  Liema, Porter, and Hollen worked together to create a dramatic performance that will be performed in the Main Square next week—probably right next to Jaxon’s statue.

  Several other classmates spent hours helping to clean up the park, replant flowers, or pick up litter throughout the city.

  It’s all fine, but not very original. What kind of lasting impact will any of that have?

  Then Maxel announces, “Mara Oborn.”

  I’m the very last to present my project, which is fine with me. I grab my tablet, hoping it’s not going to be glitchy during my presentation, and walk to the front of the class. I’m confident my presentation is going to make all the little beautification, entertainment, and community service projects look like child’s play.

  “I wanted to do something that could make a sustained difference and lighten the workload while also increasing efficiency and safety,” I begin.

  “Oh, help us! What’s going to explode this time?” Jaxon exclaims, eliciting snickers from around the room.

  I ignore the all-too-expected jibe. I’ve gotten comments like this ever since I built a simple robot to pick grain from the stalks, and it accidently caught fire and burned down half a field. I’ll admit that was bad, but it was over five years ago. Honestly, I was only twelve at the time. If they would have let me try again, I could have fixed the problem, and the bot would have saved hundreds of hours of work every season. But I was told that the current process works perfectly, and I was forced to abandon the project.

  Maxel hushes the room while I load up my program on the tablet. I flip the screen around so that everyone can see the glowing dots spread across the screen. Each dot represents the bio-signature of a person in the vicinity of the tablet’s scanner. There are fewer dots than I would have expected, so
there must be some bugs to work out still, but I can’t worry about that now.

  “What’s one of the biggest problems we face here in Sanctuary?” I ask. My question is met with blank stares. “People getting lost in the fields,” I say, answering my own question. “The fields are so large, and everything looks the same, so it’s easy to lose your way. Now, this may not be a huge problem for adults who know how to follow the paths to the outer edges, but what about kids?”

  Even though, strictly speaking, kids aren’t permitted to play in the fields, many do. Every few months, dozens of people will sweep a field to find a lost toddler who wandered in and couldn’t find their way out.

  “It’s a long and tedious process to sweep an entire field, with dozens of work hours lost.” I have the class’s attention, despite a few random snickers. No one can deny that this is a problem. Just last week, many of us in the room were called out to sweep the east field for a two-year-old boy named Hunter. While he was lost in the field, he ate so much dirt that he ended up needing serious medical attention. If we could have found him sooner, it would have saved the boy a lot of trauma and prevented vomit from coating a dozen people’s shoes.

  “That’s why I created this bioelectric scanner that will locate anybody within a radius of fifty yards. Just a couple scans from strategic locations could cover an entire field,” I explain.

  The room is hushed for a moment as they seem to be deciding what to think. Who can argue that finding lost children faster would be a bad thing?

  “It’s a clever idea,” Maxel begins. “But don’t you think that the scanner might interfere with Sanctuary’s main computer? Being a closed system, as we are, we really couldn’t risk introducing any new technologies like this. It’s a delicate balance to maintain. You really have to think about the bigger picture, Mara,” he says, his tone reproving but calm. In fact, while Maxel might be stern sometimes, he is probably the most even-tempered, consistent person I’ve ever known.

  After a brief moment of awkward silence, the room erupts into laughter.

  “You always have the dumbest ideas,” someone exclaims from the back of the room, but I don’t bother to take note of who says it. I just hang my head and return to my seat, deflated and ashamed.

  Fortunately, any further remarks at my expense are silenced as a voice booms on the city intercom, reaching every building throughout Sanctuary simultaneously. “Attention citizens. There will be a mandatory announcement in the Main Square in one hour.”

  And with that, my project is completely forgotten. The buzz and anticipation is too much for Maxel to overcome, and he decides to go ahead and dismiss the class for the day.

  The last time a gathering like this was called was nearly two years ago, when Governor Hydes revealed plans for the Seasons Park. The park is encircled with trees, and within its boundaries, the weather is varied to mimic the changing seasons of Earth—blistering heat, falling snow, colored leaves—in contrast to the perfectly controlled, spring-like climate of the rest of the city. It doesn’t serve any real purpose, but it’s beautiful and it reminds us of the volatility of the planet outside our shelter.

  I wonder if the world will ever be safe for us to venture out into again? I asked my mom this once, years ago. She just shook her head and said, “Why would you ever want to leave Sanctuary? We’ve built paradise. All of human history is filled with people striving to achieve what we have here.” I knew I could never make her see what I see through the barrier field—possibilities—and so I never asked again.

  Chapter 2

  An hour later, I stand in the Main Square next to my parents. There are over ten thousand people in Sanctuary, so gatherings like this are crowded, and I can’t escape a few accidental elbows to my ribs. We stand facing the Governor’s House, which is constructed like a tall tower. Announcements like this will be made from the very top, where everyone in the surrounding area will be able to see and hear what’s happening.

  I couldn’t care less about what useless project the city is going to take on next, but at least this gathering means I can delay disappointing my parents with the news of my final project. I want to make them proud, but everything I do ends up all wrong. I must be fundamentally flawed somehow. I wonder again—or rather, I worry—what Duty the Governor can possibly find for me? Has there ever been anyone in the history of Sanctuary who had nothing they could contribute?

  On the hour mark exactly, Governor Hydes appears at the top of the tower. Even though I can’t see Toren, I can imagine how he’s already spinning a new story. Maybe the Governor wasn’t murdered, but something nefarious is still happening behind the scenes. I’m sure we’ll all hear about it tomorrow.

  “Welcome!” the Governor calls, his voice amplified. “I have an extraordinarily exciting announcement. Humanity has lived in Sanctuary since the Safe Dome was built by the Architect over twenty years ago. Sanctuary was the last of the twelve Safe Domes erected, and as such, is the strongest, finest, and safest refuge for humanity against the disease and savagery that swept the world. For decades, we have dwelt here in perfect peace and prosperity.”

  A murmur of confusion and speculation ripples through the crowd.

  The Governor is far enough away that I can’t see his face clearly, but even so, I feel like something is different about him. Maybe it’s in his voice. He’s always been a strong and steady leader, but in this moment he’s so much more calm and confident than I’ve ever seen him, as though he’s completely at peace with the world. The change is subtle, an elusive, indefinable something, but I feel certain that it’s there. Whatever he’s about to announce must explain his absence from the public for the last few months. He must have been busy making preparations. But I wonder if it also explains the change in his demeanor.

  “It’s with great hope for humanity, and our future, that I announce a new test program to begin sending explorers out beyond the barrier field, into the untamed world.” The Governor pauses, correctly anticipating the effect his words will have on us.

  The crowd erupts into a cacophony of noise—everything from cheers to screams and cries. I watch one woman actually faint, sending the people around her stumbling to make room for her collapsing form.

  It takes a minute for this to sink in.

  We are leaving Sanctuary!

  It seems too impossible to be true. For all my life, this has been all there was—all that any of us ever expected there to ever be. And now, Governor Hydes is telling us that some of us can venture out and explore the real world?

  I listen, rapt, as he goes on.

  “Beginning tomorrow, anyone who is not completely and utterly satisfied with their life here in Sanctuary is welcome to apply to join the Exploration Program. Only a very few elite will be selected, though. I am quite confident that anyone who undergoes the selection process will benefit immensely, even if it is ultimately decided that they should remain in Sanctuary. There are only three requirements.” I pay strict attention, hopeful to measure up. “You must have completed your schooling.” Check. “You must be single with no children. We wouldn’t want to break up families if you are chosen to become an explorer.” Check. “And you must accept that leaving Sanctuary for this mission means you will never return.”

  My stomach drops.

  * * *

  I sit on the ground with my back against a tree. Fragile snowflakes drift down, melting on my hands and nose and cheeks. I’m sweating, despite the cold. How can I make such an impossible decision?

  Footsteps crackle in the snow.

  “I thought you’d be at the edge.”

  I don’t have to look to know who it is. I’d know that voice anywhere—maybe even better than I know my own voice—but I look anyway. Aiken is walking toward me, an uncertain smile on his face, the sharp lines of his cheeks and jaw accentuated by worry.

  “I thought I needed to cool off,” I mutter. “Not that it’s doing much good. The snow’s already done falling.” Each season on
ly lasts one hour in the Seasons Park, so I know it’s going to start warming soon.

  He slides down and nudges me to scoot over, making room for him to lean against the rough bark of the tree next to me. I’ve lived next door to Aiken all my life, and he has been my best friend ever since I was six and he was seven—when we finally decided it was more fun to play together than to lob spit wads at each other across the fence.

  He reaches over and catches a few wisps of my hair with his fingers. “In the snow, your hair looks almost white.”

  I twist my head away, freeing the stands of hair. Even without snowflakes sprinkled across my hair, the shade is a lighter blond than almost anyone I’ve ever seen—just one more marker of the fact that I don’t belong here.

  “So, big day tomorrow,” he says.

  I turn to him, wide-eyed. I haven’t decided anything for sure.

  “You get your Duty,” he clarifies, and I realize he’s not talking about the Exploration Program at all.

  “Oh, yeah,” I mutter. I had completely forgotten about that.

  “I heard about your presentation,” he says simply, no judgment, no disappointment.

  I lean forward and cover my face, fighting tears.

  He rubs gentle circles on my back. “It’ll get better, you know.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I reply, harsher than I intend. “Aiken, you understand things here. And people understand you. You’re everything that Sanctuary was designed for. You follow all the rules and do everything perfectly, and it’s easy for you. It’s just never been that way for me.”

  “Don’t go,” he pleads, and the sorrow in his voice is like a vise around my chest, crushing.

  “Aiken, I don’t belong here. Maybe I belong out there.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They’ll be fine.”

  He fixes me with a disbelieving stare.

  “They will be,” I insist. “I mean, they’ll be sad if I’m chosen to go, but I bet they’ll be approved to have another child.”