“Could they be moving them out of the Society?” Ky asks.
I shake my head, confused. Why would they do that? “They’re arranged by Province,” I say, noting that all the tubes in the case before me say KA.
“Find Oria,” Ky says.
“It should be on the next row,” I say, calculating, walking fast.
Indie and Hunter stand together watching us. I turn the corner and find tubes marked OR for Oria. Seeing the familiar abbreviation in such a strange place gives me an odd feeling that is both intimate and distant.
I hear a sound at the secret entrance to the Cavern. We all turn. Eli comes through just like Ky did, grinning and brushing dirt from his hair. I rush over to him and grab Eli tight, my heart hammering in my chest at what he went through all alone.
“Eli,” I say, “I thought you were going to wait.”
“I’m fine,” he tells me. He glances over my shoulder, looking for Ky.
“You did it,” Ky calls out to Eli, and Eli seems to stand a little straighter. I shake my head at Eli. Promising one thing, then choosing his own way when he changed his mind. Bram would have done the same thing.
Eli looks around, wide-eyed. “They’re storing tubes here,” he says.
“We think they’re organized by Province,” I tell him, and then I see Ky signaling to me.
“Cassia. I found something.”
I hurry back over to where Ky is while Indie and Eli wander up and down other rows, looking for their own Provinces. “If the first date is the birthdate,” Ky says, “then the second date is likely . . .” He pauses, waiting to see if I draw the same conclusion.
“The death date. The date the sample was taken,” I say. And then I realize what he means. “They’re too close. They’re not eighty years apart.”
“They weren’t just storing the old,” Ky says. “These people—they can’t all be dead.”
“They don’t only take the samples when we die,” I say, my mind racing. I think back—so many chances. Our forks. Our spoons. The clothes we wear. Or maybe we even give the samples ourselves, nod and scrape our own tissue away, hand it over and then take a red tablet. “The sample at the end means nothing. The Society already has tubes for everyone they want to keep. Maybe younger tissue works better. And this way, if we don’t know about the other samples, they can keep us compliant until the very end.” My heart leaps within me, perversely, in gratitude to the Society.
Grandfather might have a sample in here. It might not matter that my father destroyed the one taken at the Final Banquet.
“Cassia,” Ky says softly. “Xander’s here.”
“What?” Where? Has he come to find us? How did he know?
“Here,” Ky says quietly, pointing to one of the blue-lit tubes.
Of course. I avoid Ky’s eyes and look at the tube. CARROW, XANDER. OR. His birthdate is correct. This is Xander’s sample; but Xander is not dead.
As far as I know.
And then Ky and I both stand by the case, our eyes running over the numbers, our fingers interlocking. Who is here? Who is saved?
“You’re here,” Ky says, pointing. There it is, the date of my birth. And my name: REYES, CASSIA. I draw my breath in sharply. My name. Seeing it here reminds me of the way it felt when they said my name at the Match Banquet. It reminds me that I belong. That my future has been secured by the Society with great care.
“I’m not here,” Ky says, watching me.
“You might be in another Province,” I say. “You could be—”
“I’m not here,” Ky says. And for a moment, in the dim lighting of the cave, with the way he knows how to blend with the shadows, it seems that he is not. Only the feel of his hand holding tightly to mine tells me differently.
Hunter comes over to stand next to me and I try to explain. “They’re tissues,” I tell Hunter, “a little bit of skin or hair or fingernail. The Society takes them from its Citizens so that, someday, the Society can bring us back to life.” I wince at my use of the word us—for all I know, I might be the only one in this cave with a tube stored here. And even that might only be because they haven’t had time to change my status yet. I glance up at the walls of the cave again, at the bones and teeth and shells left behind. If what we are isn’t in our bones, it must be in our tissues. It must be somewhere.
Hunter looks at me and then at the tubes. He looks for so long that I open my mouth to try to explain again, but then he reaches inside a case and takes out a tube before I can stop him.
No alarm sounds.
Its absence unnerves me. Does a light flash somewhere back in the Society to tell an Official of the breach?
Hunter holds the tube up and shines a flashlight through it. The samples are so small they can’t even be seen amid the solution swishing inside.
Snap. The tube breaks and blood runs red down Hunter’s hand. “They killed us to store themselves,” he says.
Everyone looks at Hunter. For a wild, impulsive moment, I am tempted to join Hunter in breaking—I’d open all the doors to all the cases and grab something, a stick perhaps. I’d sprint down aisles of tubes shining blue, silvery, light. I’d run the stick along them to see if they would sound like chimes. I wonder if the tune of other lives would be sour, wrong; or strong, clear, soft, and truly musical. But I don’t break. I do something else instead, quickly, while they all stare at Hunter.
He opens his hand, looks at the blood and liquid in his palm. In spite of myself, I note the name on the label: THURSTON, MORGAN. I look back up at Hunter. Breaking a tube like that must require a lot of strength, but he seems not to notice the effort. “Why?” he asks. “How? Have they discovered a way to bring people back?”
Everyone stares, waiting for me to explain all of this. Anger and embarrassment rise up within me. Why do they think I have the answers? Because I’m the most Society of us all?
But there are things I do not understand, parts of the Society, parts of myself.
Ky puts his hand on my arm. “Cassia,” he says softly.
“I’m not Xander!” I say, too loud in the echoing cave. Ky blinks as the sound of my voice calls all around him. “I don’t know about medicine. Or tablets. Or sample storage. Or what the Society can or can’t do in the medical field. I don’t know.”