As we enter the gaping tunnel mouth, Adele cranes her neck, as if she wants to watch herself being swallowed whole by the earth. “Will we run into any sun dwellers in here?” she asks to the tunnel roof.
“If we do we can just blend in anyway,” Trevor says. “In these digs I fit right in.”
“It’s unlikely we’ll see anyone,” I say. “As Roc said earlier, most people will stay in their own city for the Sun Festival. It’s kind of a tradition, like people are proud of the celebration their subchapter comes up with. They’re always trying to outdo each other.”
Nodding, Roc motions to the wide expanse of the tunnel. “On any other day, the tunnel would be pretty much full from side to side, end to end. People in the Capital Cluster frequently travel to the Capital and back again, either for work, shopping, or entertainment,” he says.
“I’m glad it’s not any other day,” Adele says. “I’ve had about enough of large crowds for my entire life.”
“I don’t know,” Tawni says. “I kind of enjoyed it.”
“Me, too,” Trevor says. “Although I had the urge to smack most of ’em around.”
I laugh, my voice echoing through the empty tunnel. “I know the feeling.”
We walk in silence for a few minutes, the orange tunnel lights pulling our shadows forward, back, and then forward again. It’s a wonder this group ever runs out of things to say, especially with Trevor around.
“Where should we stop?” Roc says.
“Stop?” I echo.
“To tell your BIG secret,” Trevor says, over-exaggerating his words. “Or have you chickened out?”
Ugh. Yes. I might feel more comfortable if I had any clue how they would react. Especially Adele—her reaction worries me the most. It doesn’t help that I’ve kept it from her this long. I swallow a thick gulp of spittle, which only adds to my nervousness.
“Uh, yeah. I mean no. I mean I’m going to tell you. I have to.”
“Where?” Roc repeats, glancing to the side as we pass the doors to a rest stop meant for the oldies, who can’t make it the whole way through the tunnel without stopping to use the bathroom or rest their legs.
“Maybe at the next stop,” I say, trying to delay as long as possible.
“I think there’s only one left,” Roc says.
“That’ll do,” I say, my mind whirling through what I want to say, how I want to say it. It’s like all the information is there, but is broken into a million pieces, none of which I can make sense of, or which fit together. As I desperately try to connect the facts, they disappear, as if my memory’s been wiped. My palms start to sweat. My lips are dry. My mind’s a black hole, empty of logical thought. I’d rather face my father in a fight to the death a hundred times over than tell the truth I’ve hidden to those I know it will hurt the most.
“Last rest stop is just ahead,” Roc says, and my head jerks to the side, my eyes locking in on the doors I dread opening, the doors that might change my relationship with Adele forever. Where did the last few minutes go? It’s like I blinked and we were a quarter mile further along the track, some trick of time and distance. My face is hot and my chest tight, my breathing short and shallow. What is wrong with me? Step up and be a man. I’ve faced much graver dangers than this—dangers that threatened my life and the lives of those I care about—and yet I’m much more scared now.
“I’m ready,” I say, not to them, but to myself, trying to convince myself that I am.
We reach the doors and I stop, just stare at them. They’re the exact opposite of how I’m feeling: bright pink and blue striped with ornate carvings of a city—the Capital, the presidential buildings, a statue of the first Nailin president. A happy and light scene leading the way to a tale of darkness and the unfairness of the world my father controls.
“Are we…going in?” Trevor says from behind, a verbal kick in the butt.
I want to move aside, to let Roc or Adele or anyone else open the door, but I know I have to do this myself; by opening these doors I’m metaphorically opening the door to what Roc and I know. The door to the truth.
I take a deep breath. Take a step forward. Place a hand on the door.
Then I’m in, having pushed the door open without even really realizing it, holding it for the others behind me.
Once everyone’s inside, I let the door swing shut behind me. We’re in a sanctuary of sorts. A sanctuary from the sun dwellers, from the tunnel that leads to our destiny, from my father. The room has brown wooden floors and crimson matted walls. Table lamps light a plush seating area with a half dozen couches and chairs. A second door leads off to an area marked as a bathroom.
“This is the nicest room I’ve ever seen,” Trevor announces, which doesn’t help me at all. Just another example of inequality in the world we live in.
“You should all sit down for this,” I say, motioning to the couches. I wonder how the seating positions will end up. Naturally, Roc and Tawni sit together on a black two-seater, Trevor grabs a solo lounge chair, immediately resting his feet on a cushioned ottoman, and Adele snags the end of a large couch, clearly inviting me to join her.
I sit down next to her, but keep a space between us, leaving it up to her whether to eventually fill the gap. I take in the four faces watching mine. Tawni looks interested, Roc serious, Trevor amused, and Adele uncertain, her expression neutral, with clear eyes, her brows raised slightly, her lips as straight as a sword.
“Do you want me to participate?” Roc asks, a kind offer, one I know I must reject.
“Thanks, but no. All your information is secondhand, whereas I’ve experienced it.” Roc nods, as if he already knew what my answer would be and agrees: it has to be me.
“We shouldn’t linger too long,” Adele says softly, pushing me to get started. She slides her hand into the space between us, palm up. An offer.
I meet her eyes, thankful for the gesture, and then place my hand atop hers, embarrassed by the moisture on my skin. I take another deep breath but it catches as a lump forms in my throat. My body’s rebelling against me, I think.
“Where do I start?” I say under my breath, trying to gather up all the crap in my mind and turn it into a coherent thought.
“From the beginning,” Adele suggests, raising an eyebrow.
Yes. The beginning…which is where exactly?
My fifteenth birthday. My father’s gift. Not a new sword or a trip to the Sandy Oasis or a new dress tunic, but a revelation.
“The day I turned fifteen,” I start, “was one of the worst days of my life.” I look around, checking for reactions. The faces are like stone, frozen on me, not giving away anything. Even Trevor’s managed to suspend his amusement for the moment.
“I woke up ready for a day of presents and cakes and a party, but instead, my father was waiting by my bedside. ‘Today I have something to show the entire family,’ he said. ‘Something you’ll all one day be a part of.’ By that point in my life my father and I had already grown miles apart, but I didn’t hate him. Not yet. Not until later that day.”
I pause, breathe in, breathe out, choose my next words carefully.
“None of us knew what to expect—not even my mom. Killen was excited, only thirteen at that time, I was curious but wary, and my mom was very quiet, like she knew something bad was coming. My father was himself: stern, gregarious, intimidating. ‘After this you become a Nailin,’ he said to me as we left the presidential buildings, slapping me on the back. He didn’t ask if I wanted to be a Nailin.
“A black car took us through the city, past the statue of the first Nailin President, past the shopping district, past the train station, until we reached an ordinary black stone building in a corner of the capital that I’d never seen before. The security was the tightest I’d ever been subjected to. Even with my father in the car, they searched it, checked all of our identification, as if we were somehow Nailin family look-a-likes. It was crazy. It’s the type of thing that would normally set my father off, but he was calm and patient through the entire thing. He even said that all the procedures were to be strictly enforced, no matter what, under his orders.”