Content warning: suicide
That night in the refectory our table feels quieter than usual. I swear I’m the only one
who’s eating, the rest watch me as I stab impatiently at a lump of protein rations trying to separate it into a bitesized piece. With Perseus on one side and Ari on the other, I try my best to ignore the looks of concern the two keep sending each other.
“Goose…” Perseus starts tentatively, his voice less than a whisper. “‘You sure about
this?”
“Why do you guys keep asking that? I’ve made up my mind,” I reply quietly, trying to
hold down my frustration, as I take another bite.
“Because we don’t want you to die.” Ari explains, annoyance tingeing her voice despite the look of concern on her face.
“It’s my choice if I die and what I die for,” I retort, the battle against my temper already
lost. “And this is what I am choosing to die for.” I angrily shovel the last bit of food into my
mouth, savoring the bland flavor and understanding that this bite, no matter how tasteless, will be my last.
“Think about it,” Ari tries again, running one hand through her pale hair. “Please,
Goose.”
I’m ready to yell or slam my fork down, but then I see white strands of hair clutched tightly in Ari’s golden brown fist as she pulls her hand away from her head. It’s killing them; it’s killing them to watch me die.
“Look, I’ve thought about this so many times it hurts, but I’ve made up my mind, I’m
sorry.”
Ari shoots Perseus another look, but this time he doesn’t return it. Sighing, Ari finally
hands me the small package of yeast, stolen from the refectory kitchen, which will unlock my way to freedom.
“Give ’em hell,” Perseus says, standing and hugging me so tight I’m sure one of my ribs has cracked.
“I will, Percy, I’ve got this,” I croak. Finally, he lets me go. Pressing his pencil into my palm, he whispers, “for luck,” before melting into the growing crowd. Still holding my emotions down, I turn to Ari.
“I’m not great at goodbyes, but…” Ari doesn’t let me finish. She pulls me into a hug, and for a long moment, she doesn’t let go.
“You don’t have to do this, but I know why you will,” she murmurs into my ear as tears
slide down her face and onto my shirt. “Just promise me you won’t give them the satisfaction of watching you give up.” I pause for a long moment before I answer. “I promise,” I finally say, my arms wrapped protectively around her.
When she pulls back she’s wiping tears from her cheeks.
“Will you forget me?” I ask, standing up. As my eyes meet hers, I am greeted by the fire that always burns so brightly in her gaze.
“Never,” she says.
Getting out of the refectory is a nightmare, like it always is. By the time I get back to my
cell, I’m exhausted and my head is still throbbing. When I push through the door, I’m praying Mom will be awake, but my luck has run out.
Always trying to outrun the low oxygen levels that come with the night. I think, but I wish I could have told her that I will die tonight. Hopefully the letter I leave on the table will suffice, though I know it can’t. Then I sit, unmoving, until the lights flick off, leaving only the dim beam of red light to illuminate the cell. Grounding myself, I get to my feet and pull out a jar, a hole haphazardly drilled into its top. Then I grab the bottle of hydrogen peroxide I snagged from the med-bay while visiting Perseus after he broke his arm. Emptying the bottle into the jar, I rinse,
then refill it in our sink. Careful not to waste a single grain, I rip open Ari’s packet of yeast and dump it into the bottle. Giving it a shake, I add it to the jar. After screwing the lid back on, I take a deep breath of the oxygen that has started to bubble up. Corking the jar with a scrap of fabric, I make for the exit as the oxygen in our room starts to hiss out through the vents.
My hand pressed against the icy metal door, I pull a small contraption out of my pocket. It’s been pushed into a discarded box of playing cards. When I press it against the door, the light above the frame glows green and unlocks. Slipping out into the hall beyond, Perseus’s pencil tucked into my pocket, I hear Mom give a muffled sob before the door bangs shut. Now I’m in the tunnel. They can see me. The red lights illuminate the space, and as I sprint down the tunnel’s length, they seem to guide me. Skidding around a corner, I crash against a large door, labeled “BUNK SECTOR COMMUNICATION” in small square font. Pressing my contraption next to the door handle, I wait for the satisfying sound of the door unlocking before flinging it open and making my way through into the room
beyond.
The communication center is large, with screens the size of our bunks and rows upon
rows of buttons, levers, and switches. I ignore them, heading instead to the small radio
transmitter that sits in a dejected corner. Taking advantage of the oxygen while it lasts, I get to work. Before I start, I pull a crumpled sheet of paper from my pocket. Using Perseus’s pencil, I scribble down the string of digits that are displayed in the “channel” section. From what I’ve been told, those numbers have been causing the rebellion a headache. With not only an encrypted channel but a PIN required to access it, the only way to truly connect to the plant’s radio system is for someone to break in and steal the information. Of course I was the first to volunteer when the rebels came knocking.
One down, one to go, I think as my head begins to spin. Trying to stay on my feet, I reach for my jar, remove the makeshift cork, and take a deep breath. The dizziness subsides, but my migraine is still sending shooting pain through my skull. Ignoring it, I begin searching for the PIN. I’m expecting to have to rifle through at least one or two filing cabinets before I find it. I am more than surprised when I notice it taped to the radio itself. I add it to the paper and start twisting the dial to the frequency for rebellion headquarters, Base Luther. When I start typing in the PIN, I’m forced to take another breath from my jar, and by the time I have both the PIN and the frequency entered, I’m not sure how much longer I can take this. I have to take breath from my jar every minute, and the crushing weight of suffocation looms. With a gasping breath that brings no air, I finally hear the telltale hiss of static that means I’m connected, and a sense of momentary relief floods me.
“This is Plant 12C,” I rasp. “Do you copy?” The reply comes almost immediately, but by now the fatigue and dizziness have returned.
“This is Base Luther, copy that.” A distant voice crackles through the radio. I’m panting
now, each breath yielding fewer results and my head … I know this is no accident. I know they are going to suffocate me.
“Transmitting…Plant 12C…Channel number.” Between each word I take a breath in a desperate attempt to quench my thirst for air.
“6…3…H5…O1,” I manage to get out as my eyes start to close, but I hold them open
even as I sway on my feet.
“Copy that,” says the distant voice through the radio. I sigh, wasting a much-needed
breath.
“PIN…is…17…201…9,” I slur, as I fall to my knees and reach for my jar one last time.
When I press it to my lips, my lungs feel only emptiness and I’m being pulled lower and lower. The voice still coming through the radio helps me stave off unconsciousness, but in my head I can feel the pressure building, and I can’t push it back.
“Copy that; thank you for your service,” the voice says, and I reach for Perseus’s pencil.
One last step, then I can sleep, I tell myself. With a cry that tapers out before it even has
the chance to start, I stab the radio once, then again and again. Sparks dance across its screen as it goes dark. My head feels like it’s going to burst. With my vision swimming, I hit the cold hard floor. Lights dance throughout the room, they follow me even when my eyes close. As I finally let go, the pain in my head stops, and for one blissful moment I am free.