I looked around, unsure of where the sound was coming from. Trevor and his smoking friends did as well, and it wasn’t until a skinny redheaded man in his thirties waved to my wristband that I understood what was happening.
“Your alarm is going off.”
I lifted my left arm and stared at the band, confused. I hadn’t realized it could make sounds and I didn’t know what it meant, but when I turned the face toward me and scanned the small screen, my stomach bottomed out.
SECONDHAND SMOKE ALERT. RELOCATE NOW.
What the hell?
I looked from Trevor and the other people standing around me to my wristband, which was still going off. The screen was flashing now, the bold words screaming at me. How did it know? Was I being watched? No. That wasn’t it. It couldn’t have been. Which meant the wristband was monitoring my surroundings or my body or something. Which was just insane. Yes, the people at the Department of Fertility had told me it would send them updates about my health, but I hadn’t realized what that entailed. And they hadn’t volunteered the information either. Why not, and what else had they kept from me?
I jumped to my feet. “I have to go inside.”
Trevor, who was drunk but knew me better than anyone, tossed his cigarette on the ground and snuffed it out with the toe of his shoe. “I’m coming with you.”
I was too freaked out to speak, so I hurried inside without comment.
The wristband was still dinging, which drew the attention of more than one person in the bar and made my cheeks burn. I’d tried so hard to relax, so hard to forget what was going to happen to me, but the government had made sure I couldn’t. I was a prisoner, and they wanted me to remember that every second ofevery day.
Thankfully, the dinging stopped less than a minute after stepping into the building, but the absence of noise didn’t help me relax. I was on the verge of tears again, shaking, out of control. I had to get out of here, and fast.
I grabbed Trevor’s arm, my fingernails digging in. “I have to go. Now.”
“Stay here,” he replied. “I’ll pay.”
Then he pushed his way through the crowd, headed for the bar.
He’d sobered up faster than I would have thought possible, and I was so very thankful for that.
Twelve
Unsurprisingly, Trevor was out seconds after dropping onto my bed, but I couldn’t get my mind to shut off enough to sleep. Hours had gone by, and I couldn’t stop replaying what had happened as his rhythmic breathing filled the room. And not just because I was trying to make sense of the whole thing, either, but also because I couldn’t stop wondering what other surprises awaited me.
I shifted for probably the hundredth time since lying down, convinced if I could just get comfortable, I would be able to turn my brain off and finally fall asleep. The band on my left wrist seemed twice as heavy as it had when Hilary first put it on me, which made it twice as difficult to find a good position. The silicone was sharp against my bony wrists, and the rectangular face clunky. Tucking my hand under my head the way I usually did was impossible unless I wanted the display pressing into my skull, and putting my arm under my pillow only made the silicone dig into my wrist more.
The pressure of the band was a constant reminder of what had happened. I hadn’t realized the thing could communicate with me, but maybe I should have. The program’s rules were stringent, and the stakes too high to leave room for error. But what else could they monitor? If, for example, I’d taken a sip of Trevor’s beer, would the wristband have been able to tell? Could it measure if I was taking my vitamins? If I was coming downwith a cold? If I ate one of the unapproved foods? I wasn’t sure because on one hand, the smoke had been external, but on the other hand, I had no doubt that if the government could spy on every moment of my life for the duration of the program, they would. Meaning I had even less privacy than I’d thought.
The realization sent a shiver shooting down my spine, and the wristband seemed to grow even heavier. It felt suddenly hot against my skin as well, and like in the bar, panic rose inside me. I clawed at the band as my heart began to thud harder, desperate for some relief from the thing. My stomach tightened, my nails scratched at my skin as I worked a finger under the silicone, and my breaths came out faster. I couldn’t get it off. I was trapped. A prisoner.
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling suddenly backed into a corner. Desperate.
There has to be a way out of this. This can’t be real. It can’t.
It was.
My panic never ebbed completely, but somehow, I managed to drift off. The sleep was fitful, though, and plagued with hazy dreams I could only partly remember when I woke. I sifted through the fuzzy memories as light streamed in through the crack in my curtains, the beam cutting across the bed. I recalled being in an exam room surrounded by doctors and nurses but didn’t remember what had been happening. Then I’d been at the farm, sitting at the small round table in the old-fashioned kitchen, a blonde girl with a round belly standing across from me. Images from my past and present had twisted together, creating a disjointed and restless sleep, but none were vivid enough to totally recall now that I was awake. They faded more with each passing second, but the feeling of dread didn’t. It clung to me like a tick.
Trevor’s heavy breathing told me he was still asleep, which was no surprise. The sun was up, but it was early – only a few minutes past seven – and he’d had a lot to drink last night. Plus, he liked to sleep in on his day off.
Since there was no way I’d be able to settle down enough to once again drift off, I dragged myself from bed, standing on shaky limbs. I’d gotten very little sleep, and none of it had been restful,and I was jittery and unsteady as I slipped from the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind me so as not to bother Trevor.
In the kitchen, I automatically moved to the coffeemaker, salivating at the thought of a big cup of liquid energy. I’d just picked up the glass carafe when reality slammed into me, though. Caffeine was off limits. It was in the contract.
Shit.
Carafe still in hand, I stared at the band secured to my wrist as panic once again snaked through me. I started to shake. If I drank a cup, would they know? No, they wouldn’t.Couldn’t. And even if they did, it was just a little caffeine. But they couldn’t because that was crazy. Impossible. Secondhand smoke was one thing, but there was no way the wristband could sense the presence of caffeine in my body. Could it? The more important question, though, was if the authorities could somehow detect it, what would they do about it?
The longer I stared at the small band affixed to my wrist, the more menacing it became, and the more I began to tremble. My legs first, then my hands. They quivered like an earthquake had started inside me. It was so intense that without thinking, I released the carafe and curled my hands into fists in hopes of controlling the tremors.
