Page 6 of The Sixth Fraction

Chapter 4

Beatrice

When I open my eyes, I’m staring at a wall.

It’s made of red brick, like so many of the crumbling buildings near the Abnegation sector. It looks as wide as an apartment building, but when I take a few steps to the left, the wall keeps going, like it’s growing before my eyes. I stop and stare at it.

What is this place?

A gap opens up in front of me in the wall, wide as a doorway. It’s an obvious invitation. I look over my shoulder, but everything behind me is dark and empty. There’s only one path forward, so I take it.

As soon as I do, I hear a grinding sound. The walls behind me shift and seal together with mortar. I’m trapped.

I run my fingers over the bricks, marveling at how grainy they feel, how hard. It feels real, but it can’t be real. I was just sitting in the chair, watching as Tori injected me.

There’s a path to my left, so I walk along it, looking for something to guide me. The wall on my right ends, and then the path splits, one branch continuing straight and the other moving off to the left. I stand at the juncture of the two paths, trying to decide.

Then I hear a high-pitched scream off to the side, deeper in the maze. I don’t consciously decide to move; I just take off running. The wall scrapes my hand as I round a corner. I hear the scream again and take the first left I can.

At the next place where two walls join is a little girl in gray Abnegation clothes. Her hair is blond like mine and pinned back in a tight knot like mine, but she’s young, just a child. Her cheeks are streaked with tears. I rush toward her, steadying her shoulders as I look her over. She doesn’t seem injured—only afraid.

“What is it?” I say. “What’s wrong?”

I see movement reflected in her glassy eyes as she raises a hand and points over my shoulder. I turn, and the blackest smoke I’ve ever seen is billowing around the wall behind me, barreling straight toward us. Dread clutches at my throat, and I tug the front of the girl’s shirt up and over her nose and mouth.

“Hold that there. Let’s go.”

I take her hand and pull her behind me as I run down the path, away from the smoke. The girl’s footsteps are slow and clumsy, and her hand is sweaty. I can smell fire. I cough, and take the next turn that I can, but it leads to a dead end.

I look up at the wall. It does appear to have a finite height, if not a finite width. I crouch down and lace my fingers together, then hold them out to her.

“Your foot,” I say to the girl. “Now!”

She steps into the cradle of my hands, and I push her up so she can grab the top of the wall. The smoke has reached us, pricking and stinging at my eyes. I take a big breath as the girl scrambles up the wall and perches on top of it, and then I jump.

I’m midair when I realize how pointless it is. I’m too short. I’ll never be able to reach the top of the wall.

Black smoke surrounds me. I cough, which only brings more smoke into my lungs, so I start hacking into my elbow. My eyes water. I can hardly see. I go to my knees, trying to recover my breath beneath the smoke, but it’s inescapable, it’s everywhere.

The wall is rough beneath my hands, but as I grope the bricks for stability, I notice that some of them are sticking out farther than the others. I don’t have to jump for the top of the wall; I can climb.

I use the bricks to pull myself to my feet and feel above my head for another handhold. Finding one, I pull myself up, scrambling along the wall with my toes until I find a foothold, too. I keep my eyes closed as I work my way up, one brick at a time, using my hands instead of my eyes.

I’m shocked when my hand finds the ledge. I keep moving my feet, searching for leverage. My toes catch on one last brick, this one up higher, near my thigh. I wrap my hands around the top of the wall and heave myself up. I think of climbing onto the roof of my apartment building, of how I like to lean close to the edge; I throw one leg over the top of the wall and sit, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I sit there for a while, coughing, before I realize the girl is gone. Whoever she is—or whatever she is—she seems to have served her purpose.

I dab my eyes dry with my sleeve and look over my shoulder at the maze, stretching out in every direction as far as I can see. I search the maze for some kind of exit. On my left is a break in the pattern, a set of double doors.

The wall is just a little wider than my feet, so I’m careful when I stand up. But when I was a child, I used to walk along the edge of every sidewalk, my arms out to each side to keep my balance. I do the same now, my arms wide, my footsteps light and careful.

It’s easier to find the path through the maze from above. I make it to the exit in just a few minutes, sweat prickling on my shoulders and neck. Then I sit on the edge of the wall and drop down, landing with bent knees right in front of the doors.

When I push through them, everything goes dark.

I’m coughing when I surface, my throat still scratchy. I sit up and bring my knees to my chest. Even though that place wasn’t real, my fear of the smoke and my anxiety about helping that little girl were. It takes me a while to realize Tori is staring at me.

“Well, that was . . .” Her fingers are drumming a halting rhythm on her legs, and her mouth is set in a line. “Perplexing. Excuse me.”