6 Digit Passcode Page 6

  With me running and Crissy chasing me, we make it to school with just a few minutes to spare before the bell rings.

  ***

  “Can anyone tell me what they know about the nation’s Divisions of Power?”

  My ears perk up and my pencil pauses over a half-finished doodle of a loaf of bread in the margin of my notebook. We’re supposed to still be learning about the Digital War; the Divisions didn’t come until many years after the Digits won the battle. This is a completely new topic, and Miss L. is the last person I’d expect spontaneity from.

  Of course, Archie Carroll is the first to raise his hand. He’s been a know-it-all since we were kids, and it would be endearing if he wasn’t so stuck-up about it. There’s a pile of books and papers stacked as high on his desk as he is tall when seated, and it is from behind this mountain that a hand emerges and wags impatiently until Miss L. calls his name.

  I can hear the girl sitting next to me sigh and ruffle through the pages of her textbook, and I would be tempted to continue my drawing and tune out Archie’s voice as best I can if I weren’t so interested in what he has to say for once.

  “The Divisions,” Archie wheezes, and I flinch. His voice is like puberty in reverse – every day it gets higher and scratchier, like nails on a chalkboard, “were created as a way to split the power of the nation’s government into groups. So that there’s not just one group of people controlling the whole country.”

  “That’s right,” Miss L. says, and I think I almost see the corners of her lips twitch. Archie must really be her favorite student, because I’ve never seen her come that close to genuinely smiling. Or maybe she just enjoys the topic of conversation. “You see, in the past, before peace was established through the Digital War and its proceeding Acts and Laws, the entire country was ruled by a single person. There were many other factions of people involved in making decisions, of course, but the bulk of all chaos was due to the fact that entire country was ruled by a single division of power.”

  This is the first time I’ve ever heard a teacher talk about what life was like before the Digital War. Suddenly, I am wide awake and completely alert; I want to absorb every bit of information that I can, because I know that an opportunity like this will not come along a second time.

  Archie raises his hand again, even though he really doesn’t need to, and Miss L. gestures to him with her hand.

  “Ma’am, if I may? I was just wondering if the Divisions pertain to the sections of land themselves, or to the people living within them? Like, if I were to ever leave this city – not that I would ever even think about it, mind you – would I still belong to this Division?”

  “An excellent question,” our teacher says, and I can see Archie’s ears turn red from behind his stack of books. “And the answer, to put it simply, is ‘yes’. Though rare as it may be, those who choose to travel outside of this city’s walls are still responsible for what takes place here. Were there ever to be a war, or something like one, they would then be considered to be on enemy territory.”

  The girl beside me sighs again and raises her hand, but begins speaking before Miss L. has had the time to call on her. “A war between Divisions? What are the chances of that happening?”

  The teacher’s eyes narrow and the girl looks down, her bangs dropping over her face and her hands in her lap.

  “I would remind you not to speak unless spoken to, in the future,” Miss L. warns. “And a war between the Divisions is possible, if unlikely. But we must always be prepared, just in case.”

  Is it my imagination, or was she looking at me the entire time she answered the question? I shiver unconsciously, and the Digit shakes her head almost imperceptibly before turning her attention to the board behind her.

  There is a long rectangle of erasable white-board at the front of the room, and Miss L. removes a marker from a drawer in her desk and begins to draw on it. At first, I don’t recognize the image, until I see the outline of my city start to form. She draws ten large chunks of land, with my hometown resting just north of the center, and labels them with the numbers 1 through 10.

  I know before she clarifies it that these are the Divisions of our country. If I am reading the map correctly, that puts our city within the limits of Division 6.

  “There are ten Divisions. Each one contains its own Council, and its own set of rules. As such, it is not uncommon for arguments and tensions to build between multiple Divisions. But so long as no one steps out of line, war can easily be avoided.”

  I wish I could pretend I didn’t just see her eyes train on me for a second before turning back towards the white-board. I get the uncomfortable sense that she’s accusing me of something, just like Tesla did back at the lab, but I have no idea what. A war? There’s no way I could ever have anything to do with a war.

  “Miss L.?” a tall, lanky boy with shoulder-length blond hair and freckles asks from the back of the classroom.

  “Yes, Terry?”

  “It’s just… I don’t mean anything rude by it, but if there’s so much fighting between the Divisions right now, how could it have been so bad to have just one group of people in charge? At least that way, there would be no internal conflict. Everyone would kind of have to work together to come up with the rules, wouldn’t they?”

  The look Miss L. gives the poor boy is one I would not wish on my worst enemy, if I had one. Well, maybe Tesla, but that’s just because I think it would be nice to see her get a taste of her own medicine. But Terry looks like he’s going to melt into his chair, and though I pity him, I am also very thankful that he’s taken her attention off of me for the time being.

  “No,” the Digit says simply, turning around and rubbing the marker lines off of the board with a cloth eraser. “Do you wish that the Digits were never created?”

  Her question shocks me in more ways than one. It’s the first time I’ve heard her talk about her race as creations, like experiments formed in a lab. Like robots, maybe, or some other inhuman being. That means that they were created by someone. Is it possible that humans, the very beings that the Digits now rule, were responsible for the creation of their own masters?

  What Miss L. asks makes me wonder what I would answer, were the question directed at me. Do I wish that the Digits didn’t exist? If they didn’t, my parents would still be alive. But I don’t know what kind of life they would be living, and I don’t know if I would ever want to risk finding out.

  “O-of course not,” Terry answers, and the rest of the class nods in agreement.

  Miss L. smiles smugly and looks right at me. I stare back nervously, and I answer her silent question with the shake of my head.

  Why do I feel like I’ve already started a war?

  Chapter eight

  Nearly two weeks have passed since I last saw Cyrus, Tesla, and the other Digits in the lab. I would be lying if I said I didn’t expect Cyrus to be waiting for me on the doorstep the next morning, but I’m surprised to find Roma cooking breakfast and not a single intruder on our stoop. I even open the door and peek outside, but Cyrus is nowhere to be seen.

  My life has gone back to normal – or as close as it can be, given everything that has happened to me recently – since then. Miss L. is back to talking about the Digital War, and from the way she acts it’s like she never mentioned the Divisions at all. But every so often I’ll catch her watching me, and her gaze sends a prickle down my spine. I wonder if Tesla has told her something about me, but what is there to tell? I didn’t do anything wrong. At least, not that I know of.

  On my first day back at work I am assigned the duty of stitching up holes and mending split seams in the clothing of the people in our neighborhood. I’m not very good at sewing, but Roma is teaching me, and I take this as a good opportunity for me to ask her what she’s not telling me about Cyrus and the other Digits.

  She responds with the same look on her face as the day Cyrus came to her house looking for me: a mixture of shock, confusion, and pity.

  “Everl
y…”

  “Please, Roma,” I press. “I need to know. I’m… I’m scared. You know what they want, don’t you?”

  I’m trying to sew a patch over a hole in the knee of a pair of khaki pants, but every time I try to tie the end of my thread I accidentally end up breaking it. Roma is putting new buttons down the front of a plaid shirt, and she’s already finished several other projects in the time it’s taken me to complete my first.

  Roma sighs and pulls a new spool of white thread. She shakes her head slowly and smoothes out the fabric in her hands.

  “Not exactly, no,” she begins. “I have an idea, yes, but I didn’t want to tell you until I was certain.”

  “What is it? Why can’t you just tell me now?”

  Roma looks worried. I feel worried.

  “I don’t want you to fret over something that may not even come to pass.” She finishes sewing the final button on and folds the shirt neatly before laying it in the laundry basket on the floor beside her; we will have to wash these clothes before we return them, and iron them if necessary.

  “But what if it does?” I feel like she’s not going to tell me. Maybe if I push just a little farther…

  “Then we’ll deal with it then.”

  “Roma, you know that’s not – ”

  She cuts me off before I can finish. “Your mother…,” she begins, and I shut my mouth so hard I can hear my teeth clack together; “Your mother didn’t want this to happen. She did everything she could to stop it. But she also made me promise to keep it from you for as long as I could. You don’t need that kind of burden on your shoulders.”

  My heart flutters and my hands start sweating so badly I can hardly keep hold of my needle. I try to finish my sewing, but every time I make a stitch it ends up being crooked and I have to pull it out and start over.

  My mind is racing; I have so many questions, I’m not sure which one I want answered the most. My mother told Roma something – something involving me. My mother knew about what the Digits were planning, and she didn’t tell me. Instead, she told Roma. She trusted her friend with information she should have been telling her daughter.

  I take a deep breath, and it turns into a cough on the way out. “Wh – what did my mother…” I start, pausing to gather the words before I say them. “What did she tell you? I need to know. If she… if that’s why they killed her, then you have to tell me. I can’t…”

  My words trail off when I can no longer conjure them. I don’t know what else to say. Roma is the one among us who has the right words, the only words worth saying right now.

  My breathing feels shallow and my head is starting to spin.

  “Roma?” I ask, my throat feeling almost too dry for me to push the words out. Roma sets down her needlework to listen. “Did my mother die because of me?”

  I expect Roma to answer me immediately, to tell me no, of course not, and repeat the words until she’s certain I believe them. But she hesitates, and lets her silence speak for her.

  I try to finish sewing but my vision is just blurry enough that it’s impossible for me to see where my needle is. Roma is just sitting there next to me, still as a statue, and the tension in her muscles is nearly palpable.

  “No,” she finally says after a pause that is far too long. I turn away, and she puts one hand on my shoulder. “No, Everly, listen to me. Your mother didn’t die because of you. She was keeping a secret that would have put both you and your brother in danger. She made the choice to protect you two, and that choice ended up costing her life. But there is no way that you or Fray could have predicted or prevented what she did. Your mother… She knew she was going to die. She didn’t know when, but she knew how. And she knew that before you were even born.”

  “Then why didn’t she tell me? I could have helped. I could have tried. She didn’t have to just… just let it happen.”

  I feel a hot tear trace down the side of my face and I blink quickly, rubbing the moisture away with my hand. I can’t help but think that my mother was a selfish woman; she knew that there was going to come a time when her death would tear her family apart, but she didn’t even try to prevent it. Did she even fight back? I can’t remember. I know that she died quickly, but I was too busy cowering under the bed to notice much more than the noises around me.

  I remember Fray coughing and sobbing. I remember my own frantic breathing. But I don’t remember my mother screaming or shouting or pleading. The only sounds I heard from her were a shallow gasp and the cracking of her body as it fell apart.

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “Did she want to die? Is that why she didn’t fight it? Did she want to leave us that badly?”

  Roma abandons her sewing on the arm of the couch and leans over; her other hand comes up around my back and she pulls me into a side-ways hug. It takes me a moment to settle down into her embrace, and I can’t seem to move my own arms to hug her back, but she holds me around my shoulders and rocks me gently. Silent tears run down both sides of her face and into my hair. She smells like clean linen and cinnamon.

  My mother used to do this when I was little; I used to get embarrassed when she tried to hold me like this as I got older. Now, I wish I hadn’t pushed her away so much. I wish I had realized the importance I had in her life before it became the death of her.

  “I’m sorry. She didn’t tell me much, your mother, and I don’t know what she was thinking in her final moments. But I do know that she loved you, and that she would have done whatever it took to protect you and your brother. But that doesn’t make it – any of it – your fault. It was because she loved you. Wouldn’t you do the same, for someone you love?”

  An image of Fray immediately flashes into my mind, and I nod against her shoulder. If Fray was in danger, I would gladly die to save him. But then where would that leave him? He would be alone, buried under a mountain of guilt just for being alive. Would he rather be dead than carry that grief around with him for the rest of his life?

  Would I?

  “She loved you,” Roma repeats, smoothing out the ends of my hair with her free hand. “She loved you and Fray more than anything. And whatever her reason for doing what she did, she wanted you two to be happy. She wouldn’t have wanted to see you like this.”

  “I know,” I whisper against her shirt. “But it’s hard. Because I loved her, too.”

  Roma’s sigh echoes in my ears, long and deep. I feel so small and weak. I’m supposed to be strong enough to take care of my family – what’s left of it – and already Fray’s bravery has surpassed my own.

  I just can’t stop thinking about it, even though it hurts. I keep hoping that if I search far enough in my mind I’ll find a memory of my mother that will tell me why she did what she did and what my role was in her death. My guilt won’t ease until I know for certain, and it’s crippling enough as it is. Just one more piece of her secrets and the weight may crush me.

  “I know you did, sweetheart. And I know it hurts. But there is nothing you could have done to save her. Okay? So you have to let her go. It’s what she would have wanted.”

  I nod again, but I’m not really listening to what she’s saying. I need to let her go; I know I do. But I feel like maybe I’m not the one holding on anymore.

  “Okay,” I say, even though I’m very far from being okay.

  “I don’t know who killed your mother. I’m so sorry that it happened, but I wouldn’t tell you even if I did know. Focusing on revenge and prying into such dark things – nothing good can come of it. Your mother would not have wanted you to remember her for her secrets; she would have wanted you to remember her for the things that made you happy.”

  “I know…” I whisper into her shirt. “But I can’t stop thinking about it. The Digit who came to get me… He knew about her. He knew about my parents and Fray and everything that happened. You don’t think he might have had something to do with it, do you? I don’t feel safe anymore, Roma. I don’t… I don’t even know who to trust.”

  “Trust me,�
�� she says; “And trust in your mother. If she had thought you were in danger here, she wouldn’t have left you. The important thing is that you and your brother are safe, and that your mother’s secrets are buried with her. You should try to forget about everything else; thinking about it will only bring you more pain.”

  A thousand more questions burn in my throat, but I swallow them down with a nod. My mother must have had a good reason not to tell me; I have to believe that she had my best interests in her heart. But I also know, though Roma denies it, that she died because of me.

  I also get the distinct feeling that the things she hid from me are important, but I have to find them out on my own. It would be wrong of me to involve anyone else in something that can only end in tragedy.

  Roma continues comforting me while I pretend I’m not crying, she pretends not to notice, and I try to forget that I am the reason that both of my parents are dead.

  Chapter nine

  I don’t know why my feet pull me back to that house. It’s almost like I can’t control it, like my body knows something I don’t about what really happened in there.

  I don’t want to see what’s inside, but I have to force myself to. This time, I have a reason for coming here. I made a mistake before, leaving her behind. Now I’ve come back to make things right.

  I’ve returned home to bury my mother.

  I know that it won’t be an easy task, but if it will ease some of my guilt and give her some sense of peace, wherever she is now, then it’s worth it. I don’t know how I ever thought I’d be able to live with myself knowing that I left her in that house to rot away.

  I’ve got a shovel in one hand and a bed-sheet in the other. I snuck away while Fray was sleeping; under the cover of the dark night sky it’ll be easier for me to pull her body outside without being noticed.

  Just the thought of what I’m about to do makes me feel sick to my stomach. I cough, trying to suppress a gag, and I’m not even past the front door yet.