The Annihilation of Foreverland

He finished his count to ten. “Sid’s going to be pissed.”
    “Good thing he’s not running the show.”
    “Then who is?”
    “You are, Danny Boy.”
    “Me?” He cringed, hoping Sid didn’t hear him. “Dude, I’m a poke, I’m not running anything.”
    “Don’t be a clown, you’re the whole reason this place was cheering about a half hour ago. They’re all watching you, Danny Boy. Not Sid. He’s just a cheerleader.”
    “You’re cracked, man,” Danny hissed. “Sid will put a black mark under my eyes after he’s done with you.”
    “You think the old men are going to let him do anything to you or me or any kid in this place? Nothing’s going to happen, Danny Boy. This place is locked down tight.”
    Danny imagined a mob of old men charging through the Yard wielding stun guns. It wouldn’t matter if they were carrying nuclear weapons, they’d throw a hip before they got anything under control.
    “What about when they threw you in a trash can?”
    “It was a trash can, who cares. It was funny. Even I laughed.”
    “So how’s a bunch of crypt keepers going to keep us from getting pummeled?”
    “Right here.” Zin’s dim figure tapped the tracker on the back of his neck. “They got some sort of remote in their pocket. They put their hand in there and they can kick a volt or two into your spine and you’re sleeping, my friend. And Sid knows it. The geezers load you on a cart and it’s over.”
    “What’re you saying over there?” Sid’s voice carried from across the dark aisle . “You got something to say about me?”
    “Nothing, Cap-i-tan,” Zin said. “Just girl talk over here, that’s all.”
    Sid grunted. His teeth ground together. He said, “You just make sure—”
    Click. Hmmmmmmmm.
    The fan engaged. The blades began to crawl.
    Conversation died.
    “Let’s get on with the suffering,” Zin said.
    Danny was already counting his breath. He glanced at Reed, still standing, still facing the other direction. It would be long and hard for him. Maybe if they held first place, he’d get a reprieve.
    But he wouldn’t take the needle, so then what?
    Danny thought about doing the same. He could talk to Reed when everyone was out. He could tell Danny more about the underlying secrets of the island, the redheaded girl, and why he resisted. Maybe they could talk long enough to sort through each other’s memories, figure out which ones were their own without having to go inside the needle.
    But then the sprinklers began to hiss.
    Moments later, Danny looked at the top of his cage. He knew he’d reach for the needle as soon as it dropped. Just like everyone else.

16
    Reed settled into the rhythm of breathing.
    The wet cold had reached his bones, but he found peace with it. Even the shivers seemed to fall into rhythm. He was at peace with misery.
    He didn’t like the suffering, didn’t prefer it. If the gates opened, he’d gladly leave. But he didn’t resist it.
    He found space for it.
    Mr. Smith’s familiar walk-shuffle came down the aisle . Reed could smell him.
    In-out , he breathed. In-out .
    “Reed, look at me.”
    Reed saw a haggard face that was losing the battle with time and gravity, the cheeks sagging like an old dog that needed put ting down. The eyes were hidden in the shadows.
    “You’ve put me in a very difficult position, my boy. In an effort to convince you what’s best, the Director and I have decided to alter your experience. We hope you’ll make the best of your opportunity.”
    Reed drew a long breath through his nostrils.
    “You understand we put you under duress to facilitate your progress. It’s not meant to harm you, you see. Only to propel you forward. But you refuse our guidance, Reed; therefore, we’ll need to push harder.”
    The back of the cell began closing. It did not stop until the bars were pressed against his chest and back. Reed was sandwiched tightly in place, barely able to move. The lucid gear dropped from the top of his cage and brushed the top of his head. He would only need to lift himself onto his toes to let it slide into place.
    Mr. Smith clamped something on the bars, turning the wingnuts with his arthritic fingers. It was a metal frame, box-like. An empty bracket was centered twelve inches from Reed’s face.
    Mr. Smith remained a few seconds longer, then headed for the exit.
    Reed closed his eyes. He squirmed against the bars and panic threatened to overwhelm him. He just wanted to move.
    The lucid gear touched his