The Forsaken

have infiltrated our sector,” Veidman continues. “That they’re living among us, maybe even in this village, pretending to be on our side. But waiting for the perfect moment to sabotage everything . . .”
    His words trail off as Meira and Gadya reappear. Meira is holding a medical syringe in her left hand. It’s just dangling there, filled with dark fluid. Red, like blood. She walks over and hands the syringe to Veidman.
    Veidman glances over at me. “I was planning on becoming a doctor before I got sent to the wheel.” He holds up the syringe and squirts a little liquid into the air. “Now I just get to play one.” He smiles. “Show me your arm.”
    Suddenly I’m back in the scanning cell, with the tech in the white lab coat leaning over me.
    “Flashback,” I croak, breaking out in a cold sweat. I feel woozy. Faint. And embarrassed.
    “Happens sometimes.” Veidman leans forward, pushing up my right sleeve. He taps the inside of my arm, searching for a vein.
    “You know why you felt like crap when you landed here?” Gadya asks from behind me.
    Veidman frowns. “Probably not the best time—”
    Gadya keeps talking: “Why your head hurt? Why your thoughts were all fuzzy?”
    I glance back at her over my shoulder. “No. Tell me.”
    “Gadya.” I hear a cold note of warning in Meira’s voice. But I don’t want Gadya to be quiet. I want to know what happened to me. It’s my body. I have a right.
    Gadya moves forward into my view. “Ever heard of ECT?” she asks. “Also known as electroshock therapy? That metal band in the testing cell didn’t scan your mind. It delivered an eight-hundred milliamp jolt of electricity, right into your frontal lobes!”
    I yank my arm out of Veidman’s grasp, horrified. “Electroshock! But that was banned years ago!” Tears spring into my eyes. The government tried to fry my mind?
    “It’s no big deal,” Veidman says, sounding resigned. “Happens to everyone who gets sent to the wheel. They use a low dose to disorient us. To make us forget how we got here.” He pulls my arm forward again, ignoring my dismay. Before I’m even ready, he jabs me with the needle on the inside of my elbow. Just like the scanning tech.
    Veidman stands up and hands the empty syringe back to Meira.
    “So what happens now?” I ask. “Am I going to be okay?”
    Veidman looks down at me. “Well, I’ve got good news and bad news.” His tone is fairly jocular, but his eyes are distant and veiled. I look over at Gadya and Meira. Meira is now half shrouded in the shadow of a tree; Gadya is still watching me closely.
    “I’ll take the good news first,” I mutter. I try to stand up, then realize that my whole body feels heavy. I sit back down again as a sensation of heat rushes through me. “Does anyone ever have an allergic reaction to this vaccine?”
    Veidman is about to speak, but Gadya cuts him off. “It’s not a vaccine!” she exclaims, like she’s unable to stay silent. I look up at her, confused, as my head starts swimming.
    “Gadya, keep your fat mouth shut,” Meira warns.
    “It’s not a vaccine. It’s a truth serum!” Gadya continues. “They’re gonna ask you questions and find out who you really are. They think you’re a secret spy for the Monk. They think you’ve been sent here to kill us all!”

THE VILLAGE
    FIVE MINUTES LATER, THE truth serum—or whatever it is—has completely taken hold. I’m caught in a weird state between waking and sleeping. I’ve been dragged inside Veidman’s cabin and stretched out on a hammock. Veidman, Gadya, Meira, and several other villagers cluster around me.
    The questions come in rapid succession from a chorus of voices. They ask me what my real name is. Where I’m really from. Who sent me here, and why. What I know about the wheel and about the Monk. They ask me about David. And if I’m here to hurt anyone, among a hundred other things. For once ignorance truly is bliss. I know nothing. Less than any of these kids do.
    But the questions don’t stop. Veidman and Meira are certain I have secrets. Their voices grow as sharp as knives, slicing deeply. They think I’m lying, despite the truth serum.
    “You’re an orphan,” their voices insist. “You claim your parents were dissidents, so what did they do? Tell us!”
    But of course I don’t have an easy answer for that one. I never have. I can hear my own voice explaining all of this, calm but deadened, inside an echo chamber of numbness. I tell them I