Unravel Me: The Juliette Chronicles Book 2

silence. “So how are we getting there?” I ask anyone.
    “We walk,” Winston says.
    Our feet pound the floors in response.
    “Most civilians don’t have cars,” Kenji explains. “And we sure as hell can’t be caught in a tank. If we want to blend in, we have to do as the people do. And walk.”
    I lose track of which tunnels break off in which directions as Castle leads us toward the exit. I’m increasingly aware of how little I understand about this place, how little I’ve seen of it. Although if I’m perfectly honest, I’ll admit I haven’t made much of an effort to explore anything.
    I need to do something about that.
    It’s only when the terrain under my feet changes that I realize how close we are to getting outside. We’re walking uphill, up a series of stone stairs stacked into the ground. I can see what looks like a small square of a metal door from here. It has a latch.
    I realize I’m a little nervous.
    Anxious.
    Eager and afraid.
    Today I will see the world as a civilian, really see things up close for the very first time. I will see what the people of this new society must endure now.
    See what my parents must be experiencing wherever they are.
    Castle pauses at the door, which looks small enough to be a window. Turns to face us. “Who are you?” he demands.
    No one answers.
    Castle draws himself up to his full height. Crosses his arms. “Lily,” he says. “Name. ID. Age. Sector and occupation. Now .”
    Lily tugs the scarf away from her mouth. She sounds slightly robotic when she says, “My name is Erica Fontaine, 1117-52QZ. I’m twenty-six years old. I live in Sector 45.”
    “Occupation,” Castle says again, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.
    “Textile. Factory 19A-XC2.”
    “Winston,” Castle orders.
    “My name is Keith Hunter, 4556-65DS,” Winston says. “Thirty-four years old. Sector 45. I work in Metal. Factory 15B-XC2.”
    Kenji doesn’t wait for a prompt when he says, “Hiro Yamasaki, 8891-11DX. Age twenty. Sector 45. Artillery. 13A-XC2.”
    Castle nods as everyone takes turns regurgitating the information etched into their fake RR cards. He smiles, satisfied. Then he focuses his eyes on me until everyone is staring, watching, waiting to see if I screw it up.
    “Delia Dupont,” I say, the words slipping from my lips more easily than I expected.
    We’re not planning on being stopped, but this is an extra precaution in the event that we’re asked to identify ourselves; we have to know the information on our RR cards as if it were our own. Kenji also said that even though the soldiers overseeing the compounds are from Sector 45, they’re always different from the guards back on base. He doesn’t think we’ll run into anyone who will recognize us.
    But.
    Just in case.
    I clear my throat. “ID number 1223-99SX. Seventeen years old. Sector 45. I work in Metal. Factory 15A-XC2.”
    Castle stares at me for just a second too long.
    Finally, he nods. Looks around at all of us. “And what,” he says, his voice deep and clear and booming, “are the three things you will ask yourself before you speak?”
    Again, no one answers. Though it’s not because we don’t know the answer.
    Castle counts off on his fingers. “First! Does this need to be said? Second! Does this need to be said by me? And third! Does this need to be said by me right now? ”
    Still, no one says a word.
    “We do not speak unless absolutely necessary,” Castle says. “We do not laugh, we do not smile. We do not make eye contact with one another if we can help it. We will not act as if we know each other. We are to do nothing at all to encourage extra glances in our direction. We do not draw attention to ourselves.” A pause. “You understand this, yes? This is clear?”
    We nod.
    “And if something goes wrong?”
    “We scatter.” Kenji clears his throat. “We run. We hide. We think of only ourselves. And we never, ever betray the location of Omega Point.”
    Everyone takes a deep breath at the same time.
    Castle pushes the small door open. Peeks outside before motioning for us to follow him, and we do. We scramble through, one by one, silent as the words we don’t speak.
    I haven’t been aboveground in almost 3 weeks. It feels like it’s been 3 months.
    The moment my face hits the air, I feel the wind snap against my skin in a way that’s familiar, admonishing. It’s as if the wind is scolding me for being away for so long.
    We’re in the middle of a frozen