Recompense

ONE

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I should have twisted my hair into a braid.

The thought flits through my head as I step into the darkness of the covered porch and pull the door closed behind me. It's a frivolous thought. Useless, really, when you consider that breaking curfew could land me in some backwoods lockup facility where they'd shave off every long brown strand. And it wouldn't matter that I haven't received a single demerit since coming to live with Opal. Leniency is seldom applied to someone with a record like mine.

The porch smells of damp and rot. I pad down the wooden steps in my stocking feet, avoiding the broken one, and lace up my trainers in the dirt of the front yard. Out here, the breeze is cool, pushing off the ocean and raising goosebumps on my bare arms. I decide nighttime offers far more suitable temperatures for running than the heat of a June afternoon.

I inhale deeply. The air is laced with the spicy odors of brine and bayberries, the sturdy, gnarled shrubs that grow everywhere along the shore. Sometimes when I wake early enough, I weave through their branches down to the tidal pools and watch the lights of the fishing trawlers heading out to sea. They're crewed by men as hardy and weather-beaten as those bayberries. Rugged, resilient, tenacious, battered—that's the nature of life in Settlement 56, where survival means a lot of hard work and a little bit of luck. Those of us who outgrow infancy develop a certain staying power.

Settlement 56 is nearly as far north as you can travel and still remain in Capernica. The country is separated into sectors defined roughly by geography—Coastal, Mountain, Basin, and Plains—each with a set number of settlements. Only the largest cities have names. The rest just get a number. Officially, I live in Coastal Zone 56. You can't really call 56 a town. More of a village with a few blocks of houses, a school, and the fish cannery. Anyone who doesn't catch fish works in the cannery.

Cities hold a few more opportunities for someone like me, a Lower with keen intelligence. If I could, I'd migrate to one, but no one's allowed to leave their area of residence without governmental permission. And usually permission is only granted in the form of a reward or punishment. Fall into favor? You move to the city. Fall out of favor? It's a settlement for you. And for your kids. And their kids. There's a permanency to the way things work in Capernica. Without the freedom to move, we lack the freedom to advance. Geography locks us into the same lives our parents lived. And in the settlements, we're bottom tier.

One of the kids cries out in his sleep as I finish double knotting my laces, and I freeze. I've chosen my patch of ground well, behind a clump of scrub brush and out of view of the house, but the reaction is instinctive. I can't afford to take chances with three little sets of eyes on the premises. There's never a guarantee they'll all be closed. And if Opal learns I sneaked out...

Actually, Opal Wildon is the kindest, most trustworthy adult I've ever lived with. Her punishments are fair and dealt out only when I deserve them. That's why I've stayed with her so long—a whole eight years—ever since I was a skinny-legged kid of ten. I don't want to worry or disappoint her, but she isn't really the one setting my senses on alert.

The house has grown still again and I rise soundlessly to my feet. A shiver of apprehension grips me, but I chalk it up to the night breeze. I have to do this. Friday's Examination is too important. Besides, I won't be jogging alone if I can convince Will to go with me. And Will Ransom convinces pretty easily, at least when I'm the one doing the asking.

I brush the grit from the seat of my shorts and make my way across the brick-hard lawn, ducking through the scraggly undergrowth that separates our cabin from the one next door. I rap softly on the south-facing window. Will's room.