The Immunity Illness

CHAPTER 22, Minho

The little girl stood no taller than his thigh, but she marched forward with bravery, gibbering out excited phrases to Rose as they journeyed through the Woods. Her tears had dried. Happiness had sprouted. The surrounding trees formed a familiar maze, twisting them left and right, interlocking them in toothy snares of bark. One wrong step led to a tangle of thorns. Minho couldn't wait to smack into the Wall so he could turn right back around and straighten things out with Aris. Gabriela paused in front of a rustling bush. She squealed at it,
       "¡Es un gnomo!"
       Rose rolled her eyes and grasped for her hand. "She thinks a magical gnome is living under the bush."
       "Oh." Minho tried not to act unnatural. He couldn't recall the last time he'd interacted with a child so small—the youngest kid the Creators had sent to the Glade was a preteen.
       Rose crept up to the bush and dragged a timid Gabriela alongside her. Willingly, she explained,
       "No, es una ardilla. ¿Ver?" Rose removed a clump of leaves to reveal the black-eyed face of a squirrel.
       After Gabriela became satisfied that the animal was not, in fact, a gnome, she wiggled out of her sister's hold and skipped ahead of them. Rose fell in step with Minho again. She tucked a strand of hair out of her eyes.
       "I'd like to think that the sky is real," she revealed. "I don't know much about holotech, but if this place is a dome...wow. That would explain the high taxes in my city for the past two years."
       Minho grimaced. "They make you pay?"
       "Did you believe WICKED grows its money on trees?"
       "I figured they leech it from some infinite resource, actually."
       Rose chuckled a bit. The noise was airy and refreshing coming from her. "Chancellor Paige loves you—so as long as you pay up."
       They tramped on for a couple more minutes, finding it difficult to talk about anything larger. Minho bit his tongue, then grumbled eventually,
       "At least they'll pay you for being here."
       A low hum echoed in Rose's throat. She glanced over at him thoughtfully. "Paid for a freak trip to a death chamber that I'll either never get to speak of again or be murdered for? What a great deal."
       Minho stared at the ground. "It is to me. You haven't seen a teaspoon of the crap I've seen, and I'm not paid nada."
       "Oh, really? What's your story, Mr. Subject?"
       Hardening, he stomped past Rose. He didn't owe her a summary. He didn't have to prove that he had it worse off than her. Although, he hadn't gotten this far without bumping heads with people. Determinedly, he hurled at her,
       "You don't wanna know my story." He put his hands in his pockets. "Unless you prefer a whole lot of death, monsters, running, and unhappy endings, I'd suggest a different genre."
       Rose pounced to block his path. He realized they'd both slowed to a crawl, and Gabriela wandered around them in bored, restless circles.
       "What makes you positive you won't get a happy ending?" Rose quizzed, leaning against a tree trunk. Her long hair fell back into her eyes, and she tucked the strands behind her ear this time.
       Minho unnaturally faltered under her gaze. Set on winning the argument, he persisted,
       "There used to be sixty of us. Sixty boys, Rose. Some were hardly teenagers. Now there's three left and the rest are dead. In what world where that is legal—to kill sixty children—do you think there's a happy ending for me?"
       Appalled was an understatement for the pinched look on Rose's face. Vengeful, maybe. Disgusted. She answered in a fazed murmur,
       "Your name's Minho, right?"
       "Yeah." He almost made a wisecrack at the randomness of the question, but he was right not to. Rose pledged to him,
       "Minho, I don't care how hopeless this place is. You're getting your damn happy ending."
       They analyzed each other breathlessly. Rose turned around to continue through the trees, scooping Gabriela next to her. Minho had to remember how to walk in order to catch up. They roamed for another yard with him in the lead before he smashed head-on into the icy blockade.
       "Slow," he commanded the others, backing up.
       The Wall flickered and split into billions of shimmering crystals. White rods branched from the impact zone, blossoming like the petals of an electric flower. A dull buzz rang from its surface; swiftly, the disorganized chunks rearranged themselves to reflect the Woods back at them. Rose gasped, and Gabriela yelped in shock. They repelled from the barrier at first until they regained their courage.
       "Believe me now?" Minho said triumphantly. He tapped on the illusion with his thumb, triggering a plethora of rainbow particles to disperse around it.
       "¡Magia!" Gabriela squealed delightedly, clapping her hands together. She yanked on Rose's shirt for attention.
       "That's not magic," she informed her, moving toward the icy surface. Her hand settled beside Minho's, and she traced the kaleidoscopic patterns in a daze. "What a structure...you subjects must be pretty important."
       "Don't remind me." Minho removed his hand from the glassy wall and looked over his shoulder, faraway to the clearing of the field. He grimaced, wishing he could go to it.
       "This is brilliant," Rose obsessed, sweeping her fingers across the screen. "I've never worked with anything so advanced, let alone seen the tech for it up this close. This wall alone must have cost millions."
       Minho raised his brows, responding grimly,
       "What are you, a graphic designer?"
       "Junior architect." Rose spun to peer at him. "The best of my class."
       By her intimidating tone, there was no doubt she was. Minho slinked past her and crossed his arms, itching to leave.
       "Can't you build your way up and out of here, then?" he suggested dryly.
       "Oh, sure. Can you order me a Berg back to Salt Lake City while I'm at it?" Rose's lips stretched into a flat line.
       They inspected each other. She hated him for being a subject, and he hated her for wasting his time. Yet they didn't exactly hate either. The mixed signals of whether she was friend or foe drove Minho mad, and he glanced away, pointing at the clearing.
       "I've got things to do," he mumbled. "Just remembered this isn't a jolly vacation. Let's—"
       "—go. Sure thing." Rose ducked under a slumping branch in front of him, embarking for the field with Gabriela skipping under her wing. A second passed, then she tilted to face him. "Hey, in case I don't see you again, try not to be number sixty-one, yeah? Same goes for your buddies."
       Minho couldn't answer that. If he did, he'd never stop talking, and his personal ideologies were just that: personal. Instead, he spoke a diversion, winking at Rose.
       "If you don't see me again, you're lookin' in the wrong places. I'm your local beach hottie."
       "I suppose you are." She pretended to mull over the concept. "The beach is designed to be paradise, after all."
       "Paradise until we get sick of eating fish stew."
       Rose snickered. "Yup. Imagine being allergic to fish here. Must be one nasty diet to uphold."
       "After another week in this place, anybody who's not a converted pescatarian is gonna starve to death." Minho cracked a grin, although he felt awful when he did.
       The Flare was ebbing speedily at Thomas, Aris was mind controlled, and here he was tossing jokes back and forth with a strange girl. His smile disappeared.
       Aris needed to be dealt with.
       Thomas needed to survive.