Light. Too bright. Eyes hurt.
Walking. Feet move. One foot. Other foot. Repeat.
The man in black coat. Safe. Stay close. Stay close means safe.
Other children around me. Gray coveralls like mine. Numbers like mine. But different numbers. Different functions.
No. Not functions anymore. Not quotas. Not pain.
What were we now?
I didn't know. Knowing things was hard. Thinking was hard. Everything was hard except walking. One foot. Other foot. Repeat.
Buildings around us. Broken buildings. Walls with holes. Windows with no glass. Like teeth missing from a mouth.
Cars. Lots of cars. But wrong cars. Rusted cars. Cars with no wheels. Cars growing plants through their engines. Dead cars everywhere.
The man walked in front. We followed. Small parade of gray children following black coat through broken world.
Someone came out of a building.
"Hey," the person said. Adult person. Dirty clothes. Hungry face. "Hey, you."
The man stopped. We stopped.
"That's a lot of kids you got there," the person said. More people came out. Three. Four. All with hungry faces. All looking at us like we were food.
"Yeah," the man said. Voice flat. Bored.
"We could take some off your hands. Share the burden, you know? Kids are useful. Good workers."
Workers. That word made something twist in my stomach. Made the voices in my head whisper: Function. Quota. Pain.
"No," the man said.
"Come on, be reasonable. You can't take care of all of them. We've got food, shelter. We'd treat them right."
The man turned to look at the hungry people. I couldn't see his eyes behind the dark glasses, but something about the way he moved made the people step back.
"I said no."
His hand moved toward his coat. Toward the gun. The people saw it too.
"Alright, alright," the first person said. "Just offering to help."
They backed away. Disappeared into their broken building.
The man started walking again. We followed.
More walking. Sun moved across sky. Feet hurt. But walking was simple. Walking was safe. Walking meant following black coat.
Girl with brown hair walked next to me. Number 623. But not 623 anymore. Something else now. She kept looking at me. Looking worried.
Why worried? We were walking. Walking was good.
"Echo," she whispered.
That word. Echo. It meant something. Something from before the concrete room. Before the questions and the pain and the breaking.
"Do you remember me?"
Remember. That was hard. Remembering hurt. It was easier to just walk.
But she kept looking at me with sad eyes. And something about sad eyes made my chest feel tight.
"Lily," I whispered.
Her face changed. Got lighter. Like sun coming through clouds.
"Yes. I'm Lily."
Lily. That felt important. But I couldn't remember why.
We walked more. Past more broken buildings. Past more dead cars. Past people who watched us from doorways and windows but didn't come out after what happened with the hungry people.
Then we stopped.
There was a house. Not broken like the others. Fixed house. Clean house. Smoke coming from chimney.
The man knocked on door.
Person opened door. Woman person. Old woman with gray hair and kind eyes.
"Oh," she said, looking at him. Then at all of us. "Oh my."
"Got some kids," the man said. "Need somewhere safe."
The old woman nodded. "Of course. Bring them in."
"Can't stay long. Need to keep moving."
"I understand."
There was a car at the end of the street. Not a dead car. A working car. Paint was faded and there were dents in the sides, but the wheels were good and the windows weren't broken.
Working cars were rare. Special. Like finding treasure.
While the man talked to the old woman about which children would stay, I looked at Lily. She looked at me.
Something was wrong. Something felt empty. Like the safe thing was going to leave us.
Without talking, without planning, we both started walking. Walking toward the car. Walking away from the voices at the house.
The car door wasn't locked. Lily opened it. Pushed me inside. Climbed in after me.
We lay down on back seat. Stayed very quiet. Very still.
After a while, footsteps. Car door opening. Engine starting. Engine made good sounds. Alive sounds.
Car started moving.
I felt better with black coat nearby. Felt safer. The world outside was big and dangerous and full of hungry people who wanted to use children as workers.
But inside the car with the man was small and safe.
We drove for long time. I watched ceiling of car. Lily held my hand. Her hand was warm. That felt good.
Then the car slowed down and stopped.
"Alright," the man said. His voice was tired. "I know you're back there."
We sat up.
He was looking at us in the mirror. Still wearing sunglasses even though it was getting dark.
"This isn't a field trip," he said. "Where I'm going isn't safe."
"Safer than being left behind," Lily said.
The man was quiet for long time. Engine made quiet humming sounds.
"You don't know anything about me," he said finally. "Don't know what I do. Don't know why I was at that facility."
"Don't care," Lily said.
"You should care. People have reasons for doing things. And my reasons... they're not pretty."
I wanted to tell him it didn't matter. Wanted to tell him that pretty reasons and ugly reasons were just words, and words didn't matter as much as actions. And his actions had been: come to place where children were broken. Free the children. Take them to safety.
That was enough.
But words were still hard. Speaking was still hard. So I just reached forward and touched his coat sleeve.
He looked at me in the mirror. Behind the dark glasses I couldn't see his eyes, but something in his face got softer.
"You're both idiots," he said.
But he started driving again.
I settled back into the seat. Lily's hand found mine again. Outside the windows, the broken world moved past us in the darkness.
Inside the car, with the man driving and Lily next to me, I felt something I hadn't felt since before Maya. Since before the facility. Since before the processing room broke me into pieces.
I felt like maybe everything was going to be okay.
Maybe.