UNBREATHABLE Read online

  UNBREATHABLE. Copyright © 2013 by Hafsah Laziaf

  Cover and Interior Design by Hafsah Laziaf

  www.hafsahlaziaf.com

  All rights reserved.

  Printed in the United States of America and the United Kingdom.

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  First paperback edition: October 2013

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical

  events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN-10: 0990013812

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9900138-1-5 (paperback)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9900138-0-8 (ebook)

  The last time I stood here on this hill, Father was alive, Earth was thought to be destroyed, and I was human.

  I ignore the pang in my chest, because tonight isn’t for grieving. Tonight is for redemption, for proving to the hopeless human race that Earth is real. Because until three nights ago, Earth was nothing more than a beautiful impossible dream.

  With a deep breath, I take off down the hill. Every pounding step sends a billow of sand puffing into the wheezing, dry wind. The planet Jutaire is nothing more than a sea of red, rolling for as far as the eye can see, dotted with boulders and buildings raised to life by man and Jute. If anyone were to glance at the hill now, they would see me, a dark smudge against leagues of red beneath the silky moonlight.

  But everyone is tucked in bed, breathing the oxygen inside their sealed homes. They live because there is nothing else for them to do. For them, this night is another and tomorrow will bring a day like any other. That’s the despicable way I was for seventeen years. Existing without living.

  It was only after losing everything I had—after death stole my father—that I realized there’s a purpose to my life.

  I have to finish what he started.

  I adjust the mask suffocating my skin. Manufactured oxygen tries to soothe the fear drumming in my bloodstream. The clear mask is only half a sphere, much like the masks Father said they wore in hospitals back on Earth, only these are sleeker, fitting tight around our noses and mouths.

  Because it only takes one breath of Jutaire’s toxic air for a human to die in mere heartbeats.

  As I near the Chamber, where the metal and glass are tucked away, the worry gnawing at my insides increases. I'm fully aware of the many ways this could go wrong, and that every way will end the same.

  With me hanging limp from a noose.

  I clench my jaw and stare ahead. Nothing can stop me, not even the whisper of death.

  The Chamber is protected by sweeping lights and a high metal fence. The walls are of faded, deep blue metal, with a barely visible ten-pointed white star emblazoned in its center. I’ve seen the star countless times from a distance, but never up close. The building is unsuspecting on the outside—like pretty much all of Jutaire—but it houses the most precious elements on our planet.

  My palms are slick with sweat when I crouch behind a boulder as a scope of white light sweeps past, illuminating the brittle ground. I count the heartbeats beneath my ragged breath before it swings back.

  Forty. I have forty beats to cross roughly five feet and scale the six-foot fence.

  Breathe, I remind myself, as worry and fear threatens to overwhelm me.

  The light passes. I dash out from behind the boulder and thread my sweaty fingers in the fence, struggling to find footing and climb. I move quietly, though the fence is keen on exposing my existence. I listen to the thud, thud, thud of my heart, counting away the time before I am caught.

  One. Five. Eleven. Fifteen. Twenty-three. Thirty-five. I drop to the other side with a muted thud. A fine layer of dust coats my mask and stings my eyes.

  I scramble to my feet and press against the smooth wall, flinching at the chill of my sweat-soaked shirt.

  The positions of the lights and the locations of all three entrances have been ingrained in my mind, flashing behind my eyelids with every blink. It’s supposed to be simple, from the plans I had scribbled on scraps of old paper. Yet the voice of my conscience stokes my fear without fail. This is how Father died. He stole from the Chamber.

  But did he die for what he stole, or for what he saw?

  I ignore the nagging question and smooth down the loose strands from my braid with one hand, digging into my pocket with the other. I won’t let myself dwell on the thought of Father murdered because he saw Earth. Despite all the hangings the Chancellors order, they wouldn’t hang him for such an innocent discovery that could save us all.

  Would they?

  I pass two more lights as I slide along the wall. And finally, finally, I make it to the back of the building. Relief flickers through me as I rush to the metal door and slip the stolen keycard into the slot.

  “Hurry,” I whisper, wiping my sweaty palms across my pants. It’s almost impossible to see anything beyond the bright beams. Anyone can see me and I won’t see them. Before the dangerous thought can fully register, a tiny green light flashes and the door clicks open.

  All this worrying and planning, and it’s over within moments. I run my tongue along my salty lips as I step inside, allowing myself the slightest bit of triumph.

  But I have to be in and out in heartbeats, for it won’t be long before my break-in alerts them in the Tower, even if I’m careful enough not to trigger the inside alarms.

  I have to grab the metal, grab the glass—Jutaire’s most valuable elements. I need them to make a scope, to show the other humans there is something to hope for, something to fight for.

  And I will get them.

  But the moment I exhale, it hits me: something is wrong. The walls around me seem to be holding their breath in anticipation. The air is tight, though the room is large. My breath catches.

  Something is wrong.

  Panic makes. My chest. Tight.

  I freeze, barely noticing the flicker of movement to my right as a screeching alarm crashes the silence. Red lights pulse in the darkness. I press myself against the door in a vain attempt to rewind time.

  I force air through my lips.

  Then I see him: a man—no, a boy. Every pulse brings him closer, clearer. Long. Lithe. His hair is a jagged mess of darkness atop his head. From his simple clothes, as dark as his hair, I can tell he isn’t a soldier, one of the men who protect us from the Jute and enforce the Chancellors’ orders. But he has to be the one who set off the alarm, because I’ve been so careful.

  The alarm.

  Panic closes off the oxygen to my lungs and presses into my vision. I felt this same way three days ago, when the pale-eyed soldier grabbed the scope from Father’s hands and threw it to the floor with quiet fury. When all I could do was stand and watch, horrified, meek, weak. Nothing more than a shadow in a dark house.

  The door is behind me. All it takes is one twist of the handle and I could disappear again. And isn’t that what I’m best at—disappearing? Running?

  But when I think of Father, my resolve hardens again. I can't leave. I can’t let Father’s death go in vain. He spent his life searching for Earth, died because of it.

  I take a step forward and take in the Chamber. It stretches wide and long, empty, aside from two piles, glass beside metal, as high as the ceiling—nearly triple my height.

  I clutch my pouch close to my chest and take another step forward, my breathing heavy as another thought registers: the metal and glass aren’t scarce at all. They’re abundant, hidden. Shrouded by lies in four metal walls wh
ere no one will see and no one will question.

  The Chancellors, the soldiers—they’re all liars. Even Father, who broke in here days ago, never said a word to me.

  The alarm cuts off. The lights stop pulsing, illuminating everything in a bloody hue. My time is running out. I step toward the metal first, reaching for a flat sheet amidst the mess of scraps and nails.

  I gasp. I’m falling.

  Someone crashes into me, knocking the air from my lungs and the thoughts from my mind. The ground rushes up and the impact of cool concrete racks my body. I hear an oof that reminds me of the boy. The boy.

  I sit up before struggling to my feet. He stands, too, a sharp inhale shattering the heavy silence. I stiffen.

  My mask is on the floor.

  Time seems to stop when I realize what this means. I hold my breath for barely a beat before that overwhelming desire forces me to inhale the deadly air.

  Sweet, musty, delectable. The toxic air of Jutaire slithers through my nostrils and fills my lungs in layers and layers of richness. Shivers tremor up and down the length of my body. A relieved sigh slips from my lips. One breath is all it takes, and I can’t stop. I can’t think. I can’t do anything but breathe.

  The air of Jutaire is as dangerous for me as it is for any human. It kills them. It makes me drunk with its sweetness.

  This is what I discovered three days ago that Father never told me for seventeen years of my life that no one else should know.

  I can’t be human.

  “Who are you?” An unforgiving silence follows the words. My breath catches.

  The boy takes a tentative step toward me—I have to get out of here—then another. Thud, thud, thud goes my heart. He stops. I look up, and my heart skips a beat. His eyes shimmer a brilliant blue: the color of the ocean as Father described it to me, countless times on countless nights. Surprise flits across them when he looks closer— and something else. Recognition? His face is chiseled, skin a light bronze. His hair is deep, dark ebony.

  Every color on him is profound. Like Earth.

  “What are you doing here?” His voice is soft and demanding. I open my mouth, but words don’t come. Now that the thrill of the air has subsided, all I can think of is my mask on the floor.

  I run my tongue along my suddenly dry lips, but he continues to watch me intently. He doesn’t seem to have noticed my mask. Or maybe he did. I can’t think.

  “I came for this.” The words slip out in a whisper. It sounds harsh in the quiet of the room. I sweep my hand out toward the mounds. It’s obvious, isn’t it? There is nothing else but metal and glass.

  He narrows his eyes. “You've ruined everything.”

  I blink in surprise. Those are my words, spilling from his lips. He ruined everything, not me. He signaled the alarm. He was reckless, careless. Our eyes lock.

  I open my mouth to say something, anything, when footsteps shatter the silence. The boy looks past me, deathly still. Alarm strikes his face and hardens his jaw. And I can’t help it. I memorize him. I don’t think I’ll ever see him again once I leave this place. If I leave this place.

  His eyes flash when they dart to the empty sack in my hand, reminding me of someone. But before my mind snatches the hazy memory, he murmurs one word.

  “Run.”

  But I can’t. There are soldiers spilling in from the doors on either side, their long shadows filling the room. Whispering voices roar in my ears. In heartbeats, I’ll be frozen in panic and I won’t know what to do.

  The boy grabs my wrist. I flinch, but his grip tightens before I can pull away.

  A blast of blue, the size of my closed fist, flies past my right cheek. Shock blasts, I think. I grab my mask off the floor and find the courage to meet the boy’s unreadable eyes for barely a heartbeat before we’re running—and I have no choice but to trust him.

  I’m half-dragged between the piles of metal and glass, stumbling over razor-sharp scraps of steel and crystal. Another ball of current whizzes past my arm, skinning my sleeve with a blazing hiss.

  One blast is a shock, two is darkness, three is death.

  “Faster,” I cry. I stumble over my own feet and twist my ankle. Pain zips up my leg. But I grit my teeth against the throbbing pain and push forward.

  When he drops my hand, I falter. But the door is only a short distance away, and it’s all I need to keep me going. I run beside him. The dark night will save me. Us.

  A blast slams onto the door and I flinch back. Sizzling currents die soon after, leaving no mark. Another lands a foot ahead of me and I leap over it, feeling the heat rising from the floor.

  “Almost there.” I nearly stumble at the unnerving calm of the boy’s voice. But it gives me courage.

  “Stop!” The soldiers’ shouts echo again from behind us. I reach the door and fling it open. Then I notice—

  The boy isn't behind me.

  The cool, dry wind and smothering darkness beckon me from outside. But I turn back. My breath chokes my lungs. No.

  The boy has been shot.

  He writhes on the colorless floor.

  His features are contorted in pain. His body jerks against the currents of the shock blast pinning him down. I hear the snaps of electricity when his mouth opens in a soundless cry, and my blood burns.

  The soldiers run closer. I scan their faces, one by one, relieved they’re focused on the boy—until one of them looks up. I step back, fear closing my throat when I lock gazes with the soldier who shattered Father’s scope. Those pale eyes flicker in recognition. He doesn’t expect to see me, not so soon after Father’s death. Not ever.

  The panic comes crashing. Now, when freedom is one step away, it takes over. It’s because of him, the pale-eyed soldier.

  He killed the only family I had.

  I look back at the boy as his body stills, and find him looking at me, his eyes a roaring rush of deep blue. Beautiful, I realize with a jolt. Determination sets into his face and hardens his features. But he won’t move with the soldiers surrounding him.

  I trace his lips as he mouths a single word.

  Run.

  I stare at him. The memories come rushing back, and even as I suddenly remember him, I’m certain he doesn’t remember me. His face blurs in my vision. A sob racks my body.

  I run.

  Footsteps echo my own. I don’t have to look back to know it’s the soldier who broke Father’s scope.

  He doesn’t want to catch me because I was in the Chamber. No, he wants to rectify the mistake he made in letting me live longer than my father.

  I’ll end up where that boy will be tomorrow at noon. Crime is punished on Jutaire in one way only: with a noose. And if there’s one credit we can offer Chancellor Kole, it’s uniformity. Hangings only ever happen at noon, in the Gathering for all of Jutaire to see and know.

  Fear edges into my vision, making the dark night even darker. I run faster, until the world is no more than a blur around me, giving me the illusion of safety, because what you can’t see can’t hurt you. My empty pouch flutters against my thigh, reminding me of my failed mission with every step. A searing pain slices through my lungs, and I can’t think straight. My muscles clench, and when I stumble once, twice, down the hill, I’m certain I won’t make it.

  The soldier shouts again and I hear a few words out of the slew—wait, come back—words that confuse me. I don’t bother to slow my pace as I take off down the hill and I tumble down half way before picking myself up. Rocks scratch my face and hands. I want to freeze in the middle of our empty planet and disappear into the endless darkness above me, into the stars forever staring at me. Because what reason is there? I’ve lived a life of nothing for so long.

  But when I close my eyes, I see Earth, and beside it, that boy.

  Run. The single word echoes in my mind. Every time I stumble on the rocky ground underfoot, I see the soldiers bending over him, roughly pulling him to his feet. I see his eyes boring into me as if I’m not some hopeless girl whose death would never be mourned
. He could have easily slipped through the door and left. But he pulled me along, even when I slowed him down.

  So I don’t slow down again. I owe him that much.

  When nothing but the wind howls in my ears, I pause and look back, only to confirm what I already know: the soldier is long gone. But I don’t stop until I pass the rows and rows of homes and slam my door shut and collapse on the floor.

  Moonlight filters through the grimy window, illuminating a square foot of space. Words, fears, thoughts pound in my mind like the soldiers’ fists on our door three nights ago. I heave breath after breath of oxygen, now that the addicting air of Jutaire is gone. Every door seals tight as soon as it closes and almost immediately oxygen flows into our noses.

  Gradually, my breathing slows to a normal pace. In the dark, images flicker one after the other. Father’s thin neck, secured in frayed rope. The boy and his intense eyes. The lies hidden in the Chamber. The pale-eyed soldier, calling me back—not ordering, I realize, but calling.

  I left the safety of my home to steal something that could get me killed and possibly prove Earth exists.

  Where did that courage come from?

  A muffled cry shatters the silence. I start and look around, but only my pulse races in this room. The sound was my own.

  I release a shuddering breath, and feel the loneliness like a weight pressing over me. Even when Father was alive I was lonely, with him stuck in his books, teaching himself to write and read. But this, this inexplicable emptiness in my heart and in my life, is different.

  The sand coating the ground scratches against the soles of my feet when I shuffle to my bed. I don’t bother to light a candle before I pull the sheets over my head and disappear. Not even the tiny yellow flames like those on Earth can give me comfort now.

  I pull my mask from my pocket and place it beside me, rubbing absently over the grimy, dusty surface of the Louen. It’s ironic that we owe our existence to the Jute, who we see as cruel and hurtful. Without them, we wouldn’t have Louen for our masks.