Burn (Pure #3)(29)

“Maybe this is just a first-round reaction,” Partridge says. “Hopefully, people will calm down. Maybe they just need time.”

“I don’t know. Not only have we lost people, their family and friends are angry about the losses,” Beckley says. “And the suicides will add to their own underlying anger.”

“But an angry rebellion wouldn’t be a bad thing,” Lyda says. “If they’re really processing what happened.”

“The people of the Dome aren’t rebellious by nature. That’s how they got here, Partridge. You said it yourself,” Beckley says. “They’re sheep.”

“What do they want?” Partridge asks.

“They want to restore the status quo.”

“They can only revolt against themselves,” Lyda says. “In here, suicide is the only socially acceptable form of anger, hatred, and despair.”

Beckley says to Partridge, “You’ve got to shut it down.”

“How?” Partridge says. “I told the truth. That has to stand.”

“You have to give a little,” Beckley says.

“I’m not going back on what I said.”

Beckley pulls out his walkie-talkie and asks someone if the monorails have been cleared. The voice on the other end tells him that a few more trains have to get back to the station, but they’re close. “Keep them running,” Beckley says, “until we give the word.”

They step out of the elevator and onto the platform of the monorail. Beckley tells the other guard to stay behind, making sure no stray passengers follow them.

They walk through the echoing tunnel in silence. Overhead, in the distance, they hear the whine of sirens—one overlapping the next, needling the night air.





PARTRIDGE





TRAIN




Beckley looks at the digital sign that tells which trains are arriving at the platform. “This next one isn’t ours; it’s an express. We’ll wait for the one after.”

Partridge and Lyda follow Beckley toward the end of the platform that would put them on the first car.

Lyda grabs hold of Partridge’s hand. They look ahead into the mouth of the tunnel. Partridge’s eyes search the darkness, as if some answer could be found there. The suicides feel unreal. It can’t be happening, and yet the guilt washes over him. It’s his fault. He’s to blame. He squeezes Lyda’s hand and she squeezes it back. At least he’s not alone.

Just then, a man in a black jacket steps out toward the tracks. The jacket is unzipped, and an untucked white undershirt ruffles underneath.

Beckley half turns and motions for Lyda and Partridge to stop, and they do.

“The station’s closed; you’ll need to exit the platform and go on up,” Beckley says.

The man looks at him blankly. “There’s no place to go,” he says.

“Why are you down here?” Beckley says. “It’s closed, sir.”

“You know why I’m here.”

Partridge lets go of Lyda’s hand, reaches forward and grabs Beckley’s arm. Is the man here to jump in front of a train? Beckley looks at Partridge as if asking if he wants to handle this himself. A leader takes control of a situation like this, Partridge thinks. Partridge gives Beckley a nod.

Partridge steps toward the man but looks back at Lyda before saying anything. What should he say? She lifts one hand, almost like she’s giving him a blessing. “Yes, there’s been trouble, but it’s going to be okay. Things are going to work out,” Partridge says. “You need to give it time.”

The man registers for the first time that this is Partridge Willux. His face contorts, as if he’s physically pained. “I got my time,” the man says. “Time the others didn’t!” He stares down at the single rail. “I knew it all along. I knew it, and I didn’t do anything about it.”

“Partridge,” Lyda whispers. Is she warning him? Is she scared of the man? If Partridge gets too close, would the man try to take Partridge down with him?

“You had to carry on. We all did,” Partridge says, approaching the man as Beckley and Lyda hold back. “We had to survive.”

“My sister killed herself already,” the man says almost proudly. “She got the pills down before anyone could catch her.”

“You have to be brave,” Partridge says, trying to be calm. “This won’t be easy, but you have to hang on.”

Partridge hears the distant rushing of the monorail at his back. The man hears it too. His head jerks up and he looks into the tunnel then back at Partridge. “No. Brave is what I’m doing now. Brave is ending the lie,” he says, and an awful smile cracks at the edge of his mouth. “I’ve been a coward until now.”

“Don’t say that. Look, we can get you help,” Partridge says, and he’s relieved to see the man take a step backward, just as the train is speeding their way.

“Sure, help,” the man says, and then, without another word, he jumps forward into the path of the train, the black flap of his jacket curling like burnt paper.

“No!” Partridge yells against the monorail’s rush, and the static of adrenaline in his ears, and the sickening thud of the train ending another man’s life.