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Unwind, p.24

Unwind, page 24

 part  #1 of  Unwind Dystology Series

 

Unwind
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Page 24

 

  "Were gonna suffocate! I know it!" announces the Mouth Breather.

  "Will you shut up?" says Connor. "Im sure theres more than enough air in here for us. "

  "How do you know? I can barely breathe already—and I got asthma, too. I could have an asthma attack in here and die!"

  "Good," says Connor. "One less person breathing the air. "

  That shuts Emby up, but Connor feels bad having said it. "No ones going to die," he says. "Just relax. "

  And then Hayden says, "At least dyings better than being unwound. Or is it? Lets take a poll—would you rather die, or be unwound?"

  "Dont ask things like that!" snaps Connor. "I dont want to think about either. " Somewhere outside of their little crated universe, Connor hears a metal hatch closing and can feel the vibration in his feet as they begin to taxi. Connor waits. Engines power up—he can feel the vibration in his feet. Hes pushed back against the wall as they accelerate. Hayden tumbles into him, and he shifts over, giving Hayden room to get comfortable again.

  "Whats happening? Whats happening?" cries Emby.

  "Nothing. Were just taking off. "

  "What! Were on a plane?"

  Connor rolls his eyes, but the gesture is lost in the darkness.

  * * *

  The box is like a coffin. The box is like a womb. Normal measures of time dont seem to apply, and the unpredictable turbulence of flight fills the dark space with an ever-present tension.

  Once theyre airborne, the four kids dont speak for a very long time. Half an hour, an hour maybe—its hard to tell. Everyones mind is trapped in the holding pattern of their own uneasy thoughts. The plane hits some rough air. Everything around them rattles. Connor wonders if there are kids in crates above them, below them, and on every side. He cant hear their voices if they are. From where he sits, it feels like the four of them are the only ones in the universe. Emby silently relieves himself. Connor knows because he can smell it—everyone can, but no one says anything. It could just as easily have been any one of them—and depending on how long this trip is, it still could be.

  Finally, after what feels like forever, the quietest of them all speaks.

  "Unwound," Diego says. "Id rather be unwound. "

  Even though its been a long time since Hayden posed the question, Connor knows immediately what it refers to. Would you rather die or be unwound? Its like the question has hung in the cramped darkness all this time, waiting to be answered.

  "Not me," says Emby. "Because if you die, at least you go to Heaven. "

  Heaven? thinks Connor. More likely theyd go to the other place. Because if their own parents didnt care enough about them to keep them, who would want them in Heaven?

  "What makes you think Unwinds dont go?" Diego asks Emby.

  "Because Unwinds arent really dead. Theyre still alive . . . sort of. I mean, they have to use every single part of us somewhere, right? Thats the law. "

  Then Hayden asks the question. Not a question, the question. Asking it is the great taboo among those marked for unwinding. Its what everyone thinks about, but no one ever dares to ask out loud.

  "So, then," says Hayden, "if every part of you is alive but inside someone else . . . are you alive or are you dead?"

  This, Connor knows, is Hayden bringing his hand back and forth across the flame again. Close enough to feel it, but not close enough to burn. But its not just his own hand now, its everyones, and it ticks Connor off.

  "Talking wastes our oxygen," Connor says. "Lets just agree that unwinding sucks and leave it at that. "

  It shuts everyone up, but only for a minute. Its Emby who talks next.

  "I dont think unwinding is bad," he says. "I just dont want it to happen to me. "

  Connor wants to ignore him but cant. If theres one thing that Connor cant abide, its an Unwind who defends unwinding. "So its all right if it happens to us but not if it happens to you?

  "I didnt say that. "

  "Yes, you did. "

  "Ooh," says Hayden. "This is getting good. "

  "They say its painless," says Emby—as if that were any consolation.

  "Yeah?" says Connor. "Well, why dont you go ask all the pieces of Humphrey Dunfee how painless it was?"

  The name settles like a frost around them. The jolts and rattles of turbulence grow sharper.

  "So . . . you heard that story too?" says Diego. "Just because there are stories like that, doesnt mean unwinding is all bad," says Emby. "It helps people. "

  "You sound like a tithe," says Diego.

  Connor finds himself personally insulted by that. "No, he doesnt. I know a tithe. His ideas might have been a little bit out there, but he wasnt stupid. " The thought of Lev brings with it a wave of despair. Connor doesnt fight it—he just lets it wash through him, then drain away. He doesnt know a tithe; he knew one. One who has certainly met his destiny by now.

  "Are you calling me stupid?" says Emby.

  "I think I just did. "

  Hayden laughs. "Hey, the Mouth Breather is right— unwinding does help people. If it wasnt for unwinding, thered be bald guys again—and wouldnt that be horrible?"

  Diego snickers, but Connor is not the least bit amused. "Emby, why dont you do us all a favor and use your mouth for breathing instead of talking until we land, or crash, or whatever. "

  "You might think Im stupid, but I got a good reason for the way I feel," Emby says. "When I was little, I was diagnosed with pulmonary fibrosis. Both my lungs were shutting down. I was gonna die. So they took out both my dying lungs and gave me a single lung from an Unwind. The only reason Im alive is because that kid got unwound. "

  "So," says Connor, "your life is more important than his?"

  "He was already unwound—its not like I did it to him. If I didnt get that lung, someone else would have. "

  In his anger, Connors voice begins to rise, even though Embys only a couple of feet away at most. "If there wasnt unwinding, thered be fewer surgeons, and more doctors. If there wasnt unwinding, theyd go back to trying to cure diseases instead of just replacing stuff with someone elses. "

  And suddenly the Mouth Breathers voice rings out with a ferocity that catches Connor by surprise.

  "Wait till youre the one whos dying and see how you feel about it!"

  "Id rather die than get a piece of an Unwind!" Connor yells back.

  The Mouth Breather tries to shout something else, but instead goes into a coughing fit that lasts for a whole minute. It gets so bad, it frightens even Connor. Its like he might actually cough up his transplanted lung.

  "You okay?" asks Diego.

  "Yeah," says Emby, trying to get it under control. "Like I said, the lungs got asthma. It was the best we could afford. "

  By the time his coughing fit is over, it seems theres nothing more to say. Except this:

  "If your parents went to all that trouble," asks Hayden, "why were they having you unwound?"

  Hayden and his questions. This one shuts Emby down for a few moments. Its clearly a tough topic for him—maybe even tougher than it is for most Unwinds.

  "My parents didnt sign the order, Emby finally says. "My dad died when I was little, and my mom died two months ago. Thats when my aunt took me in. The thing is, my mom left me some money, but my aunts got three kids of her own to put through college, so . . . "

  He doesnt have to finish. The others can connect the dots.

  "Man, that stinks," says Diego.

  "Yeah," says Connor, his anger at Emby now transferred to Embys aunt.

  "Its always about money," Hayden says. "When my parents were splitting up, they fought over money, until there was none left. Then they fought over me. So I got out before there was none of me left, either. "

  Silence falls again. Theres nothing to hear but the drone of the engine, and the rattle of the crates. The air is humid and its a struggle to breathe. Connor wonders if maybe the Fatigues miscalculated about how much air they had. Were all gonna die in here. Thats w
hat Emby said. Connor bangs his head back sharply against the wall, hoping to jar loose the bad thoughts clinging to his brain. This is not a good place to be alone with your thoughts. Perhaps thats why Hayden feels compelled to talk.

  "No one ever answered my question," Hayden says. "Looks like no one has the guts. "

  "Which one?" asks Connor. "Youve got questions coming out of you like farts on Thanksgiving. "

  "I was asking if unwinding kills you, or if it leaves you alive somehow. Cmon—its not like we havent thought about it. "

  Emby says nothing. Hes clearly been weakened by coughing and conversation. Connors not interested in volunteering either.

  "It depends," says Diego. "Depends on where your soul is once youre unwound. "

  Normally Connor would walk away from a conversation like this. His life is about tangibles: things you can see, hear, and touch. God, souls, and all that has always been like a secret in a black box he couldnt see into, so it was easier to just leave it alone. Only now, hes inside the black box.

  "What do you think, Connor?" asks Hayden. "What happens to your soul when you get unwound?"

  "Who says I even got one?"

  "For the sake of argument, lets say you do. "

  "Who says I want an argument?"

  "Ijolé! Just give him an answer, man, or he wont leave you alone. "

  Connor squirms, but cant squirm his way out of the box. "How should I know what happens to it? Maybe it gets all broken up like the rest of us into a bunch of little pieces. "

  "But a soul isnt like that," says Diego. "Its indivisible. "

  "If its indivisible," says Hayden, "maybe an Unwinds spirit stretches out, kind of like a giant balloon between all those parts of us in other places. Very poetic. "

  Hayden might find poetry in it, but to Connor the thought is terrifying. He tries to imagine himself stretched so thin and so wide that he can reach around the world. He imagines his spirit like a web strung between the thousand recipients of his hands, his eyes, the fragments of his brain—none of it under his control anymore, all absorbed by the bodies and wills of others. Could consciousness exist like that? He thinks about the trucker who performed a card trick for him with an Unwinds hand. Did the boy who once owned that hand still feel the satisfaction of performing the trick? Was his spirit still inexplicably whole, even though his flesh had been shuffled like that deck-of cards, or was he shredded beyond all hope of awareness—beyond Heaven, Hell, or anything eternal? Whether or not souls exist Connor doesnt know. But consciousness dues exist—thats something he knows for sure. If every part of an Unwind is still alive, then that consciousness has to go somewhere, doesnt it? He silently curses Hayden for making him think about it . . . but Hayden isnt done yet.

  "Heres a little brain clot for you," says Hayden. "I knew this girl back home. There was something about her that made you want to listen to the things she had to say. I dont know whether she was really well-centered, or just psychotic. She believed that if someone actually gets unwound, then they never had a soul to begin with. She said God must know whos going to be unwound, and he doesnt give them souls. "

 
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