6 Digit Passcode (4 page)

I have never been outside of the walls of the city I was born in. Sometimes I dream about running away, but I know I wouldn’t get very far. The Digits are in charge of border patrol, and their punishments are not worth the risk.

Fray has finally stopped crying, but his silence is almost more unbearable. He carries himself in a way that makes him look older than he really is. It both saddens and frightens me.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Crissy asks me, jogging to keep up with my quickened pace. I am anxious; I hope she can’t tell.

“No,” I respond truthfully. “But sulking will only make it worse. I’ve got to do
something
.”

“You
have
been doing stuff. You made dinner last night, and you barely even burnt anything!”

I shove her in the shoulder, but her grin is contagious. I can’t stay mad at her, even with how infuriating she is sometimes. Her heart is in the right place.

“Very funny.” She wrinkles her nose at me and tilts her head back. “And that doesn’t count. I can’t just hide away in your house forever.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a terrible housemate. Your manners are atrocious.”

She puts her hand on her chest and tries to look insulted, but the smile on her face gives her away.

“At least I don’t
snore
.”

“Yes you do. And you can’t exactly deny it. Your mother told me yesterday that you’ve been doing it since you were
a wee little thing
.”

She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something, thinks for a moment, and then closes it again. She glares at me and sticks out her tongue. I return the gesture, and for a moment I forget where I am and why. When it finally occurs to me, flooding back into my brain like a typhoon, the smile on my face is wiped away.

I notice that Fray has been silent the entire walk from Crissy’s house to the school. He has always been a shy kid, but he isn’t usually this reserved around Crissy and me. I can’t blame him for still being shaken, but I hope this isn’t the way he’s going to behave from now on.

We arrive at school with just enough time to branch off towards our respective classrooms before the bell rings. Each grade level has its own room, with teachers rotating positions every few days. Today, my class is being taught by Miss L. None of the teachers have proper names; instead, they use letters to refer to themselves. And each and every one of them is a Digit.

At first glance, Digits can be easily mistaken for humans. They have the same skin, hair, and eye colors as we do, and their bodies are shaped similarly to our own – though most of them are thinner and with more striking features than humans. If you look closely, though, you can see the ridges where their joints connect to each other, like pieces of machinery, and the stiff, smooth quality of their skin. They never age, which makes me think that they are probably the closest things to the archaic
robots
that our ancestors used to build.

But the easiest way of recognizing a Digit is by looking for the microchip in their forehead. Each one has a triangular disk embedded into the space directly between their hairline and their eyes, though I’m not sure what the chips do. Maybe that’s what powers them. The disks are bright red, like a stop sign; like a warning.

The Digits aren’t machines – that much I know for sure. Their bodies may be mechanical, but they can process information and conduct themselves in a way that is entirely human. I want to know more about them, but the teachers won’t tell us anything. That’s why the Digits are in control of the school – so that they can choose what we learn, and what we do not.

History class is first. It’s my least favorite subject next to math, and before Miss L. even begins her lecture I am counting down the minutes until our two hours is up. Maybe I should have waited until Monday to come back.

My classmates all shoot me questioning glances when I enter the room. One of the boys in the back of the room – I can’t remember his name, but I would recognize his bleached hair and the constellation of acne on his face anywhere – asks me where I’ve been all week. He doesn’t sound concerned. I can’t tell if he’s mocking me or not, but I choose to ignore him anyway.

“Welcome back, Miss Garrow.” Miss L. nods at me and doesn’t say any more on the subject. I know she’s aware of what happened to my parents. She could even have been a part of it. Both of the Digits who broke into my house were wearing masks; I doubt I’ll ever know their identities.

“Today, class, we will be talking about the Digital War. I shall start at the beginning, approximately ninety-two years ago. Though I was not present during the event, I can assure you that everything I tell you is one hundred percent factual.”

Miss L. talks like all of the other Digits do: concisely, intellectually, and unemotionally. I’ve seen emotions flicker through the eyes of the Digits before, but never enough for me to believe that they are at all related to humans. They may look like us, but inside they are cold-blooded and unsympathetic.

I don’t know how old Miss L. is. She could probably live forever, since her body will never wither and age like a human’s. Sometimes I wonder if their plan is to increase their numbers enough to get rid of humans entirely, but then I remember how reluctant they are to harm us and I think that perhaps they aren’t as malicious as they appear. I don’t hate them. But I don’t like them, either.

Whenever Miss L. – or any of my other teachers – talks about the race of Digits, she never mentions how they are born – created? – and why. I know better than to ask, but some of my classmates aren’t as reserved as I am.

“Miss?” Marrin, a stocky girl with short blonde hair asks, raising her hand. Miss L. looks at her, but doesn’t say anything. Marrin apparently takes that as permission to continue. “I have a question. I know I’m not supposed to ask, but could you maybe tell us what happened
before
the Digital War? Like, I know that it happened right after the Digits… erm, you know. Came to
be
.”

The more Marrin talks, the more nervous her voice becomes. The look – blank and expressionless as always – that Miss L. gives her, staring at her silently, makes her shrink lower in her seat. She ducks her head and looks up every few seconds, but the teacher’s facial expression has not changed.

“While I appreciate your eagerness to learn,” Miss L. begins, quirking her lips into an unnatural-looking smile, “I’m afraid that your question is entirely inappropriate. History before my people
came to be
is irrelevant. Nothing of importance occurred in that time, so you would do best to keep your curiosity to yourself.”

Though the Digits usually speak in monotone voices with proper vocabularies and grammar, it is easy to tell when they are angry. Their faces and bodies shift into positions that are close to humanesque, but not enough to seem genuine. It’s as if their own emotions twist them into what they really are – imitations of us; imperfect replicas.

Miss L. is upset. Her words directed at Marrin are the equivalent of curses and threats in human language. Marrin puts her head in her hands and tries to make herself as small as she can. She is a rather large girl, but she somehow manages to fade into her desk until she’s practically unnoticeable.

I’m curious about the history of humans as well. I only know about what happened after the Digits took over. All of the history books from before then – and I assume there must have been at least a
few
– are gone, likely burned or buried or locked away somewhere. And electronics are a scarce resource for information; the most we are allowed to possess now are telephones, and the computers at school can only be used to write papers and watch instructional videos. I don’t think there’s anyone alive today who was around before the Digits, but if there is, they must have been warned or threatened not to tell anyone. Not that anyone would believe them, anyway.

We are here, right now. That’s what matters. The Digits possess power over us, whether they choose to exercise it heavily or not, and there is nothing we can do about it. Curiosity is a foolish emotion that is best kept locked away.

They don’t teach us that in school. But we all know that it is perhaps the most important fact that we will ever learn.

Chapter four

Exactly one week after the accident – it’s easier to call it an accident than to remember it as
the day my parents died
– I drop my brother off at Crissy’s house after school and sneak away on my own before any of her family can see me. Crissy is home sick; or at least, that’s what she says. There was a literature test earlier today, and she was perfectly healthy at dinner last night.

Fray gives me a questioning look, and his wide, innocent eyes are almost enough to pull me back alongside him. But I turn away and fight the urge, telling him to go inside and wait for me. I’m not sure what I will tell Crissy and her parents after I come back, about where I am going. Not the truth, that much I’m certain of. 

The walk is short, and the crisp, chilly air bites at my face and the inside of my throat. I pull my scarf up around my neck and draw in a deep breath. I cough, but my lungs feel full. The wind slaps me awake, blowing my hair against my face, and the cold feels good on my skin.

I feel like I’m alive. I inhale sharply, and hold the breath in as long as I can. My body is alert. I haven’t felt this alert since I pulled Fray out of the war zone that used to be our home.

It’s no coincidence that I’m feeling this way now, since I am staring up at the same door now that I was that day.

The outside of our house looks like it hasn’t changed a bit since then. I know without seeing it that the inside has, but nobody who passed by would even notice that two murders took place here just one week ago. Seven days. Has it really only been that long?

It feels like it’s been years. But at the same time, the pain is still so fresh and the nightmares are so vivid that I feel like it has only just happened.

Slowly, I make my way up the stairs. I pause with my hand on the door knob; my fingers are shaking around it, and I shiver. I don’t want to see what’s inside, but I know that I have to. I can’t explain why. I don’t think I really even have a reason.

I swallow and turn the knob. The door creaks open, and I am immediately assaulted by the stench of congealed blood and rotten meat. I pull my scarf over my nose and mouth and tie it tight, but it doesn’t do anything to quell my nausea.

I step inside, expecting to be greeted by my father’s body laid flat on the living room floor. Instead, I see a pool of blood dried into the carpet, and a few broken table legs and books with torn spines that are the only evidence that my father put up a fight. But his body is nowhere to be seen.

I breathe out a sigh of relief that is quickly replaced by panic. This means that the Digits came back here after Fray and I left, and they took my father’s body with them. Did they return to take us away? To kill us, and finish what they started?

I force my eyes away from the blood stain, trying not to think about how far it reaches and how strongly it smells, and make my way up the stairs to the second floor.

The first thing I notice is that the stench is stronger the closer I get to my parents’ room. The second thing I realize, when I enter, is that my mother’s body has not been disturbed. It’s still lying, splayed out and broken, on the floor beside the bed that my brother and I hid under while she died.

I feel hot tears rolling down my cheeks before I even realize that I’m crying.

“Everly?”

I hear a small voice whisper behind me, and I’m so startled that I jump and snap my head up so quickly my neck cracks. Fray is standing with his hands twisted in front of himself, his eyes flickering from my mother’s body to me.

“Fray, what are you doing here?” I ask him after I’ve regained my composure. I face away from him so that he can’t see my tears, even though I know that he already has. “You shouldn’t be here. Go back to Crissy’s house. Please.”

My voice cracks the more I speak. Moisture is gathering in the corners of Fray’s eyes, but he isn’t crying yet.

“I was worried,” he says softly. “You told me we couldn’t go home. Did you lie?”

My chest tightens and I open and close my mouth several times before I find the right words to say to him. How can I tell him that I betrayed his trust without even having a reason to?

“I – I had to. I needed to see it. I couldn’t… I needed to make sure it was real.”
I was hoping that maybe it wasn’t
, I think but don’t say. Some part of me, I realize, was hoping that I would come home to my parents’ smiling faces and a warm house that isn’t bloody and doesn’t smell like death.

Or maybe I was hoping that the Digits that killed my parents would be here. I don’t know what I would have done if they were, and I don’t want to think about it long enough to figure it out.