Toxic Oxygen

When the New Order rebuilt the world one hundred years ago, they forgot one important fact. Evolution is inevitable. It is that simple fact alone that allows me to see what the rest of the world cannot, that we are slaves to the government. That the only reason we have avoided another war is the toxins they pump into the air, clouding our minds to follow them blindly.

They took away free will.

Now I will fight to get it back.

The worn sidewalk clicks under my gray shoes, echoing off of the great wall of glass on my right. The sound bounces through the empty streets, though no one is there to hear it. My knuckles graze the glass and I glance at the dome located in the center of the city.

Keeping my chin forward to avoid the attention of the cameras lining the street, I sidestep and continue on my way, careful not to touch the glass again. I look out of the corner of my eye to see green. Green, green, green. The color goes on for miles beyond that glass wall, so in contrast to the gray of this side.

Countless nights, I’ve dreamed of running between those trees that stand beyond that wall. Barefoot, so that I can feel the grass between my toes and the force of the earth can feed my body, my soul.

There are no trees on this side of the wall. No grass, no flowers or moss or leaves. Nothing grows here.

One hundred years ago, at the end of the Final War, almost nothing grew on Earth at all. The nuclear winter choked out all life, forcing our leaders to unite to save our planet. Their solution was to protect all of nature within great domes of glass, located in the heart of the five remaining cities on Earth.

At first, the people fought. It was wrong that humans could no longer be a part of nature. No one wanted to be shut out. But the leaders of the New Order claimed that oxygen was so scarce that they had to harvest it. They claimed that the only way to save our species was to ensure every atom of oxygen released by the flora was collected.

What they didn’t tell us was that the oxygen they collected was infused with a variation of tetrodotoxin, synthesized in a lab to be nonlethal, but utterly preponderant in every sense of self. It is with this toxin that they enslaved our minds and created a world of gray and right angles and order that they call peace.

I pass the thirty-second lamppost from the dome entrance and inhale. By some small miracle, I was born immune to the tetrotin and was able to learn the truth after growing up trapped in a mindless city. The air diffusing from the top of the post – or as I like to call it, the toxygen – fills my lungs in a steady stream. Only five more steps now. Four, three, two…

One.

I drop to tie my shoe. My fingers fumble with the laces as I again dare a glance at the dome on my side. My heart flutters when I see the crack in the glass, as it does every time I see it. I release a breath and finish with my shoe. Yanking hard on the laces, I ram my elbow into the crack.

Lightning splinters my vision for a fraction of a second as the rock I hid in my sleeve imbeds itself farther into my skin. I suck through my teeth but hold still, hiding any reaction from the camera that I know is fixed to the lamppost behind me. I tug my laces again I stand and continue on my way.

My lips fight against me to tug into a satisfied smile at the slightly larger crack that I leave behind.

The first time I saw the chink in the glass, my breath had hitched in my throat and I tripped, landing on my face. Then, it had only been half the size it was now. But I’d been returning for months now to break down that glass, never daring to return too often.

The crack was hardly longer than a finger, and not quite deep enough to open on the other side. But I was close. So close to breaking that wall and freeing the oxygen. So close to finally running through those trees.

My steps still echoing in the air like phantom feet, I continue along the curve of the dome for another two blocks before turning onto 34th street. The city streets radiate out from the biodome in its center, three hundred and sixty of them, all extending for miles like the rays of a grotesque dying sun.

A few people meander about, walking to and from their workplaces. Most are wearing white lab coats and pale gray scrubs, identical to mine in every way but size. Indeed, most of the residents of 34th street worked in hospitals and pharmacies. Though despite their work, they still breathe the same air as everyone else.

I watch the sky as I walk down the road, letting my feet guide me home as I fiddle with the heart-shaped locket around my neck. Clouds churn above me in the already gray heavens. My skin prickles at the sudden presence of lightning as it splits the sky, ripping open the clouds to release their contents upon us. Those around me do not so much as quicken their steps as the sludge from the sky beats upon their heads. Gritting my teeth, I mirror them flawlessly, no more aware than anyone else to those monitoring the cameras.

Water fills my shoes, sloshing with each step I take. My scrubs stain a deeper gray, though I do not hasten to get home. No, reacting to the rain would only reveal me to be immune to the toxygen, and I would no doubt be dragged away or silenced before I could disturb the order of the Third City. So I walk slowly, not even daring to lengthen my stride.

I turn a corner, spying my building towering among all the other residential buildings on this street. My eyes comb the skyscraper, starting at the top and dragging down, down, down, to the sixteenth floor where my bedroom window gleams dully. The world shakes as I walk into something solid and jump back.

My gaze freezes on the people in front of me. My body locks up.

Five officials of the New Order stand before me, unyielding. Their dark suits swallow the light. The rain beads on their jackets and slides down, leaving them dry. I try to school my features into neutrality as I note the tubes that they wear, leading from small canisters behind their necks to each nostril.

The one in front, a tall man with neatly combed black hair and steely gray eyes, steps toward me. I fight every instinct to take a step back.

“State your name, number, and business.”

“I am Lottie Nierling, number 334890, returning home from the sixth hospital.”

The man took another step forward. “Lottie Nierling, you are under arrest for tampering with the biodome, endangering the lives of the citizens of the Third City. You are to report to the first courthouse with us immediately.”

My breath turns to ice in my lungs. No. They’d found me. But I’d been so careful, only visiting the crack every other week, never openly observing the wall, playing to the cameras’ eyes…

But I’d been caught. It didn’t matter that I was careful, they’d probably been watching me my whole life, since before I knew to hush up and follow the others.

I take a step back, then another. Until I’m pivoting and running, the New Order officers’ pounding footsteps trailing me like thunder. Rain stings my eyes, mingling with tears and scorching down my face as I run faster. Faster. I clutch the locket around my neck, squeezing my great-grandmother’s gift to me tightly as I race back the way I came.

Squeezing, because that worn picture inside, of Nana Lora swinging from a great big tree, is what has given me hope for the twenty-five years of my existence.

Shouts follow me up 34th street, getting louder by the block as more officials join them to hunt me down. Still, I run. Sprinting for that crack in the wall, that last chance at freedom, if not for me then for the world.

I’m faster than the officials, who rely on the tubes in their noses to breathe. That trickle of clean air is nothing compared to the mouthfuls I swallow, the air filling my lungs, my blood and muscles, as I race for the biodome looming above the rooftops.

I burst from 34th street in a wind of pulsing freedom and a sob escapes my lips as I spot the crack in the glass. Not slowing down, I throw myself at the glass, again and again. Kicking and punching and shoving at it. The crack grows, the glass spider webbing away from the epicenter of my hailstorm of feet and knuckles. Yet it does not break.

My feet are throbbing, the flesh of my knuckles torn, by the time the New Order officials reach me. The dark-haired man from before seizes my arms behind me, not bothering with handcuffs as he drags me away from the wall. Officials swarm from my peripherals, my back warming with blood oozing from my beaten hands.

Another choked sob breaks through me, my body nearly collapsing from the onslaught of emotions that shatter through me like a hurricane. I’d failed. After months of chipping away at that wall, of trying to free my city, that stupid wall had beaten me. And I was going to die for it. I sag against the officer holding me, and he leans down to hiss in my ear.

“Be a good girl and come with us. If you’re lucky, the governor will send you to the labs to study your immunity to tetrotin instead of the darker alternative. Wouldn’t you like to help further science?”

I groan, letting my eyelids droop as I lean into the officer. He seems to take that as a forfeit, and his grip slackens on my arms.

Before he can see my ruse, I twist my arms, freeing my right from his grasp. I take a jolting step forward and pull against him. But he now holds my left arm like a vise, his fingers tightening to bruise. My free hand reaches for the heart-shaped locket at my neck, and I see my fate with stunning clarity.

Calm slides over me like a cool, perfectly fitting glove. I yank the locket from my neck. And with all the strength in my body, I hurl it at the crack in the wall.

Time slows as the locket soars through the air. Hands grapple for my free arm, and I don’t fight back. I only watch as the locket flies and pulverizes the glass like a world-altering missile from the Final War.

Warm air explodes from the shattered hole in the wall, pushing us all back. An alarm sounds and people rush into the street from the surrounding buildings.

A smile fills my face, even as I’m jerked through the crowd, my arms bound in steel. Soon, so soon, the people of the Third City will wake up. And they will revolt, and the world will return to how it was before the Final War. Nana Lora’s world will be born anew, a world with trees and animals and freedom. A world with color and light.

Through the rain, I can see New Order officials corralling bystanders back toward their buildings. And it may have been a glimmer from the rain, but I could swear I saw the light return to a thousand pairs of eyes.