Crossed (Matched, #2)

by Ally Condie

I pull myself over the edge of the cliff, a smile on my face, and then I look up. We are not alone.

But the look on Indie’s face tells me that she sees the truth and in my mind I know it too.

“How long have they been dead?” I ask. “Long enough,” Indie says. “A week, maybe more. I’m not sure.” There’s a hard edge to her voice. “Whoever did this might come back. We have to leave.”

Where is the Rising? “We have to leave now, Cassia,” Indie says behind me. “No,” I say. “We can’t leave them here.”

“This is how Anomalies die,” Indie says, her voice cold. “The two of us alone can’t change it. We have to find someone else.”

“We seem to be climbing up all of the time,” Eli says, a little out of breath. “We are,”

“The part where we entered was low in the water. The part where we’re coming out is high. See? When we climb out, we’ll be above that huge plain.”

“So who do you think it is?” Vick asks. “Some think the Pilot is the leader of a rebellion against the Society,” I say, and Eli’s eyes light up with excitement. “The Rising,” Vick agrees. “I’ve heard that, too.”

“It could have given them some hope,” Eli says. “What good is that if there isn’t anything to back it up?”

“I heard about the Pilot from someone back home,” Vick says. He pauses. “What happened to them? Your parents?” “They died in a firing,”

I don’t know if the port still worked or if someone told the Society about the meetings. But they were gathered together when the firing started. Almost everyone died.”

“If he was, he’s dead now,” I say. “And he took our whole village with him.” “He didn’t kill them,” Vick says. “You can’t blame him.” I can and do. But I also see Vick’s point.

“Up on a plateau,” I say. “I went to see the rain come down.” “Like the decoys who tried to get the snow,” Vick says. “But you didn’t die.”

“We got away from the Society and made it into the canyon. We found the cave with the maps and we escaped the township before anyone found us.”

I don’t believe in the Society or the Rising or any Pilot or good and bad luck. I do believe in Cassia.

flashlights illuminate a series of paintings and carvings on the walls inside. Eli stops in his tracks. I know how he feels. I remember the first time I saw carvings like these.

“Who did this?” Eli asks, breaking the silence. “A lot of people,” I say. “The paintings look more recent. They look like the farmers’ work. The carvings are older.” “How much older?” Eli asks. “Thousands of years,”

I woke right when they leaned down for me in the dark with their mouths open to say the things they always said: There’s nothing to fear. Come with us. But I hit them before they could speak.

There were six of them and only one of me. Patrick and Aida weren’t awake yet. “Come quietly,” the Officials and Officers said. “It will make it easier for everyone. Do we have to gag you?” I shook my head.

“This one was supposed to be easy; he’s been compliant for years. But an Aberration is still an Aberration.”

No. I don’t want to think about Patrick and Aida and what happened next. I love them more than anyone in the world besides Cassia, and if I ever find her, we will look for them.

Head down, hands locked behind me. And then. My name. She cried out my name in front of everyone.

her eyes looking only at me, and then she pointed to the sky. I know you meant that you would always remember me, Cassia, but I’m afraid you might forget.

Vick begins to laugh. “What is it?” “I hope you chose better than I did,”

“These looked like something I saw once back in Tana. It turns out they’re all the same thing.” “What are they?” I ask. “Some kind of history,”

I’ve done a little better. I have some poetry and two books full of stories that are not among the Hundred. I glance over at Eli’s pack. “We’ll have to ask Eli what he brought when he wakes up.”

In the year before the Hundred Selections began, the Cancer Eradication Rate remained stagnant at 85.1 percent.

Those at the highest level of Official voted to eliminate distractions such as excess poetry and music while retaining an optimal amount to enhance culture and satiate the desire for experiencing art.

This was the beginning of the Society’s abuse of power. They also ceased to have each generation vote

The Society began to remove Anomalies and Aberrations from the general population and isolate or eliminate those who caused the most trouble.

The poem references two important aspects of the Rising: 1. A leader called the Pilot directs the Rising and 2. Those who belong to the Rising believe it is possible to cross back into the better days of the Society—the time before the Hundred Selections.

“None of the other decoys recognized the words,” Vick says. “You’d think more Aberrations would have known about the Rising and told their children.”

“I wasn’t leading you anywhere,” I say. “The farmers knew about the Rising. But I don’t think they were part of it.”

“Gathering people to bring to the Rising. But you came into the Carving to save yourself and get back to the girl you’re in love with. That’s all.”

This compass won’t work, of course. It can’t open. The arrow will never spin, but I carve anyway.

She stands on top of the hill again. A small round piece of gold in her hands: the compass.

Xander waits behind her. He holds out his hand. “He’s gone,” he tells her. “I’m here.” His voice sounds sad. Hopeful.

“You were having a nightmare,” he says. “What about?”

No spinning. No alteration. Like me with Cassia. Locked on one idea, one thing in the sky.

he says, and the tenderness in his voice brings tears to my eyes. “Cassia, it’s me.” I can’t speak; I reach out my arms, smiling, crying, so glad not to be alone.

It’s a waste of water to cry, I tell myself, but I can’t seem to stop. The tears stream down my face, making paths in the dust. I try not to sob;

I’m so afraid, I think. For me, for Ky. I thought that we were in the wrong canyon because I couldn’t see any trace of him. But if they turned him into ash, I would never know where he had been.

Indie and find myself wondering if she is really my friend. Maybe she’s a spy, I think, sent by my Official to watch me fail and die in the Carving so that the Official knows how her experiment played out all the way to the end.

My mind sorts through all the variables at play: exhaustion, dehydration, excess mental strain, insufficient food. This was bound to happen.

I remember that flicker in her eyes as she lied to me outside the Museum in Oria. She didn’t know who put Ky’s name in the Matching pool.

the hollow where the blue tablet was, expecting to see empty space. But there’s something there—a small strip of paper.

Occupation: Medic. Chance of permanent assignment and promotion to physic: 97.3%.

The information I never did view on the microcard; all of the things I thought I already knew.

The next paper says: Full name: Xander Thomas Carrow. A memory comes back to me, of myself as a child in the Borough waiting for Xander to come out and play. “Xander. Thomas. Carrow!”

miss Xander, and I can’t seem to stop myself from tearing into more of the tablets—not to swallow down any more blue, but to see what the scraps say: Has lived in Mapletree Borough since birth. Favorite leisure activity: swimming.