“Yes,” she said.

“Why’s he out and about instead of doing his job?” Aaron’s eyes narrowed.

“He must have been given the day off this year because of the Unwanted daughter. Did they know in advance, I wonder?” She turned to Mr. Stowe.

“Not that I heard. That’s a blow,” Mr. Stowe said. He yawned as they neared their house, number 54-43. “They’ll be cut off from reproducing now—this was their second offense.” Mr. Stowe wrinkled his nose. “They’ll be completely ridiculed by the Wanteds for poor production.”

Mrs. Stowe gave her husband a disapproving glance. “You’ll be careful what you say,” she snapped. “Lest you forget, we’ve a Wanted in our presence now.”

Aaron raised his chin slightly as his parents stood aside at the front door, allowing the boy to enter before them for the first time. “Yes, be careful, Father,” Aaron said coolly, “or I’ll have to report your insubordination for a comment like that.”

Aaron took on a dignified stride as he made his way through the tiny kitchen to the even tinier bedroom that he no longer had to share. It’s true, he thought. Enough mourning. Alex has likely been eliminated by now. The twinge in his gut was soon dulled by thoughts of his now-secured future, and a tiny surge of power. He was Aaron Stowe, the Wanted. And he had a lot more to prove than most, having been born of two Necessaries. Not to mention overcoming the stigma of a worthless twin brother. It was, Aaron knew, a huge accomplishment to have made it to the top like this.

He began to pack his suitcase, a satisfied feeling growing inside him, for tonight would be his last night living with his Necessary parents. Tomorrow he would go to university to be with the others of his elevated status.

The Death Farm

No one spoke during the fifteen-minute bus ride to the Death Farm. It was stiflingly hot. Flies buzzed and darted at the closed windows, unable to escape. When Alex pulled out of his deep daze, he wiped the sweat off his forehead with his upper arm and looked around the bus.

In front of Alex, connected to him by a long chain over the high-backed bus seat, was his neighbor and friend, Meghan Ranger. It was a bit of a shock to see her in this group—she’d had only one infraction, as far as he knew, but it was a double. Singing and dancing. Alex had witnessed it, but it wasn’t he who had reported her. She’d had a pretty voice, too, but Alex was not permitted to think about that. Despite the heat Meghan’s face was white as the moon.

Across the bus aisle was Samheed Burkesh, who was well known to Alex but not necessarily well liked by him. Alex was surprised to see him here too, since the boy had privately boasted to Alex and Aaron only last week that he was going to be in the Quillitary. Samheed was obviously fighting tears and glared furiously when Alex’s eyes landed on him.

“What are you looking at?” Samheed said. But one of the younger governors gave Samheed a warning look. Unwanteds were not allowed to speak—their last words had already been uttered before the Purge.

Alex dropped his eyes and took in a few breaths, vowing silently not to look at Samheed again until … well, ever. Instead he turned his gaze to the seat behind his own, not having noted in the shock of it all who was attached to his other arm. He nearly had to stand in order to see over the high seat back to where the chain led, but he didn’t, since the governors were watching. All he could see was the straight jet-black hair and big, watery blue eyes of someone he was sure had to be a girl, but a tiny girl for thirteen, he thought. She didn’t turn away. Instead she held his gaze, blinking away her tears only once during the long moment.

Her eyes were deep and soulful, with wet black lashes all clumped together from crying. After a moment Alex attempted a half smile. He doubted that she could see his mouth if he couldn’t see hers. But her eyes crinkled the tiniest bit in response, and for some reason it made Alex feel just a little bit good.

There was no one else on the rickety old bus that Alex knew. He thought for a moment about being here alone with the governors. And for some selfish reason he couldn’t quite explain, he felt a rush of something glad, knowing Meghan and the others were there with him. That he wasn’t the only Unwanted in the entire land of Quill.

The bus chugged past the nursery where all of Quill’s trees stood, past the cattle ranch on the way out of town, and along the stark, dingy, gray south wall of Quill for several minutes before the equally bland houses disappeared and the land grew untended and desolate.

Alex’s stomach churned when the driver braked and the bus slowly groaned to a stop in front of the black, solid iron gates of what the people of Quill called the Death Farm.

None but the High Priest Justine and the governors had ever been inside the gates and returned alive, and they didn’t speak of it. Only the people of Quill, in hushed voices, would talk about it now and then, and speculate about how long you might be held there before the Eliminators disposed of you. And just how did they do it? Was it painful? Did they sedate you before tossing you into the Great Lake of Boiling Oil? Alex tried hard not to think of these things, but the harder he tried, the more he thought of them. And so it was almost with relief that he heard the bus door creak open and the governors tell all of the Unwanteds to stand and disembark.

There was a distinct smell—pungent—when the children walked off the bus and gathered along the black gate that led to the farm. It was an uncommon odor, different from the fried smells that came from the Quillitary vehicles. Alex assumed it was burning oil wafting off the nearby lake. He had never been this close to it before, since no one was allowed near it. No one could even see the lake, because the towering cement-block walls that surrounded the land reached all the way up to the barbed-wire ceiling, forty feet above. No one, that is, except the Unwanteds.