Chapter 4
The kitchen felt too bright after the entryway. The overhead light hummed and made everything sharp. I could hear the red light still sweeping past the hallway even though we weren't looking at the door anymore. Zora had pushed the kitchen table against the back of the hall entrance and wedged a chair under the handle of the pantry door like that would help.
My hand wouldn't stop shaking. The phone was hot against my palm.
I stared at the screen because I didn't know where else to look. FINAL NOTICE sat at the top in plain white letters. NYLA BANKS underneath. And the red pill that said SELECTED. The little red circle beneath it was still pulsing, like it was recording.
"Don't keep holding it up," Zora said. She was by the window, peering through the blinds without touching them. "Put it face down."
"I tried turning it off," I said. "It won't."
She came over and took it from me. Her thumb brushed the edge of the red button and I thought she was going to try to close it. Instead her nail caught on the tiny gray text under the pulse. I hadn't even seen it. Three words in a font so small I had to squint.
View retrieval details >
Zora looked at me. "Did you tap this?"
"No."
She tapped it.
The screen stuttered and then expanded. The red didn't go away. A new block of text slid out underneath my name, white on dark gray, formal like a county form.
SUBJECT: NYLA BANKS — SELECTED
STATUS: Designated for continuity retrieval.
INSTRUCTION: Remain at primary residence. Do not attempt self-transport. Retrieval team en route. Non-compliance will extend retrieval perimeter.
I read it twice. The words didn't sound like police. Not arrest. Not detained. Retrieval. Continuity.
"What does continuity mean?" I whispered. My throat was dry.
Zora's jaw tightened. She read it again out loud, slower this time. "Designated for continuity retrieval." She let out a short, hard breath. "That's not a warrant. That's not criminal."
Outside, the SUV's speaker crackled. We both flinched. A man's voice came through, flat and practiced, not shouting. It wasn't the same as the lines from the doorway.
"Nyla Banks, this is continuity response," the voice said, amplified and even. "You have been selected. Please confirm you are at your residence. This is a standard retrieval procedure. Please remain inside and make yourself available at the front door. You are not under arrest."
I felt my knees go weak. That was the line from before. But hearing it again through the glass, with that calm, procedural tone, it was worse than if he'd yelled.
Zora grabbed my wrist. "They say that like it's an appointment."
"It says retrieval team en route," I said. "I'm not under arrest but they want me at the door. What happens if I go?"
She didn't answer right away. She was staring at the second phone on the counter. Hers. The screen still glowed green. ZORA BANKS EXEMPT.
"I've heard this before," she said finally, quietly. "Last fall. Over by Miller County. Remember Mrs. Alvarez's son? He got a notice on his phone, everyone at the church was talking about it. They said some people got selected and some got exempt, like some lottery. They said the exempt ones couldn't be taken no matter what. They said the selected ones just... got moved. For continuity. No one really knew what it meant."
I remembered the rumor vaguely, the way people talked in the diner line after service. I'd thought it was about the National Guard or a study. "You never told me that."
"Because it sounded like gossip," she said. "And because he left. He just left with them. His mom said they were very polite. Like this." She nodded toward the window where the voice had come from.
The voice came again, same script, same pause in the same place. "Nyla Banks, this is continuity response. Please confirm you are at your residence. This is a standard retrieval procedure."
It wasn't angry. It wasn't trying to break in. It was waiting for me to agree.
My finger hovered over the expanded text. Another line had appeared at the very bottom in even smaller print.
Exempt status: non-transferable. Expires if SELECTED subject leaves perimeter unescorted.
I read it out loud. Zora leaned in and read it with me.
"Non-transferable," she repeated. Her voice dropped. "So I can't give it to you. And you can't hide behind mine."
"And if I run, it gets worse," I said. "Non-compliance will extend retrieval perimeter."
The kitchen light buzzed louder. The red flash kept coming, steady now, through the hallway. We were still inside, still barricaded, both phones still lit, one red and one green, and for the first time that night I actually understood what my screen was telling me. I wasn't wanted. I was scheduled to be picked up. And Zora wasn't safe because she could save me, she was safe because the system had already decided she wasn't needed.
May you like
Zora turned her phone over so the green light faced the counter. She looked at my red one still pulsing in my hand.
"We need to figure out how to interrupt this," she said. "Not just wait for them to knock."
