Expiration Date (Books 1 and 2)

71 A Bunker

Iris~~

Unless my uncle is keeping his posters in the middle of the desert then I don't think that's what he wants to show me. For some reason, I thought it was a good idea to follow him into this forsaken dust land. He's probably luring me out here so he can kill me and leave me for whatever it is that eats things when they die in the desert.

He comes to a stop, and looking back, I can still see the RVs. At least I won't have a problem knowing which way to run.

At our feet is a shiny circular disk with traces of sand scattered over it. Thomas lifts it, revealing a hole of darkness. I back up.

"Don't be nervous. You're going to like this."

I find it hard to believe that I can like anything at the bottom of a black hole.

He descends down into it, and I push my better judgement aside and place my foot on a rung of a ladder. If he wanted to kill me, he could have shoved me down the hole. Somehow that thought comforts me.

My feet come to land against what I'm sure is metal—it feels solid—and I let go of the ladder's rungs.

"Let me get the lights," Thomas says from somewhere in the dark. A moment later fluorescent lights flicker on over me, revealing an arsenal. The main weapons are guns of all kinds that line polished shelves. In a box to the right are what look like bullet proof vests. The only thing that's missing is a trashcan for me to throw up in. Of course, there's an underground arsenal. They're rebels.

Thomas must trust me somewhat. You wouldn't show someone you didn't trust a bunker full of weapons they could use against you.

He runs his hand over a machine gun like I can imagine Arthur doing to a car. "I want you to help us, Iris."

I need that trashcan. "With what?"

One section of a wall is devoted to crossbows. He picks up an arrow and examines the tip. "The aliens."

I nearly choke. "Excuse you?"

He looks at me. "Hmm?" Great. My long-lost uncle ends up being insane.

"You said aliens."

Laying the arrow down, he nods. "Yes. In the Society."

"I've been to the Society. I didn't see any aliens."

He holds up his Marked arm. He'll be dead within thirty years. That's more time than I was ever supposed to have. "Where do you think these come from?"

I don't answer—probably not the smartest move when the man you're refraining from answering is surrounded by weapons.

"The aliens," he answers for me. "What human can predict an Expiration Date?"

I want to tell him that it's a computer algorithm, but Jonas himself told me that whoever it is that gives Expiration Dates are a they and not an it, and besides most people don't think it's an algorithm either. That's a conspiracy theory. I know I've been near the people Jonas was referring to. But aliens? I want to hate myself for thinking this, but why does it have to make sense?

"Is Erik an alien then?"

"They're all aliens."

No. Jonas isn't some alien species. That's ridiculous. I kissed him. Wouldn't I have been able to tell if he wasn't human?

Thomas places his hands just below my shoulders and looks me in the eyes. Is this what it would have been like to look into my father's face?

"I need you to help take down the Society."

At first, I had my heart set on destroying the Society and then it was set on changing it. Now I want to live. I don't want to get mixed up in rebellions and chaos. I'm the one who's Expired. I'm the one who can die. I'm not risking my life for something I can't fully believe in.

"Help me remove the alien infestation."

Seriously, where is that trashcan? I want to clutch my stomach, but my uncle stands too close. "How?"

He moves one of his hands to pick up my left arm. "With this—your Expiration Date."

I step back, and I pull my arms to me, crossing them. If I wasn't Expired, if I was going to die in a few weeks, they wouldn't want me. They want to exploit me because apparently that's all rebels ever do with me. Shoot that target. Punch him. Destroy that. I've never loved my Expiration Date—that's understandable, but in the course of my life, it kept me from having a family, it caused me to be abandoned when my directors were killed, it has me hunted by the Society, and now it has my own uncle wanting to exploit it to destroy the Society.

"You are going to pierce the Society in their heart." His expression has such pride. "You are our weapon against the Society."

My stomach churns and I swallow down bile. Of all words he had to choose, he chose those. "What if I don't want to be? What if I want to hide? What if I just want to rest?"

"If you refuse, it means you're on the Society's side."

"I just want to get away from them. They want me dead. I'm—I'm sorry."

"It's our responsibility to save this country." But why? Who said so? What has this country ever done for me? Has it done anything for him?

I twist away from him. "Can I have the night to think over it at least?"

He pats my shoulder. It's not as comforting as he probably thinks. "Of course."

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