“Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed, to me: I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” Those poetic words were penned by the 19th Century American poet, Emma Lazarus. As Lauren Kirk-Cohen concludes her series, Eye on The Pen, those poetic words should quickly jump to mind. We cannot claim to be free until all are free.

Continues from Eye on The Pen III

Life outside the wall is as different to life with the Masters as day is to night. We are allowed to go wherever we like, and eat whenever we please. No one kicks or hurts us if we step out of line – indeed, there is no line to step away from.

We do have certain chores we need to do as living in part of the community, such as collecting fire wood, gathering food, or mending clothes.

Andrew and happily I do everything that is asked of us – we’ve so overjoyed to be away from the Masters, we’d do anything for our new people. However, there are some conflicts.

“So what?” Andrew says in our second week, frustrated. “Yes, it’s a risk, but there are people dying in the pen right now! How can you just sit there knowing there may be a chance to rescue them?”

“There is no evidence that it is possible,” Yerin says bluntly. “None of us wants to get captured by the Masters – quite apart from our own deaths, they would no doubt torture us into revealing the location of this camp, and then we’d all be dead.”

I put my hand over Andrew’s while he fumes quietly. “We’ll think of something,” I murmur. He opens his mouth to protest, but something in my eyes stops him. He can see I have a plan.

I lead him back to our tent and make sure the flap is closed before speaking. “They aren’t against rescuing the runners in the pen,” I point out. “They just don’t think it’s possible and they don’t want to waste their lives for nothing.”

“Well how are they ever going to find out if it’s possible if they don’t try!” Andrew says angrily. “I was in that pen, I know what it was like –”

“We’ll just have to show them,” I say, cutting him off. “We need to find some way to rescue the people in the pen, to prove it’s possible.”

“And how are we supposed to do that?”

“Don’t worry,” I say, “I have a plan…”

“Your plan is insane,” Andrew hisses. I don’t answer. He wouldn’t be coming with me if he thought it wouldn’t work. We didn’t ask permission to leave the camp, not sure whether it would be granted. We sneak out past the sentries and back towards the city.

Neither of us speaks, but I can almost feel the fear radiating from Andrew. We’re both terrified, but this is the only way.

We know where to go now. Like shadows, we slip past the guards and make our way into the mine. The eye is back on the edge of the pen, watching the runners. Evidently the Masters somehow repaired it.

“Here,” I say, pulling Andrew onto a relatively flat rock. We sit and watch. The only way to find out whether it’s possible to rescue someone from the pen is to gather information on it. We watch all night.

For three nights, we watch the pen before we see something that helps us. One of the weakest people in there is close to death – despite our attempts to give all of them food and water. His breathing is laboured, rattling in his throat. He is probably minutes from death.

A beam of light shoots from the eye into him. He glows for a second, then goes back to normal.

“Andrew,” I whisper, grabbing his arm. “Did you see that? I never thought before – the eye can’t remember everyone it ever sees. It must give back its memory of the person just before they die.”

Our eyes meet for a second before we are moving. Andrew and I grab the man, pulling him out of the pen. His eyes flutter weakly. “Drink,” I say, pushing the water skin at him. I wait with bated breath, but without the eye on him, the will to live returns. He gulps greedily.

“Come on,” Andrew says. “We’re getting you out of here.”

Six days later finds us with a rather grumpy Yerin. “You could have gotten all of us killed!” she says angrily.

“The eye somehow vanishes the bodies once they’re dead, we’ve seen it,” I say, ignoring her outburst. “But there is about a minute before that when it lets go of the memory of the person. We can rescue them and the Masters will never know.”

Yerin looks like she has more to say about our recklessness, but seeing the man we rescued hovering behind us, she relents. “I suppose we could send a few people out per night to watch for opportunities.”

“Thank you,” I say, trying to keep the triumphant grin off my face.

Andrew’s hand finds mine as we turn away. The Masters will never know that we have won.

The End

Eye on The Pen I

Eye on The Pen II

Eye on The Pen III

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