Insurgent book online free pdf download

The door opens, and Tobias steps halfway in, the door dividing his body in half. He wears the same jeans as yesterday, but a dark red T-shirt instead of his black one, probably borrowed from one of the Amity. Oh, I brought you something. Take a dropperful every six hours. The medicine tastes like old lemon.

Initiation days, Choosing Days. I was about to rattle off a few more holidays, but only the Abnegation celebrate them. Just the thought of saying the words out loud makes me feel so heavy I could break through the floorboards. He slides his hand over my cheek, one finger anchored behind my ear. Then he tilts his head down and kisses me, sending a warm ache through my body.

I wrap my hands around his arm, holding him there as long as I can. When he touches me, the hollowed-out feeling in my chest and stomach is not as noticeable. I can just try to forget—he can help me forget. But something about his expression reminds me that he does know something about loss.

He lost his mother when he was young. Suddenly I remember him clutching the curtains in his living room, about nine years old, wearing gray, his dark eyes shut. The image is fleeting, and it could be my imagination, not a memory. He releases me. The floor is dark brown tile, and each shower stall has wooden. A sign on the back wall says remember: to conserve resources, showers run for only five minutes.

I wash quickly with my left hand, leaving my right hand hanging at my side. The pain medicine Tobias gave me worked fast—the pain in my shoulder has already faded to a dull throb.

When I get out of the shower, a stack of clothes waits on my bed. It contains some yellow and red, from the Amity, and some gray, from the Abnegation, colors I rarely see side by side.

If I had to guess, I would say that one of the Abnegation put the stack there for me. I pull on a pair of dark red pants made of denim—so long I have to roll them up three times—and a gray Abnegation shirt that is too big for me. The sleeves come down to my fingertips, and I roll them up too.

It hurts to move my right hand, so I keep the movements small and slow. Someone knocks on the door. I open the door for her. She carries a tray of food, which she sets down on the bed. Do you need my help with your hair? Or your shoes? They do not lift, not even for an instant, as she runs a comb through my hair. I get the sense that if I were to whittle her down to her core, she would be Abnegation all the way through.

Her brother, Robert, chose Amity when I chose Dauntless, so he is somewhere in this compound. It is nice to see him again, though.

I wonder what the Abnegation leaders—including my father—were doing. I wish I could believe that of people again. If I ever did. I stare hard at my reflection until she finishes.

I can still feel her fingers brushing the back of my neck, so much like my. My eyes wet with tears, I rock back and forth on the stool, try- ing to push the memory from my mind. I am afraid that if I start to sob, I will never stop until I shrivel up like a raisin. I see a sewing kit on the dresser. In it are two colors of thread, red and yellow, and a pair of scissors.

I feel calm as I undo the braid in my hair and comb it again. I part my hair down the middle and make sure that it is straight and flat. I close the scissors over the hair by my chin.

I cut in as straight a line as I can, using my jaw as a guide. Locks of blond hair surround me on the floor in a semicircle.

I leave the room without looking at my reflection again. When Tobias and Caleb come to get me later, they stare at me like I am not the person they knew yesterday.

Grabbing hold of facts in the midst of shock is very Erudite of him. His hair sticks up on one side from where. The floorboards creak beneath our feet. I miss the way my footsteps echoed in the Dauntless compound; I miss the cool underground air. But mostly I miss the fears of the past few weeks, ren- dered small by my fears now. We exit the building. The outside air presses around me like a pillow meant to suffocate me. It smells green, the way a leaf does when you tear it in half.

Anyone with eyes can see it for themselves. A crowd of people in yel- low walks ahead of us, toward a wide, squat building. The sunlight reflecting off the panes feels like a pinch to my eyes.

I shield my face with my hand and keep walking. The doors to the building are wide open. Around the edge of the circular greenhouse, plants and trees grow in troughs of water or small pools. Dozens of fans positioned around the room serve only to blow the hot air around, so I am already sweating.

But that fades from my mind when the crowd before me thins and I see the rest of the room. In its center grows a huge tree. Its branches are spread over most of the greenhouse, and its roots bubble up from the ground, forming a dense web of bark.

In the spaces between the roots, I see not dirt but water, and metal rods holding the roots in place. I should not be surprised—the Amity spend their lives accomplishing feats of agricul- ture like this one, with the help of Erudite technology. Standing on a cluster of roots is Johanna Reyes, her hair falling over the scarred half of her face.

I learned in Faction History that the Amity recognize no official leader—they vote on everything, and the result is usually close to unanimous. They are like many parts of a single mind, and Johanna is their mouthpiece. The Amity sit on the floor, most with their legs crossed, in knots and clusters that vaguely resemble the tree roots to me. The Abnegation sit in tight rows a few yards to my. I swallow hard, and try to forget. Tobias touches the small of my back, guiding me to the edge of the meet- ing space, behind the Abnegation.

Johanna lifts her hands and bows her head. All con- versation in the room ceases before I can draw my next breath. Every second chafes. By the time Johanna lifts her head I am worn to the bone. A young man shifts so that his small circle becomes a large one with the group next to him.

All around the room, the smaller crowds grow and expand, and fewer and fewer voices fill the room, until there are only three or four. I give him a look. And it makes them care; it makes them kind. But what happens when not everyone wants to strum banjos and grow crops? I expect them to address the rest of us, but instead they stand in a circle with Johanna and the other spokespeople and talk quietly.

I begin to get the. We are done for. When everyone has said his or her piece, they sit down again, leaving Johanna alone in the center of the room. She angles her body toward us and folds her hands in front of her. Where will we go when they tell us to leave? Back into the city, where nothing is safe?

I wipe the sweat from my hairline with the back of my hand. The first is that no weaponry of any kind is allowed on the compound. The second is that if any serious conflict arises, whether verbal or physical, all involved parties will be asked to leave. The third is that the conflict may not be discussed, even privately, within the confines of this compound. And the fourth is that everyone who stays here must contribute to the welfare of this environment by working.

We will report this to Erudite, Candor, and Dauntless as soon as we can. I am not good at avoiding conflict. A moment ago, he was still faintly smiling. Now the corners of his mouth have disappeared into a frown. That evening I return to my room and slide my hand beneath my mattress to make sure the gun is still there.

My fingers brush over the trigger, and my throat tightens like I am having an allergic reaction. I withdraw my hand and kneel on the edge of the bed, taking hard swallows of air until the feeling subsides. What is wrong with you?

I shake my head. Pull it together. And that is what it feels like: pulling the different parts of me up and in like a shoelace. I feel suffocated, but at least I feel strong. I see a flicker of movement in my periphery, and look out the window that faces the apple orchard.

Johanna Reyes and Marcus Eaton walk side by side, pausing at the herb garden to pluck mint leaves from their stems. Once I am outside, I have to be more careful. I walk around the far side of the greenhouse and, after I see Johanna and Marcus disappear into one row of trees, I creep down the next row, hoping the branches will hide me if either of them looks back.

I stiffen, afraid for a moment that she will see me, but she looks only at Marcus. I sink into a crouch and crawl toward one of the trees so that the trunk will hide me.

I may not be Candor anymore, but I can still tell when someone is keeping the truth from me. And if I am not careful, she will destroy it, so that is all I can tell you. Most of the lead- ers of this city risked their lives to protect it from Jeanine and died, and I will not jeopardize it now for the sake of sating your selfish curiosity. The air smells like dirt and apples, and I try not to breathe it too loudly. Both Marcus and Johanna are too preoccupied to notice the movement.

Remember that I have always been your friend, Marcus, even when you did not have many to speak of. Marcus stands for a few seconds, appar- ently stunned, and starts toward the compound. The revelations of the past half hour buzz in my mind. I thought Jeanine attacked the Abnegation to seize power, but she attacked them to steal information—information only they knew.

Then the buzzing stops as I remember something else Marcus said: Most of the leaders of this city risked their lives for it. Was one of those leaders my father? I have to know. I have to find out what could possibly be important enough for the Abnegation to die for—and the Erudite to kill for. I imitated you per- fectly. It sticks, handle out, from a large hunk of cheese they positioned on top of the dresser.

Caleb, stand- ing beside him, stares in disbelief, first at the cheese and then at me. His brown hair is tousled, his shirt buttons in the wrong buttonholes. He is handsome in a careless way, my brother, like he has no idea what he looks like most of the time. He looks so relaxed, his head back, his arm slung over his knee. We stare at each other for a few more seconds than is socially acceptable. Caleb clears his throat. The kid who gave it to me looked at me like I was crazy for wanting to read it.

It sounds like something you might like. When Caleb closes the door behind him, I give Tobias a dirty look. Though I guess. He wraps his hands around my hips and presses me gently against the door. His lips find mine. I wrap my uninjured arm around him, pulling him against me. My fingers find the hem of his T-shirt, and slide beneath it, spreading wide over the small of his back.

He feels so strong. His breaths, my breaths, his body, my body, we are so close there is no difference. He pulls back, just a few centimeters. I did come here for some- thing important: to tell him the conversation I overheard.

I tell him how I followed Marcus and Johanna into the orchard. As I do, I watch his expression. He does not look shocked or curious. Instead, his mouth works its way into the bitter pucker that accom- panies any mention of Marcus. He is an excellent liar. But my instinct was to believe Marcus, and I usually trust my instincts.

Just to be sure? Find a way to take Erudite down. Then maybe we can find out what Marcus was talking about, after this is all resolved. It sounds like a good plan—a smart plan. When I found out that I was Divergent. So I agree. But I do not change my mind. Your email address will not be published. Save my name, email, and website in this browser for the next time I comment.

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