Imminent Threat

by Felisha Antonette

  Imminent Threat

  A Separation Trilogy

  Felisha Antonette

  Copyright © 2020 by Felisha Antonette

  www.felishaantonette.com

  Cover Design by Miblart

  Edits by Novel and Kind

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter One

  I’m free falling, seeking the thrill as my body plummets toward the earth, counting the seconds before it’s time to pull the cord. Wind blasts around me as I drop through the clouds, preparing myself for the point in the sky when I’m more like a rock than a feather.

  My twin brother is falling next to me, his shirt and open jacket flapping in the rushing wind. Goggles covering most of his face, he does what he can to smile with the wind smashing against his cheeks. He gives me a thumbs-up.

  The wind picks up, joining forces with gravity, driving us faster and faster to the ground. I grab the handle of my backpack, ready to pull the cord that will release my chute. I look at Luke, checking if he’s ready. He extends his index finger. I wait but grow impatient. We’re getting closer to open land, a flat, green valley that tricks me into believing it will catch me on its plush grass.

  Luke signals me with a point, then pulls the cord on his backpack.

  I yank mine.

  The parachute blasts from my backpack, swelling as the wind gathers under it, yanking me back into the sky. I float through the air, a gentle descent, though the earth’s tugging me to its core.

  I’ve skydived on hundreds of occasions, practiced this route over and over, but the landing gets me every time. Gravity pulls me down hard, and I tumble to my knees. I push myself up from the ground, feeling the weight of the chute settle on the grass. As I yank off my backpack, I see Luke landing a few feet away. He yells, “Ky, hit the ground running.”

  I’m so caught up in the ride, I nearly forget my objective.

  I tug off my goggles, toss them to the ground, and sprint toward the end of the field. The feeling of sheer weightlessness in the air contrasts to being tethered to the ground, takes a toll on me as I push for speed.

  Luke passes me, sparing a second of his time to give me a contemptuous glare.

  Come on, Ky, I tell myself. Push harder.

  We’re ahead of the others in our death race, and everyone else will know it when they see our black chutes in the valley.

  “Let’s go, Ky,” Luke yells. “Hurry up!” He’s now more than eight feet ahead of me.

  I pick up speed to catch up with him. My brother will kill me if I’m the reason he loses.

  We near the edge of the field as a racer’s plane flies over our heads. Entering a copse of trees, we hasten through the woodland, jumping over large rocks and trunks. Luke tugs my arm, directing me to our left, through thicker bushes.

  A swift whistle blows as something flies past me. Though I recognize the sound and can call its name, I still turn toward it.

  Stupidity.

  The arrow strikes my cheekbone, slashing deep into my flesh. I whip forward, resisting the urge to graze my cheek. Pain surges through the right side of my face. But I ignore it, much as I ignore the annoyed, repulsed expression on Luke’s face as he assesses my injury. Irritation: the state of feeling annoyed, impatient, or slightly angry.

  We head west, dodging more arrows that zip through the air in search of their targets. Around trees and over boulders we race, doing our best to avoid paths we will easily be spotted on.

  They don’t hold back in these races. I stay near Luke as we flee. In the race, you never want to separate from your twin. One fails, you both fail. And worse, if one is badly injured, and the other is too far away, they can’t heal their twin fast enough.

  Finally! An opening is within our reach after minutes spent running and dodging arrows, rocks, and branches.

  I wince, feeling another arrow enter and exit my forearm. I continue to ignore the pain. Stay focused, Ky, stay by Luke. Worry about the pain later. Ignore the pain, I tell myself, pushing forward, trying to stay on Luke’s tail.

  Luke must not be able to feel those two arrows sticking out of his back. He doesn’t falter. The head of each arrow is lodged deep in his flesh. I turn away, looking back to the opening as we burst through.

  Five trucks line the forest’s edge, their wheels pressed on soft, honey blond sand.

  Luke pulls a set of keys from his pocket and hits the button. Lights flash on the black one, second from the yellow truck at the end of the line. The other three are red, blue, and green. We race to it. Without doors or windows, I’m able to swing myself through the back and settle in the passenger seat. Luke climbs into the driver’s seat, starts up the truck, and slams on the gas.

  I’m grateful we aren’t running anymore. My calves are pounding.

  Lights flashing in the passenger’s rearview mirror grab my attention. “Seas and Samantha have gotten into their truck, and they’re coming up fast,” I say.

  I jerk back as he shifts and accelerates. “Two more obstacles. We stay ahead, we win.”

  “Okay.”

  Luke floors the pedal, racing toward the bumps and jumps of the approaching hills. He shifts gears, eyes glued on the obstacles ahead of us. “Just in case, get in the back. We may have to slow at times as we make our way through. Anyone gets too close, slow them down.”

  “I got it.” I climb into the back of the truck and pull my gun from the waistband of my pants. I won’t kill anyone. But I intend to pop a few tires and inconvenience our opponents.

  I’m made aware of the bumps as my body jerks up and down and shifts from left to right. I’m more than aware of the long arrow sticking out from my arm, but I continue to ignore it, trying to keep my head in the game. I hold on to the rail that would have supported the roof as the ride becomes bumpier, and my body frequently lifts from the floor of the truck.

  Seas and Sam’s red jeep races toward us.

  I aim my gun, watching as Sam aims her weapon at me. “Luke, move, now,” I shout, watching her pull the trigger. The truck jerks right, and I hit my injured arm against the railing. I grit my teeth against the pain.

  Luke has kicked up so much sand and dust with his maneuvers to lose the red truck, it’s no longer visible.

  “Hold on,” he yells as the truck lifts into the air.

  I grab a rail to maintain my balance. The truck’s airborne; the ground falls away and then the front end hits hard. I jerk around in the back, trying to remain standing.

  Last year’s competition was far better than this year. We stayed
neck and neck with two other sets of siblings the entire race, battling for first place. They did it for family, but not Luke and me. We do it for us. We give it everything we have and win because they require it of us.

  I’m jerked to the left from the swift movement of the truck. Luke tries to avoid being hit. I crouch down, finding it easier to see.

  The blue truck is trying to ram us. At the speed Luke’s going, if they hit us, we’ll spin out and take them with us.

  I near the edge of the truck, aiming at their front tire. The next time they’re close enough, I’ll shoot them, forcing them to spin out alone.

  It’s Kindred and Randel. They’re brothers, and new to the races.

  I shoot twice. The first shot hits their truck’s left wheel, and as Kindred and Randel spin out, the second shot hits the right.

  “Is your head in this, Ky? There’s no way they should’ve gotten that close,” Luke scolds.

  “I got it!” I yell back at him.

  “Come up here and sit down. I see the next obstacle, I’m speeding up.”

  I climb into the passenger seat, placing my gun behind me. Luke’s on the edge of his seat, avoiding hitting the arrows in his back against the chair.

  The next structure of an actual obstacle course appears in the distance. I can already see where we’ll be crawling on the ground and through tunnels, climbing ropes and walls, swinging across adult-sized monkey bars, and dropping ten feet to the finish line.

  I’m ready. Energy pumps through me as the excitement of winning bubbles in my stomach. I spot the eagerness and readiness in Luke’s eyes. “You ready for this?” I shout over the engine.

  “Hell yeah!” he answers with a grin. This is how we train at home. Winning is a dead cert, and it’s exhilarating: making one feel very happy, animated, or elated; thrilling.

  I love this feeling!

  The sand beneath the tires becomes wooden planks, but Luke shows no sign of slowing down as we approach a wooden railing. At the last possible moment, he slams on the brakes while leaning left, gripping the steering wheel tight enough to make his knuckles go white. The sound of rubber trying to grip wood fills the air, and the truck comes to a standstill mere inches from the fence. We jump from the truck, rushing toward the course. Luke runs to my right side and pushes me forward while forcefully yanking the arrow from my arm. It hurts badly, but I cannot afford to let the pain show.

  I know he wants me to do the same to him, and I ready myself to inflict pain upon my brother. He runs in front of me. We’re almost at the course with no time to waste. I grab both arrows and wrench them out as he jerks forward. He grunts, the only expression of pain he lets out, no trace of it showing on his face.

  I glimpse the blood staining his white shirt as we continue onward. We hit the course, first climbing the three walls with rope. Next, we crawl in the mud under low weaved ropes. I go first, Luke hot on my heels. We swing across the monkey bars, clearing two at a time. There must be thirty of them; the pain shooting through my arm begs me to stop.

  At the last bar, we must hoist ourselves to jump from the bar to the last wall we’ll climb to get to the finish line. I maneuver myself to lift up through the monkey bars, coming to a squatting position.

  Luke flips backward from the last monkey bar with a gymnastic move and lands in the same position. Luke goes first, propelling himself from the bars frog-like and grabbing onto the wall. He climbs.

  I jump after him, but missing my post, I slide down the wall until my hands and feet catch onto a ledge I use to stop myself.

  Luke’s going to be upset at me for missing that jump. The wall is about ten feet tall. The bars are eight. There’s no way I shouldn’t have it.

  “Nice of you to join the party,” Luke says when I make it to his side.

  I roll my eyes as I pull myself up the remainder of the way. “Shut up, Luke.”

  We sit over the edge of the wall in preparation to jump off. Hoots, shouts, cheers, and yells come from the waiting crowd. We leap off the ten-foot wall together, flipping to cushion the impact of our landing. We both land with one knee down and a fist to the ground. Standing in unison, we grab each other’s hands, and lift them in triumph. Another victory is ours for the third year in a row. Luke raises his fist, pumping the air as he hoots his excitement.

  Chapter Two

  We leave the celebration early, taking the bus back home. Even though it is being held in our honor, we have no interest in staying. It’s the same thing every year: people are happy, they drink too much, some fight, some kiss, and others pass out from laughing.

  I follow Luke into his room at our aunt’s house. The silence is soothing. My aunt’s rarely home, and sometimes when we go days without seeing or hearing from her, I think she might’ve met her gruesome ending, like my parents. Maybe I even hope she has. Our mom and dad were brutally murdered in front of Luke and me when we were twelve-years-old. We have yet to find out by whom, though we have our theories. Five years ago, we experienced the worst day of our lives, and because of that and other things, I haven’t been able to sleep by myself since.

  “Good win today, huh?” I say, as Luke slides open his closet door.

  “You know that was no good win.” Luke snatches off his hoodie and throws it in the floor. “Everyone we went against today was weak. It was an easy win. That’s why your head wasn’t in it.”

  I should’ve known this was coming. “I was not distracted. I was focused on the race.”

  “Kylie, you know you were distracted. You…” He turns his back to me, dropping the issue.

  “Come on, let me heal your back so you can fix my arm,” I say, looking over the dried blood stains on his shirt, ignoring his aborted comment.

  He pulls the shirt over his head, tossing it into the trash bin near the door. Blood’s slowly trickling down his back from the gaping wounds left by the arrows. Luke sits down on the bed in front of me. He’s ripped from training and working out so much, and he has a strong stance accompanied with a self-assured demeanor. He can be told nothing, and just like every other boy on this planet, he thinks he knows everything.

  The blood smeared over his back makes it hard to see his injury. I leave to grab a towel and soak it in warm water before wringing it out. I return to the room and sit next to him on the bed. Grabbing his right hand with my right to link the flexion circles they created in our palms, I rest the circled embellishments of my left palm over each hole until it lightens. Beneath my hand, his skin pulls tight as the cells within his body regenerate, and he begins to heal.

  The smaller circles of our palms match each other; they link us when we grab hands, binding our cells. The larger embellishment, the one that’s palm-sized, heals injuries. The scientists required this specifically for the longevity of their Creations.

  After the destruction in 2025, eighty-one years ago, there was a new development formed for the endurance of The America. A day now marked as the Great Establishment. The Premier and the Guidance enforced a change to maintain order in The America.

  Creations were founded; genetically created and trained without particular emotions that would hold normal humans back, and capable of taking the life of another without remorse. They were to enforce order without questioning why. Their loyalty is to the Premier and the Guidance of The America.

  Designed by taking the reproductive eggs of a woman and the sperm of a man, scientists fertilized the egg and infused it with an immunotoxin that would bind the cells of two embryos. They discovered a restoration gene they were able to insert into the embryos that allowed the inseminated twins to heal each other by simply linking their hands.

  This restoration gene created flexion circles in the palms of the twins. These embellishments are embedded throughout the body, making the healing process simple. The Creations’ ability to heal each other allows for a longer life and endurance in fight in worst-case scenarios. The body of a Creation not only makes for the perfect soldier but for the perfect host.

  Luke and
I are Second Generation Creations.

  Luke faces me once I’m done healing him. Using the clean part of his towel, he wipes my arm around the wound. He throws the towel to the floor, grabs my free hand, and wraps his other hand around my forearm.

  It hurts at first, as the cells within my arm begin to regenerate, but the pain quickly lessens. Short, painless pulses crawl through my arm until the soft light emanating from his hand fades.

  I rub my arm, heading to my room. I hate it here.

  Months after my mom and dad were murdered, my uncle became less than uncle-like toward me. Thankfully, Luke saved me, but my uncle didn’t make it out alive. Those things that happened still haunt my dreams.

  I grab my towel from the back of the door and head for the bathroom to wash away the loads of dirt clogging my pores.

  Exhausted, I lie on Luke’s bed, taking my spot nearest the wall. Luke hits the light on his way to the bed. He lies on his stomach, and I place my head to his shoulder as I do every night. Something in him allows me to rest and wipes away the hurt and torturous nightmares. I can’t sleep on my own. The dreams—the memories of my uncle and my parents—I can’t take them. My brother helps keep the memories at bay.

  Something prods me in the forehead. And again. I grumble, waking up to Luke’s arm wrapped around my head, as it is every morning. The muscles in his arm twitch, waking me like an alarm clock.

  I shove his arm off my head.

  “Lukahn and Kylie, come downstairs!” My aunt’s voice cuts through the house like nails on a blackboard.