The Unadjusteds

by Marisa Noelle

  “God and Heaven had nothing to do with it,” I call after him.

  He runs back to me and crouches so we’re eye level. “Thank you.”

  I shrug. “If you could just keep the noise to a minimum. Dad and I haven’t spent a day in this forest without hearing helicopters. Or wolves.”

  “Wolves?” He looks both ways. “I don’t think they’d attack me.”

  “They aren’t normal wolves.” I pick up my pack, check my compass, and point the direction to Joe.

  “How so?” Joe pushes a thick branch out of his way. It cracks off the tree and falls to the ground. “Oops.”

  I can’t quite suppress a giggle, then admonish myself for laughing when both my parents are at the mercy of the most evil man in the universe. “Altered wolves run in these woods and have mated with the real wolves. It’s made for some interesting genetic offspring.”

  “Ew,” Joe replies, and I laugh again. “I mean, that’s gross. Why would you want to… Never mind.” He swats flies from his face, and ferns cower as he storms by.

  “The other day I saw one with a scaled tail instead of fur.”

  “Like a snake’s tail?” A branch whips back on Joe’s face. He doesn’t even rub his cheek.

  “Yeah. It’s probably not the only weird thing we’re going to see.” A sense of foreboding tears through the morning.

  For the first time, Joe’s voice drops. “Roger that.”

  The morning drones on. We walk, sipping at our water bottles and slapping at the insects. I use the hem of my shirt to wipe the sweat from my brow, but within only a couple of hours, it is damp with humidity and sweat too.

  I throw my knife at a tree and miss. Retrieving it, I try again. As we walk, I throw and collect. Throw and collect. Gradually, my aim improves.

  “Did you drop out of school to join the NFL?” I ask as we wade through a particularly dense area of the forest. Although we’re mostly in shade, the summer heat closes in around us.

  Joe clears his throat. “Nope. Actually, I condensed my diploma and managed to graduate after junior year.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “I thought bulks were…”

  “A few beers short of a six-pack?” He chuckles. “We’re not all brain-dead fools, you know.”

  “Not after years of playing football. You’d smash all those brain cells out.” My foot slips over a moss-covered rock, and Joe grabs my arm to steady me.

  “I like football, Silver. And I was good at it. If I wanted to take it seriously, I needed the pill.” He makes a resigned clicking noise inside his cheek. “Otherwise I would have been killed out there on the field.”

  “And then your knee.”

  “Yeah.” He sighs. “After only six months of playing.”

  “Will you go back to it?” I eye him out of my peripheral vision. Sunlight caresses his unblemished skin. Mosquitoes buzz near but quickly fly away when they can’t penetrate him. “When this is all over?”

  A rabbit scampers over my feet and disappears into a clump of wild jasmine. The rucksack digs into my shoulders and I long to sit down and rest.

  “I’m not sure there’s going to be anything to go back to,” Joe says quietly.

  A distant whop of helicopter blades makes me reach for my knife.

  Joe pulls a machete from his belt, a glinting mass of metal that catches the filtered sunlight. It makes my knife resemble a toy. He stands, finger on his lips, head cocked to one side.

  “What is it?” I whisper.

  “I think we’re being followed.”

  A growl rumbles from the undergrowth at my back. Another growl from the left. The bushes rustle. More snarls surround us.

  A wolf leaps at me. Completely black, right down to its flashing pupils, except its stained, snarling teeth. I duck low and under its belly, my karate training coming in handy, and slash my knife above my head. Warm blood drips onto my face and the wolf squeals. It lands heavily, but it isn’t dead. It turns and prepares to launch itself again.

  “No, Silver!” Joe dashes in front of me. With one flick of his wrist, he slices its belly in two. Joe pushes me back, shielding me from the five others. They begin moving in as one, slowly tightening the circle. A blur of fur streaks toward us.

  Joe leaps left, then right, slashing at the wolves. Blood coats the animals’ fur and they whine and yelp. A white wolf strikes at me. I roll away from Joe, dodging it. I pop onto my feet and lunge as the wolf attacks again, both of us snarling. My blade sinks into its chest. As it dies, I retrieve my knife and turn to face the others.

  Joe stands alone in a circle of dead wolves, blood glistening on his arms and face.

  My mouth falls open. “You took out five wolves on your own. How?”

  Joe surveys the damage he inflicted. “I’m not really sure. I used to go hunting with my dad. Deer, mostly.” Joe’s hand trembles as he wipes the bloodied blade on his trousers.

  Joe sheathes his knife then tears his bloody shirt from his body.

  The scent of death hangs in the air. Flies buzz. We look at the black wolf. With its death, I can see it had been a human altered. A hint of blue in its eyes and a human curve to its lips. Its paws are crossed as a person might fold their arms across their chest.

  I look up at Joe. “You saved me. Again.”

  Joe smiles. It lights up his face. “It was the least I could do for you giving me that regeneration pill.”

  We leave the wolves behind and carry on through the woods.

  “I could have helped more. I am a black belt in karate, you know.” As soon as I say the words, a flush of shame heats my cheeks. Claus would be upset. The first thing he ever taught me was humility. That karate is, first and foremost, a form of defense, and you should never be happy about having to use it. But with all the evil in the world, I still wrestle with the idea. There are people out there who need to pay for their sins.

  Joe’s smile widens. “Oh, is that what you called those little flicks back in the house?”

  “I was dehydrated and wounded!” I slam a front punch at his bare chest and yelp. Of course he doesn’t feel it. I am no more than an annoying fly, and now my knuckles ache.

  Chuckling, Joe rolls his eyes. “Do I really have to protect you from yourself, too?”

  Sliding my knife back into its sheath, I turn before the urge to punch him again overcomes me. “It’s all right for you, you’re immortal.”

  Joe’s eyes dim, the honey color darkening into a burnt almond. “I’m not immortal, Silver. I have my weaknesses.”

  “Like what?”

  Joe stops at the edge of a trickling stream that winds around the tree trunks. A delicate rain falls from the humid sky like glitter. Joe takes a knee and splashes the water over his bloody arms and chest, then points at the hollow of his throat. He points at the nape of his neck. Then he taps the back of both knees. “Each of those four spots contains a small area that can be penetrated. Bullets, knives, teeth.”

  “I didn’t know that.” My father was responsible for inventing the bulk nanite. He must’ve controlled the imperfections so that nothing immortal will ever exist.

  Joe splays his hands, an earnest expression. “And now you know how to kill me.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Joe,” I say, keeping my hand well away from the hilt of my knife. “You just saved me from a pack of wolves. And from the army. Thank you.” I kneel next to him and wash the blood from my arms and face.

  “Not a problem.” His gaze lingers.

  I hold his stare. “We’re a good team.”

  Joe smiles. “We are.”

  He flicks me with water, and I cup my hands and pour some over his head. He laughs, and the sound warms my insides, revealing a wry humor that has been missing in my life for as long as I can remember.

  Joe pulls on a new T-shirt and picks up his pack. “Shall we keep moving?”

  “Of course.” The heat of a slow blush spreads up my neck. As we walk, the pendant sways back and forth in its own rhythm. Sunlight bounces off the
metal, throwing dancing reflections into the trees.

  The glittering rain stops, leaving behind sparkles that lend the forest a magical quality. I wouldn’t be surprised if a centaur galloped out from behind a tree. I chuckle, realizing such whimsical thoughts aren’t so farfetched. Human and horse DNA can be spliced together easily enough. It’s more surprising that it hasn’t been done before. But with Earl in the lab, new creations won’t be anything as benign as a centaur.

  I open my mouth to ask Joe a question, but before I can speak, he presents me with a posy of wildflowers.

  “Thought it would cheer you up.”

  Among the flowers, the larger petals of bright yellow asters frame white buttercups. He holds it to my nose and I inhale deeply.

  The heady scent brings a lump to my throat. My mother used to put out fresh flowers on the dining table every two weeks. Lilies are her favorites. And often tulips. But in the two years since she was taken, the vases have remained empty, their glass murky and stained from the memories of the flowers that once were. That last bunch lived on the table for over six weeks before either of us had thought to throw them away; the water dry, the vase turned opaque from the moldering stems, and the flowers themselves hard and brittle and leached of color.

  “When my father and I went hunting,” Joe says, lifting the posy to his own nose, “I always came back with a posy for my mother. It seemed to soften the kill somewhat, or perhaps it masked the blood on our clothes.”

  Our arms brush, his shirt creating a static electricity against mine. “That’s lovely, Joe.”

  He pulls out one of the yellow asters and places it behind my ear. I tuck it deeper into the strands of my hair. It’s been years since I put a flower in them.

  His eyes suddenly dart away and he holds a finger close to my lips just as I’m about to say something. “Shhh.”

  I follow his eyeline. Ahead, a doe lies on the ground, its flank dripping an ugly wound. Joe grips the handle of his machete.

  “No, Joe.”

  “We need to eat,” he whispers out the side of his mouth. “Although we’ll lose a chunk by cutting around that bite mark. I’m not willing to take my chances with infected meat. Looks like a nasty wound.”

  I nod but close my eyes. After a sickening thwak and a subsequent thud, I know it’s all over. When I open my eyes, the mournful, brown eyes of the doe stare back up at me. Joe splits the body the length of its belly.

  I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t know how you can do that.”

  Arms elbow-deep in intestines, Joe looks up. “You get used to it.” Small slicing and hacking noises come from behind. “Nearly done!”

  The small little wet sounds continue, and I hunch my shoulders against them. I can’t move. All I can think about is the doe behind me, being sliced into an unrecognizable mess. Not a wolf. Not a hellhound. An innocent prey animal.

  It didn’t deserve to die.

  But Joe is right: we need to eat.

  “Would you mind grabbing some wood for a fire?” Joe asks.

  I nod and push myself to my feet. At least I can avoid the smell of blood for a while. Walking away, I gather a range of twigs and sticks, remembering the summers of camping. Which reminds me of Matt. And then my mother and father. All of it.

  I dump the sticks at Joe’s feet and remove the pictures of my family from my rucksack, examining their smiling faces. Matt’s sandy blond hair, always in need of a haircut, looking as though he’s just come from the beach. His depthless blue eyes are piercing even in a one-dimensional photo, and his T-shirt emphasizes the muscular curves of his body. My chest tightens. He should be at the cave by now. Then my gaze shifts to my parents. A photo I took on the last family vacation we were allowed. Mountains in the background. Their faces slightly in shadow but smiling. Bunny ears behind my dad’s head.

  I cradle one picture in each hand and kiss them both. Tears fall silently, which I wipe away with the back of my hand.

  “Silver?” Joe crouches at my side, his hand on my shoulder.

  “Please don’t touch me.”

  His hand falls to his side and the look of sympathy in his eyes almost makes me lose it completely. “I know it’s hard.”

  I nod. “For you too.”

  His voice is quiet. “For everyone.”

  “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to any of them.” I sniff up the tears. “I just… It’d break me.”

  Joe’s hand wavers in front of me. “We can’t think like that. We just have to keep moving.”

  “I know.” I shove the photos back in my pack.

  I sniff a couple more times, wipe my eyes and present Joe with my most cheery smile, which doesn’t fool either of us.

  “That’s the spirit,” he says, patting the ground beside him. “Now, come sit by the fire.”

  I crawl over to a small, flickering fire, sticks of meat already roasting and filling the darkening air with a new aroma. The doe’s carcass has disappeared.

  “Thanks, Joe.” I nudge my arm against his.

  He just smiles and hands me a stick. He watches me as I nibble cautiously, his eyes catching the light of the fire. When I don’t retch the meat back up, I eat some more.

  “So, boyfriend?” Joe asks, licking his fingers.

  I splutter. Joe laughs.

  “Isn’t that a little personal?”

  Joe shrugs his massive shoulders. “Reckon if we can talk about incarcerated parents we can talk about boyfriends.”

  “No!” I throw the empty stick onto the fire. “I do not have a boyfriend. I’ve been living under armed guard for two years. No guy is going to go near that.”

  “Ah, don’t sell us guys too short, just because we don’t always think with our brains.” Joe taps his head and offers me a goofy smile.

  Laughing, I throw a pinecone at him.

  “It’s just that, the whole time I’ve been with you, you keep touching that necklace.” He nods at my pendant and wipes a dibble of meat juice gathering in his cleft. “Like someone special gave it to you.”

  “Matt. Just Matt.” But he’s so much more than that. “He’s my best friend.” I finger the necklace as a nagging hope flutters into my chest. Please be safe. “I always thought he and Diana would be a couple.”

  “Diana?”

  I sigh. “Our other best friend. Nanite death on her thirteenth birthday. She was a swimmer.” I take the acorns out of my pocket and rotate them in my hand like tiny stress balls. “I think it was her fifth pill, and I don’t even remember what. Maybe shark something or other, but it killed her at school.” I’m so used to telling this story that I hardly even feel it anymore. Except right now. A whole medley of resentment, anger and loss slices through me.

  Matt and I sat there holding her in the hallway for over an hour, not letting the ambulance crew near her lifeless body. She hadn’t even wanted the pill. Served to her in a cupcake for her thirteenth birthday by her pushy, fairy-winged parents.

  I throw my knife and it lands square in the middle of a trunk.

  “I’m sorry. I lost a friend that way too.” Joe raises his hands to the flames, rubbing them together. “Does the knife stuff help?” He swivels his head from me to the tree.

  “Not really.” I launch to my feet, stalk to the tree and wrench the knife away. I re-join Joe and flop to the ground, stabbing another piece of meat with the blade. The yellow flower falls out of my hair and drops into the fire, burning out of existence in a few seconds.

  Joe rests a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. “You OK?” The warmth of his fingers presses into my tense muscles.

  “I will be.”

  “Thatta girl.” Joe pauses, then points to the knife. “I’m impressed with how quickly you’ve picked that up. You’re getting really good at throwing.”

  “I better be,” I say. My hands grip the hilt so tightly my fingers ache. “I’m planning on doing that to President Bear’s face.”

  Joe laughs. “I’ll be in line right behind you.”


  Joe hacks through the ferns with his machete. The sun presses down on us and I realize the gaps in the trees are bigger. Rhododendrons line our route, their large purple flowers adding to the hope in my heart, but trepidation lessens it as I realize how easily we can be seen.

  Today, I’m sure we’ll reach the edge of the forest and find the cave system. The trees thin as we walk, and wide meadows full of wildflowers and tall grasses offer idyllic resting spots. By mid-afternoon I know I’ll have a sunburn. We stop for frequent rests and water but never stay long.

  Anticipation pushes us onward. We lose the stream, and our canteens run dangerously low. I’m beginning to worry about our water supply; our path is lined with only bushes and ferns. Joe keeps one eye on the sky and I keep swiveling my gaze, looking for an ambush.

  “I think we’re almost there.” Despite my weariness, my pace quickens.

  We trudge up an incline and pause on a ridge to inspect the valley from the cover of the few fern clumps.

  “Any idea where now?” Joe asks, parting a gap in the ferns.

  I close my eyes and breathe deeply, imagining I can smell freedom. The melody of my new song floats through my head. I’ll have to play it for Matt when I can get my hands on a guitar again.

  With Matt’s instructions in my mind, I scan the valley. The vegetation is thin and doesn’t conceal much, but a dense pocket of fir trees a mile or so farther stands out. That must be where the entrance to the cave is concealed.

  I point. “There.”

  Joe and I scramble down a steep descent to the valley floor. There’s no cover here. If a helicopter appears, we’ll be caught. With my heart thudding in my chest, we scamper down the hill as quickly as we can manage, throwing worried looks back at the cover of the forest. We trip over the uneven ground as pebbles and loose dirt skitter under our feet.

  Arriving at the base of the clump of trees, we stand close together, uncertain what to do now or how to find the entrance. The bushes part and we duck. I prepare myself to fight.

  “Hello, stranger.” The voice from the dense foliage startles me.

  A few seconds later Matt appears, smiling.

  “Matt!” I throw my arms around him and squeeze hard enough to keep the emotions inside. I’ve never been so glad to see anyone. He holds me just as tightly and buries his face in my hair. Then he pushes back a little and plants a big kiss on my cheek, catching the corner of my mouth.