by Dawn Husted
I arrived home not much later.
An hour passed before I heard the door downstairs shut, and I closed my book to find out who it was. As I hopped down the stairs, nobody was in sight.
“Mom? Dad?” I asked.
No answer.
“Mom,” I said a little louder.
Sill no answer, but someone was rustling in the kitchen. I walked pass the couch and opened the kitchen door.
My mom was wearing a rosy colored shirt, bent over facing the opposite direction in the doorway of the pantry, not noticing me behind her.
“Mom, what are you doing?” She jumped at my presence.
Without pausing, she replied, “Penelope, grab a backpack. You know…the one in the hall closet.”
I was confused by the statement, but followed orders anyway. After I found the backpack on top of a shelf above the jackets, I brought it back to her.
“Okay, here you go.” She grabbed the slim, coal-colored pack from my hands and started tossing random food inside: bread, carrots, apples, and a few other things I couldn’t see because she was moving so fast. Swift movements had always been a tireless effort of hers.
“Mom, tell me what this is all about.”
Finally, she stopped and looked at me, “Just go upstairs, grab a change of clothes, and a jacket. Alright?” I didn’t move and stared with wide eyes. Had she gone crazy? “Please, Penelope, do it for me.” Her voice sounded desperate.
“Sure,” I replied, slowly turning around, wracking my brain with possibilities to what might be happening. But I couldn’t think of anything. I did as she asked and when I came back downstairs, my dad was in the kitchen standing next to my mom, bracing his hands on her shoulders, whispering back and forth—intensely. They looked at me; my mom’s cheeks were wet and her eyes bloodshot.
“You are officially freaking me out. Tell me what’s going on. Now.” I threw my clothes on the ground in frustration.
My mom stumbled over, picked up the clothes, and stuffed them into the backpack, along with the food. My clothes. In the backpack. The backpack was for me?
My heart began racing and a quivering sensation ran through my body as I tried catching my breath. My eyes didn’t leave the sight of the backpack hanging from my mom’s hands and then my dad walked over to me. He pulled out three vials from his pocket, each filled with a liquid the same color as the sky. Then he held them out in front of me.
“Take these, Penelope,” he said.
I stumbled back, realizing whatever he was trying to hand me wasn’t something allowed outside the lab.
“Whoa, what are those? Dad, why do you have these?” He grabbed my right hand gently, placing it softly over his. The vials rested in between our palms.
“Penelope, there’s a lot you don’t know. And there’s not a lot of time to explain. But you need to leave and take these with you…”
Abruptly, I stopped him in the middle of his explanation, “What? What do you mean—there’s not a lot of time? And leave to go where?”
I shook my head back and forth, staring at the vials in my hand.
“A year ago, the Academy had me working on an experiment, another vaccine in case we ever came across another….plague,” as the word plague left his mouth, it was like he had to force them out, “the other doctors and I made thousands of them. But I noticed they were leaving the lab without proper authorization and they weren’t being distributed here, or saved for future use. I dug deeper and that’s when I noticed loads of vials loaded onto one of the boats shipping off, somewhere. I don’t know where. However, if they weren’t used here, then that must mean there’s been another outbreak on the other Land. I stole these for you and…your…sister.”
Immediately when I heard the word sister, I needed clarification. My dad pulled out a picture. I grabbed it from him and on it was a girl who looked similar to me, short, bouncy brown hair and a slim body, but this girl stood in front of a building not from here. The main, vast, difference between her and I was, she had no vines.
“Who is this?” I asked.
My mom stepped closer and pointed at the picture, “That is your sister, Madeline.”
“But I—I don’t understand?” I ran my fingers over the picture of the girl I thought so much about whenever I felt lonely growing up. I always wondered what it would’ve been like to have a sister to talk to, but never actually thought she existed. Knowing she didn’t exist. Because that’s what I was told.
My dad grabbed my shoulders and raised his voice, “Penelope, listen to me. They are going to come take you tonight. I hoped this wouldn’t happen, but somehow President Falcon figured out I was supplying medicine to children born without vines. It was kept a secret so families wouldn’t have to be exiled or executed. Falcon wouldn’t allow your mother and me to leave this Land, and said he would kill Madeline if we ever tried. However, he couldn’t allow her to stay here either. She had no vines. For years, I’ve been going about the research demanded of me to keep her alive, hoping someday we’d be reunited. But I know now that’s not going to happen. You need to take these vials and find your sister on the other Land. If they catch you trying to leave, they will kill you… There must be another outbreak…” He shook his head and paced back and forth.
“But why would they kill me?”
Before he could answer, a loud knock came from the direction of our front door. Immediately, my dad put his hand over my mouth and said, “Quiet.” He left the kitchen, walked into the living room, and then peaked out the window. He closed the blinds and waited a few seconds before responding. “Be right there,” he yelled.
He motioned for me to come closer and he placed the vials into the backpack my mom held.
“Mr. Evans,” a guy’s voice said from the other side of the door. “Please let us in.”
The voice was too familiar. I knew exactly who it was. I told my dad he was ridiculous about the whole conspiracy theory thing, and then I walked over and opened the door.
“Hey,” I said to James, a little weary.
“Hi, Penelope Evans,” the guard standing next to him answered. “I’m sorry, but you failed the testing and I have orders to bring you to the Academy. Please. Come with us.”
How was testing completed so fast?
I looked at James, but he didn’t acknowledge me, instead he kept his hands behind his back and stared straight ahead. The vines wrapped around the guard’s biceps and chest, leaving little room for doubt about his strength. I couldn’t resist him even if I tried—even if my dad tried. He was much stronger than we were or even both of us put together.
“Okay, of course. Would it be all right if I grabbed my bag?”
The guard nodded and I turned around to give my parents a hug, hoping they were wrong and I could talk to President Falcon. Sort this whole misunderstanding out. My dad squeezed my shoulders tight, gave me a look with his eyes, undeniably shaken, then he placed the backpack over my shoulder. My mom was next to him. She leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead before saying I love you. Then I turned around and walked out the door, not looking back. Not wanting to believe their goodbye was some sort of omen hinting at me that I’d never see them again. This is all one big misunderstanding, I thought as I passed the door.
Chapter Three
James held my right arm firmly and the other guard held my left. I was sandwiched in between the two of them for the short distance to the car. A few neighbors peeked through their windows, other than that, the streets were empty—everyone keeping clear from the diseased being taken into holding. Nobody wanted near anyone who might transfer something that could kill them. I so wanted to be amongst the people scrutinizing out the window instead of the one being marched to the car. The feeling of being a prisoner clenched my stomach, or was that the sickness I had? No. I felt fine. I wasn’t sick. And they would see that too. Until then, I’d do exactly what was asked of me, without question.
The guard on my right released my arm and James opened the rear
door of the car. He ducked my head down with the palm of his hand, his fingers like a spider on my scalp. I crouched lower, careful not to hit the roof as I climbed in and sat along the smooth interior. The seats were dark and felt like soft leather. There wasn’t much lighting inside, adding to the eerie feeling already consuming me. I tried breathing deeply to sort my thoughts from their collective mess. I wasn’t good in tense situations. My heart beat steadily, but heavily, and the pounding from it was like a boulder in my chest, making it harder to breathe. James shut the door with more force than necessary and disappeared around the back. I looked ahead and saw another guard sitting in the passenger seat—just as big as the other one who walked me, marched me, to the car. He was sitting in the driver seat. The passenger guard was shirtless with a gun slung across his chest, filling in the rest of the space between him and the dashboard. A second later, a translucent screen projected from the center dashboard, he tapped a few buttons, and an icy blue button lit up underneath the screen. He pressed his thumb to it. Immediately, the car hummed to life and I heard the door to my right shut. I looked over; James was sitting directly next to me, staring ahead. Not blinking. And not talking to me.
I knew his rule about talking, but if there was ever a time to break it, that time was now.
I glared at him as the car slowly pulled away from the curb. Still nothing. No response.
The car glided around the corner of my street and we were only a few blocks away from the Academy. The car was silent and my senses kicked into overdrive, breathing in a nasty smell of sweaty, unwashed individuals—repulsive. I wanted to puke, but not from the odor, from my twisted, nerve-ridden stomach.
My seat started getting warmer. My body radiated anxiety all over, my hands began sweating uncontrollably, and I stretched my fingers out from their tight grip. When I opened my palms, they were met by cooler air.
I shuddered when James, who was still staring straight ahead, suddenly gripped my hand. I glanced down to see our hands as one and then he broke his grip from mine. A foreign object was left crumbled in the center of my palm. A piece of paper. I looked over at him, but still no response. As I opened the piece of paper, the tiny words stay down were jumbled hastily across it.
I didn’t understand and looked up just in time, observing James’ elbow slam into the guard’s head in the driver’s seat, smashing the driver’s temple into the frame. Glass shattered everywhere and then James head-butted the guard sitting in the passenger seat, who had begun turning in response to the turmoil. Instantly, that guard threw his hands up behind him over the headrest, grabbing James around the neck. The force he exerted looked like it would tear James’ head from his shoulders. James responded by throwing himself forward over the guard’s head, his body now snug and horizontal against the roof.
All of this happened within seconds, and then the driving guard grabbed his gun from around his chest. The car weaved side to side, knocking me around like a ragdoll.
“James!” was the only word I managed to yell—trying to warn him as I hit the door further from me.
James shoved his left foot into the jaw of the guard and then another swift kick to his side, throwing the guard’s body clear through the driver’s side door, flinging him out onto the pavement. Instantly, the car hummed to a complete stop and I looked back and saw the guard lying next to the car door, sparking from skidding against the pavement—the guard looked mad.
I looked back at James and the other guard, who still had a tight grasp on his neck. He rotated his body, spinning his head from the guard’s grip and then he grabbed the guard’s arm, pulling his finger away from the trigger of his gun. As he anchored his weight against the seat, he tugged the guard and flung him out the driver’s side, landing him feet from the first guard. However, this one had a tight grip on James’ arm and had taken him along for the ride.
All three were now on the pavement—mad.
Immediately, James flipped his body off his stomach and hovered inches from the two guards. A split second passed, James grabbed the driver’s gun, and held the guard’s finger on the trigger. He shot four times into the passenger guard’s thighs. A loud moan burst from the guard’s lips and as James turned the gun onto the owner lying underneath him, the butt of a gun struck James in the head, knocking him backwards as the guard jumped up. His face was streaked with black blood pouring out of his scalp. He stumbled on his feet and tried regaining his balance, and then he aimed the gun at James.
I was still in the car, having watched the fight transgress, and I knew James was about to be shot, killed in front of me. I couldn’t react, not even to open the door, warning words were stuck in the roof of my mouth. I didn’t have time to think. I just watched—in horror.
The guard’s gun wobbled and he pulled the trigger. The shot zoomed in a straight line at James’ head. At that exact moment, James fell backwards, not in reaction to being shot, but instead he arched his back swiftly to the ground behind him and grabbed a knife from his leg. He flung his weight forward, chunking the knife from his hand towards the guard.
The knife caught him directly in the neck. His gun immediately dropped down to his chest. Blood squirted from the wound as he yanked it out and fell to his knees in front of James.
James ran over to the other guard, who was grabbing his legs where he was shot. He moaned and screamed obscene words into the air, not paying attention to either one of us.
“I’m sorry,” James said to him. “I had no choice.”
Then he yanked the gun from the livid guard, broke the strap from around his body, and tossed it into the yard next to him. After, he moved over to the other guard with the knife wound as he gurgled beneath the dark blood coming from his mouth. The man wasn’t dead and James grabbed his knife from the ground. He hunched over the guard with his back towards me and when he stood up, the guard’s gun now hung around James’ neck and something bloody was in his hands—which were now also covered in blood.
Within minutes, my eyes saw everything take place, but my mind couldn’t catch up nor comprehend. I sat in the back of the car, holding the side of my head from hitting the door. Both guards were on the ground and James marched towards me.
He climbed into the driver’s seat and horrifyingly, for a minute, I thought, Am I next? Was he going to kill me too? Of course he wouldn’t. I knew that for sure. But I had the feeling the man in front of me was someone else, not James. He looked like James. He was James. But... he also just killed a guard and shot another. Now what? Logically, I knew it was him. Emotionally, I was conflicted.
Without saying a word, his bloody hands came up to the icy blue button and he pressed a severed finger, cut from the guard’s hands, against it. Instantly, the car hummed back to life.
James yanked on a handle, and a metallic bar slid out from underneath the dashboard. A row of circular lights gleamed in unison as a wheel projected from the top. James grabbed it and began driving away from the scene—uncontrollably.
I looked outside. Nobody was tending to the guards. The noise from the gunshots was unmistakable, and I knew others would soon be on their way if they weren’t already.
The car hit a few curbs, bouncing off the sides back into the street. As James sped up and glided, turning left, the rear hit a few other curbs in response to the speed.
I wasn’t sure where we were going; it was dark and not many lights lit up the streets ahead.
After a few more minutes, James had better control over the car and neither one of us spoke. Thirty minutes passed and we were a long way from the Academy. I looked behind us but nobody followed.
We headed further and further away from the Colony.
I didn’t know how wide the perimeter ran along our Land, but I was positive we’d have to reach it soon.
James took a few lefts, heading perpendicular to the direction we had been driving.
The blackness encased us; the only light in our direction were the ones beaming from the headlights of the car.
I f
inally inched up the nerve to ask James what was happening. I opened my mouth, about to utter the words, when James’ body began slumping to the side and the car slowed down. I reached forward over the headrest to grab him. But he kept sliding until he was completely down across the front seat. The car stopped.
I peered over further. I couldn’t see it before; the shirt he had been wearing was black. It camouflaged the blood puddling in his lap. I shoved the drenched shirt up over his head, and he groaned in response.
He had been shot. Blood soaked the seat.
I opened the rear door, quickly ran around to the front, and climbed in over him. I pulled his shirt back up, observing a hole from where a gunshot pierced his gut. I leaned him forward, he groaned again, and I examined his lower back with my hand.
I held my breath as I felt around. But I couldn’t find another hole. No exit wound.
“James, can you hear me?” I lowered my face directly in front of his as he lay unmoving on his side against the back of the seat.
He was weak, but he nodded.
I looked around, nobody could help us. We were alone.
“James, I don’t know where we are. What are we going to do?” I started to panic—more than I already was.
I climbed back out of the car and walked over to the trunk. A small, metallic button sat in the center of a latch. It looked like another lock. At least I thought it did. I had never been this close to a car before.
I pressed it with my thumb, but it didn’t open.
I pressed it again. Nothing.
DNA, I thought.
I quickly ran back to the front of the car, grabbed the finger lying on the floor, then ran back and pressed it firmly to the same button.
Suddenly, I heard a pop of suction and the trunk smoothly rose.
I began searching…for anything. There wasn’t much in the back. I tossed around a few useless items: shirts, pants, shoes, a large knife (too large), and some wrinkled papers. There wasn’t a first-aid kit. If he lost too much blood before his body regenerated, healing the wound, then he would fall into a coma. And he couldn’t regenerate with the bullet still in his body. I had to get the bullet out. I had to stop the bleeding soon, or he’d die.