“Breathe,” Colt whispers.
It’s then that I realize I’m holding my breath. I gulp a sip of air, wishing I would’ve remembered Colt’s advice not to look at them. Their images will forever haunt my dreams.
When the hairless Junk closest to me takes a step forward, I toss the bloody slab of beef in his direction. His long arm shoots out and snags the meat with his jagged fingernail and the meat dangles back and forth. This catches the attention of the other Junks, the ones hiding in the shadows. They rush forward, surrounding the one with the meat. They poke and snap at him, like birds attempting to steal another’s tasty worm.
“How are we going to get around them?” Colt whispers.
“Carefully and quickly,” I say and step toward my future nightmares.
Let me go first,” Colt says, but I elude his grip and press my back to the wall. I need to share some of the risks. I slide forward, trying to be as quiet as possible.
The backs of the Junks are hunched over as they devour the meat. Small chunks are being tossed into the air only to be stabbed by the jagged nails of others. The light on my watch is dim, but I still catch splashes of red against gray skin. There’s so much blood that I wonder if some of them aren’t eating each other.
As visually disturbing as this is, the sounds are so much worse. It’s not the tearing of flesh or chomping of teeth that pains, but all of that mixed with what sounds like retching noises from the constant stomach bile coming up their esophagi. It turns my stomach and almost makes me vomit.
“Watch your foot,” Colt whispers.
I glance down. I’m within an inch of stepping onto the leg of a Junk who is on his belly. He is so still, I think he might be dead. I swallow and lift my leg over him, but just when I think I’m safe, my hand slides into a protruding chunk of dirt against the wall and dislodges it. It crumbles to the ground; the sound is enough to gain the attention of the Junks on the outer edge of the circle. They turn toward me, sharp teeth grinding against exposed jaws. One of them has blood dripping from his stained mouth.
My heartbeat skips and I freeze, afraid that if I even take a breath they will be upon me. A black tongue snakes out of a Junk’s mouth and licks the side of his cheek.
Colt tosses another chunk of meat to the ground. A few of them take the bait and the distraction is enough to get me moving again. However, Black-Tongue is still staring. I think it is a girl by the amount of long, red hair still attached to her gray scalp. Her head cocks to the side, and I realize there is still a level of reasoning to her. Not like a human mind, but that of a predator. Unlike the others who seem to only care about survival, this girl sees the bigger picture.
Colt seems to notice too and pushes me to move faster.
The girl Junk with the black tongue takes hold of a nearby smaller Junk and steps toward us. My light flashes over the two, illuminating the fingernails of the smaller Junk, who also looks female, but I can’t be sure. Its nails have been filed to sharp points.
“Move!” Colt says, his voice low, but he might as well be shouting.
I bolt into the darkened tunnel, forgetting all about trying to be quiet. Colt is close behind me. The light from his wristpad flashes back and forth upon dirt walls, a dirt ceiling and floor. It’s all I can see and once again my chest tightens as the walls close in around me. I want to stop to catch my breath, but the scurried movements and liquid, ragged breathing of the two Junks behind us keep me moving.
“I hope you know where you’re going!” Colt says as he tosses back another chunk of meat, but the two don’t take the bait and continue their pursuit.
I take a left. I’m not consciously aware of where I’m going, but the layout has been so ingrained into me, I could do it in my sleep.
“We’re almost there,” I say, glancing over my shoulder.
Colt unsheathes two daggers from behind his back.
I take a right. It’s a dead end, but I know this. I skid to a halt and turn around. Colt does the same, a dagger in each hand.
The Junks slow to a walk. The black-tongued girl, who has more human-like features than the other, is smiling. Her friend is making a yelping sound, almost like a hyena, and I wonder if it’s laughter.
Black-Tongue pushes the other Junk forward. It stumbles toward us, hands raised, claws extended. It exhales, or sighs, and a mist of liquid sprays from its mouth.
Colt swipes a dagger at it, but it spins in the other direction.
“Dirty, disgusting things,” he says.
A flap of skin on the Junk’s forehead falls across its left eye. It reaches up and jerks it off before it lunges for Colt again. He jumps out of the way, but hits his head on the low ceiling, and the Junk almost catches the back of his leg. Colt swipes both daggers, this time nicking the Junk in the back of the head, but it’s not enough to slow it down.
“Hand me one,” I say.
Colt maneuvers in front of the Junk. “Stay out of this.”
I huff and look around for something I can use. Only dirt. More than enough. I scoop up two handfuls. A flash of Colt’s light catches the face of the black-tongued girl Junk. She’s staying back, watching me with thoughtful eyes. I make a mental note to be aware of her position.
While Colt continues to unsuccessfully jab at the Junk, I carefully approach from behind. The Junk runs and slides between Colt’s legs and closer to me. Colt moves to turn around, and, before I can react, the Junk slashes her hand just above Colt’s pant line, cutting his shirt. Colt looks down surprised, but not in pain.
With the Junk’s back to me, I shove the dirt in my hands down its throat. Combined with its stomach bile, the dirt turns to mud and the Junk coughs something fierce. Colt takes advantage and, just as I step back, stabs the dagger into the Junk’s heart. A muddy-looking, bubbly mess spills from the Junk’s mouth and onto her skinless chin.
It’s in this moment, with Colt distracted, that Black-Tongue decides to attack, but I’ve kept my eyes on her. Just as her jagged claws are about to slice into Colt’s back, I grab his left hand, the one holding a clean dagger, and jerk it backwards directly into Black-Tongue’s gut. Her eyes widen and she stumbles to the ground. Blood puddles into her sunken stomach. She looks at me and, for a short moment, I catch a glimpse of the girl she might’ve been. The humanness in her pained expression makes me catch my breath.
What looks like tears rise in her scarlet eyes, but before they can fall Colt slashes the other dagger forward, cutting cleanly into her neck. Her head drops and rolls onto the ground, her eyes fixed on me. I turn away, trying to stifle the sob threatening to rack my entire body. What world has my father thrown me into?
“Are you okay?” Colt asks. He’s wiping the blade of his dagger against his jeans. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by what he’s done.
I inhale a shaky breath. Get my brother and get out. Focus on that, I tell myself. “Let’s just get this over with before more Junks come.”
I hurry to the end of the tunnel and look up. There’s a latched square door just above me, but I can’t reach it.
“I’ve got it,” Colt says and reaches up. He turns a handle and pushes. It groans but with a little more force, the small door opens. “I’ll help you up.”
I place my foot in his clasped hands and push up. When I can grab the lip of the opening, I pull myself up the rest of the way and sit on the edge. The faint light on my wristpad reveals a storage room that looks like it hasn’t been used in years. Boxes are piled high to my right and metal shelving on my left holds more dust than anything else. The dirt on the floor, however, has been disturbed. Colt was right. Someone else has been here. It had to have been my father.
“Can I come up?” Colt asks below me. “The smell is killing me down here.”
I move out of the way. A moment later Colt appears in a single leap. He closes the latch behind him and inhales deeply.
“So much better,” he says. He removes his wristpad, places it on the ground, then presses a button on its glass surface. A lig
ht brightens the small room. “That was twisted down there, wasn’t it?”
I remember the Junk’s head rolling toward me. “I don’t want to think about it.”
I shrug the backpack off my shoulders and unzip it. Our clothes are still folded neatly inside. I use a disinfecting wipe to rub the meat juice and dirt from my hands before taking them out.
“You must really hate this world,” he says, staring at me.
“Not hate. I just don’t understand it. People have everything, and yet everyone I meet is in survival mode. Does anyone ever have meaningful relationships?” I hand him his clothes.
“Anthony did.”
I unfold the dress from the backpack and remove the bandana from around my hair. “Good for him. I’m glad someone was happy.”
He says nothing while he turns around and removes his t-shirt. His paper-thin, black wings are folded tightly to his back. I admire them for a moment before something red and dark on his side catches my eye.
“Colt,” I say. “You’re bleeding.”
He lifts his arm and looks down. Blood drips slowly from two deep scratches just above his waist.
“Bloody Junks,” he says, scowling.
I walk over to him. “Hold still.”
“I can do it myself.”
“Good for you.” I press the bandana in my hand to his wound.
He flinches, but the motion seems to be more from my touch than any pain I might be causing him.
“You didn’t mess up your hair,” he says on an exhale. “Jenna would be proud. It looks good by the way. I like the blond stripes.”
“Thanks.” I move the cloth and inspect the wound, touching his back lightly. He jumps again, but not as much. “It doesn’t look too bad. I don’t think you’ll need the med kit.”
“Good. I’d hate for a Junk to be the cause of my death.” He moves to turn around but I stop him.
“Keep facing that way,” I say. “I have to dress.”
“Then what’s keeping you from watching me undress?”
“Nothing. Now hurry up.”
Smiling, I turn around despite what I just said and undress quickly. The sleeveless dress, a red silky material, slides over me like water. The bottom sparkly hem reaches just above the floor, and I’m worried it might make me trip later. I smooth the dress over my hips. Even though it covers most of me, I still feel naked.
The last thing I do is place lilac-colored contacts into my eyes, indicating that I am a Ray, a Prime with a photogenic memory. It takes me a few tries, but eventually the contacts slide into place. Now I am one of them.
I wait until I don’t hear movement from Colt before I turn around. He’s already facing me, with an expression I can’t read. It’s half curious and half something else. Whatever it is, it makes me uncomfortable.
“You look beautiful,” he says. His eyes are no longer an electric blue, but a bright aqua color. I don’t know what this means, and it bothers me. Colt being a Noc makes him a complete mystery.
“And your bow tie is crooked.” I reach up to fix it, but he jerks backwards. “What’s wrong?”
“You do a lot of touching.”
“And?” I reach up again. This time he doesn’t move.
“People don’t touch each other,” he says.
“Anthony touched your shoulders when he said goodbye.”
“And it was weird.”
I step back and admire my work. The tie is perfect other than being a bright purple. A strange color, I think, to go with his black suit. “Why are people afraid to touch each other?”
“They’re not afraid necessarily, just worried about getting attached.” He feels his tie. “How’d you know how to do that?”
“My father wore a bow tie every day. He said my mother loved them. Do you have the com devices?”
He blinks a few times like he’s trying to remember what I’m talking about.
“Right,” he finally says and reaches into his bag. A moment later he places four small black dots in my palm. “Put this just inside your ear.”
I look at them closely. “These are so cool. My father showed them to me once.” I press them into place and jump when Anthony’s voice sounds in my ear.
“Are you there? Colt? Sage?”
“I’m here,” I say loudly.
Colt laughs for the first time since I’ve met him. “You don’t have to yell. You can whisper and he’d hear you.” He puts the com devices in his ears and says, “Hey, Anthony.” He scoops up his wristpad and secures it back onto his arm.
“What took you so long?” Anthony asks. “You were supposed to report to me ten minutes ago!”
“Junks,” Colt says. “But we survived. Thanks for asking.”
“You can tell me about it later. Are you dressed?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice more quiet.
“And have you attached the heat sensors?”
I look at Colt just as he presses something onto the inside of his sleeve. He reaches toward me, holding what looks like a small orange sticker. “Um,” he says and hesitates like he doesn’t know what to do or doesn’t want to touch me.
I turn around and say, “Put it under the top seam of my dress.”
A few seconds pass before his fingers brush against my lower neck. Goosebumps break on my skin.
Colt clears his throat. “All done.”
“Good,” Anthony says in our ears. “Now go to the door and look out carefully. Check for security.”
Colt picks up our backpacks and stuffs them behind a shelf. “We know what to do. Relax.”
“But I know you, Colt. You’re reckless.”
“Not now. I know what’s at stake.” His eyes shift to me.
I turn away, tired of the mantra of how important I am. While they continue to argue, I walk to a tall metal door. The door handle is long, running the entire length of the door, and when I pull it, it barely moves. I grab it with both hands and strain hard to get it to open a mere inch, just enough for me to look out.
Outside is a long hallway. Other than a thin strip of lighting lining the floor, it’s dark. When I don’t see any cameras, I wedge my foot into the crack and push it the rest of the way open.
“I’m leaving the room,” I say when there’s a break in their conversation.
“Wait up!” Colt says.
“No more talking to me unless you absolutely need to,” Anthony says and then there’s silence.
Colt crosses in front of me and stops at what looks like a long window built into the wall of the hallway.
“Check this out,” he says.
I follow him to the other side of the hall and peer through glass, but the room on the other side is dark. I even try shining the light from my watch into it, but the glass somehow blocks it. “I can’t see anything.”
“It’s a lab of some kind.”
“You can see?”
He points at his eyes. “Night vision. I bet this is where they make the oDNA serum.”
I hesitate, wondering if we should destroy it. No more Originals will have to suffer for Primes if I do, but I bet the Institute has many more labs just like this one. Maybe after we save Max.
I leave Colt and walk down the hallway. Up ahead it turns left. This is as far as I know, and I wonder why my father didn’t teach me the rest of the building’s layout.
“I’m at the end,” I say to Anthony.
“You know what to do,” he says. “Be careful and let me know when you’re upstairs.”
Jenna’s voice echoes in the background. “Ask about her hair!”
The com goes silent.
I glance around the corner real quick and spot a camera. It’s pointed high and toward an elevator on the other end. If we go beneath it, we should go unnoticed.
“Here goes nothing,” Colt says and nods me forward.
I hunch low and scurry along the wall just beneath the cameras. At the end is the elevator. Next to it is stairs. Both are in view of the camera. I glance back at Colt and shrug
as if to say, “What now?”
He lifts his chin toward the elevator. I shake my head and point up at the camera.
Colt pushes me forward in direct view of the elevator and comes to stand next to me. My face goes red and I want nothing more than to punch him.
The elevator door opens. As soon as we are inside and I see that there is no interior camera, I turn on him. “Why did you do that?”
“There was no other way, so relax. Besides, they didn’t see our faces and by what we’re wearing they’ll think we just got lost. I’m sure there’s another entrance down here.”
“I hope so.”
“Keep your head down when the door opens.”
The elevator stops. I do as he says, and exit the doors to dive in with a crowd of moving people, my head still down. When I feel safe, I glance up. A woman with purple and pink hair combed straight up at least a foot past her head smiles at me. Her eyes are the same color as her pink lips. I smile back.
“I love your hair,” she whispers and turns away.
I reach up and touch it self-consciously, hoping Jenna didn’t overdo it, but when I step into the ballroom, I stop worrying. Everywhere I look there is someone else with brighter, higher, stranger hair than me, including some of the men. The only thing I do worry about is my dress. It’s much more conservative than the other women’s, and I hope it doesn’t draw any attention.
“Over here,” Colt says.
I follow him to the other side of the dimly lit ballroom, passing several ice sculptures in the shape of flames. I glance up. All along the ceiling are burning blue flames, much like what was at the dance club but a different color. If winter could burn, this is what it would look like.
I lower my eyes and try not to stare at the people we pass. It’s not just their outfits and hair that are foreign to me. Each of them seem to have something unique about them, whether it is their height, their skin, or the occasional jewel on their face shining as bright as their eyes. I feel so plain and out of place just being near them. Ebony was right. I am unremarkable.
Colt stops near three grand pianos all being played in harmony together. The three men sitting at them have fingers that must be at least a foot long and instead of five, they have seven. Their fingers move faster than I think possible, and the music they play is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
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