by Amy Tintera
His teeth were in the human’s neck before anyone could react, and I grabbed Callum’s head and pushed it down. I heard the other Reboots hit the floor. The guns were moving.
Callum’s body jerked as several guns went off, firing ten or fifteen bullets before quieting. I stayed down a moment longer, until I was sure it was over, then slowly raised my head. The kid and the guard were both dead, although the guard had probably been gone the minute his throat was ripped out.
“What . . .” Callum’s eyes were big and scared. “What was wrong with him?”
“He went crazy,” I said. I didn’t know how else to explain it. I certainly couldn’t tell him the truth in the middle of the cafeteria, where HARC could hear every word.
He didn’t say anything, but his eyes darted to the Under-sixties table. Clearly he had already heard something about that.
“Callum.”
He turned to me. His expression was serious, but I liked how it softened slightly when he looked at me. Like the way he looked at me was different from how he looked at everyone else.
“I need you to be better. Really. I need you to follow orders and work harder. They don’t tolerate stepping out of line here.” I jerked my head toward the dead Reboot, and he swallowed. He understood. “Yes?”
“Yes.”
Ever was perched on her bed when I returned to the room before lights-out, her whole body shaking. Her eyes were dead, hopeless, but she was herself. A shivering, sad version of herself.
I sat down on my own bed and she raised her head, her gaze sharp and angry.
“I’m dead.”
“We all are,” I said, attempting a smile.
A dry laugh escaped her throat, surprise crossing her face. “Did you just make a joke?”
“A little one. Not a very good one.”
“I liked it.” She pressed her lips together, bouncing her legs up and down, and I got the impression she was trying not to cry. “But I’m dead for real this time. They haven’t killed me yet, but I’m already gone.”
I opened my mouth and closed it again, glancing around. The humans probably recorded every word we said. They might be listening now. “You’re not gone,” I said very softly.
“Levi was dead,” she continued. “Before he tried to eat Callum. He’d been dead for days. He was still walking around but there was nothing there anymore. It was just a crazy-ass shell.” She grabbed the sleeves of her shirt, pulling on them so hard I thought they might rip. “And when he went for Callum, I understood. He smells so good. Like . . .” Her face twisted, and she whispered the next words. “Like meat.”
My stomach turned and I focused on my feet, hoping she wouldn’t see my discomfort. “It’ll pass. It’s probably just—”
“I’m sorry if I attack you tonight,” she said. She shot to her feet, her fists balled at her sides, and screamed the next words to our glass wall. “BUT IT’S NOT MY FAULT!”
“Ever!” I looked out the glass nervously.
“What do they care?” she spat, throwing the comforter down the bed as she crawled in. “They’ve killed me.”
“You’re still here,” I whispered.
“Barely.”
FOURTEEN
EVER POKED A FINGER INTO HER MOUTH, SHOVING THE dangling beef in. Her cheeks bulged with food, her eyes drooping even though she had slept the whole night.
I’d ignored the One-twenties table and sat next to her as soon as I’d walked into the cafeteria at lunch and seen how high she’d piled her tray with meat.
“You all right?” Callum asked as he took a bite of his peanut-butter sandwich.
She swallowed some of her food. “I’m a crazy-ass shell.”
Callum looked at me in confusion, but I avoided his eyes and stabbed at my own lunch with my fork.
I couldn’t explain anything. Not with Officer Mayer watching my every move.
Ever gripped the table as she swallowed her last mouthful of meat. She looked up from her empty tray with wild, unseeing eyes.
Her nostrils flared as she turned to Callum, baring her teeth as she let out a low growl. She grabbed his wrist and he dropped his sandwich, his eyes wide as he looked from me to her.
“Ever,” I said, yanking her hand off his arm as she leaned down to take a bite. “Stop.”
Callum jumped back as she lunged for him again, clutching his arms to his chest protectively. I got her by the waist as she tried to launch herself across the table. She thrashed against me and I held her tight with one arm, using the other to grab my beef and shove it in her mouth.
She snapped at my fingers but inhaled it with a little sigh of relief.
“Here,” Callum said, sliding his meat across the table as well.
I shoved it past Ever’s teeth and she chewed frantically, bits falling out of her open mouth. She began snapping at Callum again when she finished.
“Ever,” I said, tightening my arm around her waist. “Please stop.”
She stilled at the sound of my quiet words in her ear. I cautiously loosened my arm and she turned, her eyes shiny with tears and worry.
“Sorry,” she whispered, scanning the mess of empty trays and bits of food on the table. She staggered to her feet and rushed out of the cafeteria, her walk wobbly and unbalanced.
Callum watched her go, and when he turned to me his eyes were big and questioning. I gave him the tiniest of shrugs, my eyes darting to the camera on the wall. He took the hint and returned his attention to his sandwich.
We headed to the gym after lunch and took our usual spot on the mat. I put my hands on my hips as I looked at him. It was time for him to be better.
“We’re staying here today until you hit me,” I announced.
“What?”
“You’ve never managed to make contact. You should be able to hit me by now. We’ll stay here until you do.”
“But I . . .” A sheepish smile spread across his face and he shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t want to hit you.”
“It’s not a choice. I’m your trainer.” I frowned up at him. “Have you not been giving it your all?”
“No, I have. Mostly, anyway.”
“There’s no more mostly. We will both stand here until you’re able to hit me. And I’m not letting down my defenses.”
He looked at me warily. He didn’t believe it.
“Come on,” I said, beckoning him over.
He took a cautious step forward, his smile slipping as he raised his hands in front of his face. But he made no move toward me.
“Go ahead,” I said.
His fist swung at me, but I easily ducked it.
“What have I told you? Fast. Don’t stop with one punch. I didn’t try and hit you. What should you have done?”
“Tried to hit you again.”
“Yes. Confuse me. Surprise me. Again.”
He tossed punch after punch at me, none of them coming close to connecting. He was slow and clumsy, his feet moving one way as his arms went another. I could practically see his brain working, and I found myself avoiding punches almost as soon as he decided to throw them.
“Stop,” I said with a sigh. He dropped his arms and gave me an apologetic look.
“I’m sorry, I’m trying—”
“I know you are.”
I pushed a piece of hair behind my ear and frowned at the floor as a thought occurred to me.
“What?” Callum asked.
“Am I doing something wrong?” I asked it quietly, ashamed to let the other trainers hear. I was the best. I shouldn’t be doing anything wrong.
“You’re the only one doing it right. I’m the one who sucks.”
“I must be explaining it wrong. Or not training you right. Do you want another trainer?”
“No,” he said immediately.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to fail because of me.”
“You know it’s not because of you,” Callum said, bringing out his big eyes again. “Please don’t give me to someone else.”
&nbs
p; “Then tell me what I’m doing wrong.”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. There’s not something wrong, exactly. . . . It’s more like I don’t understand how I’m supposed to move so quickly. It’s like I’m trying to remember all this stuff I’m supposed to be doing and I can’t keep it all straight and my body won’t keep up with my brain. It’s sort of like when you first learn to dance and your feet are all over the place and nothing makes sense.”
My eyebrows shot up. “You know how to dance?”
“Of course,” he said, looking at me strangely. “It was required.”
“Required by who?”
“The schools. It’s a basic skill. Do they not do that in the slums?”
“No. Definitely not.” I rolled my eyes. Ricos. “They were lucky if they were able to keep a history teacher for a few months.”
“Oh.”
I held out my arms, an idea occurring to me. “Teach me to dance.”
His eyebrows lifted. “What?”
“Teach me to dance.”
“We don’t have any music.”
“So? Pretend.” I bounced my arms up and down impatiently. “Come on.”
He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around my waist. I felt the blush on my cheeks right away, but the tingling his touch created on my back was unexpected. His hand was warm against my shirt and produced little flurries of excitement up and down my body.
“Your hand goes here,” he said, putting it on his shoulder. His big hand covered mine completely as he took the other one, and I wanted to lace my fingers through his and pull him closer to me.
I blinked at that thought, lowering my gaze so it was even with his chest. I wanted to press my cheek there. Feel the warmth on my face and breathe in his fresh, alive smell.
“You’re so short,” he said.
I looked up to see a smile twitching at his lips. It was an obvious statement, but I smiled anyway. “I’ve noticed.”
“Sorry. It’s adorable.”
Adorable seemed the wrong word to describe me. It suited him better.
“We’re not dancing,” I pointed out.
“All right. I’m going to take a step back. You take one with me.” He looked down as I stepped on his foot. “You have to wait for me. I’m leading.”
“Why are you leading?”
“Because you have no idea what you’re doing.”
“Fair enough.”
He took a step back. “You’re going to have to be faster than that,” he said as I just stood there.
I laughed and his eyes fell to my lips as a huge grin spread across his face.
“We would have danced earlier if I knew I would get a laugh out of you.”
I stepped to him, matching his smile with one of my own.
“Now step back,” he said quietly, his eyes burning into mine.
I did as he said, almost tripping over my own feet when he tightened his arm around my waist. It would have been so easy to loop both my arms around his neck and press my whole body against his, to be lost inside those arms.
I glanced up at him and saw the amusement sparkling in his eyes. Maybe he knew exactly what I was thinking.
I accidentally stepped on his foot again and he chuckled. “At least you’re not good at everything.”
“What are you doing?” The gruff voice of a guard burst the spell and I jumped away from Callum.
“Training,” I said, hoping my cheeks weren’t too red.
The guard frowned. His mustache was so thick it covered his whole mouth, and I tried my best not to wrinkle my nose in distaste. “It doesn’t look like it.”
“We’re trying something new. He needs different methods.”
“I guess,” the guard muttered. “Fine. But I don’t want to see this going on for too long.”
I nodded and he stomped away, taking his spot by the door again.
I gestured for Callum to come to me. “Come on, let’s keep going.”
He hopped over and pulled me into his arms so quickly I gasped.
“Where’s that speed when we’re fighting?” I asked as we began moving again.
“I like this better,” he said softly.
I should have said it didn’t matter what he liked. But I just shook my head. “I’m going to spin you,” he said, stepping back and lifting his arm up.
I gave up trying not to smile as we danced. It was too easy to lose myself in his eyes and arms. I wanted to move like this with him forever, gliding across the gym floor to nonexistent music. I let it go on longer than I had planned, let myself forget that I was finding a way to make him a better hunter, a better killer.
Finally I took a step out of his arms and swung a fist in his direction, pulling up before I made contact with his face. He stopped and I shook my head, pointing to his feet.
“Keep moving them. And then swing.”
He laughed. “Angry dancing.”
I swung again and he blocked it, moving his feet like we were still dancing. I couldn’t help beaming at him.
“Good,” I said.
We continued our screwed-up dance for a long time, circling, swinging, moving in a way that made a funny little heat stir in my stomach. My eyes kept flicking over his body, watching the way his muscles appeared in his arms when he made a fist. The way I could see the outline of his thighs against his black pants. The intense look he got when he blocked a punch.
He made no sign he saw the other Reboots leave for dinner, no complaint that we had been at it for so many hours with few breaks. His eyes were trained on me, intense, focused, and I loved it. I felt like there was nothing else in the world, nothing but him, nothing other than his fists swinging at me.
I was overwhelmed by the urge to grab both fists, yank them behind his back, and kiss him. I had never kissed anyone, but I swear I could feel his lips against mine every time I looked at them.
When he broke the spell by dropping his hands and taking a step back I had to blink several times to clear the fog. It was all around him and for a brief moment I thought it might be real. But I blinked again and it was gone, and there was nothing but him and a silent, empty gym. My eyes found the clock. 11:16 p.m.
He was breathing heavily and I stared at the way his chest rose and fell, pressing against his white T-shirt like it wanted to burst through it.
“You have to keep going until you hit me,” I said. My words sounded firmer than I had thought they would. I had expected my voice to waver and give away the fact that I didn’t really care if he hit me anymore.
But I did. If he didn’t hit me, if he didn’t improve, he would be eliminated. The thought of him not breathing made my fists clench so tightly it hurt.
He said nothing. He put his hands on his hips and frowned at the ground, stared until I was worried it was some sort of silent rebellion.
But eventually he lifted his arms and motioned for me to come to him. His face was hard, determined, but I saw the twinge of defeat flicker across his eyes.
The difference wasn’t noticeable right away. It took me a couple minutes to realize I was moving faster, ducking and blocking at the same time. The spell from earlier was broken and I was fighting, defending, moving in a way I only did when in the field.
When I saw his left arm coming at me I had only half raised my hand to block it before he grabbed my wrist and I felt his right hook smash across my cheek.
The punch was harder than I had expected. My knees hit the mat and I quickly wiped a hand across my nose, hoping he hadn’t noticed the blood.
He had his back to me, his hands laced behind his head, his elbows folded forward across his face.
“Callum,” I said. He didn’t move. “That was really good.”
He lowered his arms to cross them over his chest and turned to me. I had thought maybe he was crying, but his eyes looked clear. Clear, sad, angry.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
“Don’t apologize,” I said as I stood up. “I made you do it.”
&nb
sp; “Still feels wrong not to apologize,” he mumbled, staring at his feet.
“Come on. I’ll escort you back to your quarters so they don’t give you any trouble.”
He trudged behind me, ignoring every glance I shot back at him. I had a sudden wild impulse to ask if he was mad at me.
The answer was yes, no matter what came out of his mouth. I shouldn’t care, anyway. My newbies were often mad at me. Hard not to be mad at someone who spent most of her time pummeling you. But it was strange to have one upset about hitting me.
“Training,” I said as we passed the guard in front of the boys’ quarters. He nodded slightly.
Callum stopped in front of a room and I took a quick glance inside. It looked exactly like mine, except for the boy sleeping in one of the beds.
“Good night,” I said. My voice shook a little. Why did it do that? My chest felt heavy, like I was . . . sad. I didn’t know what to think of that. Anger, fear, nervousness I could deal with. But sad?
I didn’t think much of sad.
Callum’s eyes were finally on mine. Then his arms were around me as well, tugging me closer than I’d ever been to him. His fingers lightly brushed the skin he’d just punched and the weight lifted from my chest. He left a trail of fireworks down my cheek and neck and into my hair and my eyes closed before I could stop them.
“Don’t make me punch you anymore, okay?” he whispered.
I nodded, opening my eyes. “You have to punch other people, though.”
When he laughed his chest moved against mine and I wanted nothing more than to kiss him.
I couldn’t kiss him. What would the guard do? What would Callum do? Maybe he didn’t even want a One-seventy-eight pressing her cold, dead lips to his.
“Deal,” he said, leaning his head down so our foreheads almost touched.
Maybe he did.
But my toes wouldn’t listen to me. They had to be first, those ten traitor toes. First to lift me from my sad little height to reach those lips.
They wouldn’t move. He released me and I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, not sure what else to do.
“See you in the morning,” I mumbled, turning to go.