Leah pauses, and when she continues, a forced playfulness tints her words. “You should ask the Monitor about it—and about what’s going to happen to us.”
No. No, you shouldn’t ask that, Greg.
Leah hasn’t been the same since the day she showed up in chemistry with those bruises. In fact, she’s been acting…inhuman, somehow. It’s a good thing she has seventh block chemistry, because the way she’s behaving, she’ll never survive the interviews. I can’t for the life of me figure out what she’s up to now.
Deshi sits two desks to my left and observes the conversation as well, a faint smile playing on his thin lips. He’s watching the Monitor but the slight tilt of his head, the faraway look in his eyes, says he’s listening to Leah.
Apprehension squeezes my lungs as Greg’s hand shoots up. The Monitor calls on him. I press my eyes closed, silently urging him to think twice. We don’t ask questions. We certainly don’t second-guess what the Others have taught us our whole lives.
His rich, laughing baritone assaults my ears and my airway nearly collapses. “So, what do the Others do to the planets they occupy? Kill everyone?”
Greg laughs but no one joins in. Leah sits back in her chair, arms folded across her chest as she stares at the screen, awaiting the answer.
The Monitor’s brow folds up, puzzlement scrunching his smooth skin. “Gregory, that question is outside my training. But don’t be ridiculous. The Others do not kill their hosts. Look at how good they have been to the inhabitants of Earth. I suggest you remember that before you speak out again.”
Greg, properly chastised, shoots a quizzical smile toward Leah, who ignores him. The excitement is over before it began, and at least no Warden witnessed the aberration. Still, the Monitor will most likely report the incident. The cold smile on Deshi’s face raises the hairs along the back of my neck. He looks as though Greg’s outburst has somehow made his day.
We move outside for physical exercise, Greg’s strange question apparently forgotten by everyone but me. Each day is the same; we walk one mile and then jog another at a measured pace before returning inside. We are to stay healthy, to improve the quality of our lives.
Whatever that means.
We girls amble about ten paces behind the boys, who jockey with one another for position. A small, playful scuffle breaks out. The next moments happen in an instant as two boys stumble backward. Deshi’s shiny black hair flashes in the sun at the same moment that the second boy trips. He tumbles to the ground, all awkward angles, near the tree line. The boys stop and gather around when he doesn’t move. We hasten to catch up, then join them in gaping at the scene.
Greg lies on his back, eyes closed and head sagging to one side. His chin rests near his collar and blood pools around the back of his head. The culprit is a jagged rock, part of a small garden along the path, half buried in the ankle-length grass. The ground soaks up puddles of blood and the blades of brown grass mat together. The squishy-looking insides of Greg’s head ooze from the split in his skull.
Everyone moves back, their eyes wide with uncertainty but not fear. If anything, they’re mesmerized by the sight. Silence permeates the moment and I press a hand to my mouth, swallowing hard. My thoughts march in a slow-motion parade. Those are Greg’s brains. On the ground. Ten minutes ago he was perfectly normal. He laughed and talked too loud and said stupid things in astronomy.
He said stupid things in astronomy.
The moments before the accident explode in my mind’s eye and trigger a suspicion that Deshi pushed Greg. The way he watched the scene in astronomy with barely restrained glee, the way their feet and hands tangled before Greg fell.
Bile sloshes in my gut as the thought turns solid and puts down roots. Things like this don’t happen on Earth, not under the Others. People don’t hurt one another.
I decide I’m imagining it, and pull my eyes away from Greg’s ruined body.
I’ve never seen anyone get hurt before, nothing worse than a scraped knee or bumped head as a child. Well, except that one broken bone. I don’t like to think about that.
I struggle with my expression, too aware of Deshi’s eyes and the fact that Greg’s injury isn’t affecting anyone else. A strong arm supports me by the waist and I don’t have to turn to know who’s behind me. His scent is as recognizable as his face.
Without thinking twice I droop back into his chest, working hard to control my reaction to the sickening sight. Lucas holds me up for several minutes as deep breaths help me relax. Pushing away from him and daring to open my eyes, I see my fellow students have turned away from Greg’s injured body, all talking at once and arguing about what to do next.
“We can’t leave him here. Exercise is almost over.”
“Someone should go in and tell the Administrator what happened.”
“What’s the Administrator going to do? We should get a Healer.”
“None of the Healers can help. Look at him. He’s Broken.” Deshi, the owner of that last voice, stands away from the crowd and leans against a tree with his feet crossed at the ankle. He studies his fingernails and heaves a sigh. “Come on, I’m just saying what you’re all thinking. The Healers don’t deal with injuries this bad.”
The way he says it sends nausea rolling through me. Like he couldn’t care less. Then again, no one else cares either. Deshi is an enigma, acting friendly or even coconspiratorial one minute, then blissfully accepting of the status quo the next.
The cluster nods along with him, turns their backs on the injured boy, and jog toward the building. Deshi raises an eyebrow when neither Lucas nor I move. “You coming?”
“Someone should tell the Administrator what happened. I’ll go.” Lucas speaks up with a smooth, confident smile.
After studying us for a moment with a piercing gaze, Deshi follows the pack inside.
“Go on, Althea. You don’t have to wait. You’ve made it clear staying away from me is a priority.” Lucas trains his eyes on the distance. On nothing at all. His voice dismisses me, but instead I shift closer to him.
For some reason I can’t put my finger on, the thought of leaving his side brings on unstoppable waves of panic. Lucas may not be a Dissident like me, but he makes me feel safe. Right now, with the Wardens watching our every move, kids disappearing from Cell, and a boy with splattered brains lying on the ground at my feet, I’ll take it.
I studiously ignore Greg’s splayed body. Impatience creeps in at Lucas’s unwillingness to make a move. Getting out of here, away from the…from Greg, is a top priority in my book. “Well? Shouldn’t we go in and tell the Administrator? I mean, Greg might need help.”
“I don’t think anyone can help him.”
Unlike Deshi, Lucas sounds sorry to say those words. Steeling myself, I glance down, concentrating on Greg’s chest rather than the gaping wound in his head. It’s almost okay that way; I don’t have to see the blood. After a moment his chest moves, ever so slightly. Shallow.
“He’s breathing, Lucas. We should go get someone right now.” My hand darts out and slips into his, tugging him toward the Cell. The strange mixture of my superheated skin and his frigid palm no longer sends shivers down my spine, instead offering comfort borne of growing familiarity. Maybe even friendship. He doesn’t resist, though he glances more than once over his shoulder.
“What are you looking at?”
“Huh?”
“Why do you keep looking back and forth between the trees and the Cell?”
“I’m waiting to see if they’ll come on their own.”
“Who?”
His fingers tighten around mine as he smiles down at me. For a second I forget the question. Okay, maybe more than one second. The world tilts, as though I’ve fallen into his dimple. My chest is tight and uncomfortable, and the solid reality of his voice anchors me in the moment.
“The Wardens, of course. The Others say they’re always watching, and ten Wardens are wandering around town. How come they aren’t here?”
Like his i
nsistence that the fish isn’t deadly, the question implies that the Others might lie. That suggestion makes his words treasonous, blasphemous, and downright crazy. But the lingering idea that Greg’s outburst in astronomy had something to do with his demise won’t go away, and hearing Lucas voice a similar sentiment snaps me out of my winter-scented dreamland and dumps me back into real life.
No one talks that way. But I think that way.
People don’t question the Others. They rule us, maintain a pleasant society, employ us, but they are not us. They are Other.
“Lucas.” The word escapes my lungs in a gasp and I can’t help but shoot a paranoid glance around the empty field. “What are you saying? That the Others would lie? You can’t say that.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know where that came from.” Lucas’s cheeks flush pink and he refuses to meet my gaze.
We walk into Cell in silence, our wet tennis shoes squeaking on the hard floors as we enter, the sound echoing off the empty walls. The Administrative Center is in the middle of the building, enclosed entirely by glass. Lucas drops my hand as we approach the doors.
“Let me do the talking. I still wish you’d just go to block,” he mutters under his breath without looking at me.
I don’t budge, earning a sigh. Though my outside fakes serenity, inside I’m shaking. I’ve never been to the center of any of my Cells, never met an Administrator. As far as I know, hardly anyone has met one in person. There isn’t any reason to come to the Administrator’s office unless you’re an Apprentice, and there’s only one per year. Ours is Leah.
I wipe sweaty, slick palms on my jeans and straighten my back as Lucas pushes the red button next to the floor-to-ceiling glass doors and waits for them to open. Resisting the urge to clean the perspiration off my brow takes massive effort when the camera over the door swivels our direction. Lucas appears calm, as if he barges into uncharted waters on a daily basis.
Maybe he does, what do I know?
The doors slide open in complete silence, one retreating left and the other right. Nothing greets us but a breeze that lifts stray pieces of crimson hair about my face. I secure them behind my ears as the story Lucas told in the park the other day assaults my memory and twists my heart into knots.
He said he overheard that conversation in the Administrative Center by walking past, but he must have lied. The glass is too thick to hear anything. But why would he lie to me?
My mind searches for alternatives, ways his story could possibly be true. There simply aren’t any, unless he can hear through walls or the conversation took place elsewhere. I try hard, because I want to come up with a plausible option, but there isn’t one. I want to run and hide, but at the moment running isn’t an option. I can’t go anywhere without making a scene, and there is no way I’m letting Lucas goad me into exposing myself.
I step as far away from him as possible without leaving the room, not missing the fast, questioning look he shoots my direction. We pass through another doorway and our footsteps fall silent as we stride onto a deep purple carpet. The room is empty except for the video screen, which takes up the entire wall to our left. It blinks on and we wait for the Administrator to appear. He slides into the chair waiting behind a desk, having to squeeze to accommodate his stomach again. A brief look of surprise passes over his face when he sees us.
“Shouldn’t the two of you be in your blocks?”
My mouth goes dry and my tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth.
Luckily, Lucas doesn’t seem to be dealing with the same issues. “Yes, sir. It’s just…one of the students fell outside during exercise. He’s cracked his head pretty good and he’s not getting up. We thought someone should know.”
The Administrator fidgets while the news sinks in, his exact reaction hard to pinpoint. A bit troubled, perhaps confused. He’s not displeased, exactly, just a bit out of sorts. This isn’t an everyday occurrence. Before he can answer, the smaller, private screen on his desk lights up and beeps. His eyes flit to the desktop display. “You may go, children. I will deal with the boy.”
A disembodied voice squawks from his video screen before we shuffle from the room. It sounds like a woman. The only Others I’ve ever seen in person are Wardens, and they’re all men. I assumed Fire represented the single exception, though now that I think about it I see it’s silly. There must be women.
“Not to worry, Administrator. Everything is fine. The boy is Broken, and a girl—your Apprentice—is also being taken for refreshing due to the incident reported after their astronomy lesson. Wardens have been dispatched to collect them.”
I gasp involuntarily, prompting Lucas to grab my hand again and tug me out of the office. Once alone, I yank my hand free and walk ahead of him down the hall, trying to make sense of what we heard. The term refreshing is brand new to me, but they must be talking about Leah. It doesn’t make sense; she was fine when we left the field.
Unless them taking her has more to do with what happened in astronomy than what transpired outside.
Lucas jogs to catch up, stopping beside me to stare out the second-story window, which offers an unobstructed view of the exercise field. I hardly notice he’s there, his lies and presence temporarily forgotten.
Greg is where we left him.
A large black rider pulls up to the edge of the grass, hovering right above the ground, its spinning disks a blur of movement. It gleams even though the day is overcast. Two Wardens hop out, slam the front doors shut, and lift the rear hatch before going to Greg. They wear their standard tan uniforms, complete with black hats, belts, and boots. Even from here their beauty dazzles and I squint to relieve some of the eyestrain.
Always men, always handsome, and never with a trace of imperfection. No bent noses or crooked teeth. No wrinkles. Not a freckle. It’s too far to make out whether these Wardens have the star-shaped mark on their necks.
It’s often crossed my mind, the obvious question that if I’m different—Dissident—does that mean I’m not human? And if I’m not…what am I? I’m nowhere near perfect enough to be Other, but the fact that I feel everything doesn’t make a great case for my humanity either. I glance sideways at Lucas, studying him while he watches the scene below. It doesn’t hurt to look at him but he resembles the Wardens. He is sort of beautiful.
I turn back to the windows before he catches me staring.
The Wardens reach Greg’s body and position themselves at his head and feet. Without care or concern they bend down, one twisting his fingers through Greg’s longish brown hair, the second snatching up a foot, and hoist him roughly off the ground. They make their way back to the black rider and pitch Greg’s body inside the rear hatch.
I wince, feeling the hard bounce in my bones as if they’d tossed me. Lucas reaches for me but I scoot out of range.
One of the Wardens stationed at our Cell leads Leah outside and ushers her into the rider’s backseat. Within minutes the scene returns to normal as the rider pulls out and disappears down the street. Whether Leah will return from this refreshing, whether she’ll be the same if she does, is a mystery.
We’ll never see Greg again, though. That much I know.
CHAPTER 9.
“Where are you going?”
“Block.” Lucas isn’t picking up on my hints right now, which is odd because I’m sure they’re saying stop following me.
“What’d I do?”
“Nothing. I just need to get to my block. So do you.”
He stops walking. About time.
As chemistry looms, my overwrought brain hasn’t come up with any plausible way to avoid him, but I get out of talking by slinking into the room at the last second and keeping my eyes on the Monitor. Questions, none of which have anything to do with chem, prod my mind until my brain feels bruised. My feelings regarding Lucas conflict at every intersection.
Sometimes, like in the field, Lucas seems a little bit like me. Or, at the very least, close to being a friend. But then there’s the fact that he’s hidin
g an animal, he doesn’t smile all the time, and the Wardens seem to make him as nervous as they make me. The bottom line is that I learned years ago not to be tricked into getting comfortable, and I’m nowhere near ready to trust him. Now that he lied about overhearing the conversation in the Administrator’s office, I’m farther away than ever.
As soon as the day is over I grab my things and fly out of the room, down the hall, and through the front doors. I’ve had years of practice disappearing for the hour after Cell, and tagging along with my Cellmates to the pizza parlor is as good a way as any. Lucas, and probably Deshi, will expect me to go to the park alone and I have no desire to see either of them.
The next forty minutes pass quickly; gossip about whether or not Leah will return, along with the events of astronomy, fill most of the time. No one asks for my version and I don’t offer an opinion. Nobody even mentions Greg falling in exercise. I do hear about a second blond boy, Jack, not returning from his Warden interview. That makes nine kids gone since the Wardens arrived, counting the six they took at the Outing. Ten if I include Leah.
Eleven if I include Greg.
Five weeks until my number is called. If only people remembered what happened in the interviews, perhaps I could find a way to prepare. But the more questions I ask, the less likely I’ll continue to blend in with my Cellmates, and I need the anonymity they offer more than ever. I don’t push and no one else seems the slightest bit interested in the Wardens’ purpose here or the fact that they’re focused on our year in particular.
Lucas is waiting on the Morgans’ street, standing smack in the middle of the sidewalk with his arms folded across his chest. Despite the requisite smile, he doesn’t look pleased at my earlier disappearing act. “What’s going on, Althea?”
“Nothing. Nothing is going on.”
An unfamiliar, chafing feeling rattles inside me. It must be anger, but it’s been so long since I’ve experienced the feeling toward a live person it takes me a while to place it. I want to scream, to let it out, but I know that’s not the best idea. The rage pours out toward Lucas even though expressing any emotion other than contentment is not Acceptable.
Dark Roses: Eight Paranormal Romance Novels Page 36