My dad peddled our community as a luxury desert spa, and promised the men they’d have first dibs on the next ship to bring supplies to Garden City that the Interceptors planned to pirate. The men lapped up the vision of freedom and long-term survival and then hiked the distance to our caves with us that night. The large man forced me to ride on his shoulders to ensure my dad kept his end of the bargain. Upon getting there and being offered a meal by Doc’s Cleave, he had let me join my sister as he and his cohort ate and surveyed the area. It’s not like I could run and escape either of the guys, plus we’d led them to a place with hundreds of potential hostages.
During the meal, the men admitted to being Exiled for murdering an innocent family to steal their things. I could see my father digest the information. His band of misfits meant everything to him, and having murderers in the group’s midst meant unacceptable risk. He signaled his colleagues behind his back and one left quietly. When asked where the guy had gone, my father lied and said he’d gone to get the Captain of the Interceptors so the men could discuss the upcoming ship raid. The men continued to eat while keeping an eye on easy prey in case things went sour.
When my father’s friend came back alone, the men got angry and started shouting out threats. My father stepped in front of my sister and me. Leila buried her eyes in my stomach, but I watched the scene unfold. The tall man grabbed my father and dragged him away from us. He began to squeeze my father’s throat.
I looked to my father’s friend to help. The friend nodded to me and pulled a shiny black object from the back of his pants and pointed it at the tall man. I recognized the black object as a gun. A split second later, my dad’s friend pulled the trigger, and a bullet spliced through the bad man’s face, splattering blood and brains everywhere. The unsilenced boom echoed through the cave. The sudden sound scared Leila so much that she peed her pants and dug her fingernails into my skin. I kept my arms wrapped tightly around her to keep her from seeing the mess.
It took several seconds for the small man to realize that his partner was dead, and that he was on his own. He’d likely never seen a gun before. Once his shock faded and he realized the same fate could befall him, the small man tried to run. Several Exilers blocked his exit from the cave. Trapped, he raised his arms to surrender. My father’s friend gave him no mercy, however. He raised his gun again and fired at the small man, hitting him in the chest. Dead on impact, the small man fell into a pool of his own blood.
Thankfully, my father whisked Leila out of the cave before she saw the bodies. I wasn’t so lucky as I’d been tasked with cleanup. I spent hours scooping body fragments and blood-soaked dirt into a bucket by hand. Then, my father forced me to carry the heavy bucket a canyon over to bury alongside the dead bodies. I pushed dirt over the dead men’s bodies in a shallow grave before I was allowed to return to our cave and sleep in my dirty, bloody state. It wasn’t until ten days later that I was able to bathe.
I held Leila tightly each day for months after, recurring daymares haunting me. I woke in pools of sweat as I relived the pressure of the man’s arm against my throat and my inability to breathe, the same man trying to squeeze the life out of my father, and then the executions of the two men by a close family friend. My dad rationalized the killings as self-defense, and, even, had self-defense not been required, he said the executions were necessary for our community’s safety. Judge, juror, and executor. How were my father’s band of Exilers any different from those who’d Exiled them?
Present
I ponder my father’s commitment to the Exiler’s plight and question his tactics. The adage says, “All is fair in love and war,” but should you bank the success of your mission on your seventeen-year-old son? At what point do the rationalizations strip you of your humanity? My hypocrisy slams me in the face. Didn’t I just rationalize my own crazy behavior to Kira? Convince myself it was okay to put her in harm’s way because the cause came first? Although, doesn’t the cause come first? I can’t put one girl’s welfare over the welfare of so many. And it’s not like I knew her at the time I made the decision anyway.
The more I try to figure out a win-win solution, the more confused and unsettled I get. It’s completely messed up that my fake relationship with Kira is as close to normal as I’ve ever come. Do I crave the pull of normality or the girl? Regardless of which drives me to question everything I’ve been raised to believe, I need to reject both and focus. Maybe if I’m still alive when the SCI has been defeated and Exilers and Second Chancers have been freed, I can try to do normal and build a life with someone. Who am I kidding? The thought of being saddled to a Cleave and kids makes my body involuntarily convulse.
“For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, who art black as hell, and dark as night.”
—William Shakespeare
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kira
I close the door to my bedroom and bury myself underneath the covers, not convinced I can ever face Blake again. My thoughts return to the night of Bailey Goodington’s party. I left without forgiving Tristan and Bri. And look how that turned out. So, I know I need to forgive Blake. But he has a lot to answer for. Blake and Ted Rosenberg used me to get Blake unquestioned access to this hellhole. Worse, Blake manipulated me to trust and like him, all to further his cover.
The Second Chance Institute also needs to answer for their sins. They’re behind both the explosion and Blake’s terrible childhood. Can you give an entire government the death penalty? And, if I’m for that, does it mean I should actively support Blake’s cause? I won’t turn him in, but I’m not ready to be a willing soldier either. Blake was trained for years. How could I possibly help him?
Avoidance is my best strategy for now, and I have reasonable excuse to do so. My abdomen is swollen to five times its normal size, and pain is shooting through my pelvic region as if an untrained acupuncturist assumed it proper to stick the needles in their full length. A gush of blood sends me running into the bathroom and the sight of it causes me to empty my stomach of bile and stomach acid into the sink. Better for the pain meds to take effect quickly. I reach for the bottle and down one. And, in case that won’t knock me out, I swallow a sleeping pill to signal that I’m done with this night.
As my eyes close, my thoughts turn to Ethan and how flawless he seemed. Why do I get attached to the flawed guys, and the one perfect one disappears the moment I meet him? I swear that was his voice I heard in the clinic. I’m starting to think he may actually be here. I allow myself to focus in on what I remember of his smile and the cute way he rocked back and forth on his feet, and I drift off to sleep, imagining meeting him again.
I manage to delay my start of classes for 48 hours to allow myself time to fully heal. The doctor pays house calls and assures me that my side effects, although worse than average, are still within normal ranges, and that it is all worth it since the procedure was a success. The only time I leave my room—not having a huge appetite anyway—is to nibble on the occasional meal when I know Blake is out of the house. I’m such a wimp where confrontation’s concerned.
The rest of the time, I hide away, trying to make sense of the nightmare I’m living. The holes in the information, the inconsistencies, and the deceptions have torn the fabric of my sanity. The hows and the whys may never be answered. I must move forward, fulfill my contract, and then take my scholarship, leave, and never look back. That’s my goal anyway, although I have a growing suspicion that all will not go as smoothly as planned.
I’ve come to accept that Blake did what he did for a reason. His hand was forced as much as mine, his by his father and childhood, mine by the SCI when they decided to blow up my friends to remove my reason for staying my senior year. That doesn’t make it any easier for me to sit down and work through my issues with Blake. Or for me to accept the situation I’m in. Thinking that the explosion had been an accident had certainly been traumatic and terrible. But learning that the SCI caused the accident just to get me here? The guilt is killing me. All
that blood on my hands.
My evening’s online classes are dreadfully boring, and I’m antsy to get out into the canyon again, as our sunroom isn’t sufficient to walk off the bundle of nerves I’ve accumulated. Sitting next to Blake all evening has been torture, but I manage to put on my headphones and turn away. When free time starts, I’m the first one out the door. To my disappointment, and in a moment of sheer insanity where I forget that I’m on Thera and expect to see sun, I am greeted by a sea of darkness, swimming bits of artificial light, and Tristan and Bri. I resign myself to my misery and walk forward to greet them.
Bri gives me a hug, being careful to avoid my mid-section.
“So the princess is finally allowed to leave her castle.” Tristan gives me a big grin. “We’ve missed you. Your BFF Blake isn’t as fun to be around as you are, probably because I beat him at everything. And I mean everything! Come on, we’ll walk you down, since I’m assuming you didn’t master boarding on bed rest.” Blake’s behind me and hears every word Tristan says which I’m sure was intentional on Tristan’s part.
“Ha ha. No, I didn’t.” I look over towards Blake, who speeds away on his skateboard without word to any of us.
“Trouble in paradise?” Tristan asks as we start walking.
“Paradise is lost. Or misplaced at least.”
“What happened?” Bri looks shocked and worried.
“Seriously,” Tristan says. “You wanted to Cleave, and he couldn’t deliver?”
I ignore Tristan’s crude remark and address Bri. “I guess I suck as a patient and he wasn’t being very empathetic.” It is as close to honesty as I can muster, since I am a crappy patient, and he showed zero empathy for me when he decided my life was worth less than his. No, that’s not fair. We’d both be dead had he told me the truth up front, and I probably wouldn’t have believed him anyway. Given the rumors about Blake at the time, I assumed he was partaking too liberally of some hallucinogens.
“Well then, next time you need a better caretaker.” Tristan smiles and puts his hand on my shoulder. But he quickly realizes his mistake of doing so in front of Bri and adds, “I’ll send Bri over. Guys are no good at dealing with girl stuff.”
“Girls aren’t good at dealing with girl stuff either.” Bri gives me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry—I tried to stop by a couple times but was rejected by Blake and that odd man with the huge head that seems to be at your house a lot.”
“Thanks for trying. I was pretty much wailing and whining in my room, so you didn’t miss much.”
“Sounds like you need a distraction,” Tristan says. “Good thing we’re hosting a dinner party at our house this morn, and, as our guest of honor, your presence is mandatory.” Huh, I wonder if Tristan found a stash of standard-issue alcohol on Thera after all, or if my friends have taken up Pictionary or some other wholesome form of entertainment. I would bet on a stash. My friends suck at wholesome.
“You’re right. A distraction sounds perfect. I’ll be there. What time?”
“Right after we work out,” Bri tells me. “Can we invite Blake? Or would that be too weird for you?”
“Yeah. Of course you should. I’ll be fine.” I can’t avoid him forever, nor do I think I really want to. He’s my best source of information here, and I plan to suck every last drop from him.
The rest of our walk goes quickly but unpleasantly due to the discomfort of keeping my abs engaged as we climb downhill. I kick a couple lights on the way in disgust at their constant reminder of my sunless prison.
We arrive at the common area in time for Tristan to get talked into an impromptu game of basketball. Bri and I take a seat at the edge of the flat area, overlooking the lights of the canyon, and shortly thereafter, Bailey joins us. She looks like she spent extra time primping today, and that she may have modified her uniform to show more cleavage. Not in the mood for her antics, I watch Blake’s shadowy figure use one of the hilly paths as a makeshift half-pipe, doing various tucks, grabs, and turns that I’ve only ever seen on television. If the powers that be are watching, I wonder how long it’ll take him to get busted for boarding rather than spying on the lab rats.
“So what really happened between you two?” Bri asks me. To Bailey, Bri says, “They had a fight.” Super. Bailey will be all over him. As if she hasn’t been already.
“Blake’s a great guy, but we see things differently, and I’m having a hard time accepting his point of view.”
“So you had a big blowout about it?” Bri asks.
“No. I don’t handle the whole confrontation thing very well. We just stopped talking. I’ve been avoiding him. Which I know is ridiculous.”
Bailey pipes in, “I’m not surprised you’re clueless about how to handle this kind of thing, Kira. You got it part way right with the no talking. But where you failed—you forgot about the more touching. And rubbing. And kissing. Less clothes. I’m thinking shower and soap and some of that Theranberry oil…”
“Stop,” I tell her. “That’s disgusting.”
“And that would be why you are incapable of keeping a boyfriend,” Bailey responds.
“How would you know? And who says I’m not keeping him. We’re just having a small disagreement,” I snap.
“Oh, I know you, Kira,” Bailey sneers. “Or, at least, girls like you. Miss Goody-Freaking-Ugly-Shoes. You’re good at snagging the guys because they all want to taint the whole innocent act you’ve got going on. But when you don’t put out, they go looking elsewhere.” If I didn’t know any better, I would swear she was talking about Tristan. Since, I’m pretty sure Blake hasn’t been getting anything on the side of our fake deal. He’s too freaked about accidentally Cleaving, just like me.
“Get. Your. Own. Boyfriend, why don’t you? Mine is taken.”
“He has always been my boyfriend, Kira. He just doesn’t realize it yet.” Bailey smirks. “He will, though, I assure you.”
“Gads, Bailey. You’re seriously PMSing today,” Bri says. To me, “You sure you can’t talk it through with him and work it out? I still think you guys’d make great Cleaves and would have wicked cute babies.” I know the reason she’s asking. The thought of me being on the market must have her panicked. Little does she have to fear. Tristan’s toast and not so dear. Ha. I crack myself up.
“We’ll eventually work it out, but I wouldn’t start planning any baby showers,” I say. Bailey laughs, but Bri looks at me oddly, and I realize she may no longer know what a baby shower is, so she’s probably picturing babies falling from the sky.
We watch as Blake abruptly screeches to a stop in the canyon, his board flying up and nearly scalloping Spud Rosenberg’s head. They’re too far for me to hear the conversation. But with Spud’s animated arm waving and Blake’s defensive body language, I can imagine the tone. Blake wasn’t sent here to improve his boarding skills but to befriend and spy on the Second Chancers, and his anti-social stance is contrary to the Plan. I see him glance at us before pushing off and heading our way.
“Ladies.” He gives a nod to Bri and Bailey, before taking a left towards a group of guys.
“Hold on, Blake.” Bailey steps forward to stop him. “Not so fast. Come here. I have to ask you something.” Blake looks a little fearful but stops and waits for her to approach him.
Bailey puts her hands on his chest and rubs him up and down suggestively. “We’re having a dinner party at Bri and Tristan’s house this morn. You have to come.” She whispers something in his ear that makes him turn beet red. Before he looks back at Bailey and answers, Blake’s eyes shift first to Bailey’s lips, then to me, and then to Spud Rosenberg who is making his way up the hill. She probably mentioned the oil in the shower thing and he kind of looks like he’s considering her proposition.
“Sure. Sounds, uh, exciting,” he responds. “I’ll see you there,” looking Bailey directly in the eyes which causes a visible swoon to occur. Even Briella looks affected. This isn’t lost on Tristan who caught sight of the exchange from the nearby basketball court and
exits to come protect his interests. Not wanting to watch Bailey and Bri ogle Blake any longer, I depart for the gym early, hoping to get changed and on a treadmill before the masses. There’s no way I and my sore body can handle Tristan’s circuit or the subsequent hate that’d be directed towards me if I agreed to a repeat of the other night.
Seeing the density of kids packed into Tristan and Bri’s small home makes me shudder with discomfort, not because I’m unhappy to have plenty of distractions from Blake and Tristan, but because the last party I went to with these same people didn’t end so well. There are only a fraction of the kids that attend Garden City High here. Most the attendees are the kids I knew back on Earth. I guess that isn’t all that surprising. They were all big partiers.
The dining table is heaped with goodies, and the kitchen is filled with bottled waters and soft drinks. Something’s off because it’s only a half hour in and kids are already pairing up and slurring words. What did I miss? I wasn’t that late, only stopping home to take some pain meds, and psych myself up for the event by watching the sunrise from our sunroom.
I must have missed the memo about wearing party attire, probably because I didn’t realize the skimpy stuff in my dresser was earmarked for that purpose and not some sleazy swimsuit photo shoot. The girls’ outfits make our workout attire look modest, consisting of a sparkly gold tube top and an itty-bitty green tube skirt. The boys’ attire is somewhat better, though, still right out of some ‘70s disco movie, with a shirtless gold vest and tight, shimmery, green pants.
Art skills are being put to use painting bodies with, what I hope to be temporary, greenish-blue tattoos. Bri shows me the technique. Then has me practice on her. I’m able to apply a quick Garden Valley High logo to her exposed shoulder blade.
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