“Put that between your teeth,” he instructs. “It helps calibrate the data.”
Groggy and unquestioning, I do what he says.
“What happens afterward?” I ask, forcing the muffled words out around the plastic. “Do I just go home?”
“So many questions.” The tech chuckles. “You need to stop talking and start relaxing.”
The plastic makes it difficult to talk anyway, so I lean back in the chair. The tech taps a few keystrokes into the computer. I shut my eyes.
But in the final moments before the injection puts me under, I hear something unexpected—other voices inside the tiny room. I realize the door to my testing cell has been opened again, and that people are stepping inside.
I don’t understand why they’re here. I’m probably just imagining things. My eyelids are too heavy to lift now, and the metal halo has me immobilized. I sense that the voices are talking about me. Is this normal? They grow fainter, and I realize I’m about to sink into a drugged slumber.
Then, out of nowhere, an image explodes across my vision in the instant before the blackness claims me:
It’s the blue-eyed boy from the island.
Beckoning me. Calling my name.
And behind him is that mammoth spiral staircase, baking under the tropical sun.
I try to ask the boy who he is, and what he wants. I try to reach out and grab his hand. But he dissolves into a million shimmering particles, like cosmic dust.
Then waves of silky blackness well up from all sides, and I succumb to the darkness.
FORSAKEN
ONE SECOND LATER, I wake up choking and gasping, with the worst headache of my entire life.
I try to open my eyes, but blinding light stabs my retinas. I try to scream, but my lungs are filled with smoke.
My ears are ringing, and I realize I can barely hear. It hurts to think. My hands are numb, my face bruised and battered.
I must have been in an accident. Maybe a car crash on the Megaway. It’s all a blank. My memory has been shattered like a smashed mirror.
I dare to open my eyes again, and the brightness causes a fresh surge of pain. But I manage to get on all fours.
What has happened to me?
I raise a trembling hand and touch my forehead. The skin feels raw. Singed and blistered. I’m beyond terror now. I just want to lie down until the pain goes away.
But something inside won’t let me give up. I push up with both hands, like an animal rising to its haunches.
When I finally get my eyes to stay open, I’m looking at large green leaves and dense, lush foliage. This is obviously not New Providence, where everything is industrial and utilitarian. This place is tropical. I crouch for a moment, then manage to stand on shaky legs, trying to push past my pain and confusion.
Everywhere I look are ropy vines, exotic trees with intertwined branches, and neon pink and blue flowers. The air is humid and dank. It smells like earth and decay.
Some of my memory starts to return: the testing arena, the scan, those voices in the room . . .
But it’s not possible.
I stagger around in disbelief, seeking a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of my surroundings. In the distance, a huge stone structure ascends into the gray clouds. A broken spiral staircase.
I feel stunned.
Terrified.
Betrayed.
Somehow I am on the island.
The Land Across the Water.
I sink to my knees like I’ve been punched in the belly. I’m too scared to cry. How could this have happened to me? There’s been a horrible mistake!
Okay. It’s probably just a hallucination brought on by the serum, I tell myself desperately, trying not to hyperventilate. There’s no way I’ve actually been sent to Island Alpha. I’m not an Unanchored Soul! But the vegetation, the heat, and the smell of the soil are too visceral to be the product of my imagination.
I crouch in the underbrush as my senses slowly return. Other than distant birdcalls, the island around me seems completely deserted. I touch my aching forehead again.
I shouldn’t be here. I’m a normal, decent member of the UNA. I’m no different from any of the other orphans or kids at my school. This is insane. How did I even get here? There are no tire tracks or roads. Was I tossed out of a helicopter? Doubtful. I don’t have any broken bones, and the pain is already subsiding.
I check my skirt pocket for my government ID card. It’s not there. There’s no sign of my earpiece either. I feel shorn of my identity. I always hated the photo on my ID card because my hair looked so messy. And I hated my annoying earpiece, too. Now I’d do anything to have them back.
The camera! I suddenly remember that the museum’s video screen is the only means of communication that I know of between the UNA and the island. It can’t be too far away if I can see that spiral staircase. If I can reach the staircase, then I can find the camera and signal for help.
I’m aware this was what the blue-eyed boy might have been trying to do, even though he didn’t seem as panicked as I feel. But no one could understand what he was saying. I won’t make the same mistake. I’ll write a message somehow and prove I’m not some crazy savage. I’ll let them know they’ve made a huge error. Hopefully they’ll send someone out to rescue me right away.
Of course I’m scared that a monstrous figure with a painted face will burst out and grab me before I can reach the camera. For all I know, someone is tracking me already.
Still in shock, I start hobbling through the dense forest in the direction of the giant staircase, moving as fast as I can.
But I don’t get very far. I make it only fifteen paces before I see a pale object sticking out from a thick tangle of underbrush.
I stop moving and crouch down, trying to figure out what it is, and whether it’s dangerous to walk past it or not. It takes me a second to realize it’s a human hand.
I’m instantly terrified, but the hand isn’t moving. Maybe its owner is already dead. Or maybe it’s a trap.
I stand up warily, ready to move on.
Then I hear a voice gasp: “Help me—”
I freeze, too scared to move. The voice is coming from inside the underbrush.
“Help me!” the voice gasps again. “Please—” The hand disappears, and the brush starts shaking.
As I back away, a boy slowly sits up. He’s dazed and covered in leaves. He looks like he’s in pain. His short black hair is scruffy, and he has a horizontal burn mark across his forehead. He’s skinny, with a nose that’s slightly too large for his angular face. His almond-shaped eyes squint against the light.
He starts coughing, struggling to breathe. I realize he’s probably waking up here for the first time. Just like me.
I watch him in fear, prepared to run. Most likely he’s a malevolent psychopath. Someone with madness and chaos inside him waiting to flower on the island. An Unanchored Soul. But of course I’m here, and I’m not crazy, so maybe he’s normal and there’s been another mistake. But what are the chances of that?
“Stay away from me,” I say, my voice cracking.
The boy tries to stand, but staggers and falls back down.
He looks up at me with dark eyes. “We’re on Island Alpha, right?” he croaks. He sounds scared, but not surprised. I don’t answer at first. But he keeps staring at me.
“There’s been a mistake,” I say finally, as I begin backing away. “I don’t—”
“You’re from New Providence,” he interrupts.
I stop moving, startled. “How did you—?”
“I am too. I just figured they’d dump us near each other. There are probably other kids somewhere around here—unless we’re the only two who made the cut today.” He finally gets to his feet and stands there swaying. He’s only a couple inches taller than I am. “I was afraid this would happen to me.”
“Why?” I ask nervously, muscles still primed to sprint away from him.
“Because I don’t trust the government, that’s why.
I’m not an Unanchored Soul, and I’m betting you’re not either. I’ve heard stories about kids getting sent here just for criticizing Minister Harka.” He hesitates. “And I’ve heard worse things too. That every now and then the government sends some normal kids here for the crazy ones to hunt for sport. Just so they don’t cause trouble.”
I don’t respond. Back home, antigovernment talk like that could get you locked up. Of course, now we’re in the worst situation I can imagine, so what we say probably doesn’t matter anymore.
“I’m David,” the boy says, extracting himself from the brush. “David, not Dave. I hate nicknames. You?”
“Alenna.” I still don’t trust him. “Don’t get too close to me or I’ll run. Are you really from New Providence?”
“Yeah, center city. Franklin Street.”
I nod. “I’m from Thayer Corridor.”
“That’s not too far from where I live.”
I watch him closely, looking for any signs of aberrant behavior. I don’t see any, at least not yet. “I’m heading for the camera,” I finally tell him. “The one that’s linked to the Harka Museum. There’s obviously been a mistake, so I’m going to signal for help.”
“I doubt anyone’s gonna help us.”
“Why’s that?”
He doesn’t answer.
“You have a better plan?” I look around, thinking about all the awful things that might happen to me if I keep standing here talking.
“Honestly? No.” David bends down. “Can’t find my glasses.” He starts rummaging in the underbrush. “Ah, here they are.” He lifts them up and puts them on, adjusting the black plastic frames.
“We need to move,” I tell him, edging away. We’re in so much danger, the last thing I want to do is waste time. I’m not even sure if this boy is an ally for real, or if he’s putting on an act.
“Wait. I’m coming.” He takes a few tentative steps forward and winces. “I hurt my foot somehow. It’s been killing me ever since I woke up.”
In a way, I’m relieved to know he’s injured. He’s less of a threat if I can outrun him. He takes another step forward, limping.
I think about trying to ditch him in the forest. But for the moment it feels better to be with someone else than all alone. I’ll just have to keep my guard up. I still can’t believe that I’ve ended up here.
We start hiking in the direction of the camera. I push my aching body forward, climbing over fallen tree branches and rotting logs. David lags behind. The ground is spongy beneath my feet, marshy and wet. My shoes are already soaked and muddy. Mosquitoes and gnats swarm my mouth and eyes, buzzing against my ears.
David and I don’t talk much. It’s hard enough just to keep going, and the thick, damp air makes it tough to breathe. Both of us are panting.
“Alenna, stop,” David suddenly whispers.
I look back at him. “What?”
“Listen.”
It’s then that I hear the howling noise:
Aooooooooooooo!
It’s a plaintive, animalistic wail that echoes through the trees.
My body stiffens. The sound isn’t close, but it’s not too far away either. I move backward and press myself against a tree trunk, holding my breath until the noise stops. I exhale slowly. I look over at David. He’s crouching low to the ground.
“What was that?” I whisper.
“Don’t know, but it didn’t sound good.”
We wait another minute.
Only silence.
Eventually we resume our desperate hike.
Fifteen minutes later, we finally reach the clearing in front of the spiral staircase. After a few seconds of anxious searching, I spot the museum camera, wedged up fifty feet high in a thick Plexiglas box, between the V of two massive tree branches. Its lens points directly down at us.
I’m now in the exact same place where I saw the blue-eyed boy. Even though it’s sweltering in this jungle, I instantly get the chills. I try not to think about the robed figure. I suppress my fear—I can’t let it overwhelm me. David and I stare up at the camera as I listen to the blood rush through my veins.
The camera glares back at us with its cold, dead eye. I can see our reflections in the Plexiglas box. I already look filthy, small, and terrified—which is exactly how I feel.
David just stands there, looking resigned, with his shoulders slumped. Like he expected this would be his fate. Like he knows he’s guilty of something. But what? He seems like the shy, studious type. Maybe he was planning on doing something awful, and the GPPT detected his mental aberration, just as it should?
“I gotta find something to write with,” I explain. I kneel and look for a thin twig. I find one almost instantly. But it’s harder to find something to gouge letters onto. My fingers plunge around until I discover a large, damp, waxy leaf, the size of my hand. I stand up in view of the camera.
“I’ll keep watch,” David says. “Make sure no one sneaks up from behind.”
I take the stick and start writing on the leaf. It doesn’t work too well, but I keep at it until letters are marked into its surface, like messy etchings.
I manage to fit two words on the leaf: “HELP!” and “MISTAKE!” I hold the leaf up to the camera, point at myself, and then at the words. If anyone’s watching, I’m sending a clear message. I toss that leaf down, find another larger one, and write my full name on it, trying not to tear the leaf. The letters are small and jagged, but the docent, or whoever controls the camera, can probably zoom in if he wants.
“What’s your last name?” I ask David, trying to be generous and give him the benefit of the doubt. He’s still keeping lookout. “I’ll write something for you. Maybe they’ll come rescue both of us.”
He turns toward me. “You really think someone will come, don’t you?”
“Maybe.” The truth is, I don’t know. I’ve never heard of anyone being rescued from Island Alpha, or any mistake of this magnitude being made. But I’m not going to let that stop me. “I guess it feels better to try than to just stand around doing nothing.”
David sighs. “Aberley,” he says. “That’s my last name.” He spells it for me.
I find another leaf and write it down for him. Then I hold it up to the camera and point in his direction. If he’s sane like me, then this might help him get rescued. At the same time, if he’s an Unanchored Soul, then maybe putting his name on the leaf will hasten my own rescue—because the authorities will be worried about my safety.
I know that if I’m still on this island when night falls, it’s going to be a struggle to survive. I’m a city girl, used to my familiar routines at school and the orphanage. And now I’m on an island with thousands of violent, potentially psychotic teens, with David as my only companion.
I lower the leaf, feeling a little stupid that I even tried. We don’t need to be standing here in the open, waiting for some frightening apparition to explode from the trees and snatch us. So I stick the leaves on branches, check to make sure they’re in camera range, and then David and I head back toward the forest.
I try to imagine what my dad would tell me to do. Until the day he got taken, he was always good in tough spots. He’d probably tell me to find a safe hiding place, keep an eye on David, and try to think my way out of the situation.
I’m about to re-enter the trees, when I hear the faint rustle of nearby branches. The sound is so soft that anywhere else I probably wouldn’t have noticed it.
I stop moving. The sound comes again.
“David?” I whisper. He’s already heard it too.
I look back at the camera. No doubt it catches the terrified expression on my face. But the camera can’t help me. The rustling noise gets louder, like someone’s headed straight in our direction.
“Don’t move,” David cautions softly. “Don’t make any noise.”
My first instinct is to run, but I know once I get into the depths of the forest, I’m going to get lost pretty quickly. My eyes flick toward the spiral staircase. I’m too far
away to make a dash for it. And besides, it doesn’t lead anywhere. Someone could trap me up there if they wanted to.
David sinks down to the ground, motioning for me to do the same. So instead of running, I crouch down near a fallen tree covered with lichens.
I press myself flat in the underbrush behind it, trying to make myself invisible. David is a few feet to my left. I take shallow breaths, even though my chest is pounding. The rustling sounds grow louder. I peek through the underbrush above the fallen tree.
Standing at the edge of the clearing is a four-legged animal, the size of a large pig. But it’s not like any pig I’ve ever seen. While its body is stocky and its legs end in cloven hooves, its head is sleek and vicious with a narrow, pointed snout.
The animal sniffs the air, revealing rows of tiny sharp teeth. It doesn’t see me or David yet. Its yellow eyes are wild, almost mad-looking.
It roots in the earth like a boar, digging its teeth into the mud as it grunts.
Suddenly, it tosses its head back and opens its mouth wide. A loud, screeching explosion of noise bursts forth. Unable to stop myself, I let out a startled gasp.
David shoots me a warning glance. The screeching stops instantly. Did the animal hear me? I’m too scared to look up and find out.
Then I hear another sound, faint but distinct. A harsh, guttural shriek. I realize that somewhere out there is a second one of these animals. David signals at me to start moving backward.
I risk a terrified peek again, thinking that the creature will probably be looking for its companion now.
But I’m wrong.
The animal is staring directly at me, its yellow eyes locked on mine.
It sees me. Knows exactly where I am. I start inching back slowly, my belly still on the ground.
The animal raises a hoof and takes a step in my direction. A silvery rope of saliva hangs down from its black gums. I start wriggling away from it faster, arms and legs moving frantically. The creature bares its teeth, taking another step. Then another. It swings its head in David’s direction. Now it has seen both of us.
The Forsaken (Forsaken - Trilogy) Page 3