by Joe Shine
A common one was forcing a first year to drive near his or her home—and ignore it. The strong kept to their mission; the weak did not. Most turned home and then needed to be reminded about the importance of following orders. The reminder came in the form of a beating. Did I think it was crude and caveman-ish? Some silly skullduggery? (Heard that word in a movie once, still not a hundred percent sure what it means—certain areas of one’s education take a back seat here.) Orders are orders. You follow them or you die.
Right now, the painful part was having to choose someone to beat up, knowing that whoever it was had done nothing to me and had done nothing to deserve it. The FATE people liked me for tasks like this. (Thanks to Leslie, I’m guessing.) I’d never been one to pick a fight for the sake of it. I needed a good reason. When someone messes up by their own doing, you teach them a lesson: that seems fair. Stacking the deck against them like that? Not cool. This always seemed purely psychopathic. Not that it was any different from 90 percent of what else went on here.
I scanned the list of names and stopped on Box Six—a girl named Ren and a boy named Junie. Ren and Junie? What the hell kind of names were these? Were their middle names Apple and Moonbeam? I shook my head.
By the way, this was the sort of the mental exercise I went through to justify the beatdowns. I created imaginary grudges. Hipster parents. No doubt about it. Showering baby Ren Apple and Junie Moonbeam with unearned praise and presents. Participation medals. No clue how cruel the real world is. These spoiled brats could use a lesson in negative reinforcement . . .
“Box Six,” I said.
I smiled. I remembered my first simulator. They’re beyond real. The speed, the sound . . . There’s even wind that smells like the air outside. It’s easy to forget where you are.
The tech pulled up Box Six on the main screen.
As soon as I saw the girl, I figured it was over. She was weak and didn’t even try to hide it behind a mask of wannabe badass. Small, skinny, with short black hair and freckles, she definitely wouldn’t make it past year one. But holy hell, was that a big fourteen-year-old boy. Reminded me a lot of . . . me. He looked the part, but I could tell he had feelings for this girl. Could he be strong enough for the two of them? The moment he turned left when the car he was supposed to be following turned right, we all shook our heads and headed for their simulator. They were just exiting as we approached.
“Should have kept following the green car,” Clayton told them.
Man, even his threats sounded cool.
“Ren, go. Run,” the Junie boy whispered, placing himself between her and us.
He was a lot like me.
“I’m not leaving you,” the girl said.
“Please, go,” Junie begged her, not even trying to hide his feelings.
She should have listened to him. Zero chance of love lasting in this place. I knew that firsthand. Her attachment to this overgrown kid didn’t make me feel any sorrier for her. If anything, it brought up old memories and made me angrier.
Like a coordinated pack of raptors, we attacked. Clayton took the girl, while Elin and I focused on the boy.
In a few years Junie might be something special, something to reckon with. Heck, sooner than that, but not today. No, now he was raw. Raw emotion, raw training, raw everything. He was ready to sacrifice himself for her. Rookie mistake. The same one I made my very first day of training. Sweet, but stupid. Like they tell you on airplanes: put your mask on first and then tend to your kids. Can’t help anyone if you’re unconscious.
Clayton tackled Ren to the ground like she was a bag of feathers. Instead of letting her fight her own battle, Junie took punches and kicks from Elin and me and forced his way toward Ren. Before either of us could land the knockout blow, Junie grabbed Clayton from behind and hurled him like a rag doll into the door of the driving box. It was a pretty impressive toss, I’ll give it to him, but it was reckless and left him wide open. I swept out his legs while Elin slammed her foot across his chest. He flipped and landed on the floor with an awkward splat. We didn’t let him get back up.
Ren tried to help, but Clayton welcomed her enthusiasm with a kick of his own, right to the temple. It knocked her out instantly. Actually coulda killed her, but I think she lived. Not that I checked. But we aren’t supposed to kill people during driving room exercises, so chances are she lived. Let’s just go with the odds on this one before I feel guilty.
After dragging the unconscious bodies of the two lovebirds back into the side room, we called the medics to come take them away.
“Who’s next?” the tech asked me when we climbed back upstairs. He wasn’t alone, though. Standing next to him was Cole. He was basically another version of Shane. A certain type of a-hole instructors existed here. They all seemed to have one-syllable names and were universally disliked. We’d run into each other here and there, but I didn’t know him too well. I’d only heard what a world-class jerk he was. Like Shane.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
“Whatever I want,” he snapped. He glared at me, as if daring me to ask anything else. “Choose who’s next,” he commanded.
Yeah, I had to choose more. In fact, I had to choose a lot more. The full simulation lasted two hours. Box Six had taken . . . what? Two minutes? I wasn’t much of a fan of this to begin with, but after what we’d done to Ren and Junie, the whole process disgusted me all over again. This wasn’t who we were. This wasn’t what we were about, was it? Beating for the sake of beating? But orders are to be followed. The mission must be carried out. I knew this, of course, but that didn’t mean I had to agree with it. I held my tongue.
“Now,” Cole ordered.
I blindly pointed at Box Twelve.
The medics coming for Ren and Junie were still en route when the suckers in Box Twelve took the bait. With any luck, the medics would arrive right as we were finishing off the other two kids, saving them a double trip to the infirmary. It’s the little things, you know?
Anyway, it was rinse and repeat after that.
“Dinner?” Clayton asked me.
I shrugged. I was sweaty and hungry after beating the crap out of strangers for two hours. “Sure.”
I got along with the older kids just fine, but I rarely ate with them. Mostly I ate alone. All they talked about was how close they were to graduating. Yeah, I was training with the fourth years, but I wasn’t really one of them. I was only sixteen, so I still had two more years. Besides, talking always quickly turned to being linked, and that’s where I shut them out, so eating alone was sometimes more peaceful. But Clayton had asked. That was a first.
As we exited the side room to head out to dinner, I saw that Cole was waiting for me.
“You, upstairs,” he said.
I hesitated. “What’d I do?” I asked. Upstairs was never good.
“You know better than to ask,” he said menacingly.
He was right, but I’d stopped being afraid of everyone and everything a long time ago. “See ya, I guess,” I said to Clayton. I have to admit, both he and Elin looked a bit worried on my behalf. Creases on their foreheads. Twitching lips. Worry is not an emotion you generally see at the FATE Center except among those who don’t make it.
Cole led me straight to an elevator. Bad sign. We didn’t get to use the elevators. This was for real.
“Seriously, am I in trouble?” I asked as we got inside.
“Would it change anything?” he replied.
I shook my head.
“Then does it matter?”
“I’d like a heads-up if I’m facing my impending doom.”
He sneered. Once inside the elevator, he pressed his finger to the print scanner and waited. When it was recognized, he hit the top-most button three times before hitting the bottom-most one twice. The elevator dinged happily at the random button pushing as if to acknowledge its acceptance.
&n
bsp; “Enjoy the ride,” Cole said.
He slid out before the doors closed.
Chapter 9
Cheers to Me
Alone. All alone. Great. How long had it been since I was in an elevator? Were they always this slow? And no music?! The ride wasn’t long, but I had no clue how far I’d traveled. Hundred feet? A thousand? No clue. All I know is when the doors opened, I was greeted by two men in suits. Like actual business suits. Not combat gear. I’d sorta forgotten real clothes existed.
I stepped into a small room. A single door on the other side was the only way out, aside from the elevator. Hanging on the wall was a black clothing bag, the kind for suits.
“Put those on,” the bigger of the two ordered, pointing at the clothing bag. “And at least tuck your hair behind your ears.” I figured he would say that. He had a crew cut.
I knew better than to question orders. But when I unzipped the bag and saw the clothes inside, I couldn’t help but say, “You’re joking, right?”
Inside the bag were a pair of pleated khakis, a blue button-up shirt with a dark navy tie, and a pair of brown leather boat shoes.
The men didn’t answer. I put the clothes on. I looked like a preppy East Coast nerd, but at least everything fit well.
“If anyone asks, you’re an intern,” the other guard instructed.
“Uh, sure. Got it.” I nodded. Anyone? Where was I?
As it turns out, we were in the middle of a busy office. A real one. Full of real-life functioning, working, taxpaying people. I couldn’t say what they did, but they all looked really busy. I followed the guards down some hallways. If anyone gave me a second look, I never caught them. It wasn’t until we passed the copy machine, where I saw a line of young kids all dressed pretty similar to me, that I got it. My costume was spot on. I could have slid right in with them and no one would have been any wiser. Well, except for my shaggy hair. Yeah, I’d tucked it behind my ears, but it didn’t quite fit in with these side-parted business wannabes.
I was led outside through a pair of metal double doors. A golf cart was parked there. This was the first time I’d been outside and not training since I’d gotten to FATE—one of the harder things to adjust to. I paused to take a deep breath.
This was something I remembered from juvie: free air always tastes better.
“In,” the smaller guard ordered, directing me toward the cart. He shoved me in the back.
I turned and glared down at him. His reaction was priceless.
“Sorry, uh, please,” he stammered.
No wonder these soft, doughy guards looked unfamiliar. I’d never seen them before. Ever. They were normal, real-world, fake-badge types.
I climbed into the front seat, next to the other guard. The smaller one raised his hand to object but decided against it. He climbed into the back seat. I think I caught the bigger guy smirking.
Soon we were bouncing along a path through the woods. We emerged and passed a few more offices before stopping outside a building that looked pretty much exactly like the one we’d come from. Maybe it was the same one, and the joyride was only to fool me. Doubtful, but you couldn’t put it past them. We went through another plain old side door, but the moment I was inside, I knew it wasn’t the same building. As loud and active as the other building was, this one was the exact opposite: quiet and empty. As in silent. Deserted.
The guards led me to a bank of elevators, but instead of pushing a button to call one, they walked me right up to a blank wall. There was a ding, and the wall slid open to reveal a hidden elevator. Okay, this was more like it.
“In,” the larger guard ordered.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when they didn’t follow, but I was anyway. The larger guard clicked the button for the top floor and stepped off the elevator.
As the doors slid closed I asked, “Where am I going?”
“To meet the boss,” the smaller guard said.
The boss? The boss. Nobody got to meet the boss. What was going on? What had I done? I racked my brain for anything I could have done that would get me in trouble, but I couldn’t think of anything major. But what if . . .
I was alone and had taken whole classes on disabling and escaping from elevators. It was easy. Should I? Or was this a test? Was I supposed to try to escape? I didn’t have time to make a decision. Apparently this elevator was super fast because no sooner had the doors closed than they were sliding back open again.
I was totally unprepared for what I saw.
I’d expected another boring hallway. Or more guards. Or something normal. But what I was looking at felt so out of place I thought maybe I’d passed out somewhere and was dreaming. I was looking out across a field of beach grass, and sitting all cozy in the middle of it was a full-scale wood-shingled beach cottage. Beyond the cottage was a long beach that led down to the ocean. What in the hell?
A thin path cut through the beach grass that was lazily waving in the soft ocean breeze. Really, a breeze? A puff of smoke was even dancing its way out of the chimney. It was surprisingly cold in here now that I thought of it. And what was that? Waves? Was I hearing the ocean, too? Did a seagull just fly by?
It was all so real I forgot it was fake. I kept having to remind myself I was in a building. Wasn’t I?
A man wearing jeans and a loose, faded sweater appeared on the porch. He waved happily at me and called out, “Oh, great, come on in, Hutch. We have business to discuss.”
He turned and went back inside the cottage like all of this was normal. Business? I looked around for, I don’t know, anything to clue me in on what was going on. Who the—? What the—? Business?
The man appeared again and called out, “Your tea is getting cold. Come on.”
My tea?
I walked down the well-beaten path toward the cottage but paused when I reached the wooden stairs that led up to the porch. Whistling—carefree whistling—was coming from inside. My mind flashed back to the driving simulator. That Junie guy had been big. Had he killed me and this was my purgatory? Or heaven? At least that would make sense because this didn’t. Then I had an idea. The simulator.
I picked up a small beach rock from a pile by the stairs and chucked it as hard as I could at the ocean. If it hit the water, I was dead or crazy. Luckily, it thudded against a wall forty or so yards away and a ripple of color rolled across the image. Nothing more than a simulator. Whew. But an awesome whew.
“I won’t ask nicely a third time,” the man called from inside, and I knew he meant it.
I climbed up the stairs and pushed through the half-open door. The inside was just as cozy as the outside. Old wood floors and comfy turn-of-the-century furniture. In front of me was a living space with a fire crackling in the fireplace, and off to the right was a small kitchenette, where my host was pouring tea.
The man turned to face me. He was good-looking, I’m not ashamed to admit it—talent recognizes talent—and he had one of those super-wide, friendly smiles we all wish we had. He had shaggy brown hair that was barely starting to go gray, but it looked good on him. Reminded me of Matthew McConaughey actually.
“Tea, Hutch?” he offered. “You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”
I shook my head. His voice sounded so familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
“Good. Here,” he said, handing me a cup. “With milk and sugar—the only way to drink it.”
He took a sip and by his expression I could tell he wanted me to do the same. Never been a tea guy, but when in Rome . . . It wasn’t that bad. Not my first choice but not terrible.
“Sit with me by the fire,” he said, walking past me and sitting down in an old recliner next to the fire. An empty brown love seat seemed to have my name on it. Careful not to spill the tea, I sat down. I had nothing against the boring regulation furniture I was used to, but I found this couch to be comfy like a marshmallow. The fire, the
ocean, and the hot tea—all made me feel instantly sleepy.
“Relaxing, huh? You like it?” the man asked me.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” I admitted. It was weird and out of place, but there was no denying it was one of the cooler things I’d ever seen—and at FATE, that’s saying something.
“It was my grandparents’ house. Well, not the exact house. They sold it when I was in high school, so this is from memory, but I think I did a good job. Had to take some guesses, but it felt like they were steering me, rooting for me to get it right.”
Finally! When he said the word “rooting,” I recognized his voice and couldn’t help but shout out, “Pre-taped?!”
“Excuse me?” he asked, genuinely confused.
“You’re . . . the voice. The one who talks to us.”
“Oh, yes, that’s me. Pre-taped, huh?” he said, shaking his head playfully. “I do enjoy the nicknames you all come up with for me. But please, call me Blake.”
He took a sip of his tea and stared off into the fire. I did the same but only because he did. What the heck else was I supposed to do? Where was this going?
“I am pleased you went through with today’s task at the driving simulators without issue. There had been concerns, but those are now gone. I must admit, Hutch, you have surpassed every expectation we set for you and then surpassed the new ones we set after that. We—I am extremely impressed.”
“Thanks?” I blushed, still not good with compliments.
“I think you’ll agree that you have little left to learn here, correct?”
“I mean . . .”
He waved me off. “No need to be coy with me, not here. Are you not enjoying your tea?”
I hadn’t touched the stuff since the first sip. No, I wasn’t.
“Would you like something else? Coffee, Coke?”
“Dr Pepper?” I said it as a joke because I hadn’t had one since before FATE. Water, milk, and juice were all we got.
“Okay,” he said.
We sat in silence for maybe twenty seconds before there was a polite knock on the door.