by Keri Lake
I’m ashamed to admit that I like the sound of his voice. It carries a deep and soothing nature that reminds me of nights when my father lay next to me, calming me after I woke from nightmares. Wise and calculated. He’s definitely older than me.
“You were right. I killed Dean for the enjoyment.”
Swallowing carefully, so as not to gulp aloud, I don’t bother to respond to what I suspected all along.
“But I didn’t enjoy watching your punishment.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m not their weapon. I refuse to kill at their command.”
As much as I understand, and perhaps even admire, his defiance, I’ve now had a taste of the consequences, and I dread what that means for my sister. “Lucky me.”
The strangest thing about having a conversation with shadows, is never knowing how words affect them. I have no idea if the thought of watching me suffer his punishment means anything to him.
I spin the beads of my bracelet, trying to remember the stories of Legion raids. The fear and terror worn on the faces of the elders as they spoke about women and children being murdered.
I understand his defiance.
“When was the last time you saw her? Your sister?”
“Just under four years ago. I stole some bread to share with some friends, and the guard who caught me was going to cut off my hand for it. Bryani jumped on his back and attacked him.” The chuckle that escapes me is a confusing blend of sadness and laughter. “She was shot in the stomach. They dragged her off, and I haven’t seen her since.”
“She’s dead, then.” His words are a cold spike to my chest, and I lift my gaze toward the nothingness, my heart picking up its pace.
“What did you say to me?”
“She’s dead. When they’re dragged away, they don’t come back. The only ones who live are those made into Alphas. Only the males.”
My face twitches, anger slowly, but assuredly, rising to the surface. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
I blink away the annoying shield of tears covering my eyes and push to my feet, backing myself to keep from doing something stupid, like attacking an Alpha. “You’re lying! You don’t know that!” The panic burbling in my chest chokes my breath, reducing each inhale to small pants.
In the beam of light from the corridor, he rests his palm flat against the ground, and when he leans forward, my eyes are greeted by a scarred and chafed face of a man. One with gray eyes and dark, buzzcut hair, who carries a vague familiarity.
Ragers. Screams. Laughter. Scratches to my face. A fight. Gray eyes staring back at me as the guards drag him away.
“You’re the boy. You fought the other ...”
“Cadmus.”
Eyes wide, I drop my gaze from his, the memories of that day trickling in with clarity. “And Titus?”
“My friend. The one who also fought Cadmus, before they were both dragged off.”
“They brought you here … and …”
“Turned us into animals.”
Hand over my mouth, I try to force the calm into my chest, to keep from hyperventilating and passing out. He looks very little like the small and scrawny boy they carried off that day. Only the innocence of his eyes remain, which I suspect is why they force him to wear a helmet. It’s painful to look at him. To see through the iron exterior to the boy who stepped in to help a stupid girl.
He rubs the silver band still attached to his throat. “I suppose I have you to thank for having the helmet removed.”
The door clicks, and beams of light slice through the darkness, until I can see more of his face. More of the scars. The years of punishment he’s endured for stepping in on my behalf.
“That’ll be all for today. Come with me, girl.”
“They hurt you. All three of you. Because of me.” Stepping toward him, I reach out to touch one of his scars, a particularly deep gash over his throat, beneath his band, and he flinches away. “I’m so sorry.” Reaching again, my fingertips just graze the jagged surface stretched across his throat, and this time, he allows it.
“Girl! Now!” Medusa’s voice is a warning shot, before her footsteps close in behind me, and as she reaches down to grab my shirt, I swipe up Valdys’s hand and force it to her neck.
She pauses, eyes wide and spilling with fear, as all three of us slowly push to our feet.
Keeping his hand to her throat, I use his strength to back her to the wall. Any moment, Legion will come rushing in to save her, so my time is limited. “Did you kill her?”
“I’ve told you. Your sister is alive.”
I don’t even have to prompt Valdys, as I feel his muscles tense beneath my hand, squeezing her throat. “Did. You. Kill. My. Sister?”
“No.”
Tighter he squeezes, until her mouth gapes and her tongue hangs past her gradually darkening lips.
“Did you kill her!” I scream through tears, the rage inside of me exploding to the surface.
“Yes,” she rasps. “Yes. She’s dead.”
Her words are the knife that pierces my heart, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. My ears fill with the rush of blood, pounding so hard inside my head that the world turns mute. Releasing Valdys, I stumble backward, every muscle in my body no longer at my command. I’m cold, paralyzed, and falling deeper into the blackness.
By the time Legion soldiers arrive, I can’t feel anything. The air around me is too thick to breathe, burning my lungs with every inhale.
I let them drag me off.
Chapter 19
Four years ago
* * *
Fluorescent lights pass over me, punctuated by brief moments of blackness. Nausea gurgles in my stomach, the need to throw up tugging at my throat. A moan slips past my lips, warning of the impending eruption, but it’s too late. I turn my head to the side, and my stomach involuntarily flexes, pumping the fluids past my lips.
“Ah, Christ!” A voice somewhere beyond me is nothing but background noise to the spatter of vomit hitting the floor.
I heave again, the acids shooting up my nose, as a stream of liquid pours over the edge of the white sheets. I stare down at bits of beans and meat swimming in milky pools across the floor. The movement comes to a stop, and I breathe hard through my nose, trying to avoid another round of it.
“Hang on a sec. I need a towel.” The voice belongs to a female, and I roll my head back and see a bronze-skinned girl staring down at me, younger than a nurse. Must be new. Only the girls who’ve come from the Deadlands carry the glow of sunlight in their skin like that.
My eyes follow the path of her arm, where she wipes off chunks of vomit, to the top of the mattress where TNP has been stamped onto her hand. Newly assigned. The cart jerks into motion, and I slide backward, into a silver box. The elevator.
Soft cotton drags over my face, and she dabs it against my hair. “Sorry ‘bout that. It’s my first time in transport. I’m Roz.”
My chest is cold, and a tickle tells me the nausea hasn’t subsided.
“We don’t use real names,” another voice I don’t recognize chides.
Roz steps aside, and I crane my neck to see another girl standing beside her, hands set against another bed.
I trail my gaze down to the profile of my sister lying beside me, eyes closed, her face covered in a mask. “Bryani …” My voice is so weak and hoarse, I can’t tell if I’ve spoken aloud, or in my head.
She doesn’t move, and the pallor of her skin looks unnatural. Almost blue. I reach out for her hand, which feels too cold.
“Bryani.” The tears in my voice choke my words, as I stroke my thumb over her icy fingers.
The elevator dings, and the doors open. Bryani’s fingers slip through mine, as her bed is wheeled out into the corridor.
Mustering what little energy is left in me, I lift my head from the bed. “Bryani!”
The transporter reaches over my sister, as she wheels her down the hallway, and before the doors close, I see her
pull the sheet up over my sister’s head.
“Cali, come wook!”
I jog across the dirt, the hot sun beating down on my shoulders, to where my sister squats to the ground, pointing at something. By the time I reach her, she’s already down on all fours, studying the object in front of her.
I catch sight of something small and feathery, a baby bird, I guess, based on the small tufts of fuzz that stick out from its body, where it lies on the ground.
Not moving.
“Is a baby bewd.” A smile stretches her lips, as she points to it with a sense of wonder and pride. At just five years old, she still doesn’t understand death. “Is sweeping.”
My father taught me how to spot an infected bird around her age, but I can’t bring myself to ruin the smile on her face by telling her the truth. No bugs crawling over it. No blood from attack. It really does look like it’s sleeping.
“Better leave it alone, Bree. It’s momma will come to wake it up soon.”
“But da momma will take it away, and I wanna play wif it.”
Shaking my head, I give a small tap to her shoulder. “She needs to be with her momma, Bree. You wouldn’t want someone taking you away from our momma, would you?”
She lowers her head, lips pouting to sadness. “No. I would miss momma.”
“Leave her be, then. Let her momma come get her, so they can be together, okay?”
With a nod, she pushes up onto her pudgy little legs. “Cali? When I’m died, will momma come get me, too?”
Her question takes me by surprise, and I tip my head, my attention bouncing between Bree and the bird. “Yeah. Momma birds never leave their babies alone for long.”
* * *
I stare at the wall, curled into a tight ball. Tears trickle onto the pillow beneath my head, as I try to recall every memory I still have of her. Ones as far back as when she was a baby, lying in my arms, as my mother sat beside us.
“She’s yours,” she said to me. “You need to help momma take care of her, okay?”
I remember the pride in my heart, as I held her hand in mine, kissing her forehead. My baby. My very own baby.
“How are you feeling?” The sweet memories of her darken to gray, as the voice of Medusa interrupts my musings.
I don’t answer her.
“I thought you should know … she made it out of surgery.”
On a rush of hope, I twist toward her, my heart beating to life once again. “She’s alive?”
“Of course. This is a hospital. Doctors here are well equipped to handle a few bullets.”
“But … but I saw her. I saw them wheel her away and … cover her with a sheet.”
“A doctor did this?”
“No. One of the transporters.”
“Ah, yes.” She shakes her head and paces beside the bed. “Idiot girl. Thought she was already dead.”
“Can I see her?” Trying to sit has me falling back against the pillows, and I clutch the throbbing ache at the back of my skull.
“I’m afraid not. Aside from the fact that you’re not quite back on your feet, it’s not a good idea.”
“I just … I just need to see her. To see she’s okay.”
“Your sister seems to do well when you’re not a factor.” Her words pierce my heart as the truth in them mingles with the thoughts I’ve had for a while. “It was your fault, after all, that she ended up wrestling with one of the guards. Had you not been so … uncooperative, none of this would’ve happened.”
“I … I didn’t mean to steal.”
“I know you didn’t. I know you were just trying to make friends, but stealing is not the way to make friends here. When you steal, it means someone else goes without. Would you have someone starve, just so you feel a sense of belonging?”
I shake my head, the guilt in her words worming their way into my conscience.
“I’ve advised the guards to let this be. All three of you have suffered enough consequence. I don’t see the need to invite more trauma. But you will go without rations for the rest of the week.”
A sharp breath escapes me at the thought of not eating for days. I don’t even know if I can afford such a thing, and perhaps that’s the point. Maybe I’ll die a slow death of starvation here, a subtle death, far less traumatic than having my fingers cut off, but still setting an example to the others.
“I’m going to have your sister transferred out. It’s best if the two of you don’t have contact. At all.”
Turning away from her doesn’t stop the tears from falling again. So many tears I’ve shed in the last couple of days, it’s a wonder there are any left in me.
“You understand it’s for the best, right? You do want what’s best for your sister, don’t you?”
“Yes.” I didn’t think this place could get any lonelier. Any darker. But I’ve just handed over my sister to these monsters without a fight. Because deep inside my heart, I believe that’s what is truly best for her. I honestly believe she’s better off without me in this place.
A thought that will haunt me for the rest of my time here.
Chapter 20
Present day
* * *
“Cali, wake up.” Bryani’s voice startles me awake, to the pitch blackness of the room. Hands over my ears, I refuse to open my eyes, for fear that, even in this absolute darkness, I’ll see her face staring back at me. “Wake up, Cali,” she taunts.
It’s not really my sister, though. I know this. Days in isolation can do horrible things to the mind. I know this, too, because it isn’t the first time I’ve been put in The Box, as it’s called. My punishment is seven days, but I have no concept of time in here, to know the difference between a minute and an hour, night, or day.
“It’s your fault.”
The hallucination of my sister has grown stronger, to the extent I’m beginning to question moments when I’m awake, or asleep. Without light, or evidence of life around me, save for the skittering of mice and other small critters I’m glad I can’t see, it’s hard to discern things like time, or consciousness.
Curled into a ball against the wall, I tuck myself tighter, squeezing either side of my skull to drown out the sound of her voice. “Please wake up,” I whine to no one.
No one hears me, and if they did, no one would care. This is my punishment for attacking Medusa, and if I survive, I’ll be one of few who got dragged off and returned.
“If you hadn’t been so selfish, I wouldn’t have died that day.”
“Please, Bree. Please leave me be.” Rocking back and forth, I slam at my ears, in hopes that maybe I’ll blow my eardrums out and go deaf. Maybe then the voices will stop. “Leave me alone!”
“Like you left me alone? Cold. Alone. Rotting in a pile of ash and bone?” Her chuckle tears at my heart, how real it sounds in this place. “It rhymes. Remember we would make up songs to rhyme?”
As if she can read my mind, she begins to chant the first rhyme that pops into my head. One we made up a couple of years back, before getting swiped up by Legion.
“Little Suzie got the Dredge. Threw herself over the ledge. When she hit the ground, and splat. She got back up and ate her cat.”
As much as I don’t want to, I can’t help but laugh at the words we thought were so funny back then.
I whisper along to the next one, as it chimes inside my head. “Mother, Mother, please come quick. Sister, sister fell quite sick. Bit brother, brother on his head. And father, father now is dead.”
“They’re all dead, except for you, Cali. All of them.”
It isn’t possible, after nearly a week of sobbing, that I could possibly muster more tears, but the wetness sliding down my cheek is proof that the body never tires of misery. No matter how much it suffers, there’s always more.
“It’s your turn, Cali. They’re coming for you.”
Before I can say anything to shut her up, the door clicks, and a blinding light strikes my eyes. I lift my hand to shield my face, too dazed and disoriented to make out t
he dark figure standing in the doorway.
“I think you’ve suffered enough for your actions. I’d like to try a new approach with Valdys,” Doctor Ericsson says.
Valdys.
I haven’t even given much thought to Valdys.
“Up, up. On your feet.” His too-chipper voice cuts like a blade, and I’m very much aware that if I don’t do as he says, he’ll close that door on me again, without a second thought.
Palms to the floor, I push forward on weak arms that buckle beneath me, catching myself before my chin hits the floor. Muscles trembling, I try again, and manage to pull my knees up just enough to stabilize me. Using the wall for balance, I straighten my legs, knees knocking together, and stumble forward a step. Once upright, I ignore the ache deep in my bones, the tingling in my feet and ankles, and hobble forward, pushing off the wall. My feet get in front of me, and I tumble into Doctor Ericsson, who half-heartedly holds me up, until I gain my footing.
My throat is scratchy and dry, my lips burning and cracked, as I look up at him. “Thirsty.”
“We’ll get you water soon enough, my dear. First things first.”
Offering no more than his arm, he walks me out of The Box and down the hall, until we come to a stop in front of double doors. He opens one of the doors, ushering me into a large, empty room, with shiny white floors that reflect the dome ceiling made up of windows. Lifting my gaze toward them, I turn to see the dome spans the entire length of the room, with a ceiling beyond the glass.
“What is this place?”
“Back in its heyday—well before the Dredge—this was a surgical observation deck used by academics. Now, it’s where we observe behaviors.”
Not a minute later, movement draws my attention toward the corner of the dome, where bodies filter in, staring down through the windows at me.
“Why are they here?” I ask, my voice still raspy from thirst.
“To observe, of course. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to brief them.”