by P. T. Hylton
Colt had felt an odd combination of feelings watching as the branding iron pressed against his mom’s cheek, hearing the flesh sizzle, and seeing the smoke roll off her skin. Of course, he didn’t enjoy seeing his mother hurt. Her screams made him feel sick. But there was also another feeling. Relief. For years, he had felt a constant sense of dread, a persistent nag of worry. Everything he was being taught about the Regulations at school was being defied right here at home. His own mom, who helped him memorize the Regulations for school, was the one breaking them. So as he watched her being punished, he felt relief. Something wrong in the world had been made right. He no longer needed to feel the discord of criminal behavior in his own home. Justice had won the day.
When Colt got a little older, he decided to look into Officer Benson, the man who had branded Colt's mother and, in effect, made things right in Colt’s world. Thing is, Colt noticed something interesting. Benson had doled out punishment for plenty of Regulation infractions, but every Regulation Breaker Benson punished, at least every one Colt could find, was a woman. Then Colt thought back to that day in his living room and the look of barely masked glee in Benson’s eyes as he applied the branding iron.
And Colt realized something. Officer Benson enjoyed hurting women.
So Colt wrote a proposal for a magazine article. This was in the days shortly after the so-called Deregulation, and all the magazines and websites were dying for Rook Mountain stories. They were willing to pay very good money for it, too. Colt knew his compositional skills were above average, and he knew the article about his personal experience watching his mother be scarred for life by a sadistic, woman-hating cop would find a semi-prestigious home.
However, before submitting it to any magazines, he sent the proposal to Officer Benson. He made it clear he was willing to rethink writing the article if Benson was willing to compensate him with a few small favors.
By noon the following day, a key to the Beyond Academy had made its way from the police station into Colt’s pocket, along with a handful of favors to be named later.
Since that day in May, this new generation of Zed Heads had met in the Beyond Academy two to three times per week. But events such as the one tonight had only happened twice before. Tonight was special. They’d received another message on the tree downtown. A message with today’s date. Tonight, Zed would be attending the meeting.
Colt stood by the door, greeting each person as they arrived, giving them a hearty handshake and a sincere welcome. He tried to run this group the same way he imagined Zed would have. He was positive but not unrealistic. He was gentle when possible and heartless when necessary.
All eighteen full members were required to attend tonight. Not that they would have missed it. There were more than eighteen young people who called themselves Zed Heads, but only the core group, the ones who’d been dedicated enough to get the broken clock symbol permanently inked onto their hands, were invited tonight.
Still, he did worry some members would get cold feet, so he kept count. When his count reached eighteen, he locked the door and went to join the others who were waiting in the auditorium. He nodded toward Grant who was standing near the stage.
“Everything ready?” Colt asked.
Grant nodded. He held up a red shoe box. “Good to go.”
Colt took a deep breath and then trotted up the steps to the stage. The kids went silent. Every eye was on him, but Colt didn’t rush. He paused, enjoying the moment. He always felt an odd combination of feelings while standing up here, the very stage where Zed had stood and delivered the speeches that opened and closed the school year. Now he stood on the same stage, preparing to address many of the same students. He felt unworthy, but he also felt proud to have the opportunity. He didn’t have Zed’s gift for eloquence—who did—but he’d do his best.
“Hello, my fellow Zed Heads.” He paused there, waiting to see if there would be a response, like the pastor greeting his congregation on Sunday, but there was none. “As you know, this is a special night. We’re expecting a guest one or two of you might be familiar with.”
A stir went through the crowd. Some laughing. Some shifting in their seats. But all were smiling.
“With that comes another opportunity. The greatest honor our group has to give. I’d ask for volunteers, but you all remember what happened last time.” During the last special session, Colt had been touched and surprised when every one of the eighteen members had volunteered. “So instead, I’ll do this the other way. Is there anyone who would like their name taken out of consideration?”
He waited a long moment. It was so quiet a single footstep would have echoed through the room. “Speak up now if you want out. There’s no shame in it.” Of course there was, but he had to say it. It made the volunteers feel braver.
Colt waited a full minute and then nodded. “Good. I want you to know I am proud of you. No matter who gets selected, I am proud of each and every one of you. Any questions before we do this?”
“Will it be like last time?” The voice came from Grant. Colt silently cursed him. The two of them had spent all afternoon preparing. He couldn’t have asked his question then? The last thing this group needed at this already tense moment was to be reminded of what happened last time.
“Honestly, Grant, I don’t know.” He let the uncomfortable silence linger for a moment before continuing. “But let’s look at the evidence. In most ways, Zed’s arrival was better last time than the time before that. Zed’s getting stronger. So I can’t say for sure what will happen and I can’t say how long it’ll last, but I do think we’ll see an improvement. Anyone else?”
Thankfully, no one else asked a question. Colt motioned for Grant to bring him the shoe box. Colt took the box and held it aloft so it was clear he couldn’t see into it. In reality, it didn’t matter. Grant and Colt had prepared the box alone. They could have stuffed it with any names they wanted. They could have rigged this thing a dozen different ways. They wouldn’t do that, though, and their friends knew it. Colt trusted the process, and his friends trusted him. Trust was still a must.
Colt thrust his hand into the box and stirred it around, feeling the slips of paper brush against the tattoo on the back of his hand. He ran his fingers through the paper like it was a lover’s hair. He was waiting for something, though he didn’t know what. He wanted to feel some indication of which piece of paper he should choose. He didn’t believe it was actually him making the choice, and he didn’t want to get in the way of the process.
Then he felt it. A tiny twinge as his index finger rested on one particular slip. And he knew. This was the paper he was meant to draw. He wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it out of the box with a flourish. As he did so, relief washed over him, a relief not unlike the one he had felt while his mother was being branded a Regulation Breaker. The paper had been selected. All was right with the world.
He unfolded the slip and read the name aloud. “Sam Graverton.”
Sam made a strange sound that was half laugh and half gasp. Every eye was on him, but no one spoke. The Zed Heads all looked at him with compassion. No judgments would be given, no matter his reaction. Every person in this auditorium understood Sam Graverton must be experiencing an almost unfathomably complex combination of emotions. They all understood, because it could have been any of them. They’d all imagined the moment their names would be called, and they all had experienced a tiny pretend version of what Sam must be feeling.
Colt let the moment play out. After a few moments, Sam stood on wobbly legs and shuffled toward the stage, as Colt knew he would. If Sam tried to flee, the others would grab him. There was no going back once your name was selected. But Colt knew it wouldn’t come to that. Sam was a good man. A strong man. He was faithful to the core.
Sam was one of the older boys in the group. He was Colt’s age, and he and Colt had gone to school together their whole lives. While they hadn’t always been friends, they’d been acquaintances who liked each other well enough. And last Marc
h, fighting the Unfeathered together, they had become something more. They’d become brothers. Colt couldn’t help but feel a little sad that it was Sam’s name that had practically leapt into his hand. A little jealous, too.
Sam hesitated at the bottom of the steps. Colt’s heart went out to him. It must have taken a tremendous act of will to make it this far. The mind and the heart might know the good and the honor in what was happening, but the flesh was programmed with a fierce survival instinct that wasn’t easily overcome.
Colt held out his hand to Sam. Sam looked up at him, and Colt saw the water in his eyes. Colt smiled, trying to pass a bit of resolve to the other man, and gave him the slightest nod of encouragement. Sam reached out and took Colt’s hand. Sam’s hand was cold and sweaty. Colt gripped it tightly and pulled ever so gently, encouraging his friend.
As if his legs had been unfrozen, Sam stepped forward. He climbed the steps and moved to the center of the stage with long confident strides.
Colt breathed a sigh of relief. Sam had passed through his moment of crisis and made it to the other side.
Sam took his place at the center of the stage. Colt put a hand on his shoulder.
“Anything to say before it begins?”
“Just...when the coming happens, know I’m with you in spirit.”
Colt nodded. As far as last words went, those seemed mighty fine. “Well said. Let’s begin.”
This was their third time, and Colt still had no idea how it worked. Was Zed listening somehow? How did he know when they were ready? Whatever the method, as soon as Colt called for the change to begin, it did.
It started with Sam’s feet. It was like he was shrinking or crouching down until you noticed the puddle of goo spreading out under him. The melting process worked its way up the body. Since Sam wore long pants, it didn’t look as bad as it had on Brent, the lottery winner last time —he’d been wearing shorts.
Sam’s mouth was a thin white line. He clenched his fists as his lower half liquefied and spread out on the stage. The process reached his torso. The skin dripped off his arms and hands. The bones were exposed for a moment before they too melted and dripped into the growing puddle.
This was the bad part, but Colt forced himself not to look away. If Sam could endure it for the cause, Colt could sure as hell bear witness. The skin of Sam’s lower jaw melted, exposing muscle and bone and his bottom teeth. As the jaw melted, his teeth fell into the puddle with tiny plops before melting and joining the rainbow-colored liquid. Watching the eyes melt was always the worst. Colt saw a final flash of panic in Sam’s eyes, eyes that seemed to stay alive even as they liquefied and ran down his face.
A moment later, it was over. All that was left of Sam was a thick puddle of liquid.
The Zed Heads waited in silence. Then it happened.
The surface of the liquid quivered. A round thing like a bubble appeared in the middle of the pool, and, like a man rising from the water, Zed appeared. His skin glistened for a moment, and then the wetness fell away like scales. All that had ever been of Sam was gone, and Zed stood in its place.
Zed spread his arms wide like he wanted to embrace them all in a giant hug. He looked solid, but Colt knew from personal experience he wasn’t. The first time Zed had appeared two months ago, Colt had been overwhelmed with emotion and ran to Zed to hug him. His arms had passed through Zed like the man was made of smoke. Colt had been embarrassed by the incident, but at the time he hadn’t been able to control his actions. It all happened without a single conscious decision.
“My friends,” Zed began. There was a crackle in his voice, as if he was speaking on a radio station that was not quite in range. Colt was instantly relieved though. Last time the Zed Heads had only been able to discern every third word. “Thank you for your continued faith and perseverance. I wish I could be here with you more, but as you know the cost is high. Who was it who paid the price this time?”
“Sam,” Colt answered.
Zed squeezed his eyes shut as if he were in pain. “Ah, Sam. I always enjoyed his jokes. And his bravado. I hope someone will make sure his collection of Unfeathered feet goes to a worthy home.”
Colt hadn’t thought of that. During the fighting in March, many of the Beyond Academy students had collected the feet of their enemies. But Sam had been the most zealous. Not only did he collect the feet of his own kills, he took the feet of Unfeathered killed by students who weren’t collectors, people like that traitor Trevor Hinkle. Before long, Sam was even talking people who did want the feet out of their well-deserved prizes. He kept the feet hidden from the media and the government even though he certainly could have traded them for a boatload of cash and attention.
It was too soon to think about such things. The memories brought a lump into Colt’s throat.
“Let’s not let Sam’s sacrifice be in vain,” Zed said. “Tell me the latest.”
Colt cleared his throat. “We have a lead on one of the Tools.”
Zed cocked an eyebrow. “Really? Which one?”
“The compass.”
A smile crept onto Zed’s face. “Okay. Tell me more.”
“Tim Rodgers. He was a guard at the prison.”
“I remember him. He was a believer, but too much of a loose cannon to be of much use. I notice you’re referring to him in the past tense.”
“Yes,” Colt said. “Turns out he had the compass. Priscilla Nettles heard him mouthing off about it in a bar one night. How it always pointed to City Hall where you disappeared rather than North. She told us about it. Anyway, we were planning our strategy to take it from him. Thing is, he offed himself, and we can’t figure out what he did with it. We think maybe this cop Sean Lee took it, but we’re not sure.” Colt paused, feeling another lump rise in his throat. Why did he always feel so emotional around Zed? It’s like all of his feelings intensified. “I apologize. And I take full responsibility. If we’d only acted faster—”
Zed waved his words away. “Nonsense. I taught you to be cautious. Keep looking for it. In the meantime, we have something else to discuss. I need something different from you now.”
“What do we have to do?” a voice from the crowd asked. Colt looked up and saw it was Megan. At fourteen, she was one of the youngest members of the Zed Heads, but she’d already proven herself resourceful and dependable.
Zed smiled. “Great question. And I’m happy to see you taking a more active role, Megan. I have big plans for you, if I haven’t mentioned it already. Something big’s coming soon, my friends. We need to remind the people of Rook Mountain about what happens when the Regulations aren’t upheld.”
Colt looked out over the faces in the auditorium, and he couldn’t help but feel pride at what he saw. Every face was alight. Everybody was leaning forward. These kids wanted to please Zed like a thirsty man wants water.
They listened in rapt silence while Zed explained what was required of them.
“There’s a tree somewhere in this town with a certain message carved into it. I need you to find it.”
5. Sanctuary
Jake showed up at exactly three o’clock. Sophie knew by the cheap digital watch Frasier had issued her a few days ago. In her old life, her Sophie Porter life, she’d never worn a watch. She’d considered them old fashioned. But in this new world of no cell phones, a watch turned out to be pretty important. The one she’d been given wasn’t fancy, but it did say it was water resistant up to fifty meters, so that was something.
She was waiting on the porch when Jake arrived. He waved her towards him by way of greeting. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said, and he pointed down the trail leading into the woods.
She cocked an eyebrow. “In the daytime?”
Jake smiled a crooked smile. “There’s no rule against it. It’s just stupid. And today I’m not feeling all that smart.”
She hesitated, and then nodded and followed him toward the cover of the trees.
“You got your knife?” he asked.
She patted the blade dang
ling from her belt. “You know it.”
“Then I’m not worried.”
The silence hung heavily in the air. Finally, Sophie broke it. “I am sorry about Carver.”
“I know you are. That’s why I sided with you in the meeting. And, Taylor isn’t wrong. Having you show us how to kill the Larvae will be a huge boon.”
Her eyes scanned the forest floor for the black round creatures. Come to think of it, the ones she’d seen last night had been sleeping. Who knew where they hung out during the day? They might be up in the trees waiting to fall on her. Or hiding in a tree’s shadow, waiting to attack her from behind after she passed. She suddenly felt much less at ease. “Is that why you brought me out here? So I could show you how to kill them?”
“No. I mean, if we see one and we have the opportunity, sure. But I brought you here to discuss something else. I’ve been debating whether or not to bring this up. I’m not sure if it’s fair to ask while you’re working on cutting ties with the past and starting a new life. On the other hand…I really need to know.”
Her heart sank deeper into her stomach. This guy was basically the patriarch of this entire society, the society she was forced to live in, at least for the time being. And he was about to ask her something he was clearly uncomfortable bringing up. If this place turned out to be a sex cult, she was gonna be pissed. “Okay,” she said tentatively.
“I’m sure Frasier told you it’s considered rude to ask about a person’s past here. I’d like your permission to be rude.”
She cocked her head, bemused at the request. “You don’t need to ask my permission.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said. “I do need your permission. What I’m asking is no small thing.” He rubbed his chin for a moment before continuing. “The past is like a shadow. It follows us everywhere. For good or for bad, it’s attached to us. And too often we’re defined by our pasts. By the things we have done or the things we didn’t do. When I started bringing people here, I knew that the types of people who would knowingly accept a life sentence in this weird forest would be the types of people who would need a clean break from the past. In normal life, that’s almost impossible, but I knew I could offer it. Here there’s no past. This is a place without shadows. So, you understand when I ask you to discuss your old life, even for one conversation, I don’t do it lightly.”