“What is this?” I spat out angrily.
“Training.”
“What sort?”
“Well, they’re going to fight, miss. One boy goes in the circle and asks if anyone challenges him. Then they both go into the circle, neither one allowed to leave until the other surrenders.”
“How humane,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up. We don’t need to watch this,” I said, moving to grab his hand.
Jacobson didn’t budge. His eyes met mine and they were filled with an ancient sadness that sucked the breath from my chest. “We have to stay. They called us together to watch.”
Of course; they wanted us to know that any second they could crush us. They wanted to remind us of our place, that they wouldn’t shy away from hurting us, not even an old man. They wanted to make it quite clear that they could kill a sixteen-year-old girl for simply existing. I interlaced my fingers with Jacobson’s—at least we wouldn’t watch it alone.
My stomach churned. James had stepped into the circle. What was he thinking? Or was he thinking at all? Was I responsible for this? Was my new recklessness somehow contagious? I began to tap my foot nervously. Jacobson sensed this and patted my hand again. If only he knew the real reason for my anxiety. I feared for the one person who bothered to know me at all.
I suddenly found myself angry as I watched both George and James unbutton their cotton shirts and each hand theirs to a friend. How could James expect me to sit there and watch this, especially without betraying my emotions? It took all of my will to keep the muscles on my face contorted into a neutral appearance, though I was quite sure my eyes betrayed me.
George said something, a silly grin plastered onto his face, and James’s fist curled in response. I couldn’t be sure of what was said, but it was obvious it had something to do with me. I heard the hoots and boos of the crowd as several of them glanced my way, laughing. I wanted to choke that insipid sound right out of their throats.
The two chosen ones were circling each other now, the group of Templeton boys jostling around them and blocking my view. As much as it made me sick to think of seeing James getting hurt, especially by George, I knew I had to watch. I was meant to see. There are some things in life you can’t just turn away from.
Maybe violence calls to our less civilized selves, but I like to think it was a nobler cause that led me to creep forward toward the circle, breaking Jacobson’s hold on my hand. I like to think it was a need to protect, my need to protect someone I loved. I didn’t know what that love meant—but I knew I loved.
What I could possibly do I wasn’t sure; I just knew I wouldn’t stand by. I think ever since the first time I’d touched his cheek, neither of us would be able to simply stand by anymore.
I heard the hollow thud of a punch make contact before I actually saw it. George scrunched over briefly, then sprung back up, holding his chin. He craned his neck to the left, then the right, and raised his fist. A smile still graced his face. Their feet were moving much too fast for me to follow, each boy ducking up and down, side to side. It was a much too complicated dance, one I would never be able to learn. This was what they were made for.
Never had it been clearer that James was not the same as me. How did I keep forgetting this?
Suddenly, James was on his back on the floor, George’s foot towering down onto him in response. It missed shattering James’s leg by seconds. I could feel my throat closing; I knew I wasn’t breathing. James jumped up into a crouching position before running straight for George’s knees, knocking both chosen ones onto the ground. He was on top of George now, his fist raised back, waiting to be released. I closed my eyes. No, this I couldn’t watch. I didn’t want this image—the image of James ruthlessly pounding into George’s face—in my memory. I didn’t want any more reason to fear James. I needed him to be the one thing in my life I didn’t fear.
The crowd was vibrating with excitement. They were like rabid dogs waiting to sink their teeth into something, waiting to spread their infection. I heard a chosen one yell out George’s name, and the voice was filled with thrill, excitement, and confidence. I demanded my eyes open and I saw George and James both on their feet, George’s hands wrapped around James’s neck. Each boy’s face was now blood-red, sweat covering their brows.
Wasn’t someone going to stop this? It was too much; it had gone too far. I looked back at Jacobson. His eyes were on the ground, his hand gingerly touching his lip. Some of the girls watched with dread, but none dared speak up. Much to my horror, a few of them looked like they were enjoying it. Why? Because they were fascinated by the way the boys’ bodies moved, or because they were happy to watch our oppressors tear each other to shreds? Of course they didn’t know James was mine and I was his.
George leaned close to James and whispered something into his ear. I shuddered as I saw James’s face contort in rage as he clutched onto George’s wrists and pushed him off. It was then I realized that I was walking closer, my body leading me right to the center of the circle.
“Stop!” I screamed.
James’s head snapped in my direction at that moment. That was all it took—one simple distraction. George grabbed onto James’s arm and twisted it, and my ears were filled with a sickening snap. James fell to the floor in pain; I could hear him moaning. George backed away, his hands held up in surrender. “I give in,” he yelled to the crowd.
It was my fault. I had distracted him, had set him up. It was all happening too quickly now. My ears were buzzing. There was too much sound in them to make any sense. I heard the shouts and seditious laughter of George’s friends. I heard James cursing and moaning in pain. I heard the girls behind me talking frantically, throwing around accusations.
Before I could move to help James, he pulled himself to his feet with a grunt. Something passed before his eyes that I had only seen once before—on the videos of the first chosen one killing the prisoners of war. Any sense of humanity that existed in him had slipped away. James pulled his good arm back and let it fly. Even the other chosen ones gasped at the strength and determination he exhibited. He kept hitting and hitting and hitting. George crumpled to the floor, and still James didn’t stop.
“James! Stop!” I begged. Some of his fellow chosen ones joined in on my pleas, but he didn’t hear us. The James I knew had been replaced with the war machine the council had intended him to be.
And the blood was everywhere. It splattered onto me. It covered James’s face. All I could see was how much the substance had tainted my life. Would violence always find me? Of course it would.
If the boy I loved more than anyone else could become a monster, what hope did I have?
Chapter 29
I knew the reasons he was created. Violence. Destruction.
Maybe in that room, the moment I’d confessed the lie, told him that even in the council’s eyes, the people who had given him life, he was worthless, something in him died.
His humanity.
I talked to no one during my chores after the council dismissed us from the fight. I dusted and mopped as if my life depended on it. It was better to be busy than to think of what I’d just witnessed.
I saw James standing at the end of the hallway.
He didn’t move. His gaze was intruding, forceful as he took a step toward me. I took a step back in return. I was done fighting. I simply turned around and walked the other way. I didn’t wait to be dismissed.
“Tess.”
He was following me. I could feel the weight of his authority swallowing me, he was so close. He almost touched my heels with his toes.
“Tess.”
I kept walking. His hands grabbed onto my waist and he pulled me from behind into the shadows of an adjoining hallway. I reached out and touched my hands to the wall, pressing my forehead against its cold stone. He didn’t let go of my waist. I felt his breath caress my ear.
“Let me explain.” His tone conveyed he would whether I wanted him to or not.
“I don’t care.”
It wasn’t true. I cared too damn much. It was exactly what made James and me so dangerous.
“Don’t do that. Don’t you shut down on me. You can fool everyone else, but not me,” he pleaded.
“I can’t do this anymore.”
He turned me around so I was facing him. His hands were in my hair.
“Can’t you see what they make me do? They want me to destroy you. They want to destroy any sense of self I have. Don’t let them, Tess. I need you. You need me. I lost control. It won’t ever happen again.”
I shook my head. “You can’t promise that. This is what you were made for. Violence is your true nature. It’s better if we stop fooling ourselves that we can be anything but what the council wants us to be.”
“You have no idea what it is like. All day they fill my head with such stories, stories about your people. Stories about waste, immorality, hate. They want me to hate you. I fight so hard against my nature. But I’m no monster. I don’t want to be soulless.”
He leaned his forehead against mine. “I had another dream, Tess. They’re going to come for you. They’ve assigned me to a compound. I’ll be leaving soon. And I don’t know if this dream is real or just some nightmare. If it’s real we have to come up with a plan. There’s something you should know—”
“Let me.”
“What?”
“I’m supposed to die,” I whispered.
He punched the wall beside my head. I tried not to scream. He forced me to look at him. “I am alone and miserable; man will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species and have the same defects. This being you must create.”
The words Julia had spoken. What did they mean?
His hands fell away from me. He looked dejected.
“We aren’t helping each other. Not really,” I said. “Maybe it’s better to live in a world you don’t understand, because if you understand it, it becomes unbearable. And we keep forcing each other to see the truth.” I started to move away from him.
And he let me go.
I was on display in the cafeteria that Sunday during my return to the compound. Everyone was talking about how I’d tried to stop the fight between James and George. What was a Templeton girl doing getting between two chosen ones? Wasn’t my job to merely follow orders? Rumors were flying about my relationships with both boys. I was the fallen girl. It didn’t matter if the story was true.
I could hear the whispers swim around me, never directly touching me, but never completely leaving my presence either. They were all talking about it. They all knew. I pushed my plate of food away. It was a pretense; my attempt to pretend that life could go on as normal would no longer work. James had lost control, and as much as I searched for an explanation I could only come up with one—he was made to be violent.
I decided to quit trying to pretend my world wasn’t falling apart and attempt to get some sleep. The thought of not seeing James made my heart skip a beat in a most painful and final way.
I stared numbly at the floor as I walked across the mess hall. I almost reached the door when I heard my name called. I knew the voice, of course, just as I knew I wouldn’t be able to escape the confrontation. Henry never could just leave things well enough alone. With a heavy sigh, I turned to acknowledge him but found myself unable to look into his face, scared of what I would find there. I flinched as his hand suddenly found its way to my chin, so I would be forced to look at him.
His fingers felt rough against my face, though not in a completely unwelcomed way. I knew it wasn’t because it was Henry touching me, but more because I was being touched. Not out of anger but out of something less severe.
Concern, perhaps?
I bit my lip to stop it from trembling. I wanted to fall into his arms, let him keep me safe. Now that my protector had abandoned me I realized how nice it was to have one. I had been on my own so long, I never knew what it could be like to have someone out there in the world who thought of you and your well-being before his own.
“Aren’t you going to say something?” I managed to mumble, more to control my bizarre desire to wrap my arms around him than to hear what he had to say.
“What would you like me to say, Tess?” His voice was soft as he spoke, but I could sense something smoldering underneath it. Henry sighed. “We need to talk about some of your actions.”
I laughed bitterly. “My actions? You’re the last person I would take advice from concerning decision making.”
He clenched his jaw. “Oh, of course. Obviously you’re an expert at making decisions regarding your welfare. Let’s see: in the few weeks you have been a part of the workforce, you managed to fall for every one of their tricks. Let’s not forget what everyone is calling you.”
“Don’t you dare,” I growled.
“Just listen. Please. What happened with Julia—”
“What happened with Julia proves you’re a coward! You helped her and then you let her die,” I charged.
“She was dead already. We both know that,” he snapped. He took a step even closer to me. Some of the other naturals started to pay attention to our heated conversation.
Henry looked around and then leaned close to my ear. “I am alone and miserable; man will not associate with me; but one as deformed and horrible as myself would not deny herself to me. My companion must be of the same species and have the same defects. This being you must create,” he whispered.
First Julia. Then James. And now Henry? My eyes widened. “What does that mean?” I asked.
Henry gave the slightest shake of his head. “Just be ready, Tess. Change is coming.”
Chapter 30
Deportation.
It had been quite a while since the compound had gone through a selection. Deportation meant certain members of the community would be transported from this compound to another, for various reasons. Most of the time it was the elderly or the very ill who found themselves on the list. They were sent to compounds better suited for their needs.
Our own medical center was shabby at best, so we were assured our deportees were placed in more comfortable situations. In fact, many often expressed joy at being chosen, rejoicing as if they had won the lottery—dreams of pampered living glowing around them. Others did not. These were the people who made deportation difficult at times. If your name was on the list, it was mandatory. And you—only you—were allowed to go; you couldn’t take any other family members. As these people were chosen for the best living conditions, spaces were limited as it was. Still, some of the good-byes were horrendous to watch.
Slowly, everyone in the compound made his and her way into the mess area. It wasn’t like the wrangling. People weren’t so tense, more like curious. It had been at least a year since the last deportation. I assumed that like me everyone was wondering why now and whom they were going to take. It was a relief to think about someone else’s problems for a change. I didn’t focus too long on the selfishness of that thought.
I grabbed Louisa as soon as I saw her in the crowd, ignoring her protests that she wanted to stand with her friends. I wasn’t letting her out of my sight.
The two chosen ones in charge of our compound arrived.
“Deportation Decree 765893 has been put into effect. Deportation is for the safety and health of all natural citizens. Deportation is mandatory for those citizens whose numbers are called. The selected will have twenty-four hours to get their affairs in order. Only those people may leave this compound. Each selectee will be able to bring with them one bag each.”
I couldn’t help but smirk as I spied an older man across from me mumbling the words along with the chosen one. We all knew what deportation meant, and I suspected that like myself, the old man hated the formality of it all. The chosen one proceeded to pull out a roll of parchment paper. It was crisp, its glaring whiteness cutting across the room of gray.
“The following inhabita
nts of compound 321 are scheduled for deportation two days from now: 23647, 36897, 336093, 25670…”
Soon the voice of the chosen one flowed into melodic notes, slithering around my ears. The numbers began to merge one into the other. They were just numbers anyway. In moments like these, it was possible for me to ignore the individual. And for once, much to my shame, it brought me comfort to see someone besides myself suffer. Selfish, heartless girl.
One by one, sporadically placed within the confined space, I saw them react. First, a look of recognition crossed their faces at hearing their number being called. Some, as I suspected, looked relieved—finally, they would have the medical treatments that would ease their suffering. Usually these positive responses stemmed from those people who were alone, no loved ones left to leave. For others, watching the families react when they heard a loved one’s number called was difficult. I wanted to engross myself in their pain in order to explain mine. Pain touched everyone. I didn’t want to be special.
I saw a woman begin to sob quietly into an old man’s shoulder. Could she be his daughter? I saw him whisper in her ear. Words of comfort? I couldn’t read his facial expression.
Then I noticed something new. A man was yelling. People were jostling about. I saw Robert dart from my side to help hold a man in place. Was he intending on charging the chosen one? Didn’t he understand this was how it worked? Next to him, a woman was clutching onto two children, a boy and a girl, not much older than ten. The little girl had her arms wrapped around her mother’s waist, her head buried into her side. She was crying as well. The boy was reaching toward his father; his mother struggled to keep him in her grasp.
I tried to force my mind to separate from the noise in my ears—I needed to understand what was going on. A new outcry distracted me. Another man was now yelling from the opposite side of the room. He moved so he was standing in front of his wife. I could vaguely see her hands shakily reach around his hand in what looked like an attempt to calm him.
Chosen Ones (The Lost Souls, #1) Page 18