The Calling

by Rachelle Dekker

  Remko had nearly concluded that sleep now was necessary when a figure at the edge of camp caught his attention. His hood was pulled low, his bow was strapped across his back, and he cradled a large sack in his arms. Jesse tentatively walked across the invisible border of the camp. The surrounding Seers stopped what they were doing to watch the newcomer walk by. Worry appeared on many of their faces; curiosity marked others.

  Remko moved toward the archer just as Neil Stone and two others stepped out of a nearby tent.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Neil asked Jesse.

  Jesse stopped but said nothing.

  Neil and his two friends formed a wall between Jesse and the rest of camp. Remko jogged the short distance to the confrontation.

  “It would be best if you turned around and left,” Neil said.

  “Neil,” Remko said from behind. Neil looked over his shoulder to Remko. His eyes were already shadowed but when he saw Remko the darkness deepened. His whole body seemed to stiffen, as if he was readying himself for another fight. The two men with Neil dropped their heads a bit and slowly moved away, clearly communicating that they didn’t want anything to do with a confrontation between Neil and Remko.

  Remko held Neil’s hard stare for a moment longer before stepping past him toward Jesse. “I’m surprised to see you,” Remko said.

  Jesse pulled his hood off and gave a halfhearted grin. He offered the sack he was carrying to Remko, and after a moment’s hesitation, Remko took it. He undid the loose string that was holding the top closed and peered inside. Apples—it was filled with red apples.

  Remko gave Jesse a questioning look and pulled a piece of fruit from the bag. The people who had gathered, maybe a handful now, were looking on with similar curiosity.

  Jesse cleared his throat. “I’ve been out on my own for a while now. I know how hard fruit is to come by.”

  “Where did you get these?” Remko asked.

  Jesse grinned and Remko knew he wouldn’t get the full story in front of this crowd.

  “I have my ways,” Jesse said.

  Someone snatched the apple from Remko’s hand. Neil held it out to Jesse with a sneer. “How do we know these are safe?”

  “They’re just apples, man,” Jesse said.

  Neil didn’t appreciate the archer’s lackadaisical comment and turned to Remko. His voice dropped to a hush, but it was still loud enough for most to hear. “He can’t be trusted; we know nothing about him.”

  Remko glanced back at Jesse, who was tracing lines in the ground with his eyes. He was just a boy, hardly old enough to really understand the ways of this world, yet something about the way he carried himself called to Remko. It was a familiarity that rang like a bell inside his brain. A sliver of a mirror that reflected a younger version of himself in the archer’s eyes. Remko had been just old enough to join the CityWatch when Dodson Rogue had taken him under his wing. Jesse’s exterior was tough, but Remko knew all too well what a person could hide behind a wall.

  “Why bring these to us?” Remko asked.

  Jesse lifted his chin and shrugged. “You’ve got kids here. Kids should get apples now and then.” He held Remko’s eyes and Remko felt another stab of something he understood. Loneliness.

  Remko handed the sack back to Jesse, and for a brief second, he thought he saw pain flash across the boy’s face. “You should go give them to the kids then,” Remko said.

  Jesse’s eyes brightened and he nodded. He grabbed for the sack as Neil stepped closer. “What are you doing? He can’t be trusted near our children.”

  Remko felt spit land on his cheek and he stepped back. “They are only apples, Neil. When was the last time your son had an apple?”

  Neil shook his head, a deepening red taking root in his cheeks. “I won’t let him near the children alone.”

  “Then go with him.” Remko placed a hand on Neil’s shoulder. “We are in no position to ignore acts of kindness. Let all who come, come.”

  Neil’s jaw twitched and his eyes lightened. He dropped his gaze and moved out from Remko’s grip. He turned to Jesse and nearly spit. “Follow me.”

  Jesse sent Remko a thanks-a-lot glare and Remko felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Several others who stood around watching followed Neil and Jesse, but Remko stayed behind. He would wait until after the gift had been distributed and then find the boy.

  “Remko,” a voice called from behind him. It was Wire and Ramses, both of them pulling up to a stop and breathing heavy. They had been running, sweat gathering on their foreheads, their cheeks flushed with heat.

  The light mood Remko had felt vanished, replaced with the usual worry. “What?”

  Wire worked to catch his breath and Ramses, clearly in better shape, spoke. “We intercepted a transmission while we were out. A CityWatch transmission.” Ramses took a step closer and dropped the volume of his voice. “About an execution.”

  Dread filled Remko’s brain. “Who?”

  Wire and Ramses exchanged pitying looks before Ramses turned back to Remko. “Dodson Rogue.”

  Trial Entry 174 | Patient 1c-7 (Jaleen Rider)

  Age: 19 / Gender: Female / Status: Authority Worker

  Drug administered at 11:00 hours

  Time in observation: 15 days

  Patient log

  Day 05 after administration: I could refuse to document my thoughts, I have heard of others doing the same, but I want to remember who I am when they try to erase me. I think that’s what they are doing here, erasing us, or at least the parts of us they don’t like. I won’t forget who I am. I am Jaleen Rider, and I refuse to serve this corrupted Authority any longer.

  Day 09 after administration: I’m not sure what happened but I can feel them. All over me and clawing away at the insides of my brain. I woke up with a terrible headache and forgot how I got here, or even where I came from. Water has started to taste like lead, and the lights sting my eyes. I can’t get them out of my head, the clawing things. I can’t get them out.

  Day 11 after administration: I feel as though I may be losing touch with my own mind. The fear has passed and been replaced by a sense of ease that I know should make me uncomfortable but doesn’t. I have noticed the way the doctors smile whenever they are near, as if I have accomplished something I’m not aware of, but then I’m afraid I’ve lost all sense of awareness.

  Day 14 after administration: I’ve been asked to document my mental state and give a recalling of who I am, though I am not sure why. My name is Jaleen Rider, and I serve the Authority. I always have; that is the only way. All other roads lead to extermination of the human race. I am sure of this. My mental state is clear. I’m not sure there is anything else to say.

  13

  Damien followed the Scientist down the narrow pathway. Steel rooms, rectangular in shape, cool in color, lined both sides of the hallway as their shoes made soft clicks on the metal floor. Damien fought off a shiver and focused his mind on a warmer place. He always thought the facility was too cold, but the Scientist insisted it was designed purposefully. With him everything was purposeful. That was the beauty of the man’s madness.

  He heard the mumblings of patients on the other side of the steel doors that sealed the square prisons. Some cried softly; others had started talking to themselves. The drug affected each individual differently. That made the process more difficult. To narrow down the exact biochemical and neurological reactions of the serum so that they could reproduce it effectively and distribute it to anyone was proving to be a challenge. Not that Damien had expected it to be an easy pursuit; in fact, he rather enjoyed the suffering that resulted from failed attempts. Suffering—and witnessing the suffering of others—illuminated a man’s weakness so he could strengthen himself. Failure was necessary to any process and this one was no different, even if it could ultimately save their world.

  They reached the end of the walkway, where a thick door stood. After a moment, it slid open to reveal a control room. The Scientist and Damien stepped throu
gh and the door closed behind them. Damien listened as the door churned, a large steel lock moving into place.

  The room before them was white—the walls, the ceiling, the floor, even the coats on the men who sat working. It was a complete contrast to the rest of the facility, which was coated in dark steel and rusted metals.

  Square screens filled the far wall from floor to ceiling, each one displaying a different patient in an individual cell. They all wore the same dark-gray patient uniforms, which made it almost impossible to remember what their stations had once been.

  In the middle of the control room was a line of five desks, each with a handler. The top of each desk housed a screen that displayed seven patients at a time along with their statistics. It was necessary that all vitals, mental readings, and emotional reactions be monitored and recorded. This room was never left unoccupied, and the desks were never unmanned. This was the entire purpose of the operation: to discover the key combination of elements that would unify every individual reaction. This would enable the serum to ultimately be multiplied and distributed.

  A squirrelly man with thinning brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses approached Damien and the Scientist. He was carrying a small handheld device that collected and presented information for optimal viewing. He nodded to both men. Damien noticed the slight shake in his hand as he handed the Scientist the device.

  “Dr. Harold,” the Scientist said, “I’m hoping you have good news.”

  Dr. Harold forced a smile. He was, like most men in this room, afraid of the Scientist. Damien didn’t blame them; the Scientist was the greatest mind to exist since the Time of Ruin, perhaps even beyond. Everyone longed for his approval, but it was something that was nearly impossible to get. Damien would know. He had been striving for it his entire life.

  The Scientist reviewed the data before him, a grim expression on his face. The room was silent except for the ticking of machinery and the clicking of people hard at work. Damien saw a couple of glances from the other men in the room, but none dared to hold their stares for long. If the Scientist caught them watching instead of working, there would be dire consequences.

  The Scientist handed the device back to Dr. Harold and cleared his throat. Damien knew that sound very well. Disappointment.

  Dr. Harold recognized it as well. And he quickly launched into an explanation. “The serum works through 83.7 percent of the brain currently. The largest struggle we face is the 16.3 percent of the temporal lobe that still seems to reject the idea of a ‘pack’ versus ‘individual’ mind-set. The memory agents in this part of the human brain are very strong.”

  “Do you think I am unaware of this data, as you have just watched me review it?” the Scientist said.

  Dr. Harold went silent and Damien felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. He stepped in before the Scientist could verbally fillet him. “What are the plans to combat the strong memory agents that are inhibiting the transition?” he asked.

  Dr. Harold swallowed hard and held the device out again. With a couple swipes of his fingers the screen began to run through lines upon lines of numerical data, which Damien would need someone to interpret for him. He glanced at Dr. Harold, who understood and began to explain.

  “The issue lies within the strength and advanced reproduction of the myelin highways from neuron to neuron. By the time the serum breaks down the original connection and begins to replace it with our predesigned structure, the original connection begins to rebuild itself. It seems to be a matter of speed.”

  “And the solution?” Damien asked.

  “They don’t have one,” the Scientist said.

  Dr. Harold paused, and Damien knew he was right. Dr. Harold swiped his finger across the screen again. “We are working through a couple of theories that we believe could create a boost, so to speak, in order for the serum to work at a higher—”

  “Do whatever you must. We are running out of time,” the Scientist said.

  Dr. Harold’s face went red, as if he had been slapped, but he nodded and returned to work. The Scientist turned to leave and Damien followed, Dr. Harold barking out orders behind them. It was odd to hear such a sheepish man suddenly transform into a tyrant.

  The door they had entered through only moments earlier now sealed them out of the room and the two men started down the same hallway they had just trekked. As they approached the opposite end of the hall, the Scientist turned and drilled Damien with a threatening glare.

  “Do you understand the gravity of what we are doing here? Or have you forgotten?”

  Damien was taken aback. “Of course I understand—”

  “I am beginning to wonder if I chose the wrong man to lead this world into a new era.”

  “You didn’t.”

  The Scientist’s stare burrowed into Damien’s soul and the chill in the room seemed to intensify. After a long second, the Scientist released Damien from his intense glower and nodded. “Don’t ever interrupt me again.”

  With that the Scientist turned and left.

  Remko glanced around at the faces gathered in the control tent. Only hours earlier, he and Neil had fought across the large container that served as a table in the center of the room; now they stood side by side, a sense of doom settling around them. Sam, Kate, Wire, Ramses, and Carrington made up the rest of the group. The reason for their meeting was the news Wire and Ramses had discovered about Dodson.

  “Do we know any specifics?” Sam asked, breaking the silence.

  Ramses ran a shaky hand through his hair. “We have two days. I’m assuming from the usual patterns of execution that it will take place midday.”

  “But we can’t be sure of that. The Authority continues to change their patterns to throw us off,” Wire said.

  “Why now?” Carrington asked. “They’ve had Dodson in custody for nearly nine months. Why have him executed now?”

  The same question was surely on the tip of everyone’s tongue.

  “Because it’s a trap,” Neil said.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Wire said.

  “Of course we do. It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Neil shot back.

  Remko knew Neil was right for once. Just as Larkin’s execution had been a trap, Dodson’s would be the same, and they would be fools to go after him.

  “So you suggest we just sit here and let him die?” Kate said.

  “No, I just want us to be aware of the situation,” Neil said.

  “He’s right,” Remko said. The tent went quiet. “They will be expecting us to come.”

  “How could we not?” Carrington said. Remko locked eyes with her across the tent and was thankful for her presence. She was the only Seer aside from Remko who had ever interacted with Dodson, the only person who understood what Dodson meant to Remko and how painful this news was.

  “This is different than going after one of our own,” Neil said. “I understand he’s important to you, but—”

  “He is one of our own,” Ramses said. “We owe that man more than you could possibly understand.”

  Neil exhaled and shook his head. He was going to lose this battle and everyone in the room knew it.

  “Neil is right, though,” Sam said. “They will know we are coming, and after barely escaping last time, it will be even harder for us to get in and out.”

  “The plan will need to be very strategic,” Ramses said.

  A yell sounded from outside the tent and the atmosphere changed immediately. Remko moved first, the rest close behind.

  Through the tent’s flap, Remko was met with a startling scene. A couple yards away, a man was swinging a gun, his hands trembling, his face glistening with sweat. Several others stood close by, their hands raised in surrender: two women, a young child, and a couple of men. One of the women was crying; the young boy at her legs was white as a sheet.

  The man wielding the gun was named Kal Wright; he’d joined the Seers nearly a month ago. A Sleeper Seer originally, Kal had unexpectedly come and found the camp on his ow
n. With no family, he’d joined the CityWatch as a young man but had sustained an injury that made him unfit for service. He’d then been moved to CityWatch administration, where he’d worked for nearly fifteen years before he’d felt the call to be a Seer.

  Kal had always been an incredible asset to their cause—quiet and focused, never harsh or brash. Remko couldn’t even think of a time when Kal had raised his voice. Now the man stood only a few feet away, a deep anger clouding his features.

  Remko nodded to Sam and Kate to move left and signaled for Ramses and Neil to go right. He held up his hand for Carrington to stay where she was and advanced forward slowly. One of the women’s eyes flickered in his direction and Kal turned toward him. Remko paused, as Kal pointed the gun at him.

  “Stay back!” Kal yelled.

  Remko raised his hands in a familiar pose of surrender. “Okay, Kal.”

  With Kal’s attention now on Remko, Sam quickly moved in and escorted the Seers closest to him into a nearby tent and out of immediate danger. Several others stood watching but kept their distance. Kal didn’t seem to notice. All of his focus was now trained on Remko, arm extended and weapon raised.

  Remko attempted to take another step closer and Kal viciously shook the gun at him, advancing forward a few steps himself. “I said stay back!”

  Remko nodded. “Why don’t you put down the gun and we’ll talk?”

  Kal shook his head too quickly, his shoulders twitching, the place under his arm dark with sweat. He started muttering to himself, something too quiet for Remko to hear. Remko watched the man before him as if he were a stranger. Something was wrong; he appeared mentally broken.