“I just need to take your vitals and draw some blood and we’ll get you on your way,” Tammy chirped. I hmmed my response. “How have you been feeling lately? Anything out of the ordinary? Headaches, nausea?” Tammy asked as she set to work. She took my temperature with a quick swipe of the device over my forehead, writing the results in her tiny handwriting on the paper I’d handed her. I gritted my teeth. Erik hadn’t wasted any time in making his report, I guessed.
“Nope. Everything’s fine,” I said.
“I’m glad to hear that. Erik said you had a bit of a rough transition today,” she said sympathetically.
“It’s not easy seeing how someone died,” I pointed out. Tammy hmmed her understanding as she wrapped the blood pressure cuff around my arm and started pumping, the cold stethoscope pressed to the pulse at my elbow. Just when it got so tight I couldn’t feel my fingers, she released the tension.
Next she needed blood samples. Tammy gestured me over to the chair with a single folding armrest. As soon as I sat down she lowered it.
“No glove, sweetie. I can’t take your blood through the fabric,” Tammy said with a chuckle. She snapped on a pair of latex gloves, which I suspected was more for my benefit than hers, and seated herself next to me as I tugged off my glove and rolled up my sleeve before laying my arm out. She snapped a rubber band around my upper arm and knotted it. She poked at the tender side of my elbow with the pad of her finger, then jabbed my vein with her nail.
“Hey, easy!” I bit out, jerking my arm back and away.
“Oh, quit’cher whining. That was nothing,” she said breezily. I grumbled as she pulled my arm back over to her, quickly swabbing the area she’d marked with alcohol. I turned my head and squeezed my eyes shut as the needle pierced my skin. I’d read more pain from the people I’d touched than most experienced in their lifetime, and yet I was still completely and utterly terrified of needles. It was unnatural.
“Big baby,” she said. She filled two vials, hooked up a third and released the rubber with a snap. She waited for the vial to fill, then pressed a piece of cotton to the puncture wound and withdrew the needle. Relieved I held the cotton in place while she searched for the medical tape, grabbing it with a triumphant “ah ha!”
“I’ll send your blood samples to the labs. Everything should come back normal but you can’t be too safe. You’ll tell me if anything feels off, right?” Tammy said after slapping the tape into place. I nodded, carefully pulling my gloves back on.
“Yeah, I will. Can I go?” I asked. Tammy clicked her tongue, shaking her head.
“So impatient. Yes, you can go. Martin will be waiting for you.” I stifled a groan. I’d been hoping to avoid that part of the physical. Didn’t they know the benefits of rest after emotional trauma? It wasn’t every day that people lived through death; though maybe for me it was. I sulked towards the door, barely resisting the urge to slam it behind me. Instead I shut it carefully and walked mutely down the hall. I didn’t want to give the eyes watching me any reason to chatter.
Martin was waiting for me in the rec room. His room was large and open, surrounded on three sides by mirrors. It was dominated by the gym equipment that took up every available space. Martin resembled a human-sized GI Joe doll, from his bulging muscles to buzz cut hair cut. He invariably wore a white tank and camo pants. He barked out orders like a drill sergeant but anyone who knew him knew he was a teddy bear. He smiled affectionately at me when he saw me come in.
“Ells Bells. It’s been awhile,” he said. I grinned at the familiar nickname. Martin was also the head of the Martial Arts program. When I first joined his class he told me I had hell in my eyes. He’d started calling me Ells Bells and it stuck. That nickname had followed me ever since.
“Not nearly long enough. What kind of torture have you cooked up for me today?” I asked. Martin chuckled as he started hooking me up to the electrodes before gesturing towards the treadmill. “Straight to the point, aren’t you?” I grumbled.
“The quicker you get on the quicker you get out of here,” he pointed out. I grimaced but stepped on.
“Can I just walk?” I asked. The trials of my day were starting to wear on me. I just wanted to escape to my room and sleep the night away.
“Nope. Unless you’re not feeling well?” he said. A deliberate challenge, one that if I affirmed would lead me straight to a night in the Infirmary where they’d wake me up every half hour just to make sure I hadn’t slipped into a coma.
“Fit as a fiddle. Set me up, Doc,” I said. Martin fiddled with the dials, setting it into motion. I hastily started to jog before the moving band could send me flying backwards.
He made me run. And run. And run. By the time I was allowed to stop I was panting and dripping with sweat. I saw him taking notes out of the corner of my eye as I forced myself to straighten from my doubled over position and evened out my breaths.
“Your times are off, Ells.”
“Take it up with Erik,” I grumbled. Martin frowned, made another note on his page, and at last freed me.
I headed down the hall, hearing the sound of students growing louder the closer I got to the commons area. I could tell dinner was in full swing by the sound of cutlery clinking and the chatter. My stomach rumbled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten since lunch. I had a brief internal debate, my need for sleep warring with my pressing hunger, before my need for sleep succeeded and I bypassed the cafeteria in favor of heading straight for the dormitories. The last thing I needed was for the entire school to see me looking like I’d just run a marathon, with my hair sticking to my sweaty temples.
I walked up the stairs and pushed open the door to my bedroom and slipped in, closing the door quietly behind me. I kicked off my shoes and tugged off my jacket and gloves, relieved to be able to shed my protective layers. My room had been wiped when I came, leaving everything safe for me to touch. Since I couldn’t see my own history, it had turned into my sanctuary. It was the only place I wasn’t overwhelmed by other memories.
My room, like everything else in this place, was utilitarian and functional. The only furniture was the metal bed frame with a thin mattress covered by bleached white sheets and a generic wood nightstand and dresser. My walls were the same calming grey as the rest of the Institute, broken up only by the single window that looked out on the helipad. Beyond that I could see the cement wall that separated us from society. I didn’t know if they were trying to keep us in or keep others out.
Everything I owned was provided by the Institute. I knew from glances into other rooms that most students brought things from home, decorating their environment so that they felt more connected to their past. I didn’t have any such mementos. Everything that marked my life before the Institute had been burned in the fire that killed my parents. The only thing I had left as a reminder was the single picture I had sitting on my nightstand.
I flopped back on my bed, bouncing once. The metal springs squeaked, objecting to my weight. I reached over to the picture, tilting it down so that I could see it with my head propped on my palm. There was me as a little girl, chubby faced and bright eyed. Mom knelt on one side, her arms wrapped around me as she beamed towards the camera. Dad knelt on the other side, one arm stretched around us both, his other hand resting protectively on my forearm. He smiled with a quiet dignity and warmth.
Barely a week later I’d lost them both. The Rogues had invaded our home, shooting my parents and setting our house ablaze. According to the Rogues, my parents were traitors, betraying their cause by refusing to pick their side. My parents wanted to stay neutral in the war between the Rogues and the Institute.
I was meant to have been the final victim in their attack, but I was pulled from the flames by one of the teams at the Institute that had been sent too late to protect us. The weeks after my parents died were a blur. I spent several days in a hospital, recovering from smoke inhalation and burns to my hands. I’d been released the day of my parents funeral. I remembered dressing in black, staring down as the
ir caskets were lowered into the broken earth. Meredith had been there, resting her hand on my shoulder in an empty gesture of comfort. She had come to take me to the Institute. I had no other family to speak of, or at least if I did, no one had stepped forward to claim me.
My first few weeks at the Institute were spent in the Infirmary, recovering from my injuries. After that I’d been set up in the classes, even though I was years too young. I suspected it was more to keep me out of trouble. No one knew how to deal with a grieving child with haunted eyes. Even though I didn’t understand half of it, I had soaked it in. It was never enough. I needed to know everything that could help in my war against the Rogues.
I felt exhaustion seeping into my bones, my eyelids growing heavy. I sighed, burrowing my face into my arms. One day I would find the people that killed my parents. One day I would avenge them. I swore it. That was my last thought before exhaustion dragged me under.
Chapter 3
Fire. Everywhere.
I stumbled through the house, opening one door after another. The cavernous hall yawned before me, seeming to grow longer the further I ran. So many doors, all of them opening to empty, fire filled rooms. I screamed, my voice hoarse from the effects of the smoke filled air. Mama was still here somewhere. I needed to find her; I needed to get her out.
Tears trailed down my soot caked face, leaving long streaks. I was sobbing, my hands burning where I’d grasped onto the red-hot knobs. I could feel my skin blistering. I still kept going. I couldn’t give up. Not until I found her. Not until I saved her. I couldn’t let her die again.
“Mom!” I cried. I pushed into another room, staring blearily into the flames. This was my room, the one I’d lived in as a child. There was my twin sized bed, once surrounded by ivory curtains that had made me feel like a princess, now nothing more than burning, charred remnants fluttering in the heat. The rocking chair I had insisted they leave in my room, even after Mom said I was too big for her to rock me on, sat in one corner, the white paint blistering and peeling. I spotted a still figure lying near my bed. My heart dropped.
“Mom!” I cried. I stumbled into the room, my lungs burning for want of air as I fell to my knees next to her. I grasped her hand and raised it to my cheek, using my other to tap the side of her face. “Mom, wake up. You need to wake up. We need to leave.”
But she didn’t wake up. Her eyes were empty, open and staring into nothing. Dead before the blaze started.
I screamed as several men, each garbed in black wearing a strange mask over their faces, burst into the room. Hard, unforgiving arms wrapped around me and yanked me away, breaking my grasp on her hand. I fought, scratched, and kicked, desperate for them to release me. I couldn’t leave her, not when I’d come so close.
“Let me go! Leave me! I can save her! I can save her!” I screamed, but they didn’t listen. The warning sirens started to shriek, giving the too-little-too-late warning. The sound was jarring, discordant with my memories. That wasn’t right. There were no sirens that night.
Sirens.
I jolted out of my dream as the sound finally registered. A white light blinked, lighting the room and burning into my eyes. I was covered in cold sweat, perspiration dripping off my face and sticking my t-shirt to my spine. I’d been too tired the night before to do little else than tumble into bed, which meant I was still wearing my t-shirt from yesterday.
I groaned, flopping back on my bed and pressing my pillow over my head, hoping to stifle the sound. It did little other than try to suffocate me, the shrill sound breaking through the flimsy defense. I grumbled, tossing back my covers as I crawled out of bed, yelling “I’m up, I’m up!” at the wall-mounted alarm. It was only when I slammed the door to the bathroom that it at last shut down.
I hated when I had that dream. It was always the same. Me, trying frantically to reach my mother, to save her. Logically I knew that she was gone long before the fire had started, killed by a single bullet to the chest, but that knowledge didn’t make it any easier.
I flipped on the faucet and cupped my hands, letting them fill before splashing water on my face. It helped a little to revive me, though not by much. It was nights like this that made me grateful I had my own bathroom. It may be small, sparsely furnished with a stainless steel sink and toilet and a stand-up shower shoved into one corner, but it was mine. It meant I didn’t have to deal with the communal showers most of the Institute shared.
I turned to the shower, twisting the knobs until cold water shot from the spray. Once it was adjusted to the hottest setting I stripped, bouncing from foot to foot while the sluggish pipes heated. The minute it hit lukewarm I was in, banging the glass doors behind me. There I lingered, letting the water sluice over me as I reveled in the warmth. It washed away the last of my tension from the day before, soothing my sore muscles.
I hastily turned off the water when the alarm gave a warning beep. Gosh, someone’s antsy this morning, I thought irritably as I climbed out, wrapping a towel around my body. I dried off and dressed, pulling on jeans and a black T-shirt that read “Bite Me” in dark red, glittery letters. Next came my favorite pair of sneakers and my gloves. I debated briefly over the added protection of my black zip-up hoodie, then rejected the idea. The day was already promising to be warm. Armed, I grabbed my bag and left the room.
By the time I reached the cafeteria breakfast was in full swing. No wonder the alarms had been especially energetic this morning. The cafeteria was a long, rectangular room. Every spare inch was crammed with tables. The back wall was taken over by the serving counter, and behind that the kitchen. The long wall opposite was made entirely of glass, revealing the courtyard outside.
The wall furthest from the entrance housed a large screen. The screen had a dual purpose. From where we stood it appeared to be nothing more than a screen, running through the morning announcements and mission assignments. Everyone knew there was a room behind the screens where Meredith took potential patrons to observe us in our “natural” habitat. No one dared step out of line for fear of facing Meredith’s wrath. She was intimidating, even when she was in a good mood. One look at her cold eyes and flared nostrils sent even the most daring individuals cowering.
I stepped into the back of the line of students, waiting for my turn. Sourpuss, or Ms. Bradshaw as she insisted we call her, sat behind a protective layer of glass that I was more than certain was bullet proof. Sourpuss never smiled, which had garnered her well deserved nickname. She’d been in charge of the students schedules for as long as I could remember, a fact that brought her no joy. She scowled as she logged each student and handed them the meal pass and itinerary for the day.
“Name please,” Sourpuss ordered without glancing up at me.
“Ells Carter,” I said. Sourpuss typed in my name, coming up with a blinking screen.
“Full name,” she intoned.
“Aw, come on, Ms. Bradshaw. No one calls me by my full name,” I said. I should have known better. My attempt was met with an icy glare. I sighed, giving in. “Elsabeth Carter,” I grumbled.
“You missed a meal yesterday,” Sourpuss said, reading the information off the screen. I was sure there was a full report of what each of my meals entailed and how much was left over when I dumped my tray. Nothing got past Sourpuss. I could easily imagine her bent over a monitor between meals, watching the camera recordings and jotting down each student's meals. It was kind of creepy.
“I was helping Erik,” I explained.
“That ended at five. You need to maintain a regular eating schedule. Don’t miss any meals today.” With that not-so-friendly statement she pushed my cards beneath the glass. I shoved the schedule into my bag, keeping the other clenched in my fist. I didn’t need to look at it to know what it read. No processed sugar, no salt, and no preservatives; just bland, tasteless food that was meticulously calculated for each person’s calorie and nutritional requirements. They wanted us at peak performance.
I jealously eyed the table where the Normal’s sat, my s
tomach grumbling enviously in response. They ate with us in an attempt to create some sense of sameness, like we wouldn’t know the difference between their food and ours. What did they think, that one taste of sugar and our powers would go all wonky? Today the Normal’s meal consisted of French toast, bacon, and a spread of fresh fruits.
The Normal’s occupied the two tables closest to the door, perfect for a quick escape. Since they had no powers to speak of they were always on edge. You never knew when we might go crazy and start a riot. I grinned at the thought. Even if the students ever thought to rebel, the Bruisers and Neutralizers that roamed the halls were an effective deterrent.
The Bruisers and Neutralizers were easily identifiable by their plain grey uniform. The Bruiser’s uniform was edged in red, while the Neutralizer’s uniform was edged in blue. Wherever students converged they were bound to appear.
Bruisers were exactly what you’d expect given their names. They were strong, fast, and specially trained forces to be reckoned with. They were also bullies. They were just waiting for an excuse to knock heads together. I suspected that they all wanted advanced guard duties, instead of being stuck guarding groups of kids. It had to wear on them.
Neutralizers had the ability to block or deflect our powers. They could focus their powers on a single person, or disperse them over a group. The more people they tried to suppress, the less effective it was. In such a large group a Neutralizer did little damage, but they were still given wide berth. It was no shock they were generally disliked and avoided.
A few years ago some of the students had made it a game, trying seeing how far they could test the Neutralizers powers. It was all in great fun until one of the boys pushed too hard. He fell into a coma that lasted for a week.
Meredith was displeased. Since then no one dared try lest they face her wrath. You’d think that the thought of being in a coma would have been enough to dissuade them, but no, it was the fear of stepping into Meredith’s office.
The Institute (Falling Ash Chronicles #1) Page 2