I gobbled my eggs, trying my best to keep my khakis clean. My hands shook, but I couldn’t let Father see my thoughts: those treasonous thoughts.
Mom smiled and rolled up her inky sleeves. “I remember when school was a happy place. You could make friends, have fun, enjoy classes, and…”
“Impractical. The Regime outlawed dreams, creativity, magic, and ambitions to stop wasting time on worthless crap. Boys go to the army and those with contained skills continue their education. Order is better than... dreaming. It’s a disease manifesting in the weak.” Father rose from the table with his drink and pushed in his chair.
He placed his cup next to the sink and glanced into the recycling bin. A scowl formed on his face. Father took a tablet from his black jacket and typed on the high tech screen. He could report a radical if needed at any time in any location.
The year on the screen read 2218.
My eyes widened. ‘He isn’t going to report his own family, right? He cares about us over his job, doesn’t he? Who does he think is a radical?’
I bit my lip, trying to keep quiet.
“Hugo, what is it?” Gran’s eyes filled with worry.
Father gritted his teeth. “I’m gonna kill him.”
“Hugo, what’s wrong?” Mom placed her frail hand on Father’s shoulder.
“We’re short an Antiserum vial in here. You know it’s vital to take one, and it’s my duty to uphold the laws. There should be five in here and I see four. One of you didn’t take it last night,” Father snapped at us like a large search dog.
“I put mine in there, Father. Honest.” My lip quivered in desperation.
‘Did I place it in there? Did I forget?’
I knew I placed it in there, or did I? No, no I could’ve been tired and forgot. Was that the case? Everything was so routine. If I had put it in there, I was fine. If I didn’t— which I couldn’t remember either way— I wouldn’t just get in big trouble. I would be dead. Gone. End of Story. I had to hope Father believed me.
“I know, Sweetheart. You know the rules,” Father paused to look at Mom. His eyes showed signs of anger and disdain, “But whoever didn’t take it is as good as dead. You know the penalty for not taking it is death, Suzanne.”
“It wasn’t your son. He gets up early to go to work, and you marked his vial with an A. It’s there.” Mom pointed to the bin.
Father sighed.
“Someone just forgot to place it in the bin,” Gran laughed, “I’m old for heaven’s sake! Do you think I always remember to throw that container away at seventy-four years? My mind can’t take throwing this thing out.”
“It’s okay, Father,” I comforted him, reaching for his shoulder.
Father ignored me and chuckled to ease his nerves. “Run along. I don’t want you to be late.”
I nodded and grabbed my red backpack, worn from frequent use. Its color was already fading to an orange, and once that became too noticeable, this backpack would have to be scrapped. I opened the door.
Father’s eyes widened and he stopped me from heading out the door. For a second, I saw death staring me down, but what would he say? Was I breaking a law? What did Father want?
He gave me a firm glance at first, which then melted away into a small smile. “Here, Sweetheart.”
He placed a black, red, and grey scarf around my neck, making sure the shorter part was in the front.
“Never forget your scarf.” Father paused and wiped a piece of snow off my jacket. “If your clothes look different, they’ll report you to the watch list. I wouldn’t want to take you to The Executioner’s Graveyard.”
I released a deep puff of air as I left the house. My breath showed itself in the cold like steam coming from a hot shower. I shivered and tightened my scarf as I made my way towards school.
On my journey to Fortress Military Academy, people whispered in corners to make sure no one overheard them. Smiles vanished when a government car rolled down the avenue. No one had the nerve to make a sound on the streets, leaving them cold, bleak, silent.
Citizens were disillusioned by the dark world we lived in, but no one had the courage, the voice, to speak out against it. Streets were almost lifeless, even if people walked on them all the time. The sounds of hover car traffic loomed in the background.
A single voice rang through speakers, reminding us of the order put in place.
“Good morning. Today is Thursday. In concordance with the laws, let us remind you of The Regime’s policies:
Follow to achieve and trust those who lead. The Regime is both your home and your government. Everyone must do their part to eradicate radicals and their ideology: Alert the nearest official of suspicious or magical figures. Anyone who becomes a radical will be put to death. No exceptions. Mercy will not be shown to those who rebel.”
This voice reminded citizens of the system put in place. Those caught breaking regulations were put to death by executioners— sometimes in the most gruesome ways possible.
All, but one.
Three:
I gripped my school ID as tightly as I could. A rusted iron gate loomed in front of me. Only certain children could go to Fortress Military Academy, and each of us was given a clearance to present to the guards each morning. We stood in a line, waiting for our turn to enter the school.
I took a look at the other students. The start of a new semester meant new people were coming in, most likely from well-known families or recommended by their teachers.
We stood like toy soldiers, each matching in uniform, standing straight like our lives depended on it. Some gave empty stares ahead of the line, spaced out in thought, or maybe just tired and mindless. Others glanced at other students with curious eyes. More students just looked to the snow, hands in their pockets like their nerves consumed them. I kept a hand in my jacket as I glanced back and forth between the students and the snow at my feet.
Even if the snow was cold and unforgiving, it sure was beautiful. I wondered if I could count all of the flecks and...
“Hi, I’m Sam.” The boy next to me offered his hand.
I didn’t take it.
I looked into his amber eyes, keeping my voice low. It wasn’t normal for us to talk on the way in. “Guess that’s short for Samuel?”
“Yeah, you’re right. So, is this your first year?”
‘I wish…’ I locked that thought away. “Just keep your head down.”
“I was just trying to be nice,” Sam uttered, rubbing his foot in the snow below him.
He reminded me so much of my brother: kind, curious, friendly— probably forced to go to military school too.
“I’m just following the rules. Things are strict here,” I mumbled.
A girl stepped forward in front of us, wearing the same uniform attire as everyone else. She presented her ID to the guard at the gate and held out her dark-skinned hand for a quick DNA match test.
“Name?” the guard asked.
“June Smith,” the girl answered, a firm expression fitting a military academy on her face.
The guard pricked her finger with a device, leaving a small drop of blood on her hand. A ding sounded from the device. The guard nodded, letting June into the school.
“Next,” the guard said, gesturing for the student in front of Sam to come forward.
I, along with the other students in line, took a step towards the gate. The cold weather nipped at my fingers and toes. I shivered, keeping the movement brief.
‘Just a few more. Then, I can go inside.’
I glanced at the kids in front of me when a whistle blew from behind us. Principal Hill glared at us with her distrustful eyes.
She strode along the rows of students, looking at each student’s ID and attire with precision. The principal made a sudden stop in front of me, glaring into my eyes. I gulped.
‘Have I done something wrong? I couldn’t have, could I?’
Without warning, she pointed to Sam— her eyes filled with fury. “Take him away.”
&nbs
p; Sam’s eyes widened. “What?”
Guards grabbed him, his body squirming like a worm. There was nothing he could do to get away. No escape. No time. No mercy.
“I haven’t done anything! I swear!” Sam shouted, kicking his heels and clawing for his life.
The principal turned away from him to resume her inspection. She continued down the line, finding no other problems.
‘Was it because he talked to me? Did it make him stand out?’
“Next?” the guard tapped on my shoulder.
I wasn’t paying attention as I listened to Sam’s cries. What had he done wrong? Why did he deserve his punishment? Was he radical?
“Someone please…” his voice echoed, “Help…”
I took a deep breath, lip quivering, and presented my ID, keeping ‘the boy’ in the back of my mind. That’s all he was. That’s all he could be.
There was nothing I could do for him now.
“Name?” the guard asked.
“Calista Knight,” I answered, keeping my demeanor unmoved.
I gave him my shaking hand, and he cleared his throat as I produced a small smile.
“You look a little young for Military School, don’t you?” he asked.
It was hard to tell when we got a new guard. They always wore masks to stay uniform.
“I’m fourteen, Sir. It’s my second year,” I explained.
“My mistake,” he pricked my finger with the device. A soft ding sounded, “Sorry for the inconvenience, Ms. Knight.”
“I’m used to it,” I uttered.
I looked at the principal. She stared at me, examining my every move. Principal Hill was pretty keen on The Regime’s rules. It was what got her respected by many members of The Regime. Just like my father.
I stared back at the line of students. A new boy, one with short blonde hair and blue-tinted eyes, smiled at me and produced a small wave. Odd. I regained my composure and started my walk into the academy.
Principal Hill nodded to me as I entered the school gates. My boots crunched in the snow below me. The wind blew through my hair and the black, grey, and red flags hanging from the school’s balcony and flag poles.
I kept going. I couldn’t think of the boy with the blonde hair… or the blood that flowed out of Sam in an alleyway. I couldn’t think of his lifeless body thrown into an unmarked grave. He reminded me too much of my brother to think of that.
I had to ignore my feelings before I got myself killed. Ambert wouldn’t have— he would have gone after Sam— but I needed to stay put and do as I was told. I would rather be safe. I would rather stay in the shadows as a compliant sheep, even if it made my kindness feel like it was bleeding on the inside. I wouldn’t risk it.
I wouldn’t rebel. There was no way I would become radical and join Sam in an unmarked grave.
Four:
At school, we studied lessons on facts: calculation, undisputed science, universal grammar, and national policy. Each class gave information from Regime issued textbooks. The school’s serious teachers educated us to be ‘good, law-abiding citizens’.
Slogans and rules mixed with sayings and propaganda. On top of that, battle strategy and gym classes were a must for military students, but discipline and respect for The Regime came first. It was a necessity.
All walked in single file to our designated studies. We couldn’t speak unless spoken to in the hallway or during class. Most lunches, even when not regulated by this rule, were silent as well.
The bland metal walls were filled with propaganda posters: ‘Dreaming is the ultimate suicide,’ ‘Magic is Madness,’ ‘To be practical is to be perfect,’ and ‘Fight before Family, Rebels die before Rebellion.’
I sat at the lunch table, setting my tray onto the cold metal surface in front of me. Just sitting in the chair caused a chill to run up my spine. Silence allowed for only the clanking of forks on plates.
I gobbled down spaghetti before water was dumped over my head. It splattered on the table and drenched my clothes, causing them to cling to my skin. My face grew hot, and I jumped in alarm before dropping my fork to the ground. Clank!
“Hey.” I turned to face my attacker.
“It’s Calista isn’t it?” asked the boy over my head.
“Doesn't matter,” another smirked, “She’s still lame.”
I cleared the lump in my throat. “L-Leave me alone and finish your lunch, jerks…”
They ignored me and nudged my shoulder.
“Isn’t she related to Ambert?”
“The boy who didn’t want to join the army? Isn’t he in The Information Department now?” a girl whispered beside me.
“Don’t know why he’s still alive. The Regime chooses where you go and he refused,” whispered another girl across the table.
My attacker chuckled and whispered in my ear. “Bet Ambert skirted the army because he’s a wimp.”
I croaked. “My father, Mr. Knight, will end your life quicker than cancer.” I punched the boy’s face, my fist stinging afterward. His olive skin tone was slightly bruised. That wasn’t good.
The crowd silenced as the boy’s face turned into a scowl. He punched me back, blood dripping from my nose. “Daddy’s little girl. We fear your father, not you.”
I wiped my nose but didn’t scream for help. That would get me in trouble with the teachers. I already saw one boy get dragged away. I wouldn’t be next.
The girls continued their gossip. “The Mr. Knight? Head Executioner for The Commander?”
“Calista’s his shy freak of a daughter. Bet she kills too… and not for just reasons. I… I don’t want her to assassinate me...” the girl’s voice whimpered.
The other girl laughed, a snort coming from her lip. It sickened me someone could do this to another classmate.
Father would tell me to hurt these kids so they would never do so again. Living as The Head Executioner’s daughter meant I learned self-defense, martial arts, and how to use a gun. I could make them cry if I wanted to please Father, yet something inside held me back and hesitated.
My brother had a different opinion. He would tell me to find ways to work out the problem without violence. Not like that was going to happen. Even with Father’s self-defense lessons, struggling against military academy students would be impossible. I just ignored everything they did, holding back resentment.
“Her? Assassinate you? Her brother was lame and so is she. They don’t give the Knight name any of the respect it deserves.” the boy chuckled.
“Leave my family alone...” I cried and stood from my chair.
“So what’cha gonna do, scrawny thighs?” another boy asked, squeezing my cheeks.
They slammed my head against the table. I would bruise later, which always worried Mom. Two guys held me down.
“You wouldn’t last a day at your father’s job. You’re no good for anything else. Not like you’re gonna have children, weak lungs.” the boy chuckled.
I wheezed. Beads of sweat and tears ran down my face. I hated it, but it was out of my control. No matter what I said, no matter what I did, I had to endure torture or inflict it. Living under Father’s rules, I couldn’t have medicine for my asthma. It would make me undesirable to work as an executioner with that kind of medical record.
The hospital knew me well already from the surgery Father paid for: the use of an experimental drug to prevent fertility. Project Artemis was the name. My Father said it was all for my protection. What I got was teasing from my classmates for an almost flat chest, somewhat scrawny physique, and childlike features.
“Hey, butt-face just because you’re hot doesn’t mean you should pick on her like that. Leave her alone.” The command came from an unrecognizable voice.
It was new, not from any classmate I knew. The deep, velvet sound was reassuring and filled with an intelligence I hadn’t seen before. I glanced around the room. Who was stopping them? I had to know.
Guess curiosity controlled me again.
“What did you say?”
“Coming up with these comebacks is creative, isn’t it? Wouldn’t want the teachers to send you away,” my rescuer scolded.
There. I saw him out of the corner of my eye. This was the boy who smiled at me from the gate! Why was he defending me?
Breaking Order: Book 1 (Breaking Order Series) Page 2