by Casey Hays
I sink inside, but I nod all the same.
“I understand.”
He places a big, friendly hand on my shoulder and squeezes. I make a valiant effort to hide my disappointment, but Jeb senses it anyway. It’s evident by the last, small glance he tosses me as he turns away.
Jeb didn’t lose me. I left. I crossed the river without his knowledge. I should tell him this, if for no other reason than to ease his mind. And I owe him an apology. He’s not responsible for keeping the team together, and I shouldn’t have turned him into a babysitter. Hunting has enough troubles without the addition of a punk kid to look after.
And despite my mother’s words last night, I’ve heard the talk that puts added pressure on the hunters. There’s a scarcity in meat. I wonder how much ground we’ve covered on this side of the river, and how much longer food will hold out.
One upside is that our hunters are experts at timing. They know when and where to hunt and how long to wait before they return to a particular hunting ground. It’s a science, and one that fascinates me. And so, we haven’t run out of things to hunt. Not yet. But when we do, I know a place where deer run by the hundreds. I’ve seen it—over the mountains above Kate’s village. It’s the farthest north I’ve ever been. Empty of all humanity and full of wildlife. It’s nice up there. Serene.
I could tell Jeb of the game I’ve seen on the other side. Maybe then, he’d change his mind and let me join his hunt.
Of course, I’d never really do that, and he wouldn’t believe me anyway. We don’t cross the river.
I’ll never tell anyone what I found on the other side of the river—never even hint that I was there if I can help it. This has become a mantra for me. I’ll keep so quiet that Mom will forget that she knows of it.
So I don’t beg. I don’t run after Jeb to tell him my great secret. I just watch him walk toward the gate that I so desperately need to exit. My anxiety climbs a notch. I shuffle through my options again. I don’t have many left.
The inner gate whooshes and slides open releasing the hunters. Briefly, as I see the other post, I panic. I consider rushing to catch up to Jeb and his team. I could make myself inconspicuous, blend in, ease through the outer gate as one of them. Perhaps Jeb wouldn’t notice with three other teams crowded into the chamber with us. But I don’t have my pack. It sits in my room fully replenished and ready for the moment I can get myself out of here—which could have been now. Without it, the outer guards would stop me in a flat second. There’s nothing inconspicuous about leaving the city without gear.
I spot Tag as the next group moves in to register. I cringe when his eyes fall on me. Does the guy ever sleep? I turn away. Too late.
“Hey! Ian!”
With a heavy sigh, I face him. He trudges over to me in all his soldierly importance, back rigid straight, jaw hard-set. Pompous gleam in his eye. It’s always there. It’s been there since our school days. At every turn, Tag Ryan has been the thorn that makes my life miserable. He was a bully then, and nothing’s changed.
And he’s never let me forget the first time I made his sister cry.
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” he retorts, a smirk in his voice. “You’re restricted.”
“Yeah, thanks for the reminder.”
“I have strict orders to contact the control room if I see you.”
“Well, I guess you’d better get a move on, then.”
He frowns. “Don’t get smart with me, Roberts. As an official on duty, I have the right to take you down if need be.”
“Yes.” I raise a defiant brow and lean toward him. “But do you have the guts?”
I wait a beat. This comment is all it takes for him to jump. I knew it would be. I duck under his swing, and his momentum carries him forward too quickly. He teeters, but his agility kicks in, and he whirls charging. Another thing I’ve stored in my arsenal about Tag from our school days: every move he ever makes is predictable. Nothing new. So I’m ready for his next swing. I grab his arm and wrench it behind his back. He squeaks like a pot of boiling Cricket as the bone cracks, and I pull his shoulder out of the socket.
A shuffling of voices and sudden scuttling of feet alerts me that the crowd has become aware of us. A minute longer, and I may be surrounded by guards.
“You know I’m faster than you, Tag.” My mouth is close to his ear as I lean in, pinning his injured arm painfully against his back. “You can’t beat me, so you might as well not try.”
“You’re scum, Ian!” His eyes dart around in humiliation before he whispers under his breath. “Okay, you win.”
I release him and bounce back out of his way before he can retaliate.
He glares at me down his sharp nose as he snaps his shoulder into place. “You better get out of here before I have you thrown in lockdown.”
I smirk. “Well, you’d have to catch me first. Good luck.”
He growls, knowing it’s true, and turns sharply in his bright, black boots. Back to the guard post—most likely to report my conduct to Dad. I take another longing glance at the inner gate as it opens to admit another expedition team. I sigh and turn away.
I need Serum. I should’ve gone to the clinic before I thought twice about coming here. Lack of good judgment on my part. What if Jeb had said yes?
I’d better tighten my preparation skills if I’m hoping for a successful escape. I feel the slightest bit of weakness oozing in again as my breathing steadies.
I don’t know all the logistics concerning the Serum. I don’t understand much at all about how it works. I only know that since the Shift, my body needs it more than ever. For strength. For security.
For survival.
I’m gone before Tag has a remote chance of finishing his call. I’ll be in the worst kind of trouble when I get home tonight.
And from the looks of things, I will be going home tonight.
The chair reclines at a forty-five degree angle. It’s an ugly, orange vinyl full of cracks. Even the arms have cracks, and they pinch at my elbows relentlessly. The Serum pump whirs intermittently as the blue liquid seeps into my vein. I can feel it, like tiny creatures bursting into my bloodstream and scouting out places to live. It hurts a little, but not nearly as badly as when I shifted. That was the worst kind of pain—my entire body reeling with hot fire as it exploded through me. Sweat—the last sweat I can recall, in fact—drenched me for hours as I waited it out all alone in the recovery room of the clinic. Head pounding, heart threatening to burst out of my chest. Just before I blacked out, I truly thought I was dying. In fact, I have the impression that turning into a werewolf would be less painful.
It was the first time I doubted Eden’s plan. The first time I was sure we’d made a mistake by regenerating the toxin. For this? Why do we put ourselves through this?
Then morning came. My body was warm with strength, boiling with power. I was a new creation. I raced home, faster than ever. I couldn’t stop smiling.
The machine clicks as the last of the Serum enters my arm, and a red light flips on. Then, there’s the beeping, alerting the nurse on duty that my session is complete.
Jane trips into the room, smiling brightly with her overly red lipstick. The dimple in her left cheek flatters her features, and as she takes my arm to remove the needle, she winks a green eye.
“All done, Sugar.”
She unhooks the bag and wraps the tubing around it before dumping it into a can that reads “Lab Recycling.” It’s the same blue can sitting in the same corner with the same yellow words, although they have faded over time. Jane pushes the I.V. stand aside and takes one of my hands. Flipping it over, she pricks my thumb and reads her instrument.
“Levels normal. You, sweetheart, are free to go.”
I feel myself blush as her eyes find mine. Jane is twenty-five, and by far the prettiest nurse at the clinic. And every time I come in, I make a silent half-wish that broad-shouldered, frowning Elsa will be on duty instead. Elsa doesn’t have what it takes to make me blush.
“Thanks, Jane.” I stand, slinging my quiver over my shoulder. Already, I feel rejuvenated—alive. Ten feet taller. Jane eyes my bow resting against the ugly chair.
“Are you planning to carry that thing with you everywhere?”
I scoop it up. “I might.”
“Well, don’t shoot anything important.” She smiles again, and I slip out before my face gets any redder.
I convinced myself as I sat in that uncomfortable chair for the last half hour that I have only one recourse for getting out of the city undetected. And it involves finding a certain guard named Kyle down on Ash Street.
I have to travel through Bethany’s neighborhood to get to Ash. Her neighborhood looks no different than mine: a quiet street consisting of large houses with green turf lawns. Bethany isn’t home, but as I pass her house, a nervous sensation grows in the pit of my stomach.
My parents have been friends with the Ryans for years, so there’s never been a day in my life where Tag and Bethany weren’t a part of it. Neither one of them is very healthy company, and neither are their parents, for that matter. My parents, however, have yet to come to that conclusion.
Tag the bully takes after his father. Pushing around his authority. Stomping on the rights of the citizens. Controlling—everything. Even my father at times. All in the name of the Code.
And Bethany?
There’s something unnerving about Bethany—something that makes me uneasy. Always has. As if she’s a corked bottled filled with something potent, and with any more pressure, she’ll explode. And now, she’s shifted.
I don’t like to think about what kind of damage she could do.
I shiver these thoughts away and duck past her house before her mother sees me. Bethany is someone else’s problem. I have enough pressure in my own bottle to keep me busy for years.
I jog to the end of the street, and take the first left. Ash Street. Guard Row. Every guard who takes the pledge must commit at least two years of life to the profession. Under the Code, they cannot marry and must live on Guard Row in one of these tiny cubicle-like apartments for the entire two years. Discipline and loyalty characterize everything about the guard. That fact alone raises my curiosity. Why has Kyle offered to help me breach the wall he’s sworn to protect?
Time runs slim. Day three has come since I left the others at the cabin. They could be five days from the bridge—or less. I can’t be sure, and not knowing makes me fidgety. I’m not convinced that the toxin is still contained. That alone spurs me on. I’ll do whatever I have to do to get out of the city.
And if Kyle knows a way, I’m just desperate enough to hear him out.
Chapter 21
I had a feeling you’d come around, Ian Roberts.”
Kyle slouches in a chair across from mine dressed in a wrinkled, white tee and camouflage pants. It’s obvious he scrambled into yesterday’s clothes when he heard me knocking. Well, I suppose “scrambled” is the wrong description. It took him ten minutes to come to the door, and when he finally did, peering at me through half-open eyes, I felt a tinge of guilt at waking him after his night shift. But at the sight of me, his frown faded, and he pulled the door wide to let me into his tiny abode furnished only with a couple of worn chairs and a bed in the corner.
“Yeah, well,” I readjust my bow balanced across my lap. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to see what you have to offer.”
“So you’re getting desperate. Is that what you mean?”
I stare him down, but he’s not one to be easily intimidated. He laughs softly, followed by a large yawn before leaning forward, a serious glint in his eyes.
“So. You’re hell bent on getting out of the city. You wanna tell me why?”
I purse my lips,tap my foot a couple of times on the wood floor. “Nope. Do you want to tell me why you’re offering to help?”
This is my strategy. Keep the upper hand. Answer every one of his questions with a question of my own. I don’t know him . . . and I don’t trust him. But I just might need him. He keeps his eyes pinned on my face a minute longer, and then he nods.
“Fair enough.”
I wait. He waits. The minutes tick past us.
I notice a scar, thin and faded but still visible, just to the side of his left brow. An injury he acquired before the Shift. I focus on it, keeping my breathing steady. Other things about him speak to me. The sturdy bulge of muscles. The short-cropped hair. Sleep has worn off, and his eyes are sharp pinpoints, alert, seeing everything. They unnerve me the most.
He rubs a hand across his stubbly chin and leans back in his chair with a heavy sigh. It’s difficult to read him. I see the evidence of the training marked in his expression. A blank slate incapable of penetration. Constant neutrality. This is the goal for all of us once we’ve shifted. To remain neutral until a circumstance arises that demands action. We must learn discretion. Self-discipline is at its core. Once we’ve achieved this, our abilities will no longer master us. Superfreaks with self-control. What an oxymoron.
“I see you still have your bow,” Kyle gestures with a nod of his head. “Are you expecting trouble in the city?”
His attempt at light conversation annoys me. I don’t have time for it.
“Look, Kyle. I’m in a bit of a hurry. If we could move this along, that would be great. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t ask me anymore questions.”
He ponders this, closing one eye in thought, and tilting his head slightly.
“Right. The bottom line is my two year pledge is up. I have two options. Re-enlist in the guard or train in another field.” His eyes prick me.
I assess him, unclear as to why he would be sharing this random information. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Everything.”
I’m not following. I run a nervous tongue across my bottom lip. “Okay? Do you want to explain?”
He leans forward again, intense. “It’s not easy to change fields. Especially when you appear to be good at the one you’re already in.” His voice carries a hint of defeat. “They don’t always like to let you go. But I want to see where else I might benefit the community. Be better even. And the field I’m interested in is the hardest one to get into.”
“And why is that?”
“Because it isn’t supposed to exist.”
I blink, absorbing his implication. “It’s not supposed to exist? Then . . . how do you know about it?”
“I’ve been smart enough to cozy up to the right people, move my way up the ranks some. I’m privy to classified information on a certain level. It exists. And I want a piece of the action.”
I frown at the absurdity of his revelation. “I still don’t know how I can help you.”
“Well, let me enlighten you,” he says with a congenial tilt of his head. “Your dad is a big man on the Board, correct?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So I help you, and you get him to help me.”
I grip my bow with both hands, watch my knuckles whiten and fade back to flesh tone as I release my hold. So this is his agenda. I knew he wasn’t just a nice guy wanting to help a desperate kid.
“You want me to put in a good word with my dad for a transfer.”
“You catch on quick, Ian Roberts.” Kyle tosses me a half grin, stands, and walks to the tiny kitchenette that squats in the far corner. He fills a small teapot with water and sets it on the stove to boil. “I put in my request in two weeks. My Board interview will follow. I only need seventy-five percent approval.”
Why Kyle would think I have any kind of power over my dad is a sheer mystery. I have no sway with him. I never have. The only time I’m aware of Board business is when I’m being reprimanded. Or when I back Dad into a corner, like I did this morning. Sometimes I’m able to pinch hard enough to make him balk. Most the time, I’m not.
“I think you’ve overestimated my ability to influence my dad.”
Kyle’s bright eyes—uncomfortably intense—hone in. “Oh, I doubt that. You’re a smart kid. I think
you could find a way to drop my name. He’s tight with Chairman Ryan. I know he’s persuasive with the Board. I’ve seen him in action. And all I need is you to get me on his mind, you know? Just build me up a little so he’ll have a reason to notice me when I step into that boardroom.”
I shake my head. “How am I supposed to do that? I don’t even know you.”
“Well you will by the time you leave here because I’ll tell you what you need to know to be convincing.”
He leans against the sink, crosses his arms, and studies me until I begin to fidget under his scrutiny. I look away for a minute, just to think. To mull over how I’m supposed to approach my dad and ask him to put in a good word with the Board for a guy I hardly know who is interested in a career field that isn’t supposed to exist. It’s absurd. And I’ve crossed a delicate line with Dad recently. Brought a dying baby into Eden. Refused to tell him where she came from. Challenged the containment of the toxin. I don’t need any more marks against me.
“You got an answer for me?”
I swing my head in his direction. The teapot rattles beside him, the beginnings of a whistle lined in the steam that shoots a misty cloud into the air.
“What is this field you’re interested in?”
The shrill whistle grows, filling the small area and drowning out the last of my question. Kyle raises the pot from the burner and sets it aside. He produces two mugs from a shelf, drops tea bags into both, and pours the water.
“The Rovers,” he says, casting me a sidelong glance. I don’t catch his meaning.
“What?”
“That’s the field.” He plops two sugar cubes into each mug and stretches one toward me. I take it, fixated on him until he sits down.
“What does that even mean?” I ask. The mug is hot against my palm. I readjust my hold on it.
“It’s an undercover intelligence team. Sent out on covert missions to divert Outsiders. Intruders. Troublemakers.” He blows on his tea, takes a cautious sip. “To discreetly gather information from the other villages on their advancements, their knowledge, their weaknesses . . . and their strengths.”