Deviants (The Dust Chronicles)

by Maureen McGowan

  I’m still searching for evidence of Burn when Cal slams into me, wrapping his long arms around my body, engulfing me in his salty scent. Releasing built-up tension, my body collapses into Cal’s, support.

  My mind and body are at war. My mind knows I have no one to rely on but myself, that I’m cursed, that I can’t trust Cal—but my body wants to believe he can love me, accept me, protect me, share some of my burden.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “I saw you run off. I was worried.” As he holds me, his hand strokes my back, comforting me like my parents did when life was normal. I don’t want Cal to ever let go.

  I push back. “Are you going to turn him in?” I blurt, then draw deep breaths to regain control.

  “Who?” he asks.

  I snap my gaze up. “My brother.”

  He reaches for my hand, and I let him take it into the warmth of his. “No, Glory. Of course not.” He pulls me forward. “Is that why you ran off?” He shakes his head. “I would never turn him in.”

  “But…” I don’t want to say too much. I can barely list all the policies Drake’s breaking and certainly don’t want to reveal them. My brother doesn’t have a current employee number, he hasn’t attended training for three years, and he’s failed to report his injury to Health & Safety. Plus, he’s a Deviant. All these broken policies are written in black and white in the manual, which we all had memorized before we could read.

  I need to know how Cal found out about Drake, but must tread carefully. I’ve liked Cal ever since I was little—he never picked on the younger kids like some of the bigger boys in GT—and he’s always formed a major part of my fantasy for the future. It’s hard to imagine he’d willingly hurt me, but I’m no longer sure what to believe. When I woke this morning I wouldn’t have believed he’d join the Jecs.

  Cal tightens his grip on my hand. “I would never do anything to hurt you. Never.” He looks down. “I trusted you with my secret. I want you to trust me, too.”

  “I do trust you.” I wish.

  “Why doesn’t your brother go to GT?”

  My throat closes. Before the Comps took him, the last thing my father told me was: never trust anyone. That, and tell everyone Drake’s dead. Not that I felt any obligation to follow my murderous father’s orders. The need to hide Drake was obvious.

  “Is your brother a slow learner?” Cal asks. “Blind?”

  Lips squeezed tight, I shake my head.

  “Never mind. I don’t need to know right now.” Cal’s hand is getting sweaty on mine, and he wipes the back of his other one across his forehead. “But I hope you’ll tell me some day.” He actually sounds worried, and I’m not used to that tone from Cal. “I’d like to meet him. I can’t even picture the kid.”

  “Maybe.” There’s no way I can take the risk.

  “And please, don’t think badly of me about the Jecs.” His thumb strokes the back of my hand. “Just because I want a better job, a better life”—his voice gets softer—“doesn’t mean I’m going to turn against people I care about.”

  “You care about Drake?”

  “I care about you.”

  For a moment, I’m weightless. “You do?”

  “How could you even ask that?” His expression softens and, looking into his penetrating blue eyes, a feeling washes through me that’s so foreign I can’t name it. Everything around me is softer; hard edges dissolve and the air wraps me like a blanket.

  Then I recognize the feeling. It’s safety.

  Cal cares about me. He cares about my brother because I do. He wants to protect us.

  I’m wrong to be skeptical. Tension melts inside me and I almost lose my balance, but Cal slides his hand around me, pulling me close. His heart’s beating strong and slow like a large drum, and my hands press into his back. I crush against his hard chest, and still I want to pull closer, to meld my body to his so I’ll never be alone again, so I’ll forget reality, so I can believe I’ve got the carefree life of a Normal.

  His heat blurs the boundaries between us and my emotions build. But so far my eyes feel fine, helping me pretend that I don’t have a curse, that there’s no chance I’ll hurt him, that we’re officially dating, that he’s someone I can trust. Warmth fills my chest, my belly, my heart. I haven’t felt this safe for more than three years. Not since I had parents.

  For a few glorious moments, I look directly into his bright blue eyes, and the way he looks at me tugs my insides. He presses his lips to the top of my head and I close my eyes, then his breath warms my neck. I tip my head farther to the side, inviting his lips to bridge the small distance that parts their heat from my throat.

  Holding me close, his hands trace over my back, igniting fires I don’t quite understand but don’t want to put out. His breaths grow heavier, faster, and his body tenses against mine. Then he pulls his head away and pushes me back.

  I swallow the instinct to cry out.

  He bends over, placing his hands on his knees, panting.

  Terror threatens to take hold and stepping forward, I rub my ring. “Cal?” I was so careless, so selfish, so thoughtless. Wrapped up in my fantasy, I let my guard down. Emotions triggered my curse and I hurt him with these brand-new and very strong emotions.

  He straightens and I step back, but he grabs my hand and holds it. His cheeks are flushed and two beads of sweat race down his forehead.

  “I hurt you.” My words float out on a breath, faint and steamy, before I realize I’m coming dangerously close to confessing my worst secret.

  “Why would you think that?” he asks.

  “You pulled away. You groaned. You seemed hurt.”

  A grin spreads on his face, then his eyes soften and he presses his palm against my cheek. “Glory, that’s not why I pulled away.” His thumb traces my cheekbone.

  “Then why?” Fears spark and kick. Cal knows I’m a Deviant. He knows Drake is, too. He told me his secret to gain my trust and make me lower my guard. He’s gathering evidence to turn me in.

  I don’t want to believe these horrors but for the moment, I do.

  His tongue runs over his lower lip. “You really don’t know what you do to me, how you affect me, do you?” His voice is gravelly, dark.

  I step back, pull my hand from his grip, and stare at the cracked asphalt. If I run now, can Drake and I escape capture?

  “One more second holding you and—” He blows out a breath on a low whistle. “We’d have been arrested for public indecency.” He shakes his head. “We don’t even have a dating license.”

  My gaze snaps up to his. Heat flashes onto my face, my chest, and I raise my hand to my lips. Embarrassed, I glance to the side as my cheeks rage with fire.

  But pushing it all away, I straighten my shoulders. I feel so naïve, like a little girl shocked by her first Relationships & Procreation session in GT. Cal’s only two years older than me, but right now the span seems greater.

  “I didn’t really think I’d hurt you.” I swallow. “It was a joke.”

  “Oh.” He steps toward me, a tentative grin on his lips. “So we’re good?” He glances around the alley, then lowers his voice. “You trust me about Drake?”

  I nod.

  “I’m glad.” He smiles and I risk a moment of eye contact.

  “Glory.” Cal takes a step forward. “Now that I’ve told you everything…” He runs his hand through his hair. Lifting his arm reveals a quick glimpse of his stomach that makes my heart squeeze. “Now that we have no more secrets….”

  I bite my lip.

  “Will you—” He falters. “Can I take you out on a date?”

  I suck in a quick breath.

  I figured he’d ask who was with me when he entered the alley. But he hasn’t mentioned Burn, reinforcing my conclusion that the strange boy must have been a figment of my imagination.

  “If you’d rather not.” Cal looks down. “I thought…I’m sorry.”

  “No—Yes.” My mouth is suddenly very dry. “Sure. Yes.”

  Cal pulls me into
another hug and I drift back into a dream state. One where I can pretend it’s okay to trust Cal. Pretend I’m a Normal and safe.

  I stick close to Cal as we step up to the counter in the Human Resources office. After we claimed our rations, Cal suggested we head straight to get our license since we were already in the Hub. Scout and Jayma got theirs today, too, and they left to celebrate.

  The cheery green walls instantly make me think of the apple I had as a child when my father got one as a bonus. My mother cut the fruit into quarters, taking the smallest piece for herself. But thinking of my father and what he did to my mother makes me angry. Anger is the last thing I want to feel, so I rub my ring to erase the emotion.

  The woman behind the counter looks up from her desk and smiles in a way that makes me think she likes her job—who wouldn’t, working in a place that’s been freshly painted in the last four decades? She pats the sides of her blonde hair, piled into a bun at least five inches high. “What a lovely young couple,” she says. “Good luck with the approval process.”

  “Thank you.” Cal puts his hand around my waist.

  Every nerve inside me fires at once, but I don’t pull away. His move is bold, considering our license isn’t yet approved, but any indication that this isn’t consensual might hurt our chances.

  And I want our license approved.

  My logical side knows this relationship is doomed before it starts—I can’t have a future with Cal, or any boy—but I’m intoxicated by the idea of dating, intoxicated by Cal. I want, I deserve, a few brief moments of joy each week. Moments to pretend that I have a chance at happiness, a chance to be loved. Moments to pretend that I’m a Normal.

  “Numbers please?” the HR clerk asks.

  “3-24-63-11.” Cal gives his employee number.

  “3-87-42-25.” I give her mine. Our numbers both start with three, signifying we’re in the third generation of employees since Haven was founded by business leaders who took survival out of the hands of an ineffective BTD organization called government. The list of Haven’s founding corporations and their presidents is on a plaque at the Hub. Our ancestors were among the lucky ones to be saved.

  The woman types the numbers onto her laser-projected keyboard, and the electronic application forms Cal and I filled out at the kiosk appear. She drags a long fingernail over the details, reading the information line by line. The application forms ask for our employee numbers and work placements. Apparently there’d be more paperwork if we worked in the same department, but since I’m still in GT, that’s not an issue.

  “Everything appears complete,” she says. “I won’t be a minute.” She spins on her tall chair and begins a series of sweeping and jabbing hand gestures in the air, pulling and pushing bits of information on and off her projected screens as she sorts through the database of Haven citizens, retrieving our genealogy records and performance evaluations.

  She turns back and, looking at me, tips her head to the side. “Your parents are both deceased?” she asks me, although it’s more of a statement.

  I nod.

  Your father is alive. Burn’s words come back to me, but once again I choose to dismiss the mysterious boy as a hallucination. Even if he was real, what he said wasn’t true. It couldn’t be.

  The HR clerk leans forward, the top of her bun scraping against the small window. “I hate to ask this, young lady, but it’s my job. And given your family history…”

  I keep still and trace my thumb over the inside of my ring.

  “Are you a Deviant?” The last word comes out on an emphasized whisper.

  I shake my head slowly, keeping my expression neutral and willing my heart rate to slow.

  “No signs of any aberrant powers or abilities?” She probes again. “Because even the slightest abnormality—”

  Cal presses his fingers into the countertop. “She’s not a Deviant, okay?” His voice is clipped and hard. “I’m a member of—” He stops himself. “I’ve known her for years. If she were a Deviant, I’d know.”

  My insides warm, but at the same time I hate that Cal’s defense of me is based on a lie.

  I have no choice. Not if I want to keep Drake safe and avoid us both being tossed to the Shredders.

  The woman straightens. “I’m just doing my job. If I don’t ask”—she nods up to a camera—“I’ll get demoted. Maybe even downsized.” The last word comes out on a rasp, and tiny spots of color appear on her cheeks. She pushes her fingers along an image projected onto the counter and an electronic form appears before me. “Sign here.”

  I read the form and it’s nothing to do with our license. Rather, it’s a declaration that I’m not a Deviant. In big letters it explains that a false statement will lead to prosecution for fraud. I try not to laugh. If they find out I’m a Deviant, who cares about fraud?

  People convicted of minor crimes are assigned the worst jobs, but the kind of job this woman fears doing if she’s demoted from HR is probably better than the job I’m destined for. I pick up the stylus, sign, and then press my thumb onto the employee verification box.

  “Now that we’ve got that nasty business out of the way”—the woman pulls back that form and pushes two more through the window—“please read and sign these.”

  I scan the details and try to hide my relief when I see no names listed under next of kin. My heart pinches as I press my thumb on that verification box, but my fingerprint doesn’t mean that Drake doesn’t exist. He’s my brother, not an employee number or database record.

  After a few more sections—ones in which we agree to inform HR should we wish to terminate this license, and pledge that we will not date outside this agreement or procreate before submitting to DNA tests—we swear to absolve Management of liability or sexual harassment claims should our dating agreement terminate unfavorably.

  I sign the last section, then turn to Cal. He’s already finished and smiling at me. His hand brushes mine, igniting a tingling rush.

  The HR woman double-checks the information encoded on the metal, asks for our wrists, then clamps license bracelets on each. Now, not only are we bound together, but everyone can see it. It’s almost as if I’m a Normal. As we walk from the office, Cal slips his arm across my shoulders and happiness lifts my heart higher than it’s been in three years—maybe ever.

  I have a boyfriend. I’m officially dating. If he knew the full truth, he’d leave me, turn me in—but I can hide my Deviance. He knows my brother’s a Parasite, yet he hasn’t turned him in. There is a risk that he might, that he’s lying, but our dating doesn’t alter that risk.

  We’re not yet outside the building when a tall man wearing a gray suit and a silver tie steps into the hallway, about twenty feet ahead. Cal’s arm flies off my shoulders. My insides flood with terror, so I cast my eyes down and rub my ring to reinforce my emotional walls.

  “Hello, Sir,” Cal says. Why is he drawing attention to us?

  We stop and the man continues forward, each step smacking the floor until his shiny black shoes are mere feet from mine—two dark harbingers of danger against the pale floor.

  “Mr. Belando,” Cal says. “I enjoyed your presentation to my committee.”

  The man nods. “Yes, you’ve joined the Ethics Committee. Good lad.”

  “Yes, Sir, and I’d like to introduce you to my—my girlfriend, Glory. Employee number 3-87-42-25.”

  A flash of joy at hearing the word girlfriend is squashed by the alarm that he’s given this man my number.

  Cal lifts his wrist to show off his bracelet. “We’ve just come from getting our license.”

  “My goodness.” The man’s voice is unexpectedly friendly. “What a joyous occasion.”

  “Glory,” Cal tugs on my sleeve. “This is Mr. Belando. He’s the VP of Compliance.”

  “Junior VP of Compliance,” Mr. Belando corrects, like the junior part matters. Management is all that matters. Compliance is all that matters. The department the Comps and Auditors work for, the one that enforces the P&P.


  “Don’t be shy, young lady,” Mr. Belando says. “Let me take a look at you.”

  Rubbing my mother’s ring, I look up and smile. His hair is dark, except at the temples, where it’s silver and so precisely cut it looks painted on with a brush. His skin is as bright as a newborn’s, in spite of his obvious age. I’ve never been this close to anyone in Management and wonder if they all have such clear skin.

  “Have you completed General Training?” he asks and I shake my head.

  “She finishes GT this session and recently took the Management aptitude tests,” Cal says. I wish he’d stop drawing dangerous attention my way.

  “Good for you.” Mr. Belando smiles. “Just remember that less than 1 percent of M-Ap candidates qualify for Management training. But not to worry.” He pats my shoulder. “One way or another, I’m sure you’ll be assigned a rewarding work placement compatible with both your aptitude and Haven’s current openings.” He says this with no discernible irony and I wonder if everyone in Management believes we’re happy to do whatever job we’re assigned.

  But I say, “Yes, I’m very excited.”

  “Do you have a preference?” Mr. Belando checks his cuffs.

  “She’d make a great Tenant Liaison,” Cal pipes in. “I think the liaison on our floor is retiring soon.”

  That actually is exciting. Tenant Liaisons are one step down from Management and such a great job is beyond my dreams. My mood brightens. If I land the liaison job on our floor, I could be near Drake every day and, better yet, avoid the risk that the new liaison might be more diligent than our current one. Maybe dating a Jecs has perks.

  “I’ll put in a good word,” Mr. Belando says, then turns and strides away before I can thank him.

  I turn to Cal. “You really know that man?”

  “I’ve met him.” He leans in close to my ear. “As soon as I become a Compliance Officer, the sky’s the limit for us.”

  I smile but I’ve never understood that phrase. I’m well acquainted with the sky and it isn’t a spectacular limit.