by Tess McKenna
“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s not your name, is it? Oh wait, but you don’t have a name, do you?” he taunts.
“Jericho… don’t.”
His eyes flicker with recognition.
“What—you didn’t tell the Metanites about our friend in Austria?” he says.
Images of the dark girl from the cold, snowy night in Austria—the girl I killed—run through my mind. How dare he mention her.
“You know, you say we were friends, but I fail to see how a friend could turn his back on someone he claimed to care for and then do the things that you’ve done to me!”
Jericho smiles and shakes his head. “No… Basia and I were friends. You and me… we were more than friends.”
“You know what, Jericho—you’re right!” I shout, standing up again. “I am a dead man walking, and do you know why? Because There’s Nothing Left Inside! You, And My Father, And The Rest Of You—You Killed Everything!”
Jericho sits there without moving a muscle. His eyes, however, quiver and shrink.
“I hate you,” I continue. “I hate all of you, and I’m never going to stop until you’re all behind bars or dead for what you did.”
“Now wait, you—”
“And guess what: I’ll be glad to turn those files over to the Metanites. After all the damage we’ve done, it’s nice to know something good can come out of this after I’m dead,” I say, choking the words out. I clear my throat and compose myself before I say anything more.
“Bia, you don’t know what you’re doing,” Jericho says, rising to his feet. His handcuffs jangle against the cold, hard table when he tries to reach for me.
“I know exactly what I’m doing. Like you said: it’s suicidal.”
“Stop.”
“It’s only a matter of time now, right Jericho?”
“And who’s going to look out for Cassie when you’re dead?” he asks.
He went too far this time. I grab the back of his dark hair and slam his face into the table. He bounces off the metal surface, flustered and angrier than before.
“How Dare You Bring Up Cassie!” I shout.
“Hey! What are you so—”
“You Have No Right!”
“What is your problem!”
“She’s DEAD!” I shout.
Jericho’s face turns white and his body freezes. His eyes are the only part that moves; they quiver, stare into mine, his mouth hangs open, and he blinks. I’m ready to strike him again, but he’s not acting… he didn’t know.
“You and the rest of the hunting crew killed her,” I say.
“No… that’s not… that’s not possible,” he says.
“Ask your sister. She was there when they shot her!” I say.
The door to the interrogation room opens.
“Annika.” It’s Moton’s voice.
Shit… the no violence rule. I turn around and walk toward Moton. I glance back at Jericho and see his face turn shades of white and green like he’s about to hurl. I leave the interrogation room, and the door closes with a resonating thud.
“My office, please.”
XX: Leverage
Thursday, March 27, 2065; 1:00 p.m.
First person
I sit on one of the black couches in the waiting room outside Moton’s office. Thunder—the drunk teenager I met just before Jericho crashed through the cafeteria window—sits across from me on the other couch. I’ve been sitting here for half an hour now, just waiting for Moton and Ms. Grenavich to finish their private conversation inside Moton’s office. I don’t know why I’m bothering to wait around… I should leave Kenyon no matter what Moton has to say to me. But maybe there’s a way to stay at Kenyon and keep the Metanites safe. I don’t know. I hope there is.
“Why are you doing that?” Thunder asks me.
I look up, and the teenager is staring at me. His light brown skin stands out between the black couch and his white T-shirt. His sliver piercings match the hair pic in his short, fuzzy hair, and his black gages have sliver detailing on them. His eyes are grey, and despite the harshness of the rest of him, his eyes are also soft.
“Doing what?” I ask.
“Trying to crack your knuckles. You’ve already cracked them three times; I don’t think they’re going to crack again… unless you’re trying to break them,” he says.
“Is it annoying you?” I ask.
He hesitates. “I guess not.”
I look out the window of the room. It’s early afternoon and sunny outside, but it feels like it should be much later than that. My back hurts, and I’m getting the feeling that I should have stayed in the hospital a little longer.
“So what did you do get here? Skip class… spread a rumor about someone? Steal something?” Thunder asks me.
I glare at him then return my gaze to the window.
“Oh, wait! You’re the Nancy girl.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Well, you could give me something to call you by.”
“That’s the worst pick-up line ever.”
“Who says it’s a pick-up line?”
“Marissa warned me about you. She said you would hit on anything that walks.”
“Ouch,” he says. “Well Marissa thinks any guys who talks to her is hitting on her.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Dinner date,” Thunder says. He smiles and wiggles his fingers in the air.
“Whatever.”
“You know they told me about you, too. They said this Nancy girl doesn’t like talking to anyone. So I guess that makes me lucky.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Right, my apologies,” he says.
I look down at my hands and start cracking my knuckles again. Remembering what Thunder said, I stop. He must have been paying more attention to me than I thought.
“Do you want to know what else they said about you?” Thunder asks.
I hesitate. “Doesn’t matter. I won’t see any of them again after today.”
“Why, are you leaving?”
“Yeah. As soon as I finish talking to Moton.”
“Well, that’s a stupid idea.”
“Excuse me?”
“They said you are their best chance at bringing down Dr. Nancy, and without you they couldn’t do it. If you die, they lose their only leverage against Dr. Nancy, and everything would have been for nothing. You aren’t at all curious as to why they brought you here and kept you alive?” Thunder says.
I open my mouth to speak, but I check myself. I’m their leverage? I guess that’s fair. Still, why would they fake friendship instead of telling me the real reason why they want me here?
“They said you would leave the second you got scared. I guess they were right,” Thunder says.
“What are you getting at?”
“I could ask you the same thing. You could have left and stayed away several times—”
“I did that.”
“And yet you came back. Something’s keeping you here, and I don’t think it’s because you’re afraid to leave. I think you know Kenyon is your best chance, and that’s why you’re here. I also think you enjoy watching the Meta-minions scramble and bitch at each other because they don’t like having you here.”
I smile.
“You’re not a fan of them, are you?”
“No. And that’s why I personally want you to stay.”
“So that I can continue to annoy the Metanites?”
Thunder raises his hands. “I never said that I cared about this whole Dr. Nancy thing, anyways. But since the Metanites think you’re going to leave, I think it would be priceless if you stayed.”
Moton’s door opens, and he and Ms. Grenavich walk into the room. They looked stressed and sad. The circles under Ms. Grenavich’s eyes are dark indigo. She makes eye contact with me, and—amazingly—she doesn’t look disgusted with me… just… sad. She sighs and sits down on one of the silver chairs.
“Hello, Annika,” Moton says. He sit
s in the silver chair next to Ms. Grenavich. “I don’t know how I can convince you to stay, except I want to reiterate that you are still welcome here. Ms. Grenavich and I want to extend our welcome to you. We want you to become a student at Kenyon, and… and I know that’s a long process and not what you want, but we—”
“I don’t want to become a student here, no offense. I’m not ready for that, but…” I say. I glance at Thunder. “I want to help until we bring down Dr. Nancy, however I can.”
“Except for those documents,” Ms. Grenavich says.
“The files are safe, and they’re going to stay that way,” I say.
“But if something were to happen to you before you can do something with those documents—” she continues.
“They are in good hands, and… when I trust that Kenyon is snitch-free, I will turn them over to you,” I say.
“In the meantime, I do have one favor to ask,” Moton says. “You are under no obligation to oblige, and if you feel uncomfortable with it, please refuse. However, I think your expertise on Dr. Nancy and how to fight the people who work for him could help us, and some of the Metanites have agreed. If you would be willing to teach them and help with their training, you could possibly save a life.”
“Which, we can all agree, is what’s really important,” Ms. Grenavich says.
I hesitate, but I don’t have to think for very long. I agree, under the condition that I don’t have to answer any more questions about the files.
“Can I be there?” Thunder asks.
“T, please be patient,” Moton says.
“Thank you,” I say. From the corner of my eye, I see Thunder grinning.
“Thank you, and do spend some time in the hospital tonight before you go to bed. I’m sure Nathan has some follow-up treatment to help you heal,” Moton says.
I stand up and walk toward the door. Before I leave, I turn around and take a breath.
“Moton?”
“Yes?” he replies.
“It wasn’t Nate’s fault that I ran off. Even if he had been there, I would have left alone, regardless. It was stupid, I know, and reckless… but it was my fault, not his.”
Moton smiles.
“Thank you, Annika. I hope we don’t have another incident in which you feel you need to run off,” he says.
I smile and leave for the hospital to find Nate.
XXI: Training
Friday, March 28, 2065; 6:26 p.m.
First person
In my room, I pull on a tight blue shirt and some black, baggie cargo pants covered with large pockets over my thighs and calves. I think this should work for the training thing today. I can’t believe the Metanites are okay with this. I guess my interrogation with Jericho yesterday scared them enough to want me to stay. I guess I have a plan for what to teach them. I mean, I know plenty about running and hiding, but the Metanites don’t need to do either. Maybe a little combat will be good.
A short spasm of pain shoots through my back, starting from the lower left side where the radiation pin was. I clench my teeth and fall against the bed until the pain wanes then I push myself back to my feet. Since the episode at the art museum my body has been more sensitive to pain. The more I move the more my body punishes me for the damage I have put it through. I asked Nate and Kiaria for more pain meds to calm the constant aching, but Kiaria said I should just relax for a few days and give my body a rest… so I pleaded with Nate, knowing that he still felt guilty and would give in. Cruel? Yes, but it was a necessary evil. I took two this morning, and they’re starting to wear off.
I grab my half-eaten sandwich from lunch and head out the door. I close and lock the door behind me before I realize my shoe laces are caught in the door.
“Ugh,” I huff and bend down to yank the laces out from under the door… and they’re stuck. Great. I reach for the Bleu-screen to unlock the door, but I can’t reach it without standing up… and that’s more work than I’m willing to put in.
“Come-on,” I moan.
“Hey, Annika!” I hear from down the hall. Abraham prances toward me. “Having trouble?”
“Just a small one,” I say.
“Whoa! Are those shoe laces?! How old are your shoes?”
“Just a couple…”
“—decades… here,” Abraham says. He crouches next to me and yanks the shoe laces out of the door, smashing the plastic tips of the laces. “There, free as a bird!”
“Thanks,” I say, smiling. “What are you doing here—shouldn’t you be in the Base?” I ask.
“Yeah, but I can’t be there on time.”
“Why not?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Abraham says. I shake my head and retie my shoelaces. “That’s the trick, you know.”
“What, being late?”
“Close, but it’s actually having fun—having a sense of humor. That’s how I get by, at least.”
“Are you giving me advice, Abe?” I ask, smiling.
“I’m just saying!”
“Well, I’m afraid I’m not very funny.”
“You know, there are so many offensive jokes I can counter that statement with, but I’m going to restrain myself and just say that sarcasm counts.”
“Thanks,” I say, standing back up. “See you down there?”
“Yeah! Well now that I know you’re running late, I have to find something to distract me for a few minutes longer before I can go down. Gotta be last, you know,” he says.
“Alright, see you,” I say, and I walk toward the elevators.
I keep thinking about Abraham and our strange encounter the whole way down to the Base. I know him to always be friendly and comical, but something was odd. What was he suggesting when he said, “getting by?” Was he talking about Jericho? Does he know about the girl in Austria? I didn’t think anyone knew about her… no one should have. Of course Jericho and the others would know that she died—maybe they would know that I killed her—but what if they found her? God—if they found her…
The doors of the elevator open to the Base where I see all ten members except Abraham busying themselves while they wait for me. Elijah, Nickel, and Xander are on the floor of the enormous arena taking hits at each other, laughing; Lazz and Nate are taping their knuckles near the new punching mannequin; the girls are stretching and chatting. If only they knew what happened when I stole those files… if they knew about the girl in Austria…
“I’m glad you’re all getting warmed up,” I say as I descend the stairs and walk toward the arena.
Every head turns to look at me, hitting “pause” on whatever each person was doing. I begin to notice more as I come closer. For one, they’re not dressed like they normally dress; they’re all wearing sweats and work-out clothes. In their eyes, I can see that I startled them, but they aren’t afraid of me, not exactly. Odd, I thought the interrogation of Jericho would have frightened them enough.
“Ready?” I ask, pulling up the sleeve to my shirt.
“What are you going to teach us?” Lazzer asks.
“How to survive in hand-to-hand combat,” I reply.
“But we know how to do that. We have training for that,” Xander says as Abraham walks in.
“Is there a problem with that, because I could show you how to cook dinner using a tin can or how to remove a bullet from your body when you have no supplies?” I reply.
Most of them shift and glance down at the floor.
“As you should know by now, these people coming after me—and now the rest of you—don’t fight like the people you may be used to fighting. They have experience, strength, and most importantly, when they fight you they will kill you as quickly as they can. Knife.”
Zoë reaches around and tosses me a small dagger.
“Thank you. Now who wants to help me demonstrate?” I ask.
The Metanites exchange glances until Elijah steps forward, assuring me that his arm is much improved and feeling healthy. Elijah and I step to the center of the arena while the others form a
semicircle around us to watch.
“Okay, now I’m the hunter,” I say.
“The what?” Elijah asks.
“I’m the bad guy.”
“Oh, got it.”
“All of you feel free to ask any question that pertains to this. Your life may depend on it.”
“Awesome,” Kono groans.
“Now,” I say to Elijah, “try to beat me.”
Elijah raises his eyebrow.
“Really,” I assure him.
“Powers or no powers?”
“Do you really want to start with powers?”
“Hmm… no.”
“Good. And remember I have the—” I start to say, but just before I can finish my sentence, he lunges at me. I dodge him while taking out his feet, and he falls on his back. I’m over him with the knife at his throat before he can open his eyes to see what happened.
“I have the knife,” I say.
“Elijah stares at me, his cheeks as red as cherries. I back off and help pull him to his feet.
“Damn, Eli,” Abraham teases.
“Yeah, shut up, twig,” Elijah says.
“It wasn’t that bad,” I say. “You just need to play more defense. Always expect them to counter your hit, and wait for the opportunity for them to slip-up so you can deliver a solid blow. Let’s try again.”
Elijah and I step back to where we started, and he lunges again. This time he lasts longer, but I still pin him to the ground.
“Don’t lunge,” I tell him. “You make the rest of your body vulnerable when you do that. This time, when you attack me, don’t aim for my middle. Try to get me off balance, and control my hand holding the knife.”
Elijah nods, and we try again. This time he heeds my advice and takes me down. I land on my back, and pain surges through my back again. I cringe.
“Whoa, Annika. Are you okay?” Elijah asks.
“Yeah, nice hit,” I reply, wincing. Elijah helps me back to my feet and hands me two pills. “Thanks,” I say, and I swallow the pain meds. After a few seconds, I can already feel the relief kicking in.
“Kia, do you have any fake weapons?” I ask. She replies that they do in storage. “Good, let’s get them out. Partner up with someone you’re not afraid to rough-up a little, and let’s get going.”