by E. R. Arroyo
“We revived him.” Twig stands up straighter, pushes his shoulders back. I’ve never been so thankful for being lumped into a group in all my life. In this moment, the last thing I need is my individuality.
“How so?”
“Pushing his chest, and breathing into his mouth,” Twig says. I’m surprised Billy hasn’t sold me out for being the hero but I did save his best friend’s life.
“CPR? Interesting!” Nathan squeals. “And who among you might possibly know how to deliver CPR to a dying young man? Miss 1206?”
I hang my head, wishing I didn’t have to answer his question. What’ll he do? I saved a soldier. He should thank me. He grabs me by the chin and tilts my face to look at him. “How did you go about reaching him from the other end of the line?”
“The others helped me get to him. They did most of the work really,” I explain, but don’t feel like I’m making it any better.
“And they just read your mind? Knew what to do?”
“I told them how to help.” I pause, not sure if I’m making a case for or against myself. “You told us to work as a team. One of us had fallen.”
“Indeed, he had. But in his absence, there was another leader at the end of the line with his vision unobstructed and a free hand. You didn’t deem him a capable leader, 1206?”
“I did, sir, but--”
“But what?” He raises his voice.
“He didn’t know CPR.”
“I didn’t ask you to lead this group. Did he ask you to perform CPR?”
“No, sir.”
Nathan says, “Fine,” but I know it’s not over just like that.
“Moving on,” he says, as though we haven’t just expended all the energy we have. “Combat.” I disintegrate into hopeless exhaustion that I’ll never wake up from. I can’t fight, I can barely stand straight. “Cori, to the center of the ring. Since you insist on being the center of attention.” The center of attention? He made me the center of attention!
I don’t protest even though every piece of me wants to. I feel like I’m not supposed to for some reason I can’t place my fuzzy thoughts on. Nathan brings the other pledges toward me and they all surround me. I’m closed in on every side. Again.
“Sean,” Nathan growls, with something evil lurking beneath his voice. “Hit her.” Not again. Nathan has his hands behind his back, as always, the picture of control and authority.
Sean hesitates for approximately one second before I feel a concrete fist in my ribcage. I saved your life, I think.
“I thought violence was illegal,” I growl through gritted teeth.
“It is for civilians,” he answers, and it’s all I need to hear. I ball my good fist and slam it into Sean’s face, but it doesn’t have the same impact as if I could use my right hand. I consider risking the injured hand for Sean’s sake. He grins as he backs away from me. At least his cheek is red.
“Jensen, hit her.” There’s a blow from behind to my kidney. Nathan continues to order blows against me. Matt hits my shoulder. Jayce hits the back of my head and rattles me--it actually makes me dizzy and I fall momentarily to a knee.
I throw pointless punches at each of them. Billy hits me right in the face from the side. That just healed, I think, angry that I may never look like a normal person again.
“Authority was given to Sean and Twig. Yet you saw fit to give orders instead of following them. When people break the chain of command, they are punished.”
He’s punishing me for saving Sean’s life. I had to or we all could have died. I did nothing wrong. I saved the team.
“I hope you’ll understand that authority must be revered at all costs. Twig, hit her.” Twig stands directly in front of me. It’s going to be a blow to the gut, or a punch to my face. It might even break my nose. He could crush me with his pinky finger.
But he doesn’t move. No fist flies at my face, no knee to my midsection. No kick to my ribs. Nothing.
“Hit her,” Nathan yells with his face inches from Twig’s. They both turn red for different reasons, but Twig doesn’t budge. Not an inch. Just do it, I think, knowing he’s going to be punished for this. With my eyes, I try to plead with him. It doesn’t have to be hard, just hit me! I’m dizzy from Jayce’s strike to the back of my head. My eyes glaze over and I’m unsteady on my feet.
“Do it,” I whisper.
“No,” Twig says, his jaw set.
In what seems like a fraction of a second, a gun is drawn and Nathan pulls the trigger, putting a bullet in Twig’s head.
Chapter Seven
The world has gone black. I’m half-awake to the smell of vomit and the sensation of being carried.
I drift in.
I drift out.
My body is limp in someone’s arms. My wounds won’t let me rest, and my mind won’t let me sober up and figure out what’s going on...or who’s touching me. I force my eyelids apart before they’re overcome with light that’s too bright. Then it’s black again. And I’m slipping away.
I wake with a start, my head throbbing. A device about six inches long is attached to my forearm with numbers and readings on a screen. A digital line rises and falls with my heartbeat. My wrists are wrapped with fresh bandages--I hadn’t even realized I’d injured them both.
I think back to when I acquired the wounds, remembering how pathetically I performed in our team exercise. I couldn’t reach, I couldn’t keep my balance. Constantly at the mercy of Billy and...
Twig.
Oh, god. Nathan shot him. A cold, dull pain stabs my stomach as the details return, flooding my mind. Twig was kind to me, and it got him killed. Without meaning to, I’d shown him up by taking control when Sean was hurt.
The lines on my monitor pick up speed until I lean over the edge of the hospital bed and vomit on the floor. Why didn’t he just hit me?
I groan and fall back against my pillow, hitting the bed hard enough to make it rattle. I tilt my head back and try to focus on a spot on the ceiling.
“Ahem.”
My eyes dart to the chair on the far side of the room, where Nathan watches me. The sight of him makes my heart rate soar and my blood pound against my temples. I don’t know whether to wring his neck or curl into a ball and cry.
Anger and fear bubble up and I can’t decide which to go with. He did this to show me what he’s capable of. If he was trying to win me over, killing Twig was a misstep.
I say nothing but grit my teeth while staring into his eyes. The pains in my injured body scream at me. The rage in my soul screams louder. I want to see Nathan bleed, but there’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing I can say. Before I can stop them or give them permission, tears well up and spill over, rushing down my cheeks, burning scrapes I didn’t know I had.
There’s no way I would have been caught crying in front of a single soul a couple months ago. But today, after everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve worked for, I just don’t care.
I don’t even bother to wipe the tears away. I just continue to stare at him through blurred vision. He disgusts me. He killed Twig to prove a point. I don’t hide my anger, but still no words come. No sarcastic remark, nor clever comeback. No accusation. No dig to get under his skin. He’s under mine.
“It’s nice to finally have your attention, Miss 1206,” he says to me, over-enunciating each digit in my number. The pride oozing from his voice makes me feel sick. My belly burns, my throat burns, my skin burns. All of my insides burn looking at him.
“You didn’t have to do that.” It’s killing me that he’s seeing me so weak. I’m pathetic, and I know it.
“Ah, but I did, you see,” he challenges. I don’t care to wait for an explanation.
“You miserable piece of--”
“Shhhh. Don’t make me angry, little girl. We both know how that story ends.” He moves toward me with his hands folded perfectly behind his back like he always does when he’s in control. “I tried to be reasonable with you. I tried being...nice.” I get the impression that
last word tasted putrid on his tongue. “But you’ve made it clear the only way I can get through to you is with violence. Cruelty. Do you see what you’ve made me do?”
I see it. And I hate it. I’m in no way willing to accept full responsibility for what Nathan is, but the shame of forcing his hand is overwhelming. What would my father think of me? I was raised in a violent world, and I’ve played along. Death is a consequence of that violence--I understand that--but this was not war, nor survival. This was a game to Nathan, a game that I lost. And Twig was a pawn.
“Why don’t you just kill me if I’m so much trouble?” I clench my jaw, not really expecting an answer.
“I don’t want that, Cori.” His voice softens a little.
“What do you want?”
He steps closer, letting his hands fall casually to his sides. They look awkward there, but they’re all I can bear to look at. “Submission,” he says. “It’s such a simple thing, really. Be a soldier who does what she’s told.”
“What have I not done, Nathan?” I say louder than I mean to. “What have you asked that I’ve not done? You say run, I run. You say shoot, I shoot. You blindfold us and tell us to work as a team, so I work with my team. The team you gave me.” I’m yelling now. “What have I not done!”
He takes a long, measured breath, and lets it out with a sigh. His eyes search mine so intensely it makes me feel exposed. “You haven’t bought in. I can see it in your eyes. You’re merely surviving here. You’re playing a game.” We both are, I correct him in my mind.
“You’re right,” I whisper, not remembering giving my lips permission to speak. I meet his eyes, which have softened with intrigue, wonder even.
“Pardon me?”
“You’re right. I’ve been a kid about this. A child, playing children’s games.”
I’ve caught him off guard, but he can’t hide the joy in his eyes or his crooked grin, no doubt thinking he’s finally won. “Are you ready to grow up then?”
He lays a heavy hand on my shoulder, squeezing too hard. Touching me, breaking his own rules again. It’s everything I can do not to push his hand away, but I have to survive. Just survive.
“Yes,” I mumble, another wave of tears taking me over.
“Good,” he says, returning his hands together at his backside. “Get some rest.”
My heart still races when he leaves. I give myself five seconds to scream and cry into my pillow then I suck it up and try to wipe my tears away.
There’s a knock at the door. I panic and try to pull myself together. A mixture of blood and tears rub off on the backs of my hands. The door cracks open, and Titus sticks his head in.
“May I?” he asks softly. I nod and he comes in, but I continue straightening my clothes and bedding. When I realize it’s hopeless, I drop my hands at my sides and look up at him.
There’s a stain on his white undershirt. The outer one is missing. “What happened to your shirt?” I ask.
He looks down at it and shrugs, a subtle smile forming on his lips. “You threw up on me,” he says lightheartedly. “Twice.”
“Oh,” I mumble, turning shades of red deeper than the blood staining my skin. “I’m sorry.” He must’ve carried me to Medical.
He laughs once. “It’s okay.” He hesitates for a moment and I’m starting to wonder why he’s here, talking to me. Did Nathan send him to check on me? Make sure I’ve really had a change of heart?
“Are you okay?” He moves a tiny step closer.
“Yes. Yeah, of course.” My eyes stray away from him. “Did Nathan send you?” I’m afraid if he says yes, and afraid if he says no. Why is he so nice to me? Adults aren’t supposed to be nice, they’re not supposed to be anything. Most of them don’t even smile.
“No, I...” he closes the door and steps closer, weaving and unweaving his fingers. “I just wanted to check on you.”
“Oh,” I whisper. I take a breath then blurt out what I can’t stop thinking. “Why are you different? The other adults...they don’t... They’re not like you.”
He blushes a little and shoves his hands deep in his pockets. “Our, um...our hormone restrictors aren’t as strong in the military. Some say violence requires a certain amount of passion.”
“Passion?” I ask, shocked by the turn this conversation has taken. They control people with drugs. It makes perfect sense.
“Passion,” he explains. “Some emotions. Certain instincts. Things civilians aren’t allowed to have.”
“What does that mean?” I feel like a child, so naive. So uninformed.
“It means I care about people,” he says in a low voice.
I ponder over the word care. Titus cares about people and I guess, for the moment, that includes me.
“You don’t even know me.”
“I’ve known you for years,” he says.
I remember him from Underage, sure, but I hadn’t considered those passing moments “knowing” each other. Every one seems to know me, but I’ve let them be a sole entity, “them.” Not individuals. All I’ve strived to be was just that, and I never granted that courtesy to anyone else. Except the few who practically forced themselves into my life. Dylan, Alyssa, Ginny. That’s it. My whole world.
“I just want you to be okay,” he adds a beat later.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
Even if he was a friend to Cornelius, he shouldn’t care about me, or check on me, or be nice to me. Look where it got Twig.
“I know. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He starts for the door, but lingers there before opening it. “I understand it now. You’re very...”
He stares at the floor for a moment, deep in thought over something. Something pertaining to me.
“Very what?” I ask.
He shrugs his shoulders, dismissing some thought I’m not privy to, and thrusts one hand into his pocket and reaches for the door with the other. “It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”
When he leaves the room, I ignore the almost-conversation about me and instead focus on the more important thing he revealed. Nathan controls the colony with chemicals. Drugs that restrict emotion and natural hormones. That’s why they don’t protest, why I’m the only one who seems to care about the injustice here. That’s why it’s so frustrating to Nathan that I’m immune. It’s not because he can’t predict me, it’s because he can’t control me.
Titus returns with a wet cloth. “Your face,” he says without really looking at me. The curiosity from a moment ago has left his expression. He’s back to being my trainer. “You won’t say anything to Nathan?”
His eyes meet mine for just a moment. He’s nervous about what he said--that he cares about people. He’s scared I’ll rat him out. He should be nervous. What if he does something stupid and Nathan caught him?
“I won’t,” I assure him, but I hope he doesn’t continue to confide in me. I’m grateful for the concern, but it really isn’t safe for either of us, whatever his reason for having it is.
Titus extends the cloth toward me. I don’t realize what it’s for until he dabs some blood from my face, and I wince.
“Thanks.” I take the rag and wipe the blood myself as he leaves again, giving a little nod as a goodbye.
I wonder why Titus has become concerned with me at all. I think back to our various interactions, and I have to admit, he is kinder than most. Even kinder than Marsiana, my roommate/superior officer/confusing, unpredictable friend, although she seems grumpier each day. Still, if there were signs that Titus was becoming attached to me, I missed them. Perhaps it’s simply a bond formed between teacher and pupil.
I wonder how many of the adults feel things despite Nathan’s effort to control them. I wonder how Titus became so comfortable discussing such a taboo thing, and I wonder why he felt he could trust me to know it. The only other person I’ve ever heard openly discussing things like this was Cornelius.
I garner a little strength and decide to go after him. If he knew Cornelius lik
e I did, maybe he can tell me what happened to him. If he really did die from his sickness or if it was something else. Someone else.
Hopefully I can catch up.
I step out into the darkened hallway and don’t see him. I look both ways, not sure which leads to the elevators. I hear his voice to my right and I jog toward him, my bare feet falling softly on the linoleum flooring.
When I’m almost to the end of the hall, ready to round the corner, a giant hand covers my mouth, and a strong arm wraps around my waist pulling me into a dark corner. I try to scream, but don’t have the strength. I fight against the arms, but I’m helpless.
“It’s me,” Dylan whispers into my ear. I stop moving instantly and turn to face him, but he stops me and holds my face away from him by my jaw. It actually hurts a little, which stuns me. He’d never hurt a fly (if they even existed anymore). “You can’t look at me. Just listen.”
Titus says something I can’t make out just out of my line of sight, when the elevator opens and another voice chimes in, Nathan. “Titus. What brings you?”
“Just came from Cori’s room, sir.”
“And?” Nathan asks. I’m not sure what he’s wanting to hear, but maybe Titus knows.
“I think she’s still shaken up. I spoke with her nurse to make sure they keep her well fed. She’ll return to us tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll give you a hundred percent if she’s got it.”
“Thorough, soldier. I was on the way to speak with the medical team myself, but you’ve saved me the trouble. Shall we?” Nathan says, cavalier as ever.
“Sir,” Titus responds and it sounds like the two of them step back onto the elevator and the doors close and the motor carries them to another floor. Was he protecting me?
I’d forgotten for a moment that Dylan is still holding me. My back is pressed against him, while his arm is still around my waist. The hand that covered my mouth holds my chin softly. He’s tucking me tight, I assume, because we’re barely in the shadow of the corner we’re in. I glance at the camera above us. He’s bent over me and leaning his head against mine, his breath heavy on my ear.
“I found out more about your implant. It’s from a new series of chips,” he says, quietly. “They store video footage of whatever you see. They’re working on a universal device to upload the data your chip collects so they can monitor it. They’re going to upgrade everyone.”