Cool, but I doubt that a training sequence will truly prepare the Metanites for what the hunting crew is capable of.
“Sounds good,” Marissa says. “We could use a new training course.”
“What’s this about a training course?” a voice asks from the middle of the cafeteria.
The girls and I turn to see Elijah, Lazzer, and Nate running toward our table.
“What the hell? Why are you guys here?” Zoë says.
Elijah and Lazzer make it to the table, but Nate is blockaded by a group of ten-year-olds who want to see his boot-foot-wrap contraption. Elijah wraps his arms around Zoë’s shoulders and squeezes.
“Umm, we live here, don’t you?” Lazzer replies. He’s holding a basketball in one arm.
“In the cafeteria? Not surprised…” Zoë says.
“So how’s lunch?” Elijah asks.
“You girls want to shoot some hoops with us? Getting psyched for the tournament tonight?” Nate asks, finally making it to our table.
The three boys lean over the table, taking up as much space as possible. I swear, the concept of personal space is a foreign concept to these people.
“No, do we ever?” Marissa snaps. “We’re trying to have a nice girls’ lunch here.”
“Go play hoops without us. We’ll see you at the tournament,” Zoë says.
“Oh, sorry. We had absolutely no intention of intruding on your special lunch.”
“Hey, those fries look good, Zo,” Elijah says, grabbing a French fry from her plate and shoving it in his mouth.
“What about you, Annika? Do you wanna play basketball? You know the Cavs play the Heat after the tournament tonight—big rivalry game!” Nate says.
“No thanks,” I say.
“Do you know why the Heat and the Cavs are rivals, Anya?” Nate asks me.
“No one knows, Nate,” Marissa sighs.
“No one cares,” Zoë mutters, dipping a fry in ketchup and smashing it against Elijah’s face.
“What did you just call her?” Marissa asks.
“Anya.”
“Anya?”
“Yeah, short for Annika, right?”
“No.”
“Ahh! I’m bleeding! I’ve been fried!” Elijah says, holding his hand to the ketchup smeared on his face. Zoë laughs, and Kiaria hands him her napkin.
“Annie?”
“No!”
“Hey, Everybody!” Abraham shouts, prancing toward our table. He stretches his arms out to encircle the entire table then squeezes everyone together in a giant hug.
“Alright, all the boys leave and clean-up Eli. Please,” Marissa says.
The boys laugh and walk across the cafeteria to the table with the napkins and plastic ware.
“Sorry about them,” Marissa sighs.
Kiaria laughs, and her laugh is so contagious that it spreads around the table. Even I can’t help smiling.
“What’s so funny?” a low voice asks from behind Zoë.
We turn to see a teenage boy hovering over Zoë. He’s tall with light brown skin and short, fuzzy hair. Even though we’re inside, he wears a pair of dark sunglasses and a black T-shirt that’s tight against his muscular body. Along with the sunglasses, he has small, black gages, a silver and black cartilage piercing, and a small piercing on the edge of his right eyebrow.
“Hey,” he says to me. His breath smells like ice-cold beer.
“Thunder,” Zoë says. She and Kiaria look down at the table and take a bite of their food.
“Could you please leave us alone, Thunder? We’re having a girl-talk,” Marissa says.
“Some storm out there! Looks kinda chilly,” he says. His voice grows louder.
“Did you make it, Thunder? Oh wait, you can’t do that,” Zoë says.
“You should leave before Elijah and the others get back,” Marissa says. I look across the cafeteria for the boys and make eye contact with Abraham. He furrows his eyebrows when he sees Thunder.
“I thought you said you were having a girl talk… oh, wait… that makes sense!” Thunder says. He hits the table with his fist and laughs hysterically.
“Thunder…” Zoë barks at him.
“Relax, blondie. I just came over to introduce myself to our lovely new resident of… the great grey building called Kenyon,” he says. He looks at me. “The name’s Thunder. What’s yours, sweetheart?”
Basia Nancy… that would send him running, I think to myself. But that’s probably a bad move, so I just glare at him for calling me sweetheart.
“Leave her alone,” Marissa says.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Marissa. Are you dating her?!”
“Because I would be so interested in an alcoholic,” I say to him.
“Now listen,” Thunder says, leaning over the table. “I—”
“Hey!” Elijah shouts. He, Lazzer, Nate, and Abraham are seconds away from our table.
Thunder spins around, and as he spins, his arm connects with Lazzer’s face. A short fight ensues, which doesn’t bode well for Thunder. Not only is he outnumbered four to one, the alcohol slows and distorts his attempt to hit them.
“Eli!” Zoë yells as he tackles Thunder to the ground.
“What has Moton told you about drinking, huh?” Elijah whispers in Thunder’s ear. They boys pull Thunder back to his feet, each holding one of Thunder’s arms behind him.
“What the hell? I didn’t even do anything!” Thunder moans.
“What are you getting at?” Nate shouts at Thunder. The sunglasses are on the floor, and the left side of Thunder’s face is stinging red.
“What are you getting at, gimp,” Thunder replies. “I didn’t do anything.”
Great, now everyone in the cafeteria is staring at our table. Two security guards come rushing in from the entrance to the cafeteria. Aside from the murmuring and loud, clunking footsteps of the oncoming guards, I can hear Thunder panting. There’s a low whipping sound coming from the window… but it’s not the wind.
“Annika, you okay?” Zoë asks. She’s staring at me.
I turn and look out the window. The snow spins at a rapid pace above us.
“GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOW!” I shout.
There’s just enough time to push Zoë out of the way before a dark figure swings from a cord and crashes through the glass. The glass splinters into a thousand shards around us. I duck my head, feeling the shards stick to or bounce off my shirt. Wind blasts through the hole in the window, drawing snow in with it. The droning sound of a helicopter above us mutes all other noise.
When I look up, I see a man completely covered in a fitted, black suit with a black ski mask on his head. He stands about ten meters away from our table and scans the room.
He’s looking for me.
I crawl over to Zoë, who had been thrown under the table from the impact of the crash. She doesn’t look scared, just pissed-off that someone had attacked her home. She looks at me then out the window. More men dressed in black suits hover outside the shattered window with jet packs strapped to their backs. Marissa crawls over to us.
“What the Hell!” Zoë shouts.
I can barely hear her over the hum of the helicopter and the wind. I glance at Zoë then Marissa. They somehow read my eyes and shake their heads.
“Annika, No!” Marissa shouts, but I’m already running toward the man in black standing in the middle of the cafeteria. He sees me coming just before I reach him, dodges my kick, and tries to grab my foot. I evade and catch myself before landing hard on the cafeteria floor.
He’s both strong and fast, but not the ideal strong and fast of normal humans. A stronger strong and a faster fast. A surgically altered state. An experiment.
I lead the attack while he stays mostly defensive. I swing, he blocks. I kick; he jumps. I need to tamper with his emotions… make him uncomfortable… the mask. I start running away, and when I notice him behind me, I plant my foot against a table, jump in the air, and grab the mask as I flip over him. As I fall I take the mask with me, and hi
s identity is revealed… at least the back side of his head. The person in black turns to face me, and—
New-bee.
We stare at each other, neither of us moving. I look into his grey eyes, once warm and promising friendship, now cold and aching. I’m sure my eyes tell him the same story.
Then, his face changes. I almost recognize the expression as he whispers, “Bia,” and steps toward me.
A fireball hits New-bee in the chest and sends him tumbling to the ground. I stand still, unable to move or breathe. I feel like the walls of the cafeteria inching toward me and the floor swallowing my feet.
More and more adults and faculty members in the building start pouring in to rush everyone else out of the room. I stand still as Elijah, Lazzer, and Abraham work together to fight New-bee. He fights back with some struggle. Actually, he’s holding his own very well. Whatever experiments he must have complied to enhanced his fighting, especially his speed.
So this is what it has come to: my best friend three years ago, now my adversary.
Zoë and Marissa join the fight, and now the Metanites are starting to get the upper hand on New-bee. He knows it, too. The helicopter and the men with the jet packs are gone, and Kono finishes telekinetically piecing the window back together. He is abandoned and trapped.
He looks my way and starts sprinting toward me, creating some distance between himself and the Metanites. Abraham extends his arm to trip him; Elijah shoots a line of fire on the floor between New-bee and me; Zoë shoots sparks of blue energy at him; but New-bee drives through all of it.
I try to move, but the floor won’t let go of my feet. I can’t move! Why can’t I move!! He’s seconds away from me…
“Annika!” Nate yells, tackling me out of the way. A metal rod strikes New-bee in the head, and he falls next to Nate and I on the ground. I stare at the unconscious teenager next to me, and I’m still unable to move. All of my instincts of fight or flight, to protect and defend—they all failed me.
Nate unwraps one of his arms from around me and steadies himself before helping me back to my feet. He’s still holding me with one arm, staring, like I am, at the unconscious body at our feet.
“Annika,” Zoë sighs.
Nate lets go of me as Zoë squeezes my arm. Marissa comes over and hugs us. The other Metanites assemble around the intruder and stare.
“Get out of my way…” Ms. Grenavich growls as she hustles toward us. She’s the lady who verbally expressed her disapproval of me when I toured Kenyon. She’s ready to chew us out but stops when she sees New-bee on the floor.
“Two of you take him to Moton,” she says. The wrinkles on her face seem to shake. “The rest of you report to your rooms immediately and wait for more instruction there.”
She walks away, and Thunder and Elijah lift New-bee onto their shoulders and follow Ms. Grenavich out of the cafeteria.
“Nice hit, Riss,” Lazzer says. He pats her on the back.
It’s quiet, except for the sound of everyone’s heavy breathing. The Metanites exchange nods and weak high fives, but no one is smiling or laughing. They know as well as I do that this is just the beginning.
XI: Up on the Rooftop
Tuesday, March 18, 2065; 4:01 p.m.
First person
How did I end up here? A little over a week ago I was jumping from alley to alley, just trying to hide from the hunting crew, and now I’m here, sitting on the roof of Kenyon as the snow dances around me. I thought the tables were finally turning for me, but now that New-bee is here, Kenyon doesn’t feel safe anymore. Not that Kenyon ever felt safe, but it’s better than being curled under a YAMAHA box and sleeping with one eye open.
It’s cold outside, but I like the way its freezes my skin and bones. I was shivering in my room, so I decided to come up here where I could be cold on the outside, too.
I watch the sun set against the red and violet sky and slip down into the distant earth. The rays are not strong enough to affect me, so with the storm clouds gone to the East, I can enjoy the colors and softness of the last little bit of sunlight.
He used to talk about the sun—New-bee. He would say, “The sun is shining,” and how something else is looking good, promising today would be a good day. Today wasn’t a good day—not even close.
“Look at that cloud!” the girl with curly blonde hair says. She sits between New-bee and me and points at a small cloud shaped like a butterfly that sits just above the sunset.
“Looks more like a piece of popcorn,” I say.
“No way, it’s a butterfly,” the young girl says. “And the pink sky means that it’s a girl butterfly.”
“I’m pretty sure the pink sky means rain is coming,” I say.
“No, no, you’ve got that all wrong. Pink skies at night are a good thing. Red skies at night, sailor’s delight; red morning, sailors take warning,” New-bee says.
“Are you sure you don’t have that backwards?” I tease.
“Would you relax? Today was a good day—the sun was shining, we got to explore Cleveland all afternoon, and look at this view!” New-bee says.
I smile and take in the view of Cleveland from the rooftop of the hospital building. Maybe a different skyscraper would give a better panoramic view of the city than this, but right now, there’s no place I’d rather be than with these two.
“I can see Kenyon from here!” the blond girl says, pointing to the third tallest skyscraper of the city.
“We should break in someday,” New-bee says. He winks at me.
“Someday,” I say. I glance at him, smile, then watch the sunset sink behind Key Tower.
“Me too?” the blonde girl asks.
“Eh… you might be too young.”
“This is a serious mission. We can’t afford to take any risks or lose you in there,” I say.
“I could find my way out!”
“Yeah, but what if they want you to stay?”
“And what if you like it there so much you want to stay?” I ask her.
“Well, then I’d make you two stay with me,” she says.
I shake my head and try to force the flashbacks away, but this city and this view force me to remember all the things I loved about my childhood—all the things I lost. Walking down the Rockefeller Gardens in the summertime; playing at the beach where a fragile, beautiful woman shouts at me not to swim too far out; the sweet smell of fresh bread from Iago’s Bakery. I remember all these as memories, but I know that they are not my own. I’m not that girl anymore. I’m a completely different being now. Cleveland reminds me of that.
I lean forward just a little. My feet dangle off the edge of the building, but I’m holding onto the low railing that forms a perimeter around the roof.
What if I just let go? Would I even feel myself hit the pavement?
No. Shut-up, Nancy, I think to myself.
“So this is where you went?” a timid voice calls to me.
I turn around and Cliff, Nate’s younger brother, stands fifteen feet away from me. He stands as still and cold as an icicle, but maybe he’s just freezing cold up here. I’m surprised, though that does explain why I didn’t hear anyone coming. Still, I didn’t think Cliff would talk to me, let alone be comfortable being in the same place as me without anyone else around.
“Aren’t you worried those people might come back?” he asks. He still doesn’t move.
I shake my head. “I wasn’t really thinking of it. Are we allowed up here?”
Cliff shakes his head. “Not really.”
“Are you going to tell them?”
“Tell-em what?”
“That I was up here.”
“They already know,” Cliff says. He points to a camera on the other side of the roof?.
“Oh.”
Cliff stands there for a moment, takes a deep breath, then comes and sits by me. He doesn’t sit on the edge though. He stays a few feet away.
“Aren’t you afraid you’re going to fall?” he asks.
“Not really, yo
u?”
He shrugs. “So how’d you get up here?”
“The stairs,” I tease. I get him to smile a little. “What are you doing up here?”
“Looking for you,” Cliff says.
“Ah hu…” I mumble. If the Metanites were looking for me, I’m sure an alarm would have sounded by now.
“I shouldn’t tell,” Cliff says.
“Come-on. You answer that question, and I’ll answer one for you.”
“Any question?”
“Just about,” I say. Now that I’ve offered it, I might regret it.
“Okay, deal,” Cliff says.
“You ask first,” I say.
“Alright… What were you thinking about before I came up here?” he asks.
After a long moment of silence, “My family,” are the only two words I can say.
“What about them?” Cliff asks.
“We used to live in Cleveland—my father working in the hospitals and all. I was thinking about all the things we used to do here. I miss it, and I missed this place.”
“Yeah, Cleveland isn’t that bad. Does your family still live here?”
“No, they’re dead.”
Cliff doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him turn to look at me. The howling wind fills the next minute before either of us say anything again.
“My father and I are the last ones left, but we’re not exactly talking. Sometimes I feel like… like we all died... like there’s nothing left of what we were.” My voice drags, and a sharp pain stabs my throat from within. I’ve already said too much, but Cliff’s silence begs for more.
“I had a sister, you know,” I say at last.
“Really?” he asks earnestly.
“Uh-hm.”
“Younger or older?”
“Younger by four years. You kind of look like her—curly, blonde hair. Hers was longer, of course,” I say, looking at Cliff.
He smiles. “What’s her name?”
“Cassandra. She had these red, rosy cheeks, too, and blue eyes.”
“What happened to her?” Cliff asks.
My throat catches the words, but I pull myself together and let them go. “She was killed.”
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