by Rachael Craw
Miriam crosses to the treadmill, flicks the power on at the wall and nods me over. “We need to get you moving first. The more we stimulate your adrenaline, increase your metabolism, the better. Your strength and stamina will have skyrocketed already and if you don’t get moving, the pins and needles will start driving you nuts.”
I can’t deny the zip-zapping has become uncomfortable and the prospect of action makes it hard to sulk. I pull my hoodie off, tingling with anticipation. Do I really have more strength and stamina? I want to test it.
“Jump on. You can warm up with a jog.” Miriam taps the arrow keys and the motor whirs. I hop on the conveyor and hold on to the handrail until I find my pace. Moving feels good, really good.
She nods, knowingly.
“This is why you always go running?”
“Therapy for body and soul, trust me,” she lifts her voice above the whir of the treadmill.
“So where did Carolyn take you?”
“I don’t actually know. They always put you to sleep before transportation. You wake up in the facility, somewhere underground.”
“Underground?” I grip the handrail so I can look at her as I jog.
“I was only there a few hours. I’m guessing the rest of the time is spent travelling, maybe by air. I really don’t know.”
“It’s big?”
“Pretty big. Bigger than an airplane hangar. There are different levels. Departments. A hospital. Training rooms. Sleeping quarters. It’s where you’ll go when they take you in.”
I blow through my lips. “What did the tests show?”
“Just that my signal’s taking longer to cool than usual.”
“Because of me?”
“Fluctuations in signal strength aren’t unheard of, especially during periods of high stress. April’s only been gone a month or so and I’ve been settling you in. I let them believe it’s post-traumatic stress.”
I ignore the pang in my chest.
She touches the back of her neck, checking the magnet and tape are still in place.
“The tracker thing – they can find you but you don’t want them to find me?”
“Not yet. For Kitty’s sake it’s best if they don’t know about you.” She waves at the treadmill for me to get moving. Distracted, I nearly trip again and she taps the arrow key, increasing the speed to a proper run, forcing me to concentrate or risk wiping out. She waits for me to find my rhythm. She really has to raise her voice now, to compete with the motor and my pounding feet. “It’s hard to explain. For them, we’re the assets. Sparks are collateral damage, useful only because they bring the Shields to light. I mean they want you to succeed, for sure, but the survival of a Spark is not a primary objective.”
She presses on before I can voice outrage. “There are two primary objectives. Acquisition of assets is the first. Shields are the assets. They monitor, train, protect and utilise the assets for the second primary objective. Deactivating Strays. Saving innocent lives is gravy.”
I duck the migraine material with another question, struggling with the idea of the Affinity Project requiring anything from me. “They’ll expect to utilise me?”
“I suppose it’s waste not, want not. Mop up the mess and make the most of the assets. Only fully matured Shields,” she gestures to herself, “are used for contract assignments.” She leans in to check the readout on the panel and nods in approval. “You’re not even puffing.”
I hadn’t noticed, too busy taking it all in. I remember what she said about Wardens sending contract agents when they sensed an active Spark and it dawns on me. “That’s what you do. They send you to a town to shake hands with some poor bastard with an invisible target on his head and hope you’ll bond to his signal?”
“Yep.”
“That was Phil?”
She nods.
I shake my head. “Did you actually do a photo shoot?”
“I did. Vocational matching’s a bonus.”
“But they don’t do it for the sake of the Spark?”
“For the Affinity Project, saving Phil would be counted as the indirect benefit of fulfilling a primary objective, eliminating the Stray.”
I want to punch something.
“It is what it is, kiddo. I don’t get involved with the politics. Besides, there’s no democracy in Affinity. There’s protocol and that’s that.”
“You mean rules.”
“Big rules.” She taps the arrow key, forcing me into top speed. I let out a cry, nearly losing my balance. Righting myself, I lengthen my stride. The motor rumbles. I’ve never felt so energised. Miriam smiles. “Feels pretty great, huh?”
It does. After months of inactivity, I’m surprised my muscles haven’t atrophied. I thought for sure my thighs and calves would burn in minutes and I’d have to hit the stop button to collapse on the console red-faced and gasping. But the burn doesn’t come. My lungs fill and empty with ease. I realise my body is simply cruising and if I wasn’t limited by the capacity of the motor, I could, in fact, go faster. Much faster.
“One of the most important rules we live by is never allowing our Spark to know they’re in danger.”
The rightness of it seizes me. Imagining the fear Kitty would experience if she knew what threatened her life is completely intolerable. “Good. That’s good.”
“I wish I could tell you it’s for the benefit of the Spark. I suppose in an indirect way it is, but for Affinity it’s just part of protecting the organisation.”
I scowl at the mercenary truth, but another thought demands my attention. “How do you protect someone without letting them know they’re in danger?”
She gives me a sad smile. “It’s an art form, kiddo. You’ll learn. You have a major advantage. Kitty’s your friend. You have an excuse to be near her.”
It doesn’t feel like a sufficient answer but my questions are backing up. “Aren’t you breaking the rules – not telling them I’m active? I don’t understand how that helps Kitty.”
“Most newly triggered Shields don’t have the benefit of a live-in mentor,” she almost has to shout. “Most of us think we’re losing our minds and some of us actually do. When your DNA Sparks there’s a period of time before the Wardens pick up on the signal, track you down and take you in. Usually after your first Spark.”
I listen keenly, pumping my arms and legs.
“It takes time. In the beginning your frequency sensitivity is weak. The more exposure you have to your Spark the stronger your signal and sensitivity become. If I told them you’d triggered, they would take you in now and put you through orientation.”
“Like training and stuff?” I call over the motor, beginning to breathe more deeply. “Wouldn’t that be a good thing?”
“Orientation takes a month, minimum. You wouldn’t be allowed to leave the compound.”
I put one hand on the rail to steady myself. “But surely if they knew Kitty was–”
“No. They wouldn’t let you leave, for any reason.”
I punch the stop button. The motor groans and I jump off the back of the conveyor. “They’d leave her unprotected?”
“You’re the only one tuned to her signal. If they took you, I could watch her but I’d have no way of knowing when the threat was coming.”
Momentarily speechless, I shake my head, unable to think of any curse foul enough for the situation. “That can’t happen. They can’t find out.”
She holds my gaze, pity in her eyes. “Come over here.” She crosses to the sparring dummy, pulling it out into the middle of the floor. “Watch me closely and concentrate.” She shoves one of the protruding handles. The dummy whirs on its base. She brings her hand up to stop the spinning; a thwack of wood against bone. Then she lifts her knee, tapping one of the sticks with her foot so that it spins in the other direction. An arm whips towards her face and she stops it with a deft block. “It’s only a matter of time, Evie. They know you’re living with me now and they keep a close eye on families who’ve produced AFS. They will have
been monitoring you since you were fourteen or fifteen.”
“They’ve been watching me?” I shiver. “What am I going to do?”
“Pay attention.” She repeats the maneuver with the dummy, creating a rhythmic muted smack with each turn. “It’s not like the countryside is crawling with agents. Until now, I was the only registered Shield in the district. Carolyn’s been my Watcher for years. I’ve never given her reason to doubt me and I’ve been in for a debrief. That will buy us a little time before they sweep the area again.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.” She stops the spinning dummy and leans her head on it. “They don’t send out a timetable to let you know, hey, we’ll be coming your way March, August and December, but they’re regular and mostly they’ll track homicides. New Hampshire isn’t what you’d call a hotspot. Plus, I’ve just completed an assignment. So for now they won’t be looking for a high frequency here.”
“Timing? Luck?” I throw my hands up. “That’s all that’s to keep them from coming for me?”
“Our location works in your favour.” She starts up again, striking, blocking, grunting with each thwack as the dummy spins back and forth. “Water blocks our signals. Large bodies of water. Rivers, oceans, lakes, springs, that sort of thing. But even rain or a running tap can distort your senses, make it hard to pick up small sounds. A Warden would need to cross the Border River into town to feel your signal.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It’s the facts, kiddo. When I’m active, I can feel a Warden’s approach. Not sure about in between times.”
In between times. Life ruled by mutant DNA.
Miriam steps up her speed and what looks at first like solid form quickly becomes fierce intensity, ducking, twisting, her arms blurring. She spins and thrusts her foot against the thick mid-section. The dummy careens towards me. With no time to cry out or even think, I jump back and stop it with my foot. The impact shoves me and I land in a partial squat, bug-eyed at my involuntary response.
“See you got the boobs, then.”
I straighten up, adrenaline thrumming in my arms and legs. “They’re because of this?”
“It’s like you’re on fast forward.” She frowns. “Most newbies develop gradually.”
Indignation makes me hot and I spin, in an echo of my aunt’s maneuver, collecting the dummy with a loud smack, sending it spiralling back towards her. The ease and accuracy of the move shocks me.
She stops it with one hand. “See. Rapid Kinetic Learning. Let’s see if you can do it with something else.” But she doesn’t explain. “And I meant your frequency sensitivity, not your boobs.”
I purse my lips in disgust.
“You’re not going to like this, but your magical new C-cup is an intentional design element, like a propagation of the species thing.” She swallows. “The gene modifier always finds the strongest candidates. Inevitably they’re smart, good-looking, physical people. Once the modification happens, these things are enhanced. As your frequency sensitivity matures you get smarter, stronger and better looking.”
I splutter, unable to find words.
“Not very PC, huh?”
“But – but I’m not – I mean, I’m just me.” My cheeks flame in the mirror.
“While you’re choking, you should know about one of the side effects of our condition.” She can’t look at me; instead she pulls the sparring dummy back into the corner with the other equipment. “Your body’s in overdrive on every level. Part of the design plan. Your reproductive potential quadruples.” Her head pops up from behind the dummy and her cheeks redden. “Your body will basically start chucking multiple eggs at your uterus every cycle, which becomes weekly instead of monthly.”
My mouth opens. “Tell me you’re joking.”
She grimaces. “You’ll bleed for only an hour one day a week. It’s a nightmare, the cramps are a bitch but at least they’re solid warning the wave’s about to hit.” She turns her back, browsing a display of throwing knives. “Then there are the pheromones.”
“Pheromones?” I say numbly, too grossed out by the thought of a weekly power-period to have the stamina for any more horrible surprises.
She removes a couple of knives with slim, leather-wrapped handles and gleaming four-inch blades and passes them to me. Their weight in my hands gives me a strange distracting thrill. Taking another pair for herself, she turns me to face the target by the stairs. On a wooden backboard she has attached a black paper silhouette of a man’s upper body, already scarred with multiple entry wounds. “Watch me closely.”
Left foot forwards, she extends both arms, left hand flat against the blade as she aims. Bringing the knife back by her ear, she points at the target, leans her weight on her back foot and launches the knife like she’s fired a bullet. A blur and it lodges in the centre of the target’s chest with a loud pock.
My spine zip-zaps with anticipation. “Again. Show me again.”
“Evie, listen.” She draws a deep breath. “When I say, pheromones, what I’m trying to say is from now on your scent is going to attract more attention than you’re used to. From men – boys, guys generally.”
I forget the knives and gape at her. “I’m in heat? Like a dog?”
“No! That’s disgusting.”
“Yeah?” I want to cover myself and hide. “Will they come up and sniff me?”
“You won’t necessarily smell any different. Just … more appealing.”
I turn my back, yank my collar open and inhale deeply through my nose. I can’t smell anything different about my skin. I’m about to ignite with more swearing and ranting when a startling memory arrests me. Jamie. The heady aroma when he carried me upstairs. I gasp, bringing my fists either side of my head, knives and all. “Jamie – Jamie, he’s got this incredible scent – his skin – you think he’s …?”
Miriam gives me a hard look but the suggestion doesn’t faze her. “Clearly the gene’s in the family. It’s a possibility. Jamie’s certainly,” she clears her throat, “symmetrical.” She assumes her stance before the target, aiming and throwing with ease. “But there’s no way of knowing. Just because Kitty’s a Spark, it’s no guarantee that Jamie’s anything.”
It is too late; the wild idea has hold of me. I rake back over our meeting at the hospital, the intense appraisal as he questioned me. A memory springs up. “He touched my neck! At the hospital, he – he gripped me here and squeezed. You think he might have been checking?”
“It’s not like you could ask him, kiddo.” She comes behind me and takes me by the shoulders, positioning me before the target. “Recall what you saw and let your body replicate the moves.”
She steps back and I adjust my stance, preoccupied by thoughts of Jamie.
“There are rules. If Jamie’s an Affinity agent, then he knows the rules too. Anonymity is the big one and they police it. It’s the first tenet they drum into you at orientation and trust me, Affinity will not tolerate indiscretion and won’t hesitate to discipline you if you break the rules. Come on, aim.”
I have to set Miriam’s warning aside to concentrate on the throw. I draw my arm back and instinct provides an easy supply of instruction for my muscles, like my brain simply lifts it from a database. An irrational sense of confidence grips me and I shift my weight, pivot and release the knife. It soars along the same trajectory, landing only an inch beneath Miriam’s. Pock. An electric charge burns through me. “Whoa.”
“Ha!” Miriam claps. “Excellent. Again.”
I don’t throw. I turn and look her right in the eyes. “You’re breaking the rules. What will they do to you if they find out?”
She looks back to the target. “Don’t worry about me, Evangeline.”
“I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“I know what I’m doing. Now, aim.”
I’m not reassured but I resume my stance, replicating the exact same steps as before, landing my throw directly between my first and hers above it. The buzz is unde
niable but fleeting. “There’s no out, is there?”
She doesn’t answer.
I spread my arms. “This is my life.”
Her lips part but close again.
The injustice is crippling. I shake my head. “And Kitty’s life.”
“No,” her voice lifts. “No. That’s one good thing. The Spark only has one ignition in them. You deactivate the Stray and that’s it. Kitty will never go through it again.”
Fierce hope rises in me then fades almost instantly. So what if I can run faster, block a sparing dummy or throw a damn knife? All fluky beginner stuff. I felt the brutal reality and sheer violence of Miriam’s alley memory, the total certainty it requires to respond the way she responded. I sit on the padded bench of the weights machine. “I have to kill him?”
She bites her lips. “You can’t reason with the Stray, Evie. They don’t stop.”
“I’m not concerned for his wellbeing, Miriam.” Feelings churn inside me that, pre-Spark, would have made me recoil. “I’m worried I’ll be too useless to do it.”
She nods brusquely, no judgement in her eyes – she knows what I feel. “You need to be aware that until this is over, you’re going to be super paranoid. Anyone who looks at Kitty twice is going to seem like a threat, but you can’t make assumptions. You have no idea who she’s had contact with.” She goes and removes the knives one by one. “It’s a mistake to rely on anything other than the signals you sense. Think of it as a bandwidth you’re scanning, interpreting what comes through. Unfortunately, when you’re new, your sensitivity isn’t strong or reliable – you’ll pick up a lot of static. That’s why you have to train hard and stimulate your frequency sensitivity.”
After my visit to the hospital, I know paranoia is a factor. I can’t imagine ever feeling normal again and hate the absence of the tether. I miss its reassuring pulse.
Miriam returns the knives to the display and goes over to the corkboard. She points to a photograph of a teenage boy. I draw close and stare at him. He grins through his messy brown hair. Scribbled in the corner, his name, Callum Greene. He doesn’t look much older than thirteen. A black line of marker pen crosses through his picture. Next to this, a sticky note with a question mark. “He was my first Spark.”