by Jacob Gowans
Sammy rubbed his forehead. “Wow. That … logistically—”
“A total freaking nightmare,” Justice said. “But what a wild day.”
“This is it, folks,” Thomas said. “If we do it right, the war may end. To even be able to say that is incredible. We actually have a shot to win it, despite the odds we faced when it started.”
“And all we have to do is ask someone to die voluntarily,” Lara said. “Or a whole team of people, if that’s what it takes to hold the kill room until the signal is sent.”
“I will do it.” Thomas said, standing. “I’ll go.”
“Sit down, Thomas,” Lara barked. “Don’t be absurd. What use are you going to be in a room full of anomalies? Target practice? You’re pushing seventy and aren’t even a sharpshooter.”
Sammy wanted to laugh until he saw Thomas’ face.
“To not go would be immoral,” Thomas told his wife. “It would be passing the sins of the fathers onto the sons. ‘Who sleeps soundly through the night whilst boys and girls toil? Bearing our burdens on their back, bleeding on our furrowed soil.’”
Lara’s response came fast and sharp, “‘My friend, you would not tell with such high zest, to children ardent for some desperate glory, the old lie: Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.’”
“Are you suggesting I would do this for some kind of glory?” Thomas asked.
“You certainly won’t be going to help the cause, so you tell me why.”
“I can’t stand by while others die for my faults—the mistakes of my generation!”
“We don’t need to decide who’s doing what today,” Justice said. “Let’s save that conversation for another time. Preferably one with lots of booze.”
A heaviness fell over the room. Tough decisions were coming. Decisions no one wanted to make. Sammy looked at Anna, her jaw set, her eyes fixed on the blueprints of the kill room in Rio. What are you thinking?
“I don’t agree with this,” said Lorenzo Winters. “We can’t ask people to walk to their deaths. We have to find another way. Any other way.”
Thomas rested his elbows on the tablet and leaned forward. “This is the kind of mentality we have to overcome—that we can accomplish our goals without the loss of some lives. We have spent weeks talking about a so-called endgame. We all know what has to be done, and yet we’re not willing to ask someone to do it if it means sacrifice.”
“I have no problem with people risking their lives,” Lorenzo Winters said, “but suicide? That’s what this mission is.”
“They aren’t the same,” Thomas said.
“It has to be Psions,” Anna offered. “Anyone else—even Ultras—could be walking into a death box.”
“Weren’t you listening?” Justice said. “It’s a death box no matter who goes in.”
“Doesn’t matter how many distractions we arrange on that day, though. When … not if … but when the fox realizes what’s happening, they’ll try to intercept the mission.”
“It’ll be like the Ride of the Valkyries.”
“So what?” Sammy asked. “You think our best team of fighters need to go to the kill room?”
“I think two very capable Psions could do the job,” Anna said. “It’s possible.” She looked Sammy in the eye. He knew what the look meant.
Me? he asked her silently.
She nodded. Then she mouthed. “And me.”
* * * * *
Friday, April 25, 2053
“Dad, I have to go to prom,” Katie said. She was trying not to shout, but the way her parents looked at her was unbearable. Disappointment. Hurt. Confusion. Prom queen at her school was an incredible honor, not only because of the prestige and the crown, but because the winner earned scholarship money to pay for a year of college. Katie, whose parents were by no means wealthy, had already paid for two years of a four-year school by winning the prize her freshman and sophomore years.
“No,” her dad responded, “you really don’t.”
“I’m ineligible—”
“I’m aware of the rules for prom queen, Katie,” her dad finished. He chewed on the end of his glasses. His eyes squinted when he didn’t wear them, which made him look sterner. “Your mom and I don’t think your actions represent what a prom queen is supposed to stand for, do you?”
“Dad … I have tried to be the kind of person you expect me to be all year! I made a mistake. If I don’t go, Bobby John—the other kids … I can’t back out. I organized this whole thing for Mrs. Hepworth. Why can’t you pick a different punishment?”
“Are you serious, Katie?” her mom nearly yelled. “You beat a girl up.” The more emotional her mom grew, the more shrill her voice. It was a sound Katie detested. “There has to be consequences.”
Katie sat in her pajamas on the couch, her head bowed. She fidgeted with the fabric of her pants, thinking about how messed up everything was. Mark had dumped her via text after school. Her parents weren’t standing by her. Priyanka was winning. Not just winning the crown, but life.
You’ll never be good enough for them. Be free from all these cares. Parents, school, peers. Let it all go.
The words both creeped her out and enticed her.
“Katie?” her dad said. “Are you listening to me?”
Katie nodded without looking up. They needed to see her cry, so she contorted her face and held her breath until the tears flowed. Then she looked up.
“You’re right. O—okay? You’re right. There needs to be consequences. I—I know. But p—please listen. Priyanka posted those … horrible pictures of me. It doesn’t matter if they haven’t proven it, she taunts me every chance she gets. And I’m just supposed to deal with that. It sucks.”
Katie’s mom nodded. “Yeah, it does suck. But you know what? The part of life you’re in now, no one remembers it once you’ve graduated.”
“Everyone remembers it now. I still have a full year of school left!” Her fist tightened on a pillow. She wanted to hurl it at her mother’s stupid face. “It’s like you don’t even care about what she did to me!”
“You don’t think we want to see Priyanka get justice?”
Katie made a rude noise with her lips. “It doesn’t seem that way.”
“It’s more important to us that you don’t get dragged down to her level,” her father added. “Revenge or retaliation will only get you in trouble.”
Oh, she will get justice, Katie silently vowed. The gnawing in Katie’s gut told her it absolutely would be the worst thing in the world. But she couldn’t say that. She had to convince her parents that she wanted to bury the hatchet between herself and Priyanka.
THAT’S an idea … bury it right between her eyes!
Katie tried to shake away the thought.
“Katie?” her mom pressed. “I asked you a question.”
Katie sighed. Her mom and dad wouldn’t understand.
What is the point of having parents if they don’t have your back? Free yourself.
“No, Mom,” she finally said. “It’s not the worst thing. Can we make a deal? If I apologize to Priyanka and make things right, will you let me go to the dance?”
Katie’s parents looked at each other before her dad answered, “It’s a step in the right direction. Do that and we’ll talk it over.”
It was the best answer she could hope for. Katie hugged her parents, but imagined herself squeezing them to death. Then she went to bed. Two hours passed before she fell asleep, and during that time she pondered how to regain her status in the eyes of her classmates. It would have to be something subversive yet effective. Something that couldn’t be traced back to her.
That night, when the dream began, Katie knew exactly what to do. She ran to her shadow, touched it and got the knife. Ignoring the brightly lit home where her parents waited for her at the table laden with food, she hurried to the cave, plunging into its depths for the first time.
The darkness was so perfect and absolute that it seemed to touch her skin with cold, breath-like fingers.
She spread out her hands until she touched the rocky, slick wall, her bare feet skimming along the smooth damp floor. The cave was narrow enough that both hands could touch the walls as she walked forward. After walking almost one hundred meters through pitch cold black, she felt the floor drop.
Katie froze when her foot touched nothing but air. The skin behind her ears grew hot and her breaths shaky. The air was so cold that goose bumps raised up on her legs and her toes curled to stay warm. Something unnatural and ethereal pulled at her, yearning and beckoning her to descend.
Just a little farther. Freedom is near. Everything you want is right down the stairs. Come down. One at a time. Your freedom awaits …
Katie took the first step down the stairs. Then another. And another. And another. And another. Each more deliberate than the last. At first she counted the steps until there were so many that she lost count.
The air cooled as she descended. At first it was pleasant, then a little uncomfortable, and finally so cold that her breaths came in thick puffs and she shivered violently. Katie kept going, determined to find the bottom, but suddenly stopped when she felt a vibration through the air—a sort of pulsing that rippled and tingled her skin.
There’s something wrong here. She sniffed from the cold, and caught a hint of something rank and foul. Perhaps even evil.
Come down, Katie. Almost there. Come to your freedom.
The thrumming and pulsing continued steady and strong like the heartbeat of an enormous beast lying in wait for her. She took a step backward the way she came and then another. She turned and tried to run but slipped and hit something hard. When she woke she stood on the floor, her feet cold and clammy.
15. Mistakes
Saturday, August 30, 2087
“TWO MINUTES,” Kawai announced. “Get in your places.”
Though the lights were off in the gymnasium, the moonlight still shone brightly enough that streamers and other party decorations were visible. The occasion was Brickert’s first day out of the infirmary. Natalia and Strawberry had planned the party and invited Psions and several other members of the resistance leadership and their families. Thomas and Lara crouched down near Sammy.
Thomas moaned, “I haven’t been to a surprise party since Walter was eight.”
“How old are you? Eighty?” Lara teased. “Your joints sound like the Tin Man’s.”
“So my knees are creaking. Next thing you’ll be saying my head’s full of straw.”
“You old blokes and your obscure jokes,” Sammy moaned.
“That was a rhyme,” Thomas pointed out. “Are you a poet?”
“Wouldn’t you know it,” Lara said, giggling like a girl half her age.
Sammy slapped his forehead. “When this is all over, I’m putting you two in a nursing home. And Thomas, you’re on my foot.”
“Whoops, sorry,” Thomas said as he took his boot off Sammy’s shoe.
Moments later the gymnasium opened and everyone jumped to their feet as they shouted, “SURPRISE!”
Brickert grinned with red spots growing on his cheeks. “A party? What for?”
“Your birthday,” Sammy said as he gave his friend a hug. “Only it’s four months and twenty days late.”
Brickert snickered and punched Sammy in the arm while Natalia and Strawberry put a party hat on his head, a cape on his shoulders, and a decorated staff in hand which named him king of the event. After Natalia whispered in his ear, Brickert raised the staff high and in a deep voice declared, “Uh … okay … Let the festivities begin!”
As partygoers divided into groups to play games, someone tapped on Sammy’s shoulder. He turned to see Anna behind him, fists on her hips and an expression of disappointment on her face. “You’ve been avoiding me for two weeks.”
Sammy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She wanted to talk about the mission to Rio—the suicide mission. It was the last thing he wanted on his mind, but he couldn’t tell Anna that. “I’ve—uh—I’ve been thinking about what you said. A lot.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And … I don’t know.”
Anna ran her fingers through her short blonde hair. “You don’t need to have an answer today, but the big meeting is coming soon. I will be volunteering myself whether or not you come along. But let me make it clear … I want you along.”
Sammy deflated. “Why? Why me?”
Anna poked him in the chest. “Because you’re the best. And if I go on this mission, I don’t want my death to be in vain.”
Sammy didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, “I—I get that.” You want me to die with you. And I can’t—I don’t want to.
“Have you told anyone about it?” she asked.
Sammy shook his head. “I already know what they’ll say.”
“They won’t understand, Sammy. They don’t know what you deal with day to day. The demons you face—that you’ll have to live with until you die. How could they know what that’s like?”
Her words punched Sammy in the gut. His neck grew hot. “I should want to die because of my anomaly?”
Anna’s eyes narrowed. “Has it really never crossed your mind?”
“What about you?” Sammy asked, dodging her question. “Why are you so quick to volunteer for death?”
Anna grinned wickedly. “Let me die young, beautiful, and doing something important. I’m talking history books. Immortality. Heroes for centuries. Anna Lukic and Samuel Berhane.”
“I’ll think about it,” Sammy told her. He went to move past her, but she grabbed his arm.
“It has to be a Psion,” she said. “If not you, then whom?” Before Sammy could answer, Anna cut him off. “Just think about that. We’ll talk more later.”
As Anna left, Jeffie and Brickert walked up. Jeffie put her arm around Sammy’s waist. “What was that about?”
“Just mission stuff,” Sammy answered.
Brickert had wasted no time finding himself a hamburger. A thin line of ketchup even greased his lower lip. When Brickert took a large bite, he winced and held his jaw. “It’s still a little tender,” he told them, “where the teeth are growing in. Those bastards keep knocking them out.”
Not “those bastards.” Me.
“Look who’s here.” Jeffie pointed across the gym to a group of people standing in a circle, talking. Kawai held Al and Marie’s baby girl in her arms, cooing at it. Al and Marie stood side by side, looking on.
“Both of them?” Sammy asked.
“They came together. No fighting.”
Sammy and his friends went over to where Al and Marie were chatting with Justice, Nikotai, Li, and Kawai. Kawai was rocking the baby now, a fat little thing dressed in a pink jumper and a white bow clipped in her black hair. Sammy smiled at the baby even though it didn’t do much but stare back with half-opened eyes.
“Sammy,” Marie said, hugging him, “you haven’t held Baby Girl yet, have you?”
“Nope. I’m a lame friend, I know. Dr. Rosmir has me on lame-friend meds, but they don’t seem to be helping.”
Marie laughed. Sammy couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her do that. Al managed a weak smile, but glanced at Sammy as though being around Sammy embarrassed him. They hadn’t spoken to each other since Al had put a loaded gun in Sammy’s hands and Sammy had taken Al to his father. Since that day Al had been living with the commander.
“Do you want to hold him, Sammy?” Kawai asked.
“Uh …” Sammy looked at the baby again, and before he could answer, Kawai shuffled the tiny thing into Sammy’s arms. “Yeah, sure.”
The baby was so light and small it surprised him. When was the last time he’d held one? He didn’t know if he ever had. She smelled like a light soap or a box being opened for the first time. She grunted for a moment and then sighed. The sound relaxed him and he pressed his cheek against her head, feeling her soft hair and spongy skull.
“So delicate, isn’t she?” was all Sammy could think to say.
Ma
rie nodded. Al observed with an unreadable expression, his hands fidgeting. His clothes looked washed and pressed for the first time in weeks. His face had lost most of the red puffiness that Sammy had grown accustomed to seeing, and his eyes had cleared up too. Thomas and Lara had hinted to Sammy a few days ago that Al was slowly getting his act together, sobering up, and trying to give his relationship with Marie a fresh start. He gave Al an awkward smile.
Jeffie squeezed Sammy’s arm. “You look good holding one of those.”
For a moment a tight warmness spread in Sammy’s chest. But it was quickly extinguished and replaced with a cold shuddering at her comment. He handed the baby to Marie. “She’s beautiful,” he muttered and walked away.
What am I thinking? he asked himself. I’ll never have a baby. What if I pass on my Anomaly Thirteen? What would I say to it?
Hey, kid, welcome to the Berhane family. Enjoy fighting the darkness I passed onto you … compliments of dear old dad.
Images conjured up in his mind of his children murdering each other, turning on their parents, the way Katie Carpenter had done to her folks thirty-odd years ago. Or like Trapper, creeping out of bed and slitting a throat, painting symbols on the walls in blood. Even worse, Sammy realized, what if he snapped and hurt his own children the way he’d beaten Brickert. A chill ran down his spine as his eyes flickered to Marie and Al’s baby girl. No … no kids. Ever.
Someone tapping on a microphone drew Sammy’s attention away from the morbid thoughts clinging to his brain like pocket lint. It was Brickert. Natalia and Strawberry flanked him. In his hand he held a glass of root beer. The spots on his cheeks told Sammy that whatever he was about to do, the girls were making him do it.
“Um … okay, so Natalia tells me I need to give a speech,” Brickert began. “And obviously I haven’t prepared anything so I’ll keep this very brief.” He paused, took a sip from his glass, and then wiped his eyes. “I just wanna give my thanks to all of you who helped me. I know how bad things were—how I looked. When the Thir—when the—” Brickert stopped and cleared his throat. “When the enemy took me down, I thought it was over. I didn’t know how to process that. And then all I knew was pain and fear, I’ll tell you. And then Sammy …”