Inside

by Kyra Anderson

  I did not talk to Mark that afternoon and I could tell he was worried. Even through his glasses as he drove us to the Commission after school, I could see him glancing at me. I tried to assure Clark that I was just catching a cold and had a headache, which was a stupid excuse for my weird behavior.

  The Commission was a mess when we showed up.

  Office aids were running around the halls, yelling at one another to call different people and different countries. I blinked at the chaos, stupefied.

  “What the hell?” Clark hissed.

  Mark placed a hand on both of our shoulders and nodded once before walking down the hall, telling us silently that he was going to gather information.

  Listening to the rarely-seen office personnel yelling, we found a conference room and sat, looking at one another worriedly, knowing it could not have been Mykail’s appearance alone that caused such a racket.

  With nervousness tying our insides into knots, we waited for Mark to return.

  For two hours, we waited, and the longer we waited, the more nervous we became. We dared not to discuss what could have happened, but Clark and I shared nervous glances, showing that both of our imaginations were working overtime forming possibilities.

  Finally, Mark returned, but he remained outside the door, staring up into the corner of the room from the glass panel in the door.

  I glanced in the same direction and saw the camera, so I quickly stretched, pretending that I was rolling my neck around so as not to look suspicious.

  For three agonizing minutes, Mark waited outside, watching the camera with unblinking eyes.

  When he was sure that it was safe, he walked in. As soon as he opened the door, I looked back at the camera to see the red light was off.

  Mark extended a hand-written note to us.

  “The Hampshire Peace Fund lost 96% of their backers because it was controlled through the Commission. Now, thirty-four programs in other countries have no funding. The Commission is trying to find a way to come up with the deficit without stopping the programs which would cause international panic.”

  I passed the paper to Clark as I turned to the leader of the Eight Group.

  “Does this have to do with the rebellion?” I whispered. Mark nodded once and took the paper back from Clark before scurrying out of the room and out of sight.

  I turned to Clark.

  “The Hampshire Peace Fund?” I whispered. “I didn’t know the Commission controlled them…”

  “All the money has to pass through the Commission to get to other countries. The Commission just monitors how the money is distributed based on need,” Clark hissed. “This is bad. If those programs are cut, the international community will get even more nervous.”

  “Does that mean that the rebellion could have international support?”

  Clark shrugged.

  “Unlikely, but I guess it’s possible.”

  On our way home, we swung by a café where Clark and I got a coffee for appearances and went to the table in the corner, to join Melody and Dean.

  “Hey!” Melody smiled broadly. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Just getting something warm to drink,” Clark laughed. “It’s freezing outside.”

  “Come sit down,” Melody beckoned.

  I sat awkwardly, trying to keep my head on straight as I thought about the Hampshire Peace Fund, wondering who else knew about it.

  “Are you ready for that test in Angermann’s class?” Dean groaned, nudging Clark. Clark groaned and rolled his eyes.

  “Hell no.”

  “I borrowed Peter’s notes, do you want to look them over?” Melody asked, reaching into her bag and pulling out a notebook. My stomach flipped, knowing that the ‘notes’ were actually statistics of who had seen the videos. We had posted twenty-three videos the previous night after Ben, Paula, and Melody programmed over one hundred accounts and uploaded all the videos to each of the accounts from government computers. Melody had skipped school to stay in the fort and monitor the views on the videos.

  “Sure, thanks,” Clark smiled, although he sounded nervous.

  Melody opened the notebook and turned to the correct page, showing it to the two of us. We both leaned over the paper and looked at the numbers.

  Many of the videos already had over forty thousand views and all but three of the videos had been downloaded twenty thousand times and re-uploaded about four hundred times.

  We’re doomed… was the only thought that ran through my head.

  “Wow, Peter takes some really good notes,” Clark chuckled.

  “You can borrow them, if you want,” Melody assured. “Feel free to mark all over them, as well.”

  I carefully ripped out the page, knowing that Mark had asked to see the statistics. I was half-tempted to keep the statistics away from him out of spite. I had no logical reason to be angry at Mark, but I was worried and confused and that was quickly turning into anger at the man who was currently running everything.

  I handed the stats to Clark instead, allowing him to give them to Mark when we got in the car.

  Mark glanced over them with a smile on his face before driving me home, being sure to burn the paper and push it into the storm drain when the numbers were unintelligible.

  The following day, my body was screaming with cramps as my period took its harsh toll. I had never had difficult periods, but I immediately understood why other girls complained so much. I guessed that stress had something to do with the cramps, but all it did was irritate me more when I had to go to the bathroom after every class.

  During lunch, I was hit with nausea and dizziness, so I went to the bathroom and sat in one of the stalls, cringing, waiting for the painkillers to take effect. Unfortunately, in that quiet room, there was nothing I could do but stew.

  I knew I needed to speak to Mark more than anyone. Mark was running the operations outside the fort while the experiments remained hidden as the hype around their videos skyrocketed. I figured that if I told Mark that I thought we should stop the revolution and he agreed, we could all wait for the fuss to die down before sneaking everyone over the border and going back to our lives as though nothing happened.

  I was losing sight of what had made me so angry against the Commission. There were so many reasons I could think of, but nothing held the same power anymore. Everything just felt dangerous, unnecessary and, overall, pointless. I was distressed by my sudden change in demeanor, but I was frightened by the idea of so many people dying because we decided that we did not like what the Commission did to criminals.

  I wanted to smack myself and scream that many of the people we had broken out were not actually criminals, but victims of circumstance or even falsely accused. While those thoughts were present, they were suppressed, muted by the storm of fear ruling me.

  I groaned and stood, grabbing my backpack and walking out of the stall, stepping to the sink and washing my hands, trying to ignore the pangs in my abdomen.

  The door opened and another girl walked in. I barely knew her from my biology class. She sat in the front and annoyed everyone with her opinionated demeanor.

  Emily stopped when she saw me and I glanced at her through the mirror.

  “Lily,” she said, walking to the sink next to me.

  “Hello, Emily,” I said, my eyes dropping to my hands.

  “Did you see the videos? The ones about the experiments of the Commission?”

  “Yeah, I saw them…” I said, walking to the paper towel dispenser.

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Well, what do you have to say about them?” Emily demanded. “You’re in the Commission, so you know if it’s true or not, but you’re not saying anything.”

  I was beginning to feel fearful. Every instinct was telling me to get out of the bathroom.

  “Look, I don’t know everything that happens in the Commission, and even what I do know I can’t talk about. They make us sign an NDA.”

  “When the security o
f the nation is at risk, that shouldn’t stop you from coming forward,” Emily growled. “Tell me, is it true that the Commission is making weapons to take over the country?”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t say,” I said, throwing the paper towel in the trash before turning to leave.

  I was violently pulled by my backpack, causing me to lose my balance and fall heavily to the tile floor, jarring my back.

  “Oh, no,” Emily hissed darkly, looming over me. “You don’t get off that easy…”

  “What the fuck, Emily?!” I snapped, scrambling to my feet.

  “It’s about time you fuckers in the Commission give some answers,” Emily snarled. “There is threat of a civil war and you all are avoiding answering.”

  “We can’t answer,” I repeated sharply. “I told you. We signed an NDA.”

  Emily smacked me. With how angry I was, I wasted no time smacking her back. She stumbled, grabbing my hair and pulling, trying to drag me to the ground. I grabbed her shoulders with a shout of pain and tried to push her into the wall.

  We both jolted when her back hit the tile wall and a thud resonated from where her head connected.

  She released my hair but her hands went around my neck, turning us both and slamming me into the side of the sinks. Ignoring the pain, I lifted my knee into her stomach.

  Emily let out a choked gasp and curled forward, grabbing her stomach. I stood in front of her, my breath short from anger. She glared, cringing around her injury, before she grabbed the front of my uniform blazer, pulling it sharply and causing one of the buttons to snap off. I was pulled toward the nearest stall, stumbling in, but managing to catch myself on the back of the toilet, turning around quickly and slamming the door into Emily’s face as she tried to come after me.

  She fell backwards and I pinned her down, though her nails began scratching at my face and neck, causing hot lines of pain to cross my skin as I tried to control her flailing arms. Finally managing to scratch me near my eye, she caught me off guard and flipped us so I was laying on my back on the floor with her on top of me. She slammed her hips against my stomach and knocked the breath out of me.

  “Just fucking tell the truth!” she snapped, backhanding me once before her hand closed around my throat.

  “Okay, okay, okay,” I gasped quickly. “Yes, the Commission is making weapons, but Dana is watching all of us really closely, so we can’t say anything or he will kill us.”

  Emily released my neck, though she remained on my stomach, making catching my breath an arduous task.

  “Why not tell someone? I mean, he can’t do anything if the public knows,” Emily said, perplexed. I wanted to smack her and scream at her to get off of me and that she didn’t know anything about Dana. I heaved a few breaths and closed my eyes.

  “We’re trying…the rebellion, it’s organized by members of the Commission…but Dana doesn’t know that, yet. If we tell anyone before we have support, he’ll kill us all…then he’ll just continue to do what he’s doing now…”

  Emily was still, thinking the information over.

  “Emily…get off me…”

  “Oh, sorry,” she said, scrambling away. I coughed and turned on my side, ignoring my disgust at being on the bathroom floor as I struggled to breathe.

  “Are you telling the truth?” Emily hissed suspiciously.

  “Yes,” I nodded. “Please, please, don’t say anything.” I turned to her seriously. “Try and tell the others to stop attacking the Commish Kids. They’re all helping, but we need to stay hidden, or Dana will kill us.”

  “But…what are you planning on doing?”

  “I don’t know, we’re still working on that,” I half-lied. “What has everyone been saying about the rebellion? Are they in favor?”

  “If what you’re saying is true,” Emily nodded. “Most don’t know if they can believe it, though.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t seen it…” I agreed, my diaphragm trying to resume the function for breathing. “You can’t breathe a word of this.”

  “But…what if people want to help?”

  “People want to help?”

  “Yes,” Emily said. “I’ve already heard a bunch of people talk about sending messages to the rebellion pledging their support and asking what they can do to help. If they knew that it was really the Commish Kids, then—”

  “No, Emily, no,” I snapped. “You have no idea what Dana is like.”

  “Dana Christenson?”

  “Who else?” I growled. “He has already threatened to take everyone in and turn them into weapons. No one can know, yet.”

  “But people want to help. I want to help.”

  “Well…” I sighed, not sure what to tell her, particularly since I had been spending the better part of the week thinking about ways to stop the revolution. “You know Clark?”

  “Clark Markus? The little dorky kid with the glasses?” I barely suppressed my cringe.

  “Yeah, him,” I said. “Talk to him. Tell him I sent you to talk to him but tell no one else. We have to figure out how to safely involve other people who aren’t inside the Commission.”

  “Okay,” Emily agreed. “You have a lot of support, trust me.”

  “Yeah…I’ll keep that in mind…” I groaned, rubbing my throbbing face.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Mark looked as though he was about to have a heart attack when he saw me walk to the car. Everyone had been fussing over me, asking me what had happened to my face. I told them that I got into a little fight with someone and that I was alright. No one really believed me and Becca and Jill almost dragged me to the nurse, though I adamantly refused.

  Mark, however, was not as easily convinced.

  When we got to the Commission, he led us to a conference room, but as soon as I set my bags down, trying to hide the cringe from my injuries, Mark’s hand was around my wrist. I jerked it from his grasp, angry at him for no reason I could logically come up with. He hesitated, staring at me with a confused and worried expression before he held his hand out.

  I did not take it.

  “I’m fine, Mark,” I insisted sharply.

  He shook his head, and turned his hand over so his palm was facing down, beckoning me to follow as he had before. I rolled my eyes but followed, hoping he would at least lead me to some painkillers, which I would not have refused.

  I trailed behind him to the empty break room. Mark pulled out one of the chairs before walking over to grab one of the first aid kits. I listened to him rifle around a drawer before returning to the table and sitting in front of me, finding an antiseptic wipe and bringing it close to my neck.

  I backed away and glared. He stopped immediately and shied away, looking confused and upset by my response.

  “I said I was fine, Mark,” I snarled.

  For several long moments, we stared at one another. He set the white cloth down and stood, motioning for me to wait as he left the room. I rolled my eyes, angry, turning my attention to the first aid kit, sifting through the contents for painkillers.

  To my luck, at the bottom, there was a package of two small pills marked “Painkillers.” I tore open the package, gathered the two pills in my palm, and quickly put them in my mouth, walking to the sink and dipping my mouth under the faucet, taking a few sips of water to down the medicine.

  As I was wiping my mouth dry, the door opened and a familiar face entered the room in front of Mark.

  “Miss Sandover,” Sean blinked. “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing,” I assured, trying not to glare at Mark for bringing Sean. The head of security walked to me and lifted a hand to take my chin, moving my head around to see the scratches across my face and neck.

  “You were obviously in a fight,” Sean sighed. “Here, sit down.”

  Throwing a quick glare at Mark, I sat. Sean looked over the first aid kit already on the table and then looked between Mark and me.

  “Why didn’t you let Mark treat you?”


  I did not answer, dropping my head. There was a pang of guilt about my idiotic behavior. However, every time I saw Mark, I was reminded of my insecurities and my desperate need to tell him how I felt. Being mad at him and keeping him at a distance was easier. I barely looked at Mark, who had his hands folded in front of him, his eyes focused on the ground. He was upset and distressed about being unable to ask what was wrong.

  Sean grabbed the antiseptic wipe, lifting it to my face as I cringed away from the sting.

  “He might seem a little intense, but he’s really quite gentle,” Sean assured. “And he knows what he’s doing.”

  “I know…”

  “Besides, he cares about you,” Sean smiled, gently dabbing close to the scratch that had barely passed under my eye. I flinched and grit my teeth. “When he can’t help you, he gets distressed.”

  I remained silent.

  Sean continued to clean the cuts around my face and neck as my gaze remained locked on my lap, feeling horrible in many different capacities.

  “Was there just a lot of scratching and hair pulling?” Sean tried to tease. I shook my head. “What else?”

  “She slammed me into the sink, and she sat on me so my back and stomach really hurt…”

  “Okay, stand up for me,” Sean instructed, standing as well. When I was on my feet, he gently touched my stomach, feeling where I was tender before moving to my back, poking and prodding my ribs and spine. I hissed in pain and tried to move away from his hands.

  “Well, when your bruises heal, it would not be a bad idea to see a chiropractor, but it doesn’t seem like anything is wrong internally. Just take painkillers and try to avoid heavy exercise,” Sean assured. “Of course, if the pain gets worse, go to the hospital.”

  Sean rifled through the few remaining packages in the first aid kit.

  “Did you already take something for the pain?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.”

  “Thanks, Sean,” I said, watching him clean up. “But…shouldn’t you be with Dana?”