Finn jumps into the conversation. “Say we understood, say we had a plan and we could fight, what’re the capabilities you mentioned?”
President Larson rolls his eyes, stands up straight, and crosses his arms over his chest. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and smirks like an exasperated grandfather. “Children, children, children. ‘Experience keeps a dear school, yet fools will learn in no other.’ Do you know who said that?”
Finn replies, “Benjamin Franklin, sir.”
The president seems surprised that Finn knows the answer, but he continues. “At least you appear to be after knowledge, so I’ll humor you for…” He glances up at the wall clock. “Another five minutes, because it’s almost a half past midnight, and we’ll all have a long day tomorrow.”
Half past midnight, I think. I’ve been fifteen for almost thirty minutes. How come I didn’t feel anything different? Was I supposed to?
President Larson continues. “We’ve been violating the Peace Pact since its inception, I’m afraid.”
Sergeant Ellison, who had been quietly standing beside Targon this whole time, springs forward with his hand raised. “Sir, are you certain you should be telling them such things? What if they’re—”
“Stand down, Sergeant. I’ll say the same to you as you’ve obviously heard me say to them… It won’t make a difference by the time the sun rises.”
“But—”
“No more,” the president says. He turns back to Finn and me. “As I was saying, we’ve secretly been in violation of the Peace Pact for as long as it’s been around. We’ve trained in highly secure buildings, we’ve kept weapons clean and operational, and we have a few small bombs that might serve to protect our walls for a day or two, at most.”
A noticeable change overcomes President Larson as he flops down into his high-backed chair. He looks worn out, like he’s a beaten man. He gives details of their training exercises and their weapons cache, and not that I understand the small enormity of it, but Finn seems impressed. He asks questions about the armory’s inventory using rifle calibers and words I’ve never heard.
Sergeant Ellison comes closer, clearly growing more agitated. “Sir, I really don’t think you should—” He goes silent under the president’s burning, defiant stare.
President Larson says, “By most respects—Finn, is it?” Finn nods. “By most respects, Finn, we’d be able to fight, but by no means can we match the strength and the sheer power of the blackcoats. It wouldn’t make a difference, and that’s what I’m trying to get you to see. I would rather save lives than unnecessarily cause their end. From the most brilliant scientist to a mongrel begging in the streets—maybe I took away their choice, but I’m giving them the gift of life.”
“Not much of a life as a slave,” I say.
Finn adds, “You have all of that…you have weapons and a trained army, and you won’t even try to fight for freedom?”
“And,” I add, “you’ve got us…two Kinders on your side.”
“That again?” The president puts a hand on his forehead. “My, my, my. Like I said, even if I believed you, it wouldn’t change a thing. The deal is done, kids. I admire your gumption, but go home. Get a good night’s sleep with your families.”
Finn tries to speak, but I raise my hand to his chest and nudge him backward. I realize, finally, that trying to convince President Larson with words is a pointless exercise and that Finn is right. We’ll have to show him.
Will it make a difference?
I doubt it, but we have to try.
“Captain Targon,” I say.
He lifts his head. “Had enough, Mathers?”
“No. I want you to shoot me in the chest.”
Chapter 8
It’s a leap of faith, definitely, because this is the first time I’ve deliberately tested my Kinder abilities against something that can actually kill me. I’m not immortal, I know that much, and the memory of watching Ellery die, gurgling and clutching her slit throat, is enough to remind me of that fact.
Targon removes his firearm from his holster and says, “Are you sure about this?”
President Larson says, “Captain, put your weapon away right this instant.”
“Do it. Shoot me.”
“Mathers, I don’t think this is—”
“Shoot! Pull the trigger!”
I don’t know how—okay, I guess I do—but I sense his finger applying pressure. I can feel the muscles and tendons compressing as the trigger slides back and then…
Time crawls in a blurred image of movement. Finn backs away a step, slowly, slowly. President Larson’s mouth drifts open and Sergeant Ellison falls toward me, arm reaching out.
Pop…pop…pop.
Three muffled shots sound like someone punching a pillow. I can see the bullets drifting at me, one after the other, but not quite in a straight line. I drop and step to the side, as if I’m moving underneath a single strand of barbed wire fencing. I slip around behind the wandering hunks of metal and trail them across the room. Step after step, I walk, watching as the air ripples around them. Before, I’d never taken the time to enjoy this particular ability. It’s neat how I feel normal but everything around me is either blurred or moving incredibly sluggish.
When the bullets are inches away from burying themselves in the soft limestone of the fireplace, I reach out and pluck each one from the air. One, two, three bullets rest in the palm of my hand as if I’ve picked up pebbles from a dry riverbed.
I turn, and the normality of time resumes in a muffled rush.
Finn has seen this before. He smiles and winks at me.
The other three men, however, stare at me totally mystified.
“How in the world—”
“But you were just right there…”
“Oh my God, Mathers, are you really…a Kinder?”
I stroll over to the president, smug and so pleased with myself that I drop the bullets on top of his desk, counting them out as I do so. “One,”—plunk—“two,”—plunk—“and three”—plunk.
Anger drifts over President Larson’s face like a dark, pregnant rain cloud moving in from the west on a light, drizzly day. It’s a noticeable change. His nostrils flare and if I were a bit closer, I’m sure I could see his pulse in the vein bulging from his forehead. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“But you saw—”
President Larson holds up his hand. “Ellison,” he says to his head of guard detail. Ellison steps forward. “Please contain these two miscreants and hold them on the grounds of attempted assassination of a political figure.”
Targon steps up in our defense. “Hey, now wait just a minute, Mr. Pres—”
The next instant, something happens that catches me by such surprise that I’m unable to respond. I should bend time. I should move and save Finn and myself. But I don’t expect it, and I’m so dumbfounded that I’m almost incapable of reacting. The last thing I remember is seeing Sergeant Ellison’s hand pull something from his hip, point it in my direction, and then I’m falling into blackness as my body tightens and shakes.
When I wake up, for a moment I’m confused. I had been dreaming about my village and Grandfather. We’d been on a successful salvage mission and for some inexplicable reason, we’d found a whole tray of baked beans and we couldn’t figure out how they’d gone unnoticed for so long. I rub my eyes. I feel like I’m home again, inside my tiny hovel in the encampment and for some reason, I’ve fallen asleep on the floor.
Four low walls surround me. A single bed sits in the corner. I’m groggy and I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that our possessions are gone.
Wait, where am I?
Then, clarity emerges. I’m in a cell. I must be in jail.
But how did I…
I climb to my feet and shuffle over to the metal bars.
I spin around, searching for Finn, and notice that I’m at the end of a long row of additional cells, each separated by gray-painted walls. In the cell across from me, F
inn lies on the cot. He’s on his back with his knees up, staring at the ceiling.
“Finn,” I say. “What happened?”
He turns his head in my direction, sees me coming, and barely has time to say, “Don’t—”
I touch the bars and feel the same pulsing pain. I hear something that sounds like a pop and I’m thrown backward. Falling onto my rear, I land and momentum carries me into my cot where I smack the back of my head.
“—touch the bars,” Finn finishes. “They’re electrified.”
I sit up and rub the stinging spot on my scalp. “Now you tell me.”
“Sorry.”
Standing, I wobble over, still slightly woozy, and stop a couple of feet away from my cell door. “And I guess that’s why you haven’t gotten us out of here yet?”
“I found out the same way you did. The voltage is too strong. And the walls…look.” He points to a spot near the foot of his bed. Four large dents form a shallow pattern. “I tried to punch my way through. It must be solid steel…who knows how thick, but we’re not getting out that way either. And don’t touch the bars on your window, because they’ll zap you too.”
“What happened? Why’re we in here?”
“Ellison had this little device,” he says, trying to show me the size of it with his hands. “I’ve only seen them a couple of times before, but they’re used to subdue prisoners. Larson ordered it and Ellison had it done before I could think to react.”
“What now?”
Finn gets up and moves over to the cell bars. He shrugs and shakes his head. “I don’t know. We have maybe five, six hours before the sun comes up, but I’m guessing that since they know we’re Kinders…”
“There’s no way in hell we’re getting out of here, are we? You think they’ll leave us behind?”
He nods, reluctantly. “It’s what I would do. Two Kinders, no real way to contain them, you know, except for these max security walls. Leave the voltage on and walk away, forget we were ever in here.” Finn moves back to his bed, as if standing for thirty seconds is too much of a strain for his disappointment. He sits down on his cot, then proceeds to flop onto his side. He sighs and readjusts his pillow.
“That’s...”
“Inhuman?”
“Well, yeah, I mean…”
“Caroline?”
“What?”
“We’re not exactly human, you know.”
“Don’t say that, Finn.” Instinctively, I step toward the cell bars with my hands out, wanting to be closer and be comforting, but I catch myself just in time. I can almost feel the electricity pulsing through the air, tickling my palms as I pause, an inch away. “We’re human…just…enhanced.”
“Doesn’t matter. They can do whatever they want, especially Larson. You heard him. The papers are signed, he’s got his cozy guarantee that nothing bad will happen, and all that’s left is to open the gates and kick everyone out for the long walk to their new home.”
“I’m sure there’s something we can do.” I step over to a wall and rest my forehead against it. The steel is cool on my skin, even through the thin layer of cloud-gray paint. Air hisses out of a vent above me. I tilt my head back and look up at it, feeling a small measure of hope.
“Don’t touch that either,” Finns says. “The vent seems to hurt worse if you try.”
I glance at him. He’s staring at the ceiling, not looking at me. “How did you know?”
“I can’t hear what you’re thinking, not like you, but I can feel your intentions.”
“So there’s no way out? None? Nothing?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“And you think they’d just leave us in here and let us starve to death?”
“It’s what I’d do.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’re good. You’re not like them.”
“Caroline,” he says, annoyed. “If I was trying to prevent a war and I had two people standing in front of me that wanted to start one, two people with abilities like ours, I’d do the exact same thing. I’d lock them in a hole and throw away the key. That’s it. We’re done. The game is over.”
“So you’re giving up? Completely?”
“I don’t see a choice. When you find a way out of here, I’m all ears.” He says it with such irritation that I’m shocked to hear the level of frustration behind it.
“Are you mad at me?”
“I’m—no, not you. I’m not even supposed to be here.”
“What does that mean?” I really wish I could hear what he’s thinking right now, because that makes no sense whatsoever. Why doesn’t that ability present itself whenever I want, dammit?
“Nothing,” he says after a long pause. “I mean we should…we should be out there fighting, not sitting in here waiting to die.”
“Oh.” Now that I understand, the reality of our situation sits hard on my chest. Like Finn, I stumble over to my cot and fall onto it, face first, with my head buried in the pillow. It smells like stale dirt and I wonder how long it’s been sitting here, or who the last person was to use it, or if it’s clean. I sigh. I don’t care. Not really. We’ve come so far and for it to end like this—I want to give up.
But I can’t.
“Finn?”
“What?”
“We have to think of something. There has to be some kind of way out of here.”
“Until you can walk through walls, we’re not going anywhere.”
I ignore his defeated tone and roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling, running through any option I can think of in my mind. Ultimately, he’s right, we don’t have that many. I can feel the bubble welling up in my throat.
Now I know what a squirrel or a rabbit feels like in a snare. A number of times in the woods back home, I’d come across a snare that had been tripped, only to find a single leg remaining. The poor creatures had been so desperate to get free, they had chewed through muscle and bone to escape, not realizing that the loss of blood would doom them anyway.
I don’t know if I could do it. If I had the option of slowly starving to death, going mad with hunger and thirst, or tearing through my own flesh to free myself, I’m not sure that I could.
Anyway, it’s pointless to waste mental energy on false scenarios since I’m not trapped in a snare, nor would chewing my arm off set me free.
No, I’m stuck in a cell with no possible means of escape, and unless I’m granted a miracle of some kind, Finn and I will both die here like caged animals.
I can’t remember the last time I prayed. I’m sure it was on our way back here to the capital—a quick prayer for strength, possibly—but the last time I actually talked to God was… I have no clue. We had religion and church services back in the encampment but Grandfather and I rarely ever went. I’d like to say that I believe in God, yet when there are more important things to do like finding firewood or hunting for meals, necessity takes place over singing praises into the sky.
In my mind, I talk to God and Grandfather both.
Guys, I know you’re up there, and I know you can hear me. Please don’t let it end this way. Give me some sort of clue, some kind of idea, because I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to die. Not yet, not like this. I would lay here and make empty promises but we all know that’s what people do when they feel like they’re out of options. You don’t have to do it for me—just point me in the right direction. That’s all. A little help. No more. I…I promise. Amen, I guess?
A large metal door slams somewhere within the prison, followed by the sound of hurried footsteps echoing around in our cages.
Chapter 9
I stand up and move over to the cell door. Finn does the same. I silently mouth, “Who is that?” and he shakes his head.
Seconds later, we’re both surprised to see Mosley coming to a stop in front of us, face flushed from exertion, uniform wet from the rain. I also can’t tell if that’s sweat on his forehead. Could be, from the way he’s panting.
Finn says, “What’re you doing here
?” He instinctively reaches for the cell bars and pauses just in time.
“Mosley!” I add, and I’m more excited to see him than I should be. He is part of President Larson’s army after all.
Mosley offers Finn a curt nod and comes over to me. He says, “We have to hurry.” His uniform, now more visible in the light of the prison, is fading and ancient. His collar is frayed with sprigs of string standing at attention. He’s younger than I would’ve guessed, the skin smooth around his eyes.
“Hurry? Why?”
“Did you mean what you said back at the president’s house? About fighting for our freedom?”
“Yes.” My heart fills with hope. Did God, or Grandfather, listen and answer my little prayer?
“And if I get you out of here, will you fight for us?”
“I’ll do anything.”
He turns around to face Finn, asks, “And you?”
“Absolutely. What happened to the other guard?”
“Never mind that. We have about thirty seconds before this place is crawling with Ellison’s men. Stand away from the doors. I’ll be back in a second.” Mosley disappears down the row of cells, boots clomping on the pine-green tiles.
“Can you believe it?” I ask Finn. I’m so excited that I can’t stop my hands from shaking.
“Unbelievable.”
“I prayed.”
“And it worked?”
“I guess. He’s here, right?”
“Either way, I might have to say a little prayer of thanks myself.”
Before, there had been a charged feeling in the air, the way you get that prickling hair sensation during a low-hanging, heavy lightning storm. It’s gone now, and a second later, our cell doors give off an audible clunk and swing outward. From down the hallway, we see Mosley poke his head around the corner, glancing around and frantically waving for us to join him.
We do, and it’s not long before we see a guard lying immobile behind his chair. I don’t spot any blood around the body and Mosley must be able to read my mind, because he says, “Don’t worry. Little powder in his coffee. Nap time will be over soon.”
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