I hate that woman. She was made our guardian after our parents died. A selfish, acrimonious woman who couldn’t give a flying hoot about Luke and me. After she found out what her husband did to me, she said, “If he didn’t think you were pretty, he wouldn’t have done it. Make yourself ugly if you don’t want men to touch you.”
I lunged at her no sooner than the words left her mouth, ramming my fist into her jaw. Luke stopped me before I could get in a second punch and dragged me away from the house.
“Let’s go, Ky,” Luke says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “See what she wants.” He pulls me from the bed with him as I refuse to go see whatever it is she could want. We stretch. His notable physique is accented by his six-foot-two-inch height. I’m five-foot-eight inches, and I wear it just as well. I have muscles from all the working out and training my brother forces me to do, but my feminine curves show no doubt who the fairer half is.
My skinny aunt sits on the counter in her small kitchen, glowering at us as we enter. Her disgust for us is caked on her face, even heavier than her makeup.
“What?” Luke scoffs, pursing his lips.
“Next week,” she says with aversion, pointing her finger. “You both are getting the hell out of here. Today,” she spits, “you need to figure out where you’re going.”
Next week, we turn eighteen. She’s forcing us to move out of her home, and either live with someone else or be on our own until Separation. The credits will stop rolling in for her, so she wants nothing else to do with us. If time could only fly. I’m ready for the next three months to pass already. Separation never sounded so good.
“We have a new residence.” Luke manages a kind tone through his clenched jaw. “There will be no procrastination on our part when the day comes.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Good job on the race yesterday,” she says with a devilish grin. “You two no-good pieces of shit have to be good at something.” She hops down from the counter and trots out of the kitchen.
My eyes follow her retreating figure, as if I could burn her with my stare.
“I resent that woman,” I say, turning to head back upstairs, wanting to go back to bed.
“Get out of this house,” my aunt yells from the hall. “Don’t come back until late tonight. I’m having company.” Her bedroom door slams, rattling the glasses in the cabinets.
Luke heads for the stairs saying, “Let’s just go. We can hang out at the Diner or go to The Center.”
Chapter Three
“Hurry up, Ky! I need to get out of here before I kill our last living relative.” Luke stands in my doorway. He heavily resembles me, though his cheekbones are not as high, and I don’t have a beard spotting my chin as he does.
“Can we even truly call her or them our relatives?” I mutter, turning my attention back to my reflection in the mirror beside my room’s door. I banana-clip my sandy brown hair and let it hang down my back. It’s ideal with where we live, to keep my hair pulled out of my face. A Wauler could blindside me with an attack at any moment.
“What are you staring at? You look the same every day.” Luke comes in, standing next to me. “All you need to do is make sure you’re presentable,” he says, rubbing his hands over his sandy brown buzz cut.
That’s easy for him to say. Luke keeps his hair cut short, and he rarely lets his mustache and beard grow in, keeping his look “low maintenance” as he would say.
He kneels to retie his boots and triple-checks there are no wrinkles in his t-shirt and the crease in his jeans is noticeable.
I roll my eyes. “You’re more full of it than a banana-stuffed peanut butter sandwich.”
Luke and I care a lot about our appearance. We are reflections of my parents, whether they’re alive or not. It’s important we represent them well.
Luke snorts. “Ew, Ky. Is that a zit?” He points at my face with his lip curled up.
I lurch forward, bringing my frame closer to the mirror. “Jerk!” I shove him out of my room. My face is clear of any blemishes and unwanted marks. “I hate you.”
He laughs, heading downstairs.
I look over my face again, making sure there aren’t any pimples. The only thing wrong is my chin, which ends in a rounded point. Before it was broken, it aligned with my jaw. I took a hard hit from a man twice my size, and my brother couldn’t make it to me in time to fix it properly. My hand skims my jawline, trying to remember the shape it had once held, before I quickly remove my hand. This is just another risk we face living in The America today.
But it used to be worse. The elder Normals who’ve been around for more than sixty years often talk about those times. Just after the invaders from the outer realms of the Earth penetrated the planet’s atmosphere using the Earth’s core, they caused destruction throughout the continents. Parts of land sank into oceans while other sections erupted. Things were never the same.
Vojin, also an unearthly being now dubbed as the Earth’s protectors from things known and unknown in outer space, saved the Earth from the invaders’ destruction. A fight between them and the invaders broke out in the sky, sending colorful blasts striking through the firmament. Extraterrestrial beings fell into the water or the fire that was corrupting the land of the Earth. The Vojin triumphed over the invaders, and what was left of those invaders departed from Earth and gave up their planet to the Vojin in defeat.
As a courtesy to the Earth’s inhabitants, the Vojin requested from their instructor, the one they believe is ruler over the universe, that the fire be moderated to preserve the remaining life of the humans. The request was honored, and a debt was owed. What was left of the world was mostly destroyed and required restoration. But instead of putting things back the way they were, the Premier changed this country, and the Trade changed the world.
“Kylie!” My aunt’s voice shrieks through our small home, shaking my mirror. I hold it to keep it from rattling against the wall. “Which of the thirty states is responsible for The America’s electricity?” She’s the least concerned about the tasks spread out around our country, but I dare not ask her why she’s asking.
I say, “Texas.”
Without a thank you or acknowledgment of my response, she repeats my answer to someone on the phone and slams her door closed.
I grumble, rolling my eyes. You won’t have to deal with her forever, Kylie, I remind myself.
The America became factioned with the Trade’s change. The remaining thirty states are responsible for upholding their function and providing service to the country’s needs. But this forced change angered the humans when it was implemented. They hated that they’d lost their freedom, and they rebelled against the government and began destroying their own land. This was not in the plan, and the Guidance needed something in place to maintain order, something stronger than the humans, who could fight against the other countries that blamed The America for the invaders’ destruction.
I look over myself once more, confirming my clothes match and leave for Luke’s car.
“You told the evil witch we have somewhere to move. When did we find this place?” I ask, buckling my seatbelt.
“I found a residence a few days ago. A two-bedroom flat, everything’s included.”
“How big is it?”
He gurgles as he exhales. “Agh, it’s big enough for the two of us to have our own space. Not that it’s needed,” he states sarcastically.
I eye him, discomfort sinking in my stomach. “I see.”
“It will be ready for us in a week. The moment they call me is the moment we move.” He takes a left, driving toward The Center.
I prop my feet up on the dash, watching the streets. “Are we going to take our belongings from this house?”
“Only our clothes. I have furniture ready to move in with us. Maybe with a new bed and a new room, you’ll feel better about sleeping on your own.”
I grip my upper arms and peer at my reflection in the window as I ask, “Are you tired of me sleeping in your room?”
�
��No, Ky,” he says in a remorseful tone. “But you can’t sleep next to me forever. I want you to be comfortable.”
“Things are fine the way they are. I am comfortable.”
“Okay, Ky…” he trails off, attention stolen by three Waulers―two men and a woman―pummeling a businessman. They take his suitcase and clothes and run off before I can think to help.
Waulers are worse than parasites or the homeless awaiting a passerby they can beg for credits. They wallow in the streets, waiting for someone to walk by who they can mug or beat up for no reason at all. From what we’re told by those who’ve been around before the annexation, the Waulers never existed until after the first generation of Creations.
It was a dark time, or so they say. The population of the world dwindled to the low billions, resources became sparse, water was drying up, and everyone began to blame The America for the destruction of the planet.
A war broke out between the remaining countries; everyone was against The America. The citizens of The America became enraged and disordered because the little they had left was, again, being destroyed. They too began destruction, killing their neighbors, destroying what was left of their cities, scavenging for food and supplies. They became careless, and what was home to them no longer mattered.
When security officials tried to implement order, the Americans killed them. There was no order, and The America and its visitors became out of control. The New Establishment seemed like the only option.
“You’re going to The Center?” I ask Luke, pulling my eyes away from the standing man as local Creations come to his aid. Every day, all day, things like this happen.
After the change… people changed.
“Yes, I need to let off some steam.” There are boxing matches at The Center. They beat each other to a bloody pulp or until someone gives in. It’s the only reason Luke goes. Other than that, there’s nothing to do there besides swim and throw balls around. When there’s no snow, we use the land in the back to race. There isn’t anything for me to do at The Center but socialize, and this early in the day, none of my friends will be there.
I unwrap a stick of gum and shove it into my mouth. Wherever Luke has planned for us to move, it’s better than living with my aunt. Most mornings, she awakes screeching our names from downstairs, forcing us from the house for one reason or another. She either has a new man coming over or she’s demanding Luke and I train harder because the better we do in the races, the more she benefits from the bonus credits and awards they send us.
“Kylie,” Kennedy calls as we enter The Center.
Luke hits my arm before he heads off to the boxing room. I jog in the opposite direction to Kennedy. “Hey.”
“Congrats on your win yesterday. Number four, right?” Her eyebrows waggle as she nudges me with her elbow.
“Three, thanks,” I say, smiling. “What are you doing up here so early?”
Kennedy checks the watch strapped around her left wrist then looks over at the sun. “Howard wanted to come here for a match. It’s in an hour.” Howard’s a boy she has been dating. “I tagged along, have to get all the time I can before Separation.”
“Yes, that’s going to be hard.” Though Separation isn’t a worry for me, it must bother her. The way her eyes narrow and her nose turns red tells me she’s saddened by their parting that’s to come.
She rubs her arms, her gaze becoming unfocused. “We know. I get you won’t understand it because you’re made differently and all, but we’ve been together for three years. I’ve been trying to prepare myself for it. I know the day is coming. I guess I’m trying to bring myself to accept it.” She wipes her nose with a sleeved forearm.
Sensing her discomfort, I offer, “Let’s go watch the swim meet.” Offering activities that can serve as distractions can help to lessen sadness. I learned that last month in the Creation’s class, Emotional and Cognitive Empathy. Kennedy is sorrowful. Sorrowful: feeling, expressing, or causing great sadness.
It isn’t that I won’t understand her discontent with Separation. I get it. However, Luke and I are here for war.
A few boys and girls line up for the swim meet. Everyone is most competitive here in the longest-standing state of The America, Arizona. There used to be fifty states in this country, but since the destruction, it’s down to thirty. The top breeding states for Creations are Arizona, Illinois, and New York.
They breed and raise the strongest Creations for enforcing law and order, first responders, providing a sense of security for the citizens, and the most durable of those trained Creations go off to fight in the wars.
Citizens who live in these states have a leg up because they can also take advantage of the training. From birth, they train their entire lives until the day of Separation’s draft. Most families volunteer their children when they’re born to go off to Separation and prepare for the wars. Other families give up their children as babies to Separation because they may live in poverty and the government takes care of the families whose children leave. But those who must leave train by fighting, strength training, performing in the races, fighting in the rings, and doing what they believe will show they’re ready and willing to go.
Others dread the day, like Kennedy. A day they view as them being ripped from their birth parents and forced into a foreign lifestyle. A day where they lose their freedom and are required to dedicate their lives to our country.
“Hey Ky!” A slender hand grabs my forearm and gently tugs it.
I turn toward the voice. “Hi Pat.” Pat practically lives at The Center. She’s never missing in action. I’m convinced she sleeps in the basement, although I can’t prove it, and we should never make false accusations.
Pat sits beside me on the bench and pulls her kinky blonde curls into a ponytail. “What are you two up to?”
Kennedy’s slender shoulders shrug. “Nothing,” we respond.
Not many people are in here watching the meet. Boxing is the most popular event, and everyone’s at the rings. I hate seeing Luke get punched. He never gets hurt too badly, but I’d rather not watch.
“How are you girls taking Separation?” Pat asks. “Just another three months,” she cheers, knees bouncing and a smile pinching her cheeks.
Kennedy frowns. “It’s not something we are talking about.”
“Why not? It’s exciting. You and Luke are ready, I know,” she says to me, blonde eyebrows touching her hair line and smile lifting her high cheekbones.
“We are,” I answer, watching the swimmers. Luke and I don’t have a choice. It’s the reason they created us. Leaving for Separation affects us differently. We have nothing keeping us here. No one we will miss, and no one that will miss us. We only have each other, and we are leaving together.
We’re orphans to The America and created to fight for it.
“I don’t want to discuss Separation. I’m not leaving, but Howard is, and thinking about it makes me depressed.”
“You won’t go, Kennedy?” Pat continues.
“No,” Kennedy answers solemnly. “I will not be seventeen until next year, and because of my natural ability to care for others, they’re making me a Breeder.” She mutters a string of cuss words under her breath and kicks her foot across the stone tile. Kennedy’s a year short of the four-year draft.
Since 2041, the Trade requires that every four years, Separation takes the seventeen- and eighteen-year-old naturally born humans and Creations off to training before we go off to fight in the wars.
While the Normals have the opportunity to volunteer, Creations are obligated. Their deployment in Separation helps to give the American fighters a better chance at survival during the wars. It’s been said to be the best idea The America could have implemented for its people.
Creations are their brother’s keeper. The Normals drafted in Separation fight until they reach retirement age of sixty-five, if they survive, and fighting alongside Creations gives them a better chance at that survival. The other Creations, those who aren’t drafted
, are put forth as order-maintainers and first responders, and they do not have to go to war, ever.
I’m looking forward to it. We’ll be extremely far away from our aunt and never have to see her again. What more could I want?
Pat clears her throat and shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “I couldn’t be more excited to learn some new things and meet the leading Creations. I hear they may even allow the naturally born humans an opportunity for a leading position this draft.”
“That’s doubtful,” Kennedy scoffs. “The Guidance wouldn’t have it. Not after they saw how effective Creations have become at leading over the past ten years.”
“She’s right,” I second her. “They trust Creations far more than they trust the Normals.”
Cheers echo through the room. Keylan won the meet, and the small crowd watching runs over to congratulate him. He stands, dragging a white towel down his face. Well-defined arms bulk with muscle as he rakes the towel over his tousled hair. Keylan is slim and has swum at The Center since before we started coming here, and that’s been over five years.
I leave Pat and Kennedy sitting by the pool and head to the rings to check on Luke to make sure he’s not hurt and in dire need of healing. Hoots echo down the hall, likely concluding another fight. When I pull the door open, it’s even louder and warmer than the other areas of The Center.
Luke’s name is at the top of the boards. His next fight is against someone named Marc, who I’m unfamiliar with. Everyone within our town has lived here from birth; it’s the way they designed the structure. Though it’s permitted, it’s rare anyone moves between the states, so it’s unlikely there may be someone I’ve not yet crossed paths with this late in my life. From age ten to seventeen, it’s possible for a Creation to be shipped out to different states for their required job or placement training, so I guess I shouldn’t write it off.
“Ky,” Luke smacks my shoulder. “After this fight, we’re going.”
“Who’s Marc?”
Imminent Threat Page 2
