Imminent Threat

by Felisha Antonette

  I recall, We’re property not citizens.

  The constant rocks and sways of the bus ride tire me. I try to keep my head from nodding and fight my sleep. I can’t resist it. My head hits the window, and my sight dims.

  I swat at the hands of my uncle, blindfolding me. Forcing me to move and do things against my will. Stronger than I am, he forces my arms over my head, holding me down, his heavy body lowering over me.

  I gasp, jerking forward.

  Luke grabs my arm, holding me back from a punch I was getting ready to give the seat in front of me. “You fell asleep,” he says, gently pushing my arm down.

  I rub my eyes, gathering my thoughts to calm myself. “I know.” I relax and remember that I’m on a bus, my brother is beside me, and my uncle is dead. You’re safe, Ky, I tell myself.

  His voice remains hushed. “What was it?”

  “I can’t say right now.”

  He pulls my head to his shoulder. “You are going to have to get a handle on it. Everything’s about to change.”

  I ignore him, closing my eyes. Nothing comes to me, and I relax on the seat, resting against his shoulder. Sleep is peaceful and comforting.

  Chatter wakes me. Luke, talking to a flirty Collins.

  I stand and stretch my long arms to the ceiling, but my fingertips are an inch short of reaching it. I glance over the seats, spotting slanted shadowed eyes.

  Marc mouths the word, “Hi.” I nod slightly with a subtle smile.

  He looks away from me, closing his eyes as he leans his head back against the seat. Sean is beside him, leaning over the seat, talking to Molly.

  They’re complete opposites, Sean and Marc. Marc is serious, not talking, sticks to himself, while Sean is outgoing, talks to everyone, and is a little annoying with his bluffs and so-called jokes.

  “Ky.” Luke smacks my stomach. “Sit down.”

  I ram my fist into his arm as I sit. “Don’t hit me.”

  “Don’t do what you were doing.”

  “Don’t go there.”

  “I won’t.”

  I pull my legs onto the chair. “Why do you think they took us so early?”

  “They probably want to train us differently than before and prepare us for something worse.” Floyd looks over our seats. “Or separate the weak from the strong. There is no other reason,” he declares.

  Luke snorts. “That you can think of.”

  Floyd has an almost rectangle-shaped head and dimples set so deep in his cheeks, they show without him smiling. Dirty-blond hair lightens his warm, chestnut complexion, and he’s pretty good with a firearm. “That any of us can think of,” he counters. “What have you come up with?” Floyd purses his lips as if to challenge Luke. He and his sister Feiney used to come to The Center before they were tasked with City Maintenance.

  “They don’t care. We belong to them, and they can get us when they want. Your original idea was probably head-on,” Luke admits. “They want to train us for something they weren’t expecting.”

  “What wouldn’t they be expecting?” the small voice that begged to leave earlier chimes in. I try to lean around the chair to see her.

  Luke pushes me back, shaking his head at me. “We shouldn’t get into those details right now. Or anything further until they tell us.”

  “Luke, do you always follow the rules?” It sounds like Sean.

  Luke rolls his eyes. “It would be worse for us if we try to figure them out. We have one purpose, and it’s not to decipher why they do things and why they don’t.”

  “Why do you think you don’t belong here, Red Face?” Sean shouts over the seats, changing the subject.

  “We don’t. We are not like you people,” the girl replies. Her tone is certain yet holds a hint of fear.

  “What does that mean? Like us?” Floyd cuts off Collins who was about to chime in.

  “We weren’t created. We were born,” the girl replies.

  Sean laughs. “We were born too.”

  “What I mean to say is,” she carries on with a hint of brassiness, “there was no serum, no tests, nothing extra to make us special. You may have been born. But your mothers’ pregnancies were the result of tampered eggs. We are not Creations. Our parents had sex, our mother got pregnant accidentally, and we were born normally. We weren’t provided to Breeders by the Trade.”

  “If you are so normal, why are you here?” Collins stands, leaning over the seat in front of her.

  “That’s my point. We are not supposed to be here.”

  “Well, good luck.” A few people laugh. We know what it means when the dictators don’t want to listen to reason. If that girl doesn’t belong here, they’re going to find out. Since they’ve decided to ship us off early, we’re going to be trained tougher than in Separation training. They created us and know just how much we can take. If this girl doesn’t belong here, they’ll find out. And if something worse is out there, I can only imagine how rough preparing for it will be before we head off to fight it.

  “You all may think this is funny. But I’m scared. We shouldn’t be here. We don’t want to die like you.”

  Luke stands and lifts his arms over his head, reaching the ceiling. “You’re right. You don’t belong here,” he says as he stretches. “Because we,” he moves his hands and arms outward, gesturing at the Creations on the bus, “don’t know the word scared.” A few boys cheer. “We have no fear,” Luke says with aggression, and more of them hoot louder.

  “Die!” Marc stands. “We don’t fear death.” Some girls join the hoots including me.

  “Scared, fear, and afraid don’t exist in our vocabulary!” Luke says in a strong voice. We holler loudly.

  “We have no fear. We feel no hurt. And we welcome death with open arms. Anything they have. Bring it,” Marc follows in the same tone. His heavy rasp adds more meaning and hostility to his words. “Created we stand as Creation we brand a Nation that will withstand the terror of our enemies who dare raise a threat against our great land!” We’ve all joined in his reciting of our pledge. As it concludes, we chant and beat on the bus’s seats in excitement.

  “Hell, we don’t want to die either. But we will challenge the shit out of death until death gives up,” Luke shouts over the animated ruckus.

  Everyone loses it, cheering louder, anticipation rolling through us, and exhilaration boiling to be set free.

  “Hey, Red Face,” Sean calls. “If you don’t belong here, you may not want to walk across the threshold they lay out for us. There’s no turning back. And hope they don’t kill you.”

  Chapter Seven

  The back door of the bus opens.

  Sunlight explodes down the aisle of the bus. The shadow of a man stretches across the floor as he steps in the way of our exit. Dark shades reflect us as we line up to get off the bus. Hands resting on his hips, he maintains his stance as he looks us over.

  Eventually, once we’re all on our feet and at attention, he steps aside, and one by one we disembark. It’s silent; not even the bus rumbles. Everyone’s calm and serious again. While it’s okay for us to lose our reserve around each other, when it’s time for business they don’t take kindly to us joking.

  We line up, side by side, bus at our backs. The man, suited in all black with black combat boots, has taken the extended measure of covering his face with a black scarf. It’s odd he’d go so far to guard his face. Identity is never a concern for Creations, but maybe he’s not one. Though it sparks my interest, I don’t waste my time wondering who he is because he doesn’t care enough to introduce himself as captain whoever.

  The secretive gentleman walks back and forth past the sixteen of us. Stopping in the middle, he calls out, “Lukahn, Kylie, Floyd, Feiney, Marcain, Seanabe, Collins, and Cecilia. Here to my left.”

  Each of us steps from the line to his left, lining up side by side in the order he called our names. “This is our leader group,” he commands loud and orderly. “They lead, you all follow. Anyone steps out of line, anyone doesn’t follow, or
anyone can’t keep up, take the gun you will be provided, put it in your mouth, and blow your goddamn head off!”

  He turns to face us. “Anyone slacks off, cannot keep up, does not follow orders, or does not make the effort... Dispose of them quickly. This is the only warning you will receive.” His voice rises a few decibels. “If any of you in the leading group cannot accommodate this authority-level position, cannot follow suit, slack off and fail, or hesitate to diminish the weak, I will personally give you my gun, and you will have your twin blow your goddamn head off. Respond!”

  “We understand!” We copy his tone.

  “And in response.”

  “Yes, sir!” everyone says in unison.

  He pivots.

  Someone clears their throat. “Sir.” Her voice is strong. “I need to speak with you…” It dies softly.

  The instructor turns back to face a girl two people from the end of the line. He marches over to her, dust flying in the air with each step. He faces her, hands clasped behind his back.

  “My sister and I don’t belong here. We are not Creations,” she says, looking away from him. He towers over her small frame, and she curls away, the hunch of her shoulders slightly shortening her figure.

  He pulls his smaller gun from the holster tucked behind the waist of his pants. He loads it and cocks it back, putting a bullet in the chamber. It rests in his open palm as he hands it to her. “There are no other options,” his voice commands softly although his order is loud.

  She slowly shakes her head, fear set deep in her hazel-colored eyes. He takes a step back. “Collins,” he orders.

  Collins runs to his side. “Sir?”

  “What is fear?”

  She draws her shoulders back and states, “I do not know the feeling to answer, sir.”

  He hands her the gun. “Diminish fear.”

  Collins takes the gun, and the short, blonde-haired girl stares down its barrel. The man pulls out another gun and cocks it back. He aims at her sister.

  They fire together, and the girls drop to the ground. “Anyone else who don’t belong here?”

  “No, sir!” we say, echoing his loud voice.

  “All but the unit’s leaders, follow Captain Ace,” he points to our right, “to your new humble abode.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  Ace, also suited in black with his face covered, gives him a nod and marches off with the others. I didn’t see Ace approach. He has been training with us for as long as I can remember, but he wasn’t distributed with us, which means he shipped out earlier than us. That is equally unusual.

  “You eight will clean up, suit up, and once finished, meet your charges. Moving forward, each of you are now assigned the rank of Chief Warrant Officers five over the incoming Creations in Separation. Respond!”

  “We understand!”

  “You will have one hour from when the first of you steps into your space of habitation. Be happy you are better than the rest. It makes living here a hell of a lot better. Respond!”

  “We understand!”

  “Fall out!”

  Another bus pulls in as we march out behind the captain. We stay in formation all the way to our designated house. Several two-story houses are lined up and evenly spaced out on this side of the camp. Other facilities accompany them about a mile away, including an office, recreation areas, and training halls.

  I can’t take much time to acknowledge my surroundings yet. We march quickly to our destination, and I don’t want to appear distracted.

  Black combat suits and boots are arranged in the hall we enter. Our names are stitched into the left of their chests. We grab them and are led to the showers by a female leader who doesn’t care to introduce herself either. She’s also fully suited and leaves only her radiant green eyes exposed. Something suspicious is going on, and though it’s improper for us to question them, it is unlike them to be this secretive with Creations. We have top clearance here.

  The showers are composed of stalls, with a side for the boys and a side for the girls. Just like the learning center’s gym back home. We each shower then dress in our combat boots, all black army suits, and protective vests.

  The female captain meets us as we’re exiting the stalls. “Rooms have been assigned. Collins, Cecilia, Feiney, and Floyd downstairs. Lukahn, Kylie, Marcain, and Seanabe upstairs. As you were.” She leaves the house.

  We exit in formation through the front door, following the person who led us to the stalls.

  “Now that all of you have shoes on,” the captain, who still hasn’t introduced himself, greets us as we march out of the house, “let’s finish introductions.”

  “Start, sir.” Sean states. “Start introductions,” he corrects.

  The man waggles his extended finger in Sean’s direction as he says, “Be happy I have a sense of humor, Seanabe.”

  He leads us through the base to a large lecture hall lined with chairs and an open floor. All the other Creations from our age group are sitting here still in their nightwear. We line up side by side, twin by twin. I look out at the other Creations, seated in the rows of chairs. Some I know, most I don’t.

  The general of the Army, Jord Archibald, walks back and forth in front of us. His five star badges reflect the light beaming from the ceiling as he turns on his heels. “The eight that stand before you will be your leaders. Each of you has been assigned to one of them.” He faces us. “All of you will have twelve under you with the exception of Lukahn and Marcain. The two of you will have sixteen.” He turns away, looking at nothing. “Respond!”

  “We understand!” the room bellows.

  “The lists with your names are on the tables in the back, in alphabetical order. The name of your assigned Chief is printed to the left of your name.” He walks to the door. “Leaders, fall out.”

  The unidentified captain who greeted us coming off the bus leads us to a recreation hall full of other Creations in black army-suits. They’re relaxed, without facial covers or guns, sitting around tables with attached benches. They’re eating and chatting amongst each other.

  The captain finally pulls down his face scarf, revealing he’s Cory.

  Cory was specially selected for placement in Separation two years ago. He and his sister used to live next door, and he and I would sit on his rooftop and talk for all hours of the night. We told each other everything, and trusting him was like second nature. Luke hated it, always yelling for me to avoid him because he felt Cory was trying to manipulate me. But I knew better than to be swooned by Cory’s smooth linguistics and haughty smile.

  Our eyes meet, and the corners of Cory’s mouth twitch upward before he quickly looks away from me. He grabs the shoulders of his vest and in a friendlier voice says, “This is where we eat, where we hang out, and where we can let our guard down, apart from when we are home. Never let your guard down or relax outside of this area or that one. Our monitors do not take well to sloth and lingering.” He takes off his guns. “Keep your distance. Do not befriend your subordinates. Do not get comfortable with them. Do not let them see your weak side, if any of you possess any—which I doubt you do. Do not open up to them. You are not their parents. If they do not listen or perform to expectations, we do not need them here. Abolish them. We do not waste time. We have no time to waste.”

  He places his weapons on what seems to be an allocated spot and comes back to us. “Apart from being assholes for twelve to sixteen hours of your day, we have six hours to sleep, if you choose to sleep. We are up at five a.m. on Monday, Tuesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Up at nine a.m. on Wednesday and Thursday. Wednesday and Thursday are our off days. We do not have to see our units on those days if we do not want to. Any other day, you train and push them for those ten to twelve hours. After that, the rest of the day is yours. Designated eating hours will be assigned tomorrow.”

  He nods, and we respond in kind.

  “Okay.” He sounds like a nineteen-year-old now that he’s finished barking instructions. “Now that tha
t’s over.” He smiles, coming over to me for a hug. “I haven’t seen you in forever,” he says in a sing-song voice.

  Luke’s big arms push between us, forcing Cory back.

  “Still overprotective, I see.” Cory extends his hand to shake Luke’s.

  “She’s not here to hug. Keep your hands to yourself.” They shake.

  “Well, I missed her.” He winks at me.

  I give a shy smile. Shy: being reserved or having or showing nervousness to timidity in the company of other people. I think on the depth of this emotion. This one may be okay.

  Cory and I were never factioned as potential Breeders, but he’s always hinted at it. He mentioned words like infatuated, interested, affection. I won’t ever. I can’t. It’s not in me, not a part of me. The neediness for someone to have and… um... love…? Is that it? There’s no point. This, to fight, to kill, to control, to manage, is what we were created for. Not to love, not to be with someone happily ever after. Not to breed. Only fight. Feelings of affection are restricted, unnatural for us. It keeps us from having our twin as the only one to protect or to care for.

  Everyone should know that. Every Creation knows that.

  “We wear this all the time?” Collins steps into our small circle. She’s an inch shorter than me with long blond hair at the top of her head and jet-black hair in the back. With her dark brown eyebrows, I’m curious to know how she’s going to keep her color up.

  “Yes. All the time. Even on off days. Sets you apart from the others dressed in their green fatigues. Only when you are in your quarters, can you wear something else. But every time you step out of that door, you must be in full uniform,” Cory answers.

  “When can we get some other clothes? Considering we were snatched out of bed.” She throws her hands on her slender hips. “I couldn’t even put on shoes.”

  “There’s a spot that has clothes here. It’s closed for now, but when it reopens, I’ll take you.”

  “Good. This golden tan pops best in cream and yellow. I cannot wear all black every day for the rest of my life,” she says, rolling her eyes, thick black lashes fanning her cheeks.