Innocents

by Lena August

  Chapter 17

  Kyla stands at the end of a shadowy tunnel. Her dark hair flies around as if caught in a heavy breeze and the front of her shirt is stained dark. Blood. I try to approach her, but I realize that I am tied to a tall post. Kyla sees me and slowly walks over, her brown eyes filled with hate, a knife his held in her hand.

  “You should have saved me,” she snarls, “It is your fault that I am dead.” I try to explain to her that I had tried, but was too late, but no sound comes out of my mouth.

  “If I died, why do you deserve to live?” Kyla screeches as she drives her knife deep into my flesh. My scream of pain is silent and Kyla sneers at me, “You should have died with me on that day, but now, we are here to collect you.”

  Suddenly, the room begins to fill with people, each advancing on me with knives drawn. Landon, Calder, Eaton, the Scorch I killed my first day on Murderers. All are pale with death, bled out. They jeer at me before bringing their weapons down upon me.

  Next, Tegan appears. Her throat dripping with blood, and there is a dark hole where her heart should be. “It’s your fault, all your fault.” Her voice is strong with loathing as she looks at me, “You were in charge, it was your job to protect us. But you failed, and now we’re dead.” She brings her knife down, “And so are you.” I find my voice and scream until my throat is hoarse.

  “Brie! You’re okay, Brie. Wake up.” Flynn’s voice jolts me from my nightmare. I am shaking and tears are dried on my cheeks. I give a dry sob and bury my face in my hands, unable to shake the picture of Tegan from my mind.

  “Hey, it’s okay. It was only a dream,” Flynn says gently, but I shake my head.

  “I saw them, Flynn. Kyla and the rest of my team. And they are dead because of me.” Tears are now streaming freely down my cheeks.

  Flynn shakes his head, “No, none of their deaths were your fault. You didn’t kill them, the Scorch and Volis did.”

  “But I was their leader,” I sob, unable to stop the tears, “it was my job to protect them and I failed. Why do I deserve to live when they’re rotting away?” I add, remembering what Kyla had said in my dream. If I died, why do you deserve to live? You should have died with me on that day.

  “You did everything you could to help them,” Flynn says firmly. “If you have to blame anyone, blame the Public Safety Council. They are the ones who sent you here.”

  Guilt still gnaws at my heart. Maybe I could have fought harder, worried about protecting them before worrying about myself. Perhaps then they would still be alive.

  “It’s not your fault,” Flynn says again, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

  Gradually, my tears slow and I lie back down. I am afraid to fall back asleep, for fear of slipping back into the nightmare, but Flynn whispers, “I’m here for you, nothing will hurt you.” And my eyes begin to grow heavy with sleep.

  By the next day, I am feeling embarrassed by my breakdown. I wonder if Flynn still thinks I am strong, I know that I have some serious doubts about that myself. Thoughts of my former team haunt me as we walk, and I cannot shake the feeling of guilt growing inside of me. But by noon, much of my guilt has turned into anger at the PSC. They sent us here, realizing we would probably die. Our lives are worthless to them, completely disposable to fit their agenda of keeping up their public approval ratings. It’s true that my crimes may have been severe enough to warrant sending me on the expedition, but the rest of my team was guilty of no more than minor infractions. Yet, I was the only one to survive. I kick the ground in frustration, and Flynn gives me a curious look. The PSC is corrupt; they don’t give a damn about public safety. They just want to make sure that enough people are sent to the Islands to keep their business lucrative.

  See, what happens is, when a person gets sent to an island, the PSC gains control of all of their assets, from their house to their life savings. Even if whoever gets sent to the Islands still has family left on Mainlands, the PSC is entitled to a certain percentage of their wealth. It is a multi-billion dollar industry. This has never bothered me in the past, our schools are designed to brainwash us into becoming PSC supporters and I always believed what they told me. But now I realize how corrupt they truly are.

  The Islands are good for no one, crime rates on Mainlands are higher than ever, and I am witnessing first hand that inhabitants of the Islands are forming their own civilizations consisting of some of the worst society, a civilization that thrives on destruction. And pretty soon the fence won’t be able to contain them. Out of sight may be out of mind, but it does not make the problems go away. But as long as the PSC profits, nothing changes.

  For the first time in a long time, I think about my father. The group my father had been supplying weapons to was an anti-PSC group called KNOT. An organization devoted to bringing down the PSC and the Islands. Rumor has it that it was started by the former president of the PSC, Luke Vesorius; a man who went crazy and blew up a Council Building before being impeached.

  At the time, I had hated my father for his involvement in KNOT. He had knowingly risked himself and us for an idealistic view of the future and I had despised him for it. However, now I am beginning to understand my father’s sacrifice. He understood what the PSC had become and was willing to fight against it, regardless of the cost. I also know that if I make it off Murderers alive, I will not be content until the Public Safety Council is brought to justice.

  Without warning, Flynn throws out his arm, jolting me from my thoughts and stopping me in my tracks. I can tell by the tense look on his face that something isn’t right.

  “What’s wro—” I begin, but Flynn holds up his hand to silence me. He raises his knife slightly and listens. For a second I hear nothing, but then I manage to make out the sound of voices. My heart begins to race. Our reprieve from violence is over and it is time to kill again. The thought makes me feel nauseous. Flynn glances at me, seeing my expression. Then, to my surprise, he lets his knife arm fall to his side and grabs me, pulling behind an outcropping of rocks, well hidden from view.

  “What are we doing?” I ask, confused by his sudden change of behavior, I have never known Flynn to hide before.

  “Avoiding a fight,” Flynn answers in a strained whisper, “They haven’t seen us yet and I know you don’t want to kill them.”

  Relief floods through me when I realize Flynn does not plan on fighting. For now at least, I won’t have to add anyone else to the list of deaths I am responsible for. I take Flynn’s hand, lacing my fingers through his, “Thank you,” I say softly.

  Another minute passes before I catch a glimpse of the Murderers. There are three of them, two men and a woman. They look very different from the other inhabitants I have seen. Their clothes are tattered and I can see every bone through their sallow skin. It is obvious that they are close to death. The woman is limping badly and one of the men is missing an eye. The socket is a raw and bloody, his face grotesquely swollen to twice its normal size. I have to look away. I try to tell myself that these people are murderers, they deserve their punishment. But looking at the pitiful condition of these three, I cannot justify it.

  Finally, the Murderers’ voices fade and I know that Flynn and I are alone once again. Flynn gets up, but I remain huddled on the ground, unable to shake the image of the one-eyed man from my mind. Eventually, I take a ragged breath and stand up. “I guess I need to work on becoming stronger so I don’t have a break down every time I see someone injured,” I say hollowly.

  “You’ll never need to work on that,” Flynn protests, “You’re already strong. Your compassion is what sets you apart from the rest of us here. When you see someone in pain, you hurt for them. You want to help without thinking about what it will cost you. But me, when I see people suffering, I turn my back on them. I know I should help, but I don’t. When you’ve lived on Murderers long enough you eventually grow numb to the suffering around you, it just becomes part of your life. It’s disgusting but true. But you’re not like that, which is one of
the things that attracted me to you in the first place. The first time we talked after I rescued you, your main concern was for your team, not yourself. I had never seen that before, and it made me think that maybe people aren’t inherently bad. Your emotions are what make you strong, Brie. Don’t ever change that.”

  Flynn is staring at me with a deep intensity and suddenly it hits me, I think I love him. It’s crazy and it’s insane. But even though I have barely known him for two weeks and I know almost nothing about him, I love him. And even though it doesn’t make any sense, maybe it doesn’t have to.