The Unadjusteds

by Marisa Noelle

  “Well, that’s just great,” I mumble.

  Thoughts of Matt tumble through my head. And of my mother. I’ve snuck photos of them both into an inside pocket of the rucksack, and I long to take them out and look at their reassuring faces. I’d give anything to be near them. The stark reality that I might not see either of them again grips painfully at the back of my neck. I’ve been preparing for five years to fight back, and I trained even harder after my mother’s alleged treason.

  But deep down, I’ve hoped for another alternative.

  My mother’s return.

  A better world.

  Now, the magnitude of my escape slams into me harder than a bulk’s stone fist. So many things in this forest can kill me. A hellhound can end me in a few bloody seconds.

  Gritting my teeth, I clamp down on the building fear. I can’t let it win. “Let’s move.”

  I lead the way again, walking fast, then jogging through the trees and panting the anxiety out of my lungs.

  Somewhere behind me, Dad calls, “Silver, wait, you’re going too fast.” I ignore him and his loud hobbling through the undergrowth.

  After half an hour of scrabbling through the woods, I stumble to my knees, exhausted.

  Dad catches up with me and rubs my back with a spectral touch. “You were right to make us run. You were right,” he says. I lean against him for comfort.

  Then I hear growls. “We need to go, Dad.”

  I slug a quick gulp of water and jump to my feet.

  “They’re just animal noises, Silver. Normal animals.”

  “You sure?”

  Dad squints at the shadows. Then we hear it.

  Whop-whop-whop.

  I have no energy left to run, but with the sounds of the rotors above our heads, we don’t have a choice. I grab Dad’s sleeve and tug him through the ferns, faster and faster, wincing at the pain in my tired calves.

  A growl at my back spurs me on just as I begin to lag. I don’t dare look over my shoulder.

  After a few minutes, I don’t hear any more helicopter blades, but something crashes through the undergrowth behind us. More than one something. Acorns crunch under my feet and goosegrass pulls at the hem of my trousers. I turn an ankle on a large root but manage to stay upright.

  Dad grabs my hand and yanks me forward. When he looks behind us, his eyes widen. “Keep running!”

  I don’t need to look to know the extent of the threat. The growls turn to piercing howls.

  It’s an attack call.

  Ahead, Dad stumbles and goes down. I grab his arm and try to pull him to his feet, but I don’t have the strength.

  Then the wolves are surrounding us, baring their fangs, growling their menacing intent. Heads low and jaws drooling, their hackles raise as they inch closer.

  Slowly, Dad gets to his feet, and we face the wolves back-to-back.

  Seven at least, a mixture of black and gray. Saliva flies from their mouths. I grip my knife, knowing I can’t take out seven wolves. My eyes dart to the nearest tree. One of the branches hangs down just above our heads.

  I point up. Dad nods.

  “On the count of three,” I say. “One, two, three.”

  We both jump and grab the sturdy branch overhead, kicking our legs up and scrabbling as high as we can. I place my next handhold but pull back with a stifled scream, my hand coming away covered in stinging ants. I shake them off and clamp down on the radiating pain. Something jumps at me. A gust of warm, sour breath blows past my face, followed by the sound of snapping teeth and a disappointed grunt.

  Then we’re up and sitting on the branch. But we’re trapped. The wolves circle, and one reaches up, front paws clawing the bark. Panic flares in my gut, an inescapable noose. I can’t even pace out the anxiety but have to sit and endure this impossible situation.

  “My God!” Dad gasps.

  I follow his fearful stare and spot the wolf with the snake tail.

  “What is it?”

  “These are real wolves and altereds, working together.” And the difference between the two is obvious. The real wolves look like, well, real wolves. The altereds have snake tails and patches of reptilian skin, and eyes an unnatural color. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  I don’t want to think about the implications of that statement. Nature and science working together. Evolving. Evolving into what?

  “Let’s move a bit higher,” I suggest.

  Dad and I climb another fifteen feet up the tree.

  “Here.” Dad offers another cloaking pill.

  “Will it work? Did it even work before?”

  “I’m sure it worked. And we’ll need them if we want to stay out of a hellhound’s sensory range.”

  The wolves growl and bicker with each other. Their eyes glow hungrily as the day dims. Some of them lie down to wait.

  The clouds clear, and the waxing moon becomes visible. A series of howls rips through the night. Eerie and hauntingly beautiful in equal parts. If I were further removed, I would marvel at their music a little more.

  I hold tight to my tree branch. “What do we do now?”

  “We wait them out. They’ll probably disappear in the morning.” Dad’s eyes shine almost as brightly as the wolves’. “And to be brutally honest, I could use the rest.”

  I dig the blade of my knife into the tree. “We may not have that long. If the helicopters come back. If there are hellhounds in the forest…”

  Dad turns to look at me from his higher branch. “Do you have a better idea?”

  I yank the knife from the trunk and picture myself throwing it. I’ve only spent one measly half hour practicing. Even if I could spear one of the wolves, there would still be at least six more, and I’d be without a weapon. As confident as I am in my karate abilities, I don’t think I can take down a pack of snarling animals with a couple of jump kicks and swift front punches.

  “Hand me the rucksack.”

  Dad passes me the bag. I rummage inside for a coil of rope. Bringing it out into the open, I slice the cord in two and pass half to Dad. “Lash yourself to the tree. If we can’t go anywhere, we might as well get some sleep.”

  But it’s as though my words are a curse. The wolves continue to howl, their mouths raised to the patchy sky. And they don’t stop. A headache knocks on my temples, and thirst tightens my throat. If a bulk army or hellhounds are in the forest, will they be drawn to the wolves? Or will they flee in another direction?

  I spend a couple of hours in a fitful half-sleep, dreaming of teeth and claws and vicious growls. My stomach cramps with hunger, but the thirst is far worse. At least during the night the humidity can’t leach me of every droplet of precious moisture. But oh, how I crave just one drop.

  “Silver? You awake?”

  “Yeah.” I cradle my water bottle in my hand and, after a few minutes of promising myself I won’t, I bring the bottle to my lips and allow a drop to slip down my throat. I hand the last mouthful to Dad. “We need water.”

  “Three minutes, three days, three weeks.”

  Lazily, I swivel my head toward him. “Huh?”

  “We can survive three minutes without air, three days without water, and three weeks without food. We’ve got a bit of time to play with.”

  “Not if they’re still there in two more days and we’re so dehydrated we just fall out the tree and into their jaws.”

  “In the morning, if they’re still here, we’ll make a move.”

  “What move?”

  Dad nods at my knife. “The best one we can.”

  I spend the night staring at my empty water bottle, twiddling the knife in my uninjured hand, practicing the aim in my head but knowing it’s hopeless.

  Dad takes a look at my hand. He sprays something over the stings and wraps a clean bandage around it, then makes me swallow a pill.

  “What nanite am I taking now?”

  “It’s not a nanite.” Dad pats my hand. “Just normal painkillers.”

  A tingling sensation creeps over m
y hand. I wiggle my fingers and find they’re already less stiff. “Isn’t there anything you can take for your ankle?”

  Dad shakes his head. “There’s no nanite to reduce swelling.”

  “For all the complicated nanites out there, it’s amazing you don’t have anything to cure a common sprain,” I say. “Or even better, a nanite to cancel out all other nanites. Something to reset your body to its human form. Wish I’d had something like that for Diana.”

  Dad leans his head against the tree. “Wish I’d had something that would have helped my brother too.”

  I frown. “Brother? What are you talking about? You never told me I had an uncle.”

  Dad blows a breath between his parched lips. “I don’t like to talk about it. He was my older brother by three years. Died when he was seven. I still remember it. Leukemia. I’ve hated hospitals ever since. Never wanted to set foot in one again. I swore then I’d never let another person I loved die, if I could help it.”

  “So you invented the nanite pill.” I trace the grooves in the hilt of my knife, looping my fingers along the valleyed grip.

  “Exactly. I just wanted to fix all the bad stuff in the world. I knew I could. And I did. But I didn’t foresee the greed.” Dad stretches his fingers out and flicks some dirt off his trousers. He sighs, then pulls at the string on a loose hem. “Didn’t work out so well, did it?”

  I unwrap the bandage around my hand. The wound has scabbed over. Pumping my fingers, the raised stings feel a little tight. I shift to get the blood back into my numb butt, then curse the wolves for their incessant sentry. “I’m angry.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m angry all the time.” I’m tempted to slam my fist into the tree, but a new injury won’t do me any good. “They took Mom away because she tried to do something good. If you guys had just never invented the damn pills…”

  “I know,” Dad sighs. “But someone else would have.”

  “Diana might still be alive.”

  “I know.”

  We fall silent for a minute.

  I lean my head back against the tree. The pendant tickles my neck. “I hope Matt’s OK. You know he helped organize some mass unadjusted exodus? Thank God he’s on our side.”

  Dad’s gaze drops to the wolves, then the surrounding forest. “We haven’t come across any other unadjusted humans in the woods.”

  I scan the forest but see nothing in the darkness. “Did you think we might? The forest takes up most of the state.”

  Dad runs a hand through his graying hair and swings his legs back and forth. “Maybe. If as many are running as you say.”

  “I don’t think it was as organized as Matt was hoping. President Bear’s announcement made a lot of them run early, unprepared. The city was a mess.” I chip away tree bark with my knife and contemplate digging for sap.

  “You’re probably right.”

  I glance at a crack of dark sky and sigh. “I hope he got out OK.”

  Dad taps my shoulder. “He’ll be fine,” he says. “He’s a smart kid.”

  Although the wolves remain quiet, they’re still there. I hold the water bottle to my lips and suck at the memory of liquid. As the night cools and dew lays a fine mist on the vegetation, I stick my tongue out and lick up as much moisture as I can. But there isn’t enough to soothe the dryness of my throat.

  “How much longer can we wait in this damn tree?” My legs are twitching to run. “If those helicopters dropped off soldiers or hellhounds, we can’t just sit around and wait for them to find us.”

  “We’re caught between a rock and a hard place.” Dad glances at the wolves. “We’ll go in the morning.”

  “If the army doesn’t find us, President Bear will be furious.” The thought twists a smile onto my face. But then I remember: if he can’t find us, he’ll take it out on my mom. It could already be too late for her.

  I close my eyes. “Do you think he’ll use Mom as a bargaining chip, if she’s still… you know?”

  I can’t see Dad’s reaction in the dark, his face half-obscured by a thick branch, but there’s a tremor in his voice. “I’m sure he will.”

  “What do we do?” I whisper.

  I swallow hard. Mom. If she isn’t already dead, our actions will condemn her. But if we had stayed? It would have been far worse.

  “There’s nothing we can do from here.” Dad’s voice is steadier. “When we get to the cave, maybe then we can see about your mother.”

  My fingers clench around the pendant, the tip of the note digging into my skin. “If he does anything to her…”

  “You can’t think like that right now.” Dad takes my hand and unfolds my tight fingers. “You have to block it out.”

  “I can’t block Mom out.” But isn’t that what I’ve been doing for the last two years? Just to get by, going to school and back, training. But that’s why I’ve been training. She has lived in the back of my mind, and one day, I promised myself, she would be free.

  I close my eyes, ignoring the tickly sensation of insects marching across my skin. My mind drifts into sleep. When I wake a few hours later, dawn’s bruise lightens the sky and birds twitch above my head.

  The wolves are still here. Today, Dad and I will have to make a move.

  I untie myself from the tree and coil the rope. Inching along my branch, I climb out until the limb begins to sway. Two of the wolves look up and lock their startling clear eyes on me. I adjust the weight of the knife in my hand. Inhaling, I hold the breath in my chest, narrow my eyes, and throw. The blade spins toward the ground and pins one of the wolf’s paws to the earth.

  A piercing whimper shatters the forest’s silence.

  “What’s going on?” Dad calls.

  “Making a move.” The wolves bark at us, a mixture of yelps and howls that chill the back of my neck and would bring any curious attention from all over the forest. And I’m without my knife. With all the branches around me, it only occurs to me now that I could have whittled a spear.

  “Shhh!” I put my fingers uselessly to my lips.

  Whop-whop-whop.

  The sound of the helicopter is right overhead. The branches above our heads spread under the pressure of the wind.

  Dad shimmies down to my branch. “We need to move.”

  The wolves growl, then tear away from the base of the tree. All except the one I pinned. It glares at me, hatred in its pupils. Pulling back its lips, it snarls, then yanks its paw free. Blood spills and it limps away after its pack.

  “Let’s move!” I yell, half-falling out of the tree.

  I snatch my knife from the ground. Dad lands next to me, and despite my grueling headache and barely being able to pull air past my parched throat, we run.

  Whop-whop-whop.

  Whop-whop-whop.

  More than one helicopter circles the canopy.

  Thuds sound in the forest around us.

  My head snaps to the left at a new sound. A mass of brown fur streaks toward us. It knocks me backwards and pain rakes across my shoulder. A new agony explodes in my skull as I bang my head.

  Stars flood my vision and nausea rises in my stomach. The world sways and a muffled growl rumbles at my side. Bracing myself against the teetering ground, I turn.

  The creature snarls and drools. Larger than any of the wolves I’ve encountered, with short, brown fur, claws three inches long and fangs that can shred through a tortoise shell, it gnaws something next to me. Spittle flies out of its mouth. One insidious eye roves in its socket, settling on me. The reek of death and wrongness fills the air.

  Hellhounds.

  Its jaws snap against flesh, blood splattering as it chews on my father’s leg. He lies beside me, unconscious. I glance at his lower limb, and it takes me a few seconds to put the picture together. Blood and muscle and tendons and bone.

  I tighten my grip on the knife. The hellhound pauses and snarls a warning at me, but I bring the knife down anyway. The hellhound squeals as the blade sinks into the soft flesh of its neck. Blood
covers my hands. Its teeth snap with a new intensity.

  I sweep a leg over its back and push harder. The hellhound’s muscles strain under my weight, trying to throw me off. It jerks to the side, but I hold on as we roll together across the knobby ground in a slashing and gnashing somersault of muscle. I slash again at what seems an impossible speed to my adrenaline-fueled brain. Teeth sink into my already flayed shoulder. I scream, but I don’t let go of the knife.

  We crash into a tree and shudder to a stop. I pull and yank and tear. Finally, the black, inhuman eyes glaze over and the hound falls onto its side.

  Trembling, I crawl away and vomit in the bushes.

  The helicopter blades overhead come booming back into my awareness. Averting my face from the blood ribboning down my shoulder and the puncture wounds pooling red, I scramble to my feet. The trees sway and something crashes through the undergrowth. I turn back to Dad as shouts echo in the forest, bouncing off trees so I can’t tell which direction they’re coming from. A fevered sweat washes over my skin.

  On the ground, Dad moans. Dropping to my knees, I rummage in the backpack for the regeneration pills. Dad’s eyes flicker. I pop the cap, leaving bloody fingerprints on the bottle, and shove two of the tiny pills into his mouth.

  A bulk in army combat gear rushes at me, yelling. But I can’t make out his words. Even the thunderous sounds of the helicopters pale compared to the high-pitched ringing filling my head. I take a step back, stumbling.

  My knees buckle. It is all over. Mom. Matt. The bulk reaches me, and the intricate pattern of army camouflage is the last thing I see before darkness descends.

  I open my eyes drowsily. Shadows play at the edges of my vision as a fire crackles in a crumbling hearth. The enticing aroma of roasting meat sends hunger pangs tightening my empty stomach.

  My limbs sink into a moldering couch. My head throbs and my shoulder stings.

  Without moving my head, I scan the area. A shaft of light reveals a hole in a roof. Broken wooden planks make up the floor, while the walls are a mixture of stone and log. A bulk in army uniform looms over the fire.

  Ten bottles of Dad’s nanites are lined up on a rotting crate beside me, along with a flask of water. And my knife.