Inner Circle

by Y A Marks

  “I thought as much,” I said, trying not to leave too long of a break in the conversation.

  “When did you figure it out?” Jonas said, leaning forward again.

  “When we came into the township. You walk the same, and your playfulness is similar.”

  “Well, that’s good. At least my boy is still enjoying life.”

  My hand gripped at the orange jumpsuit over my chest. My heart pushed a few, saddened beats through my skin. A tear started to well up, but rolled my head backward and ran an arm across my face. “You didn’t see the news interview?”

  “No, I saw it, every minute.”

  “So, you know that he’s…” I dropped my gaze. The emotions within me stifled. The pain fought against me. I couldn’t be sad now. I’d have to mourn him on Monday when the Death Days were over.

  Asha and Raj glanced at one another but didn’t say anything.

  Jonas’s voice radiated through the room. “Don’t be stupid.”

  Confusion tickled my skull. I focused on Jonas’s eyes which were deadly serious, almost like when I first met Rylan on the street.

  “He’s alive. I know it as much as I know the hairs on the back of my hands. Rylan is not going to die so pathetically and during a worthless battle.” His eyes burned into me. “Don’t let the government into your head. If they can simulate you, don’t you think they can simulate other people as well?”

  I brought the image of Rylan impaled to the front of my mind. Moving the image around, I tried to see it clearly. It hadn’t dawned on me before, but that couldn’t have been him. When the government had attacked the compound, Rylan and I were on a date. He was shot in the face. The government wouldn’t have known that detail. There was no scar on the dead body.

  “You’re… right,” I said, the words left my mouth almost in a question. But the more I considered it, the more I was sure. The government was messing with my mind in more ways than one. The pieces of my broken heart warmed. If Rylan was alive, then maybe, Mari and Miko were too.

  Crix Clarisse, and her mind games.

  I glanced over at Asha. She ran her fingers over her loose, black shirt.

  “Do they ever let kids out? I mean, if you don’t want them to grow up in here?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She nodded a few times. “If you have family, you can send the children to live with them. As long as they are not orphans, they have a chance. I’m lucky to have a sister since Raj doesn’t have any siblings. She’s agreed to take our baby.”

  My muscles relaxed. I didn’t know that I was so tense. Just the thought of a child growing up in a place like this frightened me. Yes, the real world was bad, but only in here did the police give weapons to the bad guys to keep the population under control.

  In the wild, newborns and the older animals were killed first. It was easier to pick them off. It seemed logical that in here people would do the same. Kill the weak first so the strong can eat and survive. I couldn’t imagine the horror of having to protect your child twice a year from automatic weapons and people who killed mercilessly.

  “Anyway, enough chit-chat. We need to get ready.” Jonas glanced at his PCD. “We’ve got a full eleven hours to prepare.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Jonas and I left Raj’s house and headed toward the edge of the township. Along the way, he reached down and scooped up a few, heavy-looking sacks. He tossed them over his shoulder without breaking stride.

  My gaze wandered beyond the borders of the township. There were trees, small hills, and open fields with a mixture of high grass and red dirt. I saw the artificial stream that Jonas had spoken about. It was too far in the distance to know how wide or shallow it was, but if it was mainly for gathering water, I wouldn’t expect for it to be more than a few feet at its deepest and a few yards at the widest. The prison grounds were no battlefield. There were few places to hide, and no real barriers to keep anyone away.

  We came to an open area at the far end of the township. Jonas dropped the two sacks. He grabbed the end of one of them and yanked the back of it high. A few objects rolled out of the sack onto the ground. One was a bow, another was a sword, and finally, there was a whip made of what appeared to be jumpsuits.

  He lifted the bow first. He glanced at me while he held the weapon out toward me. “You think you can handle this?”

  I glared at the bow and then at his face. I did my best not to roll my eyes. “Let’s cut through this all this drama, okay. I’m a pretty bad shot with a normal gun, unless I’m completely still. I doubt I’ll be able to figure out how to split arrows like Robin Hood in a few hours.”

  “Okay. No bow.” He dropped the bow and then picked up the sword.

  I glared at the weapon. This was not the time to be a super-hero and boast about skills I didn’t have. I was a thief, not a sure shot, and definitely not a knight in glittering armor. “Honestly, I’m not sure if any of these are really my thing. I’d be likely to get killed trying to force myself to use one of them.”

  “Okay, fair enough.” He put the sword down. “Then, what’s your weapon?”

  “I think I am.” I stared into his eyes as he tried to understand. “Teach me how to fight. When I use my hands and improvise I do well. So, if I knew a few moves or understood more concepts of hand-to-hand, I think I could get them down before tonight.”

  “Well, you are officially my easiest student; probably the dumbest, but the easiest.” He rolled his arms in gigantic circles before stretching his legs. “I haven’t done this in a while, so I don’t want to break anything.”

  I wondered if I should be stretching, too. I reached above my head as far as I could. Afterward, I stood with my legs wide and bent down to touch the ground with my hands. There was a slight tightness around my knees that wasn’t there a week ago. I was in pretty good shape. I walked everywhere, but my three days of hospital captivity must have weakened my knees a bit. It wasn’t something I should worry about. I pickpocketed the guard easy enough.

  “Ok, where to start.” He walked over to me. “First off, you’re pretty tiny. What, hundred or so pounds?”

  My anger flared at his question. I wasn’t proud of being tiny. Food costs money, and I had very little. “Aren’t you supposed to never ask a lady her weight?”

  He glared.

  I sighed, knowing he meant no harm. “I weighed in at ninety-one pounds.”

  “And you’re what, five-two?”

  “Five-four,” I said a bit indignant.

  He took a step back, and his tone was almost a whine. “Are you even fifteen?”

  “Why does everybody say that? I’m sixteen!” I belted. I didn’t like being sized up. What did any of that have to do with teaching me how to fight?

  “Ugh,” he retorted. “Well, you won’t be winning any wrestling matches with those numbers. I’m guessing that you attack in spurts of power.” He began to circle me.

  He kept rambling on as I rolled my eyes around as many times as I could. “Your attackers probably underestimate you, then you attack them. Before they can think twice, the fight is over. Actually, that makes logical sense from everything that I’ve heard about you.”

  He stopped in front of me and ran his fingers over his beard. “Even the guard you stole the gun from, he probably misjudged you and wasn’t prepared. But all of this is good. This is really good.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it means that you have a secret weapon that no one expects.” He grinned.

  “Um, I have no earthly idea what you are saying.”

  “Goodness Paeton. It means you have the element of surprise. I bet that’s why the government orchestrated the interview. Even with the video feed of you talking to Rylan and the report of you killing someone—I don’t believe anyone in America thought you could do it. The guy that you stole the car from, he actually posted a selfie of you and him on the Internet. The photo got over half a billion likes—in two days. You’re a teddy bear with a gun, a fashion doll with a razor. You’re innocence and
death personified, and it totally fascinates people.”

  None of what he was saying was making any sense to me. How could I be both innocent and deadly? But if it was working, I saw no reason to fight it. If staying alive was about people thinking I was weak, then hey, I’d work this angle the same way that I worked my lucky left hand and the ‘imitation game.’

  A look of satisfaction filled Jonas’s face. “The interview was to show the American people—the world, that you were a killer.”

  “Did it work? Does everybody think that I can kill people?” I asked. I was starting to feel the prickles of fear again. I wondered why I was concerned about this. After all that had happened, did I really want the American people’s, maybe even the world’s, approval?

  “I don’t know. I do know that there are a lot of people out there who love you. Good or bad, they love you.”

  All of this talk of love and fame was starting to irritate my skin. However, deep within me, I wanted to know the answer. Why me over thousands of others? “But why do you think they love me?”

  He paused, and his face brightened. “I don’t know, but I think it might be because you’re what they aspire to be.”

  Me? Did they aspire to be me? I aspired to be anything but me.

  I wanted to smile and breathe in the fresh aroma of popularity. I thought about the Allison Riley shoes that I had coveted just ten days ago. Maybe, one day they would sell Paeton Washington Assault Rifles. I could see young girls everywhere showing off their sky blue, Paeton knives with pink trim, wear battle boots, or purchase sturdy backpacks instead of purses. I mean a girl’s got to keep her skimmer and lip gloss safe. People might even dress up like me in at one of those Comic-Sci-Fi conventions or on Cosplay Message Boards.

  At the same time, I missed how things were. When I was invisible, I gawked at the craziness of fame and the value people put on useless things. Would a pink and blue backpack with a sixteen-year-old convict’s name on the seam change the world?

  Even if there were a million people out there who found me even mildly entertaining, what did that really mean? Would these people take a bullet for me? How would this new found popularity get me out of prison? Or, help anyone?

  I pushed all of the ideas out of my mind. They wouldn’t help me now. I needed to focus and prepare. I couldn’t take the chance that my mental state could strip away my protection.

  “When are you going to teach me how to fight? Or, are you going to use compliments to save me tomorrow?” I was harsh, but I had to get back to work.

  “You’re right,” Jonas said. “Okay, first things first, show me your stance.”

  I positioned my body the best I knew how. I stood in a position that was half boxer and half martial artist based on the TV shows I’d seen. I really could have used some of Mulan’s fighting skills, but I guess even she had to learn them through a musical montage.

  Aside from the skirmishes of the last few days, I had been in few, if any, fights. There were rarely girls around my age. Even at the Stadium, most of the other girls were older. I tried not to give them a reason to bully me.

  “Mmmmmm,” Jonas murmured. “Not bad, actually. Maybe, you are a born fighter.”

  He circled me. After a few seconds, the side of my foot was nudged outward.

  “Widen your stance a bit.”

  He pushed my back forward.

  “Keep yourself at a slight lean, not too much. When you punch, you want the force to go forward. You don’t want to fall back or be caught off guard,” he said.

  Finally, he pushed up on my elbows which made my balled fingers rise higher.

  “Your hands should cover your nose and mouth, but not your eyes. If anyone swings at you, you can block if your arms are there.”

  I nodded.

  “Okay, good, we’ll call this first position for now. So, anytime I say ‘first position,’ this is what you’ll go to. For now, just relax,” he said.

  I stood and let my shoulders slump. Before I could get even half way comfortable, he yelled, “First position!”

  “Wha?” I asked.

  He ran around me and with a light push to my shoulders, knocked me over. My butt rammed into the hard ground. I rolled over and grabbed my hip bone.

  “What did you do that for? Are you trying to kill me before tomorrow?” I asked with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

  “You need to act immediately, on instinct. You can’t wait until your emotions catch up. You need to snap to readiness.”

  “Oh great, one of those types,” I mumbled and rolled myself up on my knees.

  I worked my way up to standing. A heavy force tugged on my shoulder. I fell over onto the ground again. This time my face pounded into the dirt and light grass.

  Oh Crix, he really was one of those types where everything is a lesson.

  “C’mon Paeton, you have to get up. I would have already killed you by now.”

  I lay there with red, Georgia soil in between my fingers, and knew he was right. I was not filled with adrenaline or passion or anything. I wasn’t in any real danger. My advantage was gone, and I had to think or move my way out of this.

  I spied around trying to see where he was and tuned my ears to hear his voice.

  “What’d you say?” I asked, trying to divert his attention.

  “I said…”

  Once the words were out of his mouth I rolled away as fast as I could and in one fluid motion pulled my body up to my feet. With a bit of pride brimming over my heart, I glared at him.

  He grinned. “Good job Paeton. Lesson number one, your enemies don’t care where the fight starts.”

  He reached into the second bag on the ground and pulled out what appeared to be a pillow type thing. He slid a pole into it and stuck the whole thing into a pre-dug hole in the ground.

  “Okay, so let’s see you hit this bag,” he said.

  With my guard raised, I moved closer to the pillow-dummy. I reared back and punched it as hard as I could. After a second of quiet, I punched with the other arm. I continued the motions. I led with the right and followed with the left for about a half-a-dozen times before I stopped.

  My torso heaved, and I pressed my palms to my knees to give my body support. My heart rammed my chest—so much for being in shape.

  “You tired?” he asked.

  “Uh, yeah,” I said.

  “Probably because you put too much into your punches.”

  Okay, this lesson was really starting to confuse me. I studied him for a few seconds.

  “Some fights are like checkers, others are like chess—” he started.

  I was tired of his ancient, wise man sayings that I barely understood. “No offense, but I do better without the metaphors.”

  He smiled again, but this time his eyebrows were twisted on his forehead. “You need to figure out the type of fight you are in. There will be times when you should punch with all of your might and try to knock out an opponent before they get started. But there are other times when you won’t be able to beat someone so quickly. Those times you have to pace yourself. Punch with two-thirds of your power and keep some energy within yourself. If you exhaust your energy, it’s as good as if someone knocked you out. There are multiple ways to beat someone. Exhaustion is a way to win.”

  I thought about all my battles and about what Rylan had said about tricky tech. Rylan didn’t like the fancy technology that gave someone literal superpowers because it drained the person of their energy. Sun Hi could move like lightning in her magna-boots, but she only had a two-to-three minute window to win. After that, a five-year-old could have beaten her because she was so tired.

  When I attacked Ms. Roller-Eyes, I did it quickly and was almost able to get away. However, with the police officer, I was barely able to wrestle his gun away from him. I used up all of my energy trying to push off the wall. If the fight had lasted thirty seconds longer, I may not have made it. I remembered the look in his eyes. He knew I was exhausted.

  When I killed Gover
nor Read, it was with my brain, not with my body. I couldn’t physically beat him. He was too strong. Like Jonas said, he was pacing himself.

  I forced myself to remember these things, to etch them at the forefront of my mind.

  Jonas reviewed a few other concepts with me, such as using the landscape around me as a weapon, knowing when to attack an enemy, throwing a weapon properly, and a few other fighting tidbits. Most of the time, he explained a concept and then gave me a real world example, like giving me three knives and having me toss them at a post. As with half of what I had been taught over the last ten days, I remembered the concept but my execution was poor.

  Depression filled my chest like a thick fog. It choked my lungs and made my chest tired. I tried to focus the depression and turn it into anger. If I could stay angry and keep my mind on Clarisse, then I could make it.

  After three hours, Jonas sat on the ground and gestured with his hand for me to sit down as well. I followed and sat on the cold ground as the sun began its descent into the sky.

  “If everything else fails, find a quiet place and blend into the background,” he said.

  “What’d you mean?”

  “Camouflage. Most of the time, you don’t need some fancy, multi-colored suit, you just need to find a place, cover your body with as much of the surrounding area as possible, and be extremely quiet.”

  I tried to picture what he was saying in my mind, but all I could think about was movies where the hero would cover themselves in mud or something weird like that.

  “If someone is in a rush, they aren’t considering everything. They’re just running and looking for movement. So if you can just be still, many times they’ll zip right past you. Now if they see you, it’s another story, but most of the time they won’t. People get caught because at the last minute they make some kind of noise when they are afraid. But if you find you’re becoming worried, try to look somewhere else or close your eyes for a moment and think of something nice to calm yourself.”

  I nodded. “Anything else?” I had a feeling that my training was done. I wasn’t sure how much of this would actually help me. I had only practiced each move a few times. No muscle memory would be created in three hours.