Nerve

by Kirsten Krueger

  Adara’s face flashed in a scowl. “Fine, ‘blood-vessel-bursting superpowers.’ I murder children for no reason, so you all must bow before me. Bow, I say!”

  “I don’t know if I’m capable of bowing while keeping the camera aimed at you,” Hartman said, the screen wobbling as he attempted the feat. Calder had to feign a coughing fit to contain his laughter at the furious bewilderment consuming the Rosses’ expressions.

  “No, no, aim it away from her!” a snippy voice boomed through the television’s speakers, and giggles of “Fraco” trailed through the lounge. “Give me the camera, Mr. Corvis! We don’t have time for this nonsense!”

  “You can’t even hold it, Fraco,” Hartman insisted, the image on the screen whizzing incoherently as the two grappled over the camera. “It’ll slip right out of your hands!”

  “Miss Stromer cannot be on television! This interview is for Mr. Periculy only!”

  “What, Mr. Grease, you don’t want the world to know the government has imprisoned an innocent girl in a cell with someone they believe to be a murderer?” Adara crooned as Hartman regained control over the camera. Finally landing on her again, it showed her hopping off the slab to approach the bars. From this angle, everyone could see the two she’d partially melted, now looking like distorted silver icicles.

  “Hello, world. I bet all of you assholes from my old high school are looking at me now and saying, ‘Damn, she’s a badass criminal.’ I won’t confirm or deny this, obviously, but I would like it to be known that I’m not generally this freakin’ repulsive. If I’d known I was going to be live on television today, I would have showered. Oh…wait, that’s right—I’ve been prohibited from showering for the past month because the Rosses are bitches—”

  “That—is—enough!” Fraco shrilled, jumping around in an attempt to obstruct the camera’s view of Adara with his own shiny face.

  “I think she might have managed to drop a curse in every sentence just then,” Calder mused, lips curving farther upward with every word. When Nero shot him a virulent glare, he quelled his amusement and added, “Just stating a fact.”

  “It’s not even a fact,” Nero muttered, arms now crossed over his chest. “She missed one in the second to last sentence. Was hoping she’d drop an f-bomb in there, too.”

  “Point the camera at Mr. Periculy, please, Mr. Corvis,” Fraco prompted on the television, his tone substantially more relaxed.

  “Go ahead, Ginger,” Adara sighed as she retreated to her slab. “I’ve said all I need to say—not all I want to say, but I’m not greedy.”

  A loud snort emitted from within the lounge, and Calder followed the sound to the yellow couch where Lavisa Dispus sat, aggressively sharpening a stick with a knife. The Rosses were too tangled in their own dismay to notice the girl or her weapons.

  “Okay…” Hartman mumbled as he readjusted the camera. “Fraco, don’t stand so close, man—you’re getting oil on the lens!”

  “Shush!” the vice principal barked, positioning himself beside the bars, his body partially directed toward the cell and partially directed toward the camera. Beyond him, Angor relaxed in his corner, hands folded placidly in his lap. He looked considerably cleaner than he had yesterday, and Calder wondered, with a hint of acrimony, if the Rosses had allowed him to shower for this interview. It didn’t seem to fit their agenda of making him look like some disgusting murderer, but if he’d appeared as unkempt as Adara, people would have suspected mistreatment—of which Adara had ensured public knowledge, anyway.

  “Mr. Periculy”—Fraco’s eyes darted between his clipboard and his former superior—“tell us: Why did you murder an innocent boy? Why are the Wackos targeting children? Should average Americans fear for their lives?”

  “I’m not sure how to answer that,” Angor replied frankly. “As far as I am aware, I did not murder an innocent boy—or any boy at all. Certainly not Hastings—”

  “No, no, no,” Fraco hissed, glancing nervously toward the camera. “Mr. Periculy—”

  “I apologize, Fraco, but I’m afraid the script you’ve given me is too oily to read.” Angor held up a yellowish piece of paper, and Fraco blanched, watery eyes popping in dismay.

  “We should have known the script would be a bad idea,” William whispered, just loud enough for Calder to hear.

  “You should have known this whole thing would be a bad idea,” he said, unable to keep the vindictive hilarity out of his inflection. “What made you think Angor would comply with incriminating himself as a murdering Wacko terrorist on national television?”

  Artemis shifted awkwardly, avoiding his inquisitive gaze. “We gave him…an incentive—a lesser sentencing when he’s found guilty tomorrow.”

  Not laughing proved a difficult task for Calder, but he managed to keep his mouth shut and swallow the demeaning insults on his tongue.

  “We need to put an end to this before it gets out of hand,” William said.

  “We’ll call the media station on the walk across town,” Artemis agreed as the two stalked past Nero and Calder toward the exit. “We need them to cut the feed as soon as possible…”

  Hurrying out of the lounge, destined for the police station, the Rosses left the students to watch the interview unfold with far less restraint. As Fraco repeated his questions and Angor refused to give the desired answers, the spectating students broke out into actual laughter, all reveling in the vice principal’s misery.

  “What a wonderful way to end this hellish day,” Nero remarked, and for a moment, Calder thought the darkness in his tone indicated he was about to attack the giggling students. When he pivoted to face Nero, however, the big bully’s lips formed a devious grin, those gray irises gleaming in a way that often invoked the slightest tinge of fear, even in Calder.

  “Listen up,” he bellowed, his deep voice silencing the entire lounge. The only noise that remained audible was Fraco’s choppy, desperate gabbing on the television. “At midnight tonight, I’ll be turning eighteen, and it appears Adara Stromer’s given me a nice little gift: The Rosses are preoccupied, and it seems unlikely that they’ll return here for a while.”

  Pausing, his gaze swept over the circular room, all heads turned toward him in apprehension. Calder had watched Nero beat up plenty of kids, but he wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to stand around while the brute pulverized the entirety of Periculand. He was prepared to interject and insist that the Reggs could come at any moment, but then Nero’s next words assuaged all dread with an unexpected thrill. “Let’s have a party.”

  30

  Fiery Fate

  Arguably, Key Fingers was a more atrocious driver than Avner, who had never even acquired a learner’s permit. Since her finger had been the key that powered the stolen van, she’d only used one hand to steer. Zeela had seen plenty of adults accomplish this with ease, but Key Fingers was old—perhaps borderline senile—and so her one-handed driving was a nauseating, death-defying experience. Naturally, everyone else in the vehicle had insisted they pull over as soon as they felt it was safer to stop and risk discovery than continue to allow her to drive.

  Charlie had taken the wheel at that point, but his turn hadn’t lasted long before he’d realized they were low on gas. Since they hadn’t possessed any money—nor had they wanted to be caught driving a Wacko van—the only real option was to pull into a parking lot and steal another car. The last time Zeela committed theft had induced guilt, but there had been no remorse this time.

  The night had cloaked their crime well: Without incident, they successfully claimed another car, this one much smaller, forcing Zeela to cram in the back with Tray and Seth’s parents. From there, they’d driven north to where the Starks owned a small cabin in the woods, not far from Lake Erie—and Cleveland, she’d acknowledged with unease. She hadn’t forgotten Naretha accidentally informing them that Wacko Headquarters was located near the city. Although it had been her goal to arrive at the hideout and retrieve Maddy all along, now that they knew Danny sought the Starks—and
might have been linked to the research facility—Zeela wanted to flee far, far away.

  Despite these persistent worries, she’d been securely snuggled in the Starks’ cabin for almost a week now. No Wackos had ambushed them when they’d arrived at the tiny structure nestled in the woods, and they’d survived six peaceful days of freedom and tranquility.

  Though they couldn’t visit a hospital, Linda Stark was skilled enough with medicine to suture the bullet wound on Zeela’s upper arm. It still ached, but she was profusely grateful the woman had been able to mend her—especially with her own broken hand, which, as Zeela’s eyes detected, remained unhealed.

  Richard constantly fretted over his wife’s wellbeing, but Linda repeatedly assured him she was all right, even though Zeela saw the swollen nature of her hand and the building tension in her muscles. The woman masked her pain well, and she’d spent the past week patiently teaching Zeela anatomical terms. Learning the names of bones and muscles and even organs helped her immensely when trying to discern people and their feelings, and with her state of panic mitigating, she began to see shapes and objects with more clarity.

  Still, auras were removed from her realm of perception, as were distinct physical features and anything with an artistic nature. Because of this, Zeela had been unable to observe the cabin’s aesthetic, but the layout was clear in her mind. Currently, she sat on a soft couch in the living room, facing a television that she saw only as a blob of heat. Beyond the television lay a dining room, where Charlie read a book, and to the left of that room dwelled the kitchen, where Richard cooked soup. To the left of where Zeela sat was the cabin’s sole bedroom, the bed of which Key Fingers napped in. She saw each of them with as much clarity as she saw Linda, who sat on the couch beside her, purposely warping the muscles of her face and prompting Zeela to recite them.

  “Which muscle am I moving now?”

  Banishing her heat vision and focusing solely her new ability to view human tissue, Zeela noticed the small muscles above either one of Linda’s eyes pressing inward and downward, an expression Zeela recognized as the furrowing of her brow.

  “The corrugator supercilii—and between them the procerus muscles are being utilized, too. Your eyebrows must be creased, perhaps in anger or frustration or confusion.” She leaned back slightly when the muscles around Linda’s mouth—particularly the zygomaticus major and minor in her cheeks—contracted to form what she perceived as a smile. It wasn’t as reliable as her auras had been, but at least now she felt a little less disconnected from human emotions.

  “It’s so fascinating to me that you can see it all,” Linda said, not for the first time. The woman, who had confessed to being a scientist, had been utterly enthralled with Zeela’s Affinity since discovering it. This interest had disturbed Zeela at first, but the woman had proven docile and humane, never asking anything intrusive or touching her outside of the purposes of instruction.

  “I’m still getting used to it. Organic, living matter is the easiest for me to detect now, but I’m slowly getting better with other elements and objects,” Zeela explained, scratching the back of her scruffy head. Less than an inch of hair rested on her scalp, and now that she had the ability to use her limbs, it was strange not to run her fingers through her previously long locks.

  Her lack of hair was the least of her concerns, but being cooped up in this small space for the past week had given her time to dwell on the abundance of awful aspects in her life. In any other circumstance, Zeela would have thought learning anatomy tedious and boring, but now the only alternative was to wonder what type of torture Avner and Jamad currently endured.

  Clearing her throat, she pried her mind out of the hopeless thoughts and redirected her attention to Linda. “My sight was different before…” She motioned vaguely toward her missing left eye, and the woman dipped her chin in understanding. “I was born blind, but my Affinity gave me the ability to see things no one else can. I spent a lot of time perfecting my sight in Periculand, but it seems like it was a waste now.”

  The muscles near Linda’s mouth moved in a way that Zeela assumed meant she pursed her lips in contemplation. After a moment, the woman quietly asked, “What was Periculand like?”

  “I enjoyed it,” Zeela said, attempting to breeze over the fond memories and avoid the heartache that now accompanied them. “Better than my parents’ house, at least. Now, though, with Angor in jail…I can’t imagine how different it could be.”

  Linda sighed and slumped back into the couch. They’d heard on the television not long ago that Angor Periculy had joined the Wackos and killed Hastings Lanio, prompting the Regg ambassadors to take charge of the town. Zeela’s initial reaction had been one of deep despair. Her sister had never been one to gush about her feelings, but Eliana and Hastings had been a pair, and to think Angor had murdered him…

  The very concept seemed outlandish to Zeela; she was convinced the Regg media twisted the story to make Affinities look dangerous. How convenient it would have been for them to label Angor a Wacko and then hostilely overthrow his leadership, claiming a town of Affinities as their own.

  The news of the Reggs’ hold on Periculand was the only reason they hadn’t left the cabin for the town. On the first morning they’d been here, they’d heard mention of the Regg ambassadors’ control, and from there they’d gathered bits of new information every day, like that terrorist explosions had erupted in Cleveland, and the government now detained any person with oddly-colored hair, and an oversized falcon had been spotted numerous times in central Ohio—all solidifying their decision to remain stagnant.

  Zeela longed to reunite with Avner, Jamad, Maddy, and Eliana, too, but the risks and inevitable failures were too abundant to form a plan. The inaction ate at her insides, but whenever she thought of encountering the Wackos, that monstrous bird, or more Regg researchers, she really began to savor the softness of this sofa, the feeling of freedom.

  “I’m worried about my son, Seth,” Linda said, playing with what Zeela could vaguely detect as the hem of her shirt. “Tray has never been a rebellious type, always following the rules and striving to achieve, but Seth…I fear he might try to defy the Regg ambassadors—might get himself in trouble. He has a good heart, but…sometimes his common sense isn’t there. And with Adara in jail, he must be reacting poorly.”

  Zeela hadn’t known the Stark twins very well, but from how Tray had defied Nero in JAMZ, Linda’s view of Seth as the assertive leader didn’t seem to align.

  “Seth always needed our guidance more than Tray,” Linda continued, head tilted toward the ceiling. “I felt so bad leaving them, but…we knew they would get taken to Periculand.”

  Zeela’s eyebrows creased. “What…do you mean?”

  Expelling a breath, Linda shifted where she sat and ran a hand over her head. “I was the analyst who examined the blood samples of teenagers in Ohio, determining whether they had an Affinity. I vaguely remember testing yours years ago, one of the first… When I realized this past summer that my sons both possessed the chromosome, I was obviously distraught because of how Affinities are treated in this country. Richard and I have always been involved with Affinities—him and his journalism, me and my research—but with our sons actually having the chromosome…we knew it was only a matter of time before the Wackos discovered our identities.

  “So, even though we didn’t want to see our sons go, we allowed Angor to have them. The day they were taken—also the day Adara got arrested,” Linda added with exasperation, “we knew Fraco and Aethelred were coming. After we left the police station, we planned to go to my office and collect some files before heading back to our house to say goodbye, but when we arrived at my facility, there was a hooded man waiting there for us.

  “Running was futile. He—he definitely had an Affinity, and I’m still not quite sure what he did to us, but we were captured, and all I remember was waking up in that little underground room, both Richard and I chained to beds. We assumed our captors were Wackos, but…now I don�
��t know what to think.”

  “And I thought they were Reggs but…I don’t know what to think, either. Why would the Reggs want you and why would the Wackos want us?”

  Linda bit her lip, presumably in awkward reluctance. “The researchers were fairly intrigued by my knowledge. Numerous times they brought me down to their lab to help them with samples and data. I never saw any of the prisoners, but…the walls weren’t thick enough to block out the screams. I knew what was going on. I wish there was something I could have done to stop it.”

  “At least they’re all dead now,” Zeela muttered, almost wishing they were alive again so she could kill them with her own two hands. Violence had never been in her nature, but as she pondered what they’d done to her and her friends, her fists curled with aggression.

  Contemplating these murderous thoughts, her vision fixed on the opposite wall above the television, where a small insect crawled. The beetle moseyed downward, its pace steady as it disappeared behind the television screen. Squinting, she used her x-ray vision to see past the heat of the TV and focus on the bug again, but once she did, she noticed it had vanished.

  Then, a moment later, a rat scurried across the floor.

  Stilling, Zeela blinked and said, “Do you have a rat problem in this cabin?”

  “No.” Linda sat up with gradually growing alarm. “Did you—”

  Her husband’s scream interrupted her question.

  Both Zeela and Linda jumped to their feet, and in the dining room Charlie scrambled out of his chair, grabbing it in his hands to wield it as a weapon. Honing in on the kitchen, Zeela found that, as Charlie charged in with his chair, a giant dog attacked Richard, biting at his leg in an attempt to drag the man down. Too focused on its task, the dog didn’t realize Charlie’s entrance, and so he thwacked the beast with his chair, releasing its grip on Richard as a yelp echoed through the cabin.

  “I know Richard hid a gun in here somewhere…” Linda rummaged through drawers and clutter that Zeela could hardly see. Her vision was trained on the kitchen, anyway, where the dog…broadened, its muscles and bones all elongating and widening until the animal had assumed the form of a bear.