Blood Awakens

by Jessaca Willis

  “Man, ‘cause that’s just plain unsanitary,” he said with a wink.

  Santiago had only one thing on his mind: that the likelihood of him ever feeling normal again was beginning to feel hopeless. “But I don’t understand how I’m ever going to learn how to control myself if this stupid thing is doing it for me. I don’t see the point. Isn’t there a way to lose my power permanently?”

  Sean’s gaze lowered as he cupped a hand to Santiago’s shoulder, this time holding him there so that the only thing Santiago could do was look him in the eyes. “Try not to get discouraged. You can learn to control it, to make it a part of who you are. We could even set you up with Carson. He can help you—”

  Santiago threw his arms into the air hopelessly before Sean could finish. Like Mara before, he stormed off, but in the direction of the medical facilities.

  Why did everyone just assume he was going to accept his affliction? He hated feeling controlled by his Awakened deficiency. There were so many things that were no longer within his grasp because of it. He could never be around people without being bombarded by each precise emotion they were having. He could never be around his friends and family without feeling weighted down by them. He couldn’t even leave the community without a ridiculous earring.

  Although he wasn’t in a cell, he too was a prisoner.

  How could any of them learn to embrace their new identity when it left them all so isolated? All he ever wanted was to live a normal life. He didn’t ask to be Awakened, and if he could, he would rid himself of the burden entirely.

  Not suicide. Santiago would never leave his sister alone like that. No, he would endure the burden, if not only to be around for her sake. But if he could have one wish granted, it would be to somehow lose touch with his Awakened side. Permanently.

  Off in the distance, he could see Mara preparing for her afternoon training session. All this time he had dreamed of their meeting, of developing something meaningful with her. But that reality seemed trapped by obsidian bars. Now he was able to see he actually was a prisoner, confined in a metaphorical box, kept at a distance from his dreams. How utterly maddening.

  If it was the last thing he did, he would find a way to become Unawakened somehow, so that he could be his true self again.

  Thankfully, at least he had his sister to talk to once again. Fortunately, whatever sickness she had caught from the woman at the border no longer seemed life threatening.

  Even after she had arisen for the first time, it had still taken her a few more days until she was moving again. Mainly, she’d slept. A lot. But occasionally they’d played cards, or she’d worked on a Mad Libs book with Adelaide—the two of them had seemed to have formed an instant connection.

  Today was the first day Graciela had been up and moving on her own. She looked like she was making a full recovery; no one would ever have guessed that not five days earlier she looked like a valkyrie might come sweep her away.

  That’s how Santiago had found himself out and about as well, because he’d wanted to take advantage of the first chance he’d have at exploring Hope. To his disappointment, he hadn’t made it very far.

  As far as Santiago could tell, it was just him and the prisoners who were essentially quarantined to the jail. Not that it was the only place within USTOTA’s power, but there wasn’t much else: Sean’s home, a small corner of the medic tent, a few other random shops, and living quarters.

  His Awakened condition seemed much more onerous than some of the others, even with an insert to allow him to move “freely” across the encampment. Free. Like that word even held any meaning anymore.

  “Oh good, you’re up and moving again! I was worried about you!” Apparently word of his earlier adventure had already reached his sister. That was for the best. He didn’t want to have to recount it anyway. “Did you talk with Mara? She was telling me that—”

  “Yes, we’ve talked. And I don’t need to hear it a third time.” The words tasted just as vile on his tongue as they sounded once breathed to life, but he couldn’t muster the patience to listen to anything else about the USTOTA, or anything else Awakened-related for that matter. “Can we talk about something else? I thought out of everyone, you would help calm me down, not remind me of all the reasons I have to be angry.”

  “Angry? Is everything—”

  The sharp, pointed expression Santiago flashed her way was enough to cut through steel.

  It was obvious that Graciela wanted nothing more than to continue the conversation, but like their mother—so he was told—she was adept at putting others before herself. Sometimes he wished she wouldn’t because it made him feel guilty. Other times, he’d feel irate when he saw others abusing this quality. But in this moment, he was glad she was letting them move on.

  “I finally finished that manual you gave me, the one about the Awakened Authority.”

  “You’re already done? Ay caramba, Gracie.”

  She tucked her chin under. “What? It wasn’t that long. I didn’t even want to put it down. Everything was so fascinating. I never knew something like the Awakened Authority existed!”

  Santiago guffawed. “Of course, of all the books you read, it’s a manual that you find interesting. Not any of the stories about tribes of werewolves, or the one about the serpent who ate the world, that I tried getting you to read.”

  “Those were boring…and honestly kind of childish.”

  His jaw snapped open. “Were not!”

  With a quickness, and a sharp roll of the eyes, Graciela changed the subject. “I just met with Dr. Gallagher. He’s a blood guide too, just like Sean. Apparently, he learned a lot about medicine and the body just by adopting the ability. He had only just finished his certification when the Awakening happened. But now he says he has some sort of relationship with blood and bodies that is indescribable.”

  “Creepy.”

  Graciela chuckled, likely solely due to his discomfort. But then her mood darkened. “At least he’s saving people. At least he’s using his Awakened skills to do good.”

  The accusation caught Santiago off guard. “Well, he is a doctor. What else would he be doing?”

  “The blood guides we met in Mexico weren’t so compassionate.”

  “Yeah,” he said curtly. The topic of the Sanguinatores made his throat tighten. For both encounters, he’d been utterly useless.

  Luckily, his sister changed the subject. “Dr. Gallagher asked me to start working here with him. No one’s passed away here yet, but he’s just one person, and there have been times when he hasn’t been able to help as quickly as he’d liked. But with an extra pair of hands…” Graciela seemed to be bursting at the seams when she blinked up at him. “He says they can really use me…my skills.”

  “I’m sure they can, especially with the skills you already have.”

  “Pfft, there’s still a lot to learn in the medical field, some of which he won’t be able to teach me because he doesn’t even know. But you’re right. It’s an advantage that I’ve already had some training. I’ll be more useful that way.”

  Santiago nodded. It came as no surprise to him that she would choose to work with their medical department—or whatever they were calling it. Back home, he remembered listening to her stories about saving patients and always remembered how she would light up. She couldn’t help it. It was in her genes. De tal palo, tal astilla, as his father would say.

  He, on the other hand, had never cared much for the “saving” professions. It wasn’t like he would leave someone to die if he saw them in need. It was just never a calling for him like it was for Graciela. Instead he preferred to be active, constantly moving around inside or outside, never wasting a second that passed by. He enjoyed feeling like his physical body was useful, as well as his mind, which was why fútbol resonated with him so well. That, and he just seemed to have a natural talent for it.

  “And what about you?”

  “What about me?” Santiago protested. “I’m not qualified to have these people’s
lives in my hands.”

  “No, obviously not.”

  They both chuckled. The thought of him being responsible for anyone’s life but his own was absurd. A few weeks ago, he barely had a handle on even that.

  “But what could you see yourself doing here?” asked Graciela. “I know you don’t want to stand around doing nothing forever.”

  The question hit like a brick to the chest. It was something he’d spent a significant amount of time thinking about, considering he’d been holed up in a room with nothing much else to do but grapple with his thoughts. It was safe to assume that their journey here, the entire past few months, had been meant to lead them to a new life, a permanent residence. It only made sense that now they would find a way to be useful for the rest of their lives.

  But what that would be, he had no clue. It wasn’t like Hope needed a fútbol team. Entertainment was not necessarily a primary concern in the apocalypse, unlike medical knowledge.

  “Santi…”

  It was upsetting to helplessly watch as his dreams were yet again ripped away from him without him even realizing it. Despite his pessimism, for some reason he had just assumed he would someday resume his spot on La Liga Nacional de Fútbol de Guatemala. That he’d see his teammates again, that they’d grab a beer and blather on and on about the crazy lives they had during the distant memory of the Awakening.

  “Santi?”

  But that would never happen. Too much change had happened.

  How foolishly naive he had been to believe that the world would ever return to its former state.

  “Santi!”

  The sharpness of Graciela’s tone reeled him in enough to bring him back from his spiraling thoughts. “Huh?”

  “You were lost in your mind again. You don’t need to have it all figured out yet.” With gentleness, she added, “There are plenty of things to do around here. There are probably jobs we’ve never even heard of or thought about. The world has changed, and with it, our needs.”

  “Mm-hmm.” He nodded again, partially listening but largely drifting back to the solitude of those pessimistic, but likely accurate notions.

  “If you’re that worried about it—” Graciela began.

  Defensively, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “I’m not worried about it.”

  One brow raised. “You can’t fool your sister. I can see it in your two lost, scared eyes. They are screaming at the world right now, your distress so obvious that even I can feel the uneasiness pouring off you. So let me try to be helpful and say my piece.”

  Though he acquiesced, he did so with an elaborate roll of the eyes and slumped into a nearby unforgiving chair.

  “I was going to say, if you’re that worried about it, try talking with Sean. I think he really wants us to feel at home here, and he would know better than anyone what they need.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, if only to get her to drop the conversation.

  “Oh look!” Suddenly, Graciela stood, a finger outstretched toward a plastic-covered window. “There he is now. I’ll run and grab him.”

  “No, wait. You don’t have…”

  Before he could protest further, his sister darted off to the other end of the medical center, spryer than ever. “Sean! Do you have a minute?”

  It astonished Santiago how much energy she had today, considering a few days earlier he was afraid he might lose her forever.

  Through the weaved canvas walls, Sean must’ve heard her because before she could even make it to the door, Sean entered. Together, they walked back to Santiago, an animated Graciela likely giving Sean a retelling of their conversation.

  “I’m glad you’re thinking about these things. I want to show you something,” Sean said.

  The three of them walked outside toward the small house that Graciela had been sleeping in for the past week. They circled behind it to another building of equal stature, beside the obsidian pole. Santiago couldn’t help but glower at its foreboding, isolating walls.

  “This here is where we have our holding cells.” Sean’s arms swept out as they approached the cement structure. “It doesn’t happen often, but every once in a while we place people in here for our protection or their own.”

  “You put people in there for their own protection?” Santiago shot a finger out to the jail. His temper never could be leashed. “So they haven’t even done anything wrong. You just lock them up?”

  “Calma, Santi. Didn’t you read the manual? There are rules about these things. It’s not like it’s random. Right, Sean?”

  Sean held Santiago’s challenging gaze, the cheeriness of his usual cadence withering away. “Believe me, by the time it comes to that, they are usually pleading for us to bring them here. No one likes hurting the people around them or feeling out of control. We bring them here so they can regain control of themselves and then we work with them from within the boundary to help them develop their ability safely.”

  “Makes sense,” Graciela interjected. “But how does the boundary help?”

  Amused, Santiago pointed at his ear. “Oh yeah, did I show you my cool new jewelry?”

  With a quick twitch of the lip, his somber face blossomed with jest. “To be honest, your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that one of our Awakened allies, Zamira, has a special ability that allows her to alter objects. They call her a creator. If she’s ever in town, I’ll be first in line to pick her brain about what she does and how she does it.”

  It sounded even more unnatural than all the other Awakened types to Santiago, which caused him to glower uncontrollably. Something about this conversation told him he didn’t like where it was leading.

  “Anyway, those are the pleasant circumstances in which we bring people here. There are others inside who have intentionally tried harming people here, some who abused their power. Much like the way things were done before the Awakening, they are given a trial and sentenced.”

  “I read about trials in that manual. A First Sentient and two other Order members are present for the hearing. You would need all three’s approval to banish or…” Graciela swallowed harshly before finishing. “To execute someone.”

  The thought brought bile to the back of Santiago’s throat. Wasn’t that what places like Hope were fighting against? The death of each other? It seemed kind of hypocritical to him.

  “Someone’s been reading the manual! You’re not wrong, but that’s only required for the more extreme crimes. Thank the Mothers no one’s ever been murdered or raped here. For more trivial offenses, it’s usually just the community leadership team that decides. Here, that would mean Amal, Mara, and myself. Though we’d like to invite someone new to join us, someone who is seen as objective and whose sole purpose is in maintaining justice in the community.”

  Now Santiago really didn’t like where this was going.

  “In addition to the trial, most are also given a type of polygraph test.”

  Graciela and Santiago exchanged a questionable look. Although they had spent years in school and studied vigorously, there were still many words in the English language that they were unfamiliar with. Of course, that was true even for native speakers.

  Sean elaborated. “It’s one of those machines that measures things like pulse, blood pressure, frequency of breaths, to determine if someone is lying.”

  “Ah, polígrafo,” they sang in unison, understanding settling in.

  “Only, we do it a bit differently now. We don’t exactly own a polygraph machine.” A lighthearted laugh eased from his lungs. “Even if we did, I doubt there’s anyone here who is trained to read one.”

  Graciela appeared lost. “So how do you conduct polygraph tests without the machine?”

  Santiago on the other hand had already figured out why they had been brought there. “With people like me.”

  Cautiously, Graciela glanced at Santiago, and he tried avoiding the hopeful eyes that he knew would be staring him down. She knew how much he hated his Awakened ability, but it still seemed like she hope
d someday he’d learn to accept it.

  Sean nodded slowly in agreement.

  Rather than outright yelling at Sean that he was an idiot for thinking Santiago would ever be a part of something like this, something that involved using his Awakened affliction, he took up an argument that would be more difficult to counter. “So this is your plan for me? To manage the jail and give polygraph tests? Did you miss the part where I said I can’t control it?”

  “You’re right. You’re nowhere near ready for the job yet.” Sean spoke frankly, his words leaving Santiago raw, but they were also slightly refreshing since he knew their truth. “But with practice and training, Mara and I believe you would be a great candidate.”

  Something about today had Santiago on edge. He knew that he should be more appreciative, that Sean was only trying to be nice, but the assumption that he would lock himself away in a jail all day, conducting tests using the power that he fervently hated left him dizzy with rage.

  “You barely know me. And Mara, she probably only recommended me so I’d be stuck in this horrible place and out of her hair.” The anger that had raged through him instantly reduced to sorrow and self-loathing, his head a deflated balloon atop his shoulders.

  “We don’t need to know your whole life story to know that you are resilient and strong, both physically and mentally. You and your sister survived for months on the road. Alone. That’s impressive. But then, let’s take into consideration who you are. You’re an empath.”

  Santiago cringed at the specification.

  “Do you realize that most empaths don’t live as long as you did without assistance? Many die within a few weeks. But you, on the other hand, somehow managed to fight it for months.”

  Santiago was overcome with shame. It wasn’t his strength that got him there. It was his sister. Without her, he would’ve died in an alley some time ago.

  “I’d say you’re lucky to be alive, but I think it’s more than luck that helped you. You don’t seem like the kind of person to just give up. Even when things were at their worst, when you were entirely unconscious or feeling hopeless, you still fought for your life and for hope. That is exactly the type of person we need. People who still see hope.”