Altered: A Dystopian Sci-Fi Adventure (Rogue Spark Book 1)

by Cameron Coral

  Altered

  Rogue Spark Book One

  Cameron Coral

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Also by Cameron Coral

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  One

  12 October 2039

  Down on my knees and bleeding from my mouth—this wasn’t how I’d hoped to spend my seventeenth birthday. I climbed to my feet despite shaking legs.

  “Fight. Fight. Get her,” the boys and girls in the yard chanted, their bodies forming a wall around us—a barrier to block the wary eyes of the adult supervisors at the Woodlawn Youth Improvement Center. As if the staff cared whether we beat each other to a pulp. They usually ignored the footage from the hovering aerial drones and only intervened in brawls when one of us fell unconscious.

  Today, I fought Marc—the biggest kid at Woodlawn. He faced me, fists raised before his chest. As he shuffled forward and threw a long jab, I ducked under his reach and slipped behind him.

  Shifting my balance, I side-kicked Marc behind his knee. Just like Joanie had taught me all those years ago living on the streets in Hell’s Kitchen. Go for the weak spots, she’d said. Eyes, throat, crotch, knees. And so I did. Usually, it worked out well for me, but Marc was the largest boy I’d ever had to fight.

  My kick caused him to stumble, but he recovered and snarled, “You bitch, you’re going to pay for that.” His face gleamed red and sweat matted his greasy brown hair to his forehead.

  How had I gotten myself into this situation?

  I glanced at Reed who lingered on the inner rim of the circle. The shortest of the kids, his smudged glasses had been knocked crooked, and the birthmark on his cheek—a port wine stain as he called it—could not mask the growing welt shining brightly where Marc had clobbered him.

  Like an idiot, I’d told Marc what a piece of shit he was. You’re a softie, Joanie used to tell me. You care too much, and one day it will get you in trouble. Maybe she was right. How I missed her and my old New York crew.

  Marc wasn’t used to anyone landing a punch, much less a kick. He lurched forward, swinging his arms. This time, I couldn’t avoid his attack, and he landed three solid hooks, knocking the wind out of me. The sound of his fists slamming into my ribs ricocheted off the institution’s brick walls.

  I staggered, and Marc let up, smirking as he checked for an audience reaction.

  “Come on, Ida,” Reed encouraged.

  “Knockout,” the others chanted.

  Doubled over, I gasped for air. Winded by Marc’s brutal blows, I barely had time to react before he lunged forward and caught my chin with a swift uppercut.

  God, it hurt. I fell on my back, and darkness edged my vision. Get up! I could hear Joanie like a voice in the crowd. Never let your opponent get you on the ground. I rolled onto my stomach where my face would be more protected. I crawled, scanning for an escape through the legs of the circle.

  But Marc gripped my ankles and dragged me to the center. He circled, then kicked me fiercely in the side. Then he booted me again. Each time his foot jammed into my ribs felt like a log bashing into me. Why had I picked a fight with someone so big?

  I curled up in a fetal position, and a frowning Reed peered down. “I’ll get help,” he said and scurried through the mess of bodies.

  “Not so tough now, are you?” Marc hissed in my ear as he squatted and seized my shoulder, twisting me onto my back. He gripped both shoulders and pulled my face toward his.

  I hawked and spat. Red-faced, he flung me down and straightened as he wiped his cheek with a sleeve. “Bitch!”

  The adolescent horde erupted in a frenzied chorus of jeers. “You gonna let her treat you like that, Marc? What the hell?”

  He answered with a loud roar and clenched fists, parading for the rabid circle of fellow delinquents. Joanie’s voice echoed in my mind. Bold move. Girl, I hope you can back it up. She was right; she was always right. Now, I needed to be brave or this guy might do permanent damage.

  Scrambling onto all fours, I crouched in wait. Caught up in a furious display as he paced the edges of the throng, Marc hadn’t noticed yet. I rose and straightened, feeling every tender inch of my battered torso. “Hey, asshole,” I said.

  He turned in surprise and headed toward me. I swiveled on my left hip and swung my right leg out and up in a massive roundhouse kick that struck his shoulder. The kick, my most powerful, pushed him off kilter a few inches. Oh, crap. Was this guy made of steel?

  He clamped his mouth into a thin line, eyes narrowed and fixated on me. He surged forward, meaty fists raised. But I pivoted my right knee sideways and slammed my foot into his groin. A grunt emerged from deep in his throat. His hands flew to his crotch and he sunk to his knees. The mob grew quiet.

  I followed up with another roundhouse that struck Marc’s temple. His massive frame dropped to the ground with a thud.

  The onlookers withdrew a few steps. Then the outraged whispers began. “Damn, who does she think she is? How could she do that to Marc? Is he going to be okay?”

  I was used to getting shuffled around between Improvement Centers. It meant coming up against the ringleader every single time. I had to send Marc and his friends a message. Could I make life easier for Reed and the other bullied kids?

  I dropped onto him, my knee jamming into the small of his back. Then I grabbed his right arm and wrenched it behind him, close to the breaking point. He yelped, a surprisingly shrill noise for such a large dude.

  Reed had returned, and a huge grin lit up his face.

  With my other hand, I seized a tangle of Marc’s hair at the scalp and yanked it hard, twisting his head so I could whisper in his ear. “Asshole, do I have your attention now?”

  He panted and gulped. “Yargh.”

  I twisted his arm tighter, sharpening his pain. “I can’t hear you.”

  “Y-yes! Let go! Please!”

  “Listen to me, douchebag. The next time you pick on someone smaller, I’ll find you and hurt you real bad. If you even look at Reed cross-eyed, I will hunt you down and make sure you never walk the same again. Got it?”

  “Yes,” he whimpered.

  “This holds even if I’m no longer here. I have spies here now, and they’ll tell me what you did, and I’ll send my gang to hurt you. If you think I’m tough to fight, you should meet my friend Joanie. She’ll come for you.”

  I tossed him face first into the dirt and stormed off to my corner of the yard, under the small tree where I often sat alone.

  The crowd dispersed. Marc’s entourage left with their chins down.

  That afternoon, the younger bully victims like Reed carried themselves a little taller.

  Two

  “Kids will be kids.” John Kilpatrick smiled, fidgeted, and cleared his throat. The head of the Woodlawn Youth Improvement Center knew it wasn’t every day an attractive power couple waltzed into his office looking to adopt. In fact, only two children had been adopted during the five years h
e’d been in charge. His center—a combination detention facility and orphanage—had always been shafted for funding and government support. Woodlawn had yet to get the high-tech upgrade that had been promised—invisible electrified fencing, robot guards, and bio-tracker chips for all the juvies and orphans. The thing he craved the most was the ability to administer a steady sedation command through the embedded chip. Experience had taught him there was no other way to control adolescents, especially unruly ones like Ida Sarek.

  The couple who had introduced themselves as Seth and Martha Jensen, gazed out of the third-floor office window, rapt with attention at the fight taking place below in the recess yard.

  Those goddamn kids. Of course, they had to brawl just when visitors showed up. Kilpatrick would have to dole out punishment later. Ida had been trouble since she arrived three weeks ago. Her case file read like a crime sheet, and she’d been shuffled between youth centers. He’d already put in for another transfer, citing her “unmanageable, violent tendencies and outbursts.”

  “The girl is quite strong,” said Martha, “even though the boy outmatches her in size and strength.”

  “Yes, well.” Kilpatrick reached for the cord to close the blinds. “I’m sure my administrators will be out promptly to break up the fight.”

  “No, please.” Martha raised her hand to stop him. “We’d like to keep watching.”

  Seth chimed in. “We’re psychiatrists, you see. It’ll help us know what we’re getting into with our adoption.”

  “I see,” said Kilpatrick. “Surely, you’d like to see all of your options?” He handed Seth a tablet. “I loaded the case files of our girls, ages seven to eleven. They’re our most eligible—”

  “We’ve already decided.” Martha never lifted her eyes from the brawl. “Haven’t we, honey?”

  Seth returned the tablet to Kilpatrick. “Right. We appreciate the thought and preparation you put into this, but we’re keen on the girl named Ida.”

  Kilpatrick peered into the courtyard below. Where the hell were Simkins and the other supervisors? The altercation had gone on long enough. If he wasn’t careful, the couple might lodge a complaint against him.

  Down below, Ida kicked Marc Mal in the head. Kilpatrick noticed Martha’s smile as the young man crashed to the ground, his body limp.

  “You should read her file,” said Kilpatrick, offering the tablet. “At least do me that favor. I want you to know what you’re getting into. Other girls would be more obedient and easier to manage.”

  Martha turned to face him. “We know how to handle a youngster like her. We’re professionals.” A shiver traveled up Kilpatrick’s spine as he sensed something ominous behind her smile.

  Her husband took the tablet from Kilpatrick and browsed Ida’s file.

  “Thanks for humoring me.” Kilpatrick paced. “The girl was homeless, living on the streets of New York City. You can imagine how dangerous that would have made her. Plus, she was part of a gang.”

  Seth nodded as he scanned through the digital file.

  Martha crossed her arms. “Go on.”

  “They finally arrested her stealing drugs from a pharmacy. The police had to stun her. They nearly shot her in self-defense, she put up such a struggle. Since then, she’s been shuffled between four other Improvement facilities in the state.”

  “Why?” asked Seth.

  “Fighting with the other kids, mostly. She hit a guard in one center and spent a week in solitary confinement for that little display. She’s what we call a lost cause.”

  Martha raised her eyebrows.

  “With her history and being that she’s seventeen—today, actually—and the fact we eject them when they hit eighteen, she’s not adoptable. Who'd want her? She’s damaged goods.” He chuckled. “They might as well line up her jail cell now.”

  Martha frowned and squeezed Seth’s hand. “That’s a terrible prognosis, Mr. Kilpatrick. Ida is exactly the girl we’ve been looking for. We’ll give her a home, routine, and a purpose in life. She’ll be a changed person.”

  Kilpatrick couldn’t believe this couple would want Ida, of all the girls in his detention center. Why on earth would they want responsibility for the troublemaker? He’d bet a fortune they would return her within the week. Could he refuse to take her back?

  “You’re certain of this? You know the risk you’re getting into? She’s had a violent history and you can see that she’s no stranger to fighting.” He coughed and lowered his voice. “You understand I can’t take her back once she leaves with you.”

  A glance passed between the couple. Martha approached Kilpatrick and rested a long elegant hand on his shoulder. “Thank you so much for your concern. You’ve given us fair warning. In fact, you’ve gone above and beyond, and I’ll be contacting your supervisor to tell him the exemplary job you’re doing here.” She smiled and batted long lashes while Seth produced a fat envelope stuffed with cash and slid it onto Kilpatrick’s desk. “Surely, you can expedite this process? No need for all that useless paperwork. My husband and I accept full responsibility for the girl, and we’ll return for her tomorrow at noon.”

  As the smile spread across Kilpatrick’s face, he thought it was about time something good happened to him for a change.

  Three

  “When he went down… man, I couldn’t even believe it,” Reed said, trailing me as I paced the yard the next morning. “I mean, mind-blown. Ker-boom!” He reached his scrawny hands to his temple and splayed his fingers, mimicking a blast.

  “These things happen,” I said. “Don’t count on someone saving your ass next time you get harassed.”

  He fell silent, and I winced as I neared the fence that separated us from the outside world. My ribs were sore, and my torso reflected a calico pattern of green-gray bruises. I leaned against a building and surveyed the enclosure. Other kids huddled in clusters, their breath forming vapor clouds in the crisp autumn morning.

  Reed mirrored my pose against the wall: one leg propped under me, arms crossed. Ever since I'd arrived, he’d been fascinated with me and a constant shadow. Most days, he was the only human being who talked to me. Annoyed at first, I’d grown used to his lingering presence. He was all right, despite being a year younger. A scrawny thing, he was at least ten pounds underweight. The splotchy birthmark on his cheek didn’t help him blend in.

  It bugged me when the older kids picked on him. After witnessing bullies trip, shove, and punch him, I had to stand up when Marc pantsed him in the yard. The last straw. Now those kids would think twice about messing with Reed. Marc hadn’t shown his face since the fight. It figured. Bullies were usually cowards deep down.

  After a few minutes, Reed said, “How did you learn to fight so well?”

  I shrugged. “The streets.”

  “You’re from New York, right?”

  I nodded. “Hell’s Kitchen.”

  His eyes widened. “Whoa. Sounds rough.”

  “It was.” I pushed off from the wall, breathing through the sharp pain it caused me and trod along my normal circuit—the outskirts of the yard where I could avoid the others.

  “You wanna talk about it?” He trailed just behind me, then jogged to catch up to my side.

  I sighed. I didn’t discuss my old life with the administrators or social workers, and other kids had never asked me since I avoided everyone. Here was my first opportunity to confide my past. “I used to run with a tough crowd. We were all young. We didn’t have parents, so we looked after each other.”

  “Was it a gang?”

  “You could call it that. We broke the law sometimes—when we had to. When we needed to eat or help those who got sick.” I kicked the dirt with my boot. “That’s how I got busted and wound up here. They caught me trying to steal medicine from the pharmacy for a sick girl.”

  “Where did you live?” He raised his eyebrows. “On the streets?”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I smiled. “We found an old abandoned post office. Our home base. A girl—she wa
s a few years older than me—Joanie, she taught me self-defense.”

  Out of breath, Reed struggled to match my gait. “Can you teach me all the moves, too?”

  I mulled it over. The kid could use a few self-preservation tactics. Who knew how long I’d be around to stick up for him? My track record for staying in one place wasn’t good. “Reed, I’m not sure how long I’ll be in this center. They usually transfer me after a few weeks. Now that I beat up one of the biggest kids here, they’re probably drawing up the paperwork to kick me out.”

  He lowered his chin. “Shit.”

  “Yeah. Exactly.” I glanced at him and saw his slumped shoulders.

  “I’ll miss you, Ida. You’re my only friend here.” He paused. “You’re my only friend ever.”

  I halted in mid-step. “Jesus. Ok, first lesson. You ready?”

  He faced me, a gleam in his eyes. “Ready.”

  “Lesson number one: stand tall and stick up for yourself. Never let your enemy see your fear.”

  “But I’ve never—”

  “You have to take some punches. Show the bullies that you’re tough.” I crossed my arms.

  “I’ve taken my share of punches already.”

  “So if you’re going to get hit anyway, you might as well go down fighting, Reed.”

  He wrinkled his forehead. “But what if they hurt me worse than if I stayed quiet?”

  “That’s a loser outlook. You’re going to fight back and show them you’re not just an easy target.” I opened my arms. “Look at me. Aim for the weak spots on a person: throat, eyes, and crotch. Behind the knees are tender, too.”