A Brutal Justice

by Jess Corban

  “I knew there was a Gentle who exhibited unusual tendencies from birth—a baby who cried when the others were still, who challenged what I had learned in Materno training. For the three months he inhabited the nursery, I watched him closely, wondering if it was my imagination. But when he left the Center, my curiosity wouldn’t let me rest. I tracked his movement through the Gentle system, from a Materno finca in Fik’iri to Hive IV. Gentle 35208’s last record indicated he was sent to work at a Senator’s finca in Amal: Bella Terra.”

  My breath catches in my chest. Torvus worked at Bella Terra? As a Gentle?

  Torvus shifts his weight. “You knew . . . about me?” I don’t know if he realizes his hand has tightened defensively around a knife hilt at his hip. “Then why didn’t you alert the Matriarch?”

  Dr. Novak sighs. “I was so young. I couldn’t be completely certain whether what I observed in those three months was genuine abnormality or . . .” She seems to be reading him, as if trying to decide whether he wants her to continue.

  “Or what?” he prompts.

  “Or the inexperience of a first-time mother.”

  The room goes completely still.

  Torvus draws back, the wall stopping him from moving far. But he shows surprisingly little emotion for someone who just heard the answer to a question he must have asked his whole life.

  “Have you ever wondered why you were different from the other Gentles, Torvus?” she asks.

  “Of course.”

  “Me too.”

  “Wait,” I interrupt. “You mean you don’t know?”

  She reluctantly breaks eye contact with him to answer me. “I didn’t, not until very recently. Even now I can’t be certain.”

  Torvus’s jaw tightens. “But what do you think happened?” he presses.

  She smooths stray curls away from her lined face. “While I was caring for Leda following the attack, she explained the connection between the vaccine and the Gentles. She helped me revisit that time in my life when I birthed my first baby. They whisked you away into the nursery, just as they do now. But after an hour, I was so curious I made my way there, to see if they would let me study you for a little while. I hoped to work at the Center after birthing a few children—dreamed of a high position, and had ample ambition to pursue one. The nurses weren’t there to ask, so I took you back to my room—just for a little while. I returned you no more than thirty minutes later. When I approached, I overheard two women in the nursery. One said something about another nurse always forgetting to record the fatalities properly. I waited until they exited, then returned you to the bassinet.”

  “He never received the vaccine,” I say slowly.

  She meets my hypothesis with the matter-of-fact expression of a doctor. “That’s my best guess now. But I had no reason to suspect that then.” Her features soften when she returns her gaze to Torvus. “I wasn’t sure whether I had imagined the abnormalities. It wasn’t until Leda came to me pregnant and told me about her . . . relationship with you, that I wondered whether I should have intervened and tried to help you somehow. By that time, Leda said you had gone off to the Jungle. I assumed Nedé would never hear from you again.” She grows quiet. “I didn’t know Leda knew how to find you, or I would have made contact.” Her eyes glisten behind the glare of her glasses. “I wouldn’t have abandoned you.”

  Torvus slides a hand down his reddening face and tilts his head toward the ceiling. His arms seem restless, like they’re not sure whether they want to punch something or wrap the silver-haired woman in an embrace. But he says nothing.

  “Leda did love you, that much was easy to see,” Dr. Novak says quietly, then steps back, giving her words time and space to penetrate Torvus’s rough exterior. To the rest she says, “And I’m sorry I can’t help you all . . . at least, not the way she did. Not if it means ending new life in Nedé.”

  Despite her stubbornness, her affection for my mother is clear. She has a soft spot for Leda Pierce, the Rescuer who sacrificed everything to offer these Brutes a chance at life. I’m so proud to be connected with her. To have taken up her mission to do something about the injustice.

  I lock eyes with Rohan. Like Mother and Torvus, we’ve opened ourselves to a mysterious, life-altering virtue, wondrous and wild. A virtue built on sacrifice and forgiveness, filled with promises and beauty, ignited by passion and embraces.

  I glance at Jase.

  A virtue that can birth life itself.

  “But, Dr. Novak,” I whisper urgently, “you and I both know the bank isn’t the only way to create life.”

  She peers at me curiously, her lips pressed tight together. The silence stretches and my heart pounds wildly.

  Once she has worked out some internal puzzle, she smiles slightly. “No. I suppose it isn’t.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  AS SOON AS WE VENTURE FROM THE ROOM, trouble begins. Guards patrol both ends of the hallway, checking offices and calling out to one another. They see us immediately and take chase, swords drawn.

  Torvus and Jase shield Ciela and Dr. Novak, and the rest of us position strategically to protect them.

  “Back to the corridor,” I holler, as the distance closes between us and two sets of patrols.

  “And which way is that?” Jase shouts back, just before his weapon collides with the first Alexia’s sword.

  I relay instructions above the clang of weapons as we fight our way down the narrow hallways, the tight quarters protecting us from too many Alexia at once. Surrounded by Brutes, unarmed Dr. Novak and Ciela are cocooned from the onslaught, yet every intersection produces more guards, drawn by the commotion. Fists fly and daggers plunge as we press quickly forward, shouts and moans echoing against the tiles.

  Somehow we make it back to the nursery. Then, in a rush, Torvus beats back three Alexia to get us to the door. I swing it open, pulling Ciela and the doctor in with me. One by one, the Brutes back their way in, Torvus and Rohan holding the guards at bay until we’re safely inside. Then they slip in themselves, and lock and barricade the door.

  Dr. Novak turns on the light, and we do a quick assessment of injuries. Jem has a nasty gash across his neck and Dantès has a punctured leg. The doctor rummages quickly through supply drawers, gathering a few rolls of bandages and a bottle of antiseptic, then quickly patches them up.

  “That needs stitches,” she says to Jem, “but we haven’t time now. They’ll retrieve the keys before long. Now—” she glances at the door in the corner—“we can take the corridor to the first floor. It should deposit us in the Gentles’ health supply closet.” Her brow furrows. “Or is it the pharmacy?”

  “You don’t know where it leads?” I ask, a bit flustered.

  “Really—I hardly spend my time skulking around ancient corridors, Dom Pierce, except, it seems, when your family is around.”

  Hers is the best plan we’ve got, so back in the corridor we go, down, down, down seven flights of dark stairs. The exit door in the first floor corridor doesn’t appear to have been used in ages. It takes an appointment with Torvus’s shoulder to finally give way. When it does, a corresponding crash of brooms, pails, and various other cleaning supplies confirms Dr. Novak’s original guess. We have, in fact, emerged in a supply closet. Thankfully, I grimace, no one had a pressing interest to keep the Gentles’ health clinic clean today.

  We continue our path toward the back of the Center, ducking into offices and running through hallways to avoid being spotted. They must still think we’re on the eighth floor, holed up in the office like mice in a trap. When we reach the end of the long hallway, Dr. Novak holds up a hand. She peers carefully around the corner, then draws back quickly.

  “They’re guarding the door,” she whispers, “just down there. It’s not marked, but you can’t miss it now.”

  Torvus, in turn, investigates.

  “How many?” Jase asks.

  “Thirty.”

  My stomach drops. But the numbers confirm we’re exactly where we need to be.
/>   We duck back into an adjacent room, the curve of a high wall obscuring us from chance passersby.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be any help getting through them,” Dr. Novak says. “But if you can get to that door, you’ll find a corridor on the other side.” She removes a cord from her neck. “This key will also fit the lock at the far end. Inside that room is a metal case. That’s what you’re looking for.”

  I nod, silently running through the sequence one more time.

  I grip the doctor’s forearm. “Please keep my sister safe.”

  She nods and Ciela embraces me, whispering, “Mother would be proud.”

  I return her squeeze. Her surprising vote of confidence means the world. “I . . . love you, C.”

  Doctor Novak gives us a final tight smile, her eyes lingering on Torvus, then Jase, before escorting my sister down the hall with hurried steps. She’s in good hands. I hope.

  When they’re out of sight, I turn to Bri.

  “You don’t have to do this either. It’s not too late to turn back.”

  She looks at me like I’m a special kind of dense. “Nice of you, Rei, but really, offering an out would have made a lot more sense before you forced me to like these peccaries.”

  Her choice of insult forces several grins.

  “Alright then,” I concede, grateful to have her on my side.

  We huddle closer, and Torvus outlines the plan, which can be summed up in four words: fight to the death. Phase two: if we miraculously reach the door, Rohan, Bri, Dáin, and I will destroy whatever lies inside while the six remaining Brutes stave off new visitors.

  Fiddling with my horsehair bracelet, I glance at Jase. The thought of being separated from him feels all kinds of awful. But he’s exchanging unspoken words with Rohan. They’re like family to each other too, and their bonds have tied them together far longer than I’ve even known Jase existed.

  Despite being outnumbered three to one, as we discovered upstairs, we’ll have at least two advantages. One: Brute strength. Two: because the nondescript door is in the middle of a long, seemingly forgotten hallway no more than two meters wide, the Alexia are forced into a line two guards across, like an armed snake. If we enter from one end, the “head” will only be able to shoot two at a time, so as not to hit itself. It’s not much, but it’s something.

  As he gives final instructions, I consider each of their faces. Weathered Torvus. Stoic Galion. Endearing Jase. Clever Jem. Carefree Dantès. Steady Théo. Even Dáin seems slightly less terrifying in this moment. They show no fear. Agitation, maybe, but their courage in the face of our probable annihilation inspires me to be braver than I am. Even Bri impresses me with her determined scowl.

  As we ready our weapons, I look for one more face. Rohan meets my eyes, pulls me near, and grips the nape of my neck. “Please be careful.”

  “You too,” I say, trying to draw just a little more strength from him. Anything else we want to say will have to wait until we make it through this. Otherwise, what’s the point?

  Before a single Alexia guard can reach for her weapon, before they will come to know about the Brutes waiting just around the corner, I step boldly into the hallway, my empty arms outstretched.

  This might be my dumbest idea yet, but I couldn’t let the Brutes charge the hallway without at least trying. I doubt Bri and I will be able to abstain from this fight, and I couldn’t stomach harming my fellow Alexia before offering a way out.

  “Our quarrel isn’t with you,” I say firmly, my voice filling the space between us, hoping the shock of seeing me unarmed will stay their hands until they hear me out. “Stand down—”

  Every Alexia nocks a bow or draws a sword. Before I can add “or else,” several arrows already whiz toward me. I jump behind the corner as the tink-tink-tink of arrows collides with the concrete wall previously shadowed by my optimistic butt.

  “I told you they wouldn’t back down,” Dáin jeers.

  I shrug. “Still, better odds than taking on the whole finca, right?”

  We wait for the thump of echoing boots to near, ensuring they’ll be too close to easily load bows. Except no footsteps come.

  Galion curses. “They were supposed to pursue!”

  I crouch low and carefully peer around the corner. Sure enough, all thirty Alexia stubbornly stand guard, weapons raised, bouncing with nervous energy, but holding. They must have orders to guard that door at all costs.

  I turn to Torvus to ask what he wants to do now. But he’s running toward the adjacent room.

  “Where’s he going?” I ask incredulously. He wouldn’t run away from this fight . . . would he?

  Scarcely a minute later, he’s back with a table nearly as tall as him, and twice as wide. He rips one of the legs away, and Rohan—apparently catching whatever idea Torvus isn’t sharing—kicks off another. They each shoulder one of the two remaining legs, heaving the table in front of them.

  “Stay behind us until we’re too close for them to shoot,” Torvus commands.

  Without objection, we file behind the pair, waiting our cue.

  “Now!” Torvus shouts. He and Rohan lift the shield, we round the corner, and run toward our fate.

  Immediately arrows strike wood like a crack of thunder, and I’m grateful Torvus thought like a Brute. We would have been skewered. Another round of arrows, another and another, before the table collides with guards. Torvus and Rohan give the shield a final push, then shove it aside onto a tangle of bodies, ready to face the remaining Alexia.

  Shock blanches our opponents’ faces as the Brutes climb over the debris with swords, spears, bows, club, and daggers drawn. The first strike of metal on metal reverberates deep into my chest, echoing like a tremor of nerves through my limbs. Successive blows create a cacophony of clanks, shouts, and lightning-fast movements, making it difficult to think, let alone assess tactics.

  This is real. People are going to die.

  I grip the hilt of my sword tighter, vowing it won’t be Bri or these Brutes I’ve come to care so much for.

  Torvus was right: the cramped hallway works to our advantage, creating a bottleneck that prevents more than a few Alexia from engaging us at a time.

  Torvus and Rohan lead our charge, continuing to push the Alexia back with their mass as much as their skill with the blade. Those who slip past this defense find Jase’s sword or Galion’s spear, and on down the line, with Bri and me trailing last. Despite our disadvantaged numbers, the Brutes fight with incredible strength and remarkable precision, parrying each of the Alexia’s textbook moves and countering with unexpected slashes and jabs.

  “It’s actually working,” Bri says, behind me. But behind her, a swarm of seven Alexia sweeps around the corner. Having cleverly circled back, they’ll soon trap us between two fronts.

  “We have company!” I yell. As they charge toward us, Bri and I take down three with arrows before I’m forced to unsheathe my bone dagger and prepare to test its strength.

  The force of the collision between my weapon and this Alexia’s transports me to Arena training, where Trin taught us the proper mechanics of swordplay. It doesn’t take long to realize my “combat partner” surpasses my skill, and her bold offense betrays that she knows it too. When I’m barely able to parry several moves, she lunges mightily. I stumble left, my shoulder barely avoiding her well-timed attack, but her thrust is met by another blade. A frightening fire fuels Rohan’s movements, one hand wielding a sword, the other a spear. He blocks my body with his before finishing the Alexia. Bri’s challenger glances at Rohan, and fear distracts her the split second it takes for Bri’s sword to meet its mark. The Alexia crumples to the floor. Neither of us has time to process the implications of our actions.

  Weapons clash everywhere. Brute and Alexia grunts, cries, and curses add to the chaos. Jem bleeds badly from his already-injured arm. To my right, Dáin cracks his club across a skull, then, seeing Dantès outnumbered, comes to his aid.

  We’re mere meters from the door now. The Alexia force
is down by half, nearly evening our odds. Maybe we have a . . .

  “Here come more!” Théo shouts. I watch in horror as another stream of Alexia sprint down the hall.

  Torvus signals us to push toward the doors before we’re overrun. “Go! We’ll hold them!”

  There’s too many. I hesitate, guilt pricking my insides. We can’t leave them now.

  Rohan shoves two Alexia into each other and yanks open the door. “Now, Reina!” he yells, providing cover while Bri and Dáin duck inside. I hesitate only a moment. Arguing will cost people their lives. I slip through the doorway, waiting on the other side for what feels like an eternity before Rohan backs in and slams the door shut.

  We’re momentarily engulfed in darkness, our eyes slow to adjust to the dim light of the long, steeply sloping corridor. The air’s thick with must and time, the earthen walls damp to the touch—such a contrast to the clean tiles and advancements in Scientia and Medicinae a single door away. Anyone who chanced upon it would assume it’s too ancient, too forgotten to be of importance. But we know what we’re here for.

  I don’t need to tell them to hurry. If we don’t get this thing destroyed and go back to the others soon, there might not be any others to go back to.

  Don’t think like that. This is going to work, and then we’re all going to get out of here together.

  We jog down the corridor, turning right at an elbow, and find the metal door, just as Dr. Novak described. The key slides easily into the lock, but there’s no click when I turn it, as if it wasn’t actually bolted. Wait . . . Did Rohan open the first door without needing a key? Didn’t Dr. Novak say—? The thick door scrapes against the concrete floor as we swing it wide enough to rush through.

  The bank is easy enough to find—a meter-high reflective metal case—perfectly centered between four Alexia guards, Adoni, and the toucan’s party colors.

  If bad luck were an art form, I’d be a blasted prodigy.