Prey (The Shade Chronicles Book 1)

by T. K. Bradley

  I sit down in the chair that was occupied by Lori just minutes ago, but it’s already gone cold. I take Judith’s hand in mine, and it feels even colder than the chair. “How are you feeling?”

  She scowls at my lame attempt at trying to comfort her. “Let’s just cut the bullshit, all right? I’m dying. You know it, and I know it. And I’m telling you… it’s time. You have a way to make all of this go away, and I’m telling you to make it happen. I may not have a clear head for these big decisions for much longer. Please don’t leave me to suffer. It… it hurts. Please.”

  Ice water is pumping through my veins. I can tell by her dark eyes that she’s lucid, more so than she’s been in weeks. Patients often have a brief moment of clarity right before they die.

  The dread settles over me like a suffocating veil. “Do you have any idea what you’re asking of me?”

  “I think I have a better idea than you do.” She raises her eyebrow at me in challenge, but she’s right. I’ve never been on her side of this decision before.

  “Okay. Let me go get what I need from the lab.” I move to stand, and she grabs my hand in a vice-like grip.

  “You’d better hurry.”

  I peek into the hospital on the way past and see that Lori’s already passed out, a pillow thrown over her face to block out the fluorescent lights. I flick the switch off, leaving her in darkness. This will likely be the last good sleep she gets for a while. I want to make it count.

  I’m only gone for five minutes, but I can already tell that Judith’s condition has gotten worse. She’s cresting the hill, ready for the long slow coast down the other side.

  Her eyes flutter open. “Did you bring everything you need?”

  “I did.” I open my kit and pull out a syringe and a small vial. It’s amazing that such a small, innocuous tool can cause such massive destruction.

  Judith closes her eyes while I prepare the syringe. Her breathing is shallow and raspy, labored. I pause, needle tip barely touching her skin. There is no going back from this. I have no doubt that she’s in pain, needlessly.

  “This isn’t what I signed up for,” I whisper.

  Judith opens her eyes and turns them to me. I see sympathy in her dark gaze, and I hate that a woman on her deathbed is sparing any pitying thoughts for me. “Can I be saved?” she asks simply.

  I shake my head. “We both know you can’t be, not with how far along you are now. Not with how this world is now.”

  She reaches out her hand and grips mine around the syringe, steadying its shaking. “Reducing human suffering is exactly what you signed up for.”

  She helps me line the needle up. “It’s okay,” she says in her gritty voice. “This is what I want. Tell Lori I—” Her voice catches and a tear leaks out from the corner of her eye.

  “It’s okay. I’ll tell her.”

  Judith is the one who pushes down the plunger.

  I sit with her until it’s over.

  8

  Lori

  My mother dies on a Tuesday.

  On Wednesday, our possessions are moved to long-term storage, and by Wednesday night, I’m sleeping on a military cot in dorm 2B.

  Lori

  6 Months Later

  Today starts off like any other day. We wake up when the fluorescent lights flicker on, still tired from tossing and turning on our assigned cots all night. There aren’t any clocks, and obviously no windows, so we have to trust when we’re told the time is 7am.

  And so begins day 181 as a breeder.

  I stare at the ceiling, counting the dots in the water-stained foam tile above me. I count to 57 before my roommate Elyse finally gives me a nudge. “Hey, Lori,” she whispers. “You okay?” Around us, the other girls are getting dressed silently, mechanically.

  I nod, refusing to meet her eyes. If I meet her warm eyes, her hopeful expression, I’ll probably fall apart. I remind myself daily of Kenzo’s words, when he told me I needed to persevere. I grit my teeth and take a deep breath. Elyse is still watching me as I throw back the threadbare blanket and lower my feet to the cold floor.

  Even thinner than the blanket are the pajamas I slip off, exchanging them for my coveralls. I’m grateful that’s one thing they haven’t taken from me. A few of the other girls eye me enviously as they exchange their pajamas for a nearly identical set of scrubs, their day-wear. Without the coveralls, you wouldn’t be able to pick me out of the lineup as we leave the room single file, heading for the cafeteria.

  Our world is one of pale pastels. The walls we pass, once painted grass-green, have now faded to boiled celery. Every piece of fabric has been washed to death, the last bit of color bleeding down the drain. The floors are scuffed from years of shuffling feet. Even our skin has paled over time, never coming into contact with the sun’s once-tolerable rays.

  The cafeteria, too, is bland, just like the food. Grey walls, grey floor, grey tables, and as I mumble a thanks to the uniformed guard who hands me my tray of food, grey oatmeal. Again. Or at least I hope it’s oatmeal. It’s almost thick enough to stand a spoon in. It reminds me of the paste we used in kindergarten, sticky and a little lumpy. I nearly stumble at the memory; they tend to sneak up on me when I least expect it. And I would rather not think of all that I’ve lost, because it just makes the present that much harder to swallow. I balance a cup of water on the corner of my tray. They give us just enough to wash the slop down, not a drop more.

  I act normal, keep my eyes averted, and focus on the ground in front of me. I hear one of the girls gasp behind me, and I have to force myself not to turn back to see which of the guards has taken his pound of flesh. I slide into my assigned seat, at my assigned table, surrounded by my assigned friends. Breathe my assigned air, I think to myself with a sigh. We all do exactly what is expected of us. We eat, and then we will go to work.

  Every. Damn. Day.

  I risk a quick glance around the room. Most of the breeders are eating fast, heads down, shoveling in the food, trying to swallow it without tasting it. There are no voices to be heard, not even a hushed whisper. There is only the clink of silverware and the rustle of clothing as people get up from their tables and return their trays to the rack. The guards look bored and lazy. They’re leaning up against the wall, their sidearms holstered. There are no threats to our safety, nothing to protect us from. I wonder, not for the first time, why the hell they’re carrying guns. The only danger to us is them… so maybe it’s to protect themselves from us.

  A small tingle flashes down my spine at the thought of fighting back, but it only takes one glance at the weakened people around me to disregard any hope of a revolt. These people are too broken, even to fight for their own freedom.

  I look again, warily, into the grey mush still left on my plate. I steel myself against the texture and push it in quickly. Gotta get those ever-important calories. At least the metallic tang of the spoon adds some flavor.

  I spend the rest of my meal with my head down. I can feel Elyse’s dark eyes on me, analyzing. She’s always watching, waiting for something. I don’t know what, exactly, but I suspect it’s nothing more than hoping for a break in routine. We’re all slowly being ground down by the same bullshit every day.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when, soon enough, it’s my turn to leave. My feet feel heavier than usual, the floor stickier. The hall outside the cafeteria is deserted, and I’m about to turn the corner when a hand clamps down on my shoulder. I freeze, my heart galloping.

  “Can I walk you to work?” Elyse asks softly.

  I take a deep breath to calm my breathing and take a nervous swallow. “Ummm… sure.” What else can I possibly say?

  Elyse links her arm in mine, as though we’re the best of friends. Confidantes. For a brief moment, I entertain the idea of sharing everything with her. What would that feel like? I could tell her about how I miss my family, and Trey. About how life has been so different since Trey’s whole team disappeared, and how, with nobody to protect me, the guards corner me whenever they get t
he chance, their hands roaming over my curves.

  I could tell her how, now that I’ve had a chance to live at the bottom, I’m not sure I entirely blame Amanda for killing herself. She stubbornly ground up her wrists with a screw. Maybe it was a screw that I myself sorted. I saw her body, the jagged tears to her waxy skin, and I know it wasn’t a decision she had come to lightly.

  Elyse’s voice is velvety smooth. She leans in close and her breath tickles my cheek. “You’re so lucky.”

  I barely restrain my sneer. “I am?” What about my life could possibly be considered lucky?! Being trapped in a box, being told what to do and when to do it. In fact, Elyse’s life looks a whole lot like mine!

  “SO lucky. Working in the garage you must see all kinds of cool things. I have to work in the laundry, and every day is exactly the same. Sort, wash, dry, fold. Sometimes I do it with my eyes closed, just to prove I can. But you! You must never be bored! Like, do you get to hear stories from the patrols? Or the scavengers?” I find myself shaking my head, but she’s still talking, working herself up. Her voice starts to rise. “Do you get to see outside? I mean, obviously they won’t let you leave, but like, do you ever catch a glimpse of the sun? It’s been so long, I think I forget what it looks like. I dream about it almost every night, but how accurate do you think that is? It can’t really be so bright!”

  As we head down the hall, the guard at the end looks up at us with interest. Can he hear what we’re talking about? I release Elyse’s arm from mine, allowing a gap to open between us. As Elyse tapers off, the guard goes back into his slumped position, losing interest.

  Just as quickly as Elyse got excited, she loses steam. Her breath comes out in a huff and her shoulders sag. I take in her dejected posture. “I have an idea.” It’s an awful idea, I know it, but it’s all in the name of perseverance. In fact, I could practically say it’s Kenzo’s idea…

  Instead of continuing down the hall to the garage, I guide Elyse down the first hall on our left.

  “Where are we going?” Elyse seems nervous, but as she looks over her shoulder, I can see the excited gleam in her eyes. We’re about to wander off schedule, which carries a heavy penalty if we’re caught.

  “I have something I want to show you.” A small smile crawls up my face, and it feels strange and out of place. I can’t remember the last time I smiled. And I think I like it.

  There it is, right at the end of the nondescript hall, the door like every other. You would walk right past it if you didn’t know what you were looking for. My mom’s old keycard has been burning a hole in my pocket for months, but I honestly don’t know if it’ll still work. They might have cut her access the second her heart stopped beating. Or maybe it’s being monitored and guards will swarm the place as soon as I swipe it. I push those thoughts to the back of my mind as I run the card through the reader. I release my held breath with a whoosh as the light turns green. “Easy as pie,” I whisper with a nervous giggle.

  I remember how the door squeaks, so I push it open quickly. I keep my eyes trained on Elyse’s face. I don’t want to miss it.

  For a moment, nothing happens. It’s like she can’t believe what she’s seeing. Then slowly, her face opens like a flower to the sun. It’s part awe, part pure unadulterated joy. I take a moment to enjoy her bliss, before the inevitable shift takes place. Soon enough, she’ll feel anger, jealousy, frustration at the injustice of it all. But for now? Joy. I can tell she’s never seen anything like it.

  Before anyone can notice us standing out in the hallway, I pull Elyse into the greenhouse, closing the door behind us. Well, it’s not really a greenhouse. Not in the strictest sense. It doesn’t have windows or real sunlight, obviously. But it does have glaring solar lamps, and rows upon rows of plants. There’s even a barn tucked into one corner, where there are a few cows, pigs, and chickens, and a huge pond in the center of the massive space.

  It used to be a football stadium, though it certainly doesn’t look much like one anymore. The tiered concrete bleachers, where drunk fans once perched to cheer on their teams, are now my mother’s legacy. She set it up like the terraced farming of the Andes, but in miniature. She was always looking for ways to reduce water usage and increase crop output.

  “I don’t… it’s so…” Elyse’s mouth hangs open, her gaze unblinking. “I don’t understand.”

  I know what she means. Nobody knows this room even exists. At least, not the lower citizens. “It’s classified,” I tell her.

  “It’s so beautiful! So green!”

  Seeing this expression on her face, I wonder if my mother watched my own face with such satisfaction. “My mother worked here. She would sneak me in here every now and then. When I needed a pick-me-up. When I needed a reminder that there was more to life than these walls.”

  “But… we just ate oatmeal. We always eat oatmeal.” Her face begins to tighten, and I brace myself for her reaction. She points boldly to a row of apple trees. “We take vitamins every day, and we’re still malnourished. We take laxatives, for god’s sake! Why aren’t we eating fruit?”

  I try to remember the excuses my mother told me, the lies. “There simply isn’t enough to go around. And if they gave the food to some of us, the others would revolt.”

  Elyse growls with disgust. “Don’t tell me that nobody is eating this food. I won’t buy that bullshit.”

  I give a sad smile. “The soldiers and scavengers need it more than we do. They need to be healthy and strong so that they can–”

  “No,” she interrupts. I watch as she stomps over to the first row of fruit trees. “I’m going to eat this apple,” she says, pointing to a ripe apple hanging low in the branches. “I have earned this apple with every single minute of every single day that I have had to live in this shithole.” Elyse reaches up through the leaves and plucks the red fruit. I can’t bring myself to stop her. My taste buds tingle painfully as she bites down, juice running down her chin. Even though I know it’s against the rules, a very strong part of me wants to join her.

  I take one step forward before I hear the telltale squeak of the door behind me.

  “What the hell are you doing in here, Lori?” I whip around and see Kenzo storming in, his face reddening.

  “I’m sorry!” I hiss. “Elyse was having a moment, she needed cheering up.”

  “And since when is it your job to take care of the mental health of our citizens? Huh?”

  “No, you’re right. That’s your job. So why aren’t you doing it?” I ask, jabbing at his chest. He tenses, and I’m hit with a wave of guilt. Kenzo has been nothing but kind to me since my mom died. Not just as my doctor, but as close to a friend as I can get, and he would love nothing more than to be even more than friends. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  He sighs. “Look, I don’t mind looking the other way every now and then. I know how therapeutic this room can be. But look at her.” He gestures to Elyse, now stuffing apples into her pockets. “Can you honestly tell me that she won’t come back? That she won’t tell others about it? And if she gets caught, what are the chances that she’ll rat you out?”

  I know he’s right. Of course I do. But I can’t bring myself to worry about that right now. Not when I’m standing here in the garden, surrounded by the injustice of our so-called government’s system.

  Kenzo guides us both back out into the hallway, and Elyse gazes longingly over her shoulder as the door clicks shut behind her. And just like that, the door seals away the closest thing we have to a sun, leaving us with the flickering fluorescent bulbs, almost painful in comparison. “Straight to work, Miss Windsor. No more side trips,” he scolds Elyse, and she has the good sense to at least look chastened.

  “Yes, Dr. Kimura,” she says, and at the last second, she opts to flip him a weak salute. “Thanks, Lori,” she whispers to me on her way past.

  When she’s around the corner and out of sight, Kenzo gently takes my hand and leads me down the hall in the opposite direction. Sweat prickles my palm, pressed a
gainst his. “Have you given any more thought to my offer?”

  I clear my throat awkwardly. “I have.”

  “And?” he says after a pause.

  “I can’t, Kenzo, I’m sorry.” I extricate my hand from his and hold it up to stop him from interrupting. “Trey hasn’t even been gone six months. I can’t just move on from him, to give him up for dead.”

  “Lori, I know you don’t want to give him up, but he isn’t coming back. Nobody has ever come back after that long. And I can provide for you. I know you don’t love me, but maybe over time…”

  He trails off. He knows how I feel, and he knows that’s not going to change. I look into Kenzo’s deep brown eyes and try to imagine what a life with him would look like. As a doctor and colonel, Kenzo has special privileges, which would be extended to me. I would never have to worry about my health, or the health of our children. I could visit the greenhouse every day if I wanted. Gorge myself on fruits and vegetables. That is, if I could get past the guilt of watching the other citizens slowly starving to death.

  But there’s something else I can see in his eyes. Love. Kenzo loves me. Even if I can never love him back. And he deserves more than that.

  I deserve more.

  Without another word, I turn and head to the garage, leaving Kenzo behind. I don’t look back, but I’m pretty sure he’s watching me with longing in those brown puppy-dog eyes.

  10

  Lori

  Jose doesn’t really talk to me anymore. He tried for a while, after my mom died, keeping up a non-stop stream of peppy banter. He eventually realized that I wasn’t going to answer any of his questions. I wasn’t giving any kind of reaction to the stories of his daughter’s adorable antics, or the funny sound a truck’s engine was making.