The Separation Trilogy Box Set: Books 1 -3

by Felisha Antonette

  Deflated, he peacefully continues. “Leaders, make sure your groups understand their weapons this week. It is the final week we will waste time on this minor task. After completing weaponry, you will run laps and complete the obstacle course. This will be timed. If you’re not finished by lunch, when you return, just move on to group members fighting a round with your leaders. Respond.”

  “We understand,” the room replies in unison.

  We section off in fours, taking the corners of the hall for target practice where our groups can stay out of each other’s way.

  At a table stacked with guns, grenades, and bombs, I explain each item and the bullets from full metal jackets to hollow points. “This one is an M4 carbine.” I leave it in view for those in the back. “It’s an assault rifle. It can be used where lightweight and quick action is required. It also has a grenade launcher. This rifle helps in battle with what we’ll be going up against. These,” I raise two handguns, “are a Beretta M9 and a Colt M1911. They are both semi-automatic weapons, but the M1911 has seven-round mags with a muzzle velocity of 825 feet per second. The M9 has a fifteen-round mag with a velocity of 1200 feet per second and a range of over 150 feet. This should help you determine the distance required for maximum results.” I disassemble and reassemble the rifle and handguns. After I assemble each gun, I fire them at a target twelve feet in front of the table. “Now, your turn, and do not leave from behind this table. I don’t want any of you getting shot because of stupidity.”

  The Creations have it on the first try, along with those I’ve trained with back home and in the races. Only a few Normals need to do it twice.

  “Okay. Great improvement! Here is the grenade that we will use to kill the dead that walk the earth,” I say, picking one up. “They are very effective in slowing down and eliminating your enemy, and because of that, we will not have a visual aid until ordered to by the general or in action.” I nod, and they follow. “Okay, everyone go again with each gun and fire after reassembly. Respond.”

  “We understand,” they say in a dry tone.

  I step out of their way.

  “This is what you all do, shout orders and manage?” Danny laughs, stepping to my side. Separation was the golden ticket for Danny. Ever since the day we met eight years ago, it’s all he’s talked about. But I guess living on the streets would have anyone looking forward to a permanent roof over their heads, even if the cost was going to war.

  “No, we kill people when the time calls for it and things now. Tasks and orders are handed down from General Jord and Seits. Higher ranked Creations are required to help with duties like Citizen Management or Order Maintenance in one of the factions, and we’re shipped out where we’re needed. Other times, yeah, we’re shouting orders and managing those in Separation.” I match his laugh with a chuckle of my own, though I’m in no mood for jokes. But as Jord mentioned prior to their arrival, we’re to be relatable, and as Luke has drilled into my head, I’m never to allow personal shit to affect business.

  “Seems simple enough.”

  “It’s not that bad.”

  “What do you think I have to do to get in that position?” Danny is after the male leader position General Jord announced when the Normals arrived. I have been discreetly training him to prepare for it.

  “Be better than everyone else.” I watch the next person finish and pat Danny on the back. “Your turn. Try a few headshots.” He goes to the table, grabbing a M9.

  Luke enters the training room. He looks over everyone as he comes over to me. “Wassup?” It is his routine check. He’s required to do this since acquiring the new captain position.

  I haven’t been able to look him in the eyes since I begged him for that favor. “The obvious.”

  “Okay.” He’s just as distant. He bumps my arm with his elbow and leaves to check on the other leaders.

  Our conversations have been short. He wants to argue about the turn of events. I don’t. I can’t discuss my moment of weakness or putting Luke’s life in danger as I requested his help to save my crush’s brother. I put both of us on the line for a boy who will not even look at me, talk to me, or want to be caught in the same hall as me. Shaking my head, I throw my hand in my face and suppress a groan.

  “I’m sorry, Ky. Did I mess it up?” Rebecca asks.

  Oh. “No. No.” I smile to pacify her worried eyes. “You did well, Becca. Keep up the good work.” I can’t live like this. This personal stuff is affecting every part of my life, and I need to get a handle on it.

  After each member of my team completes the second assembly, I make them take part in target practice. If they hit the same target twice, they can stop. If not, they’ll continue until lunch calls.

  Everyone in the mess hall quiets as Jord steps to the center of the room between a couple of tables. This feels out of place because he’d usually take the stage. “There are leader Creations who are heading out to China and Austria. The Trade has been working on building an alliance with them for the past couple of years. Fifty-six of you will be leaving from this base. We are not going for war. We are going to inform, and we will request they stand beside us in the battle against the walking dead. We will also ensure that these countries are not flooded with the undead. As a peace offering, we will help them if they are. The group of you that were selected will be leaving at sixteen hundred hours.”

  When Cory came to explain himself after being caught sneaking from Jord’s office, I vaguely recall him mentioning something about Creations being shipped off.

  “Great.” Collins slams her tray down across from me. “Something else I wasn’t chosen for.”

  “I wasn’t chosen either, Collins,” I tell her before drinking from my milk carton.

  “None of us were,” Fein speaks up, turning in her seat to face us. “Mostly the older Creations are going, those who have traveled there before. Don’t feel jealous, Collins.”

  “I want to be chosen for something,” she says through her teeth and takes a bite of her sandwich. Floyd and Cecilia also take a seat at our table. Everyone eats and talks amongst each other. I nod and keep my words short. I haven’t much to say.

  Sean is sitting between Fein and me. Though I see him every day, healed and the same upbeat Sean I’ve always known him to be, there are times I still see him covered in blood, missing half his face, and snarling like a Zombie. I dart my gaze in his direction from the corner of my eyes. Not only did his brother put my life over his, but he also believes we’re traitors. But mainly it’s because of the former that sends a sour feeling rolling through my stomach whenever I’m near him. Shame: a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior.

  I push the feeling down and wipe my hand over my pant legs. “Hi.” Doing this is so awkward I can’t even think about how intense it is to be near him.

  “Hi,” he replies and wraps up a talk with Collins. He gets up as they conclude and walks over to where Marc is sitting at a different table with others.

  I stare, and not once does Marc look my direction. He chats, nods, or shakes his head with his new friends. He doesn’t speak to me, and I rarely see him. We live in the same house, but he goes out of his way to avoid me. He makes me feel like that hole in the wall we all avoid looking at because we know we can’t fix it.

  If I go to him, he won’t embarrass me in front of the entire mess hall.

  I stand, gaze locked on him. His eyes immediately rise, meeting mine the instant my spine straightens, as though he’d been watching me the entire time. His lazy gaze morphs into a glower. The muscles in his face relax, but the glimmer of hate and disgust in his glare is like a knife to my gut. He discreetly shakes his head, rejecting my approach before I even attempt to execute it.

  I mouth, “Please?”

  “No,” he mouths back and looks away from me to Gia. Gia laughs, shoving her bouncy brown curls over her shoulder. She got all the phenomenal Creation genes, feminine curves, a smile that makes the boys stare
while in her presence, and a personality that’s as courageous as she is genuinely kind. I’ve never been kind just because; my smile is crooked because of my repaired jaw, and if a guy is staring at me, it’s because he’s afraid of me.

  I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from rolling them. How can Marc not understand that I did what I did for him? That I sacrificed everything Luke and I have built for him?

  I pivot on my heels and march for the doors.

  “Where are you going?” Cory asks, smile peeking out from behind his scarf pulled over his mouth. He opens the door for me as I’m heading out.

  “I’m going back early to get some target practice in.” I need to let off some steam, firing off a few shots.

  He follows me out, strutting at my side with his shoulders drawn back and his head held high. “Everything okay? You haven’t been yourself the last few weeks.”

  “I’m fine, Cory.” I survey his sudden diversion from going into the mess hall to striding at my side. “You’re coming with me?”

  “No, I have to be with Haut’s group after lunch.”

  “Kylie?” Luke barks.

  I grimace from the disapproving tone in his voice. “Talk to you later,” I say to Cory before turning to Luke. “Yes, Luke?” I answer, frustration lacing my singsong tone.

  “You keep pushing it.”

  “I didn’t come up to him. He came up to me,” I defend, pointing at Cory’s back as he’s entering the mess hall. “You’re always pointing the finger at me, Luke. Get off my case!”

  “Stop whining, Ky! You need to watch your back with him.”

  “Luke,” Marc calls from behind us, cutting Luke off. I twist on my heels. Luke faces him. His eyes squint against the sun.

  Neither of them speaks before Luke nudges my shoulder. “I’ll talk to you later.” He jogs toward the rec hall of the Normals, leaving us alone.

  Marc steps in front of me, arms folded across his swollen chest. “What?” he asks, rasp thick in his throat. He wears no facial covering, which would help shield me from his subtle, though exigent attractiveness. His head tilts back a bit, and his shadowed eyes cut me open.

  “Can we move from the middle of the road?” I ask nervously. “So we are not heard if someone walks by.” We get an hour for lunch, and there are thirty minutes left. Someone is bound to be passing soon.

  He marches toward the training hall. I follow behind him, keeping a good enough distance for his comfort. I don’t want to make him uncomfortable by crowding his space.

  I grab his arm when we make it to the side of the building.

  Before I can speak, he yanks it away. “Don’t touch me, Kylie,” he warns quietly.

  “Marc, I’m the same. Stay,” I insist and bite my tongue to prevent myself from saying what I truly feel.

  “I don’t care. You know what you are, and I’m not okay with that.”

  I don’t know what to say to make him get it, to make him get me. “I can’t talk to you here.” I drag my palms over my already smoothed down ponytail, sighing heavily.

  He shrugs once. “I don’t want to talk to you at all.”

  His rejection cuts me deeper than before, and the jitters in my stomach kick-start, making me nauseous. I breathe away the discomfort that will not dwindle. “Can I come talk to you tonight? Later? So I can explain.”

  “Ky, there is nothing to talk about. Thanks for helping my brother, but we have nothing, we are nothing, and never will we be anything. I don’t fuck with traitors,” he says quieter. “Stay the hell away from me, Kylie.” He bumps my shoulder on his passing. “And don’t come to my room,” he adds over his shoulder. “Stop looking for me. Fuck off.”

  I break my gaze away from his departure.

  Frustration warming my neck, I lean against the wall and slam my fist against the brick. I hurt myself more than I hurt the wall, but the pain makes the nausea go away.

  Gah. What a punch in the gut. He doesn’t have to be that callous. I’m not a sensitive person. I’ve been through enough to gain a hard exterior, but it doesn’t appear to be thick enough to block that out. To block him out…

  There’s a howl, growing near instead of echoing off into the distance. Around the corner of the building that’s holding me up from crumpling to my knees, heat waves hover over the dirtied red land.

  A coyote races toward me. The image rolls in heatwaves until it comes into clear view. It stops at the edge of the building and stares.

  “I don’t have time to visit with you right now,” I tell it. “Shoo.”

  Its head lowers, and a soft snarl erupts from its muzzle.

  I ram my fist against the wall again and kick the dirt. Approaching it, I ask, “What?”

  It gags and barfs up three balls, each dark with blue and green glistening dust-like particles within them.

  “Yuck. You want me to touch those?”

  It yaps once.

  I rip off my scarf and snatch up the slobbery marbles in the cloth. Taking a quick glance at my watch, I see there are ten minutes left before the end of lunch. “Happy now?” I ask the animal, and it takes off. The answer is enough for me.

  I hurry to our house, to the sink in the bathroom to wash the marbles, and then to my room to stash them and grab a new scarf. Dropping the balls into a pair of socks, I stuff that sock in another before shuffling them around, nearly confusing myself as to which pair holds the alien goods.

  Chapter Three

  “Only those of you who are Creations will I attempt to kill…and Danny. The others, you all are safe from being knocked out or having something broken,” I announce to my team as we stand in the middle of the empty field. “Anyone have any questions or would like to back out now because they think they can’t take it?” Nobody responds. “I’m taking your silence as a no.”

  “Correct,” Adam cuts in with a round of applause. “Because if we were to object and tell you we want to back out, you, precious leader, would make us fight you anyway.” Adam’s a Normal who learned quickly, but his timing is just as bad as Sean’s when it comes to his jokes.

  “Adam, sometimes it’s better to let me interpret your silence the way I’d like to interpret it. When I need an explanation, I’ll ask you for it.” He rolls his eyes and shuffles to the back of the group. “Okay, now that Adam has lightened my mood, who is going to be the first I pummel? I can call out or take volunteers.”

  My favorite evil twin is the first to raise her hand. Jesail. The Creation with the greatest improvement since arrival. She and her sister have stopped wearing their hair in pigtails and now wear one French braid down the middle. They tuck the tail of the braid beneath their vest, and this keeps it from being snagged or snatched in battle. Cracking her neck, Jesail steps before me. She doesn’t hold back. Blow for blow, she shows everyone what it takes to climb the ladder. She throws a punch, which I dodge before realizing it is a diversion so she can swipe her leg under mine and knock me off my feet.

  “Damn, that was a good move,” someone says from the crowd, and I must agree. I bless her with a quick nod and smile. But that’s the only move she has up her sleeve. Instead of taking her out, though, I teach other techniques and maneuvers she can use to knock me out or keep me down.

  I’ve dubbed her as my protégé, and I’ll help to make her better in any way I can. Because of her change in attitude, I don’t knock her out when I can, but I let her know I have her, extending my hand to help her from the ground. “You are getting better,” I tell her, pulling her to her feet.

  She pumps her fist. “That’s good.”

  “We’ll continue to work on it, and if you want and can keep your attitude in check, we’ll build you up to become a female leader.” She nods and limps back to the group. Her sister takes her spot.

  I fight five before taking a break.

  I’m good, but not good enough to fight more than twenty of them with no adrenaline and no drive. I’m bruised, and my muscles ache. I’d usually be rapt, able to get them quicker than I did or fight more o
f them. But with Marc upset with me—still upset with me—it’s distracting. If he would let me explain, I could change this. But he’s too stubborn. He has to know I wouldn’t turn on my country. That I wouldn’t turn on him.

  But then again, I don’t even know that for sure. Would I turn on my country? Would I turn on the Vojin? After hiding that they are responsible for the murder of our parents, I should be instantly willing to, but I don’t know. Maybe it’s me who I must turn on, my thoughts finally mixing with the implant. Ugh. I press my fist to my forehead and breathe deep.

  I leave the training room, searching for Luke, and find him coming out of Jord’s office.

  “Hey,” he greets.

  “Can you take care of these deep bruises?”

  Luke folds his arms in front of his vest, straightening his spine as he looks down at me through thick lashes. His eyes narrow into a piercing glare as he replies, “Are you going to talk to me?”

  For what? So he can tell me over and over again how bad of an idea saving Sean was? Or how I need to learn how to overthrow these stupid feelings of affection, like he did with the girl he killed because he believed he loved her?

  “What do you want from me, Luke?” I roll my eyes. “Are you going to tell me to let it go, leave it alone, blah, blah, blah? Or express your disapproval in me asking you to make them help?”

  “I might.”

  I open and close my fists, tearing my gaze away from him for a split second. It makes my blood boil that he keeps holding this over my head. “I don’t want to discuss that, Luke. I messed up, should have let his brother die and us kill him. Does that make you happy?”

  “I would say that, Ky.” He grabs my hand, aligning our palms. “Tell me where you hurt.”

  “I get it.” I gesture to my busted lip and my right shoulder. But I’m not like him, I can’t turn a blind eye like he did. Or pretends to do.

  “What did he say to you earlier?” Luke asks once he finishes.