Immersive

by Becky Moynihan

  While Skervvy pulled me around a corner and proceeded down a flight of stairs, I let myself think of Iris. She was so shy and timid. I couldn’t envision her as a weapon. But myself? Yes. I was reckless and stubborn, which oftentimes made me stupidly brave. And I did things—unforgivable things—when I was backed into a corner. What scared me most was what I would do under the right pressure.

  Because deep down, I knew . . .

  I knew I was capable of becoming a monster.

  You adapted to a harsh environment in order to survive. It’s why you’re here today. Don’t be afraid of who you were, who you still are, Lune.

  But would Bren have said that if he’d known the full extent of my mission, that I was meant to kill him if he failed to do his? A part of me had considered that outcome in order to protect Iris. I knew now I never could have gone through with it, but there was still that dark, desperate corner of my mind willing to do horrible deeds.

  I would snap Skervvy’s neck if it meant freeing my mum from this hell.

  What did that make me?

  A murderer, I could practically hear Catanna mock in my ear. But you always knew the price of freedom, didn’t you? Death to innocence, death to ideals. Death to love.

  Because I had sacrificed love for freedom more than once. Not allowing myself close relationships in Tatum City, pushing Bren away again and again, fleeing Blue Ridge Sector at the first available opportunity—all good things that I had destroyed. And for what? All I’d ever received in return was more shackles.

  Maybe I was going about this freedom thing all wrong. Maybe I had to accept that one girl couldn’t accomplish the impossible—on her own, anyway. I needed help, but I’d betrayed the only people capable of providing it. And Bren . . . Bren wouldn’t come for me. Because he was . . . he was . . .

  I zeroed in on Skervvy’s floppy brown hair as anger twitched through my muscles. He shot Bren. The urge to shove him down the remaining stairs couldn’t be suppressed. I reached out and—

  He whipped around, the abrupt action foiling my aim. I pitched forward and would have tumbled down the steps if he hadn’t jerked me to a halt by my arm. His maniacal laughter echoed in the stairwell as I righted myself. “I knew there was still a little spitfire inside you. But losing your cool over a book?” He made a disgusted noise. “Doesn’t matter. You snapped. Now you’ll get to see what happens to insubordinate females.”

  “Insubordinate is a big word,” I mused aloud, ignoring my brain when it told me to shut up. “I’m surprised your tiny mouth could handle—”

  Crack.

  The sharp sound registered; the pain didn’t.

  And then it did with a vengeance, streaking across my cheek where Skervvy had backhanded me.

  “Fight me all you want,” he said with a hard edge I’d never heard before, “but I won’t abide a sassy-mouthed woman.”

  I didn’t respond, though words pooled on my tongue. I didn’t touch my cheek, though it throbbed like a second heartbeat. He yanked on my arm and we continued down another flight of stairs, then a dank hallway half-lit by flickering bare bulbs and lined with steel doors. This must be The Cells. When we reached the end and he unlocked one of the doors, I remained silent. When he shoved me inside and darkness enveloped me, I didn’t fight.

  Because he’d revealed his weakness to me.

  And when the time was right, I would exploit it.

  The steel door slammed shut.

  “Enjoy your new home, girly,” Skervvy singsonged from the other side. “This one’s specially reserved for feisty, non-pregnant females such as yourself. I’m afraid there are no books to keep you company, but you will have visitors. Many of them.”

  It was his words, not the cackling laughter as he departed, that sent chills down my spine.

  Scratch.

  Squeak.

  Scratch, scratch.

  Days without food, bedding, and light weren’t what unraveled my sanity.

  It was my many promised visitors.

  The rats.

  And not just any rats. Giant mutated rats called vorax that feasted on dead flesh. The problem was, they didn’t seem to care that I wasn’t dead yet.

  They nibbled on my pants and hair, sometimes on my fingers when I fell asleep. I would wake up, screaming from nightmares of rodents the size of saber cats gnawing off my hands. So I stopped sleeping.

  I knew what they, the Recruiter Clan, were doing. Breaking my spirit. My will to fight back. But they didn’t know about my time with Renold, how he would whip and beat me with sticks, plunge needles into my flesh, tear down my self-esteem with a single word. I had years of abuse, years of conditioning under my belt.

  And yet, even the sub-basement of Tatum House had been clean. Renold wouldn’t have allowed rats and mold to fester inside his prized dwelling place. Here, the air reeked of rat poop and stagnant dirt. The moist earth I sat on had seeped through my pants and was caked under my fingernails from when I’d taken care of my . . . needs. So, I essentially wallowed in crap, animal and human alike.

  These conditions were degrading. Inhumane.

  But it was the constant scuttling and scratching and squeaks of hunger that slowly tipped me over the edge.

  A few rats won’t be the end of you, Lune Avery, I scolded myself.

  Unfortunately, there were more than a few. I couldn’t see them but it felt like there were at least a dozen—close enough to detect, far enough to avoid my boots. For once, I welcomed the company of my thoughts and the torture they brought. Better than dwelling on how big my furry guests were.

  I thought of Mum. Was this how they broke her into submission? Isolated, starved, driven to madness.

  I thought of Bren, but the pain was still too sharp, like a shard of ice wedged between my ribs. I blocked out his memory with vindictive thoughts of Ryker instead. First, he’d been a mystery, then a pain in my butt, then a friend. Now he was enemy number one. If I ever got out of here, I’d hunt him down with my Visionary ability and make him pay. He was probably tucked inside Tatum City, taking over my Elite Guardian duties. I wondered what story he’d told Renold to explain the failed missions.

  Stars, what if this outcome had been his mission from the start? Anything was possible.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  “You alive in there?”

  The rats scampered off as I flinched at the too-loud noise. Even if I’d wanted to respond to Skervvy’s flippant question, I couldn’t. My tongue was swollen and plastered to the roof of my mouth from lack of water. Never in my life had I felt thirst and hunger like this, so intense that my stomach was trying to flip itself inside out. A fresh wave of cramps grabbed me. I curled into a tighter ball, slowly breathing through the pain.

  “Ahh, are you hungry? That’s the price you pay for insubordination,” Skervvy mocked. “Here, I can at least give you some water.”

  I swiftly raised my head in anticipation of cool liquid coating my parched throat. My eyes willed the door to open, to allow me a glimpse of light. Maybe I’d be gifted with a whiff of damp air unsullied by feces, too.

  But I waited. And waited. I knew Skervvy was still there—he was muttering curses and smacking something against what sounded like his palm. I attempted to swallow. And failed. My hands shook with the need to hold the perspiring cup of life-giving water. My chapped lips trembled as I imagined pressing the cup’s rim to them.

  A crackling noise reached my ears, then . . .

  “Hey, Axe, water in cell fourteen.” Pause. “Yeah, the works. She hasn’t been properly initiated yet.”

  I held my breath, too focused on the word water to care about who he was talking to or what else he was saying.

  Water.

  Water.

  Clear, perfect, quenching—

  The room erupted.

  I instinctively squeezed my eyes shut as slivers of ice pelted me. Hissing, I lurched into motion and blindly crawled toward the steel door. The hail, or whatever it was, stung my exposed skin. I scrambled fas
ter until both palms were flattened against the door. I hauled myself upright on unsteady legs, pushing and pounding. My weak cries were lost in the explosion of sound destroying my cell.

  “Skerv . . . open . . . door!”

  “What?” he yelled, mere inches from my face yet so far away. “. . . said . . . wanted . . . water!”

  Water?

  I stopped pounding as the words sunk in. As I became fully aware of what was happening. Freezing cold water was raining down on me with such force, it felt like needles stabbing my flesh. I renewed my assault on the door, screaming at him to let me out as the deluge continued without end, bruising my skin, seeping inside of me until I knew nothing but water.

  But water is my friend, not my enemy.

  It was all I had left.

  When the downpour finally ceased minutes, hours, or maybe days later, I was still on my feet. Still pressed to the door. My knuckles were bloodied and my throat scraped raw. My body was limp and shivering uncontrollably. But I was still standing. Still fighting. A sense of purpose burned hotly within me, something that had been missing since arriving here.

  Because Skervvy made a mistake.

  He chose the wrong tool to break me.

  Time bled into countless streaks of pain.

  The vorax came back after the water switched off, more active than ever. In fact, they seemed excited that I was half-drowned. It meant I was that much closer to death, my pruned body slowly being prepped for a grand feast. One managed to bite through the pant material right above my boot before I could kick it away. With a shriek of rage, I sent the rodent soaring so far that it smacked into the wall. His buddies then proceeded to tear into him as he lay stunned in the squelching muck that was now my cell floor.

  An indefinite amount of time later, Skervvy returned. “You still alive?” he yelled.

  I stayed silent. Mute. Like I did all those years in Tatum City to survive. I would use his weakness against him soon enough, but I didn’t have the strength for a confrontation at the moment. I knew what he wanted though. Knew because I had been raised by a man just as sadistic as he was. Their torture methods may not be the same, and their temperaments were different, but they both sought one thing.

  Submission.

  They wanted me to beg.

  I wouldn’t. Ever. I would rather die in this putrid hole.

  “I can hear you breathing,” Skervvy cut through my thoughts. “Did the vorax chew off your tongue?” Cackling laughter. “Here, let me get rid of them for you since I’m such a nice guy.” Beep. “Axe, let ‘er rip!”

  I braced for the stinging rain. None came. Instead, white hot light tore across my vision. I slammed my eyes shut and raised trembling hands to shield them. A multitude of squeaks rose to a feverish pitch. I couldn’t help but open my eyes. I needed to see what those disgusting rodents were up to now. As soon as I did, I wished to the sun and moon and a billion stars that I hadn’t.

  They were everywhere. And huge. The size of small cats. Blinded by the lights, they rammed themselves into the walls, frantically clawing their way to a thin grate. As they squeezed through the metal bars, patches of matted fur and pink skin glistened under the fluorescents. Saliva rushed into my mouth. I gagged, unable to vomit with an empty stomach.

  Another feeling rose right behind my tongue. A ball of panic. It grew and hardened until the only thing left to do was scream.

  And pound on the door.

  And scream some more. I broke my fingernails in an attempt to pry my way out.

  Now I was crying, prepared to spill traitorous words from my lips. Pleading words. Weak words. No. You are not weak, you are not weak! I bit my tongue until I tasted blood.

  Even after the last rat left my cell, tears rolled down my face. I resorted to silence once more, resting my forehead against the cool metal door. I expected to be plunged into darkness now that Skervvy was finished with his fun. The burning light remained. It stayed on for hours. Maybe days. A pulsing headache formed. Sucking my energy. Stealing my sleep.

  Time bled into more pain and suffering.

  Never in my life had I craved darkness as I did now.

  I jerked awake as pain lanced up my arm. Noting that I’d slid into the sludge once again, I glanced at my throbbing hand. Blood dribbled from a puncture wound on the fleshy part of my palm. And there, inches away, was a vorax about to take another bite.

  At the sight of its long, yellow teeth, something inside my brain flipped. Adrenaline surged through me and I lunged for the creature. As I wrapped a hand around its bulbous belly, the animal shrieked and promptly bit me again. The thought of rabies flitted through my mind, but I was too far gone to care. Gripping its neck, I squeezed.

  I knew that I was beyond weak. Knew that I was acting crazy. But I’d had enough.

  “Die, you disgusting vermin,” I growled, exhausting the final dredges of my strength on obliterating the creature. When it finally stopped moving, I studied the deep scratches on both my forearms. I couldn’t feel them. Maybe I was in shock. Or maybe my overpowering hunger consumed every other feeling, including remorse at having killed an innocent being.

  I paused, staring at the limp rat in my hands. Laughter bubbled out of my chest. This grotesque thing was far from innocent. It wanted to eat me. And now, I was going to eat it. I laughed harder. The creature was probably full of disease. One bite and I might not make it through the night. Or maybe it was already night. I had no way of knowing.

  Tears joined my giggling fit. I had never felt this kind of desperation before—a gnawing need to survive, no matter what. There were too many things left unfinished. Too many people I wanted to help. If that meant eating raw rat meat to keep me alive for another day, then so be it.

  Before I could muster up the courage, the door behind me screeched open. I tipped over, landing flat on my back. Above me, a shadowed form blocked the hallway’s dim lighting. My brain expected to hear Skervvy’s snide tenor, so I didn’t react when a deeper male voice said, “What are you doing?”

  I didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe when he crouched beside me. Familiar features slid into place: heavy brows, short black hair, a moon and claw tattoo on a pale neck. Blue eyes edged in obsidian scanned my body several times. He reached down, resting a hand on mine. I remained frozen. But when he started to pry the vorax from my grip—to steal my food from me—I snapped.

  “It’s mine!” I snarled. The sound was so feral, my eyes widened. His did, too.

  He pulled his fingers away, watching me warily. “Lune.”

  Startled at the soft tone, I sucked in a breath. Then ground my teeth together. “Don’t. Say. My name.”

  The man who betrayed me—who betrayed Bren and caused all of this misery—sighed in exasperation. “You need help.”

  “Not from you,” I bit out. When he continued to assess me with that heavy-lidded, bored look of his, I hissed, “Traitor.” Not good enough. “Backstabber.” Better, but the words needed more color. “You lying piece of—”

  “Ryker Jones,” a new voice said, interrupting my verbal assault. “Why am I not surprised to see you here, playing with my conquest?” I tried to stop it, but a shudder ripped through me at the sound of Skervvy’s manic cackle.

  A muscle jumped in Ryker’s jaw. He studied me a moment more before smoothly rising to his feet. “We both know you stole her from me, Skervlong, so stop pretending otherwise.”

  Conquest? Stole me?

  I was going to puke, then twist off their manly jewels and shove them down their throats for treating me like a possession. After I regained my strength first. As the men continued to bicker, I tested my muscles, surprised that they actually responded to my commands. It must be the lingering adrenaline over seeing Ryker again—my friend turned enemy. Rage blanketed the hurt trying to curl itself around me.

  I’m no one’s friend, was the last thing he said the day he’d left me tied to a tree. Then why was he here now, trying to help me? It had to be a trick, another way to break my wil
l. Unless he still planned on re-entering Tatum City and couldn’t do so without me.

  A pawn. That’s all I was to him. Well, I wasn’t going to helplessly lie here and wait for him to make his next move.

  While the men argued, I slowly rolled over and crawled into the corridor’s shadows—still holding the vorax. It was the only weapon I had. Plus, if they were both Sensors, the darkness wouldn’t stop them from finding me. I was maybe a handful of yards down the hallway when I heard the scrape of boots, then fingers tangled in my hair and yanked my head back. “Where do you think you’re going, girly?”

  I did the very first thing I could think of. I twisted, ignoring the pull on my hair as I shoved the dead vorax into Skervvy’s face. “Watch out!” I screamed, shaking the furry body before throwing it at him.

  It worked. With a yelp and a curse, he scrambled back, releasing his hold on me. I bounded to my feet and ran. Then promptly smacked into a wall as my legs buckled. No! My body was failing me at the worst possible moment. My jagged nails scraped and snagged on the cement blocks as I fought to regain my footing, but I was trembling too hard. The lack of food and sleep—such simple yet vital things—would cost me my chance at escape.

  An arm snaked around my neck and jerked me upright. I fell back against Skervvy who quickly wrapped me up in a chokehold I had no way of breaking. “You’re speaking my love language, girly,” he crooned in my ear as I struggled for breath. “Pranks are my specialty. The dirtier the better. But that was especially dirty. And, flipping phlegm wad, you smell awful.”

  For a second, I thought he’d release me, but he simply cackled. Of course he did. Secretly, he probably liked the smell. “Are you sure,” I wheezed, fruitlessly prying at his arm to acquire more air, “that it’s not you?”

  Bad timing, bad timing. I shouldn’t have preyed on his weakness while in such a vulnerable position. Sure enough, his hold tightened. I choked and was just about to claw at any piece of Skervvy flesh I could reach when I heard, “Release her.”