by Talis Jones
My spine stiffens as if a bucket of ice has just been dumped over my head.
“I know your parents, Tanya and Troy Sinclaire, gave you over to the government of the Pacific Confederation believing it a great honor. I also know they’re now deceased. You can thank your betrayal for that,” Charles rattles off like facts memorized from a paper.
“My what?” I whisper. There existed a lot of complicated feelings surrounding my parents. I loved them because they loved me and yet they volunteered me so easily to be tortured. I don’t know if they knew what would happen to me, but it’s something I’ve found rather difficult to let go. Even knowing nothing of what might become of their child, whether I’d be pampered or prodded, they still tossed me out and they did it gladly. I still remember the pride on their smiling faces that day and it haunts me. I remember wishing my brother were there to stop them or that he would come rescue me while endlessly wondering if after entering the Academy if he actually would’ve.
Osman flicks a piece of lint from his trouser. “Yes, murdering several government employees, blowing up an exorbitantly expensive laboratory, and running off all the way to this grimy lot on the other side of the continent does come with a price.”
My gut clenches at the thought of their deaths being my fault and yet I’m not sure I feel sorry about them being gone or sorry that I caused it. Complicated indeed. Shoving that aside for a future nightmare I manage to unglue my jaw enough to ask, “Maverick?”
“Your brother, Maverick Sinclaire, is still alive,” Charles shares and I let out a sigh of relief from my core. “He performed remarkably well in the Martial Youth Program despite only enrolling in his last eligible year. He’s on the track to becoming an Inspector currently, I believe.”
And there it is. I can never go back. No family except a brother who would arrest me the moment I step foot on Confederation ground. Still, he’s alive and curiosity over what sort of person he’s become nestles somewhere in the back of my mind.
“So you know who I am,” I manage. “You know where I’m from, who my family is, where I was taken to and where I escaped from. But you don’t know who I am. Not really. Because if you did then you’d know that if you’re here to take me back to those people, I’d sooner kill myself.”
His eyes shift in alarm at the kitchen blade suddenly comfortable in my grip and Yosef’s back stiffens though he can’t see me. For a moment I get a sense so strong from Yosef it’s almost like words begging in my head. Don’t, Maddy.
Now it is Charles’ turn to talk me down. “Put the knife away, Maddy. There’s no need to stain the rug more than your friend’s muddy boots already have.” As if Yosef would ever leave tracks, especially sloppy obvious ones like that.
“Speak for yourself,” I glare meaningfully at the wound in his arm staining the couch.
He glances down at where the bullet had grazed him with a tsk. “This really does smart,” he admits before shrugging. “Don’t worry about the couch. I can afford it.”
“Tell me why you’re here,” I grind out, hostility in my gaze.
“For you, of course,” he smiles though his eyes continue to shift towards my trembling hand. With a sudden sigh, as if forcing himself to put aside his pretentious attitude, he focuses himself on me and begins. “I am Charles Versailles Osman IV, diplomat of the Eurasian Union. I am also an agent of Sanctuary and we’re recruiting you.”
“What’s Sanctuary?”
“A place for people like us. You and me,” he clarifies. Tipping his head in Yosef’s direction he adds, “Not norms like him.”
“I know it’s hard for you, but could you please cut the shit and just spell it out?” My fear still threatens to choke me and my patience is wearing thin. “You seem…normal,” I add lamely. I was used to the slow fading of life in those who underwent those horrific experiments. Four years in there and it’s a miracle I recovered but those who’d been there longer seemed as if they were fading into the walls right before my very eyes. I have tells I can’t hide no matter how hard I try, but I’ve seen no hint of torment in Charles.
“That’s because I was born, not made. Trained, not tortured.” He lifts a hand and gloves it in a thin veil of electricity for a moment. “And I’m talking about this.”
“Yeah sorry but I can’t do that or anything like it.”
“But you can do something,” he states, leaning forwards. “You escaped that day for a reason. You and twelve others, names all inked into your skin. We’re still hunting the organizer of that little break out.” 42, I think in a panic. “But they were quite clear on who they’d save and who they’d leave behind. Only thirteen subjects at the time of the escape showed signs of promise and Maddy, you’re one of them.”
“You’re managing to tell me both a lot and very little,” I snap, refusing to give him any information on my rescuer no matter how insane she might be.
“Sanctuary is a safe haven for those with special abilities. We find them and sometimes they find us. There are safe houses across the world at this point though the number is few.”
“I don’t need a safe house, thanks. I’ve got my family here.” I dismiss his unspoken invitation hoping that will be the end of it. Yosef always said I’m too hopeful; I’d always smile in the rain confident the sun would come out soon.
“That’s for you to decide, but if you don’t choose that path then you’ll be put on another and that’s where we’d really prefer you anyway,” Charlie informs me grimly. “Sanctuary not only provides safe communes for our people to live in secrecy and safety, but it’s also an organization quite determined to change the world.”
“No thank you,” I shrug.
“Maddy,” Charles hops to his feet and Yosef’s gun automatically readjusts for it’s now standing target. His arms must be made of steel because mine would’ve been crying by now having to hold itself up, much less a weighty gun, for so long. “They can’t be allowed to claim our lives as forfeit for their gain. Our very existence threatens national security unless controlled and do you know why? Because we are evidence of the first wave that shook cities to their bones, poured corpses into the streets, and turned the land into dust. What killed millions made us more.”
“Only those with the highest security clearance know any details about the original project and how its containment was compromised. Those involved with it have either been eliminated or silenced in some other way. Escapees are hunted down unless we can get to them first. You managed to hide under the radar for this long, but how much longer will you last?”
“I said, no thanks,” I growl this time.
“Did you know that the successful subjects have all shown a commonality in a certain chromosomal mutation in their DNA structure? Did you know that mutation is sporadic yet inheritable? Did you know there are kids out there still being snatched from their oblivious parents just like you were? Did you know that just because you blew up one lab that the project isn’t dead? That wasn’t the only lab, Maddy. That was one box of mice being used for a bigger goal. So you’ve had a nice vacation, but it’s time to get back to work because this isn’t over.”
“Vacation?” I nearly shriek with outrage. “Vacation?? I have twelve names inked into my skin and some of those are the names of the dead. Maybe they’re all dead by now. I carry those memories with me like a weight in my heart, watching them drop as we forged our way across the Coalition with zero survival skills. They are the sacrifices that kept me alive, that got me across the border, that led me to my new family, that keep me going. So try calling it a vacation one more time. Try.”
“I’m sorry, but that part of your life is over. This part of your life is over. You’ve been found, Maddy, and there’s no hiding anymore. You can choose to be either a subject or a soldier, but either way this life is over.”
Yosef let me have my time but at this he speaks up. “Like hell it is. You have no idea who she has at her back, who’d risk their necks to protect her, and none of those people have a prope
rly functioning moral compass. In fact, I know of one who swears blood keeps the skin young and soft and she’s not even the one I’d tell you to worry about.”
Even Sanctuary must have heard rumors about him because Osman actually looks a bit nervous. “It’s complicated to explain and I’m not even authorized to do so, but know that if we know who and where Maddy is, then so does the other side and they’ll be coming for her if they aren’t already. You can’t fight off both of us, so be pragmatic and choose a side.”
“I’m a prisoner either way.” I mean the words to come out like a whip, striking him with my fury, but instead they sound like a heart breaking, a dream shattering piece by piece.
“Perhaps,” Osman cedes, “if you prefer to look at it that way, but with us you get options, choices, some level of autonomy. You can work with us on your terms.”
It’s bullshit. I don’t know how much, but I know it is. Even so…I can’t risk my friends’ lives on it and my “gift” is only telling me that I’m facing a room full of terrible options.
“How about a trial run,” Osman proposes suddenly. “We have plans for you, missions you could change the tide in, but we’d prefer that you work with us willingly. So how about a trial run, a way to dip your toe into this new life, and your crew can even help.”
Silence thickens the air because I just don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know.
“Deal,” Yosef answers and my head snaps towards him in shock.
“Yosef…”
“A trial,” he continues, ignoring me. “You can send the details to Maddy’s device. Until then, we’re leaving.” With his free hand he gestures towards the door and on impulse I grab his hand and tug him with me. He squeezes my hand back fiercely as I guide him to the lift so he can avoid turning his back or lowering his weapon on Osman.
“Maddy,” Charles pipes up before the doors close. “Don’t run.”
Eighteen
8 YEARS AGO
As our small apartment wakes up, I lay on my faded pink bed with both hands in the air. I can count my age on both hands, the perfect number of fingers, but what will I do when I get a year older? Many years older? I suppose I could use my toes… But then what about when I use all of those too??
“Maddy!” Mom calls. “Please help with breakfast!”
Sighing I fling off my blanket and hop out of bed. I eye my school uniform but walk on not wanting to admit it’s another school day yet. In the little kitchen I grab placemats and dishes to set the table, running back and forth, back and forth. Mom carefully weighs and counts the eggs and bacon before cooking them then divvies it all up onto our plates by our needs. Mom and Maverick get the most because she works a physical job with plants and things and my brother is “a growing boy.” Dad gets the next biggest portion for his desk job and I get the littlest clump for being little.
Dad rushes in still tying his tie and fastidiously checking his attire in the mirror. Fastidious. I learned that word from Mom. She uses it a lot about Dad. “Smells great,” he smiles when he finally sits. I give him my big goofy monster grin but he doesn’t see it.
“Maverick!” Mom shouts.
“I’m coming!” he snaps in that “teenager tone” as Mom calls it. He zooms into his seat already dressed for school, his backpack dropped by his feet. I try to give him my funny grin but he just rolls his eyes and ignores me.
“Maddy, stop,” Mom chides without really looking at me.
My bottom lip puckers and grumpiness tightens my chest. I do my monster face and they laugh and do one back. That’s what we do. So why am I in trouble?
Mom settles at the table with us and together we fold our hands to pray. Dad always sweats during the mealtime prayers and never closes his eyes. Maverick assumes the position from habit while pure faith fills Mom’s face and coats each whispered word. There are government approved prayers to be uttered but Mom always says her own.
I love prayer time. Mom said God isn’t a genie we can boss about. He’s a best friend for life but even better because He’ll never steal your favorite pencil or decide Stacia would be more fun to sit with. Sometimes you might face the devil himself but God will always be there to hold your hand.
Dad’s eyes keep bouncing to the clock as he eats and the moment he’s done he kisses Mom on the head and rushes off to brush his teeth. Maverick shovels in his ration, grabs his bag, and runs out the door tossing a “Love ya, Mom!” over his shoulder. He actually likes school.
“Bye, hon,” Dad says on his way out.
“Bye,” Mom answers. “Maddy, go get dressed and–”
Our government-installed phone rings suddenly and everyone freezes. Dad slowly closes the front door and Mom answers the loud ringing. I swivel in my chair enjoying the last dregs of my juice.
“Hello?…I understand…Yes, of course. Goodbye.”
Mom hangs up the phone and I begin to slide out of my chair like a puddle not wanting to get dressed and go to school.
“What did they want?” Dad asks for once not staring at the clock or the mirror.
“They would like to speak to us in person,” she answers at last. “We are to wait here.”
“But my job–” he worries.
“They’ve made the necessary arrangements for both of us. We are to wait.” Mom tries to smile as she looks at me on the floor. “Come here, Maddy. Let’s get you dressed.”
A sharp knock has us all frozen again until Dad yanks open the door. “Hello, that was very quick.”
I watch wary as a lady in a suit with a medic’s band around her arm and a tall Martial both step inside. The lady smiles politely but the Martial narrows his eyes.
“No offence intended,” Dad hurries. “On the contrary, I am impressed. The streets in this part of town can be tricky. Not that I thought you wouldn’t be able to…” He takes a deep breath. “Welcome to our home.”
I sit between my parents on our couch worn with our favorite spots while the lady sits in a chair dragged from the kitchen table and the Martial guards the door. I’m nervous, the Martial makes me afraid, and I can tell Mom and Dad are scared too which makes it worse.
“Tanya and Troy Sinclaire,” the woman begins crisply. “Married for twenty years with two children: Maverick, age eighteen, and Maddy, age ten. Employment includes laborer for the City Gardens and Landscaping Bureau and accounting clerk at the Small Business Bureau. All household adults are in good standing. Exempt are Maverick and Maddy who have yet to graduate from mandatory schooling.”
She sweeps her cool gaze over us. “There seems to be one missing.”
“Maverick had already left for school when we received the phone call,” Mom explains and I feel her hand shaking in mine. “He wanted to arrive early to work on a project, I think.”
The woman arches an elegant eyebrow. “You think?”
“That’s what he told me,” Mom explains.
“And you’ve reason not to trust your son’s word?”
“No,” Mom blurts before recomposing herself. “If he says he’s working on a school project then that is exactly what he is doing. I sometimes feel as if he was born responsible, no parenting required.”
The attempt at humor touches no one and the woman’s gaze falls on me instead. “And this one? Is a lot of parenting required for Maddy?”
Mom’s hand squeezes mine too tightly but I don’t complain. I don’t know who these people are but I know they scare my parents. “She has a lot of spirit in her, but she’s well behaved.”
The woman smiles.
“May I have permission to ask a question?” Mom asks.
“Questions are not encouraged, but yes I will allow it.”
“I’d like to ask why you’ve come to our home.” Mom’s voice stammers a bit nervously but her back remains straight. “The phone call only said to expect your arrival.”
The woman crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap. “Down to business then. I am here for your daughter, Maddy Sinclaire.”
M
y whole body freezes and I don’t realize it’s shaking like a leaf until Mom wraps an arm around me and hugs me tight to her side.
“She hasn’t done anything to our knowledge,” Mom politely inquires.
“Yet,” the woman nods. “We keep a close eye on our future generations and every once in a while we find a gem amongst the clutter. Maddy has shown great potential and we’re here to bring her aboard a Top Secret government-approved project. Very hush hush but if it succeeds it could change everything for this country.”
She leans in as if imparting a secret. “This project goes to the very top. Maddy will be a hero.”
“A hero?” Dad gasps. “She’s so young…”
“There will be training involved, intense study, physicals…it won’t be easy,” she admits and I wrinkle my nose at the mention of studying, “but this project is the hope of the people.”
“I–I I’m not sure what to say,” Mom confesses.
“Your daughter will be fed, clothed, and protected in a highly secure facility where she will spend her days with others like her. She would be wasted in common society, but with us she could be what saves your lives someday.” Sitting back she waves her hand and continues. “You will be compensated of course. A newer apartment, job promotions, and notes in your files declaring your service to your country, along with an extra ration of points in your favor. Should a petty neighbor attempt to strike against you, should you commit a minor act against city ordinances, these points can be used to nullify any punishment.”
Silence hangs heavy before Mom breaks it. “We won’t get to see her.” It’s spoken like a statement but inside is a question.
“Tanya,” Dad says soothingly, “She’ll be cared for and not only that but we’ll be heroes. We can have a warmer home and we’ll have enough in our files to help boost Maverick’s potential, help him get a better job than we could hope for as we are now. You must think about our country, Tanya.”
