by Sage Sask
“Again,” I tell him.
His eyes narrow with approval before he throws out another punch. Expecting it, I sidestep it before hitting him in the chest. He barely reacts. I reposition and strike his leg.
“Good,” he says. “But not good enough.” He wraps an arm around my waist and throws me over his shoulder.
I land on my back. My spine arches in pain. The wind knocked out of me; I fight to catch my breath. Via my peripheral vision, I see him take a step toward me. I roll away just as his foot comes down. Jumping to my feet, I face him, legs evenly apart.
He blocks my punch with his open palm. I strike with my other arm while moving toward him. He matches my every step while catching each hit with his palms. When his back hits the wall, he wraps his hand around my closed fist and pulls me into the wall. I push off it with one hand, then head-butt him. He barely reacts while my head throbs.
“Hurt?” His body loosens, and he loses some of his edge. “Don’t chance a move unless you can handle it.” He points to my head. “That was stupid.”
“Not the first time,” I admit. On his reluctant smile, I murmur, “Probably won’t be the last.”
“You know what they say. Admitting the problem is the first...”
I slam my fist into his mouth. When my knuckles hit teeth, I smile. “Don’t chance a move unless you can handle it,” I repeat. “Talking,” I clarify.
He laughs out loud, and I smile in return. It is more comfortable with him than with Ryan. I am more relaxed, surer of my abilities. Proud of myself, I head to the water table. I start to pour when I feel a sharp sting at the base of my neck. A tingling sensation begins in my fingers and climbs up to my elbow. In seconds my whole arm goes numb, and my body follows. The glass falls from my hand. Water splashes my face and soaks my shoes. I barely grasp Derrick’s outstretched hand in time to break my fall.
“What did you do?” I whisper. “I can’t move.”
Derrick kneels next to me. He places his thumb gently on the spot where I felt the sting. “Press down here hard enough; you shut down the person’s nerve signals.” He pats my hand. “You’ll get feeling back in about twenty minutes.”
“Why?”
“You became overconfident. Don’t ever turn your back on an opponent. The first rule of combat.” His gaze stern, he warns, “Next time, you may end up dead.”
THIRTY-TWO
SERAFINA
Serafina stays seated in her chair behind her desk. She watches with disdain as Harrison paces in front of her. His fury and hatred of her cut through the air.
“Should I clear my schedule for the full day, or will you be speaking soon?” Serafina asks.
Used to winning, he shows his distaste at a loss. “You removed Alexia’s tracker.”
Serafina feigns indifference. “She’s not a civilian. She didn’t need it.” She rests her folded hands on the desk. “I’m sorry. Did I disturb your stalking of her? Or the attempts on her life?” She clicks her tongue in disapproval. “Did you personally sabotage her plane, or did you have David do your dirty work for you? The cutting of the rope was a nice touch.”
“You have clearly gone delusional over the years,” he replies smoothly.
“Maybe or maybe not.” Serafina considers him. “The one thing I’m confused about? Why play with Alexia instead of killing her? Or was it David’s inexperience in committing a murder that failed you?”
“You need to rein in your imagination, Serafina,” Harrison says. “It’s taking you to dangerous places.”
“I don’t think so.” Enjoying this more than she thought, she leans back in her chair. “Or was murder never your intention? Maybe you were hoping to call Julia’s bluff? Harm Alexia enough to get their attention, so they attempt a rescue? Then you would know where they are to kill the survivors.”
Harrison takes a seat and stretches one leg over the other. “Very diabolical. I’m almost disappointed I didn’t come up with it. But as usual, you’re wrong in your analysis and my thoughts on Alexia.” He folds his hands together. “My concern is only for the Circle.”
“I wonder if that’s how Ryan would see it?” Serafina welcomes his look of fury. “If he would think that you were protecting the Circle when you killed his mother on the Night of the Escape. That is the big secret you’re trying to keep hidden, right? The one no one else knows —that she was with them.”
Harrison smiles, menacingly. “But you have your own secret, don’t you, Serafina? What would the Council say if they found out what you really knew about the serum? Before anyone learned its effects, you already knew what would happen. I could destroy you as easily as you could me.”
Serafina looks away, knowing he’s right. They are both the keepers of the other’s hidden skeleton. By sheer accident, they learned each other’s secret. Now, for every jab of the sword, they must pull back before the death strike. Never can they reveal the one thing that will destroy the other, because they know, in doing so, they will destroy themselves.
“Why are you here, Harrison?” Having lost interest, Serafina wants him out of her office. “Both of us have better things to do than this dance.”
“Removing her tracker was a fatal mistake.” Harrison veils his emotions, but Serafina knows him well enough to see the subtle tightening around his mouth – an indicator of his rage.
“The Evaluation starts tomorrow,” Serafina reminds him. “The removal of her tracker is irrelevant.” When he looks away, Serafina’s mind starts to whirl. “You think they’ll come for her during the Evaluation? Attempt a rescue?” Serafina smiles in fake sympathy. “And without her tracker, you won’t be able to follow them.” Serafina shakes her head in disgust. “She is a child who is lost. If they come for her? It’s no different than what we would do for one of our own.”
“Your protection of Alexia? It’s admirable but misguided. Child or no child — if she’s a danger to the Circle, then I will do what’s necessary to neutralize her.”
Serafina reminds herself that he is not the endgame. As if they have always been on the same page, Serafina says, “If she is a danger? I agree that’s the best course of action. The Circle has always been and will always be my first priority.”
His expression tells her exactly what he thinks of her. “Well, I’m glad we can agree.”
“A first for everything.” She motions toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Serafina waits until she hears his footsteps retreating down the hall. Only then does she pull open her desk drawer. From inside she pulls out a tracking machine. After turning it on, she waits patiently for the green light to pop up. Underneath the dot is listed one name — Alexia Edmonds.
“Who are you, Alexia Edmonds?” Serafina wonders aloud.
When Serafina had the doctor remove Alexia’s tracker, she had him secretly install a replacement. It was one only Serafina knew about and could track. Serafina couldn’t allow Harrison to follow Alexia. If the Resistance did come for her, Harrison would follow them and kill everyone — including Serafina’s son. Serafina had to remove Alexia’s tracker to find and protect her son.
Blake’s arrival was the proof Serafina needed that Alexia belongs to the Resistance. Serafina mentally reviews the facts. Alexia’s mother must have died in the ocean. Somehow the Resistance and Julia have figured out Alexia is alive. They will come for her and take her back to where they live, to where they are holding her son.
Serafina considers the plan she has painstakingly put into motion. She knows she will never get another chance like this. She will follow Alexia to where they are holding her son. After rescuing him, Serafina will be happy to hand all the others over to Harrison to do with them what he wishes. And if the best thing is to destroy them all, then Serafina will not stand in his way. Not after what Julia did to her family.
Serafina drops the gadget back into her drawer and shuts it. She
turns her chair to face the window and stares at the ocean. Alexia must survive the Evaluation. Without Alexia, Serafina knows her son is lost forever. Serafina sighs deeply, knowing what she has to do.
THIRTY-THREE
I wake at the first hint of sunlight. I’ve barely slept. Evaluation Day. It feels like only yesterday I was preparing for the test in Zone One. Now I am going into the fight of my life.
Words pound in my head. On a sheet of paper from the desk, I scribble some lines of poetry. I reread them, mocking myself for putting words to paper when they will mean nothing. I glance through the stack of sheets I’ve filled with useless thoughts. Every one of them written when my inner voice clamored to be heard.
Hungry, I jiggle the knob to find it unlocked. In hopes of avoiding seeing anyone, I head early to the dining hall. Most of the tables sit empty. I spot Jackie with the others at the buffet line. Having no desire to interact, I avoid her and the rest of the crew. Once they are finished filling their plates, I take my turn. I find a remote seat and eat my meal in silence.
Lost in my own head, I miss the silence that descends over the room. Only when the numbing sound of forks and knives scraping against plates ceases, along with every voice, do I look up. In the doorway, staring at the masses, stands Serafina. Her gaze slides effortlessly over the group until it meets mine. Without a blink, she continues until she has taken in the room.
“Thank you for your attention.”
Behind her, Ryan enters and heads immediately toward the table with Victoria and David. I follow him with my eyes until he takes his place next to Victoria.
“Today is the start of the Evaluation. You will be tested this morning to decide your group,” Serafina announces.
The room erupts with loud murmurs. Fear wraps around me. I’m not ready. I will fail. The Evaluation will determine mine and my mother’s fates. My fingers curl into fists as my stomach turns over. My voice muted, I listen to the others. Their cries of fear and worry give words to mine.
Desperate, I search the faces of everyone in hopes of finding the answer outside myself on how to survive this. My gaze lands on Ryan. His face remains neutral, unaffected. Unsure, I continue to watch him, wondering, even as Victoria and David talk animatedly next to him.
Serafina raises a hand for silence. “You will individually receive information about your first test. Afterward, we will meet in the auditorium. Best of luck.”
After she walks out, the crowd erupts into frenzied conversation — everyone except Ryan, who searches for me in the crowd. Finding me, we stare at one another until he looks away without a word.
THIRTY-FOUR
I check the number on my paper against the one on the door before entering. Inside, the room is small with only one other occupant. The woman motions me to take a seat while she types something into the computer.
“Alexia Edmonds?” she asks.
“What are we doing?” I ask instead of answering her.
“Confirm your name, please.”
“Yes.” I don’t tell her that the Circle has listed me as “Unknown” or that the name Alexia was given to me by the government. “Alexia Edmonds.”
“Good.” She types in a few more numbers then hits send. A document spits out from the printer. She hands it to me. “Tell me the answer to this question, please.”
With damp hands, I grip the paper and read over the question.
You must decide between either killing six murderers and six innocents or saving them. If you save them, the murderers will go free.
I glance at her, unsure. “Whom did they murder?”
She types in some notes. “Does it matter?”
“No,” I murmur. “I mean, yes. Did they murder people who were hurting others?”
“Revenge?” She types in more notes.
“Please stop typing,” I beg. “I’m just asking.”
“Do you have an answer?” Her fingers hover over the keyboard.
“Were the innocents accomplices?”
She types again. Frustrated, I stare at the question. She glances at the clock over my head and types again, noting the time. I’m taking too long. There must be a right answer, but I don’t know what it is.
Am I a murderer if I kill the innocents, or an accomplice if I let them go free? Her eyes go again to the wall.
“Kill them.” As soon as I say it, I yearn to take it back. But it is too late — she types in my response. “Was it right?” I dread her answer, sure I was wrong.
“Thank you for taking the test.” The woman opens the door and motions me out. “Your number is three. Do not discuss the question with anyone. Clear?”
“My number?” I ask, confused.
“Three.” She impatiently waits until I nod my head.
An older agent waits for me in the corridor. He asks for my number then orders me to follow him. We head toward the gym but bypass it for a large room on the opposite end of the hallway. Inside, it is empty except for a table of knives. He leaves me with a curt nod. I run my hands over the various sizes and types. Each one is sharpened to kill.
The door opens behind me, and five others pour in. We acknowledge one another with a curt nod but otherwise, keep our distance. The agent accompanying them is another older member. Without an introduction, she points to the knives and orders us to choose two each.
The others survey the options and start to pick a variety. I slide my fingers over the handles and select the two largest.
“First mistake.” The leader takes one from my hand and drops it back onto the cart. “Bigger is not always better.” She picks a smaller one. “Speed can save your life.” With a flick of her wrist, she throws it past my head. It lodges into the cork wall. “Understand?” She waits until I pick a smaller one. “Line them up between the waist of your pants and your shirt.” She turns her back to show me. Once I do as she says, she moves on to the others to guide them. I let the mass of the knives settle against my back, balancing my center of gravity against their added bulk.
The door opens, and two robots are wheeled in. “They will serve as your moving targets,” the woman explains. “The goal is to get your knife into the cork cover around the robot.” She pulls out a set of handkerchiefs for our eyes. I stare at her in disbelief.
“No,” I say automatically.
“Standard procedure,” she says. “Not an option.”
I’m in a room with a handkerchief over my eyes. “It is standard training here.” The room is dark. The only sound is the roar of my breaths.
“How long has it been the standard procedure?” The memory lingers over me, a reminder of another time and place.
“Years,” she answers. The others watch us. “Why?”
“No reason,” I hedge.
I slip the handkerchief over my eyes. She comes up behind me and ties the ends together until everything is dark. She moves from person to person as she repeats the process.
“Ready?” she asks the room. There are murmured agreements. I shudder but answer yes. “Then let every other sense come alive.”
I weigh the larger knife to assess the pressure required to get it the furthest distance with the most accurate aim.
“What’s the objective?” another member asks.
“To stay alive while hitting your target,” she instructs. “You have to learn how to win when the odds are against you.”
A memory of another room but a similar lesson filters through my mind. I slow my racing thoughts to listen for the others in the room. There’s a shift in the air whenever someone moves. Confident there is someone next to me, I reach for them but grasp emptiness.
“Reach out only if you’re sure,” the woman corrects me. “Otherwise, you’ve shown your vulnerability.”
I throw the knife at movement behind me. I wait for it to hit the robot but hear it instead knock against the wall then c
latter to the floor.
On my growl of frustration, the woman says, “Anger is good. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment. That’s how you lose your edge.” She is kind but insistent, patient but sure.
The robot pings, indicating someone else’ success. Seconds later, another ping. The door opens as others finish the test and leave. Frustrated, I sniff the air and lock onto the various scents. The air tingles as it shifts slightly with every movement.
I close my eyes underneath the blindfold. With a deep breath, I encourage my other senses to awaken. Fully aware I can’t make another mistake, I take my time. Seconds tick by and then minutes. But the fear of failing overwhelms my path to success.
“Deep breath.” The boy stands next to me as we both stare at the bull’s eye. “Focus all of your thoughts, energy, and senses on the goal.” His words are kind and encouraging. I glance at his face, but it is still shrouded in mystery. “Imagine your knife hitting the center.” I get ready to aim when he lays a gentle hand on my arm. “Now close your eyes.”
“It won’t work,” I argue.
“It will. As long as you imagine the goal in your mind’s eye, it will.”
Trusting him, I shut my eyes. He gently turns me in circles until I no longer have a sense of place or direction. Inside my mind’s darkness, I see the goal and imagine my knife lodging in the bull’s eye. Two steps counterclockwise then I raise my arm and throw.
The memory drives me two steps forward. After listening carefully, I take another one to the right. A sound, barely a step, but it’s enough. I aim then throw. The ping of success echoes in the room. Excited, I rip off my handkerchief. The woman and I are alone in the room. The knife lies on the ground.
“Good job — it hit the robot,” she says. “It was enough to wound your opponent.”
“But not kill,” I say, disappointed. “I failed.”
