by Elle Park
One of the trainers appears from out of nowhere, holding what I presume is a first-aid kit. After a quick examination of the wound, he crouches down to the floor and opens the matte black case, instantly finding what he needs. Unscrewing the lid of a small, white jar, he scoops out a generous dollop of a clear, thick and slimy substance before dabbing it over the corroded flesh. Although we no longer have a zoomed-in view of Nolan, he's close enough to the bleachers for us to see the mysterious salve sink into his broken skin and slowly seal it closed.
"Thanks, dude. You mind wiping the blood off my neck? I think it's starting to itch... Where did he go?" He, along with the rest of us, is staring at the spot where the maevon was standing just a second ago. I, for one, don't blame him for making a swift escape. "Anyway," Nolan frowns, crossing his arms as he turns back to Lacey, "it was, Lace. It was. I mean, seriously," he grips his chest in mock hurt, "how could you put me up against that? How long was it even starved for—ten minutes?" For what it's worth, he really does sound deeply offended.
"Thirty-six hours, actually." Just as he opens his mouth, ready to counter with a speech no one wants to hear, she cuts him off. "Voraks," she says, angling her body away from Nolan and toward us. "That's what you saw just now—not a child, not a little girl, but a vorak. As you all know, you're here to become a tracker. Well, these are the creatures that need to be tracked. They are the reason why you're here. And, as you just witnessed, a vorak will not die until you destroy the orb in its chest—but we can be killed if their venom spreads to ours. Don't think that because Nolan here easily defeated one, you can, too. You can't—not yet, anyway. He is experienced, you are not. Now, the best way to learn to kill a vorak is by actually killing one. That is why, starting today, they will be incorporated in your training."
"Why do we have so much physical training?" The nasally voice is coming from a raven-haired girl. "Can't we just use our orbs to fight them? Isn't that what makes us special?"
The manager pastes on a falsely pleasant smile, only for it to gradually drop as she begins talking. "Oh, honey, you're not special," she says, a glint sparking in her eyes when the girl sputters. "And if you've been paying attention, you will recall me mentioning they are nothing but bloodthirsty vessels. Only those who possess an orb—whether activated or not—are able to become voraks. Their minds are nothing but a storage box, filled with memories and knowledge from their life before they died. But they cannot create new memories, they cannot gain additional knowledge. They do not have conscious thought, which is why our orbs have no effect on them," she explains, frustration leaking through her punctuated words. "Are there any more questions? No? Good."
Once again, we're directed to the outskirts of the room. Both the dome and bleachers descend underground, and the familiar glass boxes take their place. Already knowing what's expected of us, we don't have to wait for a verbal cue to spring into action. We can't seem to help that our feet are heavier than usual, though, practically sinking into the floor with each step.
Of course, the maevons are exponentially quicker than us. They are already stationed and ready, waiting for the entertainment we are surely about to provide—if they can even be entertained. And it's when I finally reach my trainer that I notice each cube is split in half by a thin, glass barrier, which means there are now two separate entrances rather than one. Just then, the doors slide open in unison, inviting us in with an ominous presence.
"Get in."
As soon as Leon turns his back to us, walking further into the cube, Nolan nudges me into the other half. "There's nothing to worry about, Sweets. But don't forget, it's not over until they burn," he says, grinning as the door glides shut.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ONCE AGAIN, I find myself surrounded by the familiar all-white. The barrier, however, remains transparent, and I can see both guys already observing me from the other side. Thanks to Nolan's running mouth, I quickly realize I can hear them, too.
"You have a gun—use it to your advantage. Eliminate them before they can get close—but if they do, just remember they know how to kill, not how to fight," Leon says, and I finally notice he's holding the tablet I've grown to be wary of. "All right, we'll start off easy."
If Nolan is trying to reassure me with his toothy smile and two-thumbs-up, he's failing. Miserably. I try to relax my body, to slow the pounding in my chest as I activate my gun. It feels good to be able to grip something other than the flesh of my own palm. Keeping my back to the wall, eyes bouncing across the colossal space, I wait for the ground to open up, for a cage to rise and open.
When it does, I find myself staring at an older woman. Her brassy bob is streaked with strands of gray, and although her frame is not exactly thin or willowy, she manages to exude a sense of frailty. Her lips are thin, her nose is round, and her eyes, I notice, are looking right through me.
"This one has only been starved for twelve hours, so it won't reveal itself as easily as the one you saw with Drake." At the sound of Leon's voice, the woman snaps her head to the side, releasing me from her gaze. "This is your chance to kill it before it knows what's coming."
"Shoot, Kaia! That means, shoot!"
The woman is already walking toward me in slow, even steps. She falters the slightest bit when I raise my arm, but when I fail to make another move, she resumes her pace. She's still a considerable distance away, thanks to the wide grounds of the room, but that's going to change soon if I don't hurry up and pull the damn trigger.
I don't know why my body is refusing to cooperate with me. I've trained almost all day, every day, since the moment I stepped foot in this academy. For the most part, I'm satisfied with my level of fitness and confident of my ability to fight. I sure as hell have consistent, near perfect aim. I know that if I shoot, my bullet will reach its target.
So why can't I shoot?
Why are my hands shaking like the last leaf on an autumn tree? What is it that I'm so afraid of? It's not like this woman looks anything like the monsters that attacked me and fought Nolan. She does not have slimy coals stuffed in her eye sockets. Her teeth are not serrated blades that can shred flesh and chew bone. There is no darkness coating the skin of her tongue or seeping beneath the bed of her nails. She just looks... human.
Maybe that's the problem.
"Focus, Kaia," Leon barks, shaking me from my trance.
She's close now—just a few more strides, and we'll be standing face-to-face. But I know I can't let that happen. After all, the boy from the alley maintained his facade only until we were alone and within close proximity of each other. And although there's no way of telling what exactly she'll do once our toes are touching, I have no intention of finding out.
Save for my hand that has yet to calm, I've been as still as a statue since the second I leveled my arm—and, at the moment, I feel like one, too. Unfortunately, I don't have the time to wait for the breath of life to course through my veins, because if I don't act now, I may no longer have a life at all.
So, finally, I shoot.
And just like that, she falls.
The wave of relief hits me like a tsunami, the force so powerful that it cripples my back until I'm gripping my thighs for support. I've barely moved, and yet, it feels as though I just finished a warm-up with Leon.
Perhaps it's the harsh breaths that I'm trying not to choke on, or maybe the rush of blood roaring in the canals of my ears... Whatever the reason, I don't hear it until it's too late.
Don't forget, it's not over until they burn.
The old, fragile woman is no more. The person that I shot down mere seconds ago is now very much up and running. She—it—has already pounced, closing in on the already short distance. And I, of course, am still stupidly backed against the wall.
And for the life of me—literally—I can't seem to do anything about it.
For a split second, it hovers in the air just above me, so close that I can almost see my pathetic reflection in the black of its eyes. Knowing what's about to come, I scr
ew mine shut, waiting for it to happen. Waiting for it to end.
Except, it doesn't end. It doesn't even begin.
And it's when I let the light back in—thankfully, not the light—I can see why. I think.
The tell-tale ash is lying just inches from my feet, and Leon is standing directly behind it, a dark, inky dagger in his hand. The frown on his face deepens when Nolan boulders through like a tornado, sending the sooty remains into the air and onto our clothes.
"Kaia!" He hugs me to his chest. "Oh, Sweets, you're alive!"
"If this were the real world, she wouldn't be."
"Give the poor girl a break, Lonny," he says, looking over his shoulder to glare at Leon, rather than detaching himself from me. "It's her first time having to kill a vorak. How can you expect her to be anything but a failure?" Okay, I think he could have worded that better. "I mean, let's be real—she's not me."
Rolling my eyes, I free myself from his hold. "Sorry, I don't know what happened," I lie to Leon. I know exactly what happened. I froze.
"You froze." What, is he a mind reader now? "I told you, fear is nothing but a distraction. You need to get over it," he declares, like it's really that easy. "And if you know what's best for you, you will, because once you're outside the walls of The Academy, there may not be someone to save you next time." And with that, he turns, walking through the barrier and into the other side—which means we're not done yet.
"Do not fret, my young pupil, because as long as you're inside the walls of The Academy, there will always be someone here to save you," Nolan whispers as if sharing a big secret, his hand cupping the side of his mouth. "Told you, you have nothing to worry about."
I find that hard to believe.
"Drake, either get in or get out," Leon snaps, impatience lacing his stern tone. As Nolan joins him in their half of the cube, he speaks his next words to me. "The sooner you get over your fear, the better, because we'll be doing this again, and again, and again, until it becomes second nature to you—until your training overrides anything and everything else that may get in the way between you and your assigned task.
And so, we do—again, and again, and again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THIS IS STRANGE.
Although I don't have a timer on hand or a clock to check, I'm almost certain we were in the pods for the regular duration. After so many weeks of following a strict routine, it would be impossible to not develop a sense of intuition with these things. Plus, I'm sure I would know if I was lying in there for hours more than I'm used to.
And this is where things don't make sense.
If we were going by our usual schedule, the familiar rows of cubes would be dominating the room by now. But the training ground is bare. And while the capsules we just vacated have slid out of view, there is now a line of doors decorating each wall, waiting to be opened and walked through.
It can't possibly be time for lunch already, can it?
Clearly, I'm not the only one confused, as I can practically hear the cogs turning in everyone's heads.
"You're going on a field trip—but not dressed like that, you aren't," Lacey announces from the middle of the room. Immediately, the air vibrates with a rumble of murmurs, but it quickly stills when she wears her shut-up-and-listen mask. "Get changed. Now."
It's the room with the shelf again, and everyone is in and out of it within minutes—but it's not my own clothes that I'm wearing. My new outfit consists of dark jeans, a white tee, a black leather jacket, and some white canvas sneakers. I find myself feeling a little thankful for it, too, because some of the other recruits are stuck with puffy vests, obnoxious hats, uncoordinated layers and cowboy boots.
Of course, Lacey has no problem silencing the disgruntled complaints.
"These doors will lead you to somewhere in the city. Regardless of where you end up, your assignment is to eliminate any and all voraks that cross your path. You may use your orb if the situation calls for it, but keep in mind, I will know your every move—don't ask me how," she says, raising a silencing finger. "And believe me when I say, the moment you screw up, you will be back in this room faster than you could have ever thought possible. How you do on this assignment will determine not only your future inside The Academy, but outside of it, as well." Her eyes linger on some faces in particular, and I'm glad mine isn't one of them. "Go—wait."
We begin moving the second she says go, but her sudden command has us stopping in our tracks.
"On training grounds, you can be loud, and you can be messy. You can go all out without much—if any—consequence. Out in the real world, it's not that easy," she says, taking the time to choose her words. "Once you leave this building, there are eyes and ears, phones and social media. It is up to you to get the job done quickly and quietly, to minimize the risk of exposure as much as possible. Kill like everyone is watching." She pauses briefly, letting the weight of her advice—or warning—sink in before dismissing us a final time. "Now go."
Whistling another one of his ungodly tunes, Nolan falls into step beside me. I don't think much of it, though, because that's how it's been ever since he invaded my life. I've come to expect his hovering presence, which is why I'm surprised when I don't feel him breathing down my neck or nudging me through the door I'm now standing in front of.
Looking over my shoulder, I see that he's stopped a few feet away from me. His hands are tucked in the back pockets of his shorts, and he's staring at me with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. His pale blues seem oddly willful, like a hostage trying to convey a silent message.
Nolan is never silent about anything.
At my puzzled look, he shrugs. "Sorry, babe. I can't go with you. You know I would if I could, but I'm afraid Angry Lacey here has promised to break my bones if I break the rules," he explains with a shudder. "Anyway, I think this is a good time to stroll down memory lane, don't you?" He chuckles, but again, it falls short. "Like, say... your first day here? You know—"
"Drake," Lacey barks, sounding more irritated than usual. "Enough chit-chat."
He releases a dramatic sigh. "All right, all right. Off you go, kiddo," he shoos at me with one hand, dabbing at imaginary tears with the other, "Don't talk to strangers—especially ones who offer you free candy. Oh, and stay away from white vans—"
"Drake."
"Fine, fine... I think I'm just going to hang in the cafeteria," he says in a rush before making his way back to Lacey.
As I finally step through the open door, his words ring in my ears and bounce around in my head. Everything about the past few minutes is unusual, to say the least, and I can't help but think I'm missing something big. It's like the answer is engraved in a sign of flashing neon, but it's too close to my face for me to make out the words.
Forcing myself to focus on the current situation, the nagging feeling gets shoved to the back of my mind. A quick scan of my surroundings shows I'm standing behind a stretch of old, brick buildings, and the slight chill has me stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jacket.
I've barely walked ten feet when I spot an elderly couple rounding the far corner and heading my way. The man's salt-and-pepper hair is trimmed close to his scalp, and the woman has a surprisingly voluminous perm poking out from beneath a flamingo-pink visor. Perfectly matching the shade of her hat is a tracksuit that looks about two sizes too small, and it's zipped so high up her throat that I'm surprised she can still breathe. Her companion is wearing the same thing but in a cobalt blue, and both are sporting white sneakers.
Filled with a rush of paranoia, I begin to analyze everything I can see. Yeah, they're dressed in coordinating outfits, but for all I know, one of them could have already been in that attire when they became a vorak. And the woman does seem to be doing most—actually, all—of the talking. Not to mention, the man's blank expression makes him look more soulless than a rock.
I'm definitely over-thinking this and reading into details that probably have little to no significance, but I do feel justified t
o have these suspicions. After all, I know firsthand just how convincing a vorak's disguise can be. And with the pressure of Lacey's words pumping my heart uncomfortably, I tell myself I'm doing the right thing by not taking any chances.
Slowing my steps as they grow nearer, my ears perk as their voices—well, her voice—becomes loud and clear. It's deep and raspy, and it turns into a wheeze whenever she doesn't pause between words.
I realize that the closer they get, the more narrow my window of opportunity becomes—which means, if I don't want to screw up, as Lacey so bluntly put it, I have approximately ten seconds to determine whether they're humans or not. Except, playing connect-the-dots with their age-spots isn't exactly helping me reach a knowledgeable conclusion.
So, I don't—reach a conclusion, that is.
Not in the ten seconds, anyway.
After a brief halt in their strides, the woman gives me a wary glance before towing her companion past me. I'm still trying to decide whether I should follow them or not, when I hear her whisper a few mildly offensive comments about me—which mostly consist of unfounded theories as to what kind of person I must be—and, in response, the man finally proves his ability to speak.
"For god's sake, Sharon, the girl can hear you," he says, his pitch sounding about half an octave higher than hers.
The man was the only one I wasn't completely certain of, but I know that if he was a vorak, he wouldn't have been able to respond the way he did. With that realization, relief greases my muscles and pops the growing bubble of air in my chest. Redirecting my awkwardly angled feet, I do what they do and continue going my separate way, pretending I never thought about killing the ignorant couple.
I make it out of the back lane and, left with the choice of either strolling through a subdued neighborhood or entering the bounds of human traffic, I choose the latter. Although scoping out voraks would probably be easier to do in the quiet stretch of brownstones, I'd feel too exposed in the open expanse, as though my every blink were being monitored—which, if Lacey's words ring true, might actually be the case.
