Savaged

by Mia Sheridan

  Jak’s eyes met Harper’s, hers wide with fear, searching. Trusting. She knew it wasn’t true. Knew he didn’t kill Driscoll. She’d trusted him that night, too, he realized. She’d put the pocketknife in his hand because she’d trusted him to do something. He glanced to the man with the gun, too far away to rush before he could shoot them both.

  In front of him was the gun, behind him were the deadly falls. Trapped. They were trapped.

  “Dr. Swift, wha . . . what did Driscoll and his Spartans have to do with any of this?” Harper asked, her voice shaking. Trying to keep him talking. Giving Jak time so he could figure out what to do.

  Dr. Swift sighed. “Driscoll was obsessed with history, with the Spartans.” He waved his hand as if that didn’t matter. “We like to give our camp leaders room for creativity.” He turned slightly toward the man behind him. “Daire knows all about that, don’t you?” Daire didn’t answer, but Jak saw something flicker in his eyes. But with a blink it was gone. Dr. Swift turned back toward Harper and Jak. “But see, the Spartans brought up one very important fact. Driscoll was right: there’s much to be learned. See, they started with the children. It’s where our idea was first conceived. We try to alter adults, change people who cannot be changed. Study them, put them through useless programs that show dismal results. Nothing changes, do you see? It’s all backward. And so the cycle continues. Your own mother was proof of that, Jak. Born to a junkie herself, raised in the system. What does she do? Becomes a teenage mother, hooked on drugs, willing to sell her child to feed her habit. And the cycle continues.” He made a disgusted sound in his throat.

  “What do you think would have become of you, Jak, if she had kept you? The same thing, that’s what. You’d have eventually been placed into a group home, either ended up a menace or an inmate—either way, a complete drain on society, only to go on and create more just like you. You think it isn’t true? Read the studies. Society has set up a system that incentivizes the breeding of degenerates, criminals, and predators.”

  Dr. Swift looked off into the distance for a moment before speaking again. “Isaac was right on another front. Jak was taken from his mother and raised by a singular caregiver in the vein of the Spartans. It seems to show the best success. But of course, they knew their stuff, didn’t they? You’re understanding all this, aren’t you, Jak?”

  Yes, Jak understood. At least enough to feel sickness turning in his stomach.

  “Just so you know, Jak, I tried to convince Isaac he should teach you how to make fire at the very least. But he said no. He liked discovering what you would come up with to trade for matches.” He shook his head, lips together.

  Make fire? The world spun. His heart dropped to his stomach. He looked at Harper and her expression . . . it looked like Dr. Swift’s words made her want to cry.

  “It’s a sort of irony, isn’t it, Harper, that you entered the foster care system, the one we deem a useless failure, because of us.” He smiled but his smile only made Jak feel sicker. “But because of it, you should understand better than anyone that the system doesn’t work. Would it have been worse, Harper? To live out here? Free? Not listening for every bump in the night?” He looked at her, stared, like he knew what had happened to her as he swept his arm around. Harper looked down, her face almost as pale as the melting snow. Jak took a step closer, two.

  Free? he thought. There was no freedom in being set up, watched, used, and lied to.

  “So what are the applications for these programs, you might ask?” Dr. Swift went on as he paced one way then turned. Jak took the moment to meet Harper’s eyes. It’ll be okay, he wanted to say, if only to comfort her.

  The river to the left, woods far off to the right. No way to run to either before Dr. Swift’s gunman shot them down, and then what? Buried their bodies out here somewhere they’d never be found?

  “So many exciting applications,” the doctor was saying. “These people, these survivors, later trained in weaponry of all kinds, will have proven their worth, their will to fight, again and again and again, under the most arduous of circumstances. Circumstances that would take down the strongest of men. And women. They’re already being used by wealthy men, and governments all over the world. Elite security. The guarding of assets. Even assassins when it’s for the greater good.” He smiled like a proud father. “They’re soldiers—the best of the very best. Observed since birth. Revered. Their lives, their skill sets, their proven grit of great intrinsic value.”

  “And the ones who don’t survive your . . . training?” Jak asked, his heart constricting as he remembered the faces of the other two boys as they’d looked on the cliff that night. The face of the boy he’d killed.

  He shrugged. “Even if they die, they’ll die heroes. A better fate than what would have been. We’re trading one program for another, yes. But ours actually makes a difference.” For the first time since Jak had arrived, he saw anger in Dr. Swift’s face. He took a deep breath, seeming to get hold of himself. “If even a portion of these unwanted children enter our program, think of how the crime rates will lower. Think of the benefits to society. Just think of it.”

  “These are people,” Harper said, her voice still shaking. “What makes you think they won’t expose you?”

  “Unfortunately, that’s what all this is about.” He waved his hand to the two of them, nodded to the gun Daire held. “As for the others, the ones who accept who they’re meant to be, the ones who complete our camps and then the debriefing, they will go on to live exciting careers and be heroes, when otherwise they’d be losers and castoffs. The very dregs of humanity.” He paused for a moment. “We’ll establish even more training camps, fill them to capacity. Instead of putting these children into social services, they’ll enter our programs. They’ll come in as victims and exit victors. The entire country will benefit, society will benefit, these children will benefit. Eventually the world will benefit.”

  The people buying the adult children will benefit, Jak thought as the full understanding of what his life had been for swept over him in one sickening wave of red. All of it, every moment, had all been for this.

  And if he didn’t figure out a way to get Harper and him out of there, if he didn’t figure out a way to live, then hundreds of other kids would go through the same suffering as he did, would be watched like he was, used, murdered, or left to die.

  He listened to the thundering waterfalls behind him, fearing the only way out was down. Again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  “Hello, Harper?” Laurie pushed the door open, the door that had already been slightly ajar when she’d arrived at Harper’s apartment. She entered slowly, tentatively, worry skating down her spine. “Harper?” she called again. “It’s Laurie Gallagher.”

  The little studio apartment was neat and tidy, the bed made, shoes lined up by the door. Despite the concern Laurie felt at finding the door open and no one home, she smiled at the obvious effort Harper had put into making her small apartment a home. It was sweet and lovely, understated, just like the girl Laurie had felt such an immediate connection to.

  She entered the tiny kitchen, putting the bag of groceries on the counter along with the homemade banana bread. Who has time to shop, or to cook, she’d thought, when they were dealing with something as life-altering as Jak was. And, as an extension, Harper too. She knew Harper loved him, and that his struggles would be hers. Jak would be at the station for a couple of hours, so she’d picked up a few things at the grocery store for them and come over to drop it off. When she’d heard about the mine shaft, about the unthinkable things found there . . . she’d needed to do something. Mostly, she wanted them to know they weren’t alone.

  She unpacked the bag, her concern increasing when she didn’t hear Harper coming in, having just popped over to a neighbor’s maybe? Left somewhere close and hadn’t bothered to make sure her door was properly locked? “You’re being a busybody, Laurie,” she admonished herself. Maybe it was just that motherly part of her who had loved and lo
st that would always jump to the worst conclusions when it came to people she cared about.

  There was a pad of paper on the edge of the counter and she stepped over to it, intending on leaving a note about the food. But there was already a typed note sitting on top. She read the first line, her concern growing as she picked it up, reading quickly.

  She folded the note slowly, putting it in her pocket before rushing out of Harper’s apartment.

  Forty-five minutes later, she was pulling into her own driveway, and twenty seconds after that, she was rushing into the house. “Mark?” she called, tossing her purse and keys on the console table in the foyer.

  “Mark?”

  “Hey,” he said, appearing from the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve been calling you,” she said, as he met her in the foyer.

  “Sorry. I came from the hospital. Halston Fairbanks had a heart attack. Damn, I must not have turned my phone back on.”

  Laurie stopped, her eyes widening. “Halston Fairbanks had a heart attack? Oh my God.” She shook her head in disbelief. That could wait for a minute. She brought the note from her pocket and thrust it out to Mark. “This was in Harper’s apartment. She left it for Jak. It . . . doesn’t make sense.” She paused. “Does it?”

  Mark read it quickly, his brow creasing. “Killed Driscoll? Amity Falls? They’re . . . running away together?”

  “You talked to Jak earlier at length. Does it make any sense?” Her heart beat quickly. Was it only that she didn’t want it to make sense? Was it only her own delicate emotions that were trying to insist two people who had suddenly attached themselves to her heart wouldn’t possibly just pick up and leave?

  Mark shook his head. “No. I took his full statement about Driscoll’s death earlier.” His brow wrinkled as though he was considering whether Jak had lied in some way. It smoothed out. “No. But Harper’s not answering her phone so I haven’t been able to get hold of him. He could feel . . . I don’t know, responsible somehow for his grandfather’s heart attack? Apparently he found him and alerted the family. But this?” He held up the note. “No. And what? Did he flag down a ride to the falls?” He looked to the side, pressing his lips together. “Hell, that man could have run there if he was inclined to do it.”

  Laurie stared at him for a moment. “I have a bad feeling, Mark.”

  They both stood there for a moment, so many things flowing between them. The memory of the moment Laurie had mentioned her concern over the bruises Abbi kept getting—bruises that were explainable by the sports she was involved in, but that her motherly instincts told her were worth a doctor’s appointment. The diagnosis. The fight. The ultimate loss. The unthinkable grief. Their drifting apart . . .

  He'd always listened to her intuition, though. He’d never made her feel silly, or irrational. “You need to go there. To the falls. They need you,” she said.

  He looked at her closely for another moment, nodding. “I’ll get my coat.”

  She grabbed his keys for him as he put on his coat and boots. “They’re fighters,” she said, more to soothe herself, to convince herself they were okay.

  Mark opened the door, pausing. He turned back, taking the few steps to her, his hands wrapping around her upper arms, holding on. “Our girl was a fighter, just like you, Laurie. She fought until the very end. She’d want us to fight too. We’ve stopped fighting. For us. We need to start again. I will not lose you.” His voice was full of so much emotion, a lump filled Laurie’s chest, so full she couldn’t breathe. Joy sparked within her. A rekindling of their life.

  Laurie nodded her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Come back to me,” she choked. “And bring those kids with you.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Society will benefit. The children will benefit. Eventually the world will benefit.

  My God. He’s a psychopath. Did he really think anyone in their right mind would accept this? And yet, a cold spear of dread moved through Harper, the knowledge that already, others had prescribed to this madness. Not only prescribed to, but put into practice. Who else out there was suffering? Trying to survive any number of unknown terrors and hardships right that very moment? She shuddered.

  “You really think people are going to accept this?” she asked, not so much for the answer, but to keep him talking, to come up with a plan. Something. No matter how small.

  “You’re right. I see the way you two are looking at me,” Dr. Swift said, barely penetrating the careening thoughts in her mind. “It may be . . . unpalatable to some. They won’t understand the scope, the benefits.” He rocked on his heels. “But there are plenty who do, and they’re the ones who matter. They know big change requires bold action. They understand it’s the results that matter. And the results speak for themselves. Isn’t that right, Daire?”

  For the first time, the man named Daire spoke. “Yes, sir,” he said, giving Dr. Swift a small bow of his head. Oh God. They had convinced at least some of the survivors that this was okay. The sickness was unthinkable.

  The man had convinced himself he was improving society, and yet he was profiting off people’s misery.

  Next to her, Jak’s mind was definitely whirling. She glanced at him and saw it and even through her fear, her heart calmed. She’d trusted him fifteen years ago, and she trusted him now. Not to survive this, she realized. But to fight, to try. To go down swinging. She’d seen it in his nature, even then, she realized suddenly. He’d curled his fists. It came to her in a flash, the rush of the water filling her head, her mind’s eye conjuring that dreamlike moment. He’d curled his fists. He’d trembled like the rest of them, but he’d curled his fists . . . and she had known.

  She met his gaze and time stilled. Deep intensity filled his expression before he glanced backward quickly and then away.

  Backward. The falls.

  It’s our only way out.

  Her stomach dropped. Fear spiked. The water roared, the man in front of them still talking, pacing, evil spilling from his lips. She couldn’t hear him anymore, not over the rush of the falls, the buzzing in her head. Jak took a step closer, two. Harper met his eyes and a strange calm descended.

  The man in front of them was not going to let them walk away from this. Not before, and especially not now that he’d shared everything with them. They’d been a loose end before, now they were an extreme liability. He was going to shoot them and whoever else might be working with him—some vast network or so it seemed—would help him dispose of their bodies somewhere in this immense wilderness. They’d never be found, or even if they were, there’d be no evidence about who killed them or why. And if they were never found? Would others believe they’d run away together? Even if they didn’t, how could it be proven? They’d say Jak was a wildcard, unpredictable, uncivilized, and that Harper was unfocused and emotionally unstable—scarred from the trauma of losing her parents and then growing up without a true home. Who could truly say what they’d done or why? They’d look for a while and then . . . that would be that.

  The man in front of them knew it too.

  But he’d never expect them to jump.

  Yes, their only way out was down. Just like the first time. They’d survived once, against all odds, but how likely was it that they could survive something with such meager odds again? Unlikely. Hopeless perhaps. The fall was one thing, the rapids just beyond was another. Treacherous. Deadly. Full of boulders and undercurrents that had taken several lives that she knew of. So why did she feel so hopeful?

  Because, they’d survive, or they wouldn’t—together.

  Harper curled her fists. Jak’s eyes moved downward. He’d seen. He knew.

  Let’s do this. Together. Again.

  She was ready, she realized, incredulous at the calm, the peace, she felt. There, standing at the top of a precipice with Jak, about to risk it all, she saw so clearly how incredibly lucky she’d been, when she’d never deemed herself lucky before. So many things had aligned perfectly so she made it out of the wilderness
that night. Was it luck though, or more? Fate? A divine hand? Her parents’ loving guidance? She didn’t know. She did know she was intensely thankful, because like Jak, she had survived so she would be there when he arrived in her life for the second time.

  Jak. Her Jak. He’d sacrificed his own life to give her hers, and she would not dishonor that by regretting a single moment of it. He had saved her, and she was grateful for every second she’d had because of it. Even the moments when she’d struggled and hurt and felt like a victim. She hadn’t been a victim. She was the victor Dr. Swift had mentioned. Not because she’d been put through a program. She’d picked herself up, over and over, again and again. It had made her stronger, better, made her appreciate the good moments and respect her own ability to survive.

  It was as if, for a fleeting moment, a cloud had moved away from the sun. And in that brief speck of time, she saw the bright, miraculous, sometimes searing, often blinding light of what her life had been. And she was grateful for it all. All of it. Every moment. Because it was hers. And she saw that she could not claim the joy without also claiming the pain. So she did. She took it inside and loved it all equally. That moment. Right there. She loved her life. And because of such great, unequaled love—the sudden and deep understanding of the many gifts she’d received—she was willing to take any risk to keep it. For herself. For him. With him.

  Dr. Swift paced one more time. His words, she couldn’t put them together. He was preparing himself though, ready to have them shot where they stood. Harper took a step back and so did Jak. Daire saw what they were doing and raised the gun, and in that instant, they both turned, Jak’s hand grabbing hers, gripping. She heard a blast and something flew by her cheek. Jak pulled her so they wove, crouching as they moved. She heard Dr. Swift’s yell coming closer, the same as that night, only this time it was accompanied by the whizz of bullets as they flew by her head.