by Sophie Davis
In addition to the two UNITED agents supporting my best friend, there were two more standing directly behind her. The same formation was being used for each of the other culprits. Considering Alana and the rest were obviously heavily drugged, four agents per person was excessive. This was all for show, with carefully calculated implications. It conveyed to the public that the Created—we, I was one of them, this message was about me as well—were highly dangerous, something to be feared. And that UNITED was strong, capable, and in control. Even if they hadn’t been drugged, even with their Created Talents, the prisoners didn’t have a prayer of overpowering their captors.
I focused on Walburton again—my heart couldn’t bear watching Alana in that condition for another moment—in case she passed along potentially useful information. The Councilwoman was assuring the world that UNITED would continue to stand guard against Created. The camera view suddenly panned out, ostensibly to get all of the detainees in the frame. Over to the side, previously off-screen, a figure caught my eye.
She was dressed in head-to-toe black, in the same garb I’d worn to train for my Hunters exam. An Adapti-suit. The other guards on-stage were dressed in similar suits, but theirs were gray with the UNITED emblem on the chest. The girl’s chestnut curls were tied back in a high ponytail. Her posture was rigid and alert. Assessing eyes scanned the area for signs of new threats. She was poised as if expecting a hovercraft to appear from thin air and open fire, or a regiment of TOXIC operatives to explode from an alleyway for a rescue attempt. Anger and betrayal flared through me in an instant, white hot and ready to explode.
Come on, Talia, I thought bitterly. You know better than that. TOXIC would never risk the lives of that many operatives to save a few. The Director would never allow such a rescue, we all knew what we’d signed up for. Unless, of course, it’s you who needs saving. In that case, to hell with everyone else. Let’s all parade off to our executions, to save Talia. Even if it’s from herself and her own asinine decisions.
In my fury, my mental diatribe had forgotten—Director McDonough was dead. It was still so hard to believe. He’d dedicated his entire life to making the lives of Talented better. And now, he wasn’t calling the shots anymore. He was— Wait…was anyone calling the shots? No, I realized. There must not be anyone in charge anymore. Because no one would’ve authorized Alana’s ridiculous mission. No one had taken the helm. TOXIC, the greatest organization on earth, had died with its greatest Director.
Another realization seared through my mind, this one leaving me cold and terrified. With no one in charge, with TOXIC gone…I was truly, genuinely, absolutely…alone. My heart sank all the way to my feet, stopping only when it hit the floorboards. I’d felt alone for weeks now, but I’d thought it was just temporary. I’d thought that I just had to survive for a while, to stay off of the radar. I’d thought that, eventually, TOXIC would make it safe for me to come home. Or maybe they’d even come rescue me, take me back to fight alongside my brethren. We had to fight for our autonomy, to stand up to UNITED. For the right to make the world a better place.
Now I knew that all of that was just hope-filled delusions. This was it. This was reality. Permanent reality. It was only me, alone. No one else was here, no one else was coming. No one cared what happened to me. No one had my back. No one would come to my rescue if I was captured.
I couldn’t even count on my mom. Sure, she was a strong woman. If she got wind that UNITED had me, she’d probably sit outside their headquarters with a homemade sign, demanding my freedom. But that was about the scope of her ability to help. Obviously, that tactic would get her nowhere. Alana’s parents were in Manhattan, and UNITED was still taking her.
Why was UNITED doing this? Sure, okay, arresting Alana and the others was necessary. They’d actually done something wrong. But UNITED would’ve arrested them eventually even if they hadn’t broken in to the Embassy building. That crew would’ve been hunted down and brought in, regardless. They were being arrested because they were Created. And that’s what they’d be punished for.
This was exactly what Director McDonough had predicted. UNITED was selfish. They wanted the Talented to remain an elite class; an exclusive group that not everyone could be a part of. Allowing everyone to receive the Creation Drug meant that anyone who wanted to could be Talented. And if anyone could be Talented, it was no longer special.
Stupid. Selfish and stupid.
WITH EVERYTHING I’D come to accept in the past minute, I’d had enough realizations to last a lifetime. And they would, in fact, be lasting my lifetime. No more shelter and food and camaraderie, training or purpose. Director McDonough had given me all of those things. And they’d died along with him.
Seeing all of those faces—Talia’s smug, Alana’s bleak, and the Councilwoman’s radiating confidence as she assured the world she had everything under control—it made me want to snap somebody’s neck. Talia should be the one arrested, controlled by guards. She was the traitor. I couldn’t bear to think of Alana’s impending future. How Talia and the Councilwoman, and everyone who worked for UNITED, could sleep at night was beyond me.
Not wanting to see anymore, I threw the communicator aside and laid back on the bed, one arm flung over my eyes. I was too agitated to lay there, too angry. I needed to move. To do something. Anything. To let off steam before I burst into flames.
Scooping up my bag again, I stormed through the doorway and down the stairs once more. Another cursory wave at the girl sitting behind the desk, and I was back out in to the London night. The streets were busier now, people hustling to bars and restaurants, all looking to have a good time. Pulling my hood over my head, I let myself be swept up in the crowds.
A century ago, this area—now commonly referred to as the Slums—had been prosperous: a thriving metropolis of high-end fashion, cutting-edge musicians, and the greatest theatrical performances the world over. But like most cities near a major waterway, London had fallen into decay and poverty after the Great Contamination. After all but the poorest residents fled to the country, businesses closed down. Pubs boarded up. The seat of British power was transferred to Coventry. Those who remained in the city by the Thames struggled to survive. Many did not.
Not from drinking tainted water or eating contaminated food, as had been the fear of those who left the city, but from dehydration and starvation. With the merchants gone, and trade nonexistent, the people who remained in London were left with few options for sustenance. Supposedly, the people who lived through those years survived by eating city rats, stray pets, and anything questionably edible that they fished out of the Thames.
Whether the harrowing tales of survival are actually true, or just folklore, no one seems to know. But, unquestionably, those who remained in the city post-contamination and lived through it were…rewarded. Well, some considered it a blessing. Others a curse worse than dying. Good or bad, their resilience paid off. Not only did they live, but there was a marked increase in fertility rates. Almost all resulted in a healthy child. And every child born in the city at that time was special. Talented. While the global Talent population has severely declined over the decades, London’s has remained steady. It was now home to the largest concentration of Talents in the world, outside of TOXIC. Actually, now that TOXIC was gone, London was it. Talented City.
While the Slums were still considered off-limits to most, the young and privileged liked to walk on the wild side. They trekked down from Northampton, Birmingham, and Manchester for long nights of drinking and debauchery at the nightclubs and live sex shows. They thought themselves daring for braving the dangerous streets littered with pickpockets, prostitutes, and drug pushers. And the Talented. Tonight, I was tempting fate by walking among them, as well.
Sporting a pair of ripped jeans that were five wears past needing washing, a black sweatshirt with the hood obscuring my dirty brown hair, and an overwhelming urge to take out my anger with UNITED and Talia on the first person who glanced in my direction, I fit right in. The outsider
s barely glanced at me as I entered the flow of foot traffic on Fleet Street.
Picturing Alana standing behind the Councilwoman, flanked by guards eager to take her to her death, the hollow feeling in my gut turned to a knot of rage. It burned my insides, driving away the hunger and exhaustion and breathing life into my senses. I increased my pace as I wove between groups of teenagers and twenty-somethings. Their drunken laughter was grating on my nerves. Someone bumped into me, a pointy elbow poking my ribs.
“Watch it,” a girl’s voice snapped in my ear.
The old me, the girl who’d been known as the “awkward one” amongst my group of friends at the McDonough School—Alana was the pretty one, Francie the smart one—would have been quick to apologize. The new me, the chemically enhanced, genetically altered girl who’d fought in a battle for the history books and was currently filled with rage, thought it was the pointy elbower who should do the apologizing.
“You watch it,” I hissed back.
At 5’7”, I am taller than most of my girl friends back home. Even before my involuntary diet, I’d been thin. But the training regimen Donavon had designed for me in preparation for my Hunters’ tryout, had given me a fair amount of muscle. Not to mention all the cool moves he’d taught me and the weapons I’d learned to use. I wasn’t someone to mess with.
The girl who’d run into me was my height with impossibly large, patterned blue-green eyes that looked like stained glass. Her golden hair was in barrel curls that rested perfectly on slim shoulders and somehow managed to appear sleek, despite the light drizzle. She wore a slip of a dress in lilac that hugged her slim frame in all the right places, giving the illusion of curves.
She glared at me, wrinkling her button of a nose as her gaze traveled from where my big toe was poking through the top of my right sneaker to the fist-sized holes in both knees of my jeans to the grimy sweatshirt I’d been living in for weeks. Disgust might as well have been tattooed on her forehead. The old me would’ve shrunk under her appraisal, self-consciously stared at the ground and tried to blend into my surroundings. But I didn’t feel self-conscious at all. In fact, I felt the urge to punch her right in her flared nostrils.
“What are you, homeless or something?” she asked. “You sure smell like you are.” Her cackling laughter was echoed by her friends. When she blew a mouthful of wine breath in my face, it had the same effect as throwing high-proof alcohol on a fire. My temper flared up, high and hot.
Walk away.
That same voice that had urged me to be calm at the pub was back. And just like before, the advice was sound. Getting in a fight over something so stupid was just…stupid. If we did get into a fight, I’d beat the crap out of her, and then someone might call the cops. And I couldn’t have that. Even if I got away, the story of my abilities would be enough. As soon as the authorities realized I was Created, UNITED would come scoop me up and take me away, never to be heard from or seen again.
The gaggle of five girls standing around the drunk blonde still laughed right along with their queen, all of them reeking of expensive alcohol and sweet tobacco smoke. I balled my fists at my sides and turned away, counting to ten very slowly to calm myself, just the way I’d seen Talia do when she got worked up.
Talia Lyons. Not just Alana’s jailor. But also the reason I’d been forced to flee the States at all, leaving behind everyone and everything I have ever known. Her name flashing through my mind had the opposite effect of what I’d been going for. Instead of becoming calmer, my muscles tensed and air no longer seemed to reach my lungs. The London slums disappeared as I was suddenly transported back to the last time I’d seen Talia Lyons in the flesh.
I was standing guard outside the Director’s penthouse hotel room when Talia and her boyfriend, Erik Kelley, appeared in the hallway. Hatred for my former mentor ran impossibly deep, rooted in my very core. And I hadn’t hesitated to attack her.
Traitor. Betrayer. Liar.
The words blinked in my head now just as they had then.
Talia didn’t once try to defend herself, not even when I finally had the blade directly over her heart. She’d remained calm. And I was unable to make the kill, despite the voice in my head screaming that she was my enemy. I remember being confused; knowing in my brain that I hated Talia, but feeling as though we were still friends.
Erik Kelley had not been as merciful as his girlfriend. He killed the other guard I stood watch with, barely breaking a sweat. Then, he turned his rage on me. He’d snatched me up as if I were nothing more than a ragdoll. Held by the throat against the wall, my dangling feet were unable to find the ground. I saw my death in his turquoise irises—so beautiful, so lethal.
But once Talia disappeared inside the Director’s hotel room, Erik told me to run. He’d been convincing, implanting the idea in my head and making it my own before I had a chance to decide how I wanted to handle the situation. His decision to let me live wasn’t generosity or pity. He’d stopped short of taking my life for her. Because she didn’t wish me dead. In that brief moment before Erik released me, I saw the loathing, felt how badly he wanted my blood on his hands. All because I had tried to hurt her. That knowledge made me despise Talia even more.
Fingers snapped in front of my face, pulling me back to the present. I blinked up at the blonde girl.
“This one’s not right in the head,” she said to her friends and laughed harder. Facing me again, she continued, “Is that it, are you daft?”
I sucked in a deep breath and turned to leave. No matter how I felt about Talia, Erik had spared my life and my freedom that night. At the very least, he should have taken me prisoner. But he had not. No way was I throwing away that freedom over a stupid, drunk, girl with too much attitude and too few clothes.
“Go back to the rubbish pile you crawled out of,” the girl called to my back.
“Shove off, you mongrel,” a second female voice added. “Nighttime is for us round here.”
My nails bit into my palms, the pain helping to fight the mounting rage. Still, I really wanted to hit something.
Pleasant thoughts, Kenly. Think pleasant thoughts.
Digging deep, I conjured an image of my mother at the holidays. It had been just the two of us since my father died on a mission with the Hunters. We always spent the first days of my school vacations eating all of my favorite foods and shopping at my favorite D.C. stores. We’d watch old movies on the wallscreen and I’d tell her about my classes. Mom wasn’t Talented, but dad had been, and mom loved hearing about my training and lessons. She was proud of me. She’d been the one to suggest I try out for the Hunters even though my telekinetic powers were weak.
Not anymore, I thought wryly. My telekinetic powers were now Elite level. Maybe even higher, if that was possible.
“Heya, wait! Don’t I know you?” The boy’s voice was deep and barely carried over the loud conversations of the others on the street. Somehow, I felt certain he was talking to me.
Keep moving. But do not run. He’s probably mistaken. Not a UNITED agent.
That last part I repeated over and over again, as if the repetition would make the words true. Curiosity got the better of me and, ignoring my own advice, I glanced discreetly over my shoulder. Being taller than the average girl, I was able to see over the crowd without straining. His eyes were more caramel than the bright gold they’d appeared earlier in the night.
Recognition sparked in them when our gazes locked, undoubtedly mirrored in my own eyes. I made a quick assessment. No overt signs of power. Muscular but too slim for a trained fighter. His wool coat was too heavy for the weather—was it hiding a weapon? No bulges or mysterious lumps. Unlikely he was armed. Posture relaxed. No scrutiny in his stare. Communicator on his belt, but he made no move to reach for it. I scanned a ten foot perimeter surrounding him. No other eyes watching me. Rooftops? Empty. Definitely not a UNITED agent.
The knowledge that he was not there to haul me off to some government facility for containment dimmed my unease. Still, I was in
no mood for a friendly chat. I was angry, cold, and starving. I kept walking, picking up the pace with the hope that he would take the hint and leave me alone.
Luck and fate and whatever else seemed to be conspiring against me tonight. The boy followed me. Shouts of, “Excuse me”, “Pardon me”, and “That’s my girlfriend you just hit!” rang out from the crowded sidewalk. I glanced back once again and saw the boy shoving his way through the mass of people.
Leave me alone, I thought and darted between a young couple holding hands, forcing the lovebirds to break contact.
“Wait!” I heard the boy call after me.
“’Ey, watch it!” the female half of the couple snapped.
“Sorry,” I called over my shoulder, but didn’t pause. Keep moving. Keep moving. My eyes nervously searched for an escape route, outlets from Fleet Street or breaks in the buildings. My mind processed all the possible exit strategies. Invisibility? No, too weak, don’t have the energy to expend. Too many witnesses to see me blinking in and out. Hovercab? Can’t afford to waste the money. Alleyways? There’s one just ahead. Bingo.
Most of the alleys led all the way through to the parallel streets. That was my best option. The boy pursuing me was wealthy. Clearly looking for a thrill by going out in this seedy neighborhood. He wouldn’t dare follow me once I was off the beaten path.
Tiber Street loomed ahead, another main thoroughfare. I made a quick left and spotted a black space between short, squat buildings, halfway down on the other side of the road. If I was correct, the passage would put me out on Hereford Ave. Only the four lanes of Tiber stood between me and the possible refuge.
