Grunting through gritted teeth, he presses the hard object into my back. “Hold on tight,” he says.
A zapping, sizzling sound erupts from the rod in his hand.
My body explodes in a wave of surging agony—a burning hot pain radiates straight through me like an electrical current.
Somewhere inside, I’m aware that I’m convulsing. And it hits me as I begin to lose consciousness that the cold object he’s pressing into my back is a powerful Taser rod.
And that if he doesn’t stop soon…I’ll die.
Chapter Twenty-Six
My head lolls to the side and, with a start, I open my eyes to a large, darkened room. It’s so huge that I don’t see where it begins and stops—an endless, empty, silent room.
I have no idea where I am.
I must have died and this is my punishment for Noncompliance—an infinite, ever after of nothingness. I shift and a sharp pain pierces across my left side, reminding me of what I suspect is a broken rib. I’m still alive.
I try to touch the wound, but I can’t move my hands. I notice with a sickening awareness that my arms and ankles are strapped down to the stretcher. The feel of fabric against my skin is partly comforting, telling me I at least have clothes on again, but then I’m left to wonder who dressed me. My eyes snap to the ceiling straight above me and I zone in on a video camera. A cold sweat slicks my skin—I know exactly where I am.
The Terrorscape.
I can’t help it. I scream. I realize the clothes I’m wearing are the Olympus Jail greens. Years of watching people being punished in the Terrorscape have left me terrified of it.
Somebody moans to my left. At first I don’t see anything in the dim light, but then I make out a shadowy figure strapped to another stretcher a few feet away.
“Rae?” Darian whispers, sending shivers through me.
“Are you okay?” My voice comes out hoarse.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice sounding as if he’s just woken up. The clanging of metal meeting metal rings out as he struggles to break free, then silence again. I hear him take a long breath and exhale. “Are you? Did they hurt you?” he growls.
“I’ve been better, but I’m alive.” I decide not to tell him about my rib, knowing it will only make him angrier than he already is. “But I’m really scared, Darian. We have to get out of here.”
“Rae, I need you to listen,” he says in an urgent voice. “There won’t be much time and there’s a lot to explain.”
I want to reach out and touch him, but he’s too far away. “Okay…”
“When the Terrorscape starts up, I need you to be prepared. It—it’s not what you think exactly.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, and push aside the fear creeping in.
“The first five minutes or so will be a horrible nightmare. That’s the part that is televised. Remember when we were kids and we talked about what we thought a nightmare would be like?”
I nod, even though I know he can’t see me.
“Well, this is worse. I’m not saying this to try to scare you, but you need to be ready for it. You’ve never had a nightmare and these manufactured ones are brutal.”
I pinch my eyes shut in disbelief. My life flashes before me. It seems surreal that I ended up here…that what I thought was a perfect little life not that long ago has led to this.
“They can’t kill you though…not the nightmares anyway.” I think I hear Darian swallow. “But that’s not the worst of it.” Darian makes a noise that sounds like a growl. “And all of this is my fault. I’m really sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say, my voice breaking. I dig my nails into my palms and will myself to be strong. I swallow and continue. “But what do you mean it’s not the worst of it? What happens?”
Coral’s voice suddenly rings in my ears. It’s a living, breathing nightmare in there. She also told me that if I ever ended up in the Terrorscape that I needed to run. A shiver runs through me.
Darian stirs beside me on his stretcher and again the sound of metal clangs out as his cuffs pull against the side rails. He mutters a curse under his breath. “After the first five minutes of the nightmare sequence, the real nightmare begins. That’s when we’ll be released from the stretcher and the Terrorscape becomes interactive.”
“Interactive?” I choke out, horror ripping through my chest like claws.
“It’s hard to explain, Rae. Everything in here is holographic images. But the thing is, it’s sort of real.”
“What? You’re not making any sense. You know that, right?” I strain to see him in the dark, to read his features, but I can’t quite make them out.
He sighs. “Sunshine, listen. The sensor The Protectorate inserted underneath our skin? Well, because it links to our nervous systems…the officials who control the Terrorscape can make you feel like the pain of an attack is totally real—every single cell in your body will tell you it’s real. So even though what you see will be a holographic image, not only will it look, sound, and smell real, it’ll feel very real, too because they’ll make it that way.”
Oh, God.
“From what I noticed there are about eleven different themes they’ve created to use in the Terrorscape that have unique holographic sequences. And believe me; I tried resisting over the time I spent here. One time, I refused to fight. I sat there and didn’t move.” He pauses. “You asked about my scar? Well that’s how I got it.”
“Wait. How?”
“There was something that…although I could plainly see its inhuman features right in front of my face, I knew it wasn’t real and so I refused to fight or run.”
My heart rate spikes. “Inhuman?”
“Yes. Look, if I could take all of this away, you know that I would.” He pauses, coughs, and clears his throat. “The thing is? The officials will be watching you the whole time once the Terrorscape sequence begins. And if you don’t fight back, run, or react somehow to the images that are in play in this amphitheatre, then whatever you see will come for you and attack you. And, trust me, the pain it would have inflicted if it were real, will be matched by what the officials will produce by using our sensors. So everything lurking in here? It’s the same as if it were a living, breathing entity.”
I choke back a gasp. “What? This is crazy!” I shake my head. “And I don’t understand. I get that the officials can make us feel the pain of an attack, but it doesn’t explain how you got that scar.”
“That’s the thing—for example, if something in here bites you, it will feel completely real, but they won’t leave a mark on your skin, because they aren’t technically real. But those bastard officials…” He trails off and I hear the sneer in his voice “…they’ll make sure to inflict pain on you for days by messing with your implant. The implants will send false messages to your brain that make you feel the injury.”
I shake my head. “I get that part, Darian!” I say, tugging up on the restraints as my pulse kicks up. “But again, if they don’t leave a mark on your skin, then how did you end up with that stupid scar?”
Darian pauses a second, as if considering how to tell me, which only adds to my panic. Finally, he says, “When I refused to play along in the Terrorscape amphitheatre one time, they sent in a few fighter bots. At the time, I thought they were holographic images, too. I was wrong. When one of them slashed me, I passed out and the next day I ended up in the hospital. It was an obvious warning to play their game or they’ll get revenge.” He pauses, his voice weary. “That cut left me in the hospital for two days. It cut an artery…almost killed me, and—”
A squealing of a microphone interrupts our conversation, blaring out from all around us.
“Welcome to Olympus Jail,” a man’s voice booms.
I recognize the voice right away as Prime Minister Vega’s. “I’m glad to hear, Darian, that you’re teaching your little girlfriend here how to behave. We don’t want to feel compelled to inflict any lasting scars on her pretty face, no
w do we? Because, after all, we—The Protectorate—are here to keep you safe.”
He laughs, making my stomach roil before his tone turns more serious. “It’s a shame, really. We did want to be that safe haven for all of our citizens, including the both of you. But you two are trying to complicate things. We can’t allow insubordination to go unpunished. We won’t. Your behavior will only lead to more Noncompliance from others, and that just can’t happen. I won’t allow our society to fall apart because of the disobedience of a few who want to try to cast us in a dark light. Speaking of light…”
Bright lights illuminate the room until I’m almost blinded. They’re so bright, and with my adrenaline pumping, my body feels like the sun itself is all around us, burning us with its intensity.
I squint and tug on the cuffs tying my arms down. “We need to get out of here,” I whisper.
“Don’t panic, Desiree. I’ll find a way, I will, but I need you to stay strong and fight back,” Darian says, his voice taut with frustration. “As long as you give them what they want, you’ll be okay.”
“Good boy, Darian,” Vega’s mocking voice cuts in. “I’m going to sit back and enjoy the show. But first, I wanted to say hello and see for myself that the murderers are secure.”
The fact that Vega said murderers instead of murderer makes me cringe, and I wonder if The Protectorate is going to accuse me of being an accomplice in Darian’s parents’ murder. That way they can make me stay in jail permanently and not just for the typical week. I quickly push that thought aside, afraid that if I dwell on that very real possibility, I won’t make it past day one.
“I refuse to allow the people of Tower to suffer by falling into chaos once again. It causes such pain…” His voice trails off as if he’s lost in thought. “Both my parents grew up under horrible conditions during the Manic Age. They suffered immensely and, because of that I believe, became cold—my mother especially. No one she met was left unscathed by the anger trapped inside her from her hardships—no one.” And by no one I assume he especially means himself. I wonder what he means exactly and if his mother abused him physically or if she simply ignored him. Cold, the way he described. I don’t have time to think for long. Vega takes in a sharp breath as though catching himself from spilling too much, more than he intended. After a moment he clears his throat and begins again. “The port screens will buzz momentarily with the capture of Tower’s most wanted convict and his outlaw, Noncompliant lover.” Amusement quickly replaces the sorrow that filled Vega’s voice and a hot flush works its way through my veins. Knowing my parents are about to witness me strapped to this stretcher causes my lungs to seize and my throat to burn. “I suggest you keep quiet while you’re making your debut. If not, as always, there will be a price.”
I grit my teeth. Of course Vega doesn’t want us to say anything that might tarnish The Protectorate’s image. They just expect us to sit back and take it—admit guilt of whatever they accuse.
I take in a deep breath and close my eyes. Tears well up behind my lids as I try to keep them from tumbling down my cheeks. I remind myself that Darian made it through years of the Terrorscape and Coral and Owen made it home safely, too.
If they did it, so can you.
The music of The Protectorate sounds out, and the famous newscaster’s voice—Davis Tate—the man that turned Ellery Walsh in for hiding her baby, soon follows.
“Good evening, citizens of Tower. We have good news on this fine fall evening,” he says in a chipper voice. “The Protectorate has captured Darian One Sterling—the most wanted criminal and murderer in all of Tower.” There’s a pause and my throat tightens as I imagine my parents watching me from the sofa at home, and how panicked they must feel.
Then I decide to do something crazy. I look to the camera and smile.
In all the years that I’ve watched people punished in the Terrorscape, nobody has ever smiled. I do it hoping it will comfort my parents even just a little—to let them know I’m okay—even when I’m not convinced of that myself.
Davis continues and I drop my smile into a neutral expression. “Unfortunately…” he drawls out, “Darian acquired help in eluding authorities with childhood friend and newly convicted Noncompliant, Desiree Six Haven.” Another pause. “Let’s hope that lessons will be learned by all in these unfortunate events. This is Davis Tate. Good night, Tower.”
Within seconds, the familiar humming of what I’ve always known to be the Dreamscape purrs—the sound that has always comforted me and lulled me to sleep. But tonight, even though its effects begin to force me to doze off, I feel anything but comforted.
“You’ll be okay,” Darian whispers.
I turn my head and meet his gaze. His beautiful features are lit up by the bright lights in the room. His eyes soften and he blows me a quick kiss before turning his face upward toward the camera. He tips his head back and laughs—actually laughs. And I realize it’s Darian’s way of letting The Protectorate know that they might have captured him, but they can never really own him.
I ball my hands up and squeeze, the fear of the unknown threatening to swallow me. Against my will, my body soon relaxes and although I try to fight it, the implant inserted under my skin syncs with the pull of the Syncro-Drifter. It’s then I notice that I don’t see a Syncro-Drifter. But before I can figure out how The Terrorscape is working, I feel the pull of slumber tugging me under like a benevolent friend.
Something rough touches me.
Whatever it is hisses and shifts by my feet. My eyes dart open. I’m still strapped to the stretcher. Oddly, the ceiling alternates between shimmering, brilliant colors one second and its original form the next. I blink my eyes, fear gripping me like a fist.
Something tentacle-like moves slowly inside the leg of my pants…slithering and sliding. Its cool surface ripples and undulates. I wiggle my foot with a yelp, but I can’t kick it away because of the restraints.
Loud hissing fills the room. I snap my head toward Darian and notice his eyes are as wide as mine must be. I don’t know what he’s seeing and if there’s something crawling on him, too.
The unknown creature bolts upward with lightning speed. It stretches the elastic band at the waist of my pants and shoots out, its head pitching toward me with a hiss.
The serpent’s fangs ooze with venomous saliva. The scales on one side of its neck ripple, and I slam the back of my head against the stretcher, desperate for escape. But then the snake’s head flops to the side, as if it’s about to break off. Its crusty skin bulges where moments before it rippled. I gasp as its scales burst open at the side of its neck.
I stare at the repulsive creature, feeling like everything good in me is draining out of my body, replaced with only fear. I’m as fragile as a bird in a cage, held hostage to the evil pressing in all around.
I gawk as a second cobra head sprouts out from the side of the serpent’s neck. Both creatures stare at me with dark, swamp-green eyes. I shake my head, my body trembling, fear coiled around me so tightly I can barely breathe.
It’s not real. I try to remind myself of Darian’s words, unable to connect those thoughts with the very real creatures in front of my face.
The snake’s heads sway as if assessing me, and they hiss their forked tongues toward me, trying to taste me.
Then, in unison, they lunge their sharp fangs toward me, one snake’s head at either side of my neck.
A blood-curdling scream rips from my throat as their teeth sink into my skin. A burning pain tears through me, stinging, and halting my breath. From deep inside, horror explodes, taking away any remaining childhood innocence.
A loud sound cracks into the room like a roar of a jet engine.
Then silence.
The cobras shift to mist and disappear. A subtle click, and my handcuffs snap open, releasing the firm pressure on my wrists.
And somewhere in the back of my head, one word resonates.
Run.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I bolt up, ramrod
straight. A yelp springs from my mouth and I don’t know if the pain from my ribs or my neck is worse. The snakes are thankfully gone. I press my palms against the sides of my neck where the piercing pain of both bites pulsates. The lights blink on and off like they’re strobe lights, and when I pull my hands away, droplets of blood stain my fingers. My hands tremble, and I wonder how I’m even still alive. It can’t be real—if the bites were real, then the poison would’ve killed me.
Calm down.
Darian.
I jump off the stretcher, but freeze when I feel blades of grass beneath my bare feet. I glance down in shock, watching as the ground changes from grass back to the steel floor in blinking waves.
I hear a mechanical noise behind me and I whip around. The floor opens up and the stretcher sinks beneath it, and then closes again. I blink my eyes at the spot, now filled with the flashing forest floor. The air feels humid, and the heat causes my shirt to stick to my back and sweat to bead on my forehead.
“Look at me,” Darian says, and I twist around and find him standing right in front of me. A shooting pain rips through my side and I wince. I lift the hem of my shirt and notice that my rib cage has been wrapped in white gauze.
Darian takes my hand and squeezes it twice. “Whoever did that to you is gonna suffer, trust me,” he says through gritted teeth. Somehow, I don’t doubt that if given the opportunity, Darian wouldn’t hesitate to get payback.
“I’m bleeding,” I say, and show him the blood on my hands.
“What happened?”
I cringe. “Snakes bit my neck.”
Darian leans in, cups my chin with his hand, and tilts my face gently from side to side. “I see the blood, but there weren’t really snakes. But listen,” he says, softening his tone, “this is good—we’re together. I’ve never been in the Terrorscape with anyone else before. This must be added punishment for me…to watch you suffer in any way is unbearable.” He growls. “But at least I can help protect you.”
Awakening Page 21
