“Bram, where are we going?” I asked after a few minutes.
“It should be around here somewhere . . . there it is,” he said, pointing to a shack a little ways down. It was the biggest shack I had seen since we'd arrived in Litropolis.
Josh sneezed. He had awful allergies. “Bram, are you sure this place is . . . hygienic?”
Bram patted his back. “It's fine. What's the worst that can happen? It's not like I'll die. I have six hundred and forty-nine years left. More on the way.” He knocked on the outside of the shack.
“Come in!” a gruff voice shouted.
We had to bend down to enter. A man who appeared to be in his early thirties, with pale skin and black dreads, sat on a stool in the corner, cleaning something metal with a wet rag.
He didn't bother to look at us as we crouched down, waiting.
Bram cleared his throat. “Excuse me. I'd like to get a tattoo.”
The man looked up and gave us each a long once-over. “What are you guys doing here? I don't want any problems.”
“I'm not going to cause any problems. I just want a tattoo and some ear gauges.” Before the man could say anything, Bram removed his hoodie and lay on the man's rickety reclining chair. He rolled up the sleeve on his right arm. “I'd like a skull—a really ghastly-looking skull.”
The man paused and looked from us to Bram. “Sure. I could do that.” He pulled a black case from the corner and opened it up. “You guys can have a seat there,” he told us, pointing to a pile of blankets in the corner.
Reluctantly, we took a seat in the cramped space and watched the man get to work.
“My name is Drake, by the way.” Drake pulled two long sharp-looking needles from the case. I cringed when I saw them and quickly changed my mind about wanting a tattoo.
Bram closed his eyes as Drake got to work. At first his face was calm as Drake began to etch into his skin. Then Bram grimaced. He looked as if he was trying very hard to maintain his tough image by not making a sound. He was probably wishing Keira wasn't there to watch. I almost laughed as my brother bit his lips and pursed them together in an attempt not to scream.
Drake stopped occasionally to rub ink into the lines on Bram's arm. Yep, my desire for a tattoo had completely faded. Why anyone would volunteer to have someone cut into their skin was beyond me.
Bram lost his sense of pride and yelled incessantly. I couldn't watch anymore. I stared at my boots, attempting to block out his screams.
We sat for what seemed like forever. I smelled the aroma of food cooking, something burning. I wanted to be home. After a while, Drake stuck some type of white paper over Bram's completed tattoo. Then he took out a case of ear gauges. Some of them were as large as my fist, which I thought would look ridiculous in someone's ears. Thankfully, Bram chose the smallest pair possible.
This time he actually shed tears as Drake pierced his ears.
“All right. All done, tough guy.”
With his tattoo covered with a white piece of paper and his freshly plugged ears, Bram slid on his hoodie and wiped the tears from his face. “Thanks.”
“Um… Should we discuss payment?”
“Oh, I don't have any money,” Bram lied. “Listen, this is for a major assignment that's coming up. Think of it as doing your part in helping the cause. I'll put in a good word for you with Dunningham. He comes to my house all the time.”
Drake didn't look impressed. He wanted his money, but there was nothing he could do. Bram was a class above him. “Whatever, man,” he mumbled.
We rose and crawled out of the tiny shack.
“You look cool, Bram,” Josh said, readjusting his glasses.
“Thanks, man.”
“Bram, you could have given him something,” Keira said. “He worked on that tattoo for over an hour, and it looks really good.”
Bram smirked. “It's a business expense. Let Dunningham pay for it.”
Once we made it back to the open part of the wall, we crawled through, and the boys replaced the stones. We had only moved a few feet away when a scraping sound stopped us in our tracks. I turned to see two boys from Litropolis moving the stones and crawling through. They looked to be seventeen or eighteen.
“Hey,” called one with long hair. “Stay out of our city.”
Bram turned and pointed to himself. “You talking to me?”
“Yeah,” said the other kid, who had a buzz cut. “You don't belong here. We don't go to Farrington and bug you. And where do you get off—coming here, using our services, and not paying for them? In case you haven't noticed, we kinda don't have much, and you kinda live pretty good over there.”
The boy was absolutely right.
“What do you want?” Dorian asked.
“A little respect,” Long Hair answered. “We may be poor, but we're Grims, just like you.”
Bram stepped to the boy. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” said Buzz Cut, moving closer to Bram.
My heart raced. This was a whole lot of pride and testosterone. Keira and I exchanged knowing glances—something bad was about to happen.
“You are nothing like me, and how dare you even open your mouth to say that,” Bram said through gritted teeth.
“What makes us different? Besides money,” Long Hair asked.
“Power,” Bram answered. Then he pulled his arm back and punched Long Hair dead in the face.
Chapter 7
Long Hair covered his face with his hands. Buzz Cut punched Bram in the stomach. He doubled over for a second and then recovered quickly, returning the punch. Dorian jumped in to defend our brother, and Josh couldn’t be left out.
Keira and I screamed for them to stop, but of course, they wouldn't listen.
Sirens rang through the air, and four Watchers ran toward us. I had no idea where they’d come from. I pulled Keira away from the fight.
The Watchers pulled the two Litropolis boys away and threw them to the ground. The boys cowered on all fours, looking at the gravel beneath them, almost like animals.
I recognized one of the Watchers as Reynold.
Reynold stroked his black beard, standing over the boys. “Let's see what we have here. Wandering out of your confines, trespassing, and violence against fellow Grims. What do you have to say for yourselves?”
Long Hair sat up. “I'm sorry, sir. Very sorry. We didn't mean to cause any trouble.”
“What's your name, boy?”
“Starkin, sir.”
“Yours?” Reynold asked the other.
The boy sat up straight but wouldn't look at Reynold. “DeCarlo.” Starkin nudged him. “DeCarlo, sir.”
“Well, Starkin and DeCarlo, you've earned yourselves a lovely stay in Gattica.”
“No!” Starkin yelled. “Please, it was just a misunderstanding! Please, just let us go back home, and we will never cause trouble again.”
A knot formed in my throat at the desperation in his plea.
DeCarlo looked at the ground, his face sullen. “Stop begging, man. It's pointless.”
Starkin wept, and I was embarrassed for him. “But I don't want to go to prison.”
Two Watchers yanked the boys from the ground, pinned their arms roughly behind them, and slapped handcuffs on their wrists.
DeCarlo put up a fight. I couldn't blame him. Anyone who got put in Gattica was automatically given a life sentence. There was no trial, no process to see whether you were guilty or not—if the Watchers said you had broken the law, that was it.
The Watchers hauled the two boys away. DeCarlo screamed obscenities, but Starkin turned to us with tears in his eyes. “Please, tell my mother. She won’t know what happened to me, and she'll be worried sick. Her name is Claudia. Please tell her.”
The Watchers wouldn’t have the decency to inform the boy's families of their imprisonment. They were only Litropolites, not worthy of such consideration.
Reynold turned to us. “Now, what are you all doing outside of Farrington city limits?”
I looked at Bram and decided to let
him do the talking. After all, he had gotten us into this mess.
“I told them to come with me,” Bram said. “I wanted to get a tattoo for our upcoming assignment. It's very important. I want to do my best, so I thought a tattoo would help. You do know about the assignment, right?”
Reynold nodded. “Yeah, I know about the assignment. You kids get home,” he said, before following the others.
We turned to obey his directions. It was only then that I noticed Dorian holding his hand over his eye. I pulled his hand away. His eye was purple and swollen.
“Nice going, Bram,” I told my older brother. “Why did you have to fight with those boys?”
“They should have stayed inside the wall where they belong and not followed us,” he answered.
“They're going to prison because of you, and you should have paid that man,” Keira said.
“You don't care about anyone but yourself,” I told him.
Bram yanked his hair. “Just shut up! All of you, shut up!” He barged across the stream.
I knew my brother very well and that reaction meant he knew he was wrong but he hated being called out.
At home that night, I tried to forget about what had happened, but all I could think about was how those boys’ families had to be feeling, wondering where their sons were.
* * *
Three days left. We were spending the next two days of our training going over academics. It didn't really matter what type of marks we got, but we didn't need to draw attention to ourselves by being totally clueless.
It was the most boring part of our training, and after an hour, my mind shut down, refusing to take in any more information. There were so many topics and things to learn. I could understand that. Human children had to be prepared for whatever occupation they wanted, whether it be a teacher, doctor, lawyer, architect, or whatever. We didn't have that issue in Nowhere. Everyone was a Grim, and that was it. All we had to study were the rules of the Covenant and our four core subjects.
Doyle had typed a list of subjects on the screen reflected on our living room wall—English, Algebra, Trigonometry, Geometry, World History, American History, Economics, Chemistry, Biology, and so many others. Then we would also have to take something called Physical Education that sounded completely inhumane. There was no way I was going to take this all in by the time we would be dispatched. I pretended to study and look through the various textbooks Doyle had provided us. While the others read and took notes, I merely looked at the pictures.
When class was over, Keira came upstairs with me. She went through my closet so we could coordinate our outfits for high school.
I lay face down on my bed, my face buried in my black comforter, while Keira rambled on about fashionable teens.
“I'm going back to Litropolis,” I blurted, cutting her off mid-sentence.
“What?”
I sat up and looked at her. “I have to tell that boy's mother what happened. It's been eating at me since last night.”
Keira sighed and shut my closet door. “Nay, let me put this in perspective for you. We were caught once going to Litropolis, and we've already had years subtracted—your fault, by the way. We got caught again last night, and we both know how Dunningham reacts to repeated offenses. We got away with it, and you want to push your luck by going a third time?”
“Our luck. I need you to come with me. I don't want to go alone.”
“No.” Keira folded her arms across her chest and plopped on my bed. “Absolutely not. You and Bram have dragged me there twice. Not again.”
“Oh, come on, Keir. Think about those poor women, wondering where their sons are. They might think they're dead or something.”
“I'm sure at some point they'll figure it out. I'm not going, and neither are you. Nay, this is stupid. Why risk so much for something that's not really that important?”
It might have been stupid, but I didn't think we'd get in trouble if we got caught. Reynold hadn’t seemed too angry the night before.
I sat up. “Okay, I won’t go,” I said just to get her off my back, “Aren't you nervous at all about going to this high school? I mean, we've never had to do this before—live as one of them. We've always just lurked in the shadows.”
Keira nodded. “A little. I just hope we fit in okay and nothing goes wrong.”
“Like what?”
She shook her head and fiddled with a stray string on the sleeve of her hoodie.
“Like what? What could go wrong?” I repeated.
“Your family. You get too involved and emotionally attached, and Bram is a hothead.”
I tried to push those accusations aside. “So what? You think we're going to blow our cover or something?”
Keira shrugged. “I don't know, but if there's a way to mess something up, you or your brother will find it. He's a horrible influence on Josh. All my brother talked about last night was how exhilarating it was to fight with those boys.”
“Bram is a bad influence on everyone. I'm sorry that my brother is such a delinquent, okay?”
Keira stood and stretched. “I should get home and start going through my own closet. See you in the morning.”
After she left, I slid on my boots and prepared to leave. I wanted to get to Litropolis and come back while it was still light out. Not that I had anything to be afraid of, besides being tossed into Gattica by the Watchers.
I left the house and walked briskly, hoping no one would stop and ask where I was going. I spotted Chase from a distance coming down the street—at least I thought it was him. He waved, and I waved back before making a right turn and going out of his sight. I hoped he hadn't been headed to my house.
I walked through rows and rows of almost identical Farrington houses. Twenty-two rows I counted. The houses stopped, and there was still a little ways to get to the stream. I took the path through the shrubs; the branches poked and prodded at me. I hummed to the rhythm of my boots hitting the ground until I noticed the sound of extra footsteps. I stopped. The other footsteps stopped. I walked again, and the footsteps began again. I turned swiftly to see who was following me.
Chapter 8
“Whoa, don't shoot!” Chase said with his hands up. Keira stood behind him.
“What are you guys doing, sneaking up on me like that?”
Keira threw her hands on her hips like her mother. “What are you doing here, after I told you what a bad idea this was?”
“I'm sorry, but if I don't do this, I won't stop thinking about it.”
Chase shook his head. “I swear, you and your brother must love getting in trouble. Didn't you learn from the other time?”
Keira zipped her hoodie up. “I have. Let's go.”
“No, I've come this far. I'm doing this.” I turned and continued walking down the beaten path.
Keira and Chase groaned, but they followed. We walked a few moments in silence until Chase cleared his throat. “You know, you two are on your way to the Upper Estates. You can get away with this kind of stuff. I, on the other hand . . .”
The last thing I needed was to feel guilty about Chase getting in trouble. I wished he hadn't come. “No one's holding a gun to your head.”
“Yeah, like I'm going to let you two go to Litropolis alone.”
“We've been there on our own before,” Keira reminded him.
“You do realize this is a repeat offense,” Chase said unnecessarily, “punishable by prison or execution.”
“You really think they'd execute a few teenagers?” Keira asked.
“They'd execute anyone,” I answered. We'd all seen that with our own eyes.
A year and a half ago, a man named Ares and his family lived down the street from us. He and his wife Dolores had three kids, ages ten, nine, and seven. Ares had been close friends with my father until the day he'd made a terrible mistake.
Ares had once been tight with Mr. Dunningham. He had been one of the lucky few dispatched to collect lives after a plane crash. When he got back, he held out on Dunning
ham instead of handing over all the lifestones. Apparently, he was saving them for some kind of underground operation he and a few other Grim men had planned on running. They planned on selling extra lifestones to the people of Litropolis for double what Dunningham would charge for them. I didn't know how that would work, since those people were so poor, but Father said they were desperate enough to come up with the money somehow.
Anyway, Ares should have known better than to try to hide lifestones from the Lord of Death. He could sniff them out like his bloodhound, Blue. Ares was found out, but he wouldn't give the names of his cohorts. I admired him for that. We were all required to assemble in the square. There was a stand set up for the execution. Ares, his wife, and their three children trudged across the platform while we waited.
Before an execution, Grims with years left must go through the subtraction process. If a Grim had fewer than one hundred years, they could be killed.
I remembered the feel of the crowd. Some people were sad. Most were angry. My father was one of the angry ones. He said Ares was a traitor. That may have been true, but I didn't think his actions warranted death, especially for his wife and children, who had nothing to do with it.
The Watchers began with the children. Dunningham wanted to make sure Ares suffered the full extent of his crimes by watching his children die. The Watchers lined the three little ones up side by side. Samara, the seven-year-old, was to be first. Samara was a sweetheart. She would often come with Ares when he visited with Father and beg me to paint her fingernails. She stared into the crowd with her tiny porcelain face, not shedding a tear.
Ares and Delores had to be held back from trying to protect their children. I closed my eyes and covered my ears. The first shot pierced the air. I pressed my fingers into my ears until they hurt. The second shot made me fall to my knees. My body couldn't hold me up anymore. Bram called my name, but I ignored him. On the third shot, I tore my hands from my ears only to wipe the tears away. By the fifth shot, I had become numb.
I'd knelt until we were dismissed. I pulled the hood of my cloak over my face and turned, careful not to catch a glimpse of the dead bodies on the platform. I walked quickly, pushing my way through the crowd. I didn’t want my family to see I had cried. No one was supposed to be crying. The execution of a traitor was a joyous occasion.
Naomi Grim: The Final Breath Chronicles Book One Page 6
