I slam my locker door and prepare to make my way to College Prep English, but halt in my tracks when a familiar face comes into view. He walks toward me, his tall frame moving with grace and ease, his eyes trained on the blush spreading across my cheeks.
“Where you off to?” he asks, turning to fall into step beside me.
“English,” I answer shyly. “You?”
“Checking out early.” He grins and the mischief in his eyes only amps up my attraction. “Wanna come?”
What?
Is he really asking me, a lowly sophomore, to ditch with him?
“Come with you,” I repeat. “Like, skip class?”
“Well, not 'like' skip class. 'Actually' skip class.” He laughs, and it's deep and warm and beautiful. “What do you say?”
“I– uh...”
He leans in close and clasps my hand in his. “Don't think about it,” he whispers. “Don't let the guilt get you. Just do it, and do it with a smile.”
How can I say no to that?
Well, I can't.
Gripping his hand, I nod, and we take off toward the closest exit.
The lights above my head extinguish, jerking me from the memory and plunging me into complete darkness.
“I guess it's lights out,” I say to no one in particular. “Thanks for the warning.”
Closing my eyes, I let the shadows consume me, and I fight to reel the memory back in and recall what happened after we pushed through the doors and ran to Jared's car. I fight hard, but the cool concrete beneath me and the stale air around me are tugging on my limbs, commanding I stay in the here and now. My brows furrow and I struggle to remember his voice, his kind eyes, the way he held my hand on top of the console... but I can't.
I can't because something else is demanding my attention. Something coppery and pungent. An ache forms in my stomach, my throat, and my mouth, causing my eyes to snap open. That feeling... it's familiar, but not. It's captivating, but I know I should fight against it.
Saliva pools in my mouth and I have to stand and repeatedly swallow before it can drizzle down my chin.
The smell finally registers to my brain.
Looking down, I find the steak exactly where I left it.
Licking my lips, my body leans forward. I know what it wants. What it's craving.
“No.”
It's disgusting. Clearly. But... it also smells like heaven.
Hunger, real hunger, wasn't an issue before.
Now? Now it's definitely an issue. A pressing, dire one.
“No, Maya,” I whisper, shaking my head. “Absolutely not.”
But even as I speak, I step closer.
And closer.
And closer...
Looking around, I find only shadows. Nothing more. Just me and the darkness.
Now that the plate is within reach, I realize it's not actually my stomach that's aching, so much as it is my mouth. It wants to taste. My tongue wants to feel the cold juices roll over its taste buds.
I had very little willpower to begin with, and what shred I have left is thrown aside when I lay eyes on the white webbing of gristle weaving through the red meat.
Screw it.
Dropping to my knees, I shift forward and take the cold steak in my hands. It might have been warm when it was delivered, but after who knows how many hours, the cold permeating up from the floor has chilled it. But I don't care. Hell, I don't even care that it's raw. Not anymore.
It slips in my hands and I have to keep a tight grip on it so it won't fall to the ground. Closing my eyes, I go for it.
I take a bite, imagining it's a submarine sandwich from my favorite deli back home. It's just one small bite, but that mouthful does strange things to me.
Blood flows over my tongue and I moan, low and loud, but I don't care. I don't care about anything except the piece of meat in my hands.
In the dark, crouched on the floor, I proceed to eat the entire thing, my limbs and mouth working together in a robotic fashion. My teeth gnash, shredding the meat into smaller, more manageable pieces, and the sick smacking noise it makes rings through the room.
When I swallow, I can feel it move all the way down my throat, and even that feels pleasant. My hands are empty, so I go to work running my tongue over my fingers, licking every droplet of blood from my hands I can find.
Finally, I open my eyes. I'm satiated. Content. It's only when I look down at the floor, at the puddle of blood, so I actually realize what I've done.
I ate the entire thing.
Me.
Maya Winters.
Good girl.
Just ate a cold, raw steak.
To keep from coming completely unhinged at the thought, I reach for the clear bottle. As quickly as my hands will allow, I unscrew the lid and tip it up, letting the thick liquid slide right down my throat. It tastes medicinal, with just a tinge of cherry, like someone tried to flavor it for me.
When the entire bottle is gone, I set it on the empty tray, and a hot cloud of shame moves into my chest.
Shame at what I am.
Shame over what I just did.
Shame concerning what I might do in the future.
I can't look at the tray a second longer. I don't want to look at anything, I don't want to think about anything, and I sure don't want to reflect on the fact that I just ate a raw piece of meat in the dark, on the floor, like an animal.
Because that's what you are now, whispers a voice. My voice.
No.
I'm not an animal.
My mind flies back to the man who chewed off his own tongue; the man who considered me one of his own.
No...
I crawl back into bed. Pulling the handkerchief from my pocket, I cover my eyes and allow myself to cry. I beg, I plead, I bargain with my brain, telling it that if it just lets me power down and forget for a few hours, I'll do anything.
But it doesn't listen. It doesn't care. It wants to get up. It wants to look around, to scavenge, to forage, to roam.
I can't do any of those things, but the urge is still there. Inescapable. Just like this room.
“Feel better?”
A scream rips from my chest and, in an instant, I'm standing, jerking my head around, trying to register where the voice originated.
“Who's there?” I call out.
“What, you don't have night vision now?”
I know that voice, and I lower my guard, but mortification takes its place. How long has he been here? How long has he been watching me? And why the hell did I let myself forget he stayed behind in the first place?
“Cain?”
A flashlight clicks on and illuminates his face before it's cast down to the floor at my feet.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
Now that he's right on the other side of the door and his flashlight is casting the faintest light on his face, I can see his eyes, how calm they are, how collected of an individual he is. Like a soldier.
He belongs in a place like this.
I don't.
“I wanted to make sure you ate something.”
His words surprise me, and I find myself edging forward, meeting him at the wall. But I can't ignore the anger that tries to push through.
“So you came to babysit me?”
Cain shrugs. “I don't sleep much anymore.” As if that explains it.
I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, well, I don't sleep at all anymore.”
His head tilts to the side as his blue eyes narrow.
“Interesting,” he breathes.
I think that's an insult, or I should at least take it as one, but I don't, because I'm too tired to care. Not physically tired, not mentally... but emotionally. Spiritually. Even my still heart is begging for a reprieve. I just want this night to be over.
“Well, good night, Maya.”
He walks backward toward the door, and I don't bother gracing him with a reply. If I open my mouth, chances are I'll ask him to stay, and I can't do that.
When the door clicks shut, I march back to my concrete slab. It's not so bad. I guess things could be worse.
My eyes close, and I pray for my brain to shut down, if only for a moment. Just long enough to grab onto my memories and let them fly me away to a happy place. A better place.
A place where my heart still beats.
CHAPTER TEN
“Rise and shine, Winters.”
The guard yells through the glass, but he doesn't have to. I heard their bulky combat boots marching down the hall two minutes ago, way before they ever unlocked the door.
“Does Maya get to come into the out now?” I ask, pouting my lips.
Of course, none of the guards understand the movie reference, but I don't expect them to. They've probably never seen a cartoon. Entertainment as a toddler probably included old Vietnam news coverage and beef sale reports.
Stretching my legs and arms, I wait until some of my blood volume redistributes itself before standing and approaching the door. It swings open, and before I can step outside, a large canvas bag is thrust into my hands. I peer inside and find socks, white underwear, a black sports bra, camouflage pants, a tan T-shirt, and a pair of high-top boots.
“Change.”
I look around at the male guards and the glass walls. Are they serious?
“Uhh...”
“Come on, Winters, we don't have all day.”
Throwing the bag on my bed, I cock my hip and motion for them to turn around. There's no way I'm letting them watch me undress.
All three of them roll their eyes in tandem but do as I ask.
As quickly as possible, I dress in the military issued garments and throw my paper gown to the floor. It feels nice being fully covered again, and I pull the T-shirt material up to my face and rub it against my cheek. I feel a little more human, a little less dead.
“Ready, Winters?”
Bouncing on the heels of my boots, I stand at the door. “Yup!”
“Good. Let's go.”
They let me step outside and I notice a visible shift in the air. It's much cleaner out here, warmer too.
I wait for the guards to do something, escort me to the box my dead friend was in, cuff me- something.
“What, no collar and leash?”
A guard with a shaved head and a unibrow grins before pointing behind me. The man at my back holds a gun – a rather large rifle – to my back.
“Oh, even better.”
Holding my hands together in front of me, I follow the guards out into the hall and down the stairs. I look around for the others so I can show them I'm no longer a threat, but they're nowhere to be found.
When we step into the lab, a friendly face greets me.
“How are you feeling this morning?” Paula asks.
“Dead,” I smile. “And yourself?”
Paula points a chubby finger at my face. “Sarcasm is the weakest of defense mechanisms.”
“Noted,” I mutter. “What's on the agenda for today? Am I here so you can leech more blood out of me? Because I've gotta tell ya, I don't think I have a whole lot to spare.”
In reality, I do have quite a lot, and I don't need it. Not really. Surely I can survive without it. They can take every last drop if they want and I doubt it will make a difference.
The guards must have at least a little faith in me because they wander off and leave me alone with Paula. I'm thankful. I hate the fact that they feel the need to keep a gun trained on my back while in my presence, but I can't say I blame them. I'd be leery of me too if it were the other way around.
“Have a seat, sweetie.”
I still can't get over her use of pet names. She treats me like a dear old friend, but I'm grateful. It tells me she still sees me as a person. Not an experiment, not a monster, not a threat.
A person.
Paula quickly and efficiently takes my blood pressure, pricks my finger and smears the blood on a sheet of paper she slips into an envelope, checks my eyes, ears, and mouth, then steps back.
“Okay. You're all clear.”
I stare at her, and she stares right back, smile in place.
“You're kidding me.”
“Nope.” She shakes her head, and her short brown hair flutters around her ears. “You're good to go. You're fighting your urges–”
“Or I don't have them,” I argue.
“You're in control. You're still functioning where you should be and your vitals are fine.”
I laugh. I mean, how can I not?
“My vitals?”
I grab the stethoscope dangling around her neck and insert the earpieces before holding the chestpiece above my heart.
“Nope. Nothing.”
Tossing the stethoscope to the bed, I press two fingers to my wrist.
“Nothing there either!”
I spy a pen light peeking out from her lab coat pocket and grab it. Shining it in my eyes, I stare at Paula.
“Any dilation there, doc?”
Paula crosses her arms. “No.”
My hand jerks and the pen light hurls across the room.
“Then how are my vitals fine?”
There's a long silence, and if I still had functioning lungs, my chest would probably be heaving with emotion, but I don't, so it doesn't.
“Your vitals are exactly what they should be for what you are.”
My head jerks back in surprise. It's the first time she's ever spoken to me like I was anything less than a human being. But I guess I deserve that after acting the way I just did.
“What I am,” I repeat.
She nods, and the corners of her lips pull down. It's an expression I've never seen on her before, and I feel bad knowing I'm the cause.
“Am I free to go?”
She waves toward the door after averting her eyes. “Go find the others. They should be finished in the training room and on their way to the briefing.”
I perk up.
“What briefing?”
Paula retrieves her pen light from the floor and slams it down on a rolling tray.
“I don't know, Maya,” she says. “I just work here.”
I have neither the time nor the right to ask questions, and I'm too embarrassed to apologize. So instead, I sprint toward the door.
“Maya!”
Paula's voice stops me, and I screech to a halt on the polished floor of the lab.
“Yeah?”
“Do everyone out there a favor.” She approaches, takes something from her pocket, and hands it to me. “Brush your teeth.”
A guard directs me to the conference room where March will be briefing us on... who knows what. Everyone is still filing inside, doing their best to ignore me, so I take a seat and prepare myself to soak in as much as I can. I feel like I'm already light years behind everyone else.
It feels good, being out in the open with people surrounding me. I was always a people person before, and that hasn't changed. There's still some inane urge to please those around me buried deep within me, even now, when I know that I'm not wanted. I'm feared.
Screw them.
They can get over their fear. I can't get over... whatever this is.
Drumming my fingers on the table, I wait for the meeting to start. Finally, I'm part of something again. No more glass boxes, no more food trays slipped through slots in doors, no more toilets without an actual seat on it.
Looking around, I smile at the others... only to realize they're all sitting as far away from me as they can get.
Figures.
I'm still a threat in their eyes. I'll have to work twice as hard, be ten times as charming, be smarter, livelier, more determined in order to gain their trust. If that's even what I want. Maybe their trust isn't something I need. Maybe there's something else I need more.
Respect, a voice inside me whispers.
Respect is harder to gain from strangers, and even easier to lose. If I want to work with these people, they'll have to get past the fact that I'm different. Or, they won't. Maybe they'll embrac
e my differences and we can go on with our jobs.
Differences.
I chuckle under my breath.
I'm dead. That's a little hard to overlook.
The chair beside me moves, and I look up to find Cain taking a seat beside me. Behind me, more chairs move and I turn around to see Tara, Martina, and a boy I don't recognize. They all smile and settle into their seats without a word.
They don't seem the least bit afraid. Not even Tara, who seemed to think I was going to rip her throat out when they shoved her at me in containment.
I lean in close to Cain so only he can hear.
“So what is it? Do you all have a death wish?”
He tilts his head down and grins. “I'm here, aren't I?”
Yeah, I don't really know what that means.
I cross my arms and stare straight ahead. Cain chuckles.
“You're such a girl,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Ten pounds of sass in a nine-pound sack.”
“Cain, you're annoying a girl who drank formaldehyde for dinner. You really think that's a wise thing to do?”
His shoulders lift and, for a moment, he looks at me with a warmth I haven't seen in anyone's eyes since... well, since Jared. I brush that thought aside as quickly as possible and thank my lucky stars when March pushes through the door.
“I know you have training before lunch, so I'll make this quick.” He dumps a stack of folders and a laptop on the desk in front of us and rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt.
Everyone in the room leans forward, desperate for whatever information he has to share, myself included.
“So far, it seems the vaccine is working.”
I laugh.
Loud.
It's not exactly working for me, is it?
Secretary March casts me a stern glare, silencing my laughter, but I continue to smile as he presses on.
“You'll all still be closely monitored throughout your training, but so far it seems everything is going exactly as planned.”
I scoff, but avert my eyes when he turns to stare at me.
I've never had a problem with an authority figure before. Not until right this moment. As Secretary March continues to blather on about something I don't entirely care about, Cain elbows me in the ribs, and I shift to meet his eyes.
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