Enmity

by E. J. Andrews

I drop down and remove my sneakers and socks. The sand is colder than I imagined, yet it is still soothing on the bottom of my feet as it makes its way into the small cracks between my toes. I have lived close to the sea my whole life, but I have never felt the urge to go near it. This city is on a peninsula; this is what people say saved the city from complete destruction, the fact that we have water on three sides of us. Really it’s nothing but dumb luck, the fact it was a solar flare and not a tidal wave that took everyone out. Can’t say we would have fared the same.

  The light is fading quickly into twilight, the sun slowly setting over the horizon, into the sea. I’m not sure if the room matches its lighting to what’s outside, but I’m guessing that would be logical. That or it’s constantly like this, a never-ending twilight that never fades to night.

  ‘Are you allowed to be here, with me?’ I am stupid for asking, and then I realise I am stupid full stop. Why is this guy turning me into just another idiotic girl? I refuse to become my mother.

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head and then turns to look at me again.

  I just nod and keep on walking, waiting for Chase to be the one to break the silence.

  ‘I’m not allowed to be with you, end of story.’

  I don’t look over to him now. I can’t, because I know what I see will terrify me.

  ‘Did you ever break the rules before me?’ I ask, curiosity taking over momentarily.

  Chase faces me, a mocking gaze covering his teasing smile.

  ‘Before you, I had no reason to.’

  Chase’s eyes seem to glow with the soft haze of the lingering light around us; they are so deep and warm, like the embrace of a summer breeze on your skin. The alarm bells start to blare in my head. They only ever ring when I know something is in danger of combusting and completely destroying me.

  Chase goes a little rigid next to me, and as I’m about to ask why, I notice a figure off in the distance.

  My heart races as my vision becomes clearer. I see that it is a woman, her dress sticking tight to her from the wind that is blowing so wildly against her. Dark brown curls fly in a mess around her face, dark curls just like my own.

  ‘My mother.’ Chase’s voice breaks on the words.

  ‘Will she come over?’ I ask, trying not to look at Chase as I do so.

  I catch him shaking his head from the corner of my eye.

  ‘No. She won’t leave that spot.’

  My mouth forms the word but I can’t get it out. Chase turns to me and answers anyway.

  ‘She’s part of the simulation. This is the way my father remembers her, so this is the way she stays.’

  I watch as Chase’s mother raises her arms up from her sides, spreading them like wings.

  ‘He comes and speaks to her as though she can hear him, as though she’s just been ignoring him for the past seventeen years,’ Chase scoffs. ‘He’s deranged.’

  And with that he starts walking again. As we walk past his mother, she turns and looks back at us, giving us a childish grin over her shoulder. Chase turns away, but I can’t break my gaze.

  She looks remarkably young, couldn’t be past her early twenties. It is almost as though I can pick out the features that she has passed down to Chase. The colour of their eyes is different—hers are a muddy greenish-brown—but the shape they both share.

  ‘I prefer to let ghosts live where they lie,’ Chase mutters. I can’t bring myself to respond.

  We walk in silence for a few moments, while I rack my brain for something to say, something to dispel this connection I’m starting to feel to Chase.

  Suddenly Chase turns to face me, his back to the sea I barely notice anymore. He looks grave; I sense something really bad coming now.

  ‘I need you to do me a favour,’ he says, almost too clearly.

  I try to study his features before whatever it is that we have comes to its eventual end.

  ‘I’m probably going to say no.’

  Chase looks almost bemused by my tone. Well, if all he wanted me for was favours, he wasn’t going to get a hell of a lot from me.

  ‘I know you’re choosing weapons tomorrow, and I know who you’re fighting—’

  My eyes widen and Chase almost chokes on his words for a moment.

  ‘I do get told a few things.’

  All I can do is nod, and wait to see what he wants from me.

  ‘You need to choose a weapon that you don’t have to get anywhere near your opponent to use. Can you do that for me?’ I watch him, trying to understand his words.

  ‘You want me to choose a defensive weapon?’

  Chase starts to shake his head, his dark halo of hair sweeping to the side as he does.

  ‘More offensive than defensive. Just something you don’t need to get close to use.’

  The realisation dawns on me instantly.

  ‘Tell me who we’re fighting,’ I demand.

  Chase lowers his head for a moment and then goes back to looking at me through his lashes.

  ‘Tell me,’ I demand again.

  ‘I can’t.’ Chase takes my hand in both of his. I look down at our conjoined hands as though they are on fire. He doesn’t let it drop; does he not understand that I can easily kill him?

  ‘I shouldn’t even be telling you this,’ he says.

  ‘Then why are you?’ I pull my hand from his grasp.

  It takes him a moment to answer.

  ‘If you know who it is you might not want to go ahead with it, and they’ll punish you,’ he says breathlessly.

  ‘Why do you keep breaking the rules for me then?’

  I find it hard to believe anyone would want to see me and do things for me so badly.

  Chase seems to fall into his own thoughts momentarily, his lips quivering, trying to form words, but he stops himself before they get out.

  ‘You intrigue me,’ he says finally. ‘You’re the first person I thought I might actually not be able to catch.’

  I want to find the lie in his eyes; I search and search but come up blank. All I can see is myself in those endless brown eyes, looking at him with my usual stoic expression. I feel cracks start rippling through my guard and quickly compose myself as well as I can.

  ‘Who says I’ve been caught?’ I raise my eyebrows at him, hostility alive in my words.

  Chase’s smile turns soft but sure.

  ‘Well, I did catch you,’ he says.

  I stand before him and wait for him to say something of actual importance.

  ‘I did.’

  Really? That’s his argument?

  I turn and keep walking along the shoreline as the waves roll in with the tide. Chase follows behind me, though I give him no reason to trust my lead.

  Nate

  We stand at attention in a small room that barely fits all of us—us nine and our usual keeper each.

  I am near the front. It’s times like these I curse the fact that I am the apparent leader, I hate to be first for anything. Especially here where nothing is ever really all that good. Hermia and I are to go first today, through the door in front of us to the place where we will choose our weapons. Then, one by one, we are to fight. Who or what we are to fight is still a mystery.

  Two keepers open the door before us and lead us into the workroom.

  There we are stopped behind a long table that holds every single kind of weapon you could think of. Hard, smooth knives that look sharp enough to decapitate a man, shining guns, an ancient but sturdy-looking crossbow, nunchucks, sniper pistols, ninja stars: everything. My eyes only skim over a few things I recognise; over half the table is filled with things I don’t recognise. Law looks down at us over the table, keepers flanking him.

  I start to panic; there are so many things to choose from, so many ways to choose wrong.

  Hermia steps forward.

  Law gives her a nod, allowing her to choose her weapon.

  She reaches out her hand, lets it hover over a small-bladed hand knife, and then at the last second she grabs the ancient-looking cr
ossbow. Though it is only the length of her forearm, it seems completely menacing.

  Hermia examines her weapon and then turns back to join me. I realise I have been staring at her, analysing her every movement. She looks over to me and does her little nod, like she is giving me permission to go ahead.

  I move forward, though I barely feel inside my own body. My head is still fuzzy from the beating I received yesterday. My eye is a lovely shade of purple and green.

  The table seems to stretch out before me, like it grows longer the closer I get to it.

  I know that I am a pretty good hand-to-hand fighter; I did boxing for almost four years before coming here. I used to get a lot of crap from my friends about what they called ‘the ancient art of boxing’.

  Law had said to us earlier that certain weapons could be advantageous, while others would make it a whole lot more difficult.

  Hermia chose something very out of the ordinary, and I’m not sure if she has gotten it completely right.

  I inch forward a little more and pick up a small-bladed hand knife, with a good grip and a reverse saw blade. It glimmers as I incline it towards the light. I think I can do quite some damage with this in hand.

  Once everyone has chosen their weapon, we are led back through the door and into the training room. We are picked at random to start. For once maybe I won’t have to go first.

  Law pulls pieces of paper out of a large glass bowl, one by one, choosing our order.

  Surprisingly, our names are called in twos.

  Winter and Isaac

  Marina and Nate

  Georgie and Lola

  Robert and Hermia

  Kane

  So what, are we to fight each other? I panic—there is no way I will be able to fight Marina. No way in hell.

  Just before I try to argue, Law explains.

  ‘Today you will be fighting two of us, two of the keepers you may or may not recognise.’

  From behind Law, two young men appear. I do recognise them; one is Hermia’s keeper, the one with stone-cold, empty eyes, and the other is the guy who looks remarkably like Law himself.

  ‘My sons,’ Law continues, as they stop at either side of him. ‘Rence and Chase.’ He nods at each of them, and they look over at us as though we are both peer and enemy.

  If I had to choose between the two, I would have to say Rence would be my second choice. He looks as though he works out every waking moment of the day. His muscles bulge through the sleeves of his shirt. He wears a placid, clear face, and his eyes, as always, are empty of anything resembling life.

  Chase, on the other hand, seems a tad more animated, and a thousand times less indestructible. Chase’s face looks hard, but it also looks like it is a struggle for it to stay that way. His hair is a lot longer than his brother’s short buzz cut—in fact his hair is longer than any other male keeper’s that I have seen, and I am surprised that I’ve just realised this. His eyes are his most interesting feature, though. They are brown, but deep brown with flecks of a lighter brown, which save them from being shallow and empty like his brother’s.

  ‘You will fight until one of you is unconscious.’ Law’s words break through my muddled mind, and I am brought back to the task at hand.

  Law turns and walks a couple of steps away from us, then turns back.

  ‘Good luck,’ he says, with a dark twisted smile. I suppress a shudder as he makes his way to the opposite side of the room.

  We all stand, waiting for further instructions.

  ‘Isaac, you will fight Rence first,’ Law says, his voice booming across the empty space.

  The Colt M1911 in Isaac’s hand is trembling as he steps forward. He holds the handgun as though he has held one many times before, even before we had to dismantle them for the first time not long ago.

  Rence looks over at Isaac as though he has just spotted a small animal that could be seen as prey.

  Isaac tries to cover his face in a hard mask, empty of emotion, though it is plain to see he is terrified. We all are.

  Rence bounces on the front of his feet as Isaac takes his position. I can feel my heart beat in my throat.

  In one swift movement, Isaac raises his gun and lets off a single shot. Then he waits to see the damage he has done to Rence, though Rence isn’t there anymore. I search for him and find his dark shadowy figure around ten feet away from his original position.

  Isaac looks bewildered, no doubt wondering how Rence was able to move so fast. Then Isaac starts to fire again, and again. Round after round he fires off, but Rence is faster.

  I try to focus in on him as he darts around the room, dodging bullets as though they are lolling dust mites floating through the air. I have always had pretty keen eyes, but I have never had to concentrate on something moving as fast as Rence. In an instant Rence is right in front of Isaac, and he is throwing his fists into Isaac’s face with too much force to be natural.

  Blood surges from Isaac’s nose, then his mouth, and then from gashes on his face.

  Isaac falls to his knees and Rence backs off—not completely, though. His fists are still bared, his eyes still full of eager intent.

  Isaac is heaving for air, spitting out blood, and looking as though he is only half inside his own head. With a flourish of his wrist, Rence gives Isaac one last jab to the face, rendering him unconscious.

  All in all, it has taken around three minutes for Rence to defeat Isaac. He stands over Isaac’s crumpled, almost lifeless body, clearly taking pride in the victory. Isaac was a very easy opponent for Rence, but it seems to him a win is a win.

  Two of the other keepers come forward and drag Isaac away by an arm each.

  Bile is on the back of my tongue, just waiting to escape.

  I turn my head and see that Marina is letting out little huffed breaths that make her chest move in a jagged motion. As much as I don’t want to do this, I don’t want her to have to do this more.

  ‘Winter.’ Law speaks Winter’s name as a command and I watch her step forward. Her deep brown skin is at least four shades whiter than usual.

  Chase’s face changes. He—like his brother—is seeing the person in front of him as an opponent, as prey.

  Winter sweeps her hands back behind her neck to pull her hair up. Then she takes a pair of clear rubber gloves and pulls them onto her hands. With a swish of her wrists, the gloves disappear completely. Is this her weapon? It can’t be.

  Winter is cocky; you can see it in her stance and in the twist of her smile. She looks over at Chase as though he is mocking her and she is trying to ignore it.

  The question is who will move first. Suddenly the answer is Winter. She sprints towards Chase, closing the six-foot gap between them.

  Winter screams as she gets within inches of Chase, her right fist raised and ready for impact, though her face is not.

  Chase smashes his left hand into Winter’s right cheek with amazing force, making her fall to the ground.

  We all watch Winter scramble on all fours, then I look around the room, searching for Chase. He is standing right in front of us, his back to us so I can’t read the expression on his face.

  Winter, looking very, very annoyed, tries to stagger to her feet. Chase’s blow obviously affected her a lot more than she wants anyone to see.

  ‘Anyone ever tell you you’re not meant to hit girls?’ Winter spits at him.

  He smiles smugly and shrugs in response.

  Again, Winter charges towards Chase, her arm out, ready to strike. This time Chase grabs her arm and twists it around; there is a sickening snap as it breaks in his grasp. She screams louder than I have ever heard a person scream, before Chase—still holding her broken arm—throws her down onto the ground, sending the wind flying out of her lungs.

  Winter lies there, cradling her right arm in her left, fighting for enough air to scream, though she barely has enough to breathe.

  ‘Enough,’ a voice says. It’s Darria.

  Chase backs off, returning to his original position.
/>   Two more keepers come in and take Winter away as she cries and screams against the pain.

  It now takes everything I have not to vomit.

  ‘Nate.’ Law says my name differently than he said the others; he says it with caution.

  I push myself forward, knife in hand. The handle of the blade has become sticky and slippery with sweat. I try and tighten my grasp but it just seems to illustrate how nervous I am.

  Rence steps forward, the same bored look on his face as always, before it turns to his hunter’s mask.

  What am I meant to do, throw my knife at him? He’ll dodge it just like he did those bullets, then I’ll be without a weapon. But if he can dodge that fast, how could I get close enough to wound him?

  I must have been pondering this for quite some time, because Rence suddenly starts powering towards me.

  Around half a second before he goes to grab my head with his bare hands, I move to the side, only barely escaping him. Then I pull the knife up and try to take a stab, only Rence is faster and he takes my arm in his grasp. I hold tighter and tighter to the knife as he attempts to flip me over. I shrink inwards so that I am as small as I can get myself, and as Rence struggles, trying to move the entire weight of my body, I push out and kick him in the ribs.

  Rence lurches back, staring at me for a moment, obviously wondering how I could cause him the slightest pain.

  I pass the knife between my hands and wait for his next advance.

  Rence rages forward again, much more determined now. I try again to stab him, but Rence is focused this time and much harder to hit. He goes to grab my arm, and as I pull it away he tackles me, smashing me to the ground. Somehow, I have no idea how, he has my knife to my own throat.

  I watch his evil eyes as they sense victory; I refuse to go down so easily.

  My left arm is tucked between our two bodies; I push back on his chest and feel the blade cut into my right arm as I try and punch, unsuccessfully. I push myself away from Rence and move backwards.

  Then I know it’s over. We stand around three feet apart, Rence holding my knife, while I hold nothing.

  To my surprise, Rence throws the knife at me, angling it towards my head. I watch the handle, just as my father taught me, and catch it.