Enmity

by E. J. Andrews

  The knife is safely back in my possession as blood trickles down my forearm.

  This time I am the one to charge forward, knowing exactly where I will make contact, knowing I can do it, and knowing I can beat him. I feel the knife make contact and—

  Hermia

  Nate falls unconscious, his body dropping to the ground like a lump of dead weight. Rence looks a little worse for wear as he pulls the knife out of his side with a grunt. He drops it at his feet and another keeper runs in to collect it as two more collect Nate’s body. I can see Rence’s eyes aren’t focused; maybe he did a little damage to himself when he smashed his own head against Nate’s.

  My mind is racing, Chase and Rence can move so quickly, but Nate seemed to be on par with Rence the whole time, other than the end of course. How can they all be so agile it seems unnatural? Maybe they’re on drugs I don’t know.

  But why? Why is it that we have to fight Rence and Chase? Anyone but Chase. Well, I don’t really want to fight Rence either—that dude scares even me.

  In a way I’m glad for Nate—at least he won’t have to watch Marina get pulverised. I’ve seen the way those two look at each other, and it makes me want to vomit.

  She steps forward without having to be called. The AK-5 assault rifle in her hands looks far too big for her to even hold, let alone use.

  Chase watches her, and his brother lets off a laugh at Marina’s struggle to position the gun against her shoulder. Chase doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound.

  I wish I could say that watching Chase break Winter’s arm right in front of my eyes, hearing the pain he caused her, had changed the way I think I feel about him, but somehow it doesn’t. So stupid. Stupid.

  Stupid. Stupid.

  Marina finally has the gun sitting against her shoulder, pointing directly at Chase.

  Chase’s face is still blank; he doesn’t look afraid at all. Marina, on the other hand, looks about ready to wet herself. Her eyes constantly flicker around the room, always returning to Chase and then darting away again.

  Moments, too-long moments, pass away. They are at a standoff—Marina needs to act.

  Her hands tremble, then Chase is the one to act.

  He is suddenly standing right in front of her, the gun so close to his chest.

  You can see, clear as day, the terror in Marina’s eyes. She can’t shoot him—she can’t do it.

  Chase grabs the gun and pulls it from Marina’s hand as easily as if she had handed it to him.

  There is a moment, and I must admit my heart almost spasms, where Chase gives Marina a look. This look has a degree of pity, a hint of respect, but most of all it holds sorrow. He doesn’t want to hurt her, and I’d really like to know why.

  Chase’s hands move over the gun with excessive speed, tearing pieces off and taking it apart. The gun pieces litter the floor until he holds the final hunk of metal in his hand, the ammunition chamber.

  Marina looks in a state of shock as Chase sends the metal flying at her head. She stands, swaying slightly for around four seconds, and then she falls to the floor with a loud thump.

  After Marina is dragged away, Law calls out Georgie’s name. Then something strange happens. Lola holds Georgie back before striding forward and taking her place opposite Rence.

  Law doesn’t punish Lola for taking Georgie’s place. If I had to guess, he probably expects Rence to punish her just fine on his own.

  It doesn’t take Rence half a second to be standing behind Lola, her head locked in his arms, air supply cut off. The gun in Lola’s hand drops to the ground a moment before she does.

  Then there were four.

  Georgie, who as you can imagine has been crying silently this whole time, steps forward.

  Chase gives his father a painful glance. Law simply nods, and that is all it takes.

  Chase has the eyes of a hunter again.

  Georgie stands with her weapon of choice in hand; I don’t even quite know what it is. From what I can see it looks like a small glowing ball. She holds it in both hands, her head bowed towards it, crying.

  After about two minutes of us all just watching Georgie be distressed, Chase takes a couple of steps forward, which only makes Georgie cry harder.

  ‘Georgie.’ Chase speaks her name softly. Georgie chokes back a sob and looks up to him. ‘You need to throw the orb at me.’ Georgie shakes her head.

  ‘If you don’t, I’m going to have to hurt you.’

  Chase looks Georgie dead in the eyes and, for once, she stops crying.

  Georgie’s face turns hard and Chase raises his eyebrows.

  The orb in Georgie’s hands starts to turn pink, then deep violet, and then a blood red.

  Chase turns and starts to run towards the back wall. Everything seems in slow motion. Georgie brings her arm back and throws the orb towards Chase’s turned back.

  The second before it hits him, Chase turns and catches the orb. The bright red glow fades instantly to blue, casting a soft shadow over Chase’s face, making the small smile that breaks one corner of his mouth seem evil, yet somehow pure, too.

  Chase holds the orb in one of his hands as all the colour seems to drain from it, making it glow brighter and brighter white. Then it abruptly becomes a deep green, and Chase throws it back towards Georgie, who cowers away from it.

  As the orb makes contact, it seems to slide through Georgie’s skin, into her chest. I hear Georgie gasp and then she falls unconscious upon the floor.

  I want to know what the hell that orb thing was, but first I must watch Robert get knocked out. He must become oblivious.

  Chase has returned to his position at the back of the room. For the first time I feel his eyes flicker to me for a split second. We both know what’s coming. We both know he is going to have to hurt me.

  Robert steps forward, bringing the slingshot in his right hand up to his chest.

  There is something in his left as well; it looks like a tiny pebble. As Robert steps up, Kane and I share a simple tense look.

  Kane is the only one who will have to witness all of us going through this, and have no one to watch him.

  Robert lifts the slingshot with his tiny pebble loaded in it and fires it towards Rence.

  As the pebble is released it starts to transform, to grow and morph into what looks to be a giant metal starfish. I actually feel like I want to laugh—a flying, metal, starfish?

  Rence moves out of the way, just as the metal object slices through the air next to him. The starfish flies back towards Robert, and as it gets closer it starts to transform again, this time getting smaller and smaller until he catches it with an extended hand, the starfish the size of a pebble again.

  Rence does not look worried; his face is still the same bland mask it always is.

  Robert goes to throw his weapon again, and this time Rence doesn’t move as the weapon flies towards him.

  The moment before it is about to hit him, he drops to the ground; it barely skims the top of his head and back. Then Rence jumps up and begins running towards Robert, the metal starfish following swiftly behind him, slicing through the air with a faint howl.

  Robert is in awe. He turns and looks around him, wondering where to go, but there is nowhere. He can either run into Kane and me, or into the wall. Neither will do him any good.

  Rence looks as though he is about to tackle Robert, but the second before Robert’s weapon hits him, Rence drops again and the sound of metal slicing skin is loud in my ears and lucid in my mind. Robert falls, his starfish lodged in his back.

  I can’t keep the fear from my face and all I can do is look down so no one can see it. I think for a moment that Kane might have spotted it, but he just pushes his fringe aside on his forehead, probably wiping away the sweat gathering there. Silently, I thank him. The last thing I want is for my fear to be brought to the attention of my soon-to-be attacker. Even though that attacker is someone I thought was maybe a friend, maybe something more than that.

  Stupidity, that’s all I feel n
ow. Of course he isn’t my friend; right now he’s the enemy.

  ‘Hermia.’ Law says my name as he said Nate’s, with a hint of slight . . . respect, maybe? I don’t know, but I don’t like it. I feel singled out.

  I hold the crossbow in my hand, trying to figure out why the hell I chose it. It would make him happy to see me using it—a long time ago he was the one who taught me everything about it. I suppose I wanted to show him that I still remember.

  Making my way over to the spot where everyone seems to stand and start, I watch Chase watch me. Why I am not terrified, I do not know. The only way I am getting out of here is if I am unconscious, or if he is. I’m not really thrilled by either of those options.

  Our eyes connect, brown to hazel, light to dark, attacker to attacked.

  My gaze is steady on him, as I was taught. You never fire first; you wait for them to move. Chase obliges and I see a kink in his knee as he begins to move right. I fire off an inch or so to my left and my arrow cuts off Chase’s path with a millimetre to spare. The hair next to his ear flutters with the wind of the arrow that just barely missed it.

  I hear the crossbow reload. Did I forget to mention that this thing looks old but is in fact very state of the art? Life is all about deception and how much you can get away with having people think, or how little you can have them think of you. I guess it stems back to my love of proving people wrong.

  I don’t lower the bow for a second, just keep my eye down the line of the sight.

  Chase gives me a look of utter shock. I try to keep my face clear, but I can’t tell if it’s working.

  Chase goes to move again, in the same direction, but this time faster. So I widen my range a little and fire again. Another near miss. I wonder if he knows I’m not purposefully missing.

  The next time he starts to move straight at me, so I fire directly at him. Chase bends and slides down onto his side; the arrow nicks the side of his face, just above his left eye.

  The blood trailing down his face looks so out of place; before this moment I could never imagine Chase in pain, or bleeding. Now it is I that have caused his pain. It feels all wrong.

  Chase rolls onto his front; his back is a very large and inviting target. I feel my finger find the trigger and I see the arrow lodge in the ground where Chase was just seconds ago. He is fast.

  He stops at the back wall and looks at me again. All serious.

  Chase goes to move, but my arrow is faster. I can see two steps ahead of him—the only problem is I’m running low on arrows.

  I position myself for the kill shot, slightly to the left, just higher than his abdomen; it is as though I can see his heart pounding, begging me to shoot it, just as I was taught, watch every movement, no matter how minuscule. This is why I chose this weapon, because he said—because he said—it was the weapon I was born to use. Just like him.

  My finger is about to release my second-to-last arrow when a booming voice calls out and stops me.

  ‘Enough!’ It is Darria. My grasp on the crossbow tightens. You never lower your weapon until you are sure it is no longer a necessity.

  All in a second I feel the weapon knocked from my hands; I hear it clatter to the ground. It was an arrow—an arrow of the same make and model as those in my own quiver.

  I watch Darria lower his crossbow and hand it to Law, who is standing next to him.

  ‘That is enough, Hermia.’ His voice is razor sharp; he acts as though he is my father, reprimanding me, and I despise him for it.

  I lower my empty hands.

  Darria looks over to Chase, and I expect to see disappointment, but all I see is the command in his eyes.

  ‘Take her back to her room, and feel free to inflict a little more pain than she has shown you here today.’ Darria speaks in a soft monotone. My blood begins to slowly freeze where it flows.

  I didn’t mean to hurt Chase—the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt him. But would they have simply seen that as a weakness they didn’t need? Or would it have been a treason they couldn’t condone?

  Chase looks at me through the curtain of hair that falls over his eyes. Those eyes, I’ve never seem them so hard and devoid of kindness. He strides over to me with the greatest intent in every step. I try to keep my face its usual, neutral mask. No use wearing your heart on your sleeve for everyone to tread over.

  Chase reaches behind my head and rips a large chunk of my hair into his grasp. I feel my head being pulled backwards, but all I can see are those eyes, black where there should be brown, and hate where it should show black.

  Chase begins to drag me from the room by the hair and my head starts to pound with the pain.

  Then we are at my room and he throws me through the door, slamming it closed behind him. He releases me a moment later and I stumble away, still seeing the hate radiate off him.

  There is only a tiny part in the pit of my stomach that says he won’t hurt me. The rest of me is sure he means me harm.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he says through clenched teeth. I am in shock.

  I try to form an apology but all words seem futile. So I answer, ‘No, not really.’

  Chase continues to look at me with harsh eyes, set in their hateful anger. Then he lets out a breath as though he has been holding it for hours and pulls his hands through his hair, streaking a little blood through it too, the blood that is starting to dry dark on his face, and then he sighs.

  Chase walks straight up to me and I can’t help but tense up. This makes Chase almost smile. He cups my cheek in his hand.

  ‘You did amazingly well today.’ I watch as his eyes soften, becoming more like those eyes I can’t take mine off. ‘Now, are you okay?’ he asks, speaking slowly, making sure I understand. The nerve of him!

  ‘I will be if I don’t have to do that again.’ I curse myself as soon as I’ve said it—what an idiotic thing to confess. I sound like a stupid little girl.

  Chase smiles.

  ‘I can’t promise anything.’

  I sigh, because I know it’s true.

  ‘You’re becoming too important to me,’ he almost whispers as his thumb traces circles on my cheek.

  As he looks down at me, I feel my breath leave my chest. He leans into me, pulling my face to his. My head sends out every protest and profanity it can find, but as soon as our lips touch, it goes quiet, the world seems to fade into oblivion. At first our lips barely touch, barely a whisper of a touch, but that is enough. We both pull in closer and it feels as though our lives both depend on this closeness. The kiss that started off soft has become hard and determined. Chase moves his hands away from my face and down over my body. My own hands move to the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his pants. I lift his shirt up and feel the hard lines of his body. I tug at the shirt until he is almost free of it. I pull away to take it over his head and as I do so, I hear him wince.

  I don’t care.

  This is bad.

  This is actually really good. Amazing would be a well-suited word.

  This is how it starts. With the good always comes the bad.

  It doesn’t always.

  First her words run through your head, next they’ll be coming out of your mouth.

  I feel myself pull away.

  My mind is blank and distorted, lacking in comprehension.

  Confusion overwhelms me.

  I look down and there is a searing pain in my knuckles.

  Looking up, I see that I have punched Chase in the face. Right where my arrow hit him. I must have seen the red and just focused on it.

  I stand in a completely shock-induced trance. Chase’s eyes are also wide with horror. He looks stunned in shock—why wouldn’t he be shocked?

  ‘Not really the reaction I was hoping for.’ He sounds almost joking.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I say the pathetic empty words for maybe the tenth time in all my life.

  ‘Me too,’ he whispers as he presses his palm to his collection of wounds.

  This is the point where all logic te
lls me to run, that nothing good can come from this, that the soft humming bright feeling that has started up in my chest can’t possibly last, and that’s why I should run. But for the first time in my life, I don’t. I know I’m going to regret this later.

  I move over to Chase and swat his hand away from his forehead. I grab a towel that I left on the floor after my shower this morning and press it against his wound. His eyes are still hostile, but they are alight with something more.

  I kiss Chase one last time, just a peck—sort of as a test for myself. Chase tenses as our lips press together again, and I don’t linger there long. The memory of the kiss will last much longer than the kiss itself. I move back and then hand him his shirt.

  ‘He’s going to want to see me, isn’t he?’

  Chase looks at me for a moment, holding the shirt in his hand.

  ‘Yes,’ he nods. ‘But how did you know?’

  I don’t know how I can explain, not without telling Chase everything, which I don’t have time for.

  ‘Just seems like something he would do.’

  Chase pulls his T-shirt over his head and the expression he wears is still the same determined look.

  ‘It sounds like you know him.’ Chase lets out a small laugh and shakes his head, going over to sit on my bed.

  I sigh, hoping he has truly decided to let this one lie. ‘It would seem that way, wouldn’t it.’

  Nate

  That light is too bright is my first thought when I am thrust back into consciousness.

  I try to pry my eyes open a little more and raise myself up onto my forearms.

  ‘You probably don’t want to do that,’ a voice says from beside me.

  It is obviously a male, with a thick accent I think I may have heard before, but not one I can place now.

  I try to keep my mind still long enough to move my body. When I am finally sitting upright, my eyes have adjusted enough to see who this stranger is.

  He looks older than me, but not by much. The stranger has blond hair and dark blue eyes. He has his feet up, propped against the end of my bed, a book resting steadily in his hand and a pair of reading glasses sitting just a tad too low over the bridge of his nose.