Ordinary (Anything But Series Book 1)

by Lindy Zart

  Christian heard him speak to a girl, heard the cruel, sexual things he said to her, and he burned with the need to execute him, to erase his existence. The world would be better off without Agent Burns in it.

  The agent made his rounds, making sure to rile up each UD he walked by. He was not a smart man. What did he think was going to happen when the walls were no longer between him and the UDs? Eventually one of them would seek retribution. It was only a matter of time.

  When he passed Christian’s room on his way up the stairs, he made sure he was standing in front of the glass, where he wouldn’t be missed, where Burns would be forced to look at him. He glared at him, his hands fisted at his sides, his witchy eyes telling him what he thought of him. Christian was grimly satisfied when the man hurried away.

  Christian didn’t need much sleep, maybe a few hours at a time. In the dark, when he let his mind wander as he lay on the hard bed, bitterness tugged at him. Why him? That was the question that plagued him the most. Why any of them? Why had the virus affected him the way it had and someone else, someone like Honor, the way it had? Resentment weaved its way through his veins and into his heart, turning him colder than he already was. It wasn’t fair. What right did they have to keep him locked up? What right did they have to tell him how he could live his life?

  He sat up in the dark, his senses attuned to her. Honor was coming toward him. Christian closed his eyes and willed her to go away. He couldn’t look at her; he couldn’t look at her knowing they used to be the same and no longer were. They were supposed to be enemies now. He couldn’t bring himself to hate her, but he also wanted nothing to do with her. She was a UDK. He was a UD. That was all that was needed to be known.

  And yet, when she stood there, searching for him in the darkness, he couldn’t ignore her. The pale light behind her illuminated her skin, made it shine like porcelain. Honor looked ethereal. Angelic. She looked like everything he’d always wanted and now could never have.

  “Christian?” she whispered.

  He stayed out of the glow of light, knowing she couldn’t see him. She might have been able to see what differentiated a UD from a normal human being, but it hadn’t heightened her nighttime eyesight any. Something shifted in her expression, became sad. It twisted at him and he gritted his teeth, unconsciously moving toward her. He told himself to stay away, but his feet kept walking until he was to her.

  Christian saw her flinch and was angered by it. She had no right to fear him. He’d given her none. He stared down at her, his eyes trailing over her ebony strands of hair and her dark eyes. What was she thinking as she studied him in the semi-dark?

  “It’s Honor…from school?”

  His gaze cooled. Did she really think he wouldn’t remember her? The virus hadn’t affected his memory. He was insulted. Christian told himself to walk away, back into the dark. Honor swallowed and turned her head, but not before he caught the stricken look on her face. It made him feel like an ass, which annoyed him. When she faced him again, her eyes were tinged in sadness, her lips turned down with it.

  She started to withdraw from him, to pull away. “I just…wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Panic hit him. Honor couldn’t leave. He would be lost again if she did. He felt a little like his old self when she was near, a little human. Christian didn’t want that feeling to go away. He hated the solitude, the dark, the emptiness that wanted to engulf him and consume his soul.

  Christian opened his mouth, the single word, “Honor,” leaving his lips, his voice dry from disuse. After that, his brain shut off.

  Honor stopped and looked at him. Christian didn’t know what to say. It didn’t matter because an alarm sounded, piercing his eardrums and instantly making his head throb. He moved away from the window, back into the dark. He sank to the floor with his back to the wall and closed his eyes, waiting for the horrible sound to end.

  Go away, Honor, he thought, and when he opened his eyes, she had.

  It was still night when seven armed men came for him. One stood out. He was the leader; the man in charge. He was the man from the school. Not Burns, but the other one. Christian thought his name was Nealon. He wasn’t that old, maybe in his late twenties, but his eyes were. They’d seen too much to the point where they no longer wanted to. His hair was messy and his eyes were bloodshot.

  An overhead light flickered on, swathing the room in artificial daytime and hurting his eyes.

  “Open it,” Nealon commanded with his eyes on Christian.

  He stood along the wall, hands at his sides, waiting. Maybe they were going to kill him and put him out of his misery. He couldn’t decide if that would be a good thing, or a bad. Part of him wanted it to be over with, this strange existence he abhorred and didn’t want. The other part of him refused to give in, to give up. He wasn’t made like that. He straightened. If they were going to kill him, they were going to have to survive a fight against him first.

  The men entered the cell cautiously, guns at the ready, eyes shifting in their heads. They were scared of him. There were six of them and they had guns and they were scared of him. Nealon alone wasn’t.

  “Let’s do this the easy way, Turner.”

  Christian stiffened. No one had called him Christian or Turner since he’d arrived there; no one but Honor, and now the agent. He had just given Christian a little piece of himself back with that acknowledgment.

  “It’s late, I’m tired, and I’d rather not have to shoot anyone tonight. You’re being transferred to another facility while you continue to adapt to the UD virus. We’re here to escort you to a plane. You’re going to get on it. No problems. Right?” Nealon had his hands raised, palms out.

  Christian’s eyes shifted from one man to the next. They flanked him, three on each side. He could take them. He could have his freedom back. He tensed, his body readying for action.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  He paused, looking at the agent.

  Nealon stared back with one eyebrow lifted. “I’m good at reading facial expressions,” the agent said with a shrug. “You might make it out of here. But if you do, you’ll be caught eventually. They always are. If you fight, you die. If you cooperate, you live. I don’t think there’s really any decision to make, do you?”

  Christian relaxed his stance. The guy had a point. Didn’t mean he agreed with it. He watched as Nealon reached into his back pocket and his hand came back with handcuffs.

  He angled his chin, silently asking for Christian’s cooperation. “It’s a precaution. Turn around, put your hands on the wall, and spread your legs. No sudden moves or these guys shoot.”

  He studied the agent’s features, deciding he spoke the truth. Nealon’s gaze was steady, direct. Christian did as he was told with the agent guiding him with a hand on his back up the dimly lit stairs and out of the building. It was cool out, but Christian didn’t mind. It matched his body temperature. It was quiet; the only sounds those of boots against the pavement. A full-sized tan van was in the parking lot. A side door opened, revealing a barred cage.

  Christian looked at Nealon.

  “Again, precaution,” he said quietly.

  Three of the men jumped in, readying the cage. Nealon nudged him forward and Christian moved. For the second time, he thought of making a run for it. Something held him back. Something told him it wasn’t the right time.

  His handcuffed hands were chained to a bar, his legs as well, another chain around his waist. Christian felt like a criminal. The only crime he’d committed was being born with a virus that had the power to alter his DNA, to make him into something abnormal. It smelled like fried food and stinky feet in the van. Three of the men remained in the van; the other three stayed outside and would remain at the facility.

  Nealon sat closest to him on a bench that was small and looked uncomfortable. He had a folder in his hands, and as the van began to move, he opened it.

  “The best time is after the plane lands. They will be confident you won’t attempt anything sinc
e you’ve been so accommodating this far. If you make a run for it, you might be able to get away. Or you might just get killed,” he muttered, staring at whatever was inside the folder.

  Christian’s head shot up, a frown on his face.

  “Don’t look at me. Look out the window, look bored, or pissed. Don’t look like you’re paying attention to me.”

  He slowly turned his head to gaze out the window to the country road. Christian’s heartbeat sped up, almost to a normal rate. His palms were damp with cold perspiration. Nealon was helping him. Why? Why would he do that?

  “The cuffs I put on you are made for a person with normal strength. They won’t hold against you if you decide to break them.”

  Nealon was quiet for endless seconds.

  “They’re moving you because of Honor Rochester’s interest in you. UDs and UDKs do not interact; they do not care for each other. They see you as a threat and they want the threat removed. As the hierarchy likes to fool themselves into believing they are fair and just, they have not decided to exterminate you. Yet.

  “But know this: if you get caught, you get killed. Remember that when you have a chance to get away. You don’t have to do it. I’m giving you an option. I’m giving you a choice. This is all I can do for you. You are on your own after this. Understand? Blink your eyes if you understand.”

  Christian blinked.

  Nealon was risking his career, maybe even his life for Christian. He looked up and met the man’s unwavering gaze. He wanted to thank him, but knew Nealon wouldn’t want that. He looked away, down at his bound hands.

  “You have to keep moving. Never stop for long.” Nealon paused. “You see me out on the streets, no matter what you’re told, it won’t be to bring you in. Blink again if you understand.”

  Christian did.

  The van jerked to a stop. “Show time.”

  The chains came off as the plane landed. Christian was guided from it, his eyes searching the wooded area around him. Three men surrounded him, pushing him toward a black SUV. Again he did a sweep of his environment. It was now or never.

  He tensed his body a fraction of a second before he took off running, jerking his arms apart and breaking the handcuffs in one fluid movement. Shouts rang out behind him. A gunshot echoed through the silent night. Christian headed for the trees, his arms and legs pumping like he’d never thought possible. He forgot his life was in danger for one millisecond and just enjoyed the exhilaration of it. He was fast, really fast.

  Another shot broke the quiet.

  Christian’s body jerked as pain exploded in the back of his thigh. He kept going, kept pushing himself, farther into the trees. He crashed through brush and dead limbs, it crackling underfoot. Tree branches sliced his hands and face and still he ran. He paused long enough to glance over his shoulder. He didn’t see anyone or hear anyone. Chances were they weren’t going to follow him on foot.

  His back against the base of a tree, Christian’s chest heaved up and down. He reached down and felt along the hole in his white pants. The skin was smooth where the bullet had gone in. His flesh had already healed. Christian frowned, not understanding how that was possible. He lifted his hands and watched as slits in the backs of his hands disappeared.

  He heard voices and knew they weren’t far behind. Head tipped back, Christian examined the endlessly tall pine tree. He put his hands to it, pulling himself up by grabbing at notches and lumps in the bark, his feet giving him a boost, and he climbed the tree higher and higher until it was impossible for anyone standing below to see him. Christian couldn’t believe he’d just climbed a monstrous tree. Tree sap and pine needles assaulted his senses and Christian actually welcomed the scent.

  It was nature, it was freedom, it was life.

  The moon was so close at that height. Christian reached out, tracing the outline of it with a finger. Stars blanketed the sky, like fireflies of light. An owl hooted and crickets chirped. For the first time since he’d turned he didn’t feel suffocated, he didn’t feel strange. There was peacefulness sitting there, watching nature. Then he glanced down, down to the ground and remembered what he was. Not hearing any human sounds, Christian slowly made his way down the tree, the rough bark scraping his palms and knees through the thin pants as he went. He jumped to the ground, wondering which way to go. Christian didn’t even know where he was, or what town or state he was in.

  He decided to follow the moon.

  He wandered for hours; a day, maybe two, always moving, never stopping for long. He slept for minutes at a time, in alleyways and behind buildings. Christian found out he was in a city called Owl Mountain, Michigan. It was a smaller city, its population under five thousand. His stomach gnawed with hunger and Christian drank water from a creek he found near the edge of town. It tasted horrible, but wet his mouth and throat. It wasn’t like it was going to kill him. The once white shirt and pants were smudged with dirt and ripped in a few spots. He drew attention to himself merely by looking the way he did, which was unfortunate.

  The need to survive, to live on his own terms, propelled him onward. The thought of never seeing his family again put a pain in his heart that wouldn’t ease. It seemed to grow as the days away from them did. Christian wanted to pray they were okay, but was a monster really allowed to pray? The sun beat down on him, instead of heating him chilling him more. He could never get warm. It was unusual, but didn’t bother him as much as it first had. He’d adapted. Christian hated that word. The cheap flip flops he’d been given before the transfer were losing pieces and a hole was forming in the middle of the left one.

  His thoughts went from Honor to Nealon and back and back again. Their kindness stunned him, but also filled him with gratitude. He wished they hadn’t shown him any niceness. It would have been easier to not care then. Christian wanted to know why they had looked out for him. He’d barely known Honor and he hadn’t known Nealon at all. There was no reason for it. He didn’t like the obligation he felt to them because of it.

  He smelled fried food, cakes, coffee, body odor, perfume; all of it mixing together to assault his now sensitive nose. Christian saw two men striding down the sidewalk toward him, eyes on him, guns at their hips. A second of recognition froze him. They’d found him. It had taken them long enough. They’d been popping up every half day or so, but Christian always managed to elude them. They weren’t exactly inconspicuous with their hard, determined expressions and guns. Plus he was faster and stronger than any of them.

  Christian turned in a circle, noting the structures around him, looking for possible escape routes. People crowded the streets, going in and out of businesses. He saw a small crevice just large enough for him to fit through between two buildings not far from where he stood and dove through it. He raced through the tight space, his shoulders hitting the stone walls on either side of him. Each time the rough exterior of the buildings rubbed his skin raw it immediately grew back.

  A man and a woman stood at the end of the alleyway, creeping toward him, their guns ready. Christian sucked in a steadying breath, glancing from them to the two men behind him. He looked up. Determination twisting his features, Christian jumped to the flimsy metal stairway and hauled himself up the side of the building and through an open window. He felt like Spiderman only he wasn’t a superhero. If anything, he was the bad guy Spiderman was supposed to take down. Christian was a fugitive even though he’d done nothing to warrant it. If they captured him, he was dead. For good.

  He was in a living room. The television was on low. An elderly woman with short gray hair was sprawled out in a brown recliner with her mouth open, snoring. She wore a pink and white flowered bath robe and fuzzy white slippers. It smelled like coffee and old people in the brown-paneled room.

  Christian crept by, his eyes on her, careful not to make a sound. He paused, cocking his head as he listened. They were outside the apartment door; four of them, waiting. They thought they’d outsmarted him. He went back to the window and leaned out. He was at least four or five storie
s up. Christian balanced on the windowsill; his body crouched, and jumped.

  Wind feathered through his hair and kissed his face. He briefly closed his eyes and imagined he was a bird and free. His feet hit the pavement, sending a jolt through his legs. Christian was amazed when he could stand, amazed when his legs weren’t broken.

  A small child stood by an open door, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide. She had blonde curls and brown eyes, and wore a ruffled pink dress. She reminded him of Annie.

  “Are you Superman?” she asked in a high voice, awe on her face.

  “Not quite.”

  Christian quickly strode away, not wanting to call unnecessary attention to himself. He wasn’t sure where to go, he had no destination in mind, but he had to get out of Owl Mountain. He wouldn’t be able to evade them much longer. He wished he could go home. Christian wished he could go back in time to last week, and not have any of what had happened happen. Wishes were for children who didn’t know any better. There was no going back. There was no cure, no magic pill to change him back.

  This was what he was now.

  Christian had allowed himself to doze off for a few minutes. His eyes snapped open and he stiffened where he sat between two dumpsters that smelled worse than anything he’d ever smelled before. If he’d had the capability to vomit, he would have. It was nighttime, but he could see as easily as if it were day. Christian’s eyes shifted over unmoving shapes, searching for the UDK. He smelled her, heard her breaths, even her heart beat. It was too fast.

  Honor was near and she was scared, worried. Why was she there? Why had they sent her? Was it a trick to make him think she was there to offer aid when really she was there to dispose of him? Was Honor really that duplicitous? He didn’t want to think so, but Christian couldn’t trust anyone, not even her.

  He watched her, the moon casting a glow to her like a halo. Her features were in shadow, her body outlined. It didn’t matter. Christian still saw the expression on her face. Determination and fear warred to take over her with a touch of sorrow added in to really make her miserable. He hardened himself to her. He couldn’t afford to feel anything for her, not even empathy. She was the enemy, the one sent to do him in. If it came down to her or him, he would choose him, every time. He ignored the part of himself that wanted to argue that, to call him a liar.