“Okay, Thomas. I’ll see you next month.”
“Sure thing, Dr. Sampson.” I tried to return his smile. Being collared like a rabid dog did nothing to improve my outlook on things. Dr. Sampson pressed a blue button on the wall, and the guards stomped into the room, removed the restraints, and walked me to the end of the corridor and through the security doors.
Ah, the Holding Tank. The architect of this place must be the dullest person in the world. Beige covered every square inch of the place. Even blue chair cushions would help, but who knew if a Gifted with a power over fabric would emerge and smother the guards?
At least I had finished with the inspection. Once you finished, you could hang out and talk. No one talked in the waiting room, not even during elementary school. I took a seat next to Marcel, whose fingers twitched. No tablets, phones, or any other gadgets drove him nuts.
All residents of The Institute’s dorms had a stipend each month. They could purchase clothes, technology, and anything else they desired. Most of the kids used the supplies and toiletries the Protectorate provided, but having a non-Protectorate issued backpack or jacket at least gave the illusion of choice. Guilt-ridden parents could add to the stipend. Marcel’s parents constantly added to his account, which supported his gadget habit.
Abby still wasn’t out. I guess they shocked her a bit harder than we thought.
“Is that a new collar?” Marcel asked as I sat down.
“Yeah, how did you know?”
“The marking on the new ones is a tetrakaidecagon, where the old ones are dodecagon. The sheen is a bit different as well, probably a higher ratio of titanium to carbon fibers in the Carbinium-making process.”
“Huh?” When Marcel talked tech, my brain sort of short circuited.
“Well, you see…” Marcel stopped mid-sentence. I followed his gaze to see Abby being brought from The Freezer. She limped along with a guard in tow, head lowered as if she silently prayed. She, somehow, looked different. Her black leather jacket hung; the hem of her jeans scraped along the floor. I dashed over to get her. Mr. Taylor had asked me to keep an eye on her, so at least she could sit with Marcel and me.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” she grumbled.
The guard turned her around to face him. He stood a good half a foot taller than either of us, but he appeared a bit freaked out. “Are we going to have any more problems with you?”
I noticed Abby flinched when he put his hands on her. I didn’t know her well, but something must have happened in there.
She smiled at him, the type of smile you see right before somebody does something supremely stupid. The guard took half a step back and put his hand on his shock stick. The guard had a pretty good bruise developing on his left eye.
“Why? You want another go?” Her tone sounded sugary sweet like she was flirting with him.
The guard started to pull out the shock stick. Somehow, I stood between them, my hand on the guard’s. It is official. I’m gonna die.
“Officer, she won’t cause any problems out here,” I blurted a bit quicker than I would have liked. The nervousness in my voice didn’t help either. “I’ll take her to sit down. Her blood sugar is probably low from not eating breakfast.”
The guard looked at my hand as it gripped his wrist. I removed it quickly. At that moment, I would have rather been in history class.
“Just make sure she doesn’t, or I’m holding you personally responsible, Sport.” The sport part he emphasized with a finger to my chest. Great, another bruise for the collection. The guard snapped his half-drawn stick back in place and left the Holding Tank.
Abby glared at me when I turned around.
“What?”
She punched me in the chest. “I don’t need you fighting my battles.” What is it with hitting me in the chest today?
“That’s the point. There aren’t any battles, especially here. You start something, and everyone else here pays for it.”
“Whatever. You’re blind to the fact you are doing their work for them. When you stop fighting, you become the sheep, and they keep you in line.” She pushed past me, going to sit with Marcel. Abby definitely had issues, and stupid me jumped into the middle of them.
Someone touched me on the shoulder. Wendi stood there. My brain went numb while my mouth tried to work on its own. “Hi.”
“Hey, Tommy.” Her slight Iowan accent was music to my ears. “It was sweet of you to help out Abby.”
“Alert, alert, this is not a drill. I repeat not a drill,” blasted through my brain, while I stood there gaping like a brain-damaged idiot. I needed to say something, anything.
“I freaked out a bit.” Except that.
She smiled and touched my arm. “Now, don’t get modest on me. It took bravery to stand up for her.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll see you later, Tommy.”
She spun on her heel and returned to her friends. Wendi Stevens thought I was brave. I could have busted out in dance, but didn’t. A guy has to maintain his cool.
Marcel grinned ear to ear when I got back. “Wow, Bruh, Wendi talked to you.”
“Not a big deal.” I tried to sound cool about it. Plus, Abby didn’t look in too good of shape. Her eyes, red ringed, looked like she had been crying.
“Thanks.” Abby stared at the floor. “Marcel told me you took a huge risk. I didn’t know they could lock you up for touching a guard.”
“It’s okay,” I lied. “Plus, you’d have done the same for me.”
Her eyes bored into me, searching for something. “You aren’t mad?”
I was, or at least I should be. Wendi had kind of distracted me from being angry. “No, I’m not, but you have to listen to what we are telling you.” Daily we had told her since Mr. T assigned us as caretakers last week, and she refused to listen. Maybe now it would sink it that we were serious, deadly serious.
“I will,” Abby said, a bit sullen, but she sounded sincere.
“Do you want to tell us what happened?” I sat down on the floor in front of them.
“I woke up in the doctor’s office. They hadn’t restrained me, but the guard who brought me out stood there talking to the doctor.” She peered around, probably to make sure we couldn’t be overheard.
She lowered her voice and continued. “A power surge or something caused the dampening field to drop. Next thing I know, the guard’s laid on the floor.”
I hadn’t seen the guard who had taken her in, but he must be new. Only the newbs would break regulation by allowing you to be in The Freezer unrestrained.
“A bunch of guards came in and forced me into the chair so I couldn’t move. The doctor did something to my collar.” She shuddered at the thought. “It felt like they tore something out of me.”
I was at a loss for words. Even with the new collar, it had never hurt. Marcel looked puzzled as well. I hadn’t ever heard of the collar causing pain. I’d have to ask Blaze next time I saw him. He’d been around more Gifted than any of us did.
“I’m sorry, but arguing with the guards isn’t your best option. Keep your eyes down and your mouth shut. I don’t know about Argentina, but bad things happen to troublemakers in Redemption.”
“I didn’t mean to cause any trouble for you guys.” A stray tear rolled down her cheek. “You are the only ones who have been nice to me.”
I nodded. I understood how she felt. The more friends you had, the more likely one would be taken away and sent to The Block. After a couple of friends disappeared, you got wary of making new friends.
“I wonder what’s for lunch today,” Marcel said, a grin crossing his face. “I hope it’s tacos.”
We laughed. Sometimes it’s the little things that get you through the day. Your best friend or a friend you never thought you would have. You had to laugh in order to get by. The best way was being called brave by the coolest girl at school.
And Wendi called me brave.
6
I thought the weekend would neve
r get here, but now all the stood between me and two days away from school was “detention.” I walked in through the doors into a kicked hive of activity. The news reported another Gifted woman’s body from Great Falls had been found mutilated in a grove of trees outside of Redemption. She’d been the fourth one over the last six months, all with their collars cut off.
The police chief spoke like people were jaywalking, not being murdered. If the victim had been a Norm, there would be a manhunt. They spent more time finding lost dogs than looking for the killer. This surprised no one, but it didn’t make it right. Waxenby sat at the front desk, working on grading papers. I dropped my backpack and removed a pad of paper to doodle on, waiting for Abby and Marcel.
“Bruh, it’s Friday!”
I fist-bumped Marcel as he flopped into his seat. Abby strode over and flopped in the desk across from me. She’d been in Redemption for almost two months—it didn’t seem possible. Her bag hit the floor with a pronounced thud. “This thing gets heavier every day, I swear.”
I laughed. “Long week.”
Marcel took out the box containing the newest of the new tablets. “Man, the site glitched fierce. I got this for ten cred. Can you believe it?”
I shook my head. “Why didn’t you order three?”
Abby reached over and gently tapped his forehead. “Marcel, you’ve got the brains, maybe you should use them.”
He stammered as he answered. “Too excited, I bought it before they figured it out. It’s been a weird week.”
Abby agreed. “Yesterday, all the restraints disengaged on the ride back to the Institute. The guards stood ready to shoot.”
I shook my head, thinking things like that don’t happen in Redemption. The Reclaimers kept everything under control. Surprises got people killed.
Marcel charged into setting up his new tablet, muttering to himself about passwords, hack-proof, and assorted other tech-speak only he understood. Abby pulled out a deck of worn cards to help pass the time.
In the middle of our third game of gin rummy, which I was winning, the lights above flashed. Waxenby stood holding his hands up to calm the kids. “It’s a drill, I think. Settle down and it will be over in a few minutes.”
The noise lowered, but the buzz of frantic conversation continued. The lights dimmed, and a noise intruded into the room. A loud rushing sound emitted from the vents as they clacked open and hazy air blew into the room.
“Oh my God, they are gassing us!” someone yelled. Desks hit the floor as kids ran toward the Air-Lock doors. Waxenby yelled, “Get to the floor, stay a low as possible.” What good would it do if they pumped in toxic gas, I didn’t know, but I dove to the floor as instructed.
Screams and crying filled the room. Waxenby called for calm but to no avail. Some of the kids stood pounding on the Air-Lock door. They’d pound their hands bloody before anyone outside would hear them.
The loudspeaker crackled before a strong, clear voice announced. “Attention, students and faculty. The facility engineers reported the air handlers overloaded and purged the system, resulting in the vents expelling large amounts of dust and debris. The situation is under control. Please resume your normal activities.”
Waxenby stood. “Please take your seats. Given the circumstances, I commend you all on your behavior during this mishap. I’m very proud of you all.”
He stooped to retrieve the papers that had fallen off his desk. Marcel stood, offering Abby a hand. She must be in shock because she took it, and he helped her up. Then she punched him in the shoulder more out of ritual than anger. He laughed as they picked up their stuff from the floor. I pulled myself to my feet and grabbed my cards.
Abby smiled. “Misdeal!”
I threw the cards on the desk. “Of course, I was finally winning.”
After losing four more games, we packed up as the final bell sounded. My stomach unknotted as the door swung open. I hadn’t realized how tense I had been until it left. I noticed Abby’s demeanor shifted out of high gear fight mode to her normal “I’ll punch the crap out of anyone who pisses me off.” Even Marcel heaved a sigh of relief as we hurried to get out of the Air-Lock.
Abby led the way. I wouldn’t say we ran, but the room emptied much faster than usual. The teachers led us down to the bus lot where Abby and Marcel would be loaded on The Chain back to the Institute. It was a beautiful spring day, most of the snow had melted, and it was warm, well warm for Montana. We turned the corner, and Mom stood by the bus. Seeing us, she waved and then walked over to Vice Principal Robinson. Mom passed something to her. Robinson opened the piece of paper, shook her head, and said something to Mom I couldn’t hear. Mom hands folded in front of her, a stern expression settling on her face when she replied.
Robinson looked to the sky as if asking God to intervene, but nothing happened. She pushed the paper back to Mom and strode off.
A smirk firmly affixed to her face approached us. My friends both muttered hello before angling off to be put on the bus. “Excuse me,” Mom said in mock offense. “I thought you might enjoy staying over tonight, but I guess not.”
Marcel stopped dead in his tracks. “Excellent!”
I whooped, the weekend pass finally come through.
Abby shot Marcel a disappointed glance as she continued toward the bus.
“That means you as well, Miss Thompson.” Leave it to Mom to pull off double weekend passes. I wish I could have seen the administrator’s smug grin wiped off her face when Mom got approval for those.
Abby paused, froze, then turned around slowly. “Are you serious? A sleepover with boys? We aren’t five.” Although her tone was cold, the gleam of hope sparkled in her eyes.
Mom laughed. “I’m sure if they do anything inappropriate, you’ll box their ears.”
Abby smiled as she strode back to us. “Damn straight I will.” She winked at my mom.
Mom threw her arm around Abby’s waist and moved toward the car. “We’ll stop and get your clothes then grab pizza on the way home.”
Marcel and I fist bumped. Marcel licked his lips. “Real pizza, yum. Can we get pineapple?”
I groaned. “Pineapple isn’t a pizza topping. I can’t believe you eat that crap.”
“Crap? You eat tuna fish with skittles. That, my friend, is gross.” Marcel pushed his afro back off his forehead, trying in vain to control the wildness of his hair. Abby being around made him stranger than normal.
“Skittles are fruit. I’m just getting my vitamin C with my sandwich.”
“Are you serious? Skittles aren’t fruit.”
My witty response would have to wait. Abby and Mom sat in the car. Not wanting to be left behind, I tapped Marcel. “We’d better get going.”
We ran to the car laughing the whole way. Things were back to normal, for now.
We ended up with three pizzas. I got pepperoni, Marcel ham and pineapple, and Abby all meat. None of them survived dinner. Mom had a salad. We set up a folding table in the living room so we could study for our English final. Mr. Taylor was my favorite teacher, always sticking up for us, and we didn’t want to let him down.
We had unpacked our book bags when Mom stuck her head around the corner. “Abby, can I talk to you for a minute?”
She appeared surprised but answered. “Sure thing, Mrs. Ward.”
Mom smiled at her. “Marcel calls me Mom, and when you are comfortable, you can as well.”
“Okay.” I could tell Abby didn’t know how to take it.
“But for now,” Mom said, “we have something to discuss away from these uncouth boys.”
Abby laughed as she went with Mom.
I yelled after them. “The school nurse told you I didn’t have any couths. She checked my scalp. Mom was there.”
The laughter increased. Marcel put his head in his hands. “Couth is manners, not cooties, which are lice.”
“Oh.”
Marcel and I got our books and notes situated, grabbed Mountain Dews from the fridge for the three of us, sat down, and pul
led up a video on Marcel’s tablet while we waited for Abby.
After a bit of time, Mom appeared in the doorway. “Gentlemen, may I present Ms. Abby Thompson.” She waved Abby in.
Abby stepped into the living room. At least I think it was her. Gone were the ill-fitting ripped jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket, her punk-Goth uniform replaced with a black and white top and a below-the-knee black skirt. Black and silver shoes had taken the place of her combat boots, and her hair was pulled up into a ponytail. I almost fell out of my seat; she had makeup on.
I heard Marcel gasp, and I understood why. Abby had gone from tomboy to a girl. I wouldn’t cross her for anything, but she was pretty.
Abby flushed. “Just say it, I look stupid.”
“No, you are beautiful,” Marcel proclaimed in awe.
“Seriously, all I can say is WOW,” I chimed in.
She gave us a penetrating stare to see if we mocked her. “Really?”
We both nodded. “Seriously, you look fantastic,” Marcel blurted out. I swear his glasses had fogged over.
“Oh.”
Mom put her arm around her. “See, honey, I told you. You are still tough, right boys?”
We both nodded a bit more rapidly than was wise. I think I gave myself a concussion.
“I know you won’t wear it to school, but I always wanted a girl, and you’re so pretty, it’s a shame to hide it. Plus, every woman needs a nice outfit for special occasions.”
“Studying for English is a special occasion?” I said sarcastically.
Mom gave me her best “I’m an idiot” look. “Honey, anytime you study is a special occasion.”
“Man, it must be a huge celebration if you actually got over a C then.” Marcel grinned.
I put my head on the table with an audible thump. Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed.
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