by Casey Hays
My frustrations rumbling, I blow out the candle and leave her.
In the hallway, my back against her closed door, I lose it altogether. I sink to the floor, a hand over my face, and the bridge finally breaks in a sniffling, wet flood of tears. I can’t do it anymore. This burden is too heavy, and it grows heavier by the minute. The aching pressure has finally reached its limit. How can I keep anyone safe if I can’t control one little boy? How can I live with myself if anything ever happens to Diana or Henry or Caleb? How do I stop this?
Before long, I’ve sunk into a messy heap of everything that is the opposite of manliness, and I couldn’t care less. I curl onto my side on the wood floor right outside Diana’s door and weep silent tears until my gut hurts.
This is Ian’s fault. He swore he could train these kids. That he had the magic touch and all that. That the Spirit had given him new insight. Well, what good does that do me now? Ian is gone. Moved on. Off living his life. Oh, sure. He had every confidence that I could continue the work without him—that things were going so well that he could shove off for a while. But what did he know? And it all went to hell, didn’t it?
He’s not the one who has to worry every second of every day that these little maniacs will kill each other. He’s not the one who has to decide whether he should lock a little boy away in a cage. Or just kill him. Nope. Those choices are all mine now.
All mine.
I pull myself up and slump against the door, a heavy sigh spilling out. I’ve refused to acknowledge the thing residing in my heart. I didn’t want it to be true, but the cold, steely hand invades full force this time. It wraps tight fingers around the chambers of my heart, squeezes, releases all my pent up anger in one gush. My lip trembles, and in this raw moment, I have no doubt: I hate Ian. I blame him for making me hate him. For turning me into someone who hates myself even more for hating him. Because this isn’t me. This was never supposed to be me. He left, and now he has everything he ever wanted, and I’m here. Existing.
Bitterness is a grumbling monster in my soul, and I take it by the hand and hold tight. The quiet all around suddenly feels like a thousand screaming demons, and then, I feel someone watching me. A cold stare assessing me, approving of my anger and hate.
Unnerved, I glance around the hallway, expecting to see Liza or one of the boys. Nothing. I hold still, afraid to move at first. But finally, with a shiver, I drag myself to my room. I fall into bed, and I sink into an uneasy sleep.
Just before I drift away, a strange voice hisses in my ear.
I have no idea what it said.
Chapter 6
The people who owned this farm before the Fall clearly had big plans for the basement of the large, main house. Furnished and fully carpeted with electrical wiring installed, it’s obvious the basement suffered the least amount of damage during the war and the horrors that followed. Based on the shelving, the small, now quiet space heater, and the large, old useless refrigerator sitting in the corner, it served as a shelter. Once upon a time, I’m sure it was designed to be someone’s haven. Perhaps the father of the house had dreams of a place to get away, find some peace and quiet. Or maybe it was occupied by a group of rowdy teens every weekend, drinking soda and playing board games. At any rate, I like to think it had a more enjoyable use before the Fall came along.
For us, it serves an entirely different purpose. Time out.
Ian and I both knew the cages were a necessity from the beginning. And thanks to our little adventure in the Pit back in Kate and Diana’s village, we knew the best way to construct them into solid, impenetrable, inescapable units.
Max and Jesse rounded up the titanium for us, and with Aaron’s smithing skills, we set to work the day after we arrived. The basement was roomy enough for us to erect two eight by eight cages separated by four feet of space. We pulled out the carpet, secured the bases to the cement flooring, and furnished each with a cot and a small table and chair. The final touch—a wooden partition erected between the two cages for privacy.
Diana was against it at first. In fact, that’s an understatement. I’ll never forget her words to me.
“How can you do this? These are innocent children. Babies who have done nothing, and already you devise a method of punishment. How can you be so presumptuous?”
That was before eleven-month-old Nicholas—unaware of his own strength, absent of self-control, and lacking knowledge of right or wrong—sank his teeth into Jacob’s jugular and then commenced to chew off a finger with his rows of sharp, new baby teeth. Diana was mortified, so much so that I thought that would be it. She’d pack up, take her boys, and run. She didn’t. But she never said another word against the cages.
An Outsider would be shocked by our “cruel” treatment. Inhumane. That’s what they would call it if they happened to stumble into this underground room and find the little boy behind bars. And perhaps it is. But these kids… they aren’t the average human. An Outsider has never had to deal with an advanced child from Eden—a child who could rip said Outsider in half with his bare hands without a second thought.
At the moment, Nicholas sits in the middle of the bed, his legs crossed underneath him. He flicks his flashlight on and off. On. Off. On. At the top of stairs, arms crossed, I lean against the doorframe and peer down at him.
I’m not looking forward to this therapy session.
My father’s last alterations to the Serum caused his final experiment to be, let’s say, hazardous to everyone’s safety and well-being, including the children themselves. Intellectually, mentally, and physically, they are widely advanced for their ages. At four, the children are much more inclined to think like ten or eleven-year-olds, and this is dangerous on so many levels. Four-year-olds nearing puberty can’t be a good thing.
By far, Nicholas is the strongest and most intelligent of the children, but he has a mean streak, and this is our dilemma. No matter what we try, nothing seems to curb his behavior. Again and again, he chooses wrong over right, hate over love. Death over life.
The flashlight blinks off again consuming the room in darkness. With a sigh, I push away from the doorframe, flick on my own flashlight, and make my way down.
Nicholas is quiet, a shadow in the shadows. I shine my light on him as I near. He searches me out with wide, blue eyes, prodding me. He’s an innocent little boy again, looking for my anger, fearing my disappointment… longing for my forgiveness. I purposely keep my expression stoic.
I drag a wooden chair across the cement and straddle it backwards, facing him. My hands hang over the back, the flashlight loose in my grip.
“Hi, Nick.”
A ten second pause.
“Hi, Justin.”
His voice is quiet, repentant, testing the waters.
“Are you ready to talk about what happened?”
Another pause. He nods.
“Okay,” I say.
I notice the full jug of water I left with him inside the cage is half empty, and a dirty plate sitting beside it tells me Penelope brought down his breakfast. I lean back, reposition my flashlight in my other hand, and prepare myself to teach a little “tough love.”
“How do you feel today?” I begin.
“Fine.”
“You’re not angry?”
He shakes his head. His flashlight flickers to life again, and he holds it in his lap, the steady beam creating a circle of light on the wall.
“Can you feel the Serum today?”
He concentrates a moment, then nods.
“And… is it hot or cold?”
Again, he thinks, his little brows crinkling together as he tries to decipher what the Serum is up to today. Satisfied, he connects with me.
“Cold.”
I nod. That’s our code. If the Serum is clicking, working, running through his body at full speed, it’s hot. If it’s resting, just tickling the skin, it’s cold. I study his peaceful little face in the light. He almost looks angelic. Almost.
“Can you make the Serum hot if you
want to?”
His nose twitches in thought. He runs a hand across his forehead pushing a pesky strand of hair out of his face and nods.
“And can you make it cold again, too?”
“Yes.” He untucks his legs from beneath him and lets them dangle over the edge of the bed, his bare feet just inches from the floor.
“Okay.” I stand, flip the chair around and sit again, aiming the light his way, my elbows digging into my knees as I lean toward the cage. “Let’s practice a bit. Go ahead and make the Serum hot for a minute.”
I wait. Nothing appears to happen at first, but then, I see it. A slight shifting, a flickering in his irises that proves the Serum is on the move. Each time, I find it fascinating… this ability to control the Serum at will, and that familiar envy pinches at me. I watch him, gauging him for a few minutes.
To command the Serum is the greatest gift for someone like us. Of course, back when I shifted at age sixteen, I wasn’t allowed to know that. Eden was a different place, and we were taught a different kind of self-control. It involved not triggering our abilities unless absolutely necessary. In fact, we were expected to staunch them, and that was the key problem.
When the short-lived war broke out, we weren’t prepared. We’d never been trained, but that didn’t matter. Our nanos flipped into war mode, and we didn’t have a say in it. I did horrible things during that time—things I don’t care to remember. The memory makes me ashamed of myself.
We were lied to about a lot of things, and my dad was right in the middle of that deception. If someone had only told us the truth, if we had been properly trained…
That’s all I want for these kids. I want to give them a fighting chance despite what they are.
Nick clenches his fists as the Serum floods through him, reaching its height. His right leg twitches, his breathing comes on rapid puffs, and I concentrate on him. I’d never allow him to go so long if he wasn’t caged, but I wait thirty seconds more. His leg stills, he loosens his fingers, and the Serum churns hot at the peak of its strength. And Nick is in complete control.
I take in a deep breath and lean back in the chair. It’s truly an amazing thing to see.
“Okay, Nick. Go ahead and cool it down now.”
Nicholas concentrates, his blond brows furrowing together, and slowly the Serum settles back inside him. He pins me with clear eyes, and his shoulders sink, a full calm falling over him.
“Good job, buddy.” I smile, and his mouth tips upward in the corner, pleased with my praise. “So…” I lean forward again. “When someone makes you mad—when they make the Serum hot—what should you do?”
He blinks once. “Cool down.”
“That’s right. Just like you did now.” I stand, dig a key out of my pocket and insert it into the lock. “You see, Nicholas, you’re the one who controls what you do. Just like Jacob and Stephen, just like Aria and Klayre, you get to decide how you react. You tell the Serum what to do.” I step into the cage and sink onto the bed next to him, angling my head down to catch his eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying this time?”
This is not a new conversation. It’s a concept I’ve drilled into these kids for months. Nicholas tilts his chin upward and chews on his bottom lip.
“It’s getting easier,” he whispers. “To make it listen.”
I hear an uncertainty in his voice, and I feel a sudden urge to assure him. With a sweep of my arm, I gather him up onto my lap. He gladly sinks into my chest.
“I can tell,” I say. “And that’s a good thing. It means you can stop. You can pull back and think before you react. Remind yourself that even when the Serum is talking, you are the one who’s really in charge.”
He ponders my words, his fist tucked under his chin. “Okay,” he agrees.
“Okay.”
I rest my jaw against the top of his head, concentrating on his heartbeat that pitter-patters quietly now. For a minute, I just let him be a little boy. Not a child from Eden. Not a natural born weapon. Not an indestructible. Just Nick.
“Did Stephen die?”
My heart turns cold in my chest, and I kind of freeze on the spot. His tone is strange, not close to remorse or regret. It’s more… is that curiosity I detect?
I lean back; he glances up at me, his expression full of ripe questioning, his lips pressed together tightly. I shake my head.
“No, Nick. Stephen is fine. You know that.”
After a minute, he drops his gaze to his lap. “Yeah.”
Cautiously, I squeeze his arm. “That doesn’t mean you should do what you did again. Ever. It’s not right.”
“I know.” His head swings up, and he looks different now. Innocent. Clear-headed. “I’m sorry. And I’m sorry I hurt Diana. I didn’t mean to.”
“And you’ll need to tell her that. And apologize to Stephen, too.”
“I will,” he promises. A few seconds skim by. He peers up at me. “Can we go now?”
I hesitate. But after a second, I allow him to slip off my knee. He faces me.
“I need you to remember everything we talked about today,” I remind him.
“I will.”
He blinks, innocence shining out of him like a new sun. It makes me uneasy, this innocence. As if it’s the root of all his problems. A paradox. He has so much power, so much knowledge of the inner-workings of his make-up… and very little life experience to aid in processing it all. He’s a plane without a pilot. Or a navigation system. Or landing gear. He’ll race across the sky at full speed, full fuel-level, full chaos.
A crash-landing seems inevitable.
Together, Nick and I exit the cage, and he beams as he shoots up the stairs ahead of me. I hang back, cast my flashlight across the expanse of the basement floor, and study the cages. What happened last night… it can’t happen again. We can’t afford it.
***
Liza agrees to stay on a while to help with training while Diana recuperates. It throws her off schedule a bit, but I can’t say I’m unhappy about it. I could use her extra hand for a while.
I’ve just settled Nick in with the others in the library when Penelope summons me. I wait a few minutes, watching the kids together, and when Stephen shows no signs that he plans to get even, I feel comfortable enough to leave them alone with Liza and slip out.
Perched on a stool, the generator whirring at her feet, Penelope studies a computer screen. It contains two green image scans of Stephen’s body—side by side. Inside the first image, a blue haze indicates the Serum. It’s thicker in some spots where it congregates at the site of Stephen’s recent wound to the chest, repairing the damage. Next to it, the other image, similar but different, glares at us.
“What are we looking at exactly?” I ask quietly, taking the seat next to her.
She swivels on her stool to face me and rubs at her forehead. “I was curious about Stephen’s last scan, but I didn’t see cause to worry at the time. Now, I’m afraid I might have underestimated what I’d gathered previously.”
I squint at the screen. “How old is the first scan?”
“I perform full body scans on the children every three months.” She points at the first one. “This is Stephen’s last scan from a month ago. As you can see, compared to his scan last night, there’s a considerable change in the volume and density of the Serum.”
“So, the nanos are increasing?”
“Rapidly,” she nods.
I lean my back against the edge of the cool, metal examining table situated behind us, my eyes flicking from one scan to the other. “What could this mean?”
“I’ve been looking at some samples of Serum I took from Stephen.” Penelope pauses with an intelligent lift of her brow. “And I’ve come to a conclusion.”
“Okay. Let’s hear it.”
“The Serum is self-sustaining,” she says flatly. “Unlike us, these kids would never have needed another injection for replenishment. The Serum is reproducing on its own.”
I sweep my gaze from one scan to th
e other. “Wow.”
“The problem? I’m not sure it knows when to quit. And Nick—” She breaks off and drums her fingers against her lower lip, her eyes pinned on Stephen’s scan. “I need to scan all the children again to see what’s going on in there. If Nick’s Serum is denser than Stephen’s, it could explain his sudden aggressive behavior.”
“You think so?”
“I do. You must remember that the Serum is a foreign entity introduced into the body. Our own works on a time-release basis, which enables our bodies to adjust to it. Too much too soon can cause a number of issues.”
“Can you do anything about it?” I spin my stool and clasp my hands on top of the table. “Is there a way to slow it down?”
“Not that I can see.” She creases her brows in thought. “This is a sudden and dangerous turn. The children are stronger than anything we’ve seen before. I’m afraid Nick is a sign of what is to come for all of them, and with this new development…” Her voice grows quiet. “I hate to say it, but we may not be able to prepare them for it.”
I stare at her, speechless, my worst thoughts churning through me.
“Are you saying…” I swallow and rub my hands down the front of my jeans, anxious. “Training is pointless?”
She shakes her head, completely at a loss. “I honestly don’t know.”
Her words sting deep, and for a moment, that tinge of fear that always lingers in the back of my mind raises its ugly head again, taunting. Working to make me believe that I don’t have what it takes to complete this mission. I let it ride me for a minute until an angry spark flickers, and I blow on the flame. I allow it to heat my insides, and I feel the warmth of my ambition. It comes from the same place where my dreams to be a doctor reside, and I feel the fire in my bones.
In that moment, I see myself in the mirror of my soul. I am meant to help people. The sick. The hurting. The different. I’m a fixer, a healer…. and maybe this situation isn’t ideal, but it’s all I’ve had to work with. I pull up straight on the stool and face Penelope.
“We didn’t bring these babies all the way over to this side of the river to fail them.” I ball my hands into tight fists on top of the table. “We owe it to them to make sure they can control the Serum raging through their bodies.” My nerves rattle with excitement. “I won’t give up on them. I’ll work faster. I’ll train them harder. No more breaks. I will give these kids a chance at a real life.”
