First

by Chanda Stafford

  Table of Contents

  “Don’t say a word.”

  First of the Firsts

  Well Past My Expiration

  Lucky

  “It’s no mistake.”

  “You’re nothing.”

  Without Blame

  Halfway There

  Nothing Left to Lose

  “I thought you loved me.”

  The Right Decision

  Dead Girl

  People Like You

  Rightful Property

  One of Ours

  Another Lifetime

  The Greater Adversary

  What I Wanted

  Someone to Talk to

  Get Out

  A Bit of a Mess

  No Choice

  “Every man has his secrets.”

  By Any Means Necessary

  “Let it go.”

  Part of my Charm

  A Regular Superman

  Barely

  “I’m Not Ready.”

  We’re All Slaves Here

  For You Are With Me

  Alone in the Forest

  “Everything’s set.”

  No One’s Prisoner

  Rest Now

  My Name

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Publisher’s Note

  First: Book One of the Live Once Trilogy™

  A Red Adept Publishing Book

  Red Adept Publishing, LLC

  104 Bugenfield Court

  Garner, NC 27529

  http://RedAdeptPublishing.com/

  Copyright © 2013 by Chanda Stafford. All rights reserved.

  First Kindle Edition: May 2013

  ISBN-13: 978-1484841747

  ISBN-10: 1484841743

  Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics

  This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  “Don’t say a word.”

  Adrian

  The room smells musty, unused. Kind of like the back storage buildings on the farm, or the old cellar the Chesanings don’t use any more where we explore and play games. Shafts of sunlight slant through the cracks in the heavy, dark red curtains, and when I take a step, more puffs of dust cloud the air. Chairs covered in white blankets line the walls and tower over me in stacks almost as high as the ceiling.

  “What do you think they’re doing out there?” I whisper, but it’s so quiet, I could be shouting.

  My servant, Will, shushes me. “If you listen closely, I bet you can hear your First talking.”

  I creep over to the door and press my ear against it. Nothing. As if no one’s on the other side. “Isn’t this the Release Ceremony? Shouldn’t I be out there with him?”

  Will nods, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him. “That’s normally how it happens. This is… odd.”

  “Did I do something wrong? Did I make Thoreau mad?” I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. Grow up, Adrian. Stop acting like a baby.

  “No, of course not.” He flashes me a quick grin, but I can tell he’s nervous.

  “Are you sure?” I hate it when my voice is all shaky like a little baby’s.

  “Definitely. I would know if there was a problem.” He shrugs, and a bar of light illuminates his carefree smile. “I bet it’s to save you from having to sit out there for the whole ceremony. Some of them can get pretty long.”

  On the other side of the door, I hear clapping. An old man’s voice rises up as the applause dies.

  “There, you see?” Will says. “Nothing to worry about.” I turn away and tune him out so I can listen to Thoreau.

  “Thank you, my friends, for this most welcome reception. As a First, I’ve lived for hundreds of years, influenced this country in ways the average person can’t even begin to comprehend. With your continued support, and that of Princeton, I will use your gift to change the future and create a better tomorrow. Thank you.”

  A dull roar follows his words, and I fidget in my seat, watching the door. My eyes dart to Will.

  “This doesn’t make any sense, Will. I should be out there.”

  “I’m sure they’ll call you shortly, Adrian. Maybe the usual waiting room was unavailable and—”

  A loud boom shakes the room, and I almost fall down. The chairs weave back and forth in their towers, and millions of dust particles rain down. Will shoves me away from the wall and pushes me toward the back of the room.

  “Move, now!” he shouts, but my ears are ringing, and I cough from the dust. He looks behind us at the door and forces me to move faster.

  “Murderer! Child killer! Free the Second!” a loud, mechanical voice shouts from the other room. “Free the Second! Free the Second!”

  There’s more yelling, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. Another, quieter boom. Will pushes me to a narrow closet.

  “In here,” he hisses and shoves me inside. We stay like that for what feels like a couple hours before the door to our main room bangs open, and I hear the heavy clomping of boots.

  “You in here with the Second, boy?” Will stays silent. There is a general grumbling outside, some swearing my mother would never approve of, then the deep, gravelly voice speaks again. “Alpha Code One, this is Underground Robin. Is the cargo safe and accounted for? I repeat, is the cargo safe and accounted for?”

  Apparently these are magic words for Will because relief washes over his features.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Papa bird.” The men march over to our closet and slide open the door. “Good spot, boy.” The head guard, an older man with a pinched face and a permanent frown sheaths his Artos. The other guards keep theirs out. Why? Is it still dangerous?

  “What’s going on out there?” Will asks.

  “Nothing we didn’t expect. Stupid rebels, always doing things half-assed.” He grins. “Let’s go.” One of them reaches out for me, but I jerk away.

  Will touches my shoulder, reassuring me. “It’s okay, Adrian. We’re safe now.”

  I shake my head and step back. “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace safe.” The head guard takes my arm roughly in his. “Don’t worry. We won’t let anything happen to you.” One of the other guards laughs, as if that’s somehow funny.

  “Is… my First all right?”

  “He’s fine, boy.” He drags me from the closet. “Now let’s go.”

  “Where?” My feet skitter, trying to find purchase as the guard forces me to follow him. The other men glance at each other, at me, then away again. Even Will won’t meet my eyes. Fear freezes me, and I dig my shoes into the thick carpeting. “Will? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” he answers too quickly. “Just a trip down to the medical center, to make sure you’re all right.” He tries to give me another smile, but he’s lying about something. I can feel it.

  “But I’m fine,” I pr
otest as the guard pulls me to the side of the room, behind the curtains where, instead of a window, there is another door. “Can’t you just tell them that? I’m fine. I just want to go back to my room.”

  Will shakes his head, sadly. “I’m sorry, Adrian, I really am.”

  “What’s going on? Why are you sorry? Will?”

  “Let’s go,” one of the other guards growls from the rear of our group. “We don’t have all day. Some of us have work to do.”

  First of the Firsts

  Mira

  Two years later

  “Stop it, Max. I’m coming!”

  My five-year-old brother bangs on the bathroom door again. “Come on! We’re going to be late!”

  “I don’t know why you’re so excited. Nothing ever happens at these things.” Kicking aside my brown coverall, I peer into the mirror. It’ll have to do. Who cares if I smell as though I’ve already been working for four hours taking care of the hunting dogs and cleaning out the stalls in the barn? I have. Not everyone can sleep until noon and avoid work like the girls in the manor.

  “Hurry up. Mom said we have to go now.”

  I roll my eyes, run my fingers through my short, spiky brown hair, then wet it again, trying to bring some order to the mess. Impossible.

  “I’m coming. I’m coming.” I pull on a soft white tunic and pants, then tie the faded yellow belt around my waist, cinching it tightly so that the billowing folds of the tunic collect pretty much in the middle. Good enough.

  As soon as I open the door, Max bursts in, his old blue baby blanket wrapped around his newly tattooed arm. I grimace. The memory brings back the pain of my own tattoo, the throbbing soreness that came after the numbing cream wore off. I rub my hand across the top of his bare head, barely able to see the shadow of the rich, black hair that used to curl past his ears. Poor little guy.

  “Aren’t you too old for that?” I nod at his blanket and chuckle when he scowls just like our father used to, and then slams the door in my face.

  I wander into the kitchen and grab a piece of toast from the plate on the counter. The stuff tastes like cardboard, but it looks like real bread and supposedly has all the nutrients necessary for a person to work at peak performance. Personally, I’d rather eat the wood shavings in the barn. I bet they’d taste better. Real bread is reserved for special occasions—like Christmas—so the Chesanings can feel good about themselves for giving us a treat.

  My mom pushes buttons on the drink dispenser in the opposite wall, ordering coffee. Her worn, once-pink robe clings to her generous frame.

  “Good morning.” I try to kiss her on the cheek, but she swats me away with a dishrag.

  As soon as the dispenser’s sliding door opens, she grabs the steaming disposable cup and sets it on the counter. “What took you so long? The First will be here soon.”

  I shrug. “I had to work, remember? The Chesanings want to go hunting in a couple days. They ordered in another dozen hounds, since apparently the ones we have are too old. Tanner said they’ve got a fox in the barn. Must have cost them a fortune. Besides, it’s just another visit. I don’t see why I can’t stay home the way Anna does.”

  “Mira Marie, that’s enough. We’ve been over this before, you’re going. Even though the likelihood of you being chosen is slim to none, your brother still has a chance.”

  I roll my eyes as Max rushes out of the bathroom, tunic crooked, belt tied in a lopsided yellow bow. I put down my toast and fix his uniform. “Do you remember your lines?” I smile and tweak his belt.

  He stops fidgeting and nods solemnly. “Do you think they’ll ask me?”

  “They might. You never know, so it’s best to be ready.”

  “Do you think I’ll do okay?”

  “Well.” I pat the sides of his tunic up and down and make a big show of searching his pockets. “As long as you’re not hiding any frogs or chickens in there, I think you’ll be fine.” His sudden wide, gap-toothed grin makes me chuckle. As soon as I let go, he darts away.

  Mom glances at the blue metal clock above the kitchen sink, effectively ending the conversation. “You’re late, both of you, and this is your brother’s first visit. He needs you there. It’s your job to take care of him.”

  A shadow crosses her eyes, and in my mind, I see a different small hand clutching mine. I scrunch my eyes shut, trying to chase away the ghost. It never works. Dead little sisters are particularly persistent.

  “Can’t you say I have a fever or something? It’s stupid. Firsts always look at us like we’re animals. Besides, there are plenty of other kids for him to see. No one’s been picked from our farm since—” Oh yeah, my cousin. When I blink, his fair hair, light blue eyes, and ready smile flash behind my eyelids.

  Mom sighs, and the worry lines etch the sides of her mouth into deep grooves. “This discussion is over. You need to get out there and support your brother.” She points her index finger, poking me in the chest. “He needs you. Do not skip this time.” The front door to our apartment slams shut. Apparently Max got tired of waiting for me.

  Grabbing my half-eaten piece of cardboard, I leave the apartment, taking the steps two at a time, and exit the steel-sided complex. Instead of going around the proper way, I sneak through the red climate-controlled barn, shoving the rest of my breakfast in my mouth.

  I stop at the other side of the barn door, behind the row of children standing at attention. There are about a dozen of us today—all wearing the customary white and yellow—ranging from barely five to seventeen years old. Most of the kids are related, tanned skin, deep dark eyes, stick-straight dark hair and slight, athletic builds. I’m the standout. I never figured out where my blondish-brown hair came from.

  Max rushes to the end of the line and stands next to Bran, a frizzy-haired redhead whose time in the program is almost finished. He tries to stand as tall and still as Bran, puffing out his chest with importance, but after a few seconds, he fidgets, holding his arm as if trying to cover up his birthday present.

  I rub my own brand, what the Chesanings call a barcode, tattooed in faded blue ink on the inside of my wrist like a crooked half of a bracelet. Anger fills me. We shouldn’t have to be here. We’re kids, not livestock at an auction.

  From the house, a short procession makes its way toward the courtyard. The Chesanings are there, along with one of their servants, Tevan, a jerk who does Mr. Chesaning’s bidding and makes Tanner’s life a living hell. With them is a portly middle-aged man with balding white hair and a pencil thin mustache, and two unsmiling, dark black-clothed military officers. They walk discreetly behind an ancient man dressed in a crisp black and white suit, leaning over a knobby wooden cane. At his side walks a leggy black and brown shepherd mix.

  Huh. He has a dog? Just then the old man misses a step and stumbles forward. The dog instinctively leans into him, helping balance his master. It must be his. I’ve never seen a First bring a dog before. A memory from school, or rather a picture of an old man with a dog seated next to him, swims to the front of my mind. Yes, I know this man. Only one of them travels with a dog: the first of the Firsts, Socrates.

  Well Past My Expiration

  Socrates

  A handful of children slouch in a ragged line in front of me. The littlest ones monkey around a bit, as they always do, and a boy at the end—one of the youngest—sucks his thumb. I bet if I look him in the eyes, he’d cry. Not that I entertain myself by making young children cry. I’m not that much of a monster. From the corner of my eye, I see an older girl slink to the end of the line. Hmph. She’s late. Thought they taught them better than that.

  “A lot of younger ones this time.” I turn to Mr. Chesaning, who joins me.

  Wearing a clean, pressed brown suit, he looks uncomfortable. I have a tendency to do that to people. Maybe he just doesn’t like wearing a suit. Fashion doesn’t matter much when you�
�re surrounded by servants. Anything the master and mistresses of the house wear must look like riches to the children waiting in front of me.

  “Yes.” He nods. “I like to think we have the best Texans there are. Sweet and docile, that’s our goal. We’ve had a couple light years here—fewer visits—so we haven’t produced as many as we used to. Most of the ones we keep close by are younger children. The older kids are out working the fields. If you want, we can call them in. Harvesting season is just starting, you know, so we have every hand out there we can.”

  “No, it’s fine. If anything, the mistake is mine. I’ve been to five farms, and I thought I would have been able to choose a suitable candidate before now.”

  “Well, sir, I’m glad you came here. When we heard you were sick, we didn’t think you would be able to make it out this far.”

  I smile tightly and nod at him. “Yes, that old nemesis, cancer. According to the doctors, it’s not serious, and I do have some time left, even though there’s no cure for getting old. However, this is an important decision and not one I want to make lightly. If you’re ready, Mr. Chesaning, my companions and I would like to get started.”

  “Sure, sir, of course.” He nods, and I glance at the portly man next to me, my friend, Edward Flannigan.

  Edward nods, swipes the back of his hand on his glistening forehead, smearing thin swaths of pale red hair and waddles over to the line of children. “My name is Mr. Flannigan, friend to Socrates and teacher to those fortunate enough to be Absolved. We’ve selected your farm as one of a very few that we believe would have a candidate who meets the high standards Socrates has set for his next Second.

  “Every year, several esteemed members of our society choose a Texan child from the farms to be Absolved of the crimes of their ancestors. This is an amazing opportunity, because if you’re selected, you’ll be allowed to travel the world with your First, go where they go, explore exotic places, and meet people you’d never have the chance to meet here at the farm. As an Absolved, you will have the opportunity to be free from farm life.” He smiles at the children.