by T Cooper
“I’m sorry,” I said reflexively. “When?”
“Right after we moved here, before my Cycle started,” she said. “Drunk driver plowed into her on the interstate, came across the median.”
I didn’t know what to do or say, so I just repeated, “Sorry,” a couple times, while Alex sat in his corner and cleared his throat to break up the silence.
“Well, Elyse,” I said after a while, “awesome to meet you. Come here often?”
She gave a weak laugh.
“Right, Alex?” I prompted.
“Yep, Elyse,” he echoed, but you could feel the hope evaporating with every passing second.
* * *
After we took turns napping, I came up with an idea, even if it was a Hail Mary at best. I told them about Benedict’s theory of how the Changers Council monitors our Chronicles for suspect incidents and conduct. (They were both impressed that I even knew a RaChas member.) My little test Chronicle about doing drugs and telling everybody at school that I’m a Changer might’ve missed any random scanning, but perhaps if Alex and Elyse did it, our chances would be better that the Council would catch something—if indeed they were trying to catch something.
I asked them to Chronicle some crazy, made-up stuff of their own, in addition to reporting what I’ve been observing closely about the space, to give hints as to our location. I mean, if Mom and Dad are home, and now I’ve been missing, what, about two days, and they tell Tracy I’m missing, and Tracy turns it over to the Council, maybe there’s a situation in which our Chronicles can be accessed in an emergency capacity? And if three of us are missing from the region, maybe they’ll notice a trend and send a search party or something?
Damn, I wish I’d listened when Chase was blabbing on about Abider deprogramming camps. Speaking of which, none of us—Elyse, Alex, nor I—have even dared utter the A-word aloud, though I know we’re all thinking it.
* * *
An update from the Department of Futility, here are some more things I’ve noticed: I believe we are somewhat near a railroad track, since I can hear trains sounding their horns twice a day, about eight to ten hours apart. Maybe twelve hours. I have no idea how much time is passing for sure, but I’ve been watching how the line of light under the door moves across the floor, which leads me to believe there is a window at the top of the staircase on the other side of the door, and that we are possibly in a building that runs north-south, since that strip of light seems to move from right to left, which if it’s the sun rising in the east and then setting in the west means that the window is facing south . . .
Or maybe I’m getting it backward. Who even knows if that’ll help? . . . I can’t think straight, and here’s another thing I’m choosing not to mention to Elyse, and especially not Alex: I keep hearing voices. Or thinking I’m hearing voices, when I’m pretty sure nobody’s talking.
To fill up the space I ask Alex about his past, which is one of the only things that seems to make him stop crying. He was a girl living in Northern California before his family moved to Genesis and he woke up as a boy named Alex at the beginning of the school year.
“What kind of stuff did you like to do?”
“Riding horses.”
“That’s cool,” I said. “I’ve never ridden a horse.”
“It’s the best feeling in the world sitting on top of all of that power,” he told us, his tone almost relaxed for the first time since being stuck in here together.
Normally I’d tease the guy about being the type of person whose parents are so fancy they own a horse and give him riding lessons (and I could feel Elyse thinking the same thing), but these were not normal times. And really, who was I to judge?
“Here’s something I never understood,” I offered. “How do you make a horse change which foot gallops in front?”
But Alex didn’t answer; he’d fallen asleep.
Then it was quiet but for Alex’s heavy breathing through his perpetually congested nostrils.
“Who’s the girl?” Elyse suddenly asked out of nowhere, from across the dark. It had to be the middle of the night, as there was only the tiniest sliver of light coming from around the door, seemingly from an artificial source, like maybe an exit sign in the hallway.
“What do you mean?”
“Your girl,” Elyse said flatly.
“How do you know I have a girl?”
“Really?”
“Audrey,” I conceded, even though it felt wrong to speak her name, to bring her into this hellish place.
“Now, that’s a pretty name,” she said. “What’s her deal?”
“What do you mean?”
She didn’t answer, just said, “Man, I could use a cigarette right about now.”
Everything with Audrey rushed back, and I started feeling that stinging sensation in my chest that comes on suddenly when you try to hold back crying but you know you’re never going to be able to.
“You’re being nice to Alex,” Elyse said, exhaling as though pretending she was smoking a cigarette. “I can see why that girl likes you.”
And at that I lost it, just started sobbing into the sleeve of my stinky shirt, which was way overdue for the long-lost luxury known as a washing machine. (If I get out of here I’ll never complain about having to wash, fold, and put away laundry ever again.)
“Oh, I’m sorry . . .” Elyse said when she realized I was crying.
“I messed up,” I managed. “I really messed up. Not that it matters now.”
I could hear Elyse coming over to me, picking her way through the dark. Her hand found my head, and the next thing I knew, we were hugging. It felt so good: the first time any of us had touched except for accidentally while passing around food and water.
“It’s all gonna work out,” she whispered as we rocked back and forth. “I promise.”
It was the kindest lie I’d ever been told.
CHANGE 2–DAY 225 (I THINK)
A few minutes ago three guys pushed through the door, the bright light like spears into my eyes, which have gotten so adjusted to darkness I may as well be a mole person like those subway tunnel dwellers I used to hear about in New York.
They were wearing the identical garb as before, black bandannas and hoods covering their faces, black clothes. They rushed Alex, picking him up by the legs and arms like a farm hog. He immediately started struggling and screaming, which prompted Elyse to launch onto the biggest guy’s back and begin punching him in the ribs. I tried tackling the second guy but it was no use; they shook both of us off like Taylor Swift’s boyfriends. A stale protein bar a day does not Superman make.
“Try that again,” one of them growled, wolflike, before dragging Alex out of the room, “and you’ll be sorry.”
I’d only hung on a few seconds before I was tossed to the ground, but I did manage to pull up the shirt on the guy I’d jumped. In the light I could make out a small tattoo: the ancient symbol of a Roman numeral I, the Abiders emblem!—and, not for nothing, the same tattoo that I noticed on Jason last year.
“Am I going to say it, or are you?” Elyse asks, as soon as the thugs depart and Alex’s screams die down. “Abider deprogramming? Or worse.”
“Let me just think for a minute,” I say tersely.
“No need to get snippy with me, Kid Cudi. It’s not like you believed they Changer-napped us to take us for ice cream.”
“Aren’t you even worried about Alex?” I snipe.
“Dude, you need to get it together, because if we aren’t a team, we are never going to make it out of this rat hole.”
Just then, two protein bars, half a bottle of apple juice, and a bottle of water are tossed into our cell. We eat the bars, even though neither of us have much of an appetite.
“I’m sorry, Elyse,” I say, pocketing half my ration for later, optimistically presuming there will be a later. “I’m just not sure what to do anymore.”
“Man, you think I am?” She laughs, takes a swig of juice. “Well, one thing I know for sure: this is
not the end of my story. I didn’t come this far up the Changer ladder to get snuffed out now. No way I’m letting a bunch of yahoo Abiders decide my destiny. I have earned that frigging right myself.”
I listen, and I think about Nana, and Audrey, and Snoopy. And I realize: No matter what we tell ourselves, no one decides anything in the end. We are all being carried on the current, mistaking rafts for shores.
CHANGE 2–DAY 226 (I THINK)
Some strange organ music has started, likely from a boom box or speaker placed on the other side of the metal door. There is faint narration beneath the music, but I can’t quite make out what it’s saying. Or maybe I’m imagining it.
Elyse is asleep in the corner. There’s not much else to do.
I don’t really know what day it is, and I’m not even sure how long I’ve been in here. How many nights do I have to be gone before my parents give up hope I’m alive? On the cop shows it’s always forty-eight hours until the odds of finding a missing person drop to nearly nothing. I know it’s been longer than that.
I wonder if Snoopy was found, or is he stuck in some prison cell like I am, both of us paying for my recklesness?
I guess I kind of brought this on myself, being a selfish teenager, worried about me me me and nobody else. This is the last thing my parents need to deal with when they’re already stretched to their limit with Nana. I can only imagine how crazed my mother must be. She’s always been so reasonable, shrinky-chill, except when it comes to protecting me. Then Mama Bear Banshee comes out, and G help anyone she perceives to be threatening her baby. What I wouldn’t do to see her bust through that door . . .
The music’s still playing, in fact is getting louder, the voices chanting more insistently. The only words I can make out are, “Stay one, stay strong . . .”
Or maybe it’s the voices I was hearing before the music even started. I can’t tell; it’s all running together.
Is Tracy looking for me? Is Mr. Crowell helping her? Is Audrey worried since I haven’t been in school? Or just relieved . . .
* * *
The bandanna brigade just came back, huffing as they heaved a big dude by his arms into the room, his legs limp and dragging heavy behind them. His face was still covered by a hood, his muscled arms bloodied and dirty, tied together so tightly it was cutting into his skin.
In the light Elyse and I exchange a look, tacitly deciding whether it’s worth trying to rush these guys again. I mouth, Not yet, and she scratches her nose in agreement.
The Abider goons drop the unconscious guy’s arms, twisting him so he lands on his left shoulder and side on the cement floor, head lolling to the ground, causing the dark hood to inch up his neck. I frantically scan our captors while there’s light, try to find something, anything notable about them that might help us escape. Where is Sherlock when you need him? He could probably make out their life stories from the scent of their farts.
“Good catch,” I hear one of them say as they leave.
The music swelled when the door opened, and now fades as they exit, like a waltz in hell. The zealots slam the door shut, padlocking it on the other side, as has become the routine.
“One strong!” They shout to each other in the hall. If one of the voices belongs to Jason, I can’t tell.
Elyse and I are silent as our eyes readjust to the dark, the outline of this burly passed-out guy a linebacker-sized clump on the cement between us. I’m so hungry, but I don’t feel like rooting around like an animal to locate a crappy sandwich. It seems like such a giant task in the dark.
We wait. The music surges, the light around the door probably at its brightest point (high noon?), but I don’t really care to Chronicle many of these details anymore. Why bother? They don’t matter. We don’t matter. Nothing does.
The guy on the ground stirs a little, flops onto his back from his side, wrists still bound together. He must have put up a serious fight. I wish I’d been able to.
I scoot closer, Elyse approaching him from the other side. It seems like he’s having trouble breathing beneath the fabric, so I reach out, grab a corner at the top of his head, and yank. It’s pinned where the crown of his head is heavy against the concrete. I yank harder, twice, and finally the hood pulls frees, sliding off.
I blink hard, lean in closer. His head seems to be bloodied and badly beaten, swollen and misshapen around both eyes, which . . . are starting to flutter open. I dip my head toward his, inches away now.
OH M—
“Chase?”
His eyes snap wide, a lopsided grin breaking across his broken face. He lurches upright. “Fancy meeting you here,” he slurs through wobbly teeth, as I smother him in a messy embrace, just as his head snaps forward and he slumps over, oozing back to the floor.
“Chase,” I say.
Nothing.
“Chase!” I shout. “Wake up, buddy!”
He doesn’t stir. I poke at his shoulders. Elyse grabs his legs and shakes. Pinches his skin.
“Come on, Chase, come back!”
I strain, but I can’t see any more details in this dark. Not his eyes. Not his expression. I put my ear to his chest but I can’t hear anything, no heartbeat, no air passing through, no sound at all beyond the chanting on the other side of the door: “Stay one, stay strong, stay one, stay strong, stay one, stay strong . . .”
(NOT) THE END
COMING SOON:
BOOK THREE: KIM
wearechangers.org
ABRIDGED GLOSSARY OF TERMS
(Excerpted from the Changers Bible)
ABIDER. A non-Changer (see Static, below) belonging to an underground syndicate of anti-Changers, whose ultimate goal is the extermination of the Changer race. The Abider philosophy is characterized by a steadfast desire for genetic purity, for human blood to remain unmingled with Changer blood. Abider leaders operate by instilling fear in humans, for when people fear one another, they are easier to control. Abiders sometimes have an identifying tattoo depicting an ancient symbol of a Roman numeral I (Figure 1), the emblem symbolizing homogeneity and the single identity Abiders desire each human to inhabit.
FIG. 1. ABIDERS EMBLEM
CHANGER. A member of an ancient race of humans imbued with the gift of changing into a different person four times between the ages of approximately fourteen and eighteen. (In more modern times, one change occurs at the commencement of each of the four years of high school; see Cycle, below.) Changers may not reveal themselves to non-Changers (see Static, below). After living as all four versions of themselves (see V, below), Changers must choose one version in which to live out the rest of their lives (see Mono, below). Changer doctrine holds that the Changer race is the last hope for the human race on the whole to reverse the moral devolution that has overcome it. Changers believe more Changers equals more empathy on planet Earth. And that only through empathy will the human race survive. After their Cycles (see Cycle, below), Changers eventually partner with Statics. When approved by the Council (see Changers Council, below), Changer-Static unions produce a single Changer offspring.
CHANGERS COUNCIL. The official Changer authority. The Changers Council is divided into regional units spread out across the globe. Each Council is responsible for all basic decisions regarding the population of Changers in its specific region.
CHANGERS EMBLEM. A variation on Leonardo da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man drawing, dating to approximately 1490 CE (Figure 2). The Changers Emblem contains four bodies superimposed in motion, instead of two (as portrayed in da Vinci’s composition), and appears to the eye as both four bodies and one body at the same time—though all sharing one head and heart. An emblem of the Changer mantra: In the many we are one.
Fig. 2. CHANGERS EMBLEM
CHANGERS MIXER. Required events for all Changers to attend, during each of the four years of high school. Council rules and regulations are emphasized at mixers (see Changers Council, above). Mixers sometimes require classwork and formal discussions, but mixers are primarily designed to offer more informal camarad
erie and problem-solving techniques, both of which help Changers address some of the difficulties that frequently arise during their Cycles (see Cycle, below).
CYCLE. The four-year period of different iterations, or versions (see V, below) that a Changer goes through between the approximate ages of fourteen and eighteen. One V per each of the four years of high school.
FEINTS.The story a Changer family tells the non-Changers (see Static, below) in their lives, to explain each V’s (see V, below) absence during the following year of school. The specific details for Feints are provided by the Council (see Changers Council, above), unless a Changer and her/his parents submit a formal request for an alternative Feint, which is necessary under certain circumstances (i.e., when Statics are especially integrated into a particular V’s life, or when a particular Feint will better protect the identity of the Changer and her/his family).
FOREVER CEREMONY. Regional “graduation” events held on the day after high school graduation for every Changer within a designated region. A joyous though private (from Statics—except parental Statics; see Static, below) occasion, as each year of ceremonies initiates more and more Changers to migrate into the world and eventually find a Static mate, with whom they will start a family and raise Changer offspring of their own. At the Forever Ceremony, Changers are introduced one by one, and each speaks a little about each of her/his V’s (see V, below) before declaring in front of both the Council (see Changers Council, above) and their community whom they will live as for the rest of their lives (see Mono, below).
MONO. A Changer’s “forever identity,” a.k.a. the V (see V, below) a Changer ultimately selects for her/himself after living as each of the four different assigned V’s. A Mono cannot be the individual a Changer lived as during the approximately fourteen years before her/his Cycle (see Cycle, above) began.
RACHAS. Common term for “Radical Changers,” a small but growing splinter group of Changers who seek not to live in secret, as the Council (see Changers Council, above) dictates. RaChas are freegans, anarchist free spirits, often living in the margins, surviving on what human society at large throws away. RaChas philosophy calls for living openly and demanding liberation and acceptance for all, Changers and Statics alike. RaChas have adopted the ancient Roman numeral IV, rotated on its side (Figure 3), as an emblem, symbolizing their desire to shake up traditional Changers philosophy and call attention to the limitations of the four-V Cycle (See V, below; see Cycle, above) each Changer must go through. RaChas have been known to recruit Changers with the intention of indoctrinating them into RaChas activities. RaChas have also been known to battle Abiders (see Abider, above) and even stage missions to rescue Changers who have been abducted by Abiders and held in Abider deprogramming camps. [Nota bene: While the Changers Council is at odds with the RaChas movement, it can also no longer deny its existence.]
