Gravity (The Taking)

by Melissa West

  I wish I could scream. I hate this. I hate this plan. It goes against the grain of my existence, makes me feel like I’m giving up when I should be rallying troops to fight. We’re trained to give our lives, but how do you enter a war that is already lost? How do you send people to fight when they are already dead?

  I sigh, long and heavy.

  I turn to face the group, resigned with my decision because if nothing else I’m not the sort of person to go back on what I say. There are too many things to consider, too many people at risk, to do anything but keep moving forward and hope for the best.

  “What do you need me to do?” I say.

  Jackson glances up, all his anger and frustration disappearing as he takes in my face. “Do what we’ve needed done from the beginning. Find out the strategy.”

  I nod, feeling a sudden determination I haven’t felt through any of this. Because inside I wasn’t sure I’d made the right decision in helping Jackson. Now I know it isn’t about the rightness of the decision so much as the necessity of it, and realizing that difference has somehow freed me. I’ve regained control. And I’m ready to do what I need to do to protect my kind.

  I fix my gaze on Jackson. “Consider it done.”

  Law walks over and hugs me tightly. “You can do this,” he says before leaving to go check on his mom. I watch him go, glad that he knows, that I have someone human on my side.

  “You coming?” Mackenzie says to Jackson.

  He shakes his head, never looking up, and I feel the hard walls around me beginning to crumble slightly. I don’t know why he has this effect on me. My eyes find the ground, and I kick the dirt, both of us looking like children who refuse to give in first.

  Mackenzie starts for me, her expression full of resentment. “This isn’t a game, human. We have roles to fill here. Our people—your people—are all counting on us to make this happen. There’s no time for this—this—”

  “What are you talking about?” I almost scream.

  “Look at him!” Mackenzie points at Jackson. “Can’t you see what you’re doing? Don’t you care?”

  My head twitches, words failing me. Then Jackson steps between us, easing Mackenzie back. “I’m fine, Kenzie. Go back to the others. Report our findings.”

  “But—”

  “Just go. Please.”

  Hurt replaces her anger, and then with one giant leap, she’s in a nearby tree, disappearing before our eyes.

  And then we’re alone, Jackson and me, watching each other, both unsure of what to say next. I walk back toward my house, knowing I don’t have long before Mom calls me inside, and sit down on the porch swing that hangs below our deck.

  Jackson stops in front of me, close enough so when I rock forward our knees touch. “What happened today? Everything was fine last night. What happened? Was it the attacks? Do you feel like I’m…” He runs a hand through his hair.

  I look up at him, fully absorbing him. “No. It isn’t that. It’s… I don’t know. I just feel so unsure.”

  “We’ll get the strategy, Ari. Don’t worry. We’ll get it.”

  I clear my throat and glance away. “That’s not what I’m unsure of.”

  He seems to consider this for a moment, then kneels on the ground in front of me so we’re eye to eye. “I remember when this happened,” he says, brushing a finger over a large scar on my left knee. “You were ten and carelessly walking on the edge of your bed with socks on. You slipped and sliced your knee open on the bed corner.”

  “How do you…?”

  “Five stitches if I remember.” He raises his eyebrows.

  “But they were useless because it was all better the next morning. I told my mom I had superpowers. She let me pretend to heal her for the rest of the week.” I smile at the memory, and then realization hits. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

  “And this one,” he says, pointing to a tiny scar on my elbow, “happened a year ago. That one worried me. What were you doing on the roof, anyway? You slipped and fell into that big oak over there. You could have broken something, but instead just got a large gash on your arm.”

  “Why did you do it? Heal me, I mean.”

  “I’ve always looked out for you.”

  We stare at each other for several long seconds, unsure of what else to say. A war is brewing all around us, linking us together, the only two people who can stop it.

  CHAPTER 15

  That night I wait by my window for Jackson. Dad scheduled a meeting with Zeus two days from now. Zeus agreed to stop the attacks in favor of communication, which apparently Parliament has refused up until this point. Voices sounded from Dad’s office well into the night, only stopping moments before midnight. I’m surprised we’re still agreeing to host—after all, we’re just strengthening the group that’s trying to kill us. But I suppose stopping would guarantee another round of attacks. I can only imagine how afraid people are tonight. They’ve watched the attacks all day, watched as humans died at the hands of the Ancients, and now they have to slide on their patches and lay immobilized as the creatures climb into their windows and hover above them, sucking out their nutrients. There are no guarantees that the Ancients will abide by the legalized percentages. I wonder how many people will die tonight, if from nothing else, then from fear.

  But after well past midnight, I realize that my Ancient isn’t coming, and like the rest of the world, I’m gripped by fear, but not of death. I’m afraid that he’s gone. That the war has already begun.

  I stare out my window, searching for movement, craving something, anything, but when no one comes, I slip out my window, still in my pajamas, not noticing the cold. I sleek down our Taking tree, making sure to go unnoticed, and slip into the woods, hoping if nothing else I find him where he promised he would always be.

  Sure enough, when I reach the Unity Tree, he’s already there, kneeling in front of it as though in some prayer pose. “I knew you would come,” he says. I tread around him so I’m standing in front of him. His eyes raise to mine, broken, worried…afraid.

  “Did something else happen?” I whisper, kneeling down so I can see his face.

  “No, it’s just that a lot of innocent people died today. I’m trying so hard to stop this, but it’s no use. First the school, now this.” He shakes his head and I can see the pain moving through him.

  “Jackson…” But I’m lost for words.

  He glances down at me and lifts his hands to my face, tracing a line down my jaw. His fingertips hesitate at my lips, and his gaze drops. I draw a breath, and then his lips find mine. It’s an explosion of emotions—first warmth, then contentment, then fear, so much fear. Of what this will mean, of whether we can succeed, of the guilt that threatens to overcome us both. Because of all the things we should be doing right now, after so many people died, this isn’t it.

  This isn’t it.

  Jackson pulls away, resting his forehead against mine as though he can’t stand to move any farther away. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  I wrap my arms around him and we stay this way for a long time, listening to the eerie silence of the forest. I’m sure I hear whispering dancing with the wind, but for once I don’t succumb to my curiosity. No matter what happens in this war, I realize in that moment that I care about Jackson. I can’t ignore it any longer. I will do whatever I can to stop this for my family, my friends, for the innocent people who don’t deserve to die. But also I will do it for him, because if I’m certain of nothing else, it’s that Ancient or not, I trust Jackson. And if he says the strategy will prevent a war, I believe him.

  I have to.

  …

  I climb back into my room, exhaustion taking over, and slip into my bed. I hear my own breath release, slow and sure. Then the dream begins. I’m walking through the forest, and they’re there—Ancients. Hundreds, maybe thousands, all with their eyes on me. They cling to the trees, taunting me forward.

  I reach the Unity Tree and a man steps out from its dark center. He watches
me, and I return the same questioning look. I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place his face. Withered and important and absolutely Ancient. His long white hair flows back as he steps forward and bows low. Then one by one the others in the forest join him. There’s a smirk on his face that says his move is more for their benefit than mine.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Bowing,” he says. And then his face constricts and he adds, “To bend downward or forward.”

  Chills spread across my skin. “To who?”

  “Our queen.”

  CHAPTER 16

  I wake in a cold sweat. Zeus. The old man was Zeus; I’m sure of it. I tear off my covers, stumble to my bathroom, and splash several rounds of water on my face. I glance into the mirror and wrinkle my brow. I just woke up, from a nightmare no less, yet I look…healthy, alive. My dark brown hair is shiny, almost black. My skin—luminous. I study my reflection, hoping to figure out what caused the change, but when I come up empty, I allow my mind to drift to the nightmare. Fear clutches me as I remember Zeus’s expression, how he seemed to know me. Goose bumps rise across my skin even though my shirt is soaked with sweat. Zeus Castello was in my dream.

  When I get back to my room, I notice a new message flashing on my T-screen. I click the letter, and a gold and silver scroll appears on the screen with the words 2140 TRINITY MASQUERADE BALL AGENDA at the top. My mouth hangs open as I stare at the words. After everything that’s happened, I can’t believe they didn’t cancel the ball. The lead Chemists, Engineers, and members of Parliament from each world sector will all be present. This is insane, dangerous.

  I reach for my phone to dial Lawrence but set it back down. The phones are monitored. I’ll have to wait to ask him at school. I’m about to click off my T-screen when another message appears from Coach Sanders. Op testing continues today.

  I leave my room and pound down the stairs, rounding the corner to the kitchen, the tang of cinnamon and ginger in the air. Mom smiles widely when she sees me, her dark brown hair sprinkled with flour, her ivory arms splattered with specks of pancake mix.

  “This mixer has a mind of its own,” she says at my raised eyebrows.

  I laugh and sit in a stool beside the counter. “You said that about the last one. What is this, your sixth mixer?”

  She drops her head. “Seventh. Don’t tell your father.”

  I wait for her to explain why she’s home, cooking pancakes (my favorite), after what happened yesterday. Something tells me this is a bribe. But after several long seconds, she doesn’t say anything. “Mom…”

  “Yes,” she says, refusing to look up.

  “What’s this about? You don’t cook pancakes during the week. And shouldn’t you be at the lab, especially after yesterday? I heard Dad leave hours ago.”

  She slowly sets down her spatula and peers up at me. “I’m staying home today, and I want you to as well.”

  I start to object, but she cuts me off.

  “I know about Op testing, and I know how much that means to you, but things are getting bad out there. I can’t risk…” She raises a shaking hand to her mouth. “Your father doesn’t understand. He feels that you can protect yourself, he trained you after all, but this isn’t some training session. This is real, with real people dying. I know you well enough to know that I can’t force you, especially when your father doesn’t agree, but I’m giving you the choice. Please, stay home from school today. I’ll send a note. Here.” She passes me a stack of pancakes with tiny smiley faces made out of chocolate chips. I look down at the plate and then to her.

  “Mom, I…”

  “I thought you might disagree, so take this.” She hands me a small silver piece, maybe two inches long. “I had your father give you clearance to bring a weapon to school today. The scanners won’t flag you. Keep it on you at all times.”

  “What is it?” I pick up the piece and rotate it around in my hand.

  “A newly invented trick knife.” She presses the bottom, causing a blade to pop out of the top. “But this knife contains a poisonous tip. It’s still in development, but contact with blood causes the poison to incapacitate your assailant. I hope you don’t need it, but since you’re as stubborn as your father, I need you to be able to protect yourself.” She passes it back to me, her face grave. “And I expect you home immediately after school. No training this afternoon, understand?”

  …

  An hour later, I slide onto the tron seat, my heel tapping against the steel floor, causing the trick knife to hit against my ankle. It seems a little cliché to place it in my boot, but we don’t have pockets in our training clothes. For some reason having the knife on me makes me nervous, not because I’m unsure of how to use it, but because it suggests Mom knows more than she’s telling me and whatever she knows gives her reason to question my safety. Regardless, I can’t miss an Op test. No way would Dad allow it. Safety or not, my future job is to protect others. I can’t hide from danger; that’s just part of the Operative life. Though it’s true that each Op test so far has been interrupted by an attack.

  The last two tests covered limits, weaponry, and resources. That leaves combat. I crack my knuckles and stare out the window. I don’t think any of the other testers faced an Ancient in their maze, and Jackson kept asking who gave the order, which means that attack was directed at me and me alone. If the Ancients are targeting me now, maybe it’s time I talk to Dad. Jackson seems to think he can protect me, but he’s not always—

  “I see more than you think,” Jackson whispers, slipping in beside me, sunshades over his eyes. It’s a warm day for fall, so he’s wearing only the brown pants and a white tank, a common outfit for the poor when it’s nice out. I lean back in my seat, studying his profile.

  He’s not put-together, not at all. From his messy hair to his untied boots, everything about him screams carefree and effortless. But at the same time…he’s gorgeous. His golden skin contrasts against the white tank, making him look healthy and full of life. His muscles protrude from the fabric, showing his strength. It’s as though chaos and perfection slammed into each other and he’s the result. The corners of his mouth twitch, and then the tron stops and he files into the crowd.

  I jolt up, almost shouting for him to wait for me, but then, thinking better of it, file into line a few people behind, forcing myself to keep my eyes away from him.

  There’s a sign waiting when we enter the school for all Pre-Ops to report to the F.T. gym. Gretchen walks up to me, and we exchange worried expressions. This is the final test. By the end of this session, we’ll either be Op trainees or cut from the program.

  Gretchen opens the gym doors to a pitch-black room. “Is it supposed to be dark?” she asks.

  “I don’t know…” I ease forward, but someone jerks me back.

  “Let me,” Jackson says, stepping in front of us. He disappears into the darkness, a second passes, and then rushing footsteps, a loud crack, followed by a thunk.

  Gretchen backs up, accidentally shutting the door so I’m left in the dark. I raise my fists, preparing to jab if necessary, but nothing happens so I move forward a few feet at a time. Still nothing. I can’t even see my hands in front of my face. My foot hits something hard and I reach down to pull the trick knife from my pocket, but then think better of it. If this is part of the test, I don’t want to permanently hurt someone.

  “Jackson?” I whisper into the darkness. Then hands wrap around my shoulders and toss me to the ground. I try to jump up, but more and more hands secure me to the floor. I draw a breath, hoping to steady myself before I panic, when a spark ignites inside me. Adrenaline pumps in my veins, like a switch turned on, and suddenly I can see. My muscles contract, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing, and then…the hands are off me. I’m on my feet, listening to each heartbeat drum around me. There are five of them. Five humans, I’m sure of it, yet I don’t know how. I wait for the first to attack, a guy I can tell by his smell. He lunges forward just as I swing around, kicking him in the face. He drop
s on contact. A brief flutter of guilt moves over me, but then two attack at once and my mind moves into a blur, kicking and punching, no longer needing thought or vision to guarantee a solid hit. I hear grunts and thuds, as one by one my assailants fall.

  Finally, I stop and listen. I hear their heartbeats, hear their breathing, but that isn’t possible. I lower my fists to my sides. Luminous skin, healthy and alive. My mind flashes from Jackson on the tron to me this morning in the mirror. But that isn’t— No, not possible.

  A loud whistle sounds over the room, jarring me back to the moment. The lights flicker on. I stare around me and raise a hand to my mouth. There are five Ops lying around me, all unconscious. Gretchen is not far from me, looking as dazed as I feel. My eyes register a petite black-haired woman. Cybil. I almost laugh. I knocked out Cybil.

  Applause starts from the north end of the gym. “Congratulations, the four of you have advanced to Operative training.”

  What? That was it? I smile wide, searching for the other three who will train with me. Gretchen wraps me in a big hug. “We made it!” she screams. Marcus Wilde sags onto the ground, exhausted but grinning. So that leaves… My eyes land on Jackson, but he doesn’t look happy. He looks worried. He shakes his head, his mouth open.

  We’re directed down the hall to the main library where a large banner greets us, already with our names inscribed on it. There’s a crowd and they break into cheers as we enter. Gretchen’s dad, Oliver O’Neil, races to her, embracing her in a hug. Marcus’s dad finds him and does the same. I glance around, wondering if Dad will show, but after scanning the crowd twice, I realize it was stupid to even hope. Instead, Cybil, now conscious, walks up behind me and hugs me. “Your father said to tell you he’s proud,” she says. “And to come see me after school today.”