by Casey Herzog
He looked up as he felt someone watching him and crossed eyes with the soldier. The man was looking at him strangely, and Reiner knew his erratic behavior was causing suspicion. He turned away from his watcher and sat on the ground, looking away from those around him and praying the alarm would ring soon, so that he could return to his cell and be away from everyone.
I’m starting to lose it in here, he realized. I need to get out, and I need to get out soon. Otherwise, I’m going to do something stupid, and it’s gonna end really badly for me.
The warning call arrived, and the prisoners were marched back to their cells. Reiner sighed in relief as his cage was locked behind him, and he sat down cross-legged in the middle of his coop. It wasn’t exactly freedom, but there was more silence for him to think here than in the yards.
The mercenary was going to need the peace and quiet for the next few hours. A plan was already forming in his mind, one that would take him where he wanted to go without depending on anybody else. If not much else, Reiner was a damn good tactician, and he was certain of one thing:
A butterfly effect that ended with his escape from this forsaken prison was about to begin.
The children had been respectful and kind amongst themselves for the first few days, but on the fifth night, when their dinner arrived, desperation reached its peak.
“Stop it!” Maria cried, pulling apart two girls who had gone to blows over a piece of meat of unknown origins, their nails clawing at each other’s faces, and one of them ripping out a small tuft of hair from the other’s scalp. “What are you becoming?” she asked tearfully, and the children looked away in shame.
“We’re hungry, Maria…”
The older girl looked at the younger, guilty preteen who had spoken and grasped her hand in understanding. Their captors were feeding them very badly as if to break their spirit: bones, scraps and leftovers, meals that weren’t even fit for dogs in amounts clearly too small for their number. Maria knew the men who had taken them were slowly trying to starve them, or at least turn them against each other. It’s the sickest way to get to someone’s mind — through their empty stomach. Maria recalled why she and Paola had decided to begin cooking for the community, other than the fact they knew how: it was simply the single most morale-raising contribution anyone could give to the group. The grateful smiles from the children whenever they ate potato chips or a rare steak was an uplifting sight for both aunt and niece.
She’s dead now; forget those times. They’re gone like Alex and the rest of the kids, Maria remembered.
Nathan’s father and his friends had had them locked up uselessly for the past five days, but Maria had witnessed crates and boxes being brought into the warehouse earlier, and one of the thugs informed them their work would begin within the next two days. The girl had wished to know more, but the man had come closer to her and offered to tell her in private.
“I’ll wait for the general briefing, thanks,” she’d said, trying hard not to gag at the man’s bad, alcohol-ridden breath. She had gotten this far without anyone having their way with her, but she knew there was a high likelihood of her luck ending. I just hope they spare the children when they begin to fall to their baser instincts, she thought with resignation, but maybe they could escape before any of it took place. A naïve hope, but it is far better than having no hope at all, she told herself.
The door to the warehouse swung open, and somebody stepped inside, his hands pulling down a hood from his face. It was the man who had spoken to them before, Nathan’s father. Maria’s anger flared and she remembered the promise she had made to herself and to the children. Killing the next person who entered the warehouse, she thought. Laughable. I was full of angry bravado then, but plenty of men have come in and out of the warehouse since those words. What’s the point of killing one or two of them if the rest are going to make us pay for it?
She could imagine them simply cutting their three meals — as meager as they were — and waiting until Maria and the kids were left to eat each other. No. I have to be smart and play the long game. Work hard and keep my head down. Maybe they’ll forget about that knife I have. I’ll get to use it sooner or later.
“Well, kids, how have your accommodations been? Gotten any rest?” the black-haired man said with a slimy grin. His nose and cheeks were red, as if he’d been in the cold. He even rubbed his hands together to warm them. “You begin your tasks tomorrow,” he said with joy. “No more freeloading, I can’t have any of that,” he mocked.
“What is this place, and what are we supposed to do?” Maria asked with a sharp tone, avoiding the risk of seeming weak.
“You’re enthusiastic, Maria,” the ugly man mocked. He opened his coat and threw it to one side, walking over to one of the boxes and pulling out a metal box-cutter. Several kids flinched, but he looked at them and laughed mockingly. “This is for the box, you idiots.” He reached one of the larger, metal containers and began to cut away all the protective tape and film wrapped around its cover. Maria watched curiously until the man grabbed a pair of handles and pulled outward, revealing the inner chamber of the container and dropping it softly on the ground.
Uniforms, tools and weaponry. Coalition gear. Another crate was opened, this time wooden. He picked out a different tool from inside his jacket, a steel crowbar. The box cracked open, and he stuck his hand inside, throwing a handful of packages over his shoulder. Medicine. A third box was opened, and he pulled out small bags of powder and others of pills with a grin.
“Getting a better idea of what the purpose of this place is?”
“Yes. Somehow you’re getting access to things you shouldn’t. What is our purpose, though? You want us to help you unload everything?”
“Exactly. You will be our shipment workers. You will turn this,” he said, lifting two of the medicine packages, “Into this,” he concluded, gesturing at the crate it had belonged to.
“How do you manage to get your hands on all of this stuff?” Maria wondered out loud. “Who is it all for?”
“What a curious girl,” the man answered with amusement. “We get it from communities like yours. Poor fools who think they are safe from the outside world until we infiltrate and take control of them. I want you all to know,” he said, raising his voice so that all of the kids could hear, “you’re not the first group to get this treatment, and you’re not the last.” He stared into Maria’s eyes and his tone darkened. “As to whose they are…Let’s just say that if something were to happen to me or this operation, they’d certainly come looking and make the culprits pay in blood. If nothing else, they’re amazing killers, and I don’t think they’d care about taking the lives of children.”
Maria tried hard to stop trembling and breathed.
“Are you going to improve our meals? The children are starving. Some have already begun to fight each other for a bite to eat. Please, be humane—”
“Be thankful,” the ugly man hissed, “That you are alive at all. And if you’re caught stealing, believe me, it will only get worse. If you try to escape, I’ll personally sever your feet from the ankles. Now get some rest and get used to life here. Things aren’t going to get better anytime soon.”
The man turned to leave, but he remembered something and stopped.
“By the way, my name’s Martin. You probably won’t be seeing me again, but I’ll leave you with a familiar face so he can guide you through the rest of the process. Thanks for your time, and good luck; you’ll need it. Especially you, Maria, you’ve got a few admirers.” He laughed cruelly and whistled. “You can come in now.”
The echoes of steps reached the occupants of the warehouse, and two armed men entered, flanking a smaller figure with black hair and large, dark eyes. Several of the children stiffened in anger.
Nathan looked at each of them in turn, and a half-smile crept onto his face. Maria saw it then, something she hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t just an educated guess or a fearful inkling; it was absolute certainty.
Nathan wa
s gifted, just like Dante.
No, she corrected. Nathan isn’t gifted.
He’s cursed. But as long as he’s Martin’s son, we can make a hostage out of him. He’s our key out of here, and I’m going to find out how we can use him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Closure
Dante’s next class was scheduled almost immediately after the funeral. The Healer returned to the First Term Building with haste, not only fully aware he’d already crossed the line enough times, but also anxious to find out what ‘Xenological Studies’ was about. It sounded like it had something to do with the Outsiders, and Dante was very interested to learn everything he could when it came to the alien race. It might allow me to discover more about myself, he knew.
The structure closest to the field was a cultural building, used mostly for the many events and ceremonies that took place at the University. Thankfully, it had its own train station, which Dante entered without a thought.
His eyes kept to the platform as he stood there, waiting. There was a flurry of thoughts in his mind, all conflicting with each other and causing him to wonder how much of what he knew was true and what was false. Roberto’s death had just seemed so sudden, after everyone had expected the boy to recover…
There’s just too much happening in the shadows, Dante thought. He’d never been in this situation. The caravan with Margaret, Genaro, Labile, Ayia…All of their threats back then had been blatant and clear. Everything had changed since then. Fighting shadows and lies. The University would be dangerous, he’d been warned, but he hadn’t understood why at first. Now he knew: it wasn’t so much about getting into a fight with a fellow student who possessed abilities that could hurt him, it was the dangerous enemies who hid in the dark and waited for their moment to strike. If only I could look through Roberto’s eyes and see what he did just before dying, somehow—
Someone cleared their throat beside Dante, and he jumped.
“I’m sorry,” the young man said, a thin, older student in dark clothes who was also waiting on the train. “Are you Dante Castello?” A lamp flickered above their heads, and the Healer’s eyes glanced up.
Dante nodded, lowering his head back to the student.
“Yes, why do you a—”
The station’s lamps went out and the knife cut at him before he could realize it. Dante backed away, crying out for help, but there wasn’t anyone there except the two of them. The Healer lifted his wrist and caught the blade again on the next strike; it cut deep, pushing into the flesh of his forearm. He screamed angrily at his attacker, and the young man pulled the blade back to charge again. The sounds of the approaching train were echoing down the tunnel towards them, but Dante doubted he had that long to survive. The blade flew forward again, but Dante slapped it aside, punching his attacker and backing away into the wall of the platform.
His assailant smiled over the noise of the train and bent forward like a beast preparing to finish off its prey.
“Time to reunite you with your fat friend.”
Time stopped for Dante as he heard those words and the familiar voice that spoke them. The scene froze, and he was suddenly torn from the spot, his gouged forearm no longer hurting him and his lungs not fighting for air anymore. Dante felt himself standing in the mess hall again, watching a past-version of himself getting stabbed. His attacker, the dark-haired boy, pushed the blade far into his doppelganger’s gut and whispered die, just like he had in real life. Dante watched his old self lose consciousness, and Roberto fight his way to the rescue, taking wounds from both attackers as he fought them simultaneously and managed to grab the knife-wielding one in a headlock. There was a frightened whimper, moments before Roberto twisted the boy’s head and broke his neck with a sickening crack.
The other attacker had a costly moment of doubt at that instant, which a bleeding Roberto took advantage of, pulling the knife from the dead boy’s hands and punching it into the other killer’s chest. The Healer watched as his protector walked a few steps away then and collapsed onto his face, too weak to continue.
Words flowed back into Dante’s mind and his mouth tightened. Silas Webster at his medical room, his first visitor.
“R-Rob?” Dante had asked.
“The fat one, you mean?” the man had grunted. “Alive. A beast, he is. Killed the one who stabbed you, left the other one hanging by a thread. Probably a goner too, just doesn’t know it yet. Your friend Rob is a guardian angel, kid.”
Left the other one hanging from a thread, Dante thought…He returned to the present and looked into the other student’s eyes. The train was close, the lights were out, and Dante’s arm was badly hurt, but something awoke in him as he finally made the realization.
“You.”
The student lunged forward just as Dante lifted his hand with a furious scream. The detonation was drowned out by the screeching brakes of the train.
All of the lights flicked back on and the train arrived, a passenger stepping out unknowingly onto the scene.
When the woman saw the carnage that awaited her on the platform, she screamed.
Dante slipped onto the train, nursing his arm as the doors slipped shut once more. The female staff member was still screaming, but he had a class to get to. Everyone was throwing horrified looks at him, but he couldn’t do anything about his appearance.
“What?” he asked loudly of the other passengers of the train. Blood and gore covered him, and his wound was bleeding freely and dripping onto the clean floor of the cabin.
With an exhausted sigh, Dante fell into a seat and looked down at the puddle of blood on the floor. His wound was already healing, but there was a contrasting feeling within his heart. It wasn’t quite redemption, but it came close.
Roberto, I finished what you started. Sorry about not being able to do it before, Dante thought, almost seeing the boy’s face in the red pool before him. Maybe now you can rest in peace.
He arrived at the First Term Building and ran back to his quarters, taking off his clothes as quickly and as awkwardly as he could with his injured forearm. He leapt into the shower and began to remove the remains — oh boy, he thought, I hadn’t considered this was actually somebody before I blew him to pieces — of the student off his body and got dressed into new clothes.
Pulling open the door of his chamber and stepping out, Dante knew that the current sense of calm he felt would not last much longer. Shock, he’d heard adults call it. He’d seen it for himself out in the wastelands, in fact. Mothers watching their children die and managing to keep going and fighting bravely before it faded and all that was left was the agony of realization and the cold, cruel truth: my child is dead and I’m not going to see them smile or hear them laugh ever again.
As Dante sprinted down the corridor and attempted not to be as late to class as he’d expected, he came face to face with a teacher. The tall old man had a strict face and a pair of round glasses that made him look more like a large, intimidating owl than a professor.
“Xenology class, Dante Castello?” he asked, and Dante looked past him to see the gathered students whispering in the corridor. Strange.
“Yes.”
“Well, I knew you were heading here and was wondering if you were going to leave with the University staff members that are waiting for you before or after the class; I do hate interrupting my lesson because of some external factor.” He gestured to one side, and Dante’s shoulders dropped in disappointment.
Two adults stood there, their judgmental eyes bearing into his very soul. The woman carried a scowl that clearly said, this boy is too much trouble.
“I don’t want to waste any more of your time, sir. I’ll wait for the class to end before I’m arrested or whatever happens next. I just don’t get a lucky break, do I?” Some students laughed at his attitude, and Dante flashed a smile.
“Very well, child. Now,” the professor said, looking around and pointing at the classroom’s open door, “everybody enter the class and pretend nothing’s happened. C
oncentration is mandatory in my lesson.”
The stream of students walked into the auditorium, and Dante waited to enter last, as self-punishment for being late.
“See you in a bit,” he told the staff outside, and saw the man’s expression shift a fraction, almost as if he was concealing a smile. The professor closed the door, and Dante made his way to a seat that had clearly been reserved for him beside a familiar face. Keith lifted a fist, and Dante bumped it, shaking his head when the kid started to ask a question. “Concentration is mandatory, remember?”
