by E. R. Arroyo
“No, sir.” Sean steadies himself. Good. I glance at everyone else. Marsiana is expressionless, but the other pledges are fully alert. They still look terrible, but they don’t look so sick anymore. Some of them have been resting for a while.
“Then why did she win?”
“Because she’s faster, sir,” Sean says loudly, distain evident in every syllable. If he hated me five years ago, I can’t imagine how much he loathes me now. I’m suddenly aware that everybody is staring at me. I feel like a freak show and hate the attention. I feel exposed, like they can all see right through my charade. Like someone will figure out what I’m planning. Someone’s going to read every thought and it’ll all be over. I’ll be killed for treason, and anyone who ever helped me will be punished--maybe killed--for abetting.
I have to tell myself my mind is the one thing that’s mine alone. Nathan will never know what I know, and as long as that stays true, no one I care for can be hurt on my account. If I just keep it together, no one will get hurt.
Nathan eyes me with a smirk, somehow pleased like he’s just handed me something on a silver platter. His pleasure is my displeasure, and I wish I could rewind the race and lose just to spite him. I don’t know what he’s trying to do, and I wish he would just hurt me once and for all to get it out of his system. Despite his demeanor, I remember the aggression in the jail cell and in my room at Underage. So even when he smiles at me, I know there’s something darker lurking.
The captain clears her throat and Nathan shoots his eyes to her. She doesn’t speak, she simply peers at him through eager eyes. I imagine she wants orders or instruction. The group has lingered uncomfortably long in this moment that no one even understands the point of--especially not me.
“Dismissed until dinner time. Drink plenty of water, children. Except Sean, of course.”
My second shower fades away as the hot water runs out. The temperature gradually dwindles until it’s lukewarm, then cool, then cold. I haven’t moved an inch since I stepped in. Every ill sensation the heat took from me, the cold has replaced. I push a button to shut off the stream and sink to the floor, too exhausted to dry myself off or do anything at all. I grab the towel and without much thought, I bundle it up and use it as a pillow. I drift away to the sound of nothing, with thoughts of nothing but exhaustion pulling me under.
Pounding, pounding. I’m startled out of my dreamless sleep making no sense of the noise I’m hearing. It’s the door, and I’m still in the shower.
“Dinner time,” Marsi calls through the door.
“Be right out.”
I scramble to my feet and wrap myself in the towel. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and realize there is no hope for my hair now that I’ve slept on it soaking wet. I throw it into a low ponytail--the same as every other woman in this colony--and tuck my bangs behind my ear. They’re just now getting long enough to do so. Six months ago, I stole a pair of scissors and cut them short in protest to the conformity laws. No one here has bangs. Bangs are impractical and they want us all to look the same. Do our hair the same. Dress the same. Everything the same. Yada, yada--I spent a night in jail.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Marsi has her arms crossed and she’s certainly displeased with something. Probably me.
“I’m not your caretaker, you know.” Yep, it’s me she’s displeased with. “I’m your roommate, and your superior officer.”
“Okay.” I’m not sure what else to say.
“Next time I’ll go without you. If you miss meal time, you don’t eat. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.” She’s far from the pleasant host she had been this morning. I’m confused as to whether she’s simply moody or if something in today’s events has changed her mind about me. Maybe wondering if she was a threat to me was the wrong question. Perhaps I’m a threat to her somehow. Or she’s just realized how much of a handful I am.
At dinner, we’re the last to arrive and she rolls her eyes when an older officer gives her a scornful look. As far as I’m concerned, there’s still a line for the buffet so what’s the big deal if we weren’t here to wait in it even longer?
I take note of everyone, and it’s essentially the same group that I remember from this morning, sitting mostly in the same places. Except one person. Sean.
Sean sits alone in the corner of the room right by the spread of food. He can see it, probably smell it, but he’s not eating. I remember his punishment for losing with a pang of guilt. He can’t eat because of me. He can’t drink water either. And even worse, Nathan has made a show of his defeat. I should be happy Sean is getting what he deserves. But I’m not. He looks weak and exhausted. I’ve probably had a gallon of water since the race, and he’s had nothing. He needs water.
I grab a tray and load it up with dinner. I choose chicken flavored again, even though I have no idea what it is. When I grab a bottle of water at the end of the table, I pass closely to Sean and lean to whisper. “I think the shower water is safe to drink.”
His eyes dart up to me, incredulous and angry. “What?”
I fumble for a moment and grow self-conscious. I look around and catch Nathan’s eyes on me, and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly. He probably thinks I’m rubbing in Sean’s loss.
I shrug, hoping Sean will catch on to my suggestion and heed the advice. But I’m not going to stand and discuss it with him now that people are paying attention.
I drop my tray haphazardly on the table next to Marsi. I wonder if she would mind that I’ve assigned her a short name in my thoughts. Habit I guess. Long names annoy me. I think everyone’s name should have a two-syllable maximum.
“Why’s Sean sitting there?” I ask in a low voice.
“To humiliate him. He wasn’t punished for performing badly, he was punished for his arrogance. Arrogance doesn’t sit well with Nathan.” Her demeanor is pleasant again, and now I’m even more confused. Maybe she’s just happy when food’s around.
“Why did he choose me to race him?”
“Because you’re the fastest.” She shovels in a bite of food.
“But how would he know? How could anybody know that?”
She laughs and I feel myself blushing. “I told him you were holding back.”
“And as it turns out you were,” Nathan’s voice chimes. He stands behind me, and I whirl in my seat to face him. He seats himself beside me and I feel infinitely uncomfortable. “Here she is. The woman who makes running a marathon look easy.” He called me a woman and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m just a girl. A silly girl with grand ideas about freedom.
I take a bite of bread. I have no idea if he expects me to respond, but I have nothing to say. Bide your time, I think.
Nathan clears his throat. “Well done, soldier.” He claps me on the back, then he’s gone, just as fast as he arrived. I don’t look up until he’s left the room, and when I do, about half the eyes in the room are on me. Hate it, hate it. Hate this attention.
Sean’s eyes are burning into me most of all. He’s using the only energy left in his body toward hating me. I didn’t humiliate him today. Nathan did. I excuse myself early and storm to my room on the first floor, only to realize I don’t have access without 587. I slump to the floor to wait, wondering when I’ll have my own clearance. I wonder if they’ll put a chip in my neck and scan my fingerprint. Are they really dumb enough to trust me with those things? I’m sure they can limit my accessibility to certain things, though.
I look toward the footsteps approaching me, expecting Marsiana. But suddenly I’m twelve again, and I’m alone in a dark space with two boys who hate me.
Chapter Five
Sean and Billy stand over me while I scramble to my feet. Before I can speak, a fist slams into my stomach. Billy’s punch is a hundred times harder than it was five years ago.
I double over, not willing to accept that this is happening again. I can’t fight them, I can’t give Nathan a reason to punish me. I’m done breaking the law.
A kne
e strikes my ribcage. I think that one came from Sean, but I’m not sure. He should be passing out from dehydration, not beating me up.
Sweaty hands grab my neck and I cringe away from them, swinging my leg straight out and making contact with something, but I can’t see what. From the corner of my eye I see a security camera, and know that I shouldn’t fight back. But I have to do something. I block the next fist that comes at me, even though I’m still crouching.
When a body moves toward me, I aim for the crotch, but he dodges. Billy I think.
They both grab my shoulders and slam me into the wall. I struggle against them, but they’re strong together. Sean wraps his hand around my throat and his eyes are insane with animosity. “You think you can humiliate me in front of my superiors and then play some sympathy game?”
“No,” I choke out, though I can barely breathe.
“I do just fine on my own, 1206. I don’t need your help. Don’t even speak to me.”
“Fine,” I cough.
He lets me go and looks around to make sure we’re still alone. “Funny. Five years ago you had more fight in you than you do now. Finally wising up, eh?”
“I beat you then, I could beat you again if I wanted to,” I remind him.
And then his fist strikes my face, and the back of my head crashes into the concrete wall. I feel a trail of warmth move down my scalp and onto my neck. I grit my teeth and keep both hands against the wall as the two of them retreat to their room on the same hall. Their doors are wide open, not locked like mine. I’m assuming the reason is gender. I wonder if 587 demanded the lock because she felt threatened or if it was someone else’s idea.
Moments later, the hall is full of men filing into their dormitories for the night. Some prematurely undress for their showers, either oblivious to me or just not caring that I’m there. I avert my gaze to the floor, trying to ignore the intense pain around my eye and cheek.
Apparently the men share a shower room down the hall, so they all walk past me. Not one is concerned with the bruised and bloodied girl in the floor with her arms wrapped around her knees. I would rock back and forth for self-comfort if I didn’t fear it would look too feeble. I hate that I’m wounded at all. Where the hell is Marsiana?
A soldier trips over me, and catches his balance by placing his hand on my head where I’m wounded, I wince in pain and he wipes my blood on his pants.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly as he kneels beside me. It’s the blond-headed soldier from Cornelius’s room, Titus. His familiar blue eyes fill with what looks like genuine concern.
“I’m fine,” I hiss. The way worry dances on every corner of his face reminds me of Dylan. I already miss Dylan. I’m used to seeing him three times a day, but I haven’t seen him since last night. I think I can finally admit to myself that last night was strange. Something felt awkward, but I think it’s just because we’re both starting new lives. It’s normal to be nervous, and for things to change. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again. Suddenly my tightened chest hurts more than my wounds.
Apparently Titus has been speaking but I’ve completely missed it. I meet his dark eyes, hoping he’ll repeat what I missed.
“Can I help you get cleaned up?” He seems sincere. I bring myself to my feet.
I glance down the hall and see Marsiana making her way through. “No, thank you.” He sees her coming, too, and nods. He waits until she reaches me before dipping his chin and walking away.
Marsi lets out a heavy sigh when she lays her eyes on me, and part of me feels ashamed. She is what a soldier should be. She’s tough, she’s an officer. She’s not like me, wounded inside and out. I want to be like her, I allow myself to think before stopping in my tracks. What am I thinking? I don’t want to be a pet soldier. I want out of here. I want to live on my own terms. Or die on them.
She ushers me into our room and as soon as the door shuts, she launches into her lecture. “So, don’t leave meals without me until you have your chip and clearance. I was really hoping you weren’t going to be any trouble. You can’t give Nathan a reason to doubt you if you want to keep on the straight and narrow.” She looks me over. “Is that what you want?”
I hesitate, “Yes.”
“Who did this?” She places a soft hand on my shoulder, forcing me to look her in the eye.
“Nobody,” I mumble.
“Did you start it?” I’m genuinely offended, but I do have a reputation. I guess I deserve that.
“No. You can check the security cameras if you’d like.” I scuff my foot across the floor, biting down on my lip. I guess that’s enough to convince her to move on.
She pulls out a first-aid kit, grabs a pouch, and gives it to me. “Shake it,” she says. When I do, it turns ice-cold and I hold it to my face, assuming that’s what it’s for. She wipes the blood off my scalp and I feel a sting when she puts some chemical on the wound. “Do you want me to stitch it myself, or take you to the Medical wing?”
“You, please.” No need to display my weakness around the whole building.
The needle stings going in, and while she stitches she tells me there’s probably no deeper injury, and hopefully no concussion. “I’m fine,” I assure her.
“Good. Tomorrow’s lab day.”
After a couple of hours of sitting upright and her checking on me every so often, she finally lets me lie down for bed. I’m still exhausted. I’m wounded. But I can’t fall right to sleep. There’s too much information vying for my attention. The tiring first day, the new home, the new housemates. Marsiana. Titus, the soldier in the hall. The resurrection of childhood rivalries. My aching wounds.
The lack of a best friend.
I never realized how much Dylan stabilized me every day. Even if we didn’t speak, a sidelong glance from him could do the trick. Something about the way he looks at me always reminds me who I am, always makes me feel like I’m okay here for one more day.
And finally, what I’m really worried about. Lab day tomorrow. When I arrived at Antius I spent weeks in the labs. They took so many blood samples I was surprised I didn’t run out. Remarkable DNA, they said. Over the years, I spent many nights down there. Something new they wanted to test me for. Or test on me. Unpredictable DNA, they said. She’s healthy, but mentally, she’s volatile. Some of them wanted to “put me down,” so they could continue to study my parts, but Cornelius forbade it. How can you disregard such an intriguing specimen? Give her a chance to thrive, he told them.
I don’t know what they think they’ll find tomorrow. They ought to know everything about me by now.
Take a tissue sample, they said. I reach under the covers and trace the scar they left on my thigh with my fingertips. When we arrived at the colony, I was still in Cornelius’s arms. He delivered me to the scientists, and that’s the last time I was held. The last time I was comforted. But if I’m being honest, I hadn’t had much comfort since my mother died three years earlier. I barely remember her; I was only four. My father wanted to make me tough. The world had gone to crap before I was born, and there was no such thing as the all-American family anymore. There was no place for traditional parenting roles. He wasn’t raising a child with dreams for her future. He was raising a survivor. That’s all that mattered.
The night Cornelius left me in the labs, I was poked and prodded, touched and examined all night. I don’t know which was worse, the long needles or the feeling of their hands on my skin. From that night on, nearly every human touch has repulsed me. Cold, clinical. Dead. Fortunately, the laws of Antius have ensured that everyone keep their disgusting hands off me. Everyone except Nathan, that is.
I try not to think about hugging Alyssa, and letting Dylan help me down from that vent last night. I could have jumped down on my own. I didn’t need his help. And I refuse to dwell on his hand touching mine briefly. I refuse, and refuse again. And one last time refuse until it’s etched in my mind, and once again I’m falling asleep to the memory of his hands on me.
In the morning, I dre
ss myself in new clothes. My blue cotton pants have been traded in for standard military pants. They’re a brown, heavier fabric. After breakfast, and many glances at my bruised face (which I haven’t even looked at), the captain takes us topside for a morning run. My body is tired from yesterday, and it aches from injury. But the cold air feels great inside my lungs. It feels like freedom, and every step I take feels one step closer to the outside.
We don’t even have time to change or shower before we’re back underground headed for the labs. We all fit into the same elevator, and I feel everyone’s eyes on me. Everyone except Sean. If I could get him alone in a room with no cameras and no way of being caught or punished, I think I would pay him back a few times over. He was already an easy person to hate.
The elevator stops on the eleventh floor. I have no idea what’s on all the other floors, but I know all of medical, government, and the science divisions are in this facility, too. I exit last into the familiar hallway of the lab floor. I’m already shivering from the cold that I don’t even feel yet. But I know it’s coming. Metal tables, long needles. Beeping machines.
A group of white-coated lab techs greet us and each one takes a pledge with them. My tech is a small woman with “335” on her name tag. She’s one of the older ones. She deposits me into a sterile room with the metal table I expected. She hands me a plastic robe and tells me to put it on with the opening to the back.
When she returns, I’m shivering uncontrollably from cold and apprehension. She’s holding a tray of empty tubes that my blood is about to fill. She sets it down and opens my chart to the first page.
“Number?” she asks.
“1206.”
She slips a gadget out of her pocket and holds it out for me. “Confirm,” she orders. I press my index finger on the smooth glass surface, and it reads my print. A green light tells her I am who I said then she returns it to her pocket.
The woman wraps a pouch around my arm and presses a sensor on the veins inside my elbow. She scribbles down what the machine tells her.
