Harbinger

by Sara Etienne

  All around my table and the rest of the cafeteria, it was clear that other students were also stunned by this declaration. Chairs creaked, feet shuffled, and a low murmur rippled through the room.

  “That will be the only time I am interrupted, or there will be no dinner. Am I clear?” Dr. Mordoch looked around as if daring us to try her.

  Only one person in my “family” hadn’t reacted. Across from me, the guy in the black hoodie and leather gloves was an island unto himself. He just sat staring at the table, arms tight across his chest, shaggy hair shadowing his eyes, hands balled into fists. He must have been roasting in his baggy sweatshirt, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  I checked out the rest of the room, trying to spot Rita, but I didn’t see her long braid anywhere. Soft clinks and thumps interrupted the silence as the Takers arrived with plates of soggy, canned corn and steaming meat loaf. It was clear that Dr. Mordoch liked to put on a show. Pricey meat. Zen quotations. But like the open fences from last night, I bet we’d be in for more rude awakenings.

  Next to me, Zach picked up his fork. Out of nowhere, the guy in the hoodie shot out his long arm and grabbed Zach’s fist, crushing Zach’s pudgy hand inside his gloved one.

  What the hell?

  Zach froze, panic making his eyes way too big in his pasty face. He tried to pull away, but the guy in the hoodie just squeezed tighter, his long brown fingers smashing the plastic prongs of the fork into Zach’s pale ones.

  Everyone in the “family” watched the drama, following Hoodie Guy’s gaze across the room to where two Takers were closing in on a girl. She was eating quickly, shoveling food into her mouth. One of the Takers laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder while the other took away her still-full plate.

  “Hey! I was—” Her words were cut off as they yanked her from her seat and dragged her from the room. Zach, eyes still wide, nodded gratefully to Hoodie Guy. His gloved hand released its grip and then he crossed his arms again. As if nothing had happened.

  The whole table seemed to let go of the breath we’d been collectively holding. For a minute, we’d all been on the same side. Hating the Takers. Relieved it hadn’t happened to us. Then the moment was over and everyone was lost in their own heads again. But it’d happened.

  Zach stared red-faced at the table, looking like he was trying to keep a grip on himself. Meat-Is-Murder Girl glowered at her plate. Only the Marine guy next to me was still looking around the table. He studied Hoodie Guy, as if calculating a detailed risk assessment.

  The Marine was huge, a solid wall of muscle, but in a fight, I’d put my odds on the guy in the hoodie. A kind of feralness was drawn into the angles of his clenched jaw. It was quietly traced into his tight fists. It was the line that pulled his whole body together.

  Dr. Mordoch’s voice cut across my thoughts. “Look carefully around your tables. Each of you is projecting an image of who you are to the world. A cool kid. A rebel. A dropout.” She pointed at different kids as she talked. “By tomorrow, this facade will be stripped away. If you are open, if you are strong, if you can pull together as a Family, you will thrive and make different choices. If not . . . well, it’ll be a difficult year.”

  Dr. Mordoch finally gave the order to begin eating and the sound of chewing mouths filled the room. I took one bite and gagged. Not as pricey as I’d thought. But I forced down more of the salty meat-mush anyway, trying to fill my empty stomach. Next to me, the Marine did the same. Zach, appearing to have lost his appetite, smashed corn kernels into oblivion. The guy wearing the hoodie and gloves jabbed his fork dangerously at the meat loaf, like he was daring it to start something. But Meat-Is-Murder Girl didn’t even pretend to eat. She raised her hand high in the air.

  Either no one saw her or, more likely, she was being ignored. This was not the unquestioning discipline Dr. Mordoch had asked for, so it simply wasn’t happening. But the girl kept her hand up anyway, a stony look on her face. After a few minutes, she spoke up. She started quietly.

  “Excuse me.”

  Forks stopped mid-bite, and mouths mid-chew.

  Dr. Mordoch got up slowly from her table and went to the microphone, motioning for the Takers to hold their positions along the wall.

  “I believe I made myself clear about our no-talking policy.” Dr. Mordoch gave a plastic smile, then turned back to her seat.

  “I don’t eat meat.” The girl was speaking louder now, her voice carrying across the dining room.

  Dr. Mordoch swiveled back to the microphone. “You will eat what you are given, when you are given it. End of discussion.”

  Evidently not.

  Meat-Is-Murder Girl was yelling now. “I won’t! Do you know how much more energy it takes to raise a cow than soybeans? I do! All that cattle feed. All those fields that could be used to grow crops. Gallons of water. Gasoline. And the feds just turn a blind eye so that rich kids can have their meat loaf. While we’re tucking in our napkins and licking our lips, people are starving. Packed into cities, living off garbage and pathetic federal ‘supplements.’ I won’t eat corrupt, murdered flesh.”

  “Then you will not eat. It makes no difference to me.” Dr. Mordoch nodded at Freddy and he sprang into action, heading for the girl.

  The girl dropped her head again. I thought she was giving up, but instead she grabbed her plate and hurled it to the floor. The heavy plastic clattered loudly, food flying everywhere.

  Five or six other Takers followed Freddy now, moving in on our table. They moved slowly, almost casually, basking in the anxiety that saturated the room. The girl narrowed her eyes at them and then, tensing her too-skinny body, jumped onto her chair and up onto the table.

  “The government is subsidizing the rich while the voiceless get trampled. While animals are getting slaughtered. Well, I have a voice! Meat is murder! Meat is murder!” she chanted, stomping her feet in time.

  The room watched the girl silently as the distance closed between her and the Takers. Most people had probably already witnessed Holbrook’s own unique brand of discipline or experienced it firsthand. They weren’t about to miss the drama.

  “Family Five may be excused,” Dr. Mordoch said calmly into the microphone.

  No one at my table moved. No one even knew what was going on.

  “These are the Consequences. Caretakers, please escort them back to their rooms. From this point forward, Family members stay together.”

  I gazed longingly at my meat loaf jiggling with the rhythm of Meat-Is-Murder Girl’s stamping feet. It was far from appetizing, but I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. More Takers pulled away from their ranks along the wall and headed for us. With a slow, twisted smile, Hoodie Guy flexed his hands and stood up, stomping his feet in time.

  Amid the chaos, the Marine went back to emptying his plate. One efficient forkful at a time. But Zach glanced nervously at the Takers flocking toward us. Then, he looked up at Hoodie Guy with a kind of reverence. The possibility of a fight had loosened up Hoodie Guy, who’d uncrossed his arms and uncurled his fists. But it did the opposite to Zach. Zach’s bulky body went rigid and he nodded to himself as he physically pushed himself up out of his chair. Despite his obvious terror, Zach shifted back and forth in his own lock-kneed version of stomping. I was impressed.

  “Don’t you see you’re devouring the Earth?” Meat-Is-Murder Girl pointed to a guy at the table next to us with gravy dribbling down his chin. “We’ve squeezed our planet dry. Stomped the hell out of it with our carbon footprint. Sent cow shit and pesticides sludging through our rivers and drinking water.”

  The girl kicked over her cup for emphasis, spraying the table next to us.

  Dragon and her tattooed arms were ten feet and closing now, so I figured I might as well go on my own terms. I stood up, slamming my feet in time with the others. Only the Marine stayed planted in his seat, counting the number of incoming Takers under his breath.

  The thumping of our feet egging her on, the girl screamed, “Don’t any of you get it? Our world is melting, frying, st
arving, and suffocating, and you just keep right on chewing. Meat is murder! Meat is murder!”

  The Takers tried to wrestle the girl down from the table. Freddy yanked her arm hard and she lost her balance. The Marine jumped out of his chair, cursing, and threw himself toward her flailing body. But he couldn’t get around the table fast enough, and she slammed into the stone floor.

  A stunned silence fell over the room as we all watched Meat-Is-Murder Girl lying, completely still, on the floor. Then a groan as she struggled to sit up. She looked around her and slowly, amazingly, got to her feet. She replaced the look of shock with a smile and turned to face Dr. Mordoch up at the podium. Gingerly she raised one foot and then the other, stomping out her defiance.

  I hesitated for a second, but after all I’d been through that day, her pounding feet made my heart thud with rebellion. I stomped as the Takers grabbed us. The others joined in as we were shoved and herded into a line. The Marine and Meat-Is-Murder Girl in front. Then me and Zach and Hoodie Guy behind him. They marched us out of the room, our shouts competing with the Takers’ commands.

  “Meat is murder! Meat is murder!”

  I’d been lied to, threatened with pepper spray, and locked in the dark. What more could they do to me?

  8

  NEVER, NEVER, NEVER ask that question.

  As soon as the Takers maneuvered our line out of the cafeteria, Meat-Is-Murder Girl let out a wailing scream. I didn’t know what’d happened. Only that the girl was on her knees. Then I saw the Taser.

  “Get up.” Freddy stood leering over her.

  So the Takers weren’t carrying guns, just Tasers and pepper spray. How humane. The girl didn’t move, and he shocked her again. She shrieked and curled up in a ball.

  “Stop!” I shouted.

  Another, lower voice crisscrossed my own. “Stop! You’re hurting her!”

  Kel. It was Kel’s voice coming from right behind me.

  I spun around, looking for him, just as a jolt of electricity hit me square in the shoulder. The Taser filled my world with pain and I dropped slo-mo. My body was still turning as my knees gave way. I saw Kel, one piece at a time, as I fell. Dark hair tumbling across his face. Hands hidden in gloves. Thin shoulders beneath a black hoodie. And his eyes.

  Deep brown eyes, spiderwebbed with green. I cringed as they met mine, ready to see the usual flicker of revulsion and fear. But his eyes held on to me, like his voice had in Solitary.

  I wish I had a river so long. I would teach my feet to fly.

  His hand reached out for me, trying to catch me. But he’d been tased too. Our fingertips brushed against each other as we fell, and a sharp ache filled my hand where he’d touched me. My knuckles suddenly stiff and swollen. My skin stinging. Then the pain was eclipsed as my whole body smashed into the floor. Nothing but deadweight.

  My muscles, my brain, my mouth . . . Nothing would work. Kel hit the floor an arm’s length away. Deep lines of pain cut across his frozen face. The flecks of green in his eyes flared with the same strange agony I’d felt when he’d touched me.

  Then his eyes cleared. Immobilized on the floor, we stared at each other and the questions flew out of my mind. It was more intoxicating than I’d ever imagined to have someone look at me like that. To let me see into them without flinching.

  All the things Kel had told me in Solitary—his father, the kidnapping, standing on the roof—were embodied in front of me. How had I not recognized him earlier, sitting at the table? The same sardonic edge in his voice was mapped into his angular face. Rage barely hidden in his eyes. His mouth turned up a little at one corner, fully aware of the irony of our situation.

  It was like we were right back in Solitary. We were lying on the floor, inches apart. But still separated.

  Sensations started returning in strange bursts. The musty smell of the stone floor. Distant shouts. Scuffed boots coming closer. The world sped up again, and we were yanked to our feet. I was pulled to the front of the line and Kel to the back. But my eyes stayed glued to him, still fitting the voice from the dark with the person in front of me.

  Kel’s stark face was framed by coal-black hair that made me think of ravens. His lips were pale against his brown skin, and his nose was a little crooked, like it’d been broken in a fight. But it was his dark hazel eyes that I couldn’t look away from.

  I wasn’t used to people meeting my eyes. And Kel didn’t just look at me. He looked into me, like he could see every thought in my head. And whatever he saw there now, he must have liked. He gave me a slow smile that made me blush.

  Then the line pushed forward, and I tripped over my own feet. The Marine reached out to steady me, and I pulled my attention back, nodding my thanks. We moved forward as a group again. Well, we’re pulling together as a “family,” just not quite the way Dr. Mordoch imagined. Half stumbling, half dragged, I led our perverse parade down the path to the dorms.

  Back in my room, a pair of fluorescent orange jumpsuits greeted me, laid out neatly on the two beds. Other than the hideous outfits, the room was empty.

  “They took it,” I mumbled, feeling numb to any more surprises. And I’d thought there was nothing left for them to take.

  With my last ounce of energy, I searched the room. Under the bed, in the desk, in the bathroom, everywhere. But I already knew my sketchbook was gone.

  Something inside of me shattered. I crawled onto the bed, letting the tears that had been building for the last twenty-four hours burn down my cheeks. Fine. They win.

  The lock clicked and the door opened. Meat-Is-Murder Girl, holding an ice pack on her arm, was “helped” into the room by Nurse.

  “Get changed,” she ordered. Nurse was the same height as Meat-Is-Murder Girl but her cropped hair and rigid stance made her much more intimidating. “Both of you.”

  “Where’s my sketchbook?” I didn’t bother to wipe the tears off my cheeks.

  Nurse stone-faced me, not meeting my eyes. “I’m not here to answer your questions. Now both of you, get changed and hand me your clothes.”

  “The hell I will.” This girl wouldn’t give up that easy. But after Solitary, after getting tased, after Kel’s look had split me open, I didn’t have anything left to fight with.

  “If you don’t start changing in the next thirty seconds, I’ll come over there and help you.” I could see the Taser peeking out of her pocket. Meat-Is-Murder Girl scowled and grabbed a jumpsuit, heading for the bathroom.

  “No,” Nurse said. “Change out here where I can make sure you don’t hide anything from your pockets.”

  The girl, who thirty seconds earlier had been gearing up for battle, now skulked into a corner. Facing the wall, she went through an elaborate maneuver of changing into the jumpsuit while keeping her other clothes on as long as possible.

  Her humiliation was palpable, and I turned around to give her privacy while I stripped to my underwear. The woman could’ve just as easily checked our pockets, but the goal was obviously to degrade us. To leave us with nothing. And there wasn’t anything we could do about it.

  The jumpsuit chafed as I pulled it on. The cheap fabric was stiff, and the huge zipper running up the front scratched my skin.

  “Now take this.” Nurse handed us each a pill.

  I swallowed it without a word. It would almost be a relief to get away from this place and these people. But there was no escape yet. Nurse pulled my jaw open and squeezed my cheeks, “checking for compliance.”

  “Lights out in five,” she snapped, grabbing our bundles of clothes. With a loud click the door shut and locked behind her.

  “I’m getting out of this Nazi camp tomorrow.” Meat-Is-Murder Girl had also swallowed the pill, but her hard eyes hadn’t lost their defiance. It was only a matter of minutes.

  “I all— I all—” My throat clamped shut in frustration. I started again. “I already tried.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Razor wire and cameras.” I glanced over at the window I’d climbed out of the night before. Fo
ur shiny new nails had been hammered into the frame so it wouldn’t open anymore. We were stuck.

  The lights flicked off and back on again. There weren’t any light switches or small lamps in our room. Just the main fluorescent light in the middle of the ceiling, with no way to control it.

  Meat-Is-Murder Girl yanked the covers off the bed and dumped them on the floor. Even though it was dark outside, it hadn’t cooled off. She sprawled on the mattress, her frizzy, reddish hair spread in an arc around her head.

  “I’m Maya.”

  “Faye.”

  “Why’d you do that?” She stared up at the ceiling, glaring at it.

  “What?” I looked around, trying to figure out what I was being accused of.

  “You and that freak with the gloves. You got yourselves tased.” Maya propped herself up on her elbow, waiting for my answer. She aimed her glare in my direction, and all her grief, all her outrage at the unfairness of life, hit me in the gut. And as I read it in her eyes, the pain was fresh to her as well. Shuddering, Maya dropped her gaze to the faded sheets.

  I sat down on the bed, trying to clear the flood of emotions from my head. Trying to figure out how to answer her. A mosquito bit me, and I swatted and missed. My head still throbbed from the jolt of electricity. I pictured Kel, his eyes holding me even as I fell.

  Why did we try to stop the guards? Maya was right. We didn’t know her, didn’t owe her anything. But she’d had no one else. How could I explain my sense that we were already tied together in this place? Finally, I turned toward Maya and shrugged.

  She shrugged back, like this made as much sense as anything else at Holbrook. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I wasn’t used to people my age asking questions or even talking to me. I pretended to be busy arranging my sheets. Was it so obvious that I was broken? Well, I guess we’d all been sent here for some reason. Judging by Maya’s fit tonight, she most likely had “problems with authority.” I was probably going to have this conversation over and over again at Holbrook, and I was already tired of it. What could I say? My parents think I’m crazy?