by Elle Casey
I did my first job when I was sixteen and I’ve been working ever since. For some reason, I’m always selected to do the jobs and Sam is left behind. And I’m glad. Sam’s way more sensitive than me—he’s the nice twin. He’s a big softie and I hate to think of him alone somewhere and hurting.
A man in a white coat, the interrogator, glances across as the door closes behind me and nods. We’ve seen each other before.
This is a typical setup. The target is strapped down to the table in the center of the room. My gaze flicks over him, then away. I might be at an age where I’m fascinated by naked men, but not like this. Ugh. There’s a good chance this might put me off sex for life.
An IV is attached to his inner arm, and while I stand there, the man in the white coat injects him with a pale yellow liquid. The target responds immediately, his spine arching, a scream erupting from his mouth.
“Tell us what you know,” the interrogator says, his voice a monotone, almost bored. I’m guessing he’s had a long and unproductive night.
The target clamps his lips together. Terror permeates the room, but also a fierce determination—he’s not saying anything. Out loud at least. Time to get to work.
I ease gently into his mind, searching the pathways. Straight away, I know this man’s mind will break before he talks. And breaking isn’t far away. It’s a freaking mess in here.
This is what I’m good at, and I extract the information I need within seconds. Then I shut down the connection and focus on projecting over a distance.
“Sam?”
Nothing. No response, just a great gaping hole where Sam has always been. There’s a big hard lump in my belly. I had been so sure I could reach him. Disappointment turns my knees to water and I sway, then rest one hand on the cool tiles of the wall for balance.
“Sam!”
Still nothing. Panic roars in my mind, like wind in a storm. Could he be asleep? Unconscious? I try again, search wider, find Jake. I can only just hear him.
“Kat? Where are you?” he asks.
“On a job.”
“We need to talk.”
I can hardly bring myself to ask. “You have news of Sam?”
Jake is silent for a moment and I want to scream. “Just keep it together,” he says. “I’ll see you when you get back.”
Taking a deep shuddering breath, I come back to myself. The interrogator is watching me, brows drawn together. No doubt the colonel will be doing the same through the one-way mirror.
I wrap my fears up tight inside me, nod to the man in the white coat, and turn and leave the room. My brain is already clouding again as the clarity drug wears off. I hate this moment and cling to the last of the clarity as the fog twines around my mind.
Out in the observation room, the colonel is talking to a new man, one I’ve never seen before. Early thirties, dark business suit, red tie, white shirt. He returns my gaze as I enter the room.
The colonel beckons me over. “Kaitlin, this is Senator Gilpin. He’s in charge of the oversight committee.”
“Hello, Kaitlin.”
I stretch my lips into a smile as I take his hand.
Disbelief. Curiosity. A faint flicker of fear.
But then most people who know what we can do, fear us.
He speaks to the colonel. “I didn’t think they would be so young.”
“Kaitlin is the best we have.”
That should make me feel all warm and fuzzy. It doesn’t.
“And is this safe?” the senator asks. “Can she read my mind?”
Hey, I’m right here, asshole. You can talk to me. Patronizing bastard. But I clamp my lips on the words.
“She can,” the colonel replies. “But she won’t. What’s the first protocol, Kaitlin?”
I reel it off like the good little operative I am. “We must never enter the mind of anyone who is not a target.”
For a second, I consider probing this senator’s thoughts, but the colonel’s right, the first protocol is too firmly entrenched in my mind, drilled into me virtually from birth. Besides, I want out of there. I can sense myself unraveling, falling apart, and I don’t want to do that in front of the colonel. I have an image to uphold.
“Did you get the information?” the colonel asks.
Duh. “A locker at Waterloo station, number 105. It’s set to detonate at two p.m.”
“Good work.”
* * *
As we drive into the compound, the gates close behind us, and the now-familiar sense of suffocation wraps around me, squeezing the air from my lungs. This place is the only home I’ve ever known. And recently, it’s turned into a prison.
The car pulls up, but I sit unmoving, fear locking my muscles up tight. Now that I’m back, I don’t want to get out. I don’t want to finally have my fears confirmed. Because then I’ll have to accept that Sam is gone.
Dead.
And I’m not ready for that. I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready.
Someone knocks on the glass of the window. I force my gaze upward as Jake opens the car door. He’s tall, broad, with the black hair and brilliant blue eyes of all the Tribe. I’ve had this huge crush on Jake since I was eleven, and I’m not always subtle about it. In return, he treats me like a retarded little sister—but I live in hope.
We don’t speak until we’re deep inside the building and I’m perched on a leather sofa staring at my scuffed boots. A glass is thrust in front of me and I wrap my fingers around it and sniff the sharp alcohol fumes.
I almost smile, but can’t quite make it. Jake has always been determined to make sure that me and Sam have some sort of childhood—so up to now, alcohol has been a no-no. Things must be bad.
I swallow the scotch in one go, almost choking as it hits my throat. The heat flares in my belly and I hold out my glass for more.
“Tell me,” I say as he pours another inch of golden liquid.
Jake shakes his head.
“You think they’re listening to everything we say?” I ask.
“They can’t listen to everything.” The words echo in my head.
“Tell me,” I say again.
Jake swallows his own drink and slams the glass on the table. “Sam’s dead.”
Hearing the words in my head sends a wave of pain flooding my mind, engulfing me in darkness. All around the compound, the other members of the Tribe jolt into awareness.
“Get a grip,” Jake says, his tone fierce.
I sit back, close my eyes, and clear my mind, until I can think again. “What happened?”
He’s silent for what seems like forever.
“FREAKING TELL ME!” I take a deep breath. “Tell me or I’ll go straight down there and find out myself.”
Shock flashes across his face. But he knows I would do it. I never lie. He studies me for a moment. “I went to Medical today to check on Sam. They told me he’d lapsed into a coma early this morning.”
I don’t want to believe it. “I heard him screaming. Why would he scream if he’d fallen into a coma? It makes no sense.”
“I’m sorry, Kat.”
The scotch rises hot and acrid in the back of my throat. I swallow it down, push the pain aside, and focus on my anger. “I want to know what happened. I have to know. Tell me this time we won’t let it pass.”
“We won’t. But maybe you’ll have to accept that Sam died of natural causes.”
“Like the others?” I can sense Jake believes this no more than I do. “But why? What could they gain from killing Sam?”
He releases his control a little, and fury rolls off him in waves. Jake has always felt responsible for everyone. This failure must suck big-time. “How the fuck should I know?” he says. “Taking us to pieces, seeing how we work, trying to find better ways to protect themselves so we won’t hear their sordid little thoughts.” He rakes a hand through his short hair, pressing his scalp. “How the fuck did it come to this?”
“They’re afraid of us.”
He takes a deep breath. “They’re righ
t to be.”
All of a sudden the anger seeps from me. I blink as my eyes sting. I can’t remember ever crying in my whole life, but then I’ve always had Sam at my side. Now, I blink again and a warm tear trickles down my cheek.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Kat. I promised to keep you both safe. I failed.”
It was the truth. Jake has always trusted that the corporation will protect us. But even he has to accept that’s bullshit now. I pick up the sadness and despair echoing in his mind. The world as we know it is coming to an end. If we want to survive, we’re going to have to find a way clear of the only existence we’ve ever known.
Resting my head back on the cool leather, I close my eyes. All around the compound, minds mesh with mine, telling me I’m not alone, will never be alone. Right now, I don’t believe it. And what about Sam? He’s alone. Somewhere in the dark.
I keep my eyes closed as Jake scoops me up. We don’t go in much for physical contact in the group, and for a moment I cling to him, breathing in his warm, musky scent. He carries me to my room, places me gently on the bed, and straightens. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I doubt it. I doubt any of us are going to be okay.”
He nods as if in agreement. “We’ll talk later. Try and get some rest. You look exhausted.”
When he’s gone, I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.
Why?
Why had they killed Sam? We’ve always done what we were told. Never questioned. Well, except maybe with each other. We spent hours and hours talking, speculating on where the Tribe came from. How we came by our powers. What our role was in the world.
The colonel told us we were building the future, building a world without lies. Yet he’s careful to never be in our presence without the reflector device.
The scotch I drank has lowered my control, and now the pain grabs hold of me, squeezing tight around my heart, until I think it might explode. I’m gasping for air, sobbing at the same time. I can’t stop. And I don’t try. I’m still crying as I fall into a troubled sleep.
* * *
Katie.
The word echoes in my mind, nudging me from sleep. Only Sam ever calls me Katie, and for a second I think he’s beside me. The room is in half light; dawn is close. In the dim state between waking and sleeping, I hear him again. I rub my head, trying to clear my mind, as a wild, improbable joy fills me.
Sam?
Katie. Katie. Help me.
He sounds muted, different—just an echo of himself—and some of the elation drains from me. Is he hurt, injured?
Sam?
But he’s gone. I shake my head and drag myself upright as the door opens. Jake stands there, a mug of coffee in his hand. When he sees I’m awake, he strolls across, places the mug on the bedside table, then sits down on the edge of the bed.
“Jake. I heard him. I heard Sam. He’s alive.”
An expression of pity comes over Jake’s face. I hate that. “It was just a dream, Kat. He’s dead. Gone. You have to accept it.”
Could it have been a dream? Just an echo of a memory? He had sounded strange. I rub my head again. “I won’t. I can’t. Not until I see for myself.”
He nodded. “Tonight. We’ll get into the medical center and find out what happened.”
“They’ll know.”
“It doesn’t matter. Things have gone too far. We have to leave this place before…”
Before they come for the next one of us. “Where will we go?”
“I don’t know. We’ll look for answers. Right now, you’re booked on another job—try to act normal. I’ll talk with the others and we’ll meet up when you get back.”
* * *
I’m given this disgusting pink dress—I hate wearing dresses—and am taken by helicopter to the capital. I attempt to push thoughts of Sam from my mind, to just get through the job, but as soon as the clarity drug hits my system, I catch another echo of his voice reverberating in my head. I try to ignore it, to not get my hopes up. Jake’s probably right. There’s no reason for anyone to lie about Sam’s death. Why would they?
All the same, I spend the day teetering between wild hope and deep despair.
I’m working on autopilot as I offer a bunch of flowers to a visiting dignitary, shake his hand, and read his mind, extracting the information the colonel has asked for. My glance flickers over to him, catches the glint of metal at his ear. He isn’t taking any chances.
What’s he afraid I might see in his head? If there are no more lies, what’s he hiding?
“Kaitlin.”
I almost jump as my name resounds loudly in my mind. I don’t recognize the voice, and shock holds me immobile for long moments. I swallow, peer around me for the source. The colonel is deep in conversation with the committee man I met yesterday, Senator Gilpin. He’s obviously back for another look at me. I peer beyond them. The area is cordoned off by police, but a crowd has gathered behind the barrier and my gaze locks on a tall man standing among them.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m Kane.” Across the distance between us, he studies me out of brilliant blue eyes, and beneath his hat, his hair is midnight black. He’s clearly Tribe, though I’ve never seen him before, certainly not at the compound.
“Are you the same as me?”
“Maybe. Partly.”
My mind is whirling. We’ve always believed we were unique. The first of our kind. Now here’s someone obviously connected. I can’t tell his age, but he looks older even than Jake. Was this some sort of setup? To catch me out. I couldn’t get my head around it. “Why are you here? Why now?”
“I heard your brother. I’ve been searching for contact since. He asked for my help.”
Well, he’d failed there. “My brother’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Can you help us?”
“Perhaps, but I can’t risk exposure. Not now; maybe later.”
I grit my teeth. “Later, we may all be dead.”
He looks away for a minute, studying the sky, and I hold my breath. “I’ll give what help I can. But you must get away. I can’t risk an open offensive. I have… commitments.”
He turns to go, and I panic and take a step toward him before I stop myself. I flick a glance at the colonel, but he’s still deep in conversation. “Just tell me—who are we? What are we?”
“I’ll answer your questions when we meet. But Kaitlin, you’re not alone. Look to the origins of the Tribe. And decide which side you’re on.”
And with that irritatingly cryptic message, he’s gone, merging into the crowd.
* * *
That evening, Jake calls us together in the main meeting room. The Tribe: eight men and four women, ranging in age from twenty-one to twenty-eight. Then there’s me, the youngest and strongest.
We don’t often meet together. We don’t need to, but tonight I sense Jake needs the physical contact. He touches each of us briefly as we enter.
I detect dissatisfaction, rage, fear, but underlying those there’s an overwhelming sense of belonging. Of trust and friendship. How can you not trust someone who can never hide their innermost thoughts from you? Who can never lie to you? With Sam gone, I’d thought I was alone. But these people are my family and I love them fiercely.
I tell them what happened, of the conversation with the stranger who was like us but different, that maybe we aren’t alone and the answers are out there. I sense their renewed hope. Afterward, they disperse so the meeting won’t attract undue attention.
I stay behind with Jake and Stefan, our tech expert. We’ve been denied Internet access since the lockdown, but overriding the restrictions is easy for Stefan. Something else the colonel doesn’t know.
“Look for some sort of connection between the Tribe and the Rayleigh Corporation,” I tell him.
“Already on it.”
He finds the connection quicker than I could have. I read it over his shoulder.
The Tribe
In 1878, Malcolm Rayleigh,
philanthropist and explorer, made an expedition to the Mountains of the Moon in the then Congo Free State of Africa. There he located an isolated tribe. What interested Rayleigh was that the tribe appeared to be of Aryan origin. Small in number, only twenty-two in total, they were the obvious product of inbreeding. All were taller than average, with black hair, pale skin, deep blue eyes, and four toes. They were also believed to be mute and of limited intelligence.
Rayleigh took the Tribe back to Scotland, where he gave them a home.
That’s it—not a lot. Stefan presses a few more buttons but can’t find any further mention of this Tribe. But it has to be the one. Our group is managed by the Rayleigh Corporation. That can’t be coincidence. But it still doesn’t explain who we are or what happened to the original Tribe. Are we descended from them? It seems likely.
“What do you think?” I ask Jake.
“I think they must have been our ancestors. The similarities are too obvious.”
I wiggle my toes—all eight of them.
He thinks for a minute. “They were mute.”
“Or maybe they just didn’t need to speak out loud.”
“I’m guessing the answers are in Scotland.”
I agree, but there are other answers I need first. I look at Jake and he nods once. “But I think you should stay out of it, Kat. I’ll tell you what we find.”
Never going to happen. “Why?” I ask. “Is it because I’m a seventeen-year-old girl? That’s bullshit and you know it. I’ve seen so many people tortured, killed. Been inside so many twisted minds. I haven’t been a child since the first job I did. And Sam was my brother. If he’s dead, I want to understand why.”
Jake studies me for a few seconds, then gives a tip of his head. “But if it comes down to a physical fight, you stay out of the way.”
“Of course, Jake.”
“Brat.”
We head over to the medical facility, underground at the rear of the compound. Though “medical” is a bit of misnomer. Prior to the mysterious blood disorder which has now killed four of our members, none of the Tribe is ever sick. The medical facility is used to do testing, to check up on any physical changes, to do psych evaluations. I hate the place.
