But I’m not really listening, because every single ounce of my concentration is suddenly focused on the mousey-brown pony tail swinging over the back of the black hoodie as the huntress draws her arrow through her bow.
My bow.
I step forward in front of Jonathan, despite his attempt to protect me. I stare at my three-dimensional self. I’m in full-on hunting mode, complete with a pissed-off-at-the-world expression. Is that really what I looked like?
Reality slams into me. I’m not sure when I stopped being that person. But seeing myself then, and knowing what I know now, I don’t feel like that person anymore. I’ve changed so much in a few days time.
Then, like being stuck in a bad dream, I watch my virtual self fire arrow after arrow. Half a dozen Khayal lost their lives that day because of me. The saddest part is I don’t even remember which day it was. It could’ve been any one of the days I hunted. I spent a year hunting in the Boone. The panic attack comes over me like a title wave.
“Stop! Make it stop! I can’t do this.” I squeeze my eyes, tugging on the helmet, fumbling with the strap and choking for breath. “Get it off!”
Why did I ever think killing was an answer? Lindy’s injury was just an excuse. Of course I would’ve done anything to get her help, but to kill? I had to be seriously devoid of conscience.
“Everything happens for a reason,” the eerie detached voice reassures.
“I can’t breathe,” I wheeze, dropping to my knees.
“Whoa, let me help,” Jonathan’s real voice speaks steadily in my ear.
“I didn’t know what I was doing! They were just shadows. I didn’t think of them as living beings.” I cry the moment the helmet comes off.
Jonathan kneels beside me on the green drop-cloth, cradling me to his chest.
“I’m sorry. That’s not why I showed you that video,” Paul says, taking the helmets from Jonathan.
“Listen to me, Keira, you did nothing wrong. The only people who are to blame here are SEEK for not verifying your age.” Jonathan pulls back, his gaze searching my face.
“I wasn’t incapable of making the choice because of my age,” I grunt. “I made a poor irrational decision out of guilt and remorse. Look what I’ve done.”
“Yes, look what you’ve done. Thanks to you I’ve trained over two hundred amazing Scouts and Colonists in this dank old basement,” Paul says, slapping a hand on my shoulder and helping me to my feet. “If it wasn’t for you, your instinct, and your herding skills I never would’ve been able to teach these kids how to save Khayal.”
The Fifth Column
The smell of bacon wakes me with a start. I bolt upright, only to whack my head on the ceiling. I don’t remember being in this very spot, but I know I’m at Paul’s—in England—with Jonathan. There’s something else. Something which seems like it should be important, but my brain’s too fuzzy to remember just yet.
I gaze around from the rickety top bunk and throw back the rainbow sheets and ugly plaid comforter. The bedroom, in canary yellow, is crammed with too much furniture and scattered with backpacks, duffel bags, and clothes strewn everywhere, spilling out of drawers, piled on the floor, and hanging from every doorknob, doorjamb, or bedpost. I climb down the wobbly rungs and go stumbling over the clutter, only to fall through the door. I land in a purple hallway. The walls are littered with white boards and calendars. They all say things like, “Thursday: Boston: Scout Training.” They travel to Boston? I wonder groggily.
Following loud voices and clanking dishes down the stairs I eventually find the dining room. The instant I step over the threshold everything freezes. More than two dozen bodies are crammed in here and they’re all staring at me like I’m a Martian. No one takes a breath. Absolute stillness.
“Errr—good morning,” I croak in my scratchy morning voice, checking the sides of my mouth for dried drool.
“Morning. I hope we didn’t wake you,” says the girl from last night. She’s in the kitchen—on the other side of the pass-through window. Batter dribbles down her hair, and her cheek, and the front of her shirt. Her left arm has a blue bandana tied at her wrist and her right arm is jingling with bangle bracelets.
“Actually, it was the bacon,” I assure her.
Absently, I wonder where all these kids have come from. I get that they’re runaways—Bonded runaways—rescued from the streets by Paul. But from where? They can’t all be from Tucson. A couple of them look rough—like the guy in a ripped Kiss t-shirt who doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, or the girl with the chin stud who seems to be somewhere else in her mind. One thing is for sure. None of them look like the kids from back home.
The girl with the blue bandana wipes more batter on her shirt and politely stretches over the counter to shake my hand. “I’m Rose Marie and this is Tuck.” She thumbs the air.
I give a nod to the guy with a red Mohawk and a face full of piercings standing beside her. He has green gages the size of quarters in his ears. Rose Marie quickly rattles off a bunch of other names I’ll never remember. I give up trying.
“Hey. I’m Keira,” I say awkwardly.
“We know who you are. Paul said to show you around,” says Rose Marie, flipping the gloppy waffle iron over. She hands the Mohawk kid a platter of waffles and he scoots through the swinging-door. He sets the dish on the buffet and backs away slowly.
I watch the platter, wondering what it’s going to do.
“Everything’s ready, dish up,” Rose Marie says, shooing her hand at the boys leaning against the counter behind me. They laugh and then it’s total mayhem.
I back into the corner as twenty-five bodies sprint for the buffet.
“Squeeze in.” Rose Marie points me toward the line. She smiles, showing a mouth full of hot-pink braces, with an apologetic nod.
I step around the table and get in line, careful not to get too close to the others. My head pounds from the noise. I’m definitely not in high school anymore.
When it’s finally my turn I can feel the eyes boring into my back. I try to ignore it and stack my plate to overflowing. Then I slide into a bench—past all the curious lookers—and spot the kid with the Mohawk from the corner of my eye whispering to Rose Marie and looking my way.
“I’m from Seattle. How about you?” Rose Marie asks, trying to sound like she’s just making small talk.
Seattle! That’s where my family is. The pit of my stomach gives a lurch. I swallow hard to force the waffle down. “Err. Destin, Florida.”
“Tuck’s from Fort Lauderdale.” The kid, standing a foot taller than the tips of Tuck’s Mohawk, grins down at him with a wink. Tuck looks a little pink in the cheeks. He might be cute. Hard to tell with so many holes in his face.
Rose Marie clears her throat. “Paul said we should get to know each other because we’ll be teaming up on a mission soon,” she says, her shoulders sagging.
“So you’re the Assassin?” Tuck interrupts, in his deep man-voice, with an air of misplaced admiration.
Anxiety curls my stomach inside out. I’m not fooling anyone. They know who I am. They’ve all seen me in action, killing their beloved Khayal and now, here I sit, in their house, eating their food. Visions of being lynched with a waffle iron run through my head. I shouldn’t have come and I definitely shouldn’t stay. As soon as Jonathan turns up, I’m outta here.
“You’re the reason we’re here,” Tuck says, twirling a butter-knife between stubby fingers.
I cock my head, waiting for the punch line.
“You’re wicked quick with that bow of yours. Your target practice was a wee misguided, but now that you’re on the right side, you’ll be even more badass! Glad to have you. You and your partner. What’s his name? Jordan?”
“Jonathan.” Three girls in the corner giggle in unison.
I should be thankful. I’ve dodged a real bullet on the whole SEEK Agent thing, but I’m still not staying. It’s obvious I don’t belong. And what is with the fan club in the corner? “Where is Jonathan?”
“Jonathan’s with Paul.” Tuck says in a bored voice, using a fork to clean under his fingernails.
Rose Marie swipes the fork, throwing Tuck a disgusted look. Then suddenly, she reaches in her pocket, pulling out a post-it. “Oh! Jonathan left you this.”
The note reads:
These are friends. Play nice! Back soon, J.S.
<3
I stare at the heart scribbled in the bottom corner, right underneath Jonathan’s initials, refold the note and stuff it in my jeans with a grin.
Some girl in Emo pigtails—one of the gigglers—asks, “How long have you two been an item?”
“We’re not,” I answer too fast, heat creeping up my neck.
Giggles erupt again.
“Don’t you all have chores to do?” Rose Marie snips like a hen.
All at once, there’s a ruckus of scooting chairs and murmurings of goodbyes, until all that’s left is me and Rose Marie.
“Impressive.” I say, trying to guess how she managed to clear the room in under a minute.
“Don’t worry about them. They’re all harmless and excited you’re here,” Rose Marie insists, but uncertainty streaks across her child-like face before she can hide it. “But if you do like Jonathan, you’d better say so. Those girls are fresh-meat-snipers and they’re fighting to win him. I heard them talking before breakfast.”
“Win him? He’s not a carnival prize.” I wonder how Jonathan would react to one those city girls throwing herself at him.
Rose chuckles to herself, shaking her head as she clears the dishes from the tables. “I thought so. It’s written all over your face. Just tell the girls Jonathan’s taken and they’ll back off.”
“But that’s the thing. He’s not taken. I sort of turned him down.” I stare into the empty puddle of syrup left on my plate as I set it on the counter.
“Not that it’s any of my business, but you wouldn’t know it to hear him talk about you. It’s annoying, really, the way he carries on bragging like you’re the Queen of the Khayal or something.
I wrap my arms around my shoulders as a chill rolls over me.
“England’s nippiness is hard to get used to. There are sweatshirts for anyone’s use by the backdoor. Just be sure to sniff-test them first. I’m constantly after the boys to throw them in the wash after they wear them. They don’t listen.” Rose Marie rinses her hands and dries them on a wadded-up towel.
I choose a black one from a peg on the mudroom wall. From here I can see out into the backyard, trees and grasses that are the greenest greens I’ve ever seen, greener than my eyes, but in a different way. It’s earthy and organic, not the biohazard toxic waste green of the Khayal.
Back in the kitchen, Rose Marie has just finished wrestling a mixing bowl into the bottom rack and sets the retro dishwasher to run. It’s surprisingly quiet for how antique it is.
The atmosphere is immediately different. It feels comfortable and relaxed, the sounds of dishes being washed, counters being wiped, and the lingering smells of breakfast remind me of a time when life was easy, peaceful.
“So, how did you end up here in charge of this bunch?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.
She straightens up, leaning her palms on the edge of the sink, her whole body rigid. “Paul’s my cousin. I’m sort of the Fifth Column den mother.”
That explains why the others jumped at her command, but I get the feeling there’s more she wants to say, and doesn’t. “This used to be a Hostel? That’s cool. But, this isn’t all you do, right? I mean we are going on a mission together.”
“Actually, that depends on you, Paul said. I was just showing off for them.” Rose Marie rolls her eyes, whipping her towel with a crack.
Clearly, I’ve said something wrong. Though, I’m not really sure what. Is it the washing dishes part she resents or the fact that she’s not allowed to run missions despite being related to the founder of the Fifth Column? And then I wonder why I care.
“Paul said you’re the best field operator and if you’re willing to give me hands-on-training I could go with you guys to Seattle.”
“To Seattle? He said that? They’re going to Seattle?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m sure. Since I’m from there, he thinks I might be useful. So, will you?”
I barely hear the question over my own inner-chatter. This has to be Jonathan’s doing. He’s convinced Paul to send a team to save my family. I’m so happy right now I could kiss someone. The sound of popping bubbles fills my ears and before my mind’s eye I see a giant close-up of Jonathan’s face.
“He’s your perfect match,” the voice says, shaking me out of my daydream reverie.
Time in a Hostel
The kitchen is suddenly too bright, the light catching off Rose Marie’s braces. What’s left of the effervescent bubble sound is replaced by a high-pitched ringing. I feel even colder, and unexplainably lonely.
“You want me to train you?” I shiver, crossing my arms.
Rose Marie stares at the counter. Her head bowed low, she nods.
“I haven’t decided if I’m staying for sure, but if I do absolutely.” That’s as honest an answer as I can give, and for whatever reason I want to be honest with Rose Marie. It’s easy to see why Paul chose her for the den mother position. She just has that nurturing gift that only mother’s usually have.
“Really? You haven’t seen my virtual training scores yet.” Rose Marie winces, wringing her hands together.
“I can help you with those,” I reassure her, pulling the sleeves over my hands.
“I’d work hard. I don’t mind a challenge. I’m just sick of being called Cinderella behind my back.”
A look of pure desire and determination transfix Rose Marie’s expression and for a moment I can visualize her leading a team of her own, not just telling them to take out the garbage.
***
That day, Rose Marie showed me around the house. She gave me the rundown on how the chore charts work. There’s also a chart that says when I can shower and when I can’t. With so many people in one house schedules are apparently a necessity. She also showed me where to find stuff, like towels, tooth paste and toilet paper.
Rose Marie has taken organization to a whole new level.
I haven’t seen Jonathan for three days. He and Paul are off somewhere buying new equipment for the Fifth Column. I don’t mind the fact that he’s simply abandoned me here so much as I mind the other girl’s snickering every time his name is mentioned.
Mostly, I mind the blonde called Boston. She reminds me too much of Martin. And the way that she flaunts her interest in Jonathan makes me want to scream. It isn’t until now, as Rose Marie and I are walking home from the local market, Budgens, that I realize what my problem with staying here really is.
I’m scared.
Rose Marie and I walk silently through the twisting neighborhood. We pass a house with three children playing in the front yard. When the youngest boy starts to wail like someone’s shot him. The front door flies open, his mother storming out of the house glares at her children.
“I said bags! I said bags!” the oldest girl pleads.
The mother, in a vomit-colored sweater, throws her arms up in surrender. “You lot of mad alecks are driving me to drink.” Then she storms back in the house.
The children laugh.
I glance at Rose Marie from the corner of my eye. We both dissolve into giggles.
“I remember pulling that once or twice when Lindy and I were little.” I shake my head.
“Oh, me too. I’m the youngest and the only girl. And boy did my three brothers pay for it if I didn’t get my way.” She waves a finger in the air. “I guess that’s where I learned to be bossy.”
“What you do isn’t bossy, it’s leadership.”
That brings a huge smile to Rose Marie’s freckled face. “You know? I think I like you.”
A strange calmness falls over me: one that I haven’t felt since before Lindy’s accident. It’s a nice fee
ling, almost nostalgic with a hint of déjà vu. “You know? I think I like you, too, Rose.”
“Thanks. No one’s called me Rose since…well, before I came here. Back when I used to have friends.”
There’s something about her that hints of loss. The faraway look she wears, the deep shadows under her eyes and the permanent line between her eyebrows.
“Your parents didn’t mind that you came to England to live with your cousin?”
“Not exactly,” she says with a shrug. “My mom left the day I got my braces. No warning. Just took me to the orthodontist, brought me home and said she was going to the store. That was two years ago.”
“And you haven’t heard from her since?” I scowl. I know just how it feels to be abandoned. Even though my parents never physically left, they did forget I existed and left me to raise myself.
“Nope. My dad didn’t really care what I did after that. A bunch of stuff happened with my brothers. They were making his life hell; stealing cars and doing drugs. I just sort of left.” Rose stops abruptly, though it didn’t seem like the story was over.
“Is that why you came here?” I ask, hoping I can coax the rest out of her, which is weird, because it’s not really something I’d normally do.
Rose nods her head, deep crimson blooming in patches across her cheeks. “But I didn’t runaway to find another life. I ran away to end mine.”
Each word feels like an explosion of sorrow. “What happened?”
“Zana—that’s my Ka—found me behind the dumpster at a 7-11. Seattle is surrounded by nature preserves and I happen to live in an outlaying area called North Bend. SEEK has a compound there. I was lucky Zana found me when she did.” Rose tugs the sleeves of her jacket over her many bracelets and baubles.
I get the feeling Rose has never told anyone this story before. “Hey, we’ve all done things we regret. I was a hunter for God’s sake.”
Rose looks up at me—eyes incredibly bloodshot in contrast to her neon-green irises. Her mouth curves in an awkward half-smile. “Thanks. I think you understand me better than probably anyone else ever has.”
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