by Leito, Chad
“My name is Roxanne,” said the girl with the bruise. “I’m your captain, welcome to the Sharks. I’m glad to have you, Asa. Here, catch.”
She hurtled a one hundred page paperbound book at Asa and he caught it with one hand in front of his face.
“This is now your Bible. Get acquainted with it; shake hands with it, introduce yourself, take it out to dinner and get close with it. It’s got the Academy’s revised rules for Winggame in it, and some plays and strategies in there.
“Before we get started, I want to remind everyone that there has been a rule change and I do have the power to kick students off of my team. If this happens, you forfeit all the points you could’ve gotten if I didn’t kick you off.”
She smiled wide, and the room felt a bit more hospitable; already, she struck Asa as someone that had a talent for altering the mood in a social situation. “Now, everyone open up to page number one; let’s get through this fast so that we can have the rest of the evening off.”
And she began to go through the rules. She read quickly, skipping over sentences that she didn’t think were important. She used her tone to emphasize some passages. She seemed nice, and Asa thought about his first meeting with the Bulls. It had been rambunctious, and Koab had banged his chest and yelled to get them excited about the upcoming season. Roxanne seemed to take a more studious approach at getting her team ready.
She read for an hour, and, with so much having happened that day, Asa’s mind inevitably began to drift.
Listening to all the talk about Winggame rules made him realize how badly he wanted to compete in a fair season. He often times daydreamed about what it would be like if a normal person watched a match. The uniforms flying over the water, the tackles, the different colored wings, and, or course, the mutations. If they televised this thing, they’d make a fortune. We’re such incredible athletes that people would be mesmerized.
Asa believed that more than half of the Academy students were mutated so far beyond normal capacity that they would dominate in any professional sporting league of their choosing. In football, their sheer speed and strength would put them in a class of their own. As a running back, an Academy student would be able to plow through a world-class lineman that was three times their size. Even in a sport where strength could be overcome with good form, like baseball, an Academy student would be elite. Asa remembered the Fishies being told last semester about how the mutations would also make them more coordinated. Asa felt that if he were in a batter’s box, even without any practice, his increased coordination would put him at an advantage over a ten-time All-Star professional baseball player who had devoted half his life to the game. After the mutations, things seemed to happen slower. Asa would be able to see the individual stitches as a 100-miles per hour fastball sped towards him. His coordination was so good that he would be able to orchestrate every inch of his body, down to his fingers and his toes, into swinging the bat. Normal humans couldn’t do that. And then, once solid contact was made, his strength would make driving the ball no problem.
Asa realized that it was a mildly insane desire to want to play a fair season of Winggame so badly. And he did want it badly; he hoped, however slim the chances, that the Multipliers would just leave him alone. I know I shouldn’t want to play this game that much, though.
Truth was, these people had kidnapped all the students against their will and as they played, their lives were on the line. No matter how fantastic or expensive the game was, it was all a way to weed out the students that the Academy didn’t want. And they would go to great lengths to do this. Proof of this could be seen in the upcoming Task for this year; which was promised to leave more students dead than ever before. How much did they say they spent on it? Ten billion dollars!?
Asa still couldn’t swallow that number. Where was all the money going? Asa’s mind went wild with this question. Maybe they have hired some military company to come and battle us, he thought. Maybe, to make a level playing field, they’ll let the hired guns use their assault rifles and leave the mutated students with just their hands. He considered other things they could have used the money for. Or, maybe they needed the funds to mutate an army of monsters: things like bees the size of basketballs. Or maybe they needed the money to buy recently dead corpses from some criminal market: God knows they like using those things.
Images of the dead chasing after him flashed in his mind. Although his body was sitting in a calm room as Roxanne read over the Winggame rules, his mind was back in the caves of King Mountain. The already dead students were chasing after them, pounding feet on the cold stone. Asa remembered how in the cabin there was that girl Volkner killed in his classroom—he smashed her head like it was a jack-o-lantern and her brain had splattered over the table. In the cabin, she was standing—alive once again, her head with large metal staples holding the reconfigured brain inside. Asa saw Stridor stand up from where he had been hiding, covered in blood. He snuck over to her and put all his strength behind a blow to her head. Asa shivered, thinking, when he struck her over the head, it just collapsed; the dead aren’t meant to rise again.
Now, his mind brought him back to the caves, where they were cornered in a dead-end hallway. The corpses were sprinting towards them, and they could only be seen in the split seconds when gunpowder exploded. What would the dead have done had they reached the students? And when we ran out of bullets I thought I was going to feel those cold hands close around my throat. Maybe they would’ve slipped their dead, numb fingers into my mouth, trying to force them over my tongue, into my…
Around Asa, people stood up, and Asa, daydreaming (or having a daymare, he thought) shrieked. Roxanne had dismissed the team, but Asa was too immersed in thought to hear. People around him, including Jen, gave Asa questioning looks. The students next to Asa picked up their pace in leaving, not wanting to be around Crazy Asa Palmer.
I’m not crazy. I’m just not all mentally healthy right now. It’s like when you have a stomach bug, but with my brain.
Asa gathered up his book, stood up, and moved towards the door. He ignored the stares.
“Remember,” said Roxanne, “We’re meeting at seven in the morning tomorrow in front of the Fishie Mountain entrance so that we can get a workout in before classes start. And I expect everyone to have read the whole handbook before that time.” Asa gave a curt nod towards Roxanne’s bruised face and then walked out.
As the Sharks filled the hallway and were walking towards the exit, Jen caught up to Asa. “You look white as a lamb, Palmer,” she said. “Somethin’ spook you?” She gave his back a rub. She was very comfortable touching people.
“No, I’m fine.” Asa said. He knew that people would become upset if he began spending time with this Fishie, but he didn’t seem to know how to shake her.
They stepped out into the cold and walked down the steps. “Are you going to walk me to the boat like a gentleman? Or just fly away?” She asked.
Asa didn’t know how to respond to her bubbly personality. “Just fly away,” he said.
“That’s too bad. We won’t be able to talk in public for the next week. Talking ban starts tomorrow.”
“What do you mean, in public?” He asked. “You won’t be able to talk at all.”
She waved a hand at the comment. “Don’t be such a baby. I can talk, they won’t catch me.”
Asa hoped that she was joking, but didn’t think that it would do any good to lecture her. She’ll see.
“Bye Asa,” she said, and gave his hand a squeeze.
Asa did not like how much she made physical contact with him. He knew that it was putting him in danger. “Bye,” he said, and against his judgment on the scenario, he squeezed back.
With that, he leapt straight up into the air, shot his wings out, and began the labored ascent. She’s going to die, he thought. I’m sure of it. She’s either overestimating herself or underestimating the Academy.
He thought about this all the way back to his dwelling, and he thought about Jen as he lay in his ham
mock that night, drifting back and forth on the jungle ropes that Teddy had made him, staring at the ceiling. He had an alarm set to wake him up early, so that he could report with his team on time.
The dwelling was still warm, even though the fire was low. The rock served as good insulation. From far away, Asa heard an intermittent humming noise reverberating through the air. He didn’t know what the sound was, but noted that it sometimes went up and down in pitch. It sounded like it wasn’t too far away.
Before going to sleep, his mind went back to the Multipliers, lurking on the mountainside. He remembered how Edna had accused Joney of “Peakin’ in on the kiddos on the Mount.”
“Christ,” Asa muttered to himself. The thought of those uncivilized, monkey-killing Multipliers spying on the Academy students gave him chills. Suddenly, he wished that he had a stronger door on his dwelling, one with a much thicker lock.
The humming started again, but Asa tried to ignored it.
He closed his eyes, and found that sleep was now overtaking him. It was here, in that moment before drifting off that he realized what the humming was. Somewhere above him, Teddy was using his drill to carve into the stone.
Asa briefly thought of how tired Teddy was, and that he should go to bed. Asa’s exhausted body relaxed in the ropes, his breathing and heart rate slowed, and his brainwaves became further and further apart, preparing himself for REM. Sleep overcame Asa, and above, Teddy carved throughout the night. Asa didn’t have any guesses as to what his friend could be doing up there.
6
Morning Run
It was a quarter to seven in the morning, and Asa hadn’t yet stood up from his hammock. Teddy had already had a rather productive morning. He stood over the stove, stirring a massive mound of twenty eggs with a spatula, humming a disjointed little tune—with each verse he switched to a different song.
He had gotten the eggs from the rec room’s kitchen, along with a loaf of nut bread, a stick of butter, and two tall jars of chocolate milk. These jars were currently being chilled in a mound of snow outside; Teddy only liked milk when it was barely above freezing.
The amount of food would have seemed absurd to Asa before all the mutations, but now it seemed entirely appropriate, if not a little light. Judging by his watering mouth, and his rumbling stomach, he would have bet that all the food would be eaten before he left to meet his teammates in front of Fishie Mountain.
Asa also would have bet that Teddy hadn’t slept at all the night before. Asa awoke several times throughout the night (after all that he had been through, it was becoming abnormal for him to get a full night’s sleep) and had heard the drill whizzing above. Not only that, but after Teddy had come back, carrying all the groceries, he had begun to cry. Now, he stood over the stove, sobbing as he flipped the eggs in the massive pan. He had bloody nasal tampons crammed up his nose to stop the bleeding, so he was crying out of his mouth. He’s just entirely exhausted, and it’s making him emotional.
Asa paid him no mind. Soon, they would eat breakfast together and they could talk about whatever was bothering Teddy. But for now, Asa wanted to read the newspaper. He picked it up, opened it, and felt anger roll over him; he found himself infuriated at the material he found in it, and also unable to stop reading it.
The newspaper, as it said itself, was a new installation to the Academy’s program as part of the Gill Initiative. It was written in a collaborative effort by Multipliers and graduates in an attempt to keep the students informed. The papers were scheduled to be released periodically (whatever that meant) and the raccoons would deliver them outside the doors of second, third, and fourth semester students, and to the bedside of the Fishies in their dormitories.
A picture of Asa’s face in full color took up nearly the entire front page. In the photograph, Asa’s teeth were barred, his eyebrows were pulled together in rage, and his jaw was clenched. Initially, Asa thought that it was another Photoshopped image, just as the slide about the upcoming dance had been. Then, he remembered, with regret, where the photo must have been taken.
Yesterday, right outside of Town Hall, he had growled at himself in the front windows’ reflection. It had been a joke, really, but that one instant in time was all that the students would see. He now knew that he had to be even more careful about his actions.
Written in big, black, blocky letters atop the image were the words: “IS THIS STUDENT THE MOST HATED IN ACADEMY HISTORY?” and then in smaller letters: “One Multiplier believes so. See what his captain, Roxanne Price, thinks on page 16.”
Right after procuring the groceries, Teddy had delivered the newspaper to Asa’s bedside. A Multiplier that Asa wasn’t even familiar with, Mark Richardson, had made the comment about Asa being the most hated student in the history of the Academy. Roxanne’s interview was a great source of anxiety for Asa, but he was relieved to read it and see that she seemed to be in support of him.
“Yes, he was picked last,” she was quoted as saying. “But I think that he has the potential to be a great asset to the team. I’m not going to make assumptions based on what I heard last semester. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together in practice, games, meetings, and I’m sure that his true self will come out. I’ll assess Asa Palmer on how Asa Palmer acts, not on what others tell me.”
Asa was incredibly grateful for this; he told himself that he would take advantage of this opportunity, and he counted himself lucky for getting such an open-minded team captain.
There were two other articles in the newspaper that Asa found interesting. The first was concerning a class that the second semester students would take, and the second was a written interview with Robert King, whom Asa now knew was dead. Why is the Academy pretending that he’s still alive? What do they have to gain?
The article about the upcoming class was a short one, written by Benny Hughs. Benny had led his team to a Winggame championship last season as a fourth semester student, and was now a graduate. Asa had played him in Winggame, and it came as somewhat of a shock to Asa to realize that he was now working with similar responsibilities and privileges as Conway and McCoy did. It was the natural order of things, though it seemed odd.
Benny stated early in the article that he didn’t want to give too much away, but said that the second semester students would have a flying class, and the “Most Achieved,” would be allowed to pick from a long list of talents. They would then be given an injection and undergo a mutation that gave them their chosen ability. Asa read through them, some of which were “More Efficient Caloric Rationing,” “Substantially Increased Eye Sight,” “A Removable Exoskeleton,” “Whiskers,” “Increased Inner Ear Sensitivity (for balance purposes),” “Controlled Bodily Electric Shock Administration,” “Tactile Fingertip Bristles,” “Retractable Claws,” “Double-Jointed Hip (to enable running on all fours),” and “Substantially Increased Flexibility.” There were many others listed, but aside from the increased flexibility, which Charlotte had, there were none that he was familiar with. He was particularly interested in the one that said “Pheromone Dispersion Control (helps to mold the moods of others).” Asa wondered if Roxanne had this, as he remembered how well she was able to control their meeting last night.
The interview with Robert King was “written,” meaning that the journalist wasn’t face-to-face with the man when the interview took place. What a surprise, Asa thought. It would have been hard for the dead man to take questions face-to-face. In the interview, though, whoever was writing as Robert King had made some interesting points.
The talk was mostly about the upcoming Task, mostly and again it was reiterated that this was to be unlike any before it. “Sure, this is going to be the most lethal undertaking that Academy students have ever gone through. But, the student with the right attitude rejoices at this! Why are you here, if not to prove yourself? With the increased competition, students have a chance at earning true glory.”
“Can you believe that they’re pretending that Robert King is still alive?” Asa as
ked. His voice was croaky; it was the first time he had spoken that day.
Teddy didn’t respond, but continued to stir at the eggs. Now, it sounded as though he were humming “Oh Come All Ye Faithful.” He had stopped sobbing a few minutes ago.
“Teddy?”
Teddy jumped, just like he had yesterday when Asa accidentally snuck up on him. The spatula went flying, but luckily, the eggs remained where they were in the pan. He turned, hand on his heart, a terrified look on his face. “What, Asa?” he asked.
Asa paused for a moment. “I just wanted to talk about this article. They keep on going on pretending that Robert King is alive. I just don’t know how long it can last.”
Teddy picked up the spatula, and scratched the side of his face while thinking. He didn’t even notice that this action was coating his cheek with grease. “Do you remember seeing Volkner yesterday?” Teddy asked, as though Asa hadn’t just spoken.
For a moment, Asa was offended: Teddy had just completely ignored the comment that Asa made. But, after staring at Teddy’s face for a moment, the agitation turned to pity. The guy was dying on his feet. He swayed where he stood, a few strings of thin blonde hair falling out of the side-part above his forehead and into his eyes, which were now lined with pigmented skin so red it looked like blood; the red-rimmed eyes made him look a bit like a rabit.
“Uhhh, no. I guess that I don’t remember seeing him,” Asa said.
Teddy swayed some more, and then turned back to the eggs. He talked while he worked on them. “You bring up an interesting point with the way they keep acting like Robert King is alive,” Teddy said, as though Asa had just now asked the question. He was talking louder than normal, and Asa wondered how much of their conversation could be heard in adjacent dwellings. “I saw something on the news last night that I think would interest you. Here, come grab a plate and we’ll talk about it. Eggs look done to me.”
Asa got up from his hammock, stretched, and padded over to beside the stove. The rock was cold on his bare feet, and he dreaded having to go outside in just a few minutes. Teddy went and grabbed the jars of icy chocolate milk from outside. When they were sitting again, plates mounded with cheesy eggs and heavily buttered nut bread atop their legs, Teddy told Asa of the news program he watched last night.
