Chosen Ones (19 page)

Chapter 31

I was going to run. I needed to find help. There had to be someone out there who could help us. I would gamble with the Isolationists in the Middlelands. Or at least I could scout, find some way to get Louisa and me away from this place. Forever.

I had nothing to take with me, and I had no time for good-byes.

Maybe I would die, but at least it would be of my own choosing. On my own terms. I might only have a day or two of freedom, but that would be more than most got.

There were no guards at the doors of the compound. Why would anyone leave? The council had done a fantastic job of creating a prison of fear. As I stepped out into the woods that surrounded our sector, separating it from what was left of the world, I refused to think of the good-byes I didn’t make.

The deeper I got into the woods, the more I was aware of the fact that I was alone. Every noise made me shiver, reminding me I had no chosen one to fight my battles for me anymore. It was so damn dark. I sprinted. Every time I tripped, I pulled myself up. Every time a branch slashed across my skin, I kept pushing. I didn’t know where I was going. I just knew to run.

I fell to the ground, my weak natural body not used to such physical exertion. I didn’t care that I was covered in dirt and leaves. It was then I heard the footsteps. The hair on the back of my neck shot up, tingling all the way down my spine. Something told me this was wrong. It wasn’t James. No, of course not—there were two sets of footsteps. It was someone else. Someone must have followed me. I began to tremble.

When I slowly turned around, two men I had never seen in my life stood before me. Chosen ones. I couldn’t miss them. Beautiful, just like they all were, their blue and green eyes shining through the darkness of the night. One held a black bag in his hands.

No! It was all happening too soon. I wasn’t ready.

The men took a step forward. Why couldn’t I move from the ground? Why wasn’t my body fighting back? My heart was screaming. I was shaking so much my teeth were slamming against one another.

Maybe something inside of me wanted this to happen. Maybe I wasn’t strong enough for this place, this prison.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I’m sort of hoping you want me to do it the hard way,” one of the men sneered.

I still couldn’t move. The other chosen one squatted in front of me, roughly grabbing onto my arm. His breath was next to my ear. “I do so like when we get to take the girls. The council usually lets us play with them a bit first. Funny how they knew you would run for it.”

He proceeded to yank me from the ground, positioning me so my back was against his chest and I faced his partner. He was grinning. These men were not from Templeton; they were beyond training. These were chosen ones, already selected, already working. Had the council sent them for me? Why?

He held the bag open in front of my face.

“I hope you aren’t afraid of the dark.”

We were in some sort of vehicle. My captors had roughly pushed me into the back, and the vehicle was speeding, thrashing about here and there. I often slammed against the ceiling or bumped against the car door. I would be bruised by morning. If I even saw morning.

I hadn’t cried. What good would it do? Instead, I’d tried to lie as still as possible. To disappear. To not exist at all. Existence was painful.

I didn’t even listen to what my captors were discussing. I refused to think about Louisa or James, to think about the world I was leaving. I just focused on breathing, for as long as they would allow me to do so. Suddenly the car came to a halt. I flew into the seat in front of me and felt my head begin to throb. We had stopped. I didn’t care why.

Only now was I beginning to realize how many mistakes I had made. I didn’t know it was possible to make so many in such a short amount of time. Only sixteen years. Sixteen years I had wasted.

Someone yanked me out of my introspective haze, pulling me through the now-open door of the vehicle. My futile attempt to bury my pain had been in vain; it had always been in vain. I failed because I was never brave enough to face the darkness of my life. I always found ways of avoiding it—I either shut myself off from those who loved me or completely engrossed myself in one that I should not have cared for. I never fully allowed myself to acknowledge the pain I carried—the pain of the oppressed, the pain of the cast-off, the pain of knowing I deserved better.

I was on the ground, thrown forcefully by my guards. They didn’t care if they hurt me. I was nothing to them, something easily disposed of and soon forgotten. Would James wonder what had happened to me? Damn. Why couldn’t I force him from my mind?

The sounds that followed were not what I expected. The two men were arguing; one sounded scared, nervous. I couldn’t make out the exact words as the pounding of my heart beat wildly against my ears.

Somehow amid their yelling I heard another vehicle approach, and it briefly made me wonder what had caused these men to be so scared. The only ones allowed to own vehicles these days were the chosen ones. Even the transports were driven by chosen ones.

I heard the crunch of dirt and rocks beneath shoes, then another exchange. Yet still I couldn’t make out the words. My mind wouldn’t focus on deciphering them. Perhaps this was its defense mechanism, its way of protecting itself from the truth. Another tool to avoid the darkness.

Something painful sliced through the air. My ears were ringing, burning. Again. Dear God, what was going on? Then silence. There was no sound now. This was worse than I could have imagined. Had I died? Was this what awaited those who died…nothing but the smell of the bag and a sharp ringing in the ears?

No. Someone was pulling me up, leaning me against the car. I didn’t fight him. It meant I was still alive, for which I was thankful. I was surprised at how thankful I was.

The hands were gentle this time, like they were afraid I would break. Didn’t they know I was already broken beyond repair? I felt someone begin to unbind my hands, sliding slowly up my arms once my hands were free. I shivered. Strangely, not out of repulsion. The hands were near my head now. I could feel the air dance around my face—the bag had been removed from my head. I kept my eyes shut. I was afraid to open them.

It was then I heard his voice.

“Tess,” he whispered.

My eyes shot open.

James.

Chapter 32

The pain was bursting now. I could feel angry tears threaten to spill from my eyes. My legs felt weak. I couldn’t stand, so I crumbled slowly to the floor, sliding against the cold walls of the car. I clawed my fingers into the dirt; I needed something to stabilize me.

James knelt before me. Why was he here? Was he choosing to run, too?

Or was he simply doing his job?

“Tess, I can’t explain right now. I know you have questions, but we need to move.” His voice was tense. I closed my eyes again, hoping to banish the image of James in this place.

“We can’t leave yet. You know there is something we have to do first.” This was a voice I couldn’t label, but one that wasn’t utterly new to me, either.

James cleared his throat. The familiar, too human sound caused my eyes to flutter open. His hands were shaking; he looked almost ill. My eyes traveled to his partner. I stared in disbelief at one of the “doctors” from my inspection.

“Don’t be alarmed. This is my creator, Kendall.”

Kendall held out his hand. He seemed thrilled, eager. “Pleasure to meet you, Tess. Well, I guess we have already met, sorta,” he said with a small laugh.

“No,” I managed to say. It was all I could say.
No
.

“We really do mean to help you. I know it seems a bit far-fetched, all things considered, but I’m a natural just like you. I wouldn’t, couldn’t possibly hurt one of my own kind. Now before we go, we have to do something first. It might sting a little,” Kendall said as he crouched down beside me. He moved to my skirt and proceeded to slide it up my leg.

It all happened so fast. My hand sprung from the dirt, clutched the fingers together, and flew at his face. I felt no pain, though I was sure it would come later. But my heart sang with approval. Kendall whimpered five feet away from me. I shot James an icy look. Would I be brave enough to hit him, too?

Yes. I would.

He held his hands out in front of him, echoing a moment earlier in our relationship. Only this time I wasn’t afraid of him—he was afraid of me. I was glad.

“Tess, they placed a tracking device in you. They did it to all the naturals.”

“No. Impossible. I would remember something like that,” I said, shaking my head. Was there any memory I could trust? Anything not touched by the council?

“You were a child, girl. Your momma probably told you it was just a shot,” Kendall grunted, holding his bloody nose.

Yes. My mom. I remembered she was half drunk when we stumbled to the tents that served as our medical station at the time. Everything was still chaotic in those days. The first chosen ones had been created, but the council was still working on building the compounds for each sector. I’d tried to grab her hand as the doctor stuck the needle into my thigh, but she pulled it away.

“If we don’t get the tracker out, they will be able to find you. I can’t take them all on my own. And we need time to plan. If we don’t do this now then there is no hope,” James continued. His voice conveyed every ounce of despair he could portray. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe he wasn’t the monster who beat George to an inch of his life. My mind frantically searched for a counterargument but could find none.

We stared at each other, only the sound of our breathing breaking the silence. It came out ragged but strangely in tune with each other, as if that was always how it was meant to be. I gritted my teeth. I was dead anyway.

“Fine,” I spat, “tell me how to do it.”

“Tess, I don’t think you should,” James pleaded.

I shook my head furiously. This was something I had to do myself.

Kendall was before us, holding a hand over his nose. I guess I packed a good punch. He proceeded to give something to James, silver flashing against the darkness of the sky.

James’s eyes met mine once more, and his hand slowly reached for the hem of my skirt. He cautiously lifted it up, pausing above my knee. He cleared his throat, and I felt my cheeks burn hot. “The tracking device is in the thigh. I’ll have to lift this a bit higher.”

I nodded weakly, felt my mouth go dry. I nodded to Kendall. “Tell him to turn around. I think he’s seen enough of me.”

“Don’t be foolish. I need him to guide you.” James’s voice carried a new edge, a rawness I was unaccustomed to.

“Then he can guide me with his back turned. If he’s such a humanitarian, I am sure this isn’t the first one he’s removed. He should be able to do it easily.”

Kendall didn’t wait for James to tell him to turn around. Wimp.

“That’s enough! We have to get moving.”

The sound of a new voice made all of us freeze. Henry was standing behind Kendall, and Robert followed closely on his heels.

I began to laugh. It was all so surreal. James. Henry. Robert. Doctor from hell. Talking about breaking me free, about removing tracking devices. It was all some nightmare, a dream I would soon wake from. It was freaking hilarious. The four men stared at me in shock. This made me laugh even harder.

Henry roughly and without hesitation lifted my skirt so my thigh was revealed. He paused for a second. For that one brief second his face showed weakness. I wasn’t laughing anymore.

“Wait. I can do this myself,” I growled, snatching the knife from James.

I clamped a hand over my bare skin, holding my thigh against the dirt. I bit my lip as I held on tightly to the knife, took a deep breath, and ripped open my skin. Then all I could feel was pain. I was ripping myself apart. It was as if someone had shot liquid ice through my veins, freezing my very soul. My breath stuck in my throat and sat there burning. It took everything in me not to scream.

“It’s lodged in there pretty well,” replied James, his voice monotonous.

The ice was ablaze now. I probed the opening the knife had created, every movement shooting scalding heat down my legs. The heat seeped through my vertebrae, making my head feel dizzy. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take; it was unbearable. Would it never end? A muffled scream escaped my lips. I tried to clamp my mouth shut. Still, noise escaped it.

Then the physical pain eased, but it was replaced with something else. Something worse. The emptiness that haunted my very being had never been more present. I would never return to the compound. That identity, however flawed it had been, was forever gone for me. Would I miss it? Perhaps. It was the one thing that had always been constant. In that world, I always knew my place, always knew what role was assigned to me. I was in a new world now. I could no longer run from coming to terms with who I really was, not the person I’d murdered and buried long ago. I was scared as hell.

I vaguely felt James put pressure on the wound, attempting to stop the blood that oozed down my leg, ounces of my prescribed persona mixing with the dirt. Abandoned. Ripped from me.

I was so tired. So very tired. James quickly moved in front of me, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open even to look at his face. I felt his arms wrap around me and lift me from the ground. I didn’t fight the darkness, not anymore. My life would never be the same and the uncertainty of what I now faced left me petrified.

Maybe if I were lucky, I would sleep forever.

The room was dark. How long had I been out? Hours? Days? My eyes were crusted over and I felt the sleep dust off into my cramped fingers as I attempted to free my eyes. I slowly sat up, my head feeling light as I stretched my arms in front of me, my elbows popping loudly in the much too quiet room. Tomb-like. Was it night? Next to me on a nightstand was a glass of water. I reached for it, consuming it faster than I’d thought possible.

I took note of my surroundings. I was in a bed, a rather large bed. The room was much too vast, filled with furniture from a time not so long ago. Everything was covered in dust, signaling the house hadn’t been used for some time. The room made me feel small, weak. Too much space. I tried to listen for noise but was only greeted with an eerie silence. I didn’t like the quiet so much anymore.

I knew I could open the door, explore, find answers, but I wasn’t ready. I lay back down on the bed and proceeded to curl myself into a ball. The bedspread smelled of mold and neglect.

I still felt a hole inside of me. I held my wrist up into the sliver of light that peeped into the room. My numbers were still etched there. Good. I rubbed them gently, caressing them, possessing them. They were mine.

I wasn’t ready for answers. I closed my eyes and let myself once again drift to sleep.

When I awoke my stomach was writhing with hunger. Next to my water now stood a jar of peanut butter. I undid the top and stuck my finger into the gooey contents. I hadn’t tasted peanut butter since before the compounds were inhabited. It was sweet and thick, and I instantly wished I had something else to drink.

Where the hell was I? I needed answers.

Robert. Things were too complicated with James and Henry, and I didn’t have time to sort through it at the moment. Robert was my best chance for getting the information I needed. There was a time I had trusted him. Could I trust him again?

If Robert had ever thought about running, why didn’t he run with Emma?

Did he do it for me?

Why?

How did he know I was going to be taken?

And James. He could never go back to his life.

Guilt. Damn, what a powerful emotion. But at least I felt something besides empty.

I was in a tattered nightgown—plaid, glaringly not part of the council-approved wardrobe. Someone had changed me. I shivered. The thought of a stranger’s hands on me made me want to stop my journey before it began. Who ever decided to place such fragile souls in such utterly destructible bodies?

I spotted a robe lying across a chair and slipped it over me. I clutched it tightly as I pushed open the door. If the room looked neglected, the house was completely abandoned. Pictures hung crookedly off the walls. The paint was peeling. I even thought I saw something scurry off into the corner when I opened the door.

Was this a house from before? A relic from the time when we knew what it meant to be free? It looked abandoned, forgotten. Yet it was still standing.

I was still standing.