Scorched (6 page)

Well, I’m tired. I’m gonna sleep.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Six Months Later:

It had been six months since I first found Spec. Everybody was shocked and delighted at how quickly it took the strangers to learn our language and customs. Several years before I was ever born, we had caught a few NaNas and tried incorporating them into our society. After a couple of years, they had only learned a few phrases and refused to adjust to our customs, so they were killed. Luckily, Spec did not suffer the same fate as them.

“C’mon, we’ve gotta patrol the borders for father.” I picked up my knife while Spec grabbed his axe. He had constructed the tool a few months ago and actually helped excavate some new territory for our community. Before he could do so, however, he had to be taught about the harmful gasses within the city. Awhile back, while the city was being expanded, one of the miners released a pocket of flammable gas causing a small fire. Luckily, the tunnel he was working in collapsed and the flame was extinguished before it could do any harm to the city.

“Why do we patrol the borders?” my inquisitive friend asked. “If there have been no NaNa sightings in years.”

“We do it because people feel better knowing somebody is checking.” We headed out of the house and off toward the borders.”

Bryan jumped out from behind a stone and yelled, “Freeze savage!” He playfully swiped his knife back and forth. “You’d be dead right now if I wanted to kill you.”

James took out his knife and pressed it against Bryan’s throat. “And you’d be dead if I were a NaNa.”

Bryan pushed the older kid away. “NaNas don’t have knives. Their claws are razor sharp so they don’t need them, duh!” He placed the knife between his fingers and swiped like it were a claw. “Rarwr!”

“They don’t growl, you idiot,” James said dismissively.

Bryan fought back. “How would you know, you never talked to one.”

James pulled Spec to his side. “Well look at Spec. He’s as close to a NaNa that we’ve seen. Do you growl?”

Spec watched him closely. “I don’t think I growl.”

“He’s just saying that cause he don’t know what a growl is. Go grrrrrr.”

Spec looked over at me. I simply shook my head. He stood silently, axe in hand.

“The savage can’t think for himself!” declared Bryan. “It’s like two Joey’s.”

“So what, two Joey’s are better than one,” I said. I looked over at Spec who watched me closely. I nodded my head and he said, “I agree.”

James shook his head and walked out in front. “C’mon, I set up a target.”

We followed behind James, along the outskirts of our city. When we got to the East District Throughway, we had to get on our hands and knees which upset me because I had just washed these pants.

Bryan scraped his knee against the ground and yelped. “Why’d you set it up so far away?!”

James rolled his eyes. “Because if anyone saw us we’d get in trouble.”

We finally reached our little cove where James had set up a life-size dummy. “I go first. Since I’m the oldest,” he declared.

James held the knife firmly in his hand and flung it forward, connecting with the dummy’s right arm.

“My turn!” Bryan jumped in font of us and carelessly flung his knife ahead. It dropped several feet in front of the dummy. “That was just a practice throw, that doesn’t count!”

He ran ahead and picked up the knife. Took a step back and threw again, this time, the knife soared to the left. “Tell me when we’re starting for real,” he yelled as he ran for his weapon.

I stood in front of the dummy and raised my knife, aimed and flung it toward the lifeless being. The point connected with its leg. I smiled over at Spec who stared at me blankly. I smiled and nodded. He mirrored me.

I ran and grabbed my knife. “Here, Spec. Just aim and throw.”

“The savage can’t have a knife!” Bryan squealed. “He’s not allowed.”

“And we’re not supposed to be doing what we’re doing,” James replied.

Spec stood in front and aimed the knife. Put it down. “Why are we doing this?”

“It’s target practice, Spec. Go on, throw it.”

He raised the knife again, but hesitated one more time. “What are we practicing for?”

James and Bryan were getting antsy, but it was my duty to sivilize Spec which meant answering all of his questions to the best of my ability.

“In case NaNas show up, we wanna be able to kill them.”

Spec stared at me for a long time. I could tell he was thinking, but he wasn’t saying anything, and then, after several moments, he asked, “What is kill?”

“You know, to make somebody die.”

“Why would you make somebody die?”

“Because if we don’t kill them, they’ll kill us.”

“Why would they kill us?”

“Because they’re evil.”

Another long moment of thinking until. “What is evil?”

Bryan gave an exacerbated grunt while James raised his knife and heaved it at the dummy.

“You know Spec, like good and bad. You and I are good. NaNas are bad.”

“Why --”

I cut him off because I knew what he was going to ask. “They were just born that way. And we were born good. Like when you help someone in need, that’s good. That’s right.”

“If NaNas are bad and they kill, that means killing is bad.”

“Yeah, you get it.”

“But we’re practicing to kill them.”

“Yeah, but it’s in defense. It’s okay to kill someone if you think they’re going to kill you.”

“How do you know they’re going to kill you?”

Bryan had had enough. He grabbed Spec’s axe and aimed it at the target. “Because they’re NaNas. They’re all bad. They all wanna kill us.” He flung the axe and hit the dummy directly in the leg.

“I did it! That one counted! Did you see that!?”

***

It was getting late and we were getting tired. As we headed back, Spec tapped me on the shoulder:

“Do you think I could see my friends?”

“Your furalzos?”

“Yes. I haven’t seen them since the auction.”

“But…I’m your friend.”

“You are.”

I was a little hurt by his desire to see his old friends. “Sure, let me see if I can set up a dinner.”

When we got home, I asked my father if we could have a party and invite Cotta and Kaolin’s families over for dinner. He seemed relatively enthusiastic about the prospect of having some distinguished constituents over at his house.

First, I walked over to the Wilkins where I was initially greeted by Cotta at the door. “Hello, sir, may I help you?”

“Hi, Cotta. Do you remember me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are the Wilkins home?”

“Yes, do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Would you like to make one?”

“I’m just inviting you all for dinner at my place. Thought you’d wanna hang out with Spec and Kaolin.”

Cotta nodded his head. “Yeah, I’ll ask them if they’re interested, and I’ll get back to you.” He smiled and closed the door.

I turned and headed over to Miss Washburn’s place.

I knocked on the door repeatedly, but there was no answer. I turned to walk away when the woman appeared.

“Can I help you?” she asked, stone-faced.

“Hi -- my father would like to invite you and Kaolin over for dinner tonight.”

“She’s not ready to go out in public yet.”

“Well, it’s not really public, it’s just our house. I thought it’d be nice for her to spend some time with Cotta and Spec.”

“No, I’m sorry.” She closed the door in my face and left me standing alone.

When I got home, my father told me the Wilkins had RSVP’d for the dinner, so the party wasn’t going to be a total bust.

I went upstairs and found Spec sitting on his bed which we had placed beside mine. He had an old history book in front of him, but I knew he couldn’t read; instead, he sat, staring at the pictures.

“Are you better than me?”

“What do you mean?” For a moment, Spec and I had switched places, with my asking him what he meant.

“Are you a better person than I am?”

“No. We’re all equal here. All humans are equal.”

He placed the book aside and looked up and down my shelves. “Then why do you have a bigger house than everybody else?”

“Well, because some people make more money than others.”

“If everyone’s equal, why do some people make more money?”

“Because they choose to do harder jobs. Like my father is mayor and serves the entire town. It’s a lot of pressure, you know? A lot of responsibilities. Mr. Johnson is just the janitor. All he does is sweep up after the students leave the school so he gets paid less.”

“What makes being mayor harder?”

“Well, not everyone can do it. You have to make it your life and put others before yourself.”

“Could Mr. Johnson be mayor?”

“He could try, but he wouldn’t get elected.”

“Why not?”

“Because the people wouldn’t vote for him and even if they did, he couldn’t do the job as well as my father.”

“Could your dad be janitor?

“If he wanted to, of course.”

“So your dad and the janitor aren’t equal.”

“I don’t think you properly understand the concept.” I laid out some clothes for Spec. “Cotta’s coming over tonight.”

He walked over to the closet and pulled out a plain shirt. “I thought I could choose my own clothes for tonight.”

“You don’t like what I set up for you?”

“I do.”

“Okay. I guess that’s good, right? You should be picking out your own clothes.”

***

The dinner went pretty smoothly. My father relished the opportunity of hosting a dinner for the Wilkins while I hesitantly sat in my chair and watched Spec and Cotta stare at each other, communicating telepathically.

“Don’t you love what I did with his hair! It’s so pretty.” The little girl patted down Cotta’s flattened hair which had several bobby pins.

My father smiled, “I should have you do my hair next!” It didn’t matter how young she was. Some day she’d be older and that day she’d be a voter and every vote counted. “Did you see Kat’s tea set?

“You have a tea set?!” The girl jumped from her seat.

Kat jumped up as well. “You wanna have a tea party!?”

“YES!” The two girls hurried out of the room.

My father turned to me: “Why don’t you and Spec show Cotta around while I talk to the Wilkins.”

“All right. Come on guys.” We led Cotta up to my room where he stood by the door as Spec and I got comfortable. “You can sit if you’d like.” Cotta ignored me and looked over at Spec and the two had a staring contest for a moment.

Spec smiled and put his hand on Cotta’s shoulder. “Are you olbreando?”

Cotta nodded. “It’s brelombed with crultins.”

Spec laughed and said, “Yeah.”

I chimed in. “So, Cotta, how are you liking the city?”

“It’s great, sir,” he said, politely but robotically.

“You don’t have to call me sir.”

“All right, sir.”

The three of us stood silently for a moment, waiting for the next person to speak. I guess it was up to me to continue the conversation. “I see you’ve acclimated well.”

Cotta smiled and nodded. “Oh yes, I’ve learned all about modern society as well as the history of the city. Would you like to hear it?”

“No, that’s alright.” He looked at me with sad piglet eyes, so I caved. “Sure. What’d you learn?”

Cotta took a step forward as if he were reading aloud in class. “Before the surface burst into flames, the great minds of the time built the underground cities and constructed the sustainable methods to survive that we still use today. Only the smartest and most talented were allowed to come below and live in the haven known as Newbury. When the solar flare incinerated the atmosphere, the elevator that led the genius survivors from the surface to the below was forever sealed off.”

“Elevator? To the surface?” Spec’s eyes had widened. He listened intently.

I turned to him and responded the best I could, trying to remember my history classes when I was younger. “Yeah, everyone was taken in the elevator down below. An elevator’s a machine that moves people up and down. It’s behind the north district.”

“Is it functional?” he asked timidly.

‘Why would it be?” I said, “There’s nowhere to go but up and there’s nothing up but death.”

Spec looked past me, staring blankly at the wall. Silent until, “When people die, what do you do with the remains?”

“It’s not
you
, it’s
we
,” I corrected him.

He reiterated: “What do we do with the remains?”

“Well, we bury them of course,” I said, watching him closely.

“And has that always been…
our
...way? Even on the surface?”