The Wanted (7 page)

He frowned at my hesitance.

“Do I need to remind you what happens when you don’t do as you are told?” he said, leaning forward with both hands spread on the table. I watched the condensation form around his disproportionately muscular hands. I pitied the wheels of his chair.

I took a timid step forward, feeling hot and uncomfortable as I passed under the blasting air conditioning. “No, you don’t need to remind me, Sir,” I said through gritted teeth. I didn’t want to play this game. I wanted to smash the table with my fists and pull him from his chair.

One sturdy hand folded into a hard fist, and he hissed through barely open lips, “Then sit.” He pointed to the chair beside him, straight down.

I moved slowly as his eyes tracked me across the room like a motion detector, his mouth pursing at my bare feet squeaking against the leather of my shoes. My eyes went to the high, narrow window above the buffet. Nothing but black sky. Empty. Grant’s eyes were equally empty.

Below the window were photos of distinctively All Kind children of various ages. Some looked to be the same child, frames knocking against each other following the child’s growth. Others were of a baby with no follow-up pictures. I was curious, but I couldn’t spend time wondering. Grant’s eyes were ready to slice me to pieces.

He patted the chair to his left, and I sat down. Hands folded in my lap, eyes downcast, trying to play the part I thought he wanted.

“Rosa,” he croaked bitterly, my name a curse on his tongue. He tapped his fingers on the glass absently. “You’ve hurt your people,” he said in fake seriousness, “and you’ve hurt me.” He put his palm to where I suppose his heart would be if he had one. I tried to retreat into myself like a turtle to its shell before I reached out and slapped his face, holding onto my right hand with my left like it was not my own.

“Perhaps if you can tell me what you and your misguided friends are planning, there may be a chance of redemption for you.” His voice held very little feeling. I was a pebble in his shoe, annoying but easily dealt with.

I allowed myself to peek into his soul-stealing eyes. “No.” My lips formed the word and my heart stammered in my chest, telling me to take it back, to stop scrawling my death sentence all over the walls like it was nothing.

He leaned back and clasped his hands together, his moustache twitching slightly with irritation. I tried not to take pleasure in it and failed, my own lips rising into a smile.

“No?” he asked, his voice dark and dripping in the ink that would sign my execution.

“Never,” I said plainly. I may have promised to stay alive, but I wasn’t going to kill my friends to do it.

My eyes went to the floor, the safest place, and I noticed his chair legs were higher than mine by an inch or two. Red appeared in his cheeks and his forehead, instantly creasing like a dried riverbed. I winced, awaiting the force of his shouting. But then he took a deep breath and everything dissipated like blowing the steam off the top of a cup of coffee.

“We’ll see, child,” he said shrewdly.

I eyed the butter knife in front of me. It was blunt, but did he deserve sharp and quick? Its silver light promised revenge. I raised my hand to take it—

The door opened, and three people filed in. I paused. I couldn’t fight three people. I wasn’t even sure I could take a man in a wheelchair. Not this one anyway.

A girl about my age, maybe younger, entered, arm in arm with an older woman. A young man held the door ajar until the females had passed, his head dipped, white wires hanging from both his ears. All Kind colored, spiked hair sprayed over his forehead and grazed his ears. He glanced up slowly like his head was weighted, our eyes meeting briefly, then just as slowly he turned away from me.

“Rosa. I’d like you to meet my family,” Grant announced in a voice so warm it burnt me. The polite host switch had flicked inside him. I stood as each member of this monster’s family reached over the table to shake my hand.

“This is my wife, Camille.”

The tall, blondish woman with perfect tanned skin leaned over the table, her ample cleavage bouncing in my face.

“Hello dear,” she confidently greeted me. Dumbfounded, I took her hand. It was sweaty and slick with moisturizer that smelled like jasmine. She took her place at the other end of the table.

“This is Denis, my son,” Grant muttered, watching Denis slowly and warily hold out his hand to me. His tall, lean body bent over the table resistantly, like a sapling being pulled over by a starving deer. I pictured him snapping back into place and covered my mouth before I laughed. He didn’t say ‘hello’, he just let his eyes run up and down my torso until he met my eyes properly, the whole blue eye, brown eye thing causing him to pause. His hand finally made it to mine, too soft, warm. He shook my hand once and then dropped it, nearly landing it in the centerpiece, his caramel brown arm returning to his side. His eyes stared into mine, deep, dark blue like flint reflecting the sky. There was a smile teasing the corners of his mouth as we gazed at each other, but it was a shadow of a smile, his expression still guarded. I tried to stop the blush from creeping up my neck but was unsuccessful. He sat across from me. Dropping down in his seat perfectly, like he’d fallen from the sky exactly over his chair. He plucked the two earphones from his ears, and they dangled on either side of his neck like drops of water.

Grant groaned loudly.

From his seat, Denis tipped his head down and ran his eyes over his cutlery in a curious way. Like he was figuring out exactly how he was going to hold them, use them, before he even touched them.

“Take those off, Denis,” Grant drawled with barely clothed disdain as he pointed to the earphones still pulsing soft music.

Denis nodded, muttering, “Yes, Dad,” in a deep, hindered tone, and pulled the earphones from his green, V-neck sweater, winding them carefully around his fingers, knotting the cord together and placing it in his breast pocket.

Arms came from behind and startled me, wrapping around my shoulders and neck. Arms clad in a blue cardigan that matched my own. “Ooh it fits!” a nervous, almost-desperate voice spoke from behind me. I turned to stone in her arms. The girl released me, swung around, and collapsed in the chair next to me.

Grant’s voice was dripping with sickly sweetness. “This is my daughter, Judith.”

“Nice to meet ya,” she said in an accent that perfectly matched Grant’s, her skirt sliding up her leg as she swung it over the arm of the chair, draping her body over it like a discarded towel. She was small, willowy like Apella, but when she spoke, her voice was not like bells. The twang was like snapping wire, and I cringed noticeably. When she saw my reaction, she straightened up and pulled her hands inside her cardigan, just the tips of her rather orange skin poking through the ends of the sleeves.

Grant’s head snapped to her but then he composed his voice.

“Judith. We have company. Place your hands in your lap like a young lady.” I swallowed my laugh uncomfortably like a ball of air. She sat up straight and put her fingers to her mouth, about to chew on her fingernails. “Hands down,” Grant instructed patiently, his hand slapping the glass table gently, causing the silverware to rattle. Everyone straightened. The atmosphere was light and wafting one minute and cold and frightening the next. They were aware of Grant’s stretching temper, and no one wanted to be the one who made him snap.

Despite this, they seemed like a genuine family. I was in a dream, a painting, a life that shouldn’t exist.

I watched quietly as they talked about their days and began to despise all of them. The chatter was inane, and I found myself wishing I were alone with Grant again. At least then, it was real. I had questions for him too.

Then Denis, who up till now had been slowly carving his food into small pieces and then carefully putting a piece of each type of food on his fork until he had a bite-sized cross-section, spoke.

“What is she doing here, Dad? Is she a replacement?” He looked suspiciously to his father with unblinking dark blue eyes, waiting for his answer.

Judith inhaled sharply.

The cutlery on the table vibrated softly as Grant put his glass of wine down firmly. “No, she’s not a replacement, Denis. She’s our guest.” This word ‘guest’ did not mean what it should. There was a strangling threat behind it.

Denis nodded like nothing else needed to be said.

Everyone turned towards me like I should say something. I poked the creamy mushroom sauce that slathered a pork loin chop with my fork. Everything was ridiculous. They were ridiculous.
What do you say when your enemy has you over for dinner?

“These mushrooms taste like dirt,” I murmured at my plate, wishing instantly that I could pull the words back into my mouth. Silence capped over us like someone had placed a glass jar over the whole table. Flustered, I tried to cover my comment. “I mean, sorry. Like a nice kind of dirt. I mean,” I tapped the plate with my fork, “I’m used to dried meat and stale bread…”

Everyone looked to Grant for a response. I got the sense they didn’t breathe without his say so. His face was hard but he laughed, spitting it out like stale milk. When he finished laughing, his family stared at him, waiting for a more appropriate reaction. Camille looked down at her plate and then at her children.

“Poor child. She doesn’t know what real food tastes like.” She spread her arms over the table, and I wanted to plant her face in her mashed potatoes.

Denis watched me, his eyes distant but on my lips as I spoke. I felt like I was being measured.

“Yes. Sorry. You’re right,” I muttered as Denis shook his head minutely, almost like he was disappointed in me.
Measured and found wanting.
I was trapped in this painting with the rest of them, scratching against the scene and trying to force my way out without them noticing. I wanted nothing more than to yell at them, throw the plate up, and watch the sauce splatter their shocked faces as a slimy pork chop tumbled onto the perfect, white tablecloth. I could imagine Camille’s gasp, Grant’s roaring temper. I wanted to point at their well-fed, tinted faces and scream,
I don’t know because you made me this way. You’ve deprived us, tortured us, and controlled us for so long. How can you live like this, you selfish, self-serving pieces of garbage?
But I said nothing. I ate my food, sipped my cider, and it felt like acid in my stomach. Not speaking was burning a hole through my insides, my personality leaching out of me and leaving me waned.

But I promised.

I promised.

JOSEPH

The morning was frost cold, the fire almost out. The trees dripped water onto our faces from above. Poor Olga stretched and strained, dusting sheets of cracked ice off her jacket and pulling tiny icicles from her thin hair. She wasn’t built for this kind of thing, but I was impressed at how hard she tried. She was always eager to learn, wanting to try new techniques and be involved. We could all learn something from her of how not to give up. I struggled with that myself, but I couldn’t go to her for advice. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I just wanted to talk to
her
.

You would laugh if you saw it. You’d nudge me and point at her, snickering, and then you would go over, crouch down on your skinny legs, and help her.
I knew her, and I knew how she would do things. She stayed with me, even if it hurt more than healed me. Rosa was stubborn like that. I allowed myself to feel her for a second, and it slipped off my body like water before the second was over.

Today was the first day we would really risk our lives. It left us all feeling anxious to get started and apprehensive of the outcome. Desh spent most of the night adjusting the projectors. He made it look easy, although I was sure it wasn’t. But the way that guy’s mind worked, everything just came naturally to him.

I was the first to wake after Olga. Desh lay at my feet, curled into a frozen ball. I nudged him with my foot, and he snorted. A laugh rippled across my face and quickly disappeared, like a leftover heartbeat on an EKG. My smile felt alien, like it wasn’t mine. Like I didn’t deserve to have it.

We packed everything up. Donned our white clothes and crowded around Gus and Matt for final instructions. They made an odd team. Gruff and stoic paired with warm and heartfelt. They stood clear in front of us, Gus always doing something else while talking, sharpening a knife, cleaning his gun, or picking at a slice of jerky. He didn’t like sitting still for too long. I understood that, being still left your mind to thinking.

Shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, Gus addressed the group. “Bataar and Willer.” He pointed at the men and they stepped forward. “Since this is our first attempt, we have the element of surprise. I want you to aim for the center circle for the video. I’ll leave it to your judgment where to plant the bomb. It’s timed to go off two hours after you press the green button. If you think it best to blow it quickly to ensure your escape, the minute button is red. For instant detonation press the red button twice.”

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and continued, “This particular mission is complicated. This was Gwen’s stop, and as we know, she was unsuccessful and didn’t return. Our Spider is still in there, and we need to retrieve them. They don’t know you’re coming though, so tread carefully.”

“With the bomb, just make sure it’s no more than a few inches under the ground and as close to the wall as you can get it,” Desh added excitedly.

Matt connected with the men’s eyes. “If there is any risk, any doubt in your minds during the mission, pull out,” he urged. “Your safety is more important.”

Bataar spat on the ground and chuckled. “I think we can all agree safety is not the first thing any of us are worried about! We just want this to work. The girl sacrificed herself for this…”

Heads swiveled in my direction, and I shrunk down. Olga’s soft hand patted my back, and I wished I could run out of there or the ground would swallow me.

Gus cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to him.

“We don’t know what will happen.
How
they will react,
if
they will react. But by the end of today, we will.” There was sureness in his voice. And knowing Gus, he wouldn’t have agreed to this if he didn’t think it had a chance of working.

Everyone nodded solemnly, except for Bataar, who spat and joked with a knobbly grin on his face.

We held onto our hope and made the descent towards Birchton.

Soft ground gave way to sharp rocks as we stepped off the edge and down. Eyes always ahead, scanning the top of the walls of the rocky town for movement. It was hard to see though as the sun bounced off the rocks and snow blindingly.

The slope was gentle but slippery with ice. Dark caves stared at us as we carefully made our descent. It was easy to lose yourself and your friends in all this white. It would be easy to disappear…

We moved slowly, picking our way between loose sheets of rock, hiding, checking, and slipping on the growing ice. My nose was numb, and snowflakes clung to my eyelashes. I focused on what was just ahead of me and nothing more.

Desh clapped his hand on my shoulder and breathlessly said, “Well, it’s certainly different to Bagassa.”

I nodded, saving my breath for the climb. I felt bad that I wasn’t talking to him very much, but the words stuck inside my mouth were not good ones. Until I could let go of my anger at him for pushing me to leave her, it was better to say nothing.

Rash came up by my side and slammed into me with his shoulder. “Move,” he muttered.

I stepped aside for him, watching his dark head bob further down the rocky surface. “Rash,” I said. He turned and glared at me, I leaned back from the razorblades emitting from his eyes. Not because it scared me, but because there was something of Rosa in him, and it cut me. “Put a hat on. Your hair stands out too much against the snow.”

I caught him mumbling as he shoved a white cap over his head. “Yours doesn’t, you blond jerk.” I was no longer
beautiful blond man.
I shouldn’t have been relieved, beautiful was much better than jerk, but jerk was what I deserved right now.

“Why do you let him talk to you like that?” Desh asked as he skidded on some ice and flew past me. I caught his arm and pulled him up.

“It’s nothing less than what I deserve,” I said, dusting snowflakes off his jacket.

Desh shook his head sadly. “That’s not true, Joe.”

I shrugged. He wasn’t going to change my mind. Even if I had managed to save her, the ghosts of the men I killed and… Este… I gulped, feeling nauseous; they had a hold on me. I couldn’t forgive myself for that.

I stopped moving. Frozen like their blood-spattered faces.

“Joe?” Desh shook my arm.

The image melted away as the glint of metal blinked at us from the top of the compound ahead. The walls of Birchton were before us, built out of huge bricks rather than one large concrete piece, as the rings lay over several levels, perched on the side of a mountain.

Matt halted us with an outstretched arm. “This is where we stop,” he said, jerking his head towards a cave opening. He motioned to the two guys going into Birchton. “You two go on.” They tipped their heads silently. “You know what you need to do.”

Desh handed them their projectors and the small explosive device for the wall. They patted their packs and waved. We wished them luck and filed into the cave to await their return.

It was late afternoon when they left. It would only be a few hours and we would know if it had worked.

We took turns sleeping.

The cold never bothered me. But the others were shivering and huddling together. Rash especially.

The cave was quite deep, but we stayed near the entrance, ready to watch the show. The snow piled up in front of us and every now and then, the watch would kick over the pile so we weren’t trapped inside. I liked the noise snow falling on snow made, like pouring sand.

I took off my jacket and leaned forward, wiggling it in front of Rash’s glaring eyes. “Here, take this. You’re shivering.”

“Piss off,” he snapped. I let the jacket hang there for a few more seconds and finally, he sighed and snatched it from my hands.

I smiled, which only made him angrier. He pulled the jacket up to his chin and turned away from me, swearing under his breath.

I tucked my back into the cold rock behind me, crossed my arms over my chest, and let my eyes fall. Faster than I expected, my mind crept towards sleep.

I’m buried, and I can’t breathe. Weight is pressing down on me, warm, wet weight. I struggle to find a gap, pushing my hands up against obstacles. I suck in a shocked breath when my fingers get tangled in human hair.

The need to break free is overwhelming, though, and I keep pushing, digging my way out. It’s dark, and I’m glad it is. Something warns me that I don’t want to see what I’m buried under. When my arm pushes out and then my head, I immediately shut my eyes. I stumble over soft, uneven ground. My arm shielding my eyes from the view. My clothes sweat soaked.

“Wake up,” she says over and over again in that soft, husky voice of hers. “Joseph. Wake up.”

I woke, struggling for breath.
Would this ever end?
Was I always going to hear her voice, see her face, even in sleep? Could I live with what I’d done? The questions were unanswerable, hanging in the air like half-deflated balloons. I hated that I had no answers. I needed to solve this one and I couldn’t. Breathing slower, I focused on my in breath and out breath. I just wanted it to stop for a while. Even it was only for a few minutes. As I breathed, my ribs felt soft, as if the weight of my guilt might actually destroy me.

I let out a sigh of resignation. I would not sleep again tonight. I sat up and felt around in the darkness for my sleeping bag zipper. Light snores drizzled down the walls, the dark shadow of the watch the only movement. Their peaceful noises made me crave empty, fresh air. The watch’s shadow straightened at the entrance as he glanced at his handheld and checked the time. He stood up suddenly and motioned to me. “Wake the others. It’s starting.”