Catalyst (2 page)

I snorted. “Escort? You mean you’ve been given orders to drag me back, right?”

He scowled. “We won’t harm you, but you have to come with us.”

When he reached for the restraints hanging on his belt, the metal caught the sun, glinting a spot onto the brick beside me. I stopped him. “Don’t bother. I’ll come without a fight. I just need to catch my breath.”

Enoch nodded and I saw the tension ease from his taught muscles.

All the fight had been sucked out of me by the eight block sprint anyway. Besides, where else would I spend the night? I had nothing. No friends. No money. Nowhere to go. And soon, I wouldn’t even have the breath I was fighting for.

Sometimes I envied those who died suddenly. They didn’t realize that they had no future, just continued living life blissfully unaware of what was coming. It sucked knowing that I was going to die when I’d barely even lived.

My father and mother refused to let me leave our home. The only exceptions were “special occasions,” which really meant trips to the medical pavilion or hospital, or the rare event to further Father’s political career. Today had been awful. This trip to the doctors was the first time they’d thrown up their hands and given up on me.

Pity. I’d seen it in the looks the physician had given my family, refusing to meet
my
eyes at all. In the doctor’s eyes, I was already gone. When the doctor left, my parents spoke around me, as if I wasn’t even in the room, discussing plans and after-death arrangements. To them, I was just another burden that needed to be handled, a thing they had to add to their never-ending to-do list. Something that had bumped something more important out of the way.

When my body stopped revolting, I pushed off the wall and followed the pair of soldiers out of the alley. The white-furred dog seemed disappointed. He whimpered, trotting alongside, until his hackles raised and lunged at me again. His master kept him under control. Poor thing. He’d been promised a meal and was still hungry. If I had been in his position, I’d be angry and frustrated, too. Who could fault him?

He thought human meat was delicious. I wondered if the muscle and meat of a terminally ill person would taste bad to him, rotten and unappealing. He turned in a circle and whined again.

When Soldier Enoch’s page lit up and another voice came over the static, he held it to his ear. “I’ll check it out. It’s on my way.”

Lumbering to the end of the alley, I almost collapsed in joy just to see a car parked and waiting. The sun would have warmed the seats to a delicious temperature. Only soldiers and the Elite had them now. Of course, my family had one. It was almost more expensive to keep them running than it was to purchase one. It was one of the many disgusting ways our society differentiated between the haves and have-nots.

Opening the back door, I fell onto the seat and reveled in the warmth, waiting as Enoch walked around to the driver’s side. Soldier Blaken and his mutt kept walking, departing with a small salute. Thank the heavens. I liked dogs, but not rabid ones that still salivated at the thought of ripping me apart. That ever-present hunger was still there in his sad, brown eyes.

Soldier Enoch watched my every move from the rear-view mirror. “Please use your seat restraint, Seven Anderson.” In compliance, I stretched the fabric belt across my lap and clicked it into place. Only then, did he start the engine and pull the car away from the curb.

Passers-by watched in rapt fascination as we carved a path down the city streets. It was quitting time, of course. Now everyone would see me. I didn’t care, but my father would be angry when I got home. I didn’t want to deal with him at all, so I ducked down as much as I could. Enoch guided the car toward the wall and began driving alongside it into an unpopulated area that seemed to buffer the Elite section of town from the rest.

Our society was all about separation.

The wall separated our town from the scrubland, marshes and swamps that stretched through the low country almost all the way to the ocean—or so they said—was for protection. Those who lived outside were considered dangerous. They were uncivilized, criminals who preyed upon the weak. “Never engage a scrub, Seven. If you ever see one, you run and hide. Understand?” My father’s words echoed in my ears. Of course, even Father made exceptions if it suited his needs. His latest legislation made my stomach turn somersaults.

The concrete was at least twenty feet high, and the top of the wall looked wide enough for a person to walk upon. I wondered what else lay beyond it. Such thoughts were treasonous, but explain that to a young girl’s brain. The imagination didn’t care about such things. It only needed to be fed, and that wall had sustained plenty of my childhood fantasies. Creatures, webbed and dripping with slimy algae would rise from the swamps and chase the children of Confidence back to the wall, where their shoes would scuff the imposing concrete, leaving lighter marks where the shoe treads found grip, propelling the kid up and over in just enough time for them to escape the monster’s grasp.

I snorted at myself. The only monsters I’d ever seen were human. I lived with them. I was born of them.

Enoch slowed the car, scanning the surroundings meticulously. My eyes caught movement. A dark figure crouched behind some nearby bushes that were too thin to hide him. Enoch had taken notice, too. He stopped the car and jumped out of the vehicle, raising his stunner.

I’d never seen one used on a person before. Sitting up straighter to get a better look, I watched as the dark figure jumped up and tried to run. Despite his exertions wasted on me, soldier Enoch was fast, too. Hot on the figure’s heels, the soldier launched the stunner’s probes. When they connected, every muscle in the assailant’s body seized and locked up tight. The man stopped short, and Enoch tackled him, removing the probes from the back of the man he’d just tackled.

My fingers and face were pressed against the hot glass of the window.

My goodness. That was intense.

I watched as Soldier Enoch winced and gritted his teeth as he hefted the other man’s weight and dragged the limp form toward the car. He didn’t put the assailant in the front seat and I almost fell out onto my face when the door beside me was wrenched open. He was going to put him in the back seat! With me! I scooted far to left, plastering myself against the opposite door.

“Can I get in the front?” My voice was shrill, but I couldn’t help it.

Enoch shoved the man down into the seat beside me and then began to maneuver his feet into the floorboard. “So
you
can run again? I don’t think so,” he grunted, still fighting with the man, whose muscles were beginning to work now. The man was trying to fighting back.

His clothes were weird. They were torn and dirty. His neck wouldn’t hold the weight of his head, so it dangled between his knees, obscuring his face. The door beside him slammed closed, locking us inside. There was a bullet-proof glass barrier between the front and back seats.

If I thought running had given my heart a workout, I was wrong. This was crazy! I tugged on the door handle, pulling hard when it wouldn’t open. “Don’t break it.”

The voice beside me was deep, rich and fluid. It stopped me. I released the handle and looked over. His head was eased back against the headrest, and he looked at me intently. “You’ll really piss him off if you break his ride.”

Blue eyes. The color of what I imagined the ocean looked like: Blue-green and crystal clear as water. Dark, shaggy hair framed his face. His jaw was square and peppered with dark stubble. He had holes in his ears, held open by round pieces of metal. Colorful tattoos covered one of his arms. I gasped, which made him chuckle.

Enoch started the engine and eased the car forward.

The guy sitting, literally stunned into submission beside me, was a scrub. And since they’d caught him in the city, he was as good as dead.

“What’s going on back there?” Soldier Enoch piped up, glancing from the rearview mirror to the road and back, as he drove forward down the same street on which the scrub had been apprehended.

“Calm down. Nothing’s going on.” The scrub’s voice was hypnotic. I couldn’t quit staring, but I kept my hand on the door handle. It wouldn’t do any good. It was locked, but it made me feel better somehow, like I was holding a metal rod that would ground any electricity he sent my way.

Soldier Enoch smiled at my seatmate smugly. “I’ll enjoy watching you hang, scrub.” He muttered some belittling remarks and I watched the scrub’s face distort into something frightening. The scrub flexed his fingers, one at a time, then all together. He was regaining feeling, regaining strength. It looked like he was ready to try something.

Enoch’s page began making static sounds and frantic voices came over the air at him. Taking advantage of the distraction, I scooted closer. When the scrub’s arm raised in Enoch’s direction, my fingers grazed his forearm. “They’ll kill you,” I whispered to him.

“I know.” He didn’t move away, just stared at my fingers on his skin. I pulled my hand back.

“Why did you risk it? Why come into the city?”

He stared back at me. “My brother is sick. He needs medicine or he won’t make it.”

There was a raw quality to his voice indicating that he was being honest. Now his brother would die, and so would he.

Enoch was still fussing with someone over the page. I looked back at the man sitting beside me. The scrub was pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Are you able to run?” I whispered.

He snorted. “Like it matters.”

“Are you? Have your muscles recovered?”

Soldier Enoch glanced up into the mirror again. When he was preoccupied with his page, the scrub leaned forward propping his elbows on his knees. He flexed his feet and arms, making the muscles ripple beneath the fabric. “Yeah. I’m good.” He looked sideways at me, giving me a smile. “Why?”

“Did you get the medicine you needed?” I whispered.

He nodded. He’d gotten it.

“When he unlocks the doors, run and don’t look back.” The scrub’s brows furrowed, almost meeting in the middle.

“What are you talking ab—”

“Soldier!” I shrieked. “Pull over. I’m going to be sick!”

“You’re kidding me!” Enoch jerked the wheel to the right and the car followed suit.

“I need help, please! The door won’t come open!” I frantically jerked on the door’s handle and panted dramatically, pounding my palm against the closed window. “Please!”

“I’m unlocking it!” Soldier Enoch yelled, throwing his door open and then clicking the button on his door to unlock mine.

He opened my door, and I dry heaved a few times, making it look real. Most times it would have been real, but I had vomited everything I’d eaten already—just outside the doctor’s office at the Medical Pavilion.

Soldier Enoch crouched down and awkwardly tried to pat my back. His city-issued, black leather boots shone in the bright sunshine that was still blazing over the land. The temperature outside had gotten cooler, but the landscape was now painted a vibrant gold.

Enoch wasn’t all bad, maybe. I regained my composure, accepting the handkerchief he offered. I wiped my eyes and then the corners of my mouth before blowing my nose and offering it back to him. He declined with a cringe that he tried to disguise with a smile, so I smiled sweetly at him.

When I looked over to where the scrub had been seated, his seat was empty and his door stood wide open. He’d gotten away. He was free, and his brother had a chance at life.

“Where’d he go?” Soldier Enoch screamed. Stomping around the back of the car, he proceeded to search the area meticulously. Twenty minutes later, he gave up. I should have left and walked home, but I was tired. I couldn’t do it, and Enoch would have gotten in trouble if he showed up without me, or if I showed up at home without an “escort.”

So I took pity on us both and stayed put, imagining and hoping that the scrub had made it over the wall and that his brother would make it, too.

Frail

/ˈ
frā
(ə
)l/

adjective

1. (of a person) weak and delicate.
   Synonyms: weak, delicate, feeble, enfeebled, debilitated
   
2. easily damaged or broken; fragile or insubstantial.
   Synonyms: fragile, breakable, easily damaged, delicate, flimsy, insubstantial, unsteady, unstable, rickety;
   
3. weak in character or morals.
   

THE SIMPLE HAD
saved me. I couldn’t believe it. When the soldier’s stunner probes stuck into the flesh of my back, I thought I was a goner. It felt like I was going to die on the street right then. It was hard to tell where the pain ended, and I began. Everything hurt. Every muscle under my skin contracted at once. They stopped working. Losing control of my body was unlike anything I’d experienced or imagined. And, believe me, I never wanted to feel that again. Helpless wasn’t good. Helpless got you killed.

I couldn’t run. The soldier tackled me, and we hit the ground hard. Standing up wasn’t even an option, so he lifted me, right before he shuffled me to the car and shoved my head inside. He kicked my legs in, slamming the door beside me. My head flopped forward and after a few minutes, I had the strength to lift it, leaning back onto the headrest behind me. Lightning still fired up my back and down my arms and legs. I could feel my core muscles relaxing, but not fast enough.

A plan. I needed a plan. Kicking the window out and running for it sounded good. But I would never make it unless the soldier were unconscious. He had a stunner and was fast on his feet. I didn’t want to tango with him again. Losing the first time had been a blow to my ego, but I wasn’t stupid enough for a repeat performance.

It wasn’t until she whimpered and started trying to rip the handle off the inside of the car door that I realized I wasn’t alone. She was tiny—not short, but very thin. She definitely didn’t look like most of the girls in Confidence.

Most of them looked fake, heavy make-up, jaw-length hair plastered so that it wouldn’t move, arrogant and haughty.

They called us scrubs. I don’t know exactly why the divide happened or how some got stuck on the outside of the wall, and others were welcomed within. My folks talked about a plague that had wiped out most of the American population, but that had been years ago. There was no America now, just tattered flags if any remnants were left at all.

But everything that
was
left didn’t answer the questions I had. Why had so few survived? Why had some been given everything and others locked out with nothing, left to survive or die? Whatever the reason, our worlds were complete opposites.

Her hair was black as tar, hanging long and straight on her shoulders. Her eyes were a weird color of clear, muted green. To tell the truth, they were beautiful but scary. She was different. And different was dangerous.

She wore men’s pants that were folded several times over at the waist and a too-tight, too-short, long-sleeved shirt. A sliver of skin peeked from between the two pieces of clothing. It looked soft, smooth and clean, and so pale it was almost translucent.

We were both dressed to match, black fabric from head to toe. No, not to toe. She had sparkly pink high heels on. Definitely not a scrub. For a second, I wondered why she was dressed like that, why she was in the back of a soldier’s car, but I couldn’t lose focus. If I did, Griffin wouldn’t make it.

When she touched me, I thought I’d been touched by a ghost. Her fingers were frozen. It had to be ninety degrees outside, hotter in the car, and yet her skin was frigid. She asked me why I’d risked coming there, and I’d told her the truth in a moment of weakness. What did I have to lose?

But she surprised me again, faking an illness so that I could get to my brother. When she told me to run, I didn’t hesitate. And, I didn’t look back.

I ran to the weak spot in the wall—the only one I’d found. There was a drain along the east side that funneled water outside the city. Using all my strength, I moved the steel grate over and climbed down into the darkness, the water seeping into my boots as I eased the grate back into place. I was out.

Hold on a little longer, Griff.

I ran as fast as I could into the woods. A few years ago, fire tore through the forest, stopping at the edge of the swampland, where it lost its fuel. The smell of burnt wood still lingered, even after all this time. Some of the tree trunks were still charred, scarred like flesh was after a burn. Most had lost their branches and stabbed aimlessly into an unmerciful sky. The wind sent tendrils of Spanish moss flying toward the east, toward the coast. Inland breezes headed toward the sea. Sea breezes always blew inland. I wondered where the two converged. I kept focused, trudging through the warm, swamp water, mud billowing through the bog with each step. Griffin needed me. The simple didn’t.

We “scrubs” called ourselves “outskirters,” living on the outskirts of city-states like Confidence. Yes, there were others, though they were much farther away and much further inland. We called the citizens of Confidence “simples.” They were exactly that. Simples followed rules. They didn’t question their leadership or what motivated them. They enjoyed the niceties gifted from the powers of their city, ignored the unseemly things in exchange for comfort.

verb

1. lay down authoritatively; prescribe.
   
2. an order or principle that must be obeyed.
   

I GRIPPED THE
cold, white porcelain with trembling hands, a cold sheen of sweat covering my skin. My knees dug into the tile of my bathroom floor. The worst seemed to be over, but my head was spinning. Crawling to the sink, I used the edge to help lift myself up. Brushing the sour taste of bile from my teeth and tongue, I splashed water on my face and looked up into the mirror.

The reflection was worse than I had expected. It was always worse. Dark circles, extruding bones, gaunt and weary.

“Knock, knock,” Sonnet entered my room with a sweet, sing-song voice. She looked into the bathroom and then pressed her lips into a thick pout. “Poor thing. Father said you were sick and sent me to check on you.”

“I’m fine now. You can go.” She didn’t want to be here anymore than I wanted her near me. But she lingered for some reason, propping her hip against the door frame, crossing her arms.

“I’m going out tonight. I just wanted to see if you needed anything before I left.”

“Where are you going?” I asked, my voice muffled by the towel I’d brought back to my face.

“Out with Aric. I think he’s going to propose soon.” Her wistful smile turned into a frown. I was standing in the way of her dreams. She had been chasing Aric for over a year and was afraid his parents would insist he marry soon. He was already eighteen and expected to find a match. By custom, Sonnet couldn’t marry until I did. I was the eldest.

“I’m sure he will.”

That was one reason she hated me. There were many others, not that I cared to think of them. All of those, she’d concocted in her mind, making me her enemy. The one that always eclipsed them all, even my birthright and the fact that it prevented her from already being married to Aric, was the fact that I was sick. She hated that Father and Mother—anyone—had to spend time helping me do anything. She was jealous.

I didn’t know why. Mostly, I cared for myself. As teens, we could take care of ourselves better than anyone could take care of us. Neither of us saw our parents, especially together, except on very rare occasions. We had servants who cooked, cleaned and attended to all of our basic needs.

Father was one of the Elect, members of the governing body of Confidence. He worked from dawn to dusk, or so he said, and often retired to his condominium in the city center. That’s where buildings were so tall they seemed like they could reach the clouds in the sky and where the Elect met to organize and run the city.

Mother…well, I wasn’t sure what she did exactly. But she was never home. I knew that much. It was strange. When she was home, she was rushing around to do one thing or another so that she could leave as quickly as she’d come.

So when Father barreled into my room with Mother on his heels, I knew I was in trouble. Sonnet just smiled, again crossing her arms over her more than ample chest, brushing her golden hair back from her face. She smirked, her dark brown eyes twinkling, knowing I was in for it. If we’d been twins, she would be the evil one.

My father’s hair had faded from dark blonde to salt and pepper. Very little of his natural color was left. His suit was starched, pressed to perfection and he wore tiny wire-rimmed, silver glasses over his hazel eyes. Sonnet looked more like him than she did our mother.

I looked somewhat like my mother: her dark brown hair, olive skin, and moss-green eyes. My hair was black as a raven’s feather, and while my skin was olive, it hadn’t seen the sun in years. My eyes were a different shade of green, too. They were the color of the lichens that coated the trunks and limbs of trees across Confidence.

Where she looked stunning with perfectly coifed hair and expertly applied make-up, neither of which she allowed to be out of place, I looked ghostly and freakish. I’d lost too much weight, and my bones had started to protrude. Sonnet was right. I looked like a walking corpse at this point. Those biting words she’d whispered as we got the news from the physician still tore into me.

“What were you thinking?” Father boomed as Sonnet gave me a little wave and slipped out the door. “You embarrassed the entire family with that immature display.”

“I’m sorry, Father. It’s just a lot to deal with.”

He huffed. “It is a lot to deal with. Put yourself in our shoes, Seven. We have to watch you waste away. We have to prepare your final arrangements. Your mother has to pick out a burial plot. We have to commission the stonemasons to carve a tombstone for you. Stop being so selfish.”

Mother didn’t bother to interject. She nodded like her head was being controlled by the strings of a puppeteer who didn’t have any more common sense than the wooden doll he was moving.

“You will not leave this house for a week.”

A week? An entire week? It’s not a long time for someone who has plenty, but when your days are numbered, seven days is an eternity. I didn’t argue. I’d just find a way to sneak out after the two of them left.

“You will not make a scene like that again, Seven. Or you will not leave your room again.”

Now, that got my attention. “You can’t lock me in here.”

He smiled. “I can. And if you embarrass me again, I will.”

He turned to leave but spun back around wagging his finger at me. “You know what you need?” He had so many personalities; I wasn’t exactly sure which one was speaking to me. And I didn’t have a clue what he thought I needed, but he was going to tell me.

“You need a companion. I think it would serve us all well for you to have someone to keep you company.”

I groaned and walked to the bed, flopping down indignantly. A companion was out of the question. “No. I
do not
want a companion, Father. I won’t embarrass you again.”

He paced in front of me. “You are getting a companion. That’s final. So you choose one or I will.”

I swallowed the thick ultimatum. He knew how I felt about companions. It was sick. It was slavery. But Father never made empty demands and he never made requests. If he said I would have a companion, he would see that I did. He didn’t care about my opinion, only about appearances. He’d proven that over the years.

He’d been itching to get one since he helped pass the law that made it legal to have them.