Naomi Grim: Complete Novel (Parts 1-4) (The Silver Scythe Chronicles) (2 page)

That
night proved to be another restless one. I thought about the reason I was in
Gattica to begin with—humans. I thought about Roxy and Hunter and wondered if
they appreciated what I had done for them. Of course they didn't. They didn't
even know. I had given up my life so they could have theirs, and they didn't
even know it. I wondered how Hunter felt about the fact that I had just
disappeared into thin air. I wondered if he thought of me at all.

     I
had two days left to live. I was informed that morning that my family would be
visiting that day. I had no idea how I looked. There were no mirrors, but I
figured I looked terrible. I didn't want the last time my parents saw me to be
like this.

     After
eating another tasteless breakfast, I was led by Ravi to a small room. The room
contained nothing but a steel table and a chair with a torn cushion. Ravi gave
me no directions other than to sit and be quiet.

     I
had waited for almost thirty minutes, resting my head on the cold table when I
heard Kora's voice. "You'll have half an hour. I'll be back then."

     The
door opened and the people I loved the most in the world entered, looking pale
and graver than usual.

     I
ran straight to my father's arms. He squeezed me so tight it hurt. I held onto him
for a long time. "I'm so sorry. When I did it, it felt right. I wasn't
thinking about what would happen afterward."

     Father
stroked my hair. "It's okay, Darkness. It's not your fault."

     Finally,
I let him go and looked into my mother's eyes, which were red and swollen from
crying. "Mother, I'm sorry for the things I said to you." There was
no point in holding on to that anger any longer. This would be our last time
together. My mother had made a terrible mistake, but she had done everything
she could to make it right afterward.

     She
placed her hands gently on my cheeks. "I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry
that you have to pay for my sins." Mother looked into my eyes for a long
time before turning away as if she couldn't look at me any longer.

     I
hugged Dorian next. He seemed to be even taller than before. I wondered if he would
end up being as tall as Bram. A tear rolled down my cheek because I wouldn't be
around to see my little brother grow up. His body shook as I hugged him. I
hated to see my little brother cry. I looked him in the eyes. "Dorian,
you're the best little brother ever. I love you." Then I hugged him again.

     Bram
leaned against the wall, with his hands jammed in his pockets, studying the
ground. I wasn't sure how to handle him.

     "Bram?"
Father prompted.

     Bram
didn't look up. "What?"

     "Don’t
you have something to say to your sister?"

     He
shook his head. "Nope."

     Father
sighed. "Bram—"

     "It's
okay," I said. Bram had his reasons to be angry, and I didn't want our
last time together to be a fight.

     "Are
you scared?" Dorian asked.

     I
wasn't sure how I felt. I kept saying I was going to be executed, but I didn't
think the reality of it had hit me yet. In a couple of days, I would cease to
exist. "No," I said, more for my family's benefit.

     Father
smiled sadly. "That's it. Don't cry. Don't show them your fear. Just take
whatever they're going to give you with bravery."

     "You
too," I muttered. Every Grim was required to attend every execution. My
family would have to be there front and center to watch.

     Mother
talked about how she wished she could take my place since this was all her
fault. Father told her to stop dwelling in the past. I asked Dorian about his
latest experiment just to change the subject.

     "I'm
trying really hard to acquire a couple of rats. I have something I want to try
out."

     I
had no idea what he wanted to do with rats, but he would have to go to
Litropolis for those. We didn't have rats in Farrington, or at least I'd never
seen any.

     After
what seemed like only five minutes, Kora came to the door to tell us our half
hour was over. I couldn't process the fact that this was the last time I would
be able to touch and speak to my family.

     "Darkness,"
Father said. "I pulled some strings with Dunningham. Keira and Chase will
be able to visit you tomorrow."

     Finally
something to smile about. "Thank you so much, Father." I had come to
the conclusion that I'd already seen my best friends for the last time. I
hugged my parents and little brother one last time before they walked out the
door.

     Bram
lagged behind. I wished he would say something to me, even if it were just an
insult. I needed to know where we stood.

     As
if reading my mind, he paused in the doorway. "Bye, Nay," he said
softly. Then he left.

     I
spent the rest of that day in my cell, attempting to sleep off my depression.

* * *

     "So
you had visitors," a man commented at breakfast the following morning.

     "Yeah."

     "That
must be nice. No one else here is allowed to have visitors. I would kill to see
my family again." The man shoved a spoonful of mush into his mouth and
continued to talk. I had to look away.

     "Shut
up, Jack," said another man. "You know how it goes. Even in prison.
That's just the way it is."

     Jack
laughed to himself. "Yeah, for now." Then he laughed, shooting mush
across the table.

* * *

     I
waited in the small room again, this time for Keira and Chase. As soon as the
door opened and they stepped into the room, I wrapped my arms around them both.
The three of us stood for a moment, just holding each other.

      Chase pulled away first. "I can't believe this
is happening," he said, pacing the room.

     Keira
shook her head. "This is the part I hate about being a Grim. No one's
allowed to make a mistake." I waited for the rest. I waited for her to
tell me how I'd been warned and now I was going to pay the ultimate price.

     "I'm
just grateful they're sparing my family," I finally said.

     Chase
sat on the table. "I wonder how they'll do it."

     Keira
punched him in the arm. "Chase!"

     It
was a good question. I had actually been wondering the same thing. I'd seen a
variety of executions. Grims had been shot, beheaded, or hung. I figured being
beheaded would be the quickest, least painful way to go.

     "Sorry,"
Chase muttered. "Naomi, I wish there was something I could do. If there
was anything, I would do it without a thought."

     I
believed him. "I know."

     "Is
there anything you'd like us to do?" Keira asked.

     "What
do you mean?"

     "You
know, last wishes."

     I
thought for a moment. "Tell Bram I'm really, really sorry. Oh, and say
good-bye to Sullivan for me. Tell your parents I'm sorry I screwed this up for
them."

     "Nobody
cares about that anymore. Everyone's worried about you," Keira said.
"Especially Bram. He came over last night and cried for about an
hour."

     "He
did?" That was a huge difference from the reaction he'd given me
yesterday.

     "Of
course," Keira answered. "You're his sister. You think he wants you
to die?"

     "No.
I just never imagined he'd cry." I looked at my friends. "The last
thing I ask is for you guys to get married." I wasn't sure where that had
come from.

     Keira
and Chase made eye contact, then looked away. "What?" they both
asked.

     "Yeah.
I think you two would be perfect for each other. You're already friends. That
way I'll know that you're both with someone worthy."

     They
looked at the floor and said nothing. Chase was probably thinking that Keira
really wanted to be with Bram, and Keira was probably thinking that Chase
wanted to be with me.

     Again,
the half hour was up way too soon. Kora came and my friends had to leave. I
would have given anything to trade places with them. They were going home to
their families, comfortable homes, and refrigerators full of food. Most of all,
when the next evening came and went, they would still be alive.          

The
morning of my execution, I was allowed to shower. The shower was cold and timed
for only five minutes, but it was a shower. The kitchen served me a breakfast
of oatmeal and fruit in my cell—a luxurious breakfast by Gattica's standards.

     When
I finished my breakfast, I left my empty bowl and tray on my bed. My cloak and
scythe had been delivered to the prison. Being a Grim, although not technically,
I would be executed in the cloak and buried with my scythe. Before all that, I
would have to be strapped to the year-subtraction chair so I would become
mortal.

     I
sat twiddling my thumbs. I had no idea what a person in my position should have
been thinking at the moment, but I thought of my father—my real father. He was
dead and buried, and I would never get to meet him. I wondered what he looked
like. He had to be something if Mother had risked her life to be with him.

     I
thought about my name, and how Dunningham hadn't allowed my parents to give me
a suitable Grim name. I couldn't believe he had known about me all along. It
was impossible for me to fathom that my mother would let that vile creature
touch her, but it was a testament to how much she loved me.

     Around
noon, Ravi came for me. I noticed a sadness in his eyes. He took me to the
bottom floor of the prison, where Dunningham and Doyle waited. Neither of them
seemed to be able to make eye contact with me. Maybe the thought of killing a
sixteen-year-old girl was actually weighing on their conscience. For the first
time, I was placed in handcuffs. I shuddered as the cold metal slid around my
wrists.

     A
guard carrying my cloak and scythe followed Doyle and Dunningham as we walked
to the carriage. We climbed inside, me again stuck in the middle. I knew we
were going to the Mill for the chair.

     Dunningham
looked over at Doyle. "Have Reynold make the announcement that all Grims
are to report to the square in an hour."

     "Yes,
sir," Doyle said, pulling his cell from the pocket of his suit jacket.
Always the loyal servant. I wondered what Dunningham's punishment would be if
he ever learned of Doyle's betrayal. Doyle was the man Dunningham trusted more
than anyone.

     I
weighed my options. I could blurt out Doyle's secret right then and there, but
that wouldn't do anything to help my situation. I needed to have a one on one
conversation with Doyle in order for his disloyalty to be beneficial to me.

     The
ride to the Mill was long and quiet. The silence was only interrupted by a
dinging in Dunningham's pocket—his death alerter. The device warned him of
upcoming deaths. He called his assistant and told her to send the assignment to
Damon. Damon was a boy who lived two houses down from me. We turned toward the
Mill. The building grew larger as we approached, and so did the lump in my
throat.

    
The
carriage came to a stop. Doyle opened his door and climbed out, waiting for me
to do the same. I sat frozen. The longer I prolonged this, the longer I’d live.

     “Let’s go,” Doyle ordered.

     I stayed put, staring straight ahead. From the corner of my
eye, I saw Dunningham turn his attention from his cell to me. I didn’t care. I
was already scheduled for execution. What did I have to lose?

     
Apparently, Doyle wasn’t used to being ignored. He cursed and
grabbed me by my arm before yanking me from the carriage. I tried to pull away
from him, but he tightened his grip. Reynold got out of the car with a black
cloth. Before I could wonder what it was for, he wrapped it around my face,
covering my eyes. I hadn’t expected to be blindfolded. Doyle dragged me toward
the Mill. I supposed it was best for me not to see what was happening. My bare feet
slid along the gravel. Something sharp got stuck in my foot. I wanted to stop
and remove it, but I knew that wasn’t an option.

     The smell of sulfur that always radiated from the Mill filled
my nose. The air was thick and it was hard for me to breathe. I heard
Dunningham cough a few times behind me so I knew he was following us.

     The texture of the ground changed, smoother now and easier on
my feet. We must have been close to the building. I heard the automatic steel
doors slide open. Someone pushed me inside. Several seconds later, the door
closed behind us.

     I sensed movement all around me. Probably the Mill workers,
captured Foragers. I wondered what role they would play in this rebellion. We
stopped, and I heard a beeping. We were at the elevators. The chair was located
on the third floor. I was shoved inside and fell against someone with a large,
solid chest, probably Reynold. He helped me stand upright.

     I almost lost my balance as we began to move upward, but I
caught myself.

     A phone rang. Dunningham answered. "Yes, Hesper . . . em
hum . . . Doyle, what do you feel like having for dinner?"

     "Whatever you'd like is fine," Doyle answered. I
don't know why Dunningham even bothered to ask him.

     The elevator doors opened, and I was escorted out.

     "Hesper, some nice rib-eyes would be wonderful,"
Dunningham said before hanging up. Nice. They would enjoy steaks while my body
rotted in the ground.

     The chair was kept in a room at the end of an extremely long
hallway. I remembered from the other times I had come that there were plenty of
doors on each side. I'd always wanted to know what was in them. It seemed that
nobody knew. I was tempted to ask Dunningham, but I knew he wouldn't tell me.

     I tried to walk slowly, but Doyle and Dunningham wouldn't let
me. Each time I fell behind, they would push me forward. At last we stopped,
and I heard more beeping. One of the men was punching in the code that opened
the door.

     "Access granted," said a robotic voice as the doors
slid open.

     I stepped inside, and the smell hit me right away. I couldn't
describe the odor of the chair room, except that it made me feel sick. It
smelled like something burnt, like flesh.

     My body was pushed down into the seat. Seconds later, my
handcuffs were removed and straps were tightened around my wrists, cutting off
the circulation I'd recently learned I had. Someone wrapped straps around my
calves, tying me to the legs of the chair. My feet were cold on the room's
metal floor. Whatever had been stuck in my foot earlier didn't hurt anymore. I
didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

     Someone strapped a cold metal helmet to my head. That was the
worst part. Doyle stood in front of me. I knew the smell of his cologne. He
buckled the helmet's straps underneath my chin. The helmet was heavy and
fastened too tight.

     I wished someone would remove my blindfold so I could see
what was going on. I wanted to know when Dunningham flipped the switch so I
could be prepared.

     No one spoke. The only noise came from the huge machine that
would generate the electric shocks. I braced myself.

     "All set," Reynold said.

     A sharp sensation formed at the top of my head. That was how
it started. I clinched my teeth and squeezed my hands closed as the feeling
intensified. It moved through my neck, chest, stomach, thighs, and then finally
down to my feet. I began to shake involuntarily. I hated that part, not being
in control of my own body.

     The pain was excruciating then, but I wouldn't scream, I
wouldn't make any noise that indicated I was in pain. I remembered what Father
had said about being brave and not giving them the satisfaction.

     I imagined the large blue screen in front of me. Had I not
been blindfolded, I would have seen the number 417 on the screen before the
procedure began. I would able to watch the numbers run down, one year per
second. My procedure would take at least 317 seconds, or five minutes and
seventeen seconds.

     Dunningham should stop the machine at one hundred because any
Grim with one hundred years or less could be killed, but if they wanted to be
especially hateful, they could let it run longer.

     I figured Dunningham wouldn't do that. If he did, it was very
possible the machine could kill me. He wouldn't rob himself or his Grims of
seeing a traitor's execution.

     My body continued to convulse. The first time I had to go
through the year-subtraction process, Mother had told me the trick was to think
of something else to keep my mind off the pain. I tried to do that, but my mind
kept going back to the agony.

     I'd forgotten how much the process hurt. Why did we continue
to incur infractions if we knew we would have to go through this? Maybe we
forgot how painful it was and often needed a reminder.

     I thought of Keira and what she'd said about Bram crying. I
knew my brother loved me, he just didn't like to show it, or he didn’t know
how. I thought about my parents and how this would plague them forever. I don't
remember a minor Grim ever being executed without their parents being killed
along with them. At least those Grims didn't have to live with the awful memory
of their child being put to death. My parents would.

     I wondered if Keira would make a new best friend. One who followed
the Grim Covenant and wouldn't get her into trouble.

     Earlier I had said I would give anything to be in Chase and
Keira's position. But I'd changed my mind. I'd give anything to be human. To
live in their world. Sure they lived short lives, but at least they got to
live. It had to be better than this. I didn't think it was fair, seeing as
though I was part human. Why couldn't I lived in that world if I wanted?

     The shocks began to lessen so I knew the process was almost
over. The shocks stopped, and I felt immediately ill. Someone stood in front of
me. Doyle again. The smell of his cologne wasn't helping the nausea that had
overcome me. First the helmet was removed. Then the straps. Before I could stop
myself, I bent over and vomited.

     "No!" Doyle yelled as I unloaded. I pictured my
puke covering his expensive leather shoes.

     "Oh dear," Dunningham mumbled, probably glad it
wasn't him. "Well, get cleaned up. There's only thirty minutes until the
execution."

     I assumed Doyle left the room. Dunningham was very punctual,
and he wouldn't stall an execution for anything.

     He made a call for someone to come clean up my mess.

     "Are you done?" Reynold asked. I opened my mouth.
Nothing else wanted to come out so I nodded. I longed for a glass a water to
get the disgusting taste out of my mouth. He grabbed my arm. "Listen, step
over the vomit."

     My mind told my body to move, but my body wouldn't listen.

     "I can't." I was too weak to move.

     Someone
else entered the room. "Let him clean it up," Dunningham said.
"Then you'll have to carry her."

     I
heard water swishing around. The smell of bleach, ammonia, and some other
chemical filled my nostrils. I needed to sneeze but it wouldn't come out.

     After
a minute, Reynold slid his arm under my thighs and lifted me from the chair.
"Do
not
puke on me."

     I
nodded, but I couldn’t make any promises.

     I
rested my head against one of his broad shoulders as he carried me to the
carriage. He placed me on the back seat with Dunningham and then we were off to
the square.

     My
head felt too heavy for my neck to hold up so I leaned it against the window. "How
are you going to do it?" I asked Dunningham once the carriage had taken
off.

     "What?"

     "How
are you going to kill me?"

     "First
of all, I'm not going to kill you. You've killed yourself, my dear. I am simply
carrying out the rules of the Covenant. That's the problem with you rebellious
Grims. You knowingly break the rules and then act like I'm the bad guy when I
have to inflict punishment. As for how . . . we'll let that be a surprise for
now. Whatever it is, it will be a death befitting a Grim who has betrayed her
colony."

     I
sighed. He probably wouldn't answer my next question either, but I figured I'd
give it a shot. "Why did you forgive my mother's crime?"

     "And
we'll stop talking now." I could hear the annoyance in his voice.

     "I
know what she had to do to keep us from getting executed, and I think it's
disgusting. I would have rather her let you put us to death."

     Surprisingly,
Dunningham chuckled at this. "If you're thinking of making a similar
arrangement, I might have considered it had your execution not already been
scheduled and announced. It's too late to turn back now. Pity."

     How
many Grims had he made this "arrangement" with? I pressed myself
against the carriage's door, trying to get as far away from the vile creature
as possible.