The Academy: Book 2 (11 page)

“We’re about to close out this meeting, but I want to leave you with this: be excited. You have an incredible opportunity to prove yourselves. One more time, now:

“ARE WE WARRIORS!?”

“YES WE ARE!”

“Dismissed.”

He walked briskly off the stage.

5

Roxanne’s Sharks

              Asa held Charlotte’s letter with trembling hands. He sat in his dark, damp, stone dwelling, and gazed at the word, “Asa,” written in her crisp handwriting upon the envelope. For hours, he had wanted to open up the letter but hadn’t: Teddy hadn’t left Asa’s side since the assembly.

             
Proof of Teddy’s presence had spilled all over the floor; blood was splotched over the entirety of the dwelling’s stone base. The nosebleed that had started during the assembly had turned into a concerning issue: No matter what measures Teddy took to stop the bleed, the slow but perfectly steady trickle continued on. Teddy had tried not breathing out of his nose, tilting his head back, and pinching down on his nares, but nothing seemed to stop the flow of hot red blood.

             
Asa advised that he stay still, but Teddy was so nervous that he had to pace around the small room, pinching his nose. The blood had run from his fingers and down his forearm where it dripped off his elbow, making a mess on the front of his white suit and the floor.

             
After the assembly, they had only been in their dwelling for ten minutes before a message appeared on their armbands stating that the Winggame draft had begun. The now dead Robert King had signed this message, like the last. And it had asked them not to leave until they had been selected.

             
The bleeding continued on, and in the middle of Town team captains were choosing from a list of available students to play on their Winggame teams. Asa and Teddy didn’t expect to be chosen any time soon because of their reputations as dangerous individuals. This assumption proved to be a correct one. At the end of the third hour, Teddy stood up and announced that he couldn’t take it anymore; he was heading to Town, to see if he could receive some sort of medical attention for his nosebleed.

             
Secretly, Asa was elated to hear this. He had been stealing glances at the letter every time that Teddy’s back was turned, and now he ripped open the top of the envelope with trembling hands.

Asa,

I’m going to keep this short. I care about y
ou; though, I don’t know why. You always have left me. You have never given me a reason to trust you…but you make me happy. This place is dark, and frightening. I’m scared a lot, and you can SEE IT ON MY FACE. In that way, I’m like everyone else here except for you. No one thinks that you’re scared but me. They all think that you’re strong: “A heartless murderer.”

             
I don’t know what you are gaining by not seeing me again… I thought that we were through this. Conway explained that the Multipliers wanted us both dead and out of this organization. I don’t know about you, but after the experience we had on the backside of King Mountain, I don’t have much faith. I’m going to work harder than I’ve ever worked to make it through this program, but let’s be realistic:
WE MIGHT NOT MAKE IT!

             
Look at those words, Asa Palmer.

             
Take your time. I can almost feel you wincing away from them as I write them. You hate that kind of pessimism, but sometimes pessimism is reality.

             
And, I don’t believe that us spending time together will hurt our chances. If anything, we can talk and strategize about things. You, Teddy and I are the only three students in these mountains that know about the danger that we are truly in. Teddy’s level of usefulness goes without saying… He’s been manic since we returned from last year’s task.

             
I know that you’re scared, even if everyone else denies it. It frustrates me to no end that you won’t even talk to me about your decision to shun me from your life! I thought that you cared about me too. If we are going to die here, I’d like to spend the last time that I have in your company.

This will be my last letter to you. I won’t wait forever.

Yours for now,

Charlotte

Asa read the letter in silence, and when he was done, he stared at one of the skins hung on the wall. He felt somber, like a child does after a long, hard cry.

He read it again.

When he was done, he tried to imagine how Charlotte must feel.
She has such strong emotions for me, and I won’t let us be together.

Asa’s hand began to shake even more violently, and he had to put the paper down at the table.
What if I went to her now?
Asa thought to himself. He felt a lump of regret begin to build in his throat.

It was cold outside, and he would walk through the snow. If he was lucky, she wouldn’t have been selected for a Winggame team yet, and she’d open the door for him. It would be warm in there. He had been in her dwelling before; it was small and tidy, with different colored clay pots wrapping around the room on various shelves. Maybe at first she wouldn’t let him in.

As Asa thought of this, he began to cry.

But maybe if she saw my tears she’d let me come in and plead my case. I could promise her that I wouldn’t do it again.
He imagined her standing there, her brown hair sitting at her shoulders. Her arms were crossed, and most of her face looked angry. Her whole body looked defensive, closed off. Her eyes were different. The vibrant blue irises were moist with tears, and there was something in them that wanted her to believe that it was true; that he cared about her and wanted to be with her and wasn’t worried about what the Multipliers might do.

But it wasn’t to be.

Asa put his head in his hands and sobbed. Suddenly, he felt miserably tired, and miserably trapped. For the time, he thought that going to Charlotte would be a good idea. But he didn’t trust himself with it.

What would Teddy think? And what if I change my mind again? I couldn’t do that to her.

The letter was folded over on the coffee table. Asa could see these words in the candlelight:

Yours for now,

Charlotte

He knew that it was a fair thing to say. And he also knew that he wouldn’t do anything about it. It was over.

He moaned before putting his head in the crook of his elbow and cried some more.

In all his pain, he remembered another symptom of PTSD: Mood swings.

An hour later, his armband vibrated and he woke up. He was on the floor, and the letter lay on his chest. Two of the candles had burned out while he slept, making the room considerably darker.

Remembering the demand that second semesters quickly respond when they are called upon, Asa stood up. He tucked the letter back into the envelope and then pushed it under the couch. He didn’t want Teddy to know what he had been up to while he was gone.

His armband vibrated again, and he pushed the “I am aware,” button on the display. Instantly, this button, which consisted of sown fabric, went away.

The message remained:

You have been chosen to a Winggame team. Report to Town Hall, room 135 on the main floor.

             
Asa was very scared. He was about to walk into a room full of unknown people who thought he might murder them. Mutated, dangerous people, at that. And he was in the midst of a program that cared more about obedience than if you murdered a threatening teammate.

             
If they killed me, no one would even come question them about it. They’d probably just dispose of my body…unless they wanted to keep it partially alive for some Task, like they had done to the dead students last year.

             
He went out the front door and stepped into the cold. The wind whistled, but other than that, the mountainside was barren.
I was probably the last player to be selected in the entire draft.

             
Asa walked down the mountain slope, moving, but slowly. He was thinking about how much he would love being able to compete in a fair season of Winggame. He thought that it was the most exciting sport in the world. The flying maneuvers were beautiful, there was an immense amount of strategy involved, and, best of all, there were often times surprise endings; anything could happen…

             
A piercing noise broke his concentration. It continued on and on, undulating, and Asa realized that it was a scream. He froze where he stood, looking around. Still, the mountainside was empty. The sound seemed to be coming from the forest, where the dirty, odd Multipliers were camped.

The noise broke off, and started again, with a thick, throaty rasp, and Asa determined that it was the sound of a monkey crying for help. Then, as quickly as the sound began, it stopped. It was as though something had made it stop.

Again, the mountainside was silent. Asa could hear his breath coming in and out of his nose.
Why are they killing more monkeys?

             
Asa stepped forward towards the cliff’s drop-off.

             
Conway’s house was situated far below, and Asa remembered how scared Joney and Edna had gotten when they thought that they might come into contact with Jul Conway.

             
The chimney was softly puffing out blue smoke into the air, and healthy yellow, red, and purple flowers were thriving in the garden despite the freeze.
Probably mutated plants.

             
Asa had an awful feeling about the Multipliers camping out in the forest beside his dwelling, killing monkeys that wear lipstick and human clothing. Without any clue as to why they were there, or what they wanted, he didn’t know how to defend himself.

             
If one of those things broke into my dwelling, it would slaughter both Teddy and I without getting out of breath.

             
As Asa looked down at Conway’s home, a smile broke out onto his face. There was a proactive course of action that he could take that he hadn’t yet thought of before. “Conway,” he whispered to himself. He would go and talk to Conway.

             
Last semester, Conway would have never given Asa information, but now, things had changed. He was no longer scared of getting killed for giving Asa information; trust was involved. In the caves of King Mountain, Conway had informed Asa about the Academy’s contract not to make any more Multipliers as long as he or Charlotte were still in the program. Conway was someone that he could talk to, and he probably could offer a word of advice.

             
Feeling a bit better, Asa leapt off the cliff, threw his wings open, and sailed down over the arctic jungle towards Town. He had learned that if he picked up enough speed at just the right trajectory that he could make it all the way into Town without having to flap his wings once.

             
He descended and then descended some more. The freezing air was hitting his face with such a force that it was impossible to breath in, but still, the experience was exhilarating. He closed in on the arctic jungle’s canopy, his heart racing. He went lower and lower, still picking up speed. Finally, he was so low that he could reach down and touch the leaves with his hand. He didn’t, though. He kept his hands pasted tight against his hips, and was just about to collide with the leaves when he made it past the canopy and was over the steaming Moat. He flew lower, still gaining speed, and didn’t pull up until he was halfway over the water. At that time, he was moving with such velocity that tilting his wings back just a few degrees shot him up high into the air. When he first had to flap, he was well over Town.

             
He landed near Town Hall, and trotted up the stone stairs. When he reached the top, he was facing enormous, tinted glass doors in which he could see his reflection perfectly. The ice crunched beneath him as he moved closer, staring into his own eyes.

             
Charlotte’s right, they think I’m a murderer.

             
Still looking at himself, Asa made a comically mean and ugly face, bringing his brow down low, barring his teeth, and actually growling. The sight was convincing. Quietly laughing to himself, Asa entered Town Hall.

             
Room 138 situated in a carpeted, mahogany hallway. Asa tried not to think of what was to come, because he knew that being scared wouldn’t help the situation. The best thing that he could do was walk in confident and proud.
ARE WE WARRIORS?
But, despite the effort, Asa was terrified.

             
Not wanting to let the emotion escalate, Asa yanked open the door when he reached it. Twenty-five Academy students were all staring at him, which made a full Winggame team; twenty-six students made up almost a whole Winggame team—this meant that if he hadn’t been drafted last, he had gone pretty close.

             
Fifty-two eyes were fixed to Asa. They were unmoving, unflinching. He could not only see them, but he could
feel
them as they ran over his neck, his legs, and his torso. A thick, suffocating tension filled the air; it made it so that everyone was afraid to move. The older classmen had seen Asa kill Shelby, and the younger ones had already heard the stories.

             
The moment spanned on longer, and Asa took in the crowd. He was feeling a mixture of undefined emotions—a mixture of anger at the unjustness of his judgment, defeat as he thought of his desire to play a fair season this semester, and anxiety at the aggressive looks he was receiving.

On the right side, there were a few faces that Asa recognized, but he knew none of their names. Asa noticed that one of the females—she was tall, with frizzy, blond hair—had a nasty, yellow-purpl
e bruise circling her right eye—this made her look more menacing.

             
On the left side, there was one face that Asa recognized—Jen. She was smiling, and when Asa looked at her, she began rocking back and forth in her chair. She, of course, was not nervous.
She’s crazy.
It seemed as though nothing made the girl nervous.

             
“Asa, stop standing there and come grab a seat,” she said, beckoning him over. Just as in the assembly earlier in the day, she seemed oblivious to the tension in the room, and did not hesitate to break the silence. Asa wondered if this was an act she put on, or if she was honestly that confident.
If she is honestly that confident, she’s dead. If she’s that good of an actress, she may have a shot.

             
An empty leather seat sat to her right side. To get there, Asa would have to move past half a dozen glaring faces. Worse than that, the person on the other side of the chair looked livid. And strong.

             
That’s got to be the team captain,
Asa thought.

             
He was stout and short, with hair that was closer to white than blond. His skin had very little pigment in it, and his jaw moved in a slow, deliberate fashion as he chewed on a piece of gum. His eyes were the shade of blue the ocean becomes once you sail past the continental shelf; there was something unnerving about his eyes.

             
Not wanting to seem weak, Asa proceeded. His footsteps were quiet on the carpet, but still, they could be heard across the room because of the overwhelming silence. He realized that he wasn’t breathing out of fear that it would be too noisy.

             
Asa moved past the first six people without any incident. He passed the back of the tall leather chair that the white-haired male was in. He looked down at the table and saw that at the end of his vein-covered forearms, the supposed captain’s hands were clenched into fists as hard as cement blocks. There was something about the arms that reminded Asa of too-tight springs that were ready to burst.

             
He lifted his fists, and then slammed them down on the table with such a force that Asa was sure he had to be a fourth semester student—his strength gave away the fact that he had to be thoroughly mutated. Everyone watched, transfixed.

             
The white-haired male stood up, knocking his chair over, and Asa took a step back. The top of the male’s head only came up to Asa’s chin, but sometimes presence is more than stature.

             
“Let’s get something straight,” he said. “You don’t get to sit by me, and you damned sure better not give me any trouble.”

             
Internally, Asa felt timid and small. But externally, his eyes were unmoving above his clenched jaw. He knew that looking scared or weak would get him killed. He had known that there would be Winggame confrontations this semester, and he had mentally prepared himself to be tough. He hadn’t thought they would come this early, though. He stared, letting the clock on the wall click off ten seconds. Not a word was said during that time.

             
The white haired youth’s eyes began to shift back and forth in their sockets. His fingers were shaking at the sides of his hips.

             
Asa, however, stood still as a statue.

             
“That’s enough,” said the girl with the bruise on her face. “He can sit where he wants, Stan.”

             
Stan kicked his chair on the floor and moved to another area of the room.

             
Asa pulled back his own chair, and sat down. He wished that his first encounter with the team hadn’t involved aggression, but he didn’t think that he had performed poorly.

             
“My name is Roxanne,” said the girl with the bruise. “I’m your captain, welcome to the Sharks. I’m glad to have you, Asa. Here, catch.”

             
She hurtled a one hundred page paperbound book at Asa and he caught it with one hand in front of his face.

             
“This is now your Bible. Get acquainted with it; shake hands with it, introduce yourself, take it out to dinner and get close with it. It’s got the Academy’s revised rules for Winggame in it, and some plays and strategies in there.

             
“Before we get started, I want to remind everyone that there has been a rule change and I do have the power to kick students off of my team. If this happens, you forfeit all the points you could’ve gotten if I didn’t kick you off.”

             
She smiled wide, and the room felt a bit more hospitable; already, she struck Asa as someone that had a talent for altering the mood in a social situation. “Now, everyone open up to page number one; let’s get through this fast so that we can have the rest of the evening off.”

             
And she began to go through the rules. She read quickly, skipping over sentences that she didn’t think were important. She used her tone to emphasize some passages. She seemed nice, and Asa thought about his first meeting with the Bulls. It had been rambunctious, and Koab had banged his chest and yelled to get them excited about the upcoming season. Roxanne seemed to take a more studious approach at getting her team ready.

             
She read for an hour, and, with so much having happened that day, Asa’s mind inevitably began to drift.

Listening to all the talk about Winggame rules made him realize how badly he wanted to compete in a fair season. He often times daydreamed about what it would be like if a normal person watched a match. The uniforms flying over the water, the tackles, the different colored wings, and, or course, the mutations.
If they televised this thing, they’d make a fortune. We’re such incredible athletes that people would be mesmerized.

Asa believed that more than half of the Academy students were mutated so far beyond normal capacity that they would dominate in any professional sporting league of their choosing. In football, their sheer speed and strength would put them in a class of their own. As a running back, an Academy student would be able to plow throug
h a world-class lineman that was three times their size. Even in a sport where strength could be overcome with good form, like baseball, an Academy student would be elite. Asa remembered the Fishies being told last semester about how the mutations would also make them more coordinated. Asa felt that if he were in a batter’s box, even without any practice, his increased coordination would put him at an advantage over a ten-time All-Star professional baseball player who had devoted half his life to the game. After the mutations, things seemed to happen slower. Asa would be able to see the individual stitches as a 100-miles per hour fastball sped towards him. His coordination was so good that he would be able to orchestrate every inch of his body, down to his fingers and his toes, into swinging the bat. Normal humans couldn’t do that. And then, once solid contact was made, his strength would make driving the ball no problem.

Asa realized that it was a mildly insane desire to want to play a fair season of Winggame so badly. And he did want it badly; he hoped, however slim the chances, that the Multipliers would just leave him alone.
I know I shouldn’t want to play this game that much, though.

Truth was, these people had kidnapped all the students against their will and as they played, their lives were on the line. No matter how fantastic or expensive the game was, it was all a way to
weed out the students that the Academy didn’t want. And they would go to great lengths to do this. Proof of this could be seen in the upcoming Task for this year; which was promised to leave more students dead than ever before.
How much did they say they spent on it? Ten billion dollars!?

Asa still couldn’t swallow that number.
Where was all the money going?
Asa’s mind went wild with this question.
Maybe they have hired some military company to come and battle us,
he thought
. Maybe, to make a level playing field, they’ll let the hired guns use their assault rifles and leave the mutated students with just their hands.
He considered other things they could have used the money for.
Or, maybe they needed the funds to mutate an army of monsters: things like bees the size of basketballs. Or maybe they needed the money to buy recently dead corpses from some criminal market: God knows they like using those things.