The Defiant (14 page)

“David . . . ,” I whisper, barely able to move my lips. The total, absolute blackness of synthetic slumber overwhelms me as the world fades into a circle of nothingness.

M
Y SENSES RETURN IN
a violent rush of color and sound. It seems like only one second has passed since I got drugged, but it must have been far longer.

I am not inside some scary isolation tank.

Instead, I'm lying on a soft mattress, looking up at a wood beam ceiling.

I check my senses quickly, doing a rapid inventory of my body and my mind. I can still see. I can still hear. All my other senses are intact as well.

I run my hands over my body, looking for wounds.

At first, I find nothing. But then, as I bring my hands up to my neck, I discover something absolutely terrifying.

My hands stop moving. I feel like I'm going to throw up.

On the back of my neck, two vertical plastic tubes have been implanted in my flesh, bulging out of the skin. Each of them is about two inches long.

I yank my hands away, shocked and sickened. The tubes don't hurt much. They just feel weird and heavy. I don't know what these tubes do, or why they're in me. It makes me think of what happened to David's body.

Panic rises inside me.
What has been done to me? How long was I unconscious?
Obviously some kind of torture device has been implanted in me.

There are no soldiers anywhere in sight. And I'm not held down by restraints anymore.

I struggle out of the bed. My legs are shaky, but they support my weight. I glance down and see that I'm wearing a simple gray, handwoven T-shirt and jeans.

I'm standing on the second floor of a large farmhouse.

There is no doubt that I'm in the Hellgrounds now.
Just like David said I would be.

I must have been transported here while I was unconscious. I stare through a huge picture window at a field of corn. And at the dark forest beyond that. This must be New Iowa. I wonder how far I am from the place where Liam is being held. At least Liam and I are both in the Hellgrounds together.

I touch the back of my neck again and feel the plastic tubes. Both tubes run in vertical lines, soft and rubbery, like external veins made of plastic. They don't hurt as much as they probably should, but they make me feel sick.

I'm not even sure what these tubes will do to me. Maybe they're meant to poison me. I just know that I've been altered in some revolting way. And by people that I despise.

I think about Minister Hiram saying that free will would be taken away from me.
Are the tubes in my neck somehow going to do that to me? Are they going to affect my brain?

I turn and gaze at myself in a large, gilded mirror that hangs on the wall across from the window. It's sandwiched between framed photographs of Minister Harka.

From the front, I look totally normal. So I turn sideways to get
a better view. From this angle I can actually see the tubes in my neck. They come out at the base of my skull and then reenter my body above my shoulders. The tubes are made of yellow plastic. They look a lot smaller than they feel.

“Alenna Shawcross?” a voice suddenly asks.

I spin around to the doorway, feeling vulnerable and groggy.

A middle-aged woman in a simple gray frock stands there watching me. Her freckled face is creased with lines, from too many years of sun exposure. Her skin looks like a crumpled sheet of paper. She's tall and thin, and wears metal-frame glasses that are slightly too large for her face. Her brown hair, just beginning to turn gray, is held back in a tight bun.

“That's your name, isn't it?” she asks. “Alenna.”

“Yeah,” I tell her.

“You may call me Miss Caroldean.”

“Who the hell are you?”

She stares at me for a long time. Her black eyes are as hard and cold as glass. “You're quite pretty for an agitator. I'll give you that,” she finally says.

An agitator.
It's a strange choice of words. I expected to be called a rebel. I don't say anything in response. I just nod. I can feel the tubes in my neck tugging at my flesh, so I stop nodding.

“Do you know how many agitators like you our family has hosted?”

I shake my head. “No. How could I?”

“Seventeen. All girls your age. All girls who slipped through the Government Personality Profile Test, but then turned out to be troublemakers.” She waits for me to be impressed. I try to fake it. “And each one of them went on to become productive citizens for the highest echelon of the UNA. They are the pride of my life.”

“Really,” I say.

“You probably have a lot of questions for me. And I'm sure you've noticed those vessels in your neck. Do you know why they've been placed there?”

My hand goes up to them again. “No clue.”

“The tubes are there in case you get it into your head to run away,” Miss Caroldean replies. I don't like the sound of this, and she can see it in my eyes. “That's right. Agitators often try to run. Surgeons implanted those tubes before you were delivered to me.”

She slips her hand into her pocket, and extracts a metal UNA emblem painted black. Again, it's different from the one I'm familiar with.
Five eyes hover around a globe.
In the center of it is a blinking red switch.

“This switch is wired to those tubes in your neck,” she continues. “If you try to run, I will throw the switch, and the electrical signals that power your body will instantly bypass your spinal cord. You will be paralyzed, and lose your senses. Not for good, but until I decide to throw the switch again and open up your electrical pathways. Understand? Then you will recover. Of course, sometimes there are lingering complications. Nerve injuries and such.” She pauses. “You are under my command from now on. Do you understand?”

I swallow my feeling of dismay. Could she be telling the truth, or is it a bluff? I feel too shaky and new here to test her yet.

“This switch stays with me at all times,” she continues. “I am never to be challenged. You must obey my every command. Or I will not hesitate to punish you—and I have the full authority of the UNA in such matters.”

I nod again. Her bony hand slips the metal device back into her pocket.

“Now, I was told that you are an exceptional girl. Of high intelligence, who can learn easily, and has proven herself to be very brave. Is that true?”

“I don't know.”

“There's no need to be humble. You wouldn't have been sent here unless the UNA saw great potential in you. And I know that you made it off Island Alpha, and survived when others would not have. That means you're made of strong stuff, and you're not afraid of hard work. And there's lots of hard work to be done on a farm.”

I look down at the floor, feigning sheepishness because I don't want her to see the look of sudden rage in my own eyes. I'm reminded that every second I'm imprisoned here, terrible things could be happening to Liam.

But somehow I don't fool her.

“You're worried about your boyfriend,” she says. “You know that he's out here somewhere too, don't you?”

I can't disguise my surprise at her words. She smiles when she sees the look on my face.

“I know everything, Alenna. You cannot hide a grain of rice from me. Not in this house. Not on my own farm. So you best behave, and learn what you can from my example. That is why you were sent here—to stay with me and my children, and learn how moral citizens of the UNA behave. And to learn how to overcome your own hasty emotions. To learn the value of sacrifice.” She stares past me, out the window and across the fields baking under the sun. “Do you know what happened to my husband?”

I shake my head.

“Three years ago, an agitator ran away from a city. A girl, not
much older than you are now. Soldiers were sent in search of her, of course. Foolish rebels gave her help along the way, and she made it all the way here. My husband volunteered to help guide the soldiers through this region when they were looking for her.” She brushes back a strand of her graying hair. “He led them up to the edge of the forest. There, they were ambushed and attacked by rebels. My husband disappeared. They never found his body. He was presumed dead.”

Her eyes turn back to me. She clears her throat and continues speaking, “But the soldiers managed to defeat the rebels. Their leader was hung in public, and the others were sent to work camps in New Alaska, where they eventually died of exposure. I continue to run the farm in memory of my husband. I raise our children in his name. And now I take in agitators so that I can train them to be good leaders for the UNA. I can take an unanchored soul and turn her into the most effective citizen.”

She's staring at me hard. Unblinking. I don't know what to say. “I'm sorry about your husband,” I finally offer, even though it's a lie.

She blinks. “What happened to your own parents no doubt taught you about suffering. Which is why you must learn to cease agitating, and begin to serve your country.” She pauses. “Do you love Liam Bernal?”

I don't reply. There's no way I'm going to talk about my feelings for Liam with someone like her.

“Answer me.”

I stare back at her defiantly. My lips remain sealed.

She sighs. “If you do love him, then you must put him out of your head forever. It will only cause you heartache to pine for someone whom you can never have. Romantic love has no place in the UNA. The only love I wish to see from you is love of your
nation and love of Minister Harka.” She pauses. “I know what you agitators call our community.”

I stare back at her. “The Hellgrounds,” I say.

She nods. “Exactly. But if you open yourself up to Minister Harka and submit to the will of the UNA, it can become heaven on earth.” She turns away from me. “Now come this way. I will show you around the house where you'll be living for the next three months, while I train you.”

Three months.
I don't plan on being here for more than three days. David said I would have a tight deadline. I need to figure out what my next step is as soon as possible.

Miss Caroldean leads me out into the hallway. The walls are painted light yellow, with lime-green trim, and the floor is made of creaky wood planks. Photos and drawings of Minister Harka line the walls. Everything looks old, like it comes from the previous century. Or maybe even the one before that. I wonder how long this massive farmhouse has been here.

I follow Miss Caroldean down a wide flight of stairs, and into a huge, airy living room. It's sparsely furnished, with handwoven white rugs strewn over the wood floor, and rough-hewn oak furniture.

A large homemade portrait of Minister Harka done in oils hangs above a massive fireplace. To the left is an open kitchen and dining area. This house is by far the largest I've ever seen—perhaps its size is one of the few perks of living in the Hellgrounds. Miss Caroldean and I walk to the center of the room.

We're not alone in here. There's an older boy sitting on a stool in an antechamber near the front door. Sharpening a knife on a piece of whetstone. A hand-rolled cigarette dangles unlit from one corner of his mouth.

“This is Mikal. My youngest son,” Miss Caroldean says. “Nearly eighteen. My other sons are grown and have left the farm.”

Mikal slowly turns toward me. His black hair is slicked back with grease, and he has a white scar running from his nose to his lip. His features are severe—a thin nose, thin lips, and sharp cheekbones. His blue eyes are narrow with hooded lids. He's dressed all in black—jacket, shirt, jeans, and boots. He smiles warmly, but his eyes remain as cold as his mother's. “Hey there,” he says to me.

“Hey,” I say in response. I can already tell I'm going to have to watch my back around him. I feel his eyes roam over my body, checking me out. It gives me the shivers.

“Mikal is going to enter the UNA Military Training Academy in two months,” Miss Caroldean says proudly. “You can learn a lot from him.”

I nod. Mikal just keeps staring at me creepily, wearing that odd, thin smile, made slightly crooked by his scar.

Then he takes out a cigarette lighter and flicks the flint. He brings the flame up to his cigarette and lights it.

“Yes, you will learn a lot of things from Mikal,” his mother reiterates, her voice rising slightly in irritation. “But smoking is
not
one of them!”

Mikal slides off the stool, unfazed. “Sorry,” he says insolently. He stands up, uncoiling his lithe body.

“Take your cigarette outside,” she instructs, coughing. “You know I have asthma.”

Mikal does as he's told, stepping outside onto a large front porch. Through the window I see him settle down into a wooden porch swing, lounging back as he sucks on the cigarette.

“He's so eager to be a soldier,” Miss Caroldean says. “And of
course a lot of them smoke. He's following their example, I suppose.” She sighs. “Mikal is a tender soul. He takes after his father in that way.”

I just stand there. He looks more like a delinquent than anything else, but obviously I'm not going to point that out.

“Now come this way,” Miss Caroldean says. “There's so much to see!”

Miss Caroldean continues her tour of the farmhouse and its grounds. The house itself is huge, but it's dwarfed by the massive barn and stables behind it, as well as a grain silo and a large dog kennel.

Few people work this land other than her, Mikal, and six farmhands—mostly older men. They don't look interested in me. Only in their work. There are also a number of mangy dogs roaming the property. I take everything in, studying my environment. Planning potential escape routes. I have no clue how David is going to give me instructions, but I hope that he somehow contacts me soon.

Here, at the Hellgrounds, I have a much better chance of finding Liam and continuing on my mission than at any other point in my journey.
And I don't plan on wasting the opportunity.
I must reconnect with David and learn what it is that I have to detonate.