The Fortunates (Unfortunates #2) (23 page)

Portia peered up from her hands and her swollen eyes twisted his heart. Her warm, umber cheeks were wet with tears. How could Vince be so cruel? So…defective? Portia was the reason their bellies were filled with food whenever their father went away. She organised and catered every meal at every party and even oversaw the kitchens at the other houses when large events were hosted. Did he love anyone? Anything? Did he not know attachment? Would he kill his own mother if he was given the chance?

“Vince, please,” Anna urged, her voice shaking with emotion. “I’m begging you…”

He flipped his gun and pointed the handle at Anna. “Kill her.”

“How much have you had to drink, Vincent?” John asked, his voice booming around his large foyer. He squeezed into the space beside Kade, worry and contempt etched into his hard features. “I think it’s time for you to go home, son.”

Vince shook his head, raking his hand through his hair. “I’m having way too much fun.”

On Kade’s left, Oliver pushed his way through the crowd, stopping in horror when he saw Portia on the floor. Kade watched him. He watched the way Oliver’s face flickered through all different kinds of emotions and then he looked at Portia, who stared back at Oliver, her eyes soft and content.

Them? A couple? How long had that gone on?

Surrendering, Oliver lowered his head. Kade frowned. How could he give up? Kade loved Anna so much that his heart would never let him throw in the towel. She’d die while Kade tried to save her, and he’d follow shortly after.

“I told you to kill her.”

Grunting, she snapped her hand forward and successfully freed it from Kade’s grip. “Why don’t you make me?”

“Anna,” Kade hissed and she ignored him while Vince cackled menacingly.

“Why don’t I make you? Well, aren’t you tough?”

“Tough? No. I’m terrified.” Over her shoulder, she glared at Oliver, John, Kade, and around the rest of the room too. “But since no one else is going to open their mouths and stand up for what’s right then I’m left with no choice.”

All hints of humour disappeared from Vince’s features. His jaw tightened on and off repeatedly, until he said: “I told you to kill her.”

“I’d much rather kill you.”

Collective gasps echoed around the room and Kade was sure his was amongst them. After that, Fortunates began to leave, murmuring nervously between each other. This wasn’t fun for them anymore. Those who were more sensitive to life and death left with uncomfortable expressions on their faces, and those who were wired more like Vince stayed for the inevitable bloodshed.

Eventually, Vince sighed and smiled at Kade. He pointed the handle of the gun in his direction. “You’ll kill her, won’t you, brother?”

Anna’s shoulders dropped with a flinch. She believed he’d do it. He did it last time. He shot an Unfortunate in the head so she didn’t have to…but he wasn’t that man anymore.

“You hand me that gun and it’s not Portia’s head I’m burying the bullet in.”

Anna relaxed, Portia sobbed, and Vince grimaced. “You care for the Unfortunate?”

The Unfortunate? After all this time, Portia was still “the Unfortunate?”

“Portia has been our kitchen hand for as long as I can remember. She is an integral part of our system. Without her, it collapses.”

Vince laughed once, turning the gun around and holding it by its handle. “Integral? Collapses? I can make my own fucking sandwiches.”

“If you think her worth ends at sandwich making then you are terribly mistake—”

BANG!

Kade looked away.

Thud.

Damn.

∞ Anna ∞

No.

Not again.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” Vince scratches his head with the gun. “I couldn’t hear the rest of your sentence over the sound of the bullet leaving my gun and entering her skull.”

I blink rapidly, expecting her to disappear and for me to wake up in my warm bed. She doesn’t disappear and I don’t wake up. Crimson blood gushes from her chest and spills onto the white tiles. The puddle underneath her lifeless body increases with every second that passes and soon there’ll be none left inside her petite body.

She’s gone.

He shot her.

Tears well in my eyes as the realisation of what just unfolded hits me. Portia is dead. The woman I met in the kitchen on my first day out of camp is gone.

Alive one minute.

Dead the next.

A handful of moderators enter the room, slinging their guns over their backs. I press my palm to my chest to see if my heart is still beating. It’s strange…my heart pounds against my hand, thrumming to its usual rhythm, but I don’t feel it in my chest. Kade brushes past me, seemingly the only one who can get his legs to work. I steal a glimpse of his face as he passes by. His eyebrows are furrowed, his lips slightly downturned. The regular olive tone in his skin has paled and he holds his body smaller than usual.

There’s nothing but deafening silence in the room as he approaches Portia’s lifeless body. I clench my jaw on and off, rubbing my tongue along the roof of my mouth to stop the surge of grief that lingers on the precipice of my impending emotional breakdown. Inwardly, I fight tooth and nail to keep myself together for Kaden’s sake. Why? Because Portia is his. I will have my time to cry and it’s not before him.

Kade stops at the edge of the puddle of her blood, but it doesn’t matter. Soon enough, it expands, seeping underneath the soles of his shoes. He watches the rich, crimson liquid spread further and listens as people begin to whisper. He doesn’t care. They no longer matter. It is like, in this moment, he understands the reason for our fight. The reason this rebellion must happen. If not us, who? Society has to change. We’re heading down a path every generation before us has followed. We keep waiting for the generation after us to fix the mistakes we’ve made, but no one does. Instead, we expand on it. We make it worse.

And worse.

And worse.

Until it builds up so high we can no longer backtrack. Then what?

Sacrifices must be made. We need people
now
who are willing to spill their own blood in order to save the blood of our children, and our children’s children. We need people to willingly endure the pain and the suffering of our rebellion in order to teach our future leaders how to lead. I believe a good leader has to experience the pain of their people. They have to have lived through the injustices they promise to fight. Only then can they truly lead. I don’t know much about politics, but I know one thing for sure. You don’t pick the baker to teach you how to climb a cliff. You pick the climber, the one who knows the correct path to the top.

“Really?” Vince scoffs, pulling me from my thoughts. “You’re going to—”

Kade lowers himself to his knees and Vince swallows his sentence with a growl, grabbing his chin with an angry hand. He massages his jaw as he shifts his weight onto one leg. Kade scoops Portia into his arms, uncaring that blood leaks from her chest. I step closer, trying desperately to keep myself in check. Kade sweeps her hair off her cheeks and lightly touches her cheekbones, admiring the round shape of her face. His hands are bloody and they tremble as he grazes the tip of her nose.

“At least she’s in a better place,” he utters.

I nod. Anywhere is better than here.

I close the distance between us, stopping only when the tips of my toes reach the edge of her puddle. Tears drip onto my cheeks and roll down my face. I purse my lips, desperate to keep it in, but as my heart splinters, a sob is forced up my throat and it hiccups out of my mouth. The sticky warmth of Portia’s blood surrounds my feet. In my head, I feel it climb my legs like a million tiny spiders. The hem of my dress absorbs her blood and, fairly quickly, it becomes heavy. I place my hand on Kade’s shoulder and crouch low. I don’t care that I’m in her blood. It’s the only way I can get closer to her. I want to look at her…what was her last thought? Was it of me? Of Kade? Perhaps her last thought was about Oliver and how he stood by like a coward and allowed this to happen. How could he? I don’t understand. Kade has always defended me.
Always.

I rest my forehead against Kaden’s firm bicep and cry. I try my hardest not to overshadow his grieving process with my own, but it’s hard. He’s not a crier and I am.

Behind me, John orders people to leave his house. I don’t know what he tells them or what he says to Vince, but when I look up some time later, they’re all gone—except John.

No Fortunates.

No Vince.

I glance over my shoulder.
No Oliver.

By the staircase, two moderators wait patiently. They look everywhere but at us, allowing us our private moment.

“I want to bury her,” Kade says, turning his head to me. “Somewhere nice.”

“You can’t.” John clears his throat. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but her body is to be burned like the rest of them.”

I scowl up at him. “You’re just going to throw her on top of a pile of dead Unfortunates and set it alight, huh?”

John’s eyes soften as he tilts his head. “I want her to have the burial she deserves, Anna,” he says softly so only we can hear. “But we cannot stray from the path yet. It’s too soon and we’re not ready.”

I smooth the palm of my hand over Kaden’s back. John is right. We don’t have enough weapons and we definitely don’t have time on our side. Every detail in our plan has been plotted out meticulously. A sudden change could throw the whole thing off balance and get us all killed.

“She deserves something nice…” Kade whispers, staring into Portia’s lifeless face.

He swallows, his lips pinching tightly as he tries his hardest to fight off his emotion. My own lips quake, causing my teeth to chatter. She does deserve something nice. She deserves the best.

“We can have her cremated separately, if you like.”

We whip our heads up, our gazes settling on the young blond moderator who pushes off the staircase bannister.

“And we can bring her ashes to you,” the other moderator, the redhead, chimes in.

The young men can’t be that much older than me. I’d peg them both around twenty, at most. With a nervous hand, the blond runs his fingers through his short, messy hair while gripping the neck of his gun in the other. I frown.

“Say I want to decorate her urn with a ribbon,” John says, eyeing them closely. “What colour would you recommend?”

“It’s a secret,” they reply in unison. A secret ribbon. If my heart wasn’t already heavy with sorrow, I’d be elated these two thought our cause was one worth fighting for.

John steps in to finalise the details with the boys and Kade and I say our final goodbyes to our friend. According to John, the boys are to drape a purple Milano wolf cloth over the urn they receive after burning Portia. Apparently, that’ll stop any other moderators from asking questions. John warned them that it was in their best interest to keep tabs on Vincent Sario while they burned the ashes of a single Unfortunate. Unfortunate ashes weren’t allowed to touch an urn. By law, their life dust is sucked up into a large vacuum and deposited into the ocean. Without a word, the moderators gently took Portia from Kaden’s arms and carried her out the door. After twenty minutes of staring into Portia’s cooling blood, John finally manages to convince Kade to get up.

“Take a shower. Get some sleep. Spend tomorrow in bed,” John orders, as I hook my elbow around Kade’s and lead him up the stairs. “In the meantime, I’ll restrict Vince from entering my house.”

∞

We shower together like we always do, only this time he keeps his back to me. I don’t mind it. I wash my body. I wash away all of the grime and blood. My heart aches and the tears don’t stop falling. I can’t grasp the concept of death. Funny, considering I’ve been surrounded by it my entire life. Someone you love is here one minute and gone the next. How? How do people cease to exist? I don’t understand it.

I watch the last bubble of soap as it runs down my ankle and slides off my heel. Finally, I turn around and meet the large expanse of his muscular back. Kade presses his palms against the glass and hangs his head, using the sole of one foot to wash the other. I wrap my arms around his waist and plant a kiss on his spine. Then I leave.

Drying myself, I slip into a short, loose nighty and climb into the large bed. I slide under the blankets and smooth my palms over the surface. It’s all mine. Tonight, the thought doesn’t excite me. I need to take a step back and appreciate just how lucky I truly am. Thirteen, Portia, and every other Unfortunate that has died at the hands of a Fortunate since Freeport’s inception have never slept in a bed like this. They’ve never tasted real food or felt love like I have. I am lucky, truly lucky, to be in a position where I can make a difference. Of course, the “can” is subjective. The chances of this rebellion failing are higher than its success. What if we fail? A whole lot of people are going to die and the Fortunates in power will come down harder on the rest.

Make it better or make it worse. That is my reality. Unfortunately, things have to get worse before they get better. I snuggle down in bed, listening to the sounds of the shower as the water it spews crashes against the tiles. It sounds like rain. I grab a pillow and stuff it under the blanket, hugging it tightly against me. I close my heavy, swollen eyes and sleep
finally
pulls me under.