Brave New Love (16 page)

She couldn’t help but smile at her victory.

•  •  •

Very early the next morning, Elspa arrived on the porch and sat in her appointed chair to wait for Thom. Too early, giving her mind time to flop and tumble, with all the
uncertainties. She’d hardly slept the night before. One way or another, he would know how much she loved him, by the lengths she’d gone to proving it.

“Elspa. How are you this morning?”

She started. She’d been gazing at the sky, lost in her worries. Smiling, she looked at him. “I’m very good. And you?”

“I’m . . . good. It’s . . . good to see you.” He was picking at the hem of his shirt, as if nervous. But why should he be nervous?

“It’s very good to see you,” she said.

“Yes. You . . . I’ve been wanting to tell you, when you go out all day—”

“I hope you’re not angry with me—”

“Oh no. I meant to say—the sun on your face. It brings out freckles. I . . . I like the way it makes you look.”

Her heart rose at that, her smile doubling. “I’ve found a way to prove it.”

He blinked, confused. “Prove what?”

“Prove that it’s real.” She unwrapped the needle, which gleamed like a jewel in the sunlight. The blue liquid drew the eye.

“What is that?”

“The antidote. I think.”

“You
think?
”

“It was in the same cupboard as the drug, so I assumed—”

“But you don’t know?” He reached forward and grabbed her arm.

She brushed him off, pushed up her sleeve. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll still love you after I take it, so you’ll see that it was me all along, and not the drug at
all.” She stretched out her left arm and placed the needle against the skin at the crook of her elbow.

“Elspa!” He grabbed her hand, stopping her from pressing home the needle. “Don’t, Elspa. I—I—”

“How else am I to prove that I love you? That I really love you?”

“But . . . but I—”

She tilted her head, trying to read his confusion, the tense set of his jaw. He kept hold of her wrist, and his arm was trembling. What did he want?

“You’re worried,” she said, finally recognizing the panic in his eyes. “Are you worried that this will hurt me? Or that I’ll stop being in love with you?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t. He seemed torn—what would he do? Take his hand away, or take the needle from her?

Staring at one another, gaze to shining gaze, they waited until one of them decided.

M
ARIA
V. S
NYDER

They watched us. And we watched each other. Searching for the telltale signs—a raised voice, clenched jaw, fisted hands, muscles as tight as security, and the serk
gaze—we watched and waited. Any one of us could be next. Every night before lights out, I stared at my own reflection, seeking the rage that might lurk behind my blue eyes.
Will I be
next?

Blue-colored eyes and blond hair were recessive genes. Would other recessive genes also manifest before my body stopped growing? The question plagued me as, I was sure, it did the others. I
imagined a huge black question mark floated above my head.

Today, though, was a rare day in the compound. Molly had been cleared. I’d walked with her to the administration building. Only security and teachers were allowed inside. And the cleared.
There they rejoined their families and left the compound for good.

A small crowd of well-wishers had gathered to say goodbye, which was technically against the rules but in this case security overlooked it—however, the guards eyed the new seventeen with
suspicion. What was he doing here? He stood apart from the group and from the four guards waiting to escort Molly inside. Molly slowed, gnawing on her lower lip as she glanced at them and then
around the compound.

I didn’t need to turn my head to see what she saw—squat gray cinder-block buildings interspersed with dirt-covered playing fields and all surrounded by a tall chain-linked fence
topped with barbed wire. High security towers anchored the corners of the parameter.

“You’re not going to miss this place,” I said.

She pulled her brown-eyed gaze to mine. “No, but I’ll miss you, Kate.”

“For five seconds. Once you’re reunited with your family, you’ll forget all about me.”

She grabbed my arm, stopping me. “Never. You’re my best friend.”

I smiled to ease the tension. “If I’m cleared, I’ll make sure to find you out there.” My comment made her tighten her grip. “You’d better. Promise me that
you’ll do everything you can to leave this place.
Everything.
”

“What—”

“Just promise me right now.”

“Okay. I promise.”

“And stay out of trouble.”

Puzzled, I searched her expression. “I always do. Why—”

She glanced at the new seventeen. “He keeps staring at you. Stay away from him. Okay?”

“All right.” That won’t be hard to do. Security brought him in recently. Usually they arrived with zeros, ones and twos, but he was placed with the seventeens when they
escorted him into the compound a couple weeks ago. So far, he’d spent most of his time in detention for multiple escape attempts. I wondered again why he was even here. The few days
he’d been free, he’d avoided everyone.

We continued to the admin building. Molly handed me the too-delicate-for-her-backpack wire vase she had made for her older sister. Molly had been a four when she’d arrived and, unlike many
of us who had been brought in much younger, she remembered her family. I held the vase while she hugged friends and said goodbye but, impatient to finish their day, security hustled her along and
into the building before I could say farewell and return the gift for her sister.

Rushing forward without thought, I slipped inside before the door closed. I paused for a moment to let my eyes adjust from the bright sunshine outside. I looked around in disappointment. The
hallway resembled all the hallways in the other buildings. We had elevated this building to superstar status and I’d expected marble floors and extravagant paintings on the walls. Or at least
rugs. But, no. The plain linoleum floors were as well worn as the ones in our dorms and the walls as equally scuffed.

Voices to my left woke me from my musings. I turned in time to glimpse the end of the group turning down another corridor. Following the voices, I hurried to catch up but slowed as I drew
nearer. Surely they wouldn’t punish me for returning Molly’s sculpture? And it seemed odd that we had gone down a number of steps. Perhaps I’d followed the wrong group.

I hung back, but when they entered a large room I decided to approach them and get it over with. Stepping across the threshold, I paused. Everyone faced Molly, who stood staring at them with a
quizzical expression.

It happened so fast. A movement. A crack. Her forehead shattered. Surprise in her eyes as she flew back onto a plastic sheet.

The shock robbed me of breath and saved my life. Unable to utter a sound, I watched in silence as they wrapped her body in the plastic. A surge of self-preservation finally kicked in and I
ducked out, running down one hallway after another. Eventually, I stumbled into a dead end and collapsed on to the floor.

The images of her murder replayed over and over in my mind. She’d been cleared! Why would they kill her? She was no longer a danger to society. Horror and fear boiled in my chest, churning
into pure rage. Energy surged through my muscles as all my senses sharpened.

My body demanded action so I jumped to my feet. The desire to kill the guards who had murdered my friend pumped in my heart. My fingers curved into claws and I knew without a doubt I could rip
those four men apart with my bare hands. The thought of blood and gore inflamed my need. Four men wouldn’t be enough to satisfy me, I would kill them all.

Running fast down the halls, I hunted by scent. When I heard voices, I stopped as a memory tugged from deep within me. It had been very important to follow voices. I glanced at my hands. The
vase Molly had painstakingly constructed from thin silvery wire had been crushed beyond recognition in my fist.

But I grasped that one moment of lucidity and hung on to it, pushing the blood lust aside. My first clear thought was the realization that I’d serked. Witnessing Molly’s murder had
triggered the Berserker gene, which, until now, had lain dormant inside me. I was now a mindless killing machine and would be terminated.

Except, I had snapped out of it. Or had I? Fury still surged through my veins, but I sucked in deep breaths, calming my ragged nerves. I clutched the vase. The wires dug into my palm and I
concentrated on settling my emotions. Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes and forced the need to destroy from my mind. My jumpsuit clung to me as sweat dampened the rough blue fabric.

“Kate, what are you doing in here?” a male voice demanded.

I startled and stared at the guard. His hand rested on the butt of his stun gun. Anger flared, but I kept a firm grip. Instead of lunging for his throat, I held out the ruined wire sculpture.
“Molly forgot this,” I said, proud my voice didn’t shake. “I wanted to give it to her, but . . . got lost.”

He peered at me, seeking guilt. I tried to appear scared and frightened about being caught in a forbidden area. It wasn’t hard.

“Did you see Molly?” he asked.

“No, sir. I couldn’t tell which way they went and then . . .” I gestured helplessly. “I’m sorry, sir.” I hung my head. “Can I stop by my room before
reporting for detention?” A shudder ripped through me. I’d only been in trouble once in my seventeen years here. Once was more than enough.

How could that new kid stand it? Although in light of what happened to Molly, it was better than being dead. But for how long? Anger and grief mixed dangerously. The need to see the
guard’s blood on my hands pulsed through my body.

The guard considered. “No need for detention Kate. You’re not one of the trouble makers.”

The tightness in my throat eased. I followed the guard out into the compound. He gestured to the southeast corner. “Better hurry or you’ll miss curfew and your dorm mother will give
you detention for sure.”

“Thanks,” I said, meeting his gaze. Had he been one of the guards escorting Molly? Rage shot through me. I turned away and ran toward my dorm.

Thanks to the now-active berserker gene, my super-charged leg muscles were threatening to carry me across the compound in a quarter of the time it usually took, alerting everyone. It required
concentration and effort to slow down and by the time I reached my room, my jumpsuit was soaked with sweat.

We each had a single bed, a dresser, and a desk in our rooms, along with a washroom. The washrooms were supposedly the only places in the entire compound that didn’t have any
cameras—hidden or otherwise. It made sense for us not to share a dorm. If one of us serked in the middle of the night, our roommate would be dead before security could arrive.

Keeping control of my conflicting emotions had been exhausting. I curled up on the tile floor of my washroom and let the boiling anger follow waves of grief. At one point I was at the edge of
giving in to the rage and becoming a mindless Berserker. I felt a certain satisfaction in the thought of killing as many security guards as I could before they terminated me.

Or did they terminate the serkers? That was what they told us, but they also told us the cleared went home. Liars. Not to be trusted. Was anything they told us true?

According to the history teacher, genetic scientists played around with our genes to create designer babies. At first the changes were minor—hair color, eye color, height and
weight—but then everyone wanted their children to have an edge over the others, to be smarter, more attractive. And the military had been keen to produce super soldiers who were faster and
stronger than our enemies.

In their haste, mistakes were made, mutations occurred, and evolution’s survival of the fittest rule kicked in. The seventh generation born didn’t appear to be any different than
their ancestors until they reached maturity. Then they went berserk and killed everyone—family friends, co-workers—everyone. Stronger, faster, and out for blood, they banded together
and decimated the population.

Finally the government’s emergency agency, Domestic Security, exterminated the Berserkers and the gene slicers, but couldn’t eradicate the gene without killing fifty percent of the
survivors. In response, DS tested every child born in a hospital for the Berserker gene. Those who had it were sent to compounds to be watched. Which was why a few soon-to-be mothers—like
Molly’s—avoided hospitals. Most of those kids were found within five years. However the kids who didn’t serk by age eighteen were allowed to go home—that was supposed to be
the up side, the prize. But now . . .

Another round of all-consuming rage left me gasping. I pressed my cheek to the cool floor as sweat dripped from my forehead.

A knock on the washroom’s door pulled me back from a spell of blood lust.

“Kate, are you all right?” my dorm mother asked with concern. “Lights out was an hour ago.”

“Stomach bug,” I said.

“Oh, dear. Can I come in?”

I scrambled to kneel in front of the toilet. “Sure.” Flushing the water, I wiped my mouth on my sleeve as Mother Jean entered.

She fussed over me, taking my temperature, helping me change into my nightgown, fetching me a glass of ginger ale, and tucking me into bed. The whole time I fought the desire to rip her arms off
and strangle her with my bare hands.

When she finally left, I was glad I hadn’t killed her. She was one of the sweetest dorm mothers—as long as you didn’t break any of the rules. If you did, she was one of the
most feared. Or so I heard. After two days locked in a two-foot by four-foot dank cell without light, food, or water when I was a seven, I’d vowed never to get into trouble again.

I used the stomach-bug excuse to stay in my room for the next couple days. But I couldn’t keep hiding. Eventually, Mother Jean would insist I go to the doctor, then they’d know about
me for sure. Deep down I knew I was just delaying my termination. Being cleared or going berserk ended the same way, so why fight it? Yet, I couldn’t give in to the blood lust. I had promised
Molly. Only now I wondered why she hadn’t promised to get cleared. Did she know?