Death Whispers (Death Series, Book 1) (31 page)

I turned to Jonesy. “Can you sit next to the
girls?”

He nodded, serious for once. “Yeah, I know
Brett's in there.”

“I think it'll be okay but he's riding on the
edge, I don't know what'll set him off.”

“Will do,” he said, nodding as he walked
toward Bravo.

Jade gave me the press of her lips like butterfly
wings on my cheek, then was gone. No PDAs in the school, but she
chanced it anyway. I smiled down at her, squeezing her hand as her
fingers slid slowly out of mine. I watched her walk away, Sophie
flanking her out of nowhere.

John came up beside me. “She'll be okay.”

That was one of those lies that I let John tell. A
lie of comfort. I felt like nothing was going to be okay. We walked
to our buildings, separating at the last minute. My friends were
counting on me.

I was counting on me too.

“Good luck,” John said.

“You too,” I replied.

****

The slim paddle hovered behind my ear for about
two seconds and the school nurse said, “Hart, cleared.” like
she'd said about the other fifty kids before me.

I was definitely feeling high. Or something, I'd
never been high. If I really wanted to get high someday, I could
wait until I turned twenty-one and jump into any of the drug bars and
have at it. But, having a scientist for a father was an advantage.
Dad had outlined drug use and consequence. I had a fuzzy warm feeling
that was a blanket of tranquility. The buzzing from the dead was down
to a manageable roar. Low frequency, that was a dead giveaway I was
floating on the cerebral pond.

We sat in our assigned seats, everyone in
attendance. Not surprising given it was mandatory by law that all
children at age thirteen by August thirty-first of the current school
year must take the AP Test; even the home schooled kids. I guess that
guaranteed the puberty net would be flung wide. But the reality was,
kids were slipping through. There had to be other kids that were
starting to manifest (like me) their abilities sooner than August
thirty-first.

Puberty had its own
clock.

My floating cloud of warmth was momentarily
interrupted as an AP Test supervisor handed out, with two assistants,
slim pulse-pads. They same thickness of our pulse-phones, but the
dimensions were the same as Mom's old-fashioned paperback books.

I stared at mine in front of me, just a blank
screen with a thumb pad, my head filled with cotton.

Once
all the pulse-pads were distributed, the testing supervisor
instructed, “Please depress your thumb on the pad and
think
your identity and pertinent information. You have eight seconds,
begin.”

Great personality, this one.

I did as instructed:

Caleb Hart, Age 14, Kent Middle School, King
County, Washington.

The screen lay black, then:

Confirmed.

I looked around, my thick brain swimming with the
movement. I got a bearing on Carson. He was already looking at me,
making sure none of the adults were watching, he gave me the middle
finger salute.

So consistent.

I stared at him, such a moron. But... a powerful
one. He'd spend the next four years in a fire-proofed classroom and
I wouldn't be in it--I smiled.

That confused the dolt for a second, then the
instructor spoke again, “You'll be asked a series of questions. All
answers will be confirmed as valid. There is obviously no way to
cheat.” I was overwhelmed with an insane urge to laugh, high as a
kite that I was, “and all areas of aptitude will be identified.
Make your best effort to offer concise, short answers. Keep your
thought processes clear of extraneous thinking.”

Translation:
don't think about anything fun or what you'd
rather
be doing.

“One more thing,” she paused, she had our full
attention, then said and odd thing, “there will be control
questions inserted that must be answered even if they seem to be
unrelated to the main body of testing.”

What the hell did that mean?

I
began digging into the test questions,
thinking
my responses. I felt decidedly dull. But Dad was right, the half dose
allowed me to
think
and answer, so far...no-retard. I didn't have nervousness either. I
could feel wanting to stress about my AFTD but the drug kept emotions
under control. Sweet.

A
lot of standard Math and Science questions answered, we began verbal.
Then this question out of nowhere:
How
do you feel about things that
have
died?

That's one of the questions that didn't fit.

I
had an instant stab of dread but
thought
:
Good.

The moment I answered there was a burst of the
buzzing that the dead emanate followed by what could only be
described as a drain of energy.

The instructor came to my desk. I looked up.

Crap.

“We need you to change buildings.”

I replied carefully, drug befuddled, “But this
is the building for my name.”

A condescending smile appeared. “We're aware of
that, but some of your responses have alerted us that the remainder
of your testing will be administered at an alternate location.”

I wasn't the only kid. Carson and about ten other
kids were herded by assistants, who must have leaked out of walls,
because there were more than the original two.

I scanned the group of kids, now disrupted by our
leaving, their faces wary.

The instructor, who remained nameless, addressed
the class, “please continue with your questions, this interruption
will be as brief as possible. Your first break will be in,” she
glanced at the pulse clock, which counted backwards, “five
minutes.”

I stood unsteadily, feeling woozy and she gave me
a penetrating look. I gathered myself together to appear alert. She
didn't know me well enough to determine if I was sleepy or there was
more to it.

There was definitely more to it.

We were ushered back into the commons, pulse-pads
in hand. There was another head honcho guy out there and I saw
through my semi-drug fog two other instructors, one for Bravo and
Charlie, and a butt-load of assistants.

“This group,” waving dismissively at us, “will
be escorted to Delta.” It was taken totally for granted that
everyone would cooperate with His Authority.

It made me want to do the opposite.

We
followed the instructors in a loose group, the assistants flanking
and following. Scanning the area I saw Tiff and John!
I
assumed that we pinged paranormal and that was why we were getting
moved. What the hell was John doing here? We looked at each other and
he jerked his shoulders up around his ears like,
I
don't understand either.

I didn't make an effort to hide my curiosity,
looking around for Jade. I caught sight of her and a tight spot in my
chest loosened, she smiled back. And Sophie! But Brett and Jonesy
weren't a part of our group. Didn't matter, I was relieved to have
John, Jade, and even Tiff in my sights. I didn't really know Sophie
but figured she was okay because she was Jade's friend. I tried to
remember with a brain made fuzzy if Jade had ever made any comment
about her. I couldn't think of anything; another wild card.

We walked through Delta's doors, settling into a
group of about seventy or so seats, filling only half of those.

We were arranged alphabetically. That put me real
close to Carson with only one kid separating us. It was Alex. Alex of
the bad piano playing. We gave the guy-nod.

Head Honcho turned to us. “I am the instructor
for this building. You have all been moved here because your
responses indicate paranormal aptitude.”

Yeah, duh.

“We will resume your testing in,” he looked at
the pulse clock, “approximately three minutes and change.”

Another inappropriate urge to laugh came over me,
which I eliminated by biting the inside of my cheek until the copper
taste of my own blood silenced it. I ducked my head, my hair sliding
into my eyes. My cheek hurt like hell.

We took stock of each other. It was weird, the
students knew it was a “sanctioned” thing, the testing, but the
testers were super-spy about it; leaving a taste of underhandedness.
It intensified my paranoia.

There was a skeletal guy leaning against a kids
sized desk angled into the corner, drumming his long, tapered fingers
against its edge, all dark planes with a complexion to match. His
fingers were stained yellow with a grayish skin cast. He was rich
(and don't forget dumb) or he wouldn't be smoking.

Head
Honcho went to him, fingers nervously stroking his tie. Their heads
were bent together, those fingers going up and down, up and down.
They paused in conversation then looked up at our group. We weren't
allowed to talk but some kids were nervously looking around, others
looked bored. They seemed to stare straight at me but I knew that
could have been Carson or Alex too. But somehow, I knew it was me.
AFTD was so rare, I'd be the star of the show.

A chime sounded. Gaunt-man lounged in his corner
and Head Honcho worked over his tie one more time, moving to the
front where our desks were assembled.

“You've answered a satisfactory amount of
academic questions and we have a strong idea of where each of you
fall in these categories,” he paused for effect. “This building
is being utilized to further gauge your individual potentials for
each paranormal ability you have manifested.”

Creeper-factor of about ten.

“Each one of you will have a series of control
questions interspersed with academic questions. These questions are
tailored according to your individual gifts. Each year, we are always
surprised by a new ability or 'branch',” he made airquotes, “which
will manifest in a student, or one that is not easily quantified.”

Blah, blah, blah, let's just get on with it, I
thought sullenly. It didn't matter that he felt better about
explaining things to us. I understood everything: they knew what each
of us was. They were going to test us for that specific thing, and
there may be some kid that gives them a whammy of surprise with a yet
unknown ability.

Marvelous for them.

He finally shut up and our pulse-pads came back to
life with a press of the thumb.

Useless question after question appeared. Most
seemed standard but a few were funny:

parents/guardians?>:

<
they're
alright>
I
answered.

How
dumb was that? What were you supposed to say?

They
need the tomahawk?

This was a control question. I bet they had people
in windowless rooms without food that thought this crap up.

Another laughable one was:

authority?>

Real
answer:
they
suck, of course.

But,
I realized, even in my semi-stupor, that I had to play into what the
adults wanted me to say but not be too obvious about it.

This
was actually hard. Until most recently, I could have answered pretty
honestly. Now, I didn't feel like all adults were to be trusted. I
glanced at the clock, realizing this last part of the testing was
almost over for lunch. Lunch would be served in the testing building.
After all, they couldn't let us
teens
fraternize during testing day. Oh-no.

Finally, I answered:

<
some
are trustworthy.>

Cryptic but honest and not TMI.

I was deciding the last answer, thinking about
changing it, but the pulse chimed. I depressed my thumb and my answer
floated away to be cataloged as my response, for better or worse.

****

I was wrong, lunch wasn't served in the testing
rooms, it was in the cafeteria, like usual. At every door stood what
I was thinking of as “formula-people.” They all wore the same
adult get-up of tie and suit or skirt and sensible shoes.

The Js, Jade and Sophie had all shown up and we
snagged one of the coveted round tables. These were best because I
could see everyone when we talked and keep things private. Or more
private, the noisier the better.

I did a room search for Carson, spying him with
Brett and some other standard losers at a table opposite ours.

Jonesy unraveled his gigantic lunch, John and I
watching with interest. His lunchbox was kinda like Dad's; a huge
rectangular tin thing with a flat bottom. It had been red once but
had faded to a dull, rust color.

First, the thermos came out with what I was sure
was a quart of milk, then two sandwiches bursting with lunch meat, a
half bag of these gross chips called Funyuns that made your breath
reek like ass but tasted strangely good. Finally, the grand dessert
finale was a fat brownie full of disgusting walnuts.

The girls watched this with various degrees of
disgust. They had about the same lunch stuff as each other. Jade
pulled out a small recyclable container that had some disgusting
salad thing with tiny chunks of chicken mixed in. I looked over the
top of it and quickly grabbed her spork and did a full search for
anything substantial and couldn't find dick. Where was the dessert?
Sophie had about the same thing but hers was some noodle-salad
casserole that smelled like rotting mayonnaise.