Elevated (Book 1): Elevated (3 page)

***

We approach the center faster than seems possible. The building appears quite ordinary from the outside. To call it a grey box wouldn’t be an understatement. But as we reach the parking space, I notice the walls shift color. As if by magic, an enormous mural of a phoenix appears on the surface. The phoenix is the symbol of GEMO and represents rebirth, the new life that waits beyond those doors. But am I ready for it?

Mom must sense my apprehension. She places her arms around me. I can’t move.

“You alright?” she asks.

Over her shoulder, I watch teenagers run to enter the building, bursting with energy, as if entering an amusement park. I envy them. I wish I felt half as excited.

Full potential.

I want to be strong in my resolve, but curiosity keeps getting the better of me. What could my power be? Instinct takes over, leading me towards the building. Mom says some sort of goodbye, but I’m too focused on what lies ahead to process it. Before it hits me, the doors close and I’m inside. The front room is a long hallway with metallic arches extending high above my head. In the center of the room, a pool of rushing water shimmers with a radiant blue light. The entrance leads to a grand atrium where large sculptures of GEMO Laser Emitters, or ‘blasters’ as most call them, sit atop three white cylinders arranged like a triangle. They shoot jets of luminous water towards a tall statue of a teenage boy. His muscular arms stretch outwards, embracing the rushing blast with confidence.

“Inspiring, isn’t it?” Shelly says, noticing my gaze on the sculpture. “Gives me chills every time.”

A chill of my own sweeps my body as I stare at it. This is the closest I’ve come to seeing blasters in person. Based on the large size of the boy, it’s not to scale, but it must be terrifying to sit in a room and face one of them in person.

“Are we really doing this?” asks Lillia behind me.

Am I? I don’t know.

“Of course we are,” says a handsome boy next to me. He wears a chocolate-colored fedora.

A digital display pops up in front of the statue, projected on a mist screen of water. It’s a phoenix holding a sign.

A525-A555 — East Hallway

The boy leans over and startles me. “What’s your number? Just curious. I woke up first thing and still got A537.”

I can’t seem to find the number in my head. Thankfully, Mom remembered to print out my paperwork, which I’m holding.

“A536.”

“Nice, right before me,” he says as we head down the East hallway.

Just like Mom. Obsessed with being first, another Elevation Day zombie.

Everything in the East Hallway is white. The walls, ceiling, carpet, furniture, all glow with a pristine shine. Too pristine. The radiant sheen coming from everywhere is a marvel of technology, but to me it’s a sign of the government rejoicing at the purge of imperfection. It gives me the creeps.

We reach a row of chairs facing a large screen. Currently, the screen shows A529. I notice Zach, Shelly, and Lillia sitting down next to us. I take a seat on the far end, hoping to get away from everyone, but the boy follows me over. Fantastic.

The screen flashes and a phoenix flies by, transforming the number to “A530.” A mechanical voice blasts from the overhead speakers. “Now serving A530, that’s A530, thank you.”

“So what do you think you’ll get?” the boy asks. “Dad got the ability of breathing underwater and Mom got amazing agility.”

“How should I know? Genetics can’t—”

“Genetics can’t predict abilities. Right. Had an uncle whose father could regenerate limbs. All he got was the ability to spit really far. Took him years to figure out too. Not something that would come up in testing.” The boy flashes a detestable smirk. Is he mocking his poor uncle? “Elevation Day. Finally here. Always dreamed of it, Rose.”

Rose? I recoil at the sound of my name from a complete stranger.

“It’s on your paperwork,” he says and reaches his hand out. “I’m Elliott.”

I force my hand out and shake. His firm hand tries to steady my trembling fingers. “You okay? You don’t seem excited,” he asks.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

An electronic voice interrupts us. “Now serving A531, that’s A531, thank you.”

Another boy stands up and marches towards the doors to the treatment room. I sit there, swinging my feet, trying not to think about what lies beyond those doors.

“I can’t do this.”

Elliott smiles. “You’re just nervous.”

“No, I really can’t go through with it.”

His voice deepens. “What are you saying?”

“I just—I just don’t understand. Why are we doing this?” I stumble.

“We’re unlocking—”

“Our full potential,” I say, shuddering over the words now haunting me. “Yeah. I’ve seen the videos. They’re ridiculous. ‘Humanity going further than ever before.’ Blah blah blah. What’s so bad about plain old humanity? People reaching their full potential without becoming mutants!”

“Excuse me?”

I cover my mouth. I always smacked Aaron when he used that term. Here I am blurting it to a complete stranger.

“Sorry, Elevateds.”

The electronic voice interrupts us again. “Now serving A532, that’s A532, thank you.”

At the end of the row, Lillia’s legs wobble and it takes a moment for her to stand up. Breathing hard, she steps towards the door. She looks back one more time with a terrified expression.

I turn towards Elliott. “What happened to your uncle?”

“My uncle?

“The one that spits far.”

He pauses for a moment. “I think he seems happy.”

I wonder what his uncle does. A Spitter would live mocked as a Lesser for sure, a small step up from a Basic. Probably watches over burger flipping drones or files papers somewhere. “It’s unfair. One spin at the GEMO wheel decides your fate.”

“It unlocks who we are. Like genetics. Some people are tall, some are beautiful some are—”

“Butt ugly,” I say as I turn towards him.

His face is shocked. “I was going to say smart.”

He must think I implied he’s ugly. My mouth tries to form the words to say that I don't think he's unattractive. That he’s actually quite striking. Or he would be if he weren’t so brainwashed. He speaks up before I have a chance. “You've got nothing to worry about anyway. You have green eyes.”

“That's an old wives’ tale. ‘ Stand on one leg while they zap you,’ ‘Only eat white bread an hour before.’ Makes me sick.”

He chuckles.

“A533, please see attendant. That’s A533. Thank you.”

Shelly stands up, with a confused expression on her face. She giggles, shakes her head, and strolls to a man holding a device in his hand. They stand there talking. Then, they start arguing about something. Shelly’s eyes twitch and her arms tremble like an animal on the verge of being attacked.

“CHECK AGAIN!” Shelly says, shaking violently.

“What’s going on?” asks Elliott.

“Not sure,” I say.

By now, everyone is watching. The man shakes his head again. She snatches the device and her eyes race down the screen. The attendant points at it and her hands shiver. The device slips through her fingers and the man grabs it.

She begins to cry. “I’m healthy! I am!” she says as tears soak her shirt. “Isn’t there anything—”

The attendant gazes sternly at her and shakes his head again.

For a few minutes, we endure intolerable pleading that keeps increasing in pitch. After what must be the millionth beg, her body slumps. She storms out with her head facing forward, avoiding eye contact. As she passes by, the status screen updates behind her.

A533 – Cancelled

Shelly pauses for a moment at the exit doorway. She breathes a heavy sigh and then is gone. After spending her life building to this moment, Shelly Steele will never be a Flier.

“We shouldn’t be required to do this,” I say.

“No one is required.”

“How can anyone compete if they don’t get zapped?”

I’m using the same arguments Mom and Mr. Roberts used in the restaurant and I hate myself for it. I’m slipping. I reach for my phone to call Aaron, but he won’t ever forgive me if he finds out I'm in line right now.

A loud electronic voice pierces my brain. “Now serving A534, that’s A534, thank you.”

Zach stands and heads out through the doors. He marches confident and strong, like I would expect.

A tap on my shoulder causes me to lurch.

“You’re next,” Elliott says.

What did I do to deserve waiting with this guy? “Yeah.”

“Can you really do it?”

“Do what?”

“Live not knowing, not seeing what could be.”

“I could ask you the same question.”

He’s puzzled.

“Let’s say you go through those doors and become an Unsound. And you get locked away from your family and friends for your entire life. Tell me you won't wonder what a normal life could be.”

Elliott leans in. “You talk as if you know an Unsound.”

I nod. “My dad.”

He turns his head away from me. “I’m sorry.”

Typical reaction. They think it’s sympathy, but it’s fear. As much as everyone talks about genetics not factoring in and your parents not determining your powers, having an Unsound in the family is mark of shame. Most don’t discuss it. The only person in my high school that knows is Aaron. After the torture thrown at me in middle school, the last thing I want to do is let anyone know.

The exit door stands to my left. I want to bolt, want to get out of this place, but something keeps me glued to my chair.

“Rose. I know you’re scared. But if you leave now, you won’t get another chance.”

He’s right. With millions of kids involved, getting another appointment is near impossible. I would end up with the other Basics. I stare at the screen, willing the phoenix not to fly by again.

“Rose. Think about this.”

“You think I haven’t? It’s all I’ve thought for years. I’m not like you, or the other kids here. You sit there, blindly waiting for your number to be called, trusting everything will be—“

“You don't know me at all.” For the first time, there’s terror in Elliott’s face. He turns back to watch the screen.

“So you’re scared too, then.”

Did he feel as helpless as I did?

Elliott takes a deep breath. “I can't control which system I was born in. I can only control how I cope with it.”

“That's the only power you think you have?” I ask.

“It’s the only power any of us have. Anything else is an illusion.”

My heart jolts as the phoenix flies by and displays my number. The mechanical voice cuts through me. “Now serving A535. That's A535. Thank you.”

I’m still. Trapped between two worlds. Somehow, none of the thinking, the planning, or the debating have prepared me for this moment. Elliott stands and tries to nudge me out of my chair. I won’t move. I’ll wait here. If they want me so bad, they can drag me through those doors. A part of me wishes they would. The exit is a few steps away.

“Rose, please!” His blue eyes pleads with me.

Blue eyes. Like Dad’s.

No.

I can’t surrender. I stand up and storm towards the exit.

“Rose! You know what will happen if you don't.” I have no idea what will happen, regardless of my decision. Neither does Elliott.

I turn back to him. “Best of luck.”

The exit doors lay a few steps away. Pushing through them means leaving GEMO behind forever. No going back. I kick them open and leave the room behind.

I will never be a mutant. Never.

CHAPTER THREE

The Center must be designed to disorient visitors on purpose. Between the matching hallways and furniture, it’s impossible to find anything. Of course, I doubt many kids bail on them at the last minute. As I turn down yet another hallway, I finally see the exit doors. A row of posters flashes by my side and one catches my eye with its bright letters:

Hidden? No longer.

The powers buried within me will remain a mystery. I’m sure it’s the right decision. Mostly sure. About as much as I can expect. My mind wanders to the futures of those I left behind. Zach, Lillia, Shelly. What will happen to them?

And Elliott?

The more I think about him, the more a curiosity begins to form. What will his power be? Why do I care so much? My mind keeps racing until it occurs to me to check the Reunion Room. The nearest screen shows Elliott’s exit location. Wing F. I’ll join his and everyone else’s families and wait for his arrival. I hope everyone is happy with their powers.

***

Hoards of families pack Wing F. It’s a bit like an airline terminal, except here, being “delayed” means a whole lot more than not getting to New York on time. You can almost see the stuffy air, trapped by the narrow walls and low ceilings. Some parents pace while others keep a sharp eye on the large screen in the corner, their lifeline to their children’s fate. Every few minutes, a scurry happens when a bell chimes and the statuses update. In the opposite side, younger kids fight over a tiny slide, the one source of entertainment in what is supposed to pass as a play area.

I pity the kids. Last time I sat in a room like this, I waited for my aunt. feeling bored senseless. Especially after Mom snatched some crayons away from me out of fear I’d mark up something.

DING!

The room is silent. A wave of energy sweeps the room as everyone focuses on the status screen. It flashes a phoenix flying by and updates some of the members.

A533, A535 – Cancelled

There’s a gasp from the room. Cancellations are rare, and usually mean you were diagnosed with a life threatening disease or something. Few would choose to be a Basic nowadays.

I wonder what Shelly is doing right now.

DING!

The screen updates again.

A534 – Stable

I breathe a sigh of relief for Zach.

A man with the build of an overfed football player pumps his fist into the air. “Told ya he’d get his status fast! Knew he had it in him!”

It’s Zach’s father. Fast statuses usually mean a desired ability. The quicker you can tell, the more obvious the ability. With few exceptions, obvious abilities equal the most marketable. Even a freakish ability can earn one fame through television or live performances. Maybe Zach will be a Jumper.