Harbinger (6 page)

Where does someone go when they “take off”?

“There was this old building I camped out in. At sunset, I’d climb up to the roof. And I’d stand right at the edge, looking at all those desperate people down in the filthy streets. Kids huddled around smoky fires. Scroungers knifing each other over trash.”

I had my answer. No one went to the cities anymore, unless they had no place else to go.

It’d been years since my family went to Pittsburgh even though it was only twenty miles away. The closest I got was clips on the news about riots or raids on the hospitals. Now I thought past Kel’s voice whispering to me through the darkness.
Who is this guy?

Then I pictured him again, up on the roof, like me. He stood alone at the brink. Looking down into his own hell. And for the first time, I wanted this wall between us to disappear. I wanted to tear it down myself.

Kel went on, his voice sharpening into a kind of savageness. “All those people scurrying around. Did they really think there was anywhere better to go? I’d look at them down there and tell myself,
Just one more step.
”

Then Kel’s voice broke and the air resonated with his song again. “I wish I had a river so long. I would teach my feet to fly.”

Kel held on to the last note, his rough voice easing off of it. Letting it fade into the darkness.

Then Kel laughed. A solid, normal sound. “Please tell me they blew up one of those giant cushion thingies for you to jump on.”

It took me a second to figure out he was talking about me, up on the school roof. Shaking off the misery I’d heard in his voice, I played along. “Sorry to disappoint. No cushion thingy. But I did ride in an ambulance.”

Kel laughed again, low and soft. “You make me feel like I should throw a car chase or something into my story. Though I did have a little excitement. I was a little, um . . . irritated when I got here this afternoon. I think I might have punched one of the . . . what do they call them? Caretakers?”

“I think just ‘Takers’ might be more appropriate.”

“Takers. I like that.”

Then something else Kel had said caught up with me. “Afternoon?”

“What?”

“You said you were angry when you got here this afternoon.”

“Yeah. What about it?”

My mind raced. If the sun had come up around six, that meant Dr. Mordoch would’ve put me in here around seven this morning, eight tops. But I couldn’t have been in Solitary for more than a couple hours.

“What time is it?”

“I don’t know. They took my cell phone. Maybe four o’clock?”

Nine hours. I’d been in here for nine hours. The blackness and heat closed back in on me. I braced myself on the wall.

It’s time.
A prickly shiver spider-walked its way up my spine. I could feel the waves coming back for me. The drumbeats in my head.

“Faye?” Kel’s voice was distant now. “You still there? Talk to me.”

I could hear his voice, but I couldn’t answer. I was doing battle with the darkness. Kel knocked again and the joke came back to me.
So crazy So crazy So crazy.

No.
I wasn’t going to do this.

There was the scraping sound of a key in the lock. I sat up, hitting my head on the platform again in a bright flash of pain. I scrambled out and across the floor, pressing myself against the wall as the door swung open. Not wanting to give Kel away.

I blinked into the sudden light, welcoming the ache. Dr. Mordoch came into focus. “Have you reflected on your situation? Faye, do you want Holbrook to help you?”

I nodded.
I’ve got to get out.
I’ve already lost a day in this place.

“I need to hear that you are willing to try, Faye, before I can trust you again. Do you want to try?”

“Yes.” My voice came out strong. My throat ached as I thought about Kel, alone on the other side of the wall. But me staying here wasn’t going to help him.
And what if they came for him too?
Then I’d lose him anyway.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I want to.”

“I believe you, Faye.” Dr. Mordoch sounded pleased. “Let’s go to dinner, then. I’ll let you sit with the rest of your Holbrook Family Unit.”

“Thank you.”

She’d locked me in the dark and I said thank you.

7

THE STINK OF CAFETERIA FOOD
assaulted my nose as I entered the long, thin room that must’ve once been a ballroom. Rather than risk me exploding, Dr. Mordoch had been generous enough to let me use the facilities before dinner. So the dining room was already packed with misfits. Too fat. Too scrawny. Too angry. The kind that usually populate the neglected corners of lunchrooms.

But unlike a normal school cafeteria, there was no talking. No food on the tables. Nothing but me, weaving my way through the hushed room, looking for my seat. Well, nothing but me and a hundred other students watching and waiting. Even the dim light of the old-fashioned chandeliers did nothing to shield me. I kept my eyes glued to the round, wooden tables. After everything else that’d happened today, I had no desire to see other people’s secrets.

Finally, I found my assigned table and the rest of “Family Five.” I recognized the pudgy kid (Zach, I think) that I’d seen from the roof that morning. He was wearing a T-shirt, with a backward Superman emblem on it, that was big even for him. Like he was hoping to get lost in it.

There was an empty chair on either side of him. To his left, a girl with hennaed hair and plaster-white skin had her feet kicked up on one of them. She made no effort to move. In fact, she ignored me with a studied “fuck-you” attitude. I had the urge to yank it out from under her feet, but with the entire room staring at me, I thought better of it.

I pulled out the other chair, wincing as it grated against the polished floor. Thunder in the oppressive silence. Zach winced too, glancing up at me. He was definitely zoned out on something, the puffy skin under his eyes mimicking the same bruised blue of his glassy irises. I recognized the self-loathing in his eyes before they darted away from mine.

Zach hurried to scoot over, as if sparing me the unpleasantness of being close to him. But his chair rammed into the one next to him, causing a loud thud and knocking the girl’s feet off of it. She glared and Zach flinched, shutting off his whole face.

“Welcome to Holbrook Academy.” Dr. Mordoch’s voice boomed across the room as soon as I sat down. Her podium and the teachers’ tables sat on a short platform at the other end of the hall. I recognized Nurse, her pinched face matching her voice, sitting at one of the tables behind Dr. Mordoch. “Whether you know it or not, each one of you is at a critical turning point. If you are willing, there is still time to turn back from the terminal paths you have chosen. But Holbrook is your last chance. In the peace of these woods, we can lead you back to society, show you how to assimilate, nurture appropriate behavior. But if you turn your back on this final opportunity, the rest of the world will not be so kind.”

I wasn’t sure who she was talking to. The tense faces around the room knew better than to expect kindness. I stole a glance at the rest of my table.

I wasn’t the only one looking. The henna-haired girl couldn’t keep her eyes off the guy next to her. He definitely had the tortured, angry thing going for him. His skin was the color of raw sienna, and against his black hoodie, black fingerless gloves, and black hair, it practically glowed. Making him beautiful and fierce at the same time.

The guy on my right wasn’t bad to look at either. But where the hoodie guy was stretched thin and taut, this guy was all shoulders and chest and arms. His tan T-shirt tucked into camo pants made me think Marines. Without really looking, he gave me a subtle nod. The gesture was restrained, just like the rest of him. Hands resting flat on the table. Body perfectly straight and still in his chair. Even his hair was buzzed into submission. Like sketched charcoal against the burnt umber of his face.

“The people at your table will be your Family for the next semester. You’re all newcomers here, and your Family will be your support as you find your way. They will be your peers, your disciplinarians, and your counselors.”

How could these four strangers be my family?
There was still an empty chair at the table, and I wondered what’d happened to the missing person. Were they locked up in Solitary? Was Kel still there too? Alone in the dark? I scanned the faces around the room, wondering if I’d somehow know him if I saw him.

“Tomorrow you’ll meet each other, but tonight you will sit quietly and eat. In order to focus our minds and learn discipline, meals are to be completely silent. As Buddha said, ‘Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.’ To that end, here at Holbrook, you will not be distracted by what to wear, what music to listen to, or how to spend your time. There will be no communication with your families or friends outside this school. No phone calls. No letters. No e-mails.”

“Eff that.” The henna-haired girl dug her chin into her sternum as she muttered to herself. Anger made her pale face even paler. Her heavy eyeliner popped bold against her skin, but did nothing to hide her radiating insecurity. As the girl continued her inaudible tirade, she kept tugging on the sleeve of her homemade T-shirt, which declared in dripping, red letters,
MEAT IS MURDER
!

All around my table and the rest of the cafeteria, it was clear that other students were also stunned by this declaration. Chairs creaked, feet shuffled, and a low murmur rippled through the room.

“That will be the only time I am interrupted, or there will be no dinner. Am I clear?” Dr. Mordoch looked around as if daring us to try her.

Only one person in my “family” hadn’t reacted. Across from me, the guy in the black hoodie and leather gloves was an island unto himself. He just sat staring at the table, arms tight across his chest, shaggy hair shadowing his eyes, hands balled into fists. He must have been roasting in his baggy sweatshirt, but he didn’t seem to notice.

I checked out the rest of the room, trying to spot Rita, but I didn’t see her long braid anywhere. Soft clinks and thumps interrupted the silence as the Takers arrived with plates of soggy, canned corn and steaming meat loaf. It was clear that Dr. Mordoch liked to put on a show. Pricey meat. Zen quotations. But like the open fences from last night, I bet we’d be in for more rude awakenings.

Next to me, Zach picked up his fork. Out of nowhere, the guy in the hoodie shot out his long arm and grabbed Zach’s fist, crushing Zach’s pudgy hand inside his gloved one.

What the hell?

Zach froze, panic making his eyes way too big in his pasty face. He tried to pull away, but the guy in the hoodie just squeezed tighter, his long brown fingers smashing the plastic prongs of the fork into Zach’s pale ones.

Everyone in the “family” watched the drama, following Hoodie Guy’s gaze across the room to where two Takers were closing in on a girl. She was eating quickly, shoveling food into her mouth. One of the Takers laid a hand on the girl’s shoulder while the other took away her still-full plate.

“Hey! I was—” Her words were cut off as they yanked her from her seat and dragged her from the room. Zach, eyes still wide, nodded gratefully to Hoodie Guy. His gloved hand released its grip and then he crossed his arms again. As if nothing had happened.

The whole table seemed to let go of the breath we’d been collectively holding. For a minute, we’d all been on the same side. Hating the Takers. Relieved it hadn’t happened to us. Then the moment was over and everyone was lost in their own heads again. But it’d happened.

Zach stared red-faced at the table, looking like he was trying to keep a grip on himself. Meat-Is-Murder Girl glowered at her plate. Only the Marine guy next to me was still looking around the table. He studied Hoodie Guy, as if calculating a detailed risk assessment.

The Marine was huge, a solid wall of muscle, but in a fight, I’d put my odds on the guy in the hoodie. A kind of feralness was drawn into the angles of his clenched jaw. It was quietly traced into his tight fists. It was the line that pulled his whole body together.

Dr. Mordoch’s voice cut across my thoughts. “Look carefully around your tables. Each of you is projecting an image of who you are to the world. A cool kid. A rebel. A dropout.” She pointed at different kids as she talked. “By tomorrow, this facade will be stripped away. If you are open, if you are strong, if you can pull together as a Family, you will thrive and make different choices. If not . . . well, it’ll be a difficult year.”

Dr. Mordoch finally gave the order to begin eating and the sound of chewing mouths filled the room. I took one bite and gagged. Not as pricey as I’d thought. But I forced down more of the salty meat-mush anyway, trying to fill my empty stomach. Next to me, the Marine did the same. Zach, appearing to have lost his appetite, smashed corn kernels into oblivion. The guy wearing the hoodie and gloves jabbed his fork dangerously at the meat loaf, like he was daring it to start something. But Meat-Is-Murder Girl didn’t even pretend to eat. She raised her hand high in the air.

Either no one saw her or, more likely, she was being ignored. This was not the unquestioning discipline Dr. Mordoch had asked for, so it simply wasn’t happening. But the girl kept her hand up anyway, a stony look on her face. After a few minutes, she spoke up. She started quietly.

“Excuse me.”

Forks stopped mid-bite, and mouths mid-chew.

Dr. Mordoch got up slowly from her table and went to the microphone, motioning for the Takers to hold their positions along the wall.

“I believe I made myself clear about our no-talking policy.” Dr. Mordoch gave a plastic smile, then turned back to her seat.

“I don’t eat meat.” The girl was speaking louder now, her voice carrying across the dining room.

Dr. Mordoch swiveled back to the microphone. “You will eat what you are given, when you are given it. End of discussion.”

Evidently not.

Meat-Is-Murder Girl was yelling now. “I won’t! Do you know how much more energy it takes to raise a cow than soybeans? I do! All that cattle feed. All those fields that could be used to grow crops. Gallons of water. Gasoline. And the feds just turn a blind eye so that rich kids can have their meat loaf. While we’re tucking in our napkins and licking our lips, people are starving. Packed into cities, living off garbage and pathetic federal ‘supplements.’ I won’t eat corrupt, murdered flesh.”

“Then you will not eat. It makes no difference to me.” Dr. Mordoch nodded at Freddy and he sprang into action, heading for the girl.

The girl dropped her head again. I thought she was giving up, but instead she grabbed her plate and hurled it to the floor. The heavy plastic clattered loudly, food flying everywhere.

Five or six other Takers followed Freddy now, moving in on our table. They moved slowly, almost casually, basking in the anxiety that saturated the room. The girl narrowed her eyes at them and then, tensing her too-skinny body, jumped onto her chair and up onto the table.

“The government is subsidizing the rich while the voiceless get trampled. While animals are getting slaughtered. Well, I have a voice! Meat is murder! Meat is murder!” she chanted, stomping her feet in time.

The room watched the girl silently as the distance closed between her and the Takers. Most people had probably already witnessed Holbrook’s own unique brand of discipline or experienced it firsthand. They weren’t about to miss the drama.

“Family Five may be excused,” Dr. Mordoch said calmly into the microphone.

No one at my table moved. No one even knew what was going on.

“These are the Consequences. Caretakers, please escort them back to their rooms. From this point forward, Family members stay together.”

I gazed longingly at my meat loaf jiggling with the rhythm of Meat-Is-Murder Girl’s stamping feet. It was far from appetizing, but I hadn’t eaten since yesterday. More Takers pulled away from their ranks along the wall and headed for us. With a slow, twisted smile, Hoodie Guy flexed his hands and stood up, stomping his feet in time.

Amid the chaos, the Marine went back to emptying his plate. One efficient forkful at a time. But Zach glanced nervously at the Takers flocking toward us. Then, he looked up at Hoodie Guy with a kind of reverence. The possibility of a fight had loosened up Hoodie Guy, who’d uncrossed his arms and uncurled his fists. But it did the opposite to Zach. Zach’s bulky body went rigid and he nodded to himself as he physically pushed himself up out of his chair. Despite his obvious terror, Zach shifted back and forth in his own lock-kneed version of stomping. I was impressed.

“Don’t you see you’re devouring the Earth?” Meat-Is-Murder Girl pointed to a guy at the table next to us with gravy dribbling down his chin. “We’ve squeezed our planet dry. Stomped the hell out of it with our carbon footprint. Sent cow shit and pesticides sludging through our rivers and drinking water.”

The girl kicked over her cup for emphasis, spraying the table next to us.

Dragon and her tattooed arms were ten feet and closing now, so I figured I might as well go on my own terms. I stood up, slamming my feet in time with the others. Only the Marine stayed planted in his seat, counting the number of incoming Takers under his breath.

The thumping of our feet egging her on, the girl screamed, “Don’t any of you get it? Our world is melting, frying, starving, and suffocating, and you just keep right on chewing. Meat is murder! Meat is murder!”

The Takers tried to wrestle the girl down from the table. Freddy yanked her arm hard and she lost her balance. The Marine jumped out of his chair, cursing, and threw himself toward her flailing body. But he couldn’t get around the table fast enough, and she slammed into the stone floor.