I Become Shadow (5 page)

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whispered to anyone and no one.

I looked around, expecting that hulking guard to come pummel me with his baton, or worse yet, for them to crank up the power on whatever shocked me. But it didn’t happen.

Mr. Speakervoice said, “Please do not leave your assigned spot, Ms. Sharpe. The consequences won’t be so pleasant next time.”

And then I saw it. We all did.

In walked that boy who had tried to run. My stomach bottomed out at the sight of him. Streaks of blood came out of his right ear, both nostrils, and his bottom lip. His
left eye was swollen completely shut. He walked gingerly, not necessarily with a pronounced limp, but as if his whole body hurt and every step was agony.

He didn’t have far to go to reach his light, but it seemed as if it took him hours to get there. At one point he fell. A few lights suddenly turned red and I knew that a few more of my fellow prisoners were experiencing the lovely jolt I was now familiar with. Silly kids, trying to help someone. But I learned something. Sympathy was not tolerated here. The beaten boy picked himself up and eventually made it to his space. All the lights were now blue. Three hundred or so walking dead, ready and waiting.

Like a school of fish we were all facing the same direction, even though no clear “front” of the room had ever been established. Normally, I would have turned a different direction just to be unusual, but I was already on the “tried to leave her bubble” list. So with all of the little fish bundled together, the only question in my mind was: Where are the sharks?

A spotlight illuminated a man standing in front of us.
Has he been there this whole time?
He wore a military-type combat outfit—fatigues, boots, some armor—that I would later learn had no distinguishing connection to any of the major armed forces. Obviously. He looked especially dangerous and impressive compared to the frightened tweens that made up his mustard army.

His head slowly swept the room, taking us in. Then he spoke.

“Have a seat.”

His voice was surprisingly warm yet still had a tinge of
“don’t fuck with me.” Serial killers, I’ve since learned, seem to have the same type of skill. Blocks rose up from the floor behind each one of us before my brain could ask,
“Sit where?”
My legs welcomed the relief of it. The blocks were hard and cold, but it was nice to be sitting.

“I first want to apologize for what you’ve been put through. I understand it has been, and probably still is, the most frightening experience of your life. And I’m not foolish enough to think that a glorified slide show has earned your trust. But please believe me when I say you have nothing to fear here. You are the special ones, and we are only here for you. I am Lt. Colonel Shane, and I will be overseeing your training at FATE.”

He began to walk among us, making eye contact with everyone he passed. His boots clomped against the hard floor.

“You will be tested here beyond the limits of your mental and physical abilities, challenged like never before. You
will
hate us. You
will
want nothing more than to hurt us, maybe even kill us. We don’t take it personally.”

He paused next to a younger-looking Asian girl and gently touched her on the shoulder as if to emphasize the last part. It seemed way too rehearsed.

“We understand none of this has been or will be easy for any of you. But you have been chosen for something noble, something beyond all of us. In time you will understand this and accept it.”

He gave a large boy an encouraging nod and a slap on the shoulder, as if to say
I know you’re already there, champ
. The boy gave a slight smile. This Shane guy was good.

“A lot of you are probably thinking there’s been a mistake.”

Now he was speaking my language.
Where’s the exit for satellite error?
I squeezed my eyes closed, imagining being allowed to go home.

“Ms. Sharpe. Am I boring you?”

I opened my eyes. My light was no longer a soft blue but bright white again.
Gulp
. I looked to my right. He was there, right beside me.

“Am I?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. Sorry … sir.” I added the “sir” at the last moment. It seemed appropriate.

He stepped closer to me, his black combat boots skirting the edge of my light zone. His nose was slightly crooked, obviously broken a few times. He also had a scar across his forehead I hadn’t been able to see earlier. “Well, what has you so preoccupied?”

Was I being given the opportunity to ask anything I wanted? I wanted to ask about my family and if I could go home. I wanted to tell him I was still terrified and that they were wrong about me. I wanted him to promise me they weren’t going to hurt me. But I didn’t want to look weak in front of my new peers. I’d been weak my whole life and look where it had gotten me. No, I wanted to look tough, smart, and totally accepting of the situation. Someone everybody could count on. Ren Sharpe, everybody’s buddy and one tough cookie. So I asked something I felt a lot of us were wondering.

“Why was I given that shot last night?”

“That’s an excellent question, Ms. Sharpe,” he said.
“Never hesitate to ask questions or say what’s on your mind here.” He smirked, and I knew he understood there was a lot more I had really wanted to say. “The shot you were given is called ‘fire.’ It is a drug you will be given every night after training, so get used to it. Over time it will kill all of the nerve endings in your body until you feel no pain.” He turned and looked at an Indian girl next to me and said, “If you do not feel pain, then there is nothing left to fear but death.” He grinned before continuing, “And all of you are already dead. The treatment cycle takes four years to complete.”

My stomach bottomed out. Had I heard that right? I thought this whole thing would take a month or two tops. Four years was an eternity. Four years from now, I should be starting college somewhere, high school already behind me …

I now understood why people in court hung their heads when told the length of a prison sentence. It absolutely defeats you. That was me. That was us. The Defeated. We may have been saved from death but would this really be any better? On the bright side, with a shot of fire coming every night my fear of needles would be quickly snuffed out. Silver lining, anyone?

Shane turned toward me and asked, “Anything else on your mind?”

Before I could stop myself I blurted out, “Where to begin?”

To my surprise, he chuckled. A few others in the room did too but only after they heard him. He spread out his arms as he graciously said, “I’m all yours, Ms. Sharpe. Begin where you see fit.”

I paused, deciding which of the numerous questions racing through my head I should ask. I’d already asked a question to look tough, now I wanted to ask one to show I was a thinker too. Brawny, yet brainy.

“Why do you need us?” I asked. He gave me a look that showed he thought I was an idiot, so I elaborated. “No, I mean, I know
why
we’re here; I just don’t see the point. Down the road these people are important, the satellite shows this. But if they didn’t have us protecting them before, why do they need us now? And what are we protecting them from?”

Shane nodded. “The world is a cruel and unpredictable place, Ms. Sharpe. It’s ever-changing, creating new threats and removing old ones. Something minor that happens in one place can have ripple effects thousands of miles away. These threats are unavoidable, tied up with the nature of time itself. It will be your job to stand in the way of them. And also, who’s to say we are the only ones with knowledge of the future? Would you agree that others may not be as honorable with that knowledge?”

I swallowed. That actually hadn’t occurred to me.

There was a soft but audible
ding
that seemed to come from all over.

“That is all the time we have today,” he said. “Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your sacrifice. Good luck.” And with that he took his place directly in front of us.

A new light shone down on a hard-nosed drill instructor. He barked, “Do not move until directed!”

From above I heard Mr. Speakervoice say, “When your
light is extinguished, you are to exit through the designated door. Do not attempt to leave before then. Best of luck over the next four years, Ren Sharpe. I’m rooting for you.”

You suck, Mr. S
, I thought. I bet he was some Hollywood voice guy who had no real idea what his work was for. He collected a fat check and ate avocados all day long.

Across the room a door opened. Randomly, fifteen bubble lights turned off. Those under the lights began to move.

Soon enough, my light went off.
So, the first day of the rest of my life, huh?
The open door for me was directly in front of everyone, behind Shane. My legs barely had the strength to stand up, and the walk toward the door was slow. As I passed Shane he gave me a grin and a nod before whispering, “Have fun.”

I entered a hallway and followed the other kids. We ended up in a room about the size of a tennis court with white padded walls and floors as soft as a yoga mat. Half of me laughed. Maybe I had really lost my mind, and this was the mental institution room I was stuck in. The other half saw a group of seventeen yellow-clad kids all standing together in a white room and thought we all looked like bath ducks.

On my left was Junie Miller, that tall blond boy, the first one of us to dare enter a bubble. He had already proven himself to be much braver than I was. I wanted to hate him for it. But when I glanced up at him he caught my eye, shrugged, and gave me a “well, we’re really in it now, aren’t we?” look. It was the perfect combination of goofy and serious and sad and lost. He also made me do what I never thought I would again: smile.

He whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “I’m Junie.”

I whispered back, “I’m Ren.”

“Cool name,” he responded.

“No, it isn’t,” I said.

“Better than mine. Mine’s like a hillbilly who can’t say June,” he said. Then in a thick hick accent, “Ma’ name’s Joonee.”

I almost laughed again. Okay, this Junie kid was all right. He could be my wingman anytime. Totally bro hug with fist bumps on a flight deck. I saw that no one else seemed to be talking to anyone and I caught a few of the others sending us dirty looks.

Am I a cool kid?

“Oh my God,” I heard Junie say, and I snapped out of it. “Did you just zone out? Can you pay attention to anything for more than three seconds?”

I scowled. “My mother always said find what you’re good at and stick with it. I’m really good at getting distracted and lost in my own awesome inner monologue.”

His smile widened, revealing a dimple. “You’re gonna get me in trouble, aren’t you?”

“I’m pretty good at that too,” I said. I was trying not to smile back. This place was not for smiling. I felt a little tingle in my stomach.
What the hell are you doing?
I thought.
He’s messing with you. Snap out of it, Sharpe. Get your head in the game
. But I couldn’t. I guessed if I was running the gauntlet of emotions why couldn’t I let this one have a shot too? Even if he was messing with me, it was so much better than anything else I’d felt in so long. I didn’t have the will to squash it. But I didn’t see the need, either.

Strangely, that was easily the best conversation I’d had
with a boy my entire life. I’d been witty and aloof, too. Why had talking to him been so easy? I had never been able to do this before so why now? Why here? What had changed?

“Your attention!” shouted a whiny and oddly familiar voice.

A wiry, long-haired, pasty guy with a rat face appeared from a hidden door. He had two blackened eyes and what looked like a recently broken nose. Crooked noses seemed to be a recurring theme around here. I instinctively touched mine. I liked my nose. I vowed to do my best to keep my sniffer straight.

Thinking of noses reminded me of something. I vividly remember kicking someone in the face …

“Line up over there,” the man squeaked.

My heart thudded. No doubt: it was the same voice I had heard snap, “Drug her!” Fan-freaking-tastic. He motioned to where Junie and I were standing and the others quickly lined up along with us to our left. I was at the end. My stomach was full of butterflies again. Big ones.

The man walked to the far end (
So I’ll be last
, I couldn’t help but think) and began to move down the line. He took a good look at each face as he passed. “My name is Cole. I will be your instructor. I will do my best to train you but many of you will fail to make it through the program. You will succumb to the pain of fire and break mentally, or the injuries you sustain will render you unfit to continue.” He sounded like he didn’t want to be here, that this was some sort of demotion and he was being punished.

When he finally reached me he smiled. His breath smelled like cat food. “And some of you will die.”

I blinked.
Did he just threaten me? Seriously? What happened to all that you’re-safe-here crap that Shane promised?

He stared at me. I wanted to apologize for what I’d done. But the more I thought about it, the more it didn’t make sense. Wasn’t it better that I had fought? That I wasn’t completely useless? That even if it wasn’t much, I had some fight in me?

“But we will do our best to avoid that.”

He turned and marched away. A block rose from the floor behind him, and he took a seat. With a glance at the biggest girl in the room, he said, “Katie Jones, please step forward.”

Katie took three shaky steps forward and stopped. Unsure what to do, she stared at the ground, a solid technique I’d used many times myself, but one that leads to zoning out, so use it with caution.

“Ren Sharpe, please step forward,” he commanded.

I had been expecting it. But that didn’t mean I responded. I was glued to the floor. My mind was telling me to step forward, but my legs wanted no part of the action.

“Now,” he said in a tone that gave me goosebumps.

I swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and managed a wobbly lurch so that I was in line with Katie.