Kill School: Slice (6 page)

“He’s killed others.” Mom fiddles with her knife. “Stay
away from him…”

Dad cuts Mom off. “Don’t start,” he says. “No one has ever
been killed in Kill School.”

“No one gets killed in
Kill School
?” I ask,
emphasizing the slang used for Training Camp.

“Um,” Dad says. He strums his fingers on the table in a
rhythmic beat.

Mom presses Dad’s hand into the table, so that he cannot
strum any more. “Dad is right. You should be safe there.” She reaches for the
pocketknife, with the same uncomfortable expression Dad had when I tried to
play the flute.

“You’re not taking this back.” I stuff the knife back in
the pocket of the vest and clasp my parents’ hands. “I love your gifts. You
have no idea how much they mean to me. I’ll take them with me and remember you
every time I see them.”

I want to tell my parents how much I love them, but can’t
continue. I want to hide in my room and bawl my eyes out, but I can’t do that
either. Instead, I sit back and listen to my dad play the violin, which my mom
can no longer prevent him from grasping.

I wake
early in the morning too agitated and anxious to go back to sleep. The sun
hasn’t risen, but I know it will soon. Four days have passed since my birthday.
It is Monday morning and time to go to Training Camp. I sit at my terminal in
the moments before dawn as I have done every day since receiving my token. I
won’t have access to it in camp, so I want to find out as much as possible about
the Regulators now.

I have memorized all four of their names and faces. When
I’m not at my terminal, I whisper them under my breath; reciting their
statistics like poetry. Every detail is available to me. I catch my breath with
the vast amount of information and wonder who else knows as much as I do.

One women, three men. All live in houses around Clarkhaven
House. I trace the map with my finger, memorizing the order of their houses.
Entering Clarkhaven House is near impossible with its high walls and elevated
height. The only way I can get in is to be a guest and I don’t foresee that
happening any time in the future.

It will take me months to gather all the information I
need, to make the decision to kill. My gut tells me to go after Regulator Krish
because of his comments, but the Regulators may all be the same. I need to know
more about them before I decide whom to kill.

Two
hours later, I stand at the door with my totecase at my side. I’ve packed
light. Camp will furnish us with everything, including uniforms identifying our
color. Turquoise for me, if I can pull off my ruse. How to kill a Regulator,
101. Somehow, I doubt they have that class.

Sebastian meets me at the door with a hug and a pat on the
head. His bruised eye has mostly healed and he has regained some of his humor.
I will miss Sebastian the most.

“Thanks for coming,” I say.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He grins. “Viv wanted to
come too, but her parents won’t let her out of the house until that squirmy,
little punk takes care of his termination.”

“You know who he is?” I ask.

“Not yet,” Sebastian says. “I’m keeping an eye on the list
to see if I recognize him.”

Every morning, the post office publishes a list of the
terminated and terminators complete with photo biographies. My father reviews
it daily on his Flatpad. He’s not a voyeur. He does it in case any of his
students are on it, which has happened several times.  

Dad and Mom come down the stairs holding hands. Dad cradles
Baby with his free arm.

“Ready?” Mom asks.  

“Sorta,” I answer honestly.

A quick glance in the hall mirror reveals my slicked back
hair and mom’s brown leather vest. I am surprised at how tough I look. I am
excited and nervous about being away from my parents for the very first time. I
will be meeting kids from all over, not just our region. Our family doesn’t
travel much and I’ve never been up north where training camp is located.

Mom grabs her bag. “Don’t worry, honey. The first week of camp
is boring. You’ll be with kids who know nothing about killing.”

“Great,” I say. Looking tough and being tough are two
completely different things.

“Remember, we are riotous and merciful.” Sebastian places a
hand on his heart and one on mine. It’s a ritual I’ve seen him do with his
friends. He then touches his forehead to mine, a ritual of our own.

“You’ll come back stronger than me,” he whispers.

I raise my eyebrows to tell him I think he’s lost his mind.
Me stronger than him?

“Someone tossed a kid off the fountain bridge yesterday.”
Dad speaks with feeling, although I think he is trying to be casual. “He didn’t
have a chance. Cracked his head on a rock in the river.”

“Dad.” I force a giggle so that he won’t feel embarrassed
and touch his hand. “You don’t have to be so graphic.”

Sebastian snorts. “You think that’s graphic, wait until you
take camp’s version of biology.”

I push Sebastian with my shoulder. “Don’t make me hurl.”

“I dreamt about intestines for days after that. Watch out
for Hammerschmidt. He’s a real Pwad.” Sebastian grins and pinches me in my
ticklish spot.

“Stop it.” I try to push his hands away, but in a few short
seconds, he has me rolling with laughter.

“We better get going or we are going to be late.” Mom crosses
her arms and stares at me as if she’s determined to get us out the door whether
we like it or not.

“Sorry, Mom,” Sebastian and I say together, as we have many
times before.

She bites her lip and walks out the door ahead of us. She
doesn’t want us to see her cry.

Dad with Baby, Sebastian, and I follow her down the steps
of our townhome filling the air with idle chatter. Everyone is a bit giddy,
maybe overly so. Our family comradery helps me forget where I am going, much
like the sunrise does.

The sun casts bright yellow and orange rays down our street,
steeping the large oak trees in a warm bath of light. The Monday morning
sweepers hover in the air, suctioning up all the dirt and garbage from a weeks’
worth of living. A few microdrones buzz around. I expect they’ll follow us all
the way to the station.

Neighbors flow out of their townhomes and toward the MagLev
or their PRTs on the way to school or work. Most of my neighbors know it’s my
day. Some wave and smile, while others hang their heads to avoid eye contact. A
few kids—classmates—shout out encouraging words.

The train to camp is at the end of the MagLev line, so we
walk the few blocks to the station. Dad and Sebastian walk by my sides while
Mom leads the way. I watch her black heels click on the sidewalk. The light
blue suit she wears is one of my favorites. She greets the neighbors like a
politician, with brief comments and short waves. Always pleasant. Always firm.

I wish we lived in a different era. Maybe the one where jet
planes flew in the sky or where people still died of natural causes. Where kids
still goofed around on the internet, instead of investigating whom they were
going to kill on their terminal. Medieval Europe where castles were still made
of stone. Prehistoric times where dinosaurs roamed the earth. Any era would be
better than this one.

We approach the elevated iron, steel, and glass structure
of the MagLev station. The towering station, with pointed arches, ribbed
vaults, and flying buttresses, intimidates me.

A woman screams. I turn my head and see a gang of kids run
toward us.

Mom guides us to the glass lift as someone shouts, “Opals
and pearls.” Those kids are supposed to be in school, but they are out on a
hunt.

Sebastian pushes us into the lift. “Hurry up. Mom and Dad
are in danger.”

Several more people squish into the lift before the door
closes. The crowd pushes me against the glass. I have a perfect view of the
city and the raging teenagers.

“You kids are a menace,” a man growls. His elbow is in my
ear.

“It is not their fault,” Mom growls back.

“You recognize any of them?” Sebastian asks me.

I shake my head. Some of the kids wear scarfs colored pearl
and others opal. I stare at a girl who has a woman by the neck. The woman
clobbers her with a purse and runs away.

“They’re not from around here,” Sebastian says. “It’s
getting worse.”

The same girl grabs another woman from behind. This time, I
see the silver edge of a dagger in the girl’s hand.

“Show mercy,” Sebastian whispers.

I hide my head in his shoulder as the woman goes down on
the ground. Sebastian holds my head to my chest as the others in the lift raise
their voices in anger and anguish. I turn my head and catch another teen as he
cracks an old man in the skull with a bat.

Mercy, indeed.
It’s all-out
war down there.

Finally, the elevator opens to the station and we pour out
toward the gates. Mom leads the charge, with Dad carrying Baby right behind
her. Sebastian and I jog to keep up, ignoring the stares and nasty comments of
those around us.
Hypocrites
. They had to kill, too.

Mom uses her family pass to get us through the gates and
onto the Maglev track. People give us a wide birth, as they do with the other
teens in the station. I can’t wait to be older, to have this all behind me. I
hate the way people glare at me, as if I’m some kind of monster. I understand
why some kids rebel with tattoos and blue hair, to give people a reason for
their disgusted glares. I have nothing extreme to offer them. I am just an
ordinary girl on my way to Kill School.

After a few very uncomfortable minutes, a train glides into
the station. Mom guides us safely into a private compartment and then dusts off
her coat.

“Sorry about that,” Mom says. “You shouldn’t have to see
something like that before camp.”

Dad sits next to Mom, who takes a crying Baby from his
arms. Sebastian sits next to me, across from my parents. My stomach churns. I
feel like barfing. The only thing stopping me is the scenery change as we leave
the city.

Soon, we all begin to enjoy the ride. Mom and Dad talk
about updating my bedroom when I’m gone. They quiz Sebastian about Viviane and me
about the lack of a crush. We pass through three more towns, a stretch of
wilderness, and then another few towns before we arrive at the end of the line.

Baby, cranky from having to wake up from her nap, cries
softly in Mom’s arms. Mom whispers something in her ear and then blows. Baby
giggles and soon is watching everything around her. Dad takes Baby from Mom and
we leave our compartment. I am nervous about seeing the adults on the train,
until I realize only families with kids going to Kill School are left.

Dozens of kids gather around, some compare tokens, others
stand by themselves. Parents hover over their young ones giving them last
minute advice. The Vactrain to camp is on the far side of the station. Unlike
the Maglev, which is primarily above ground, the Vactrain travels in an
enclosed airless tube all the way to camp.

The ride is supposed to be super-fast and secretive. The
only people on the train at this time will be campers. No parents allowed.
Other times, scientists travel back and forth on the train. Kalstein Barstow
built a research facility as part of the camp. I have no idea what kind of
research they do there, and I don’t want to find out. If it has anything to do
with Kalstein Barstow, it’s most likely about death.

My brother tells me the ride is fierce and fast, using
gravity and the force of the vacuum. Some of the kids get so sick on the ride
that they miss the first few days of class.

Several moving sidewalks later, we reach the escalators
down to the waiting Vactrain. I turn to my mom, suddenly frozen in panic.

“Mom, I don’t want to go,” I say.

She pulls me out of the river of families going down the
escalator. For a moment, I lose sight of Sebastian, and Dad with Baby.

“You have to. You’ll be sent to control if you don’t.” The
sorrow in Mom’s eyes crushes me.

Nobody ever comes back from control. “Maybe it’s better
than killing someone.”

Mom takes my face in her hands. “A life for a life, Honey.
We do this because we have to. Get through camp. They’ll teach you techniques
to deal with days like this.”

A whistle blows. We don’t have much time left. Dad appears
by Mom’s side. The crowd jostles Baby, making her cry.

“It’s too rough for Baby,” Dad says. “I’ll have to take her
back upstairs.”

“I’ll take her,” Sebastian says. He takes Baby from Dad’s
arms. “Have a good trip,” he says to me. He then turns to our parents, and
says, “I’ll meet you back at the MagLev.”

Mom and Dad guide me down the escalators. I am sandwiched
between them like precious cargo protected by their bodies. I wish I could
cocoon between them forever. Halfway down the escalator, the sight of the train
makes me gasp.

The train gleams white against the black rock of the
subterranean station. The platform trails off into a molded tunnel of white
Corian that will take us around the lake and far north. It resembles a
beautiful white bullet waiting to go down the shaft of a gun.

At the bottom of the escalator, we wade through the crowd
to the turnstiles where I will leave my parents behind. As we walk, I hear
snippets of conversation and glance at the girls and boys having them. Their
eyes trail over my body as well, looking for the ubiquitous token.

Some of the kids wear their tokens prominently, some are
nowhere in sight. Some of the kids recoil when they register my bracelet and
the turquoise color.
Yes, I can kill you.
Others, when they see my
color, react by showing me theirs. The same. Not really the same. I am living a
big lie, the biggest one of my life.

As my parents drag me along, I search for someone, anyone I
know. The girl in my class who shares my birthday, the boy who is a friend of
Viviane’s brother. I see no one and feel hopeless.

“Are you alright, Aria?” Mom asks. “You are very quiet.”