Talker 25 (29 page)

“You want me to kill her?”

“I want you to redeem yourself.” He waves at the dragon. “This beast murdered dozens of people in your community. What better way to prove your remorse?”

“She was just trying to protect the children.”

“I don’t care, it’s what you’re going to do. Now get it together. I don’t want you crying up there.”

I stand off to the side while the fab four gather around the dragon and congratulate each other on a hunt well done. Hector orders an adrenaline injection for Old Man Blue to liven her up. Her eyes open, her glow brightens. Take away the scars, gouges, and spatters of fake blood that cover her body, and she looks almost like she did that night atop Dragon Hill.

The fab four repeat their congratulatory act. Ceremonial sword in hand, Frank positions himself beside the dragon. “We’ve got a special guest for you, old man,” he says in his gruff TV voice.

“Melissa, move toward Frank,” Hector orders. “Back it up. Be more confident. Shoulders back, hold your head high.”

I obey.

“Pick up the pace. Close your mouth. Snarl a bit. Tell him that you want to kill the dragon, then take the sword.”

“I want to do it,” I say.

“No, no, no!” Hector bellows. “Add more oomph. Like you actually mean it. Start over.”

A dozen or so start-overs later, I manage an overwrought rendition he finds acceptable.

“Now kill the damn thing,” he says.

I grab the sword from Frank, its tip balanced on the middle of Old Man Blue’s head. Sweat slickens my shaking hands.

No.

Not like this.

I roar—

My CENSIR shocks me.

“What the hell was that?” Hector says.

“I was improvising . . . um . . . releasing my wild side.”

“Interesting.” He purses his lips. “Okay. Try it again. More natural. Less screechy.”

Asshole.

I give it everything I’ve got. If anything, Old Man Blue dims.

“Let’s kill it for real this time, people,” Hector says after another adrenaline injection.

I take a deep breath. And another.

“Push in a little bit. It’ll help with the nerves,” Frank whispers.

Bye, old man.

“Good-bye, Melissa,” I hear her say. A memory. Back when I thought there was nothing worse than dragons.

Now there is only silence.

Then Hector: “Hurry it up!”

I close my eyes, tighten my grip, press down, feel the blade slide in through her scales. Far more easily than I expected. I stop.

“Do it, Melissa. Straight down!”

“The dragon’s almost dead,” Frank whispers. “It won’t hurt him.”

“Her,” I mumble. “It won’t hurt her.” My arms lose their strength. The sword wobbles, my vision blurs. “I can’t.”

“Frank, help her out,” Hector says.

Frank draws his pistol, shoots Old Man Blue in the side of the head. Her glow disappears and the hangar darkens.

Hector climbs onto the slab, his Botoxed face gone red. “What were you thinking? I meant for you to help her push the sword through, not shoot the damn thing.” He wheels on me. “And you—”

Frank steps between us. “Leave her alone. You can add the glow back in post-production.”

“Fine. Makeup! Get it under control, Melissa.”

“No makeup,” Frank says. “You let her cry. CGI it out if you want, but you let her cry.”

With Frank’s help, I drive the sword deep into Old Man Blue’s head. While Frank gives his sign-off, I sit beside the dead dragon, thinking about her last words to me.

In the end, she died to protect those children. If she were human, she’d be given a ceremony and medals. But she’s just
a slain monster who will be remembered for the lives she took, not the lives she sacrificed herself to save.

And all for nothing. As far as I know, Baby’s the only one left, and she’s on borrowed time.

The armies gather. We will come.

But they’re not coming. Not now. Jets would be scrambling, sirens would be blaring.

In an hour, I’ll be on a stealth transport back to Antarctica. A few hours after that, Baby will be dead. An ax to the head, maybe a chain saw. Wings ripped off? I wonder if they’ll have a talker roar to her before—

No! The dragons will come to Georgetown, they will find us. So what if those words were nothing but figments of desire or anesthesia? So what if we’re a needle in Major Alderson’s frozen haystack? So what if the only dragons Lorena’s seen there in almost three years of endless days and endless nights are those brought in strapped and collared?

Doesn’t matter. Rescue will come. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it will. It must. I look to Old Man Blue. She did her best. She and Vestia and Keith and James . . .

And Mom.

Now it’s my turn.

Colonel Hanks will only keep Baby alive as long as I have bargaining power. And my sole currency is popularity.
I recall the messages on that website he showed me. Melissa’s supporters love her because she’s crazy.

I can’t disappoint them.

I wrench the sword from the dragon’s head, slick with blood, and clamber atop her.

“Get out of my shot,” Hector shouts, reaching for the tablet that controls my CENSIR.

As soldiers run toward me, I raise the sword. “There are many rules critical for a successful dragon hunt, but always remember this: dragons bleed just like we do,” I shout, then tilt my head up and open my mouth to catch the acrid blood dripping from the hilt. “Dragons feel pain, just like we do, and dragons die, just like we do!”

I plunge the sword into Old Man Blue again and again until Frank pulls me off.

A beaming Hector scuttles over. “That was absolutely brilliant.”

“I want to be your official dragon slayer,” I say, wiping blood from my face.

“We’ll have to see how the ratings track and get permission from the colonel. Why the change of heart?”

“For the children, of course.”

It’s midday when the plane lands in Georgetown. After A-Bs unload several supply crates, Lester uncuffs me and herds
me into the Humvee. On our way toward the base, I spot Baby in one of the dragon cages. Unlike the other captives, she thrives in the frigid climate. Seeing her alive and semihealthy puts a smile on my face.

“Enjoy your vacation, Twenty-Five?” the sergeant says.

“Oh yeah, I had a blast. How things been down here? Still killing everything you can?”

“Hoo-rah.”

We visit Colonel Hanks. I give him a rundown of my performance. “Hector’s thinking about making me a regular on the show.”

The colonel frowns. “We’ll see. I don’t want this interfering with your duties.”

“I mentioned that to him. Said you’d probably want a larger cut, too. He didn’t like the idea, but I think he’s open to it. Depending on the ratings, of course.”

The colonel stares at me for a while, then laughs. “I don’t know what they did to you topside, but I approve of it.”

“I saw the Silver in the cage on my way in,” I say. “Can we keep her there?”

“For the time being.”

“Thank you, Colonel,” I say.

“Thank me by doing your job well,” he says, beckoning Lester. “She’s at the call center for the rest of the day.”

The hint of a smirk plays on the sergeant’s lips.

I don’t understand his amusement until we enter the call center. The voices echo around me, but one stands out above all else. He’s the talker leading the weekly tally board with twenty dragons located.

26
.

James.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

I
go through the motions of locating dragons, but can’t focus because I’m trying to convince myself it’s not James I hear. Lester chastises me often. Harsh words, a CENSIR jolt here and there. Makes little difference. It takes me three hours to contact my first dragon (who hangs up on me within seconds), another hour to get an old Red to reveal his location.

Numerous reprimands later, Major Alderson announces an end to the workday. It’s Tuesday, which means it’s the girls’ turn to leave the building first, but as we’re getting up, Major Alderson raises his hand.

“Twenty-Five, you will remain here until you hit the minimum daily standard. Your barracks will be on heat reduction until you are successful. The rest of the girls are dismissed.

“On a good note,” the major says as the girls file out, “Twenty-Six set a call center record with eighteen targets located in a single day. Weak links break chains . . . strong links hold them together. Twenty-Six, please stand.”

He’s in a cube at the front. I can’t see his face.

The major tosses him a bag of candy. “To further show our appreciation, I have decided to give all the boys tomorrow off, with provisional access to the rec center. You are dismissed.”

The boys rise. Cheerful murmurs percolate through the group as they form their exit line. I expect him to be crazed like Claire or scattered like Twenty-One, but when he comes into view, he appears no different from the farmboy I remember.

He doesn’t so much as glance my way as he passes.

Perhaps he didn’t recognize me. I’m skinnier than the last time we saw each other, and my hair is blond. I see him whisper something to a soldier. Then he turns around and stalks toward me.

He opens the bag of candy and tosses one at my feet.

“You fed me in the cage,” he says. “I don’t want to be in the debt of a glowheart. We square?”

I bite my lip, give him a curt nod.

“Good. And try to do better, Twenty-Five. Weak links break chains.”

That evening, nobody watches
Kissing Dragons
. Nobody seems to mind the chill in the barracks. They’re all too busy talking about him.

Lorena wraps me in a blanket hug. “Welcome back.”

Twenty-One tugs at me. “He’s your friend, right?”

I swallow. “No.”

“But I heard he gave you chocolate.”

“Go count your stash, Allie,” Lorena says.

Twenty-One sticks her tongue out. “Already done. I like him, yes, yes. He gave me some of his chocolate, too. Told me to keep up the good work. Can he come to our island?”

“You bet,” I whisper.

She points a finger gun at Evelyn. “We’ll have to kill her first, though.”

“That’s enough, Allie,” Lorena says.

Twenty-One sulks. “He gave her more than he gave me.”

I can’t help myself. “He did?”

“At dinner. He came over to our table. Said he wanted to share,” Lorena explains. She rolls her eyes. “‘With those who deserve it.’”

“So much for no fraternizing, huh? That’s good,” I say. “They deserve each other.”

Lorena shrugs. “Try not to think about it.”

“You figure out what you want to put next to the
carousel?” Twenty-One asks.

Jesus. I force a smile. “Not yet. I will. Promise.”

“Yes, yes. Maybe something for Twenty-Six. Like a basketball court. He can play with the monkeys.”

He prefers soccer. Doesn’t matter anymore, I suppose.

“Wakey, wakey, everyone.”

I don’t know what day it is.

I hear the excited whispers as we dress. Sometimes his name slithers over, snakes its way into my ears.

I retreat to the bathroom and almost run into Evelyn, who’s soaping up her armpits, a stupid smile on her face. Not her fake, bullshit smile either. Well, not until she sees me.

On the bus, the whispers are louder, the smiles wider.

“Maybe we should do it,” Evelyn says.

Seven laughs. “You’re crazy.”

“James is fine.” She grins. “Mighty fine. Bet they’ve worked out the kinks.”

I’m tempted to encourage her lunacy. Twenty-One may be addled beyond repair, but she’s not an emotional zombie who feeds on dragons. Sure, he may be perfect for Georgetown needs, but once they no longer need him, Twenty-Six will shrivel away and there won’t be anything left.

I suddenly find it difficult to breathe.

Twenty-One squeezes my hand. “You okay, Twenty-Five?”

“I’m fine.” I don’t know why it hurts. I barely know him. Knew him.

Eyes down, I enter the cafeteria, get my food, quickstep it to the girls’ table. I sit in the far corner with Lorena and Twenty-One, try to ignore the laughter that come from the other end.

I’m squashing peas into mash when I hear footsteps, then his voice. “Good morning, Sergeant.”

The table goes quiet. Boys aren’t allowed over here.

“Good morning, Twenty-Six,” Lester says. “Can I help you?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to borrow Talker One to ask her about examination techniques.”

“Of course,” the sergeant says without hesitation.

I peek askance and see the whore rise. She looks like a dog ready to fetch a bone. He looks eager to throw it. I clench my fork. It snaps. Twenty-Six notices. “You want to join us, Glowheart? You could use some pointers.”

Evelyn’s scowl almost makes me take him up on it, but I shake my head, return to stabbing peas with my shard of fork.

My CENSIR shocks me. “Violent thoughts will not be tolerated, Twenty-Five,” Lester says.

“Bet he’s got a pecker the size of a thimble,” Lorena says. I almost choke on my milk laughing. She scoops up some of my mash and stuffs it into her mouth. “Think about it, all that chocolate he’s giving Evelyn is gonna make her fat and ugly.”

“One can hope.”

Twenty-One pouts. “How come he doesn’t want to make me fat? I’m a better talker than she is, yes, yes. The best.”

I ruffle her ungainly hair. “Yes you are.”

“They’re always talking, always talking.” She leans over conspiratorially. “We need to get rid of them. Talker One, too, yes, yes.”

Lorena grins. “Maybe she’ll have a reconditioning accident.”

I glance toward Evelyn’s minions, who cluster together in excited conversation. “If she ended up like Claire, you think they’d take care of her?”

Lorena’s grin fades. “Claire used to be her best friend.”

“Really? How come you were the one taking care of her, then?”

“Somebody had to.”

“You’d take care of Evelyn, too,” I say, more statement than question.

She arches her eyebrows. “I don’t know. That’s a lot to ask.”

“She’s got toothpick arms,” I point out. “Wouldn’t hit you as hard as Claire.”