Authors: Abigail Collins
I think back to my previous conversations with Dori, remembering how he avoided the topic whenever it strayed too close to his activities in the lab. He seemed almost… nervous? Like he knew something he didn’t want to tell me. And apparently it’s something he hasn’t told Holden yet, either.
“I don’t know him as well as you do,” I say, “so I don’t know if his behavior lately is normal for him. But I’m guessing it’s not.”
He picks at a burnt piece of toast on his tray, tearing off bits of the crust and crumbling them between his fingers. He’s hardly eaten anything this morning, but then again, neither have I.
“I’ve known him since we were ten. He was my best friend first, you know? And he’s always been the more extroverted of the two of us; but I suppose you’ve already noticed that.”
“Kind of.” I pick up the plastic knife I was given and cut into the rubbery piece of meat on my tray as best I can. I wonder why we aren’t given metal utensils; it seems like it’d be a lot easier to eat the poorly cooked meals we’re fed if we could actually pick apart bite-sized pieces of them. “When I first got here, he seemed a lot more energetic. But I think he still feels guilty about hurting you. I think he takes things a lot more seriously than he lets on.”
“That’s true. He doesn’t like to talk about what he’s feeling very much. But I remember when he tried to, after I… um… you know. I’d never even seen him cry before then.”
My nightmare from last night resurfaces in my mind, and I shake my head to push it out. The only time I’ve seen Dori cry was during the first simulation, the day after I arrived here. I think I know what he was seeing, now.
After breakfast, we all split into our groups and are led by a handful of Digits to rooms on opposite ends of the main hallway. Again, I look for Dori among his own group, but I don’t see him. Holden lags behind and cranes his head over the crowd, his eyes flitting in every direction; he can’t even hide his worry now.
At first I assume that we’re going to be taken back to the Main Lab to continue with our simulations, but instead we branch off into separately assigned rooms – the same ones we were taken to shortly after we arrived, where we had microchips implanted into the backs of our necks to keep us from trying to escape.
My memory of that moment flares up again, and my neck starts itching and burning like a fresh wound. Every so often, I can feel the chip pulsing underneath my skin, and I am reminded again why I refuse to ally myself with the Digits.
One of our guides points me towards a room in the middle of the cluster, and I step into it cautiously. My last experience in one of these rooms was not an enjoyable one; I would almost rather go back to the lab and get shot at in a simulation than face whatever might be waiting for me behind this door.
I push the door open and step inside. Immediately, I notice two things: one, that the layout of this room is identical to that of the previous one I was in, and two, that I am not alone inside of it.
Tesla is standing with her back to the metal desk, watching me with a grin on her face that makes my blood boil.
“It’s been a while, Everly,” he says smugly. “How have you been adjusting to life here? I hope you’ve been comfortable.”
I know for a fact that she couldn’t care less about how comfortable I am, but I don’t tell her that. I walk forward a few paces and close the door behind me, standing with my back against the wall and as much distance between me and Tesla as possible.
“What do you want?” I ask her. “I’ve been holding up my end of the bargain. When are you going to give me the answers you promised?”
Tesla holds up an index finger and says, “Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. You haven’t been doing what I asked you to. I heard from your instructor that you’ve failed each of your simulations thus far. Why is that?”
I’m trying to keep my voice calm, but it’s difficult; every time I see the smug look on her face, anger burns in the pit of my stomach. “You know why. I never agreed to
shooting
people.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t it
you
who wanted so badly to avenge your parents’ murders? What are you planning to do once you find their killers – offer them some tea and tell them to ‘have a good day’?”
My spine is pressed so hard against the wall that I can feel bruises blossoming across my shoulder-blades.
“Now, then, let’s get this over with, shall we? I just need to take a look at your implant, to make sure everything’s working properly. If it is, then you’re free to go. Your next sim test isn’t until this afternoon, so you have plenty of time to spend with those new friends of yours – what were their names again?”
As soon as my back leaves the wall, I ball my hands into fists to relieve some of the tension building in my muscles. I haven’t even seen Tesla since my first day in this compound, but clearly she’s seen me. How does she know about Dori and Holden? Has she been watching me this entire time? And more importantly, has she been
listening
?
I turn around obediently, parting my hair along either side of my neck and running my thumb over the place where I know my microchip is embedded. There is a small bump on my skin that I wouldn’t even notice if I wasn’t looking for it, but it doesn’t hurt to touch it anymore. I kind of wish it did, because sometimes I forget it’s even there.
“Dori,” I spit out as soon as my back is turned to Tesla. “I haven’t seen him since yesterday. You know where he is, don’t you?”
It’s not a question I really expect her to answer, and her silence speaks for itself. She presses her fingernails into the back of my neck and drags them along my hairline.
“Even if I did,” she says coldly, “he’s not in your group, is he? You have no business asking where he is. For all you know, he could have passed his program and moved on.”
“Moved on?”
I can’t see what Tesla is doing, but I hear the rough squeal of metal and feel a pinch in my neck; clearly, she has stuck something else into my skin to check the status of my microchip, though I didn’t see her grab any of the metal instruments off of the table. I bite my lip, but a whimper escapes before I can swallow it down.
“That’s right,
moved on
. That’s what happens when someone passes a program here. So there’s really only one way for you to find out what that means.”
A thought leaps into my mind completely unbidden, and I hazard a guess, hoping I’m wrong. “Did my mother pass
her
program?” I ask quietly.
Time seems to slow down between the words leaving my mouth and Tesla’s response. I realize what her answer will be before she says it, even though I am silently praying that it changes.
“Yes,” she says, turning me around and leading me to the door, “she did.”
***
I see no sign of Dori throughout the rest of the day, and I can tell that the worry is really starting to wear on Holden. He is shot at least half a dozen times more than I am during our simulation practice, and he ends up leaving early without ever having picked up his gun. It’s not like him to not at least
try
to shoot, or even just defend himself, and I’ve never once seen him quit halfway through a sim before.
Something in me has changed as well, but it’s not entirely due to Dori’s disappearance. I’ve known since I read my mother’s letter on the night I buried her that she had run away from home, but I never knew
why
. But now I think I may have figured it out.
My mother was recruited by the Digits – though I’m still not sure of the reason yet – and she made it as far as the same simulations I am facing right now. But instead of failing them, like I am, she passed. That means she did exactly what the Digits wanted her to do – she picked up her gun, and she
shot
someone.
Even if it wasn’t real, I still can’t picture my mother being a killer. I wonder if she ever shot anyone outside of her sim, but part of me would really rather not know.
Once the first bullet hits me, square in the shoulder, I know that today is going to be different. The pain stings as the metal cuts into my skin, but I clench my jaw and ignore it. Another shot rings out, and I duck just in time to avoid a bullet that whips over my head. I pivot my injured shoulder until the pain turns to stiffness and roll away from a bullet aimed at my shin.
But this time, I move
towards
the gun on the ground, not away from it. I crawl on the floor as the whirring of gunshots echoes above me and stretch out my arms until my fingertips just graze along the barrel.
My mother wasn’t a killer, and neither am I. But I was stupid to assume that I could just get through this training camp unnoticed and unaffected and earn the answers I want without working for them. I should have known that Tesla would give me an ultimatum, and this is it.
If my mother could do it, then so can I. And if she could pass her training and still escape with her life, then I intend to do the same.
I pull the gun towards me and turn it around in my hands. It’s lighter than I thought it would be, but it still puts a pressure on my palms that feels strange and uncomfortable. I don’t want to hold it for any longer than is necessary, so I quickly pull myself back onto my feet and position my fingers on the trigger.
I know how to fire a gun. I’ve seen the Digits do it plenty of times, and before our first training simulation, my group was shown the proper way to hold and shoot a firearm. We were also introduced to a few other weapons that I hope I never have to use.
The Digit standing across from me gives me an odd look, like even
he
is surprised by my move. If he’s just a simulation, will he still feel pain when I shoot him? Can
any
of the Digits feel pain? I don’t think they can; if they did, they wouldn’t put the humans in their charge through so much of it.
I square my shoulders and hold the gun out in front of me, my elbows against my chest and the gun level with my collarbone. My opponent stops firing his own weapon and watches me; his arms are still raised, but there is no longer malice in his eyes. If anything, he looks amused. I don’t think he actually expects me to follow through and
shoot
him.
So I prove him wrong.
Testing my own bravery, I shoot him first in the calf, then the thigh, working my way up his body to his shoulder. He doesn’t flinch or make a noise when the bullet hits him, but his image wavers and his expression flickers between amusement and shock. He looks like a glitched computer program – with broken pixels and a low battery.
The sound of the gun firing cracks in my ears like thunder; it’s somehow infinitely louder, even though it’s only a few feet closer to my body.
I expect to feel confusion, maybe a little sympathy and a tinge of anger, but certainly not pleasure. But every time one of my bullets rips through the simulation’s body my heart races a little bit faster and I feel a relief through my muscles and down to my bones. The first few shots are for my parents – the rage and sadness I felt when they died bubbling up inside of me and sliding my finger down the trigger. But after that, I can’t blame anyone else for my actions.
One shot for my mother, one for my father, another for my brother, and a fourth for Crissy and her family. I could claim a bullet each for Dori and Holden, and if I thought hard enough, I’m sure I could find reasons for the rest, too, but I don’t. I don’t think about anything but the adrenaline rushing through my veins and the cracking of the gun in the air.
My opponent’s frame flickers in and out, and he raises his hands and attempts to fire back at me, but no bullets come. My arms are starting to hurt, and the wear on my body is starting to make me feel weak. My muscles are burning, and I am surprised I have been able to remain standing for this long.
My gun roars and a shot catches the Digit in the stomach, then the ribs, and finally, in the chest. If he had a heart, I’m sure I would have destroyed it. If he was a real Digit, what would I have just shot? Probably some wires and metal springs; nothing that couldn’t be fixed. But when a human is shot that many times, they die. I would know – I was there when it happened to my mother.
The simulation finally fades out and disappears. This is the first time I’ve finished my training without having to quit and take my headband off. I sink to the ground, feeling the effects of my exertion in both my body and my mind. The gun falls from my grasp and skitters along the floor, landing in the center of the circle just outside of my reach.
I hear footsteps, and I know that Signa has come to stand beside me, though I don’t look up to make sure. He holds out his hand, and I pull the band off from around my forehead and give it to him. My hand is shaking so badly I nearly drop it.
“Excellent job today, Everly,” he says as he walks away. “At this rate, you’ll pass your training in no time.”
I don’t know whether to feel proud or disgusted in myself, so I settle for both. My stomach heaves, and I struggle to my feet, barely making it to the trashcan by the door before my breakfast makes a fast reappearance.
The door creaks shut, and I am alone once again.
Chapter twenty
I don’t see Dori again for two more days, and when I finally do, I wish I hadn’t.
The next time I am faced by a Digit in my simulation, I shoot him once in the chest where his heart should be. He flickers and fades without a change in his expression, and I throw my gun away from myself as soon as he’s gone. Signa gives me a disapproving look, but tells me that I still ‘did well’ and takes my headband back without another word.
Holden fails his next two simulations. He is shot so many times that he cries out, a pitiful wail that makes my head and my chest ache in tandem. His instructor shuts down the sim after Holden collapses into his chair, and when I have finished with mine I chance a look over at him. He’s still sitting in the same position, slumped over and sobbing into his hands.
The third time this happens, he is reassigned to the second group. I see less of him after that, but we still sit together at mealtimes and occasionally loiter outside of the central building during our breaks, though we don’t usually talk. I am tempted to ask him if he’s seen Dori in his group, but his behavior makes it clear to me that he hasn’t.
On the second day after Dori’s disappearance, my simulation changes. At first, I think that perhaps this is another test – a way to see how I cope with alterations in the fighting scenario. A third person appear in my sim, standing between me and my opponent, but unlike him, she has no weapons drawn either from her hands or in them.
She’s a little girl, probably at least a few years younger than I am. Her long, blonde hair is pulled to the sides and tied with ribbons, and her eyes are such a deep brown they seem magnified against her pale skin. She is wearing a simple white dress with nothing on her feet, and her hands are clasped together against her stomach.
My opponent freezes when she enters the frame, standing with both of his arms extended and a tight-lipped smirk drawn across his mouth. It’s clear from her posture and her expression that she isn’t here to fight me, but I know better than to let my guard down – for all I know, this could be a test of how I react to an unexpected attack. Or maybe I’m supposed to shoot a small, defenseless girl; I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that was to be the next part of my training.
“Hold out your gun,” she says softly, her voice carrying like the wind. “But please don’t shoot me.”
At first I don’t understand what she’s asking of me – why should I hold my gun out if I’m not supposed to shoot it? But then I realize that I’m the only person who can see her. Signa doesn’t seem aware of the change in the simulation, so I’m guessing he doesn’t see the girl. But he
does
see me facing off against a Digit, with neither of us firing our weapons.