Chosen Ones (17 page)

Chapter 27

I didn’t want to see James. Today he was one of them, one of the chosen ones. I didn’t think I would be able to separate his inner grace and truth from its outer shell.

All we are is the flesh we wear.

While I didn’t particularly find joy at our meeting, I knew I would go.

I made no attempt to smooth out the wrinkles of my clothes before heading toward his room. The only part of my physical appearance I paid attention to was my hair. It was pulled tight against my head in a refined and constraining ponytail. The yellow ribbon tightly imprisoned it. Somehow this seemed appropriate.

James opened the door the minute I knocked. His face was pale, his hands curled into fists. I quickly walked past him and sat myself on his bed. I pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around my legs, resting my chin and staring at the floor. I hadn’t spoken since my inspection. I wondered if I could even speak at all.

James took a seat at his desk and picked up a book. He began to read silently, though every once in a while I could feel his eyes on me. I knew he was giving me my space, and I welcomed it. I reached out for the copy of Shakespeare, opening it to where we’d left off in
The Merchant of Venice.
I didn’t think he would mind if I finished it without him. I didn’t think he enjoyed it much. Neither had I, but now the story held a certain level of interest for me. I wanted to see how it all ended.

It was painful.

The way they treated Shylock disgusted me. He was painted to be the villain, when clearly he was a victim of the bitterness that results from intolerance. I felt my heart struggle for stability as I read his impassioned speech. The complexity of it seemed to sum up my whole world. He used language to demand that the others recognize he was human. He had a heart that feared and loved, and in the end, his words were used to damn him. Shylock’s speech confirmed their fears—if he could look, talk, and move just like them, then how could they mark his difference, his inferiority? For my people, it was us, the women. Women were no longer able to create life. We were the chosen ones’ strongest propaganda.

Maybe we should have allowed the world to end. It might have been God’s will that we were destroyed by the bombs, weapons put into the hands of men who most likely had no idea why they were fighting anymore. Maybe we were
supposed
to die out. Living inside compounds, too afraid of the world around us, that wasn’t a life. This thing I found myself slugging through day in and day out meant nothing.

I was just biding my time till it all ended.

“James,” I whispered.

His eyes pounced on mine. I wondered if he had ever really been reading at all, or if he was merely waiting for some sign from me that I wanted his company.

I gripped the edge of the wall in an attempt to stand up. James followed suit and we were soon inches apart from each other. I briefly saw his hand reach for me, but he just as quickly placed it back by his side. I stared intently at his daring hand. It would be easier to look there, look to my ally.

Feeling a sudden fiery burst of self-revelation, I pulled James to me and pressed my lips hungrily against his. I felt him pull away and vaguely heard him mumble something about this not being the right time and asking if I was all right. But I didn’t care. I forced myself against him. I knew what he wanted. He couldn’t fight me forever.

I licked his bottom lip and he groaned, falling against me. We stumbled back into the center of the room. I desperately clung to James, pushing myself against him as hard as I could. His hand traveled down my back and he gripped onto my hip. We stumbled some more, falling against the wall. He hiked my legs over his waist and began to kiss my neck.

I moaned.

All this life was about was death. We were meant to die.

So what if it happened now?

I felt him moving against my body, and I could barely contain the need that stemmed through me. I moved my hands to his shirt and began to unbutton it. His hand reached up and gently pushed my fingers away, but he continued to kiss me. His hand moved from my waist up to my chest. I had never been touched in such a way. I moved my hand from his chest down to his waist, and he pulled away abruptly. His sudden removal caused me to fall ungraciously against the wall.

We were both left panting.

“Why?” His question was simple, but I could hear the torrent of emotions under it.

“Because I’m dead already.”

“That’s not true.”

“I won’t be able to just sit by and deal with it all. It’s not the life I want. So we can do this, you know, now,” I replied.

He stiffened. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Like what? The truth? This place, this world, is nothing but death. My father, my mother, my sister, Julia—all of them dead. My people? Dead. Or they might as well be for all the living they do. I can’t even want you without being reminded of death. I’m not supposed to survive this. Can’t you understand that?”

“You’re being ridiculous!”

“No, you just can’t see it yet. But you will. You will when I tell you what I helped the council do.”

“Tell me what? This whole reckless routine you have going on is starting to drive me a little mad, Tess. This”—he pointed between the two of us—“is hard enough without you throwing caution to the wind.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“First, you don’t tell me about your run-in with George…and now you act like this. I’m trying to keep you safe, and you’re bent on destroying yourself!” he retorted. I could see the anger work its way through James. Perhaps he was angry with me for telling the truth—a truth he had to know deep down.

I needed to make him understand. Even if it meant the destruction of my last hope at some sort of meaningful relationship. “What could you do about George? Threaten him? Then what? You’ve already been marked as insufficient. What would they do to a traitor? Because according to George, according to the
council
, that’s what you would be. They would find a way to do to you what they did to Frank.”

He stilled. “What are you talking about?”

I took a shaky breath. “He was sick. He had the transformation
illness, whatever the hell that is, and they killed him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I helped them do it. They didn’t bother trying to fix him. He wasn’t worth their time. What’s one when you can just create a whole lab full of replacements? Of course, in retrospect, they didn’t see Julia’s little plan of action, now did they?” I asked, near hysterics—a strange place between laughter and tears.

I watched as the anger slipped away from James. He sat down on the bed, staring at the floor. He wouldn’t look at me again—I could see it in the way his shoulders hunched over and his head fell into his hands. This boy was heartbroken. “What do you mean you helped them?”

I figured I’d break my own heart as well.

I fell to my knees in front of him, but he still refused to look at me. “While I berated you for your part in Julia’s death, I was just as guilty. I watched as they killed Frank. I kept it secret. Maybe because I didn’t think his death meant as much. Or maybe some part of me wanted him to die. Who knows? It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” James whispered. “You didn’t tell me. I would tell you anything you wanted.”

“I know. I don’t have any valid excuses. And I’m not stupid enough to think this won’t change things. But you should know the council
will
find a way to kill you, too. Someday they’ll come for you. You’re not going to survive this either. You’re not like the other chosen ones. You won’t make it.”

He was silent.

“Go ahead,” I said, standing up, “tell me you want me to leave.”

“I want you to leave.”

And I did.

Chapter 28

My eyes frantically searched for James as I followed the other girls out onto the lawn. There was to be some sort of mass meeting for all of the Templeton staff and chosen ones. When I found him, he didn’t look worried. I sighed in relief. He hadn’t talked to me in a few days, and I didn’t blame him. I saw George slither his eyes between James and me, a silky smirk on his face the whole time.

He was planning something.

It was then I noticed Jacobson, his lip bloodied and swelling larger by the second.

No one else seemed to be paying Jacobson any attention. Were they blind? I pushed my way around my fellow workers and placed myself beside him. I could feel George’s eyes follow me as I did so; I couldn’t help but throw him a quick glare before turning my attention directly to Jacobson. I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and placed it in his hand. His eyes never left the floor but his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Jacobson, are you all right? What happened?”

He didn’t reply, but I couldn’t miss that his eyes briefly landed on George. I felt my nails claw into my thighs. “George? George did this?”

“It was an accident. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” he mumbled, his attempt at sincerity failing miserably.

“What sort of accident?”

“Tess, please, just let it be.”

“I certainly will not,” I said, feeling the heat of rage bearing down upon me. Bitterness, a constant companion in my life, was urging me to join George’s game. My eyes sought him out, and I realized something was happening. The Templeton boys were forming a semicircle as George stalked into the middle. He was grinning, holding his arms out for a bow. It was followed by a round of cheers from his fellow mates; their laughter caused me to shiver.

“What is this?” I spat out angrily.

“Training.”

“What sort?”

“Well, they’re going to fight, miss. One boy goes in the circle and asks if anyone challenges him. Then they both go into the circle, neither one allowed to leave until the other surrenders.”

“How humane,” I replied, rolling my eyes. “Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up. We don’t need to watch this,” I said, moving to grab his hand.

Jacobson didn’t budge. His eyes met mine and they were filled with an ancient sadness that sucked the breath from my chest. “We have to stay. They called us together to watch.”

Of course; they wanted us to know that any second they could crush us. They wanted to remind us of our place, that they wouldn’t shy away from hurting us, not even an old man. They wanted to make it quite clear that they could kill a sixteen-year-old girl for simply existing. I interlaced my fingers with Jacobson’s—at least we wouldn’t watch it alone.

My stomach churned. James had stepped into the circle. What was he thinking? Or was he thinking at all? Was I responsible for this? Was my new recklessness somehow contagious? I began to tap my foot nervously. Jacobson sensed this and patted my hand again. If only he knew the real reason for my anxiety. I feared for the one person who bothered to know me at all.

I suddenly found myself angry as I watched both George and James unbutton their cotton shirts and each hand theirs to a friend. How could James expect me to sit there and watch this, especially without betraying my emotions? It took all of my will to keep the muscles on my face contorted into a neutral appearance, though I was quite sure my eyes betrayed me.

George said something, a silly grin plastered onto his face, and James’s fist curled in response. I couldn’t be sure of what was said, but it was obvious it had something to do with me. I heard the hoots and boos of the crowd as several of them glanced my way, laughing. I wanted to choke that insipid sound right out of their throats.

The two chosen ones were circling each other now, the group of Templeton boys jostling around them and blocking my view. As much as it made me sick to think of seeing James getting hurt, especially by George, I knew I had to watch. I was meant to see. There are some things in life you can’t just turn away from.

Maybe violence calls to our less civilized selves, but I like to think it was a nobler cause that led me to creep forward toward the circle, breaking Jacobson’s hold on my hand. I like to think it was a need to protect, my need to protect someone I loved. I didn’t know what that love meant—but I knew I loved.

What I could possibly do I wasn’t sure; I just knew I wouldn’t stand by. I think ever since the first time I’d touched his cheek, neither of us would be able to simply stand by anymore.

I heard the hollow thud of a punch make contact before I actually saw it. George scrunched over briefly, then sprung back up, holding his chin. He craned his neck to the left, then the right, and raised his fist. A smile still graced his face. Their feet were moving much too fast for me to follow, each boy ducking up and down, side to side. It was a much too complicated dance, one I would never be able to learn. This was what they were made for.

Never had it been clearer that James was not the same as me. How did I keep forgetting this?

Suddenly, James was on his back on the floor, George’s foot towering down onto him in response. It missed shattering James’s leg by seconds. I could feel my throat closing; I knew I wasn’t breathing. James jumped up into a crouching position before running straight for George’s knees, knocking both chosen ones onto the ground. He was on top of George now, his fist raised back, waiting to be released. I closed my eyes. No, this I couldn’t watch. I didn’t want this image—the image of James ruthlessly pounding into George’s face—in my memory. I didn’t want any more reason to fear James. I needed him to be the one thing in my life I didn’t fear.

The crowd was vibrating with excitement. They were like rabid dogs waiting to sink their teeth into something, waiting to spread their infection. I heard a chosen one yell out George’s name, and the voice was filled with thrill, excitement, and confidence. I demanded my eyes open and I saw George and James both on their feet, George’s hands wrapped around James’s neck. Each boy’s face was now blood-red, sweat covering their brows.

Wasn’t someone going to stop this? It was too much; it had gone too far. I looked back at Jacobson. His eyes were on the ground, his hand gingerly touching his lip. Some of the girls watched with dread, but none dared speak up. Much to my horror, a few of them looked like they were enjoying it. Why? Because they were fascinated by the way the boys’ bodies moved, or because they were happy to watch our oppressors tear each other to shreds? Of course they didn’t know James was mine and I was his.

George leaned close to James and whispered something into his ear. I shuddered as I saw James’s face contort in rage as he clutched onto George’s wrists and pushed him off. It was then I realized that I was walking closer, my body leading me right to the center of the circle.

“Stop!” I screamed.

James’s head snapped in my direction at that moment. That was all it took—one simple distraction. George grabbed onto James’s arm and twisted it, and my ears were filled with a sickening snap. James fell to the floor in pain; I could hear him moaning. George backed away, his hands held up in surrender. “I give in,” he yelled to the crowd.

It was my fault. I had distracted him, had set him up. It was all happening too quickly now. My ears were buzzing. There was too much sound in them to make any sense. I heard the shouts and seditious laughter of George’s friends. I heard James cursing and moaning in pain. I heard the girls behind me talking frantically, throwing around accusations.

Before I could move to help James, he pulled himself to his feet with a grunt. Something passed before his eyes that I had only seen once before—on the videos of the first chosen one killing the prisoners of war. Any sense of humanity that existed in him had slipped away. James pulled his good arm back and let it fly. Even the other chosen ones gasped at the strength and determination he exhibited. He kept hitting and hitting and hitting. George crumpled to the floor, and still James didn’t stop.

“James! Stop!” I begged. Some of his fellow chosen ones joined in on my pleas, but he didn’t hear us. The James I knew had been replaced with the war machine the council had intended him to be.

And the blood was everywhere. It splattered onto me. It covered James’s face. All I could see was how much the substance had tainted my life. Would violence always find me? Of course it would.

If the boy I
loved
more than anyone else could become a monster, what hope did I have?