I release Dara’s grip and back up toward the exit. “I said no. I can’t be late.”
“Your loss.”
When I reach my electric cycle, I spin dirt to flee the plantation house and Dara. I feel contaminated, as if worms have taken over my body.
I call Mom, no answer. Worried, I call her office downtown.
“Haven’t seen her all day,” her aide says in a perky voice. “Isn’t she working at home?”
“Could be. I’ll meet her there.” I hang up.
While I want to head home to find Mom, something tells me she’s still not there. Then it hits me. Dara might have Morgan. I brake and nearly fly over the handlebars. Doubling back, I take a trail through the woods and get my legs scratched by brambles. I can’t leave my redhead at Dara’s mercy. She has none that I can see.
I park the cycle away from the plantation, facing the road, and continue on foot. It begins to drizzle. I have to hurry. When I reach the clearing around the great mansion, I hunker down behind bushes. Think about consequences, Annabelle. You can’t march in there and grab Morgan. Not with Dara surrounded by friends.
I scoot around the plantation house. When I reach the back, a shed obstructs my view. A tool shed on the plantation? Not seeing anyone, I approach. There’s no lock on the door, but it’s bolted shut.
While keeping my eye on the mansion, I scoot behind the shed. “Anyone in there?” I whisper. “Morgan?”
“He got away.”
I take a deep breath and let it out. “Who else is with you?”
“The big girl took Drake. Just him and me.”
“Are you going to hurt me if I let you go?” There’s a dumb-blonde question. Of course he’ll say no.
“I just want to get my friend and leave.”
“You got a name?”
“Brad.”
“Well, Brad, you can’t help him. If you try, you’ll get caught and put me at risk. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“If I let you out, will you do as I say?”
“Okay.”
I push aside the bolt and open the door. Though he’s in shadows, I see a boy with hands and feet bound by rope. He looks to be 16, strong, athletic. Heart racing, I approach. This isn’t any easier the second time, my second boy in three days. I must be nuts. I take a brief glance back at the mansion, gray under storm clouds, and begin to untie his hands. “You won’t hurt me, will you?”
Brad bows his head. His cheeks are moist. “I have to help my friend.”
I stop. “Then I can’t help you. If you get caught they’ll make you talk. You’ll tell them about me. Come with me or stay here.”
He nods.
My hands tremble as I undo the rope binding his wrists. I stand back, take a quick look at the house and move toward the door. I should get away while I can. “Do you know where Morgan went?”
Brad removes the rope from his legs and gets up. “No. He was with some woman in a black disguise. She was showing us the way.”
Mom? “What does she look like?”
“I couldn’t see. Shouldn’t we get going?”
I take a final look at the mansion before I lead Brad outside and close the shed door. Then I take him around behind the shed and back toward my cycle. Lightning strikes come from the west as we reach the cycle. The rain picks up.
“Where can I take you?” I ask as I mount the cycle. It dawns on me that he could immobilize me and take the cycle.
“I have to help Drake. He needs me.”
“Listen to me, Brad. There are over 20 warriors at the house.” I don’t add that they’re only trainees, first day even.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?”
“Yes and no. I’m not into capturing boys.”
Brad moves backward toward the plantation. “Thanks for letting me go. Will you help me?”
“Don’t do this, Brad. I can’t. I have other problems.” Namely Mom.
“Morgan told us about you. Thanks from all of us.”
My breath catches. “Thank me if you make it to the Outlands.”
Brad turns and runs back toward the plantation house in the rain. Part of me wants to follow him, but I have to make sure Mom is safe. I have just enough time to check, change out of my wet clothes, and return to the station before Janine gets off.
* * *
When I reach our communal home, the garage is empty. Inside the townhouse a gaggle of girls mill about, filling the space with chatter that most times gives me comfort of the familiar, but not now, with Mom gone, and not when Therese pulls her younger sisters upstairs, away from the social misfit.
I don’t ask about Mom. It might frighten the family. Mama Grace is the most likely to know, and she doesn’t look worried. I hate all these secrets.
A steamy shower fails to purge the filth from Dara’s touch or the guilt that I didn’t help Brad rescue his friend. I can’t believe I helped him only to let him go back. I can’t believe I did it again, helped a boy I won’t get to know.
I change into fresh blouse and skorts that match what I removed, except they’re clean and dry. I exchange my muddy flats for clean ones and rush off to look for Janine. I need to keep her from showing her worry-face and stirring up trouble at home on top of everything else. I’m dying to tell her about Morgan and Brad. Where are you, Mom? Where’s Morgan?
At the station, I find my sister at Brooks’ desk. Janine listens to the lieutenant better than I do, which is why she’s a better student. Bless her.
I sneak along the outside of the big room to avoid Scarlatti, who acts like an orchestra conductor in Voss’ absence. She’s directing teams to chase lost boys. The captain must be upstairs. I land in a seat next to Janine and grab her hand. She squeezes back: no animosity. Good.
“Told you I’d be back in time,” I say.
Janine beams. “Did you–”
“Later.” I turn to Brooks. “How’s my sister doing?”
“Better attention to detail and procedures than some.” Meaning me.
“Good. I’ll check out. J, meet you in the break-room.”
“Whoa,” Brooks says. “Where have you been all afternoon?”
“Hunting escaped boys.” It’s the truth. After all, I did find Brad.
“Likely story. We’re finished if you want to take your sister home. I hear you have one of those,” Brooks lowers her voice, “personal transports.”
“It’s so I can get to mech base quicker.”
Brooks pats me on the shoulder and winks.
I hush Janine until we’re on the cycle. Then I can’t shut her up. “Did you find Mom? I’ve tried all afternoon.”
I start the cycle. It’s too quiet to muffle voices. “I’m sure she’s okay. She’s been gone before.”
“Never when so many boys got loose. Hurry. I don’t feel safe, and thanks for coming back.”
“Sisters stick together.”
“Not last night,” Janine reminds me.
“I said I was sorry. Will you ever forgive me?”
“I’ll think of ways you can make it up to me.”
I’m not worried. Usually she just wants me to take her somewhere.
I speed down secondary streets to avoid city-buses. When we reach home, I park in the garage next to Mom’s car. I’m relieved, excited, and curious. Janine’s worry-face melts into a smile as she scrambles inside. I follow.
Dinner’s ready. Mama Helen sits at one end of the long table. To my relief, Mom sits at the other end. Janine gives her a hug, longer than usual. I know Mom noticed. I hope the others don’t.
Not wanting to put Mom on the spot, I agonize through a vegetable stew that could use some mustard-jalapeno sauce.
When dinner is over and Mom gets up, I give Janine a look not to follow and pull Mom upstairs into the master suite. As soon as I close the door and turn on harmony music, she starts in on me. “You didn’t come home last night, and you had Janine out late.”
“You weren’t here, either.” I lower my voice. “Mom, I know what you were doing. I’m not a child anymore.”
“You’re only 16, Belle. You shouldn’t worry about such things, and we’re not going to talk about it. Where were you?”
I stare at the worn wood floor. “At a party I shouldn’t have gone to, where I got stupidly drunk. I’m sorry, Mom. I made a fool of myself and thankfully, Janine got home safe. It wasn’t her fault. She’s a good girl.”
Mom sighs. “I know you cover for her, Belle. Problem is she copies you, and you’re not setting a good example. You’re taking too many risks.”
“Where’s Morgan?”
“I told you to forget about him. I took care of it.”
“But, Mom–”
“Enough!”
“You helped those boys last night, didn’t you?” I noticed mud on Mom’s shoes downstairs.
“The less you know, the better.”
“I see that school every day, Mom, and some of the boys. What’s happening to them is criminal. I’m proud of you. It’s time you let me help.”
“Goodness, child, you have your whole life ahead of you.”
“Every boy I see reminds me of George. I want to help them all for his sake.”
Mom collapses onto her bed. “Me, too, Belle. I miss him so much.” She looks up at me. “Don’t think I love you or Janine or Sarah any less. You have experience my love. He hasn’t.”
I sit next to her. “I know, Mom. I used to get jealous, but not anymore. Now I’m angry I can’t get to know him.”
She smiles. “I need you to be more careful, Belle. There are many who want to destroy us. If they learn what you know, we’re finished.”
“I know, Mom.” I stand and pace. I want to tell her about Brad and Drake, but I can’t burden her with more. Then she’ll go out to clean up another of my messes.
“What is it, Belle?”
I sigh; have to give her something. “Last night I was with that bully who tried to hurt Janine. I have to learn to deal with her in mech training and, if I make it, on the force. I tried to impress her and the other girls. It was one drink. Must have been pure alcohol. I won’t do it again. I promise. I’m only 16. I’m still learning.”
Mom laughs.
“Mom? Why can’t you get mad at me like other moms when their daughters get out of line?”
“You get mad enough at yourself. I trust you, Belle. More than you know. If anything happens to me, I know you’ll protect Janine and Sarah.”
“Don’t talk that way.”
“We almost got caught. All I thought of was losing you three.”
When she hugs me, I feel that tug, heaped with guilt for being weak around Dara. I took too many risks with Morgan and Brad. I wish Mom would come down harder on me. I deserve it. I can tell her most anything. Have I pushed you to the breaking point to test your unconditional love? More guilt. I hold her tight. I know we came close to losing each other. Still might.
* * *
Thursday is school and cop internship, which float by in a fog. My mind is on Morgan and Brad. Friday is mech training. I don’t look forward to what craziness Dara will bring. I want to help those boys like Mom does, but all I’ve done so far is create problems.
I park my cycle outside the base and pass the tall guard with minutes to spare. Hopefully, I won’t run into Dara. I know that’s coming. I don’t know which is worse: that she’s a bully or that she fancies me. This gets me thinking. Everyone expects I’ll marry a girl and settle down, when actually I ache to find a boy and figure out what that’s all about. How many other girls have my confusion? Yet if I tell anyone, somebody will plaster it on social networks and alert the Soc-net police.
Little Brandy waits for me in the courtyard outside the huge mech bunker. “Glad you’re back. Hope you rested up on your day off.”
Like a baby, up every two hours, wailing. I hope she doesn’t expect the one who got her brains beat in on a basketball court to protect her from the amazon. I hurry down khaki corridors.
Sam greets us outside the little classroom where we did the tutorial. “It’s eight. Take your same seat.”
She closes the door behind us. Dara grumbles; looks like she didn’t get much sleep. I drop into my wood seat and feel static electricity on my arm from the tabletop.
“We have a short time to mold you into effective warriors,” Sam says. “Let’s get to it. Today we’ll do intense physical conditioning. We’ll demonstrate mech suits and what they can do. Then you’ll start sparring. First, roll up your sleeves. Signing the release and returning was your consent to contraceptive implants.”
So soon?
“It’s also your consent to tracking implants. Think of yourselves as products. This is your personal chip. You’ll be tracked 24/7. If you’re in trouble, you can activate an alarm and sister mechs will come to your aid. Do not activate as a prank or you will wash out. This contains travel permissions, which are limited until you become a warrior.”
I hate putting foreign substances into my body. What about side effects? Loss of freedom? I didn’t expect to cross this bridge so soon. Dara rolls up her sleeve. A dozen girls from her party follow. I guess that’s leadership. Protesting will get me kicked out. I can’t accept the consequences, so I roll up my sleeve and brace myself.
Sam moves around the room with the injection gun. “Aside from sit-ups and pushups, of which I expect you to master 100 each, you’re to do 10-mile cross country runs at least three times a week, which we will track.”
I ache already. I raise my hand to ask how we do that with travel restrictions.
Sam doesn’t call on me, while she continues injecting. When she reaches me, Sam grabs my raised arm, lowers it and injects. It feels like she slugged me. I hope it’s both implants at once.
“As mech trainees, you’ll have limited travel access, which allows you to return to base at any time to further your training. Your permit allows access to three fields around Knoxville. I tolerate no excuses.”
Sam finishes injections, returns to the front of the room, and opens the door. “I want hustle today, grunts. I want each of you to outperform this decrepit old woman. Is that clear?”
A cacophony of shouts fill the room, a disharmony of “Hoo-rah” and “We stand ready to deliver.” Then a second as recruits choose the opposite and finally a third chorus of “Hoo-rah” as we figure that’s the appropriate response.
I’m not a rah-rah person, even in basketball, but the crowd drags me along.
“Double-time.” Sam leads the way down narrow corridors at a sprint to the gymnasium with its embedded scent of sweat. Before we can line up, she drops into pushups. “With me.”
I drop to the ground and try to keep up. I can’t. She’s in superb shape for an old woman, probably only Mom’s age. Other recruits drop and struggle to do a few. Dara keeps up, muscles rippling. Despite mine rebelling, I refuse to cave in.
Without taking a break, Sam rolls into sit-ups. We copy. Then Sam takes us to the weights, where seasoned warriors join us. They look crisp in blue form-fitted exercise pants and long-sleeve tops. I’d prefer short sleeves and shorts as I add my sweat to the gym’s aroma.
While warriors demonstrate various weight programs, Dara sidles next to me. “Not so tough today, are you? Bet you can’t press 50.”
Dara flexes her muscles to intimidate me. It works. Just stop telling me what I can’t do. I can’t stand this competitive, buddy-buddy, Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde bit, either.
She volunteers for the bench to show us lesser grunts she’s boss. She has no difficulty at 50 pounds and calls for 75. At 100, she struggles to press once. “More.”
Sam shakes her head. “Next. Hustle.”
The muscular, black-haired spotter locks the weights, and Dara gets up. Disappointment spreads across her large face.
I step forward. I struggle to lift the fifty-pounder once, but I do it. I get my arms to full extension, feel like I’m carrying the weight of a car, and ease it down before it drops. I try a second time and lose it. The dark-haired spotter catches before the weight bar slices me in two.
“I’ll try the next one,” I say.
Sam shakes her head, and the spotter locks the weights.
Let me try. I hold my blank face; no point aggravating Sam.
Next come free weights, leg weights, and equipment that pulls, pushes and stretches every muscle I’m surprised I have. Dara outmatches me each time with a solid gloat of superiority on her Romanesque face.
“Maybe you aren’t cut out for mechs,” Dara says.
“Shut up.”
“You want to make me?” She shoves me.
No! I push back and brace myself. I knew this was coming, yet I’m trembling. What’s more, I’m pissed that I woke up next to her with memory block after she tried to hurt Janine.
Sam grabs us by our arms and leads us toward a mat. “I thought I made myself clear. Mechs work together.” She pulls us onto the mat. “Sort this out now.”
Sam calls out to the group: “Everyone stand back while our wildcats give us a demo.”
Not again. I’ve let Dara sucker me. She plunges in. I scoot backward, trying to decide what to do. She looks bigger face-to-face.
Dara reaches with long arms. I slap her hand away. She punches my arm. I punch. She keeps coming. “Pathetic. You fight like a little girl.”
How original.
“You want to win in the arena, you’d better learn to fight like a man. That’s the point, isn’t it?”
Dara rushes in. I scoot aside, a moment too slow. Dara grabs my waist and tosses me onto the mat.
She jumps on top and straddles me. “Not so tough, are you?”
Her eyes bear down on me, a cross between victory and what: seduction? I’m a fly in a spider’s web.
She has limited vocabulary. Maybe that translates into limited moves. I try to rock Dara off. The amazon weighs too much. I punch. Dara grabs my hands. “You give up?”
“I’m resting,” I say. Rage builds. I let it explode in arm and leg movements that come out spastic. I can’t budge the beast.
“You’re pathetic. You really think you can beat me?”
I thrust forward to butt heads. Dara leans back and adjusts her weight. When she does, I swing my legs up and grab hold of Dara’s head. I throw her back, which frees my arms. When I try to break loose, she gets my head into a scissor lock. I can’t pry her legs loose; lose my grip on her head. I have nothing to fight back with. I refuse to yield. Think, Belle. My mind fades. My lungs crave oxygen.
My birth mother appears to me. I can’t make out her face, never can, though I know in my heart it’s her in handcuffs. They cart her away. Someone holds me. Mommy, mommy, don’t leave.
She vanishes.