Anathema (19 page)

I’ve been riding to and from school every day with Heidi. We always leave an hour after school ends because of newspaper related activities. As a great but unintended consequence, I’ve become involved with writing again.

Stupid stories. Fluff ones. “We need something to fill about two inches on the sports section,” Heidi told the room of young journalists, who all looked away.

Silence reigned.

In the back corner where I was waiting for her, I tentatively raised my hand.

“I could write something.”

Heidi’s smile wavered a moment, uncertain.

“I don’t need a byline. I don’t even need to talk to anyone,” I offered quickly, remembering the no-human-interaction stipulation of our faculty sponsor, Mrs. Tierney. After all, it only took me a Google search to find out things like the rankings of our best swimmers, or their strongest opponents; the best plays of competing football teams, things like that.

Writing a small sports article earned me another article about the Fall Formal. I just had to walk into the gymnasium to see the preparations for the Fall Formal, no human interaction needed there, either.

That article earned me a current events one. I needed to turn out something good, so I swallowed down my own feelings and penned a story about Mayor Alton and her potential to become California’s next governor. To my dismay, I discovered through research that she’s the frontrunner. She’s got a fantastic reputation among the voting public. She’s the tough-on-crime mayor of Cordoba Bay with enthusiastic and wealthy constituents eager to fund her campaign.

Despite the massive enclave of anathemas I know are hiding in our town, there’s almost no anathema-related crime in Cordoba Bay. They don’t wreak havoc in their own backyard. Her two most prominent opponents are the state treasurer, who was recently caught with two pounds of cocaine. He’s facing loss of citizenship himself. The other is the mayor of Los Angeles. His city is suffering from an unprecedented, anathema-fueled crime wave. Apparently, Wolfman Savage himself has practically set up camp there for some special episodes of his online show.

I produce the article despite my misgivings, and it goes to press despite Mrs. Tierney’s objections to my participation. Writing here and there wherever a story was needed makes me feel involved in something again, and the more I write, the more I get to write.

An early flu begins spreading around school. So on Wednesday night, a few days before the Fall Formal, Heidi is panicked. We have an edition due out Thursday before the dance Friday, and half her reporters are out sick.

“I have to stay late tonight, even if I need to write all the articles myself.” She looks frantic as she confesses this to me right after school. “Can you help? I’ll give you bylines.”

“Yes, I’ll be glad to.”

“We’ll have to stay late.”

“Just drive me home afterwards and it doesn’t matter what time it is.” I’m thrilled. The same adrenaline I used to feel before a dance competition buzzes through my veins. We retreat to the computer lab with the rest of the school newspaper staff, and I’m just another member of a tightly-knit team again. Tonight I’m not the anathema.

I call my parents to warn them I’ll be in late. Mom frets about the late hour, but I swear, she almost sounds pleased, too. Second only to her worries about my safety, are her worries over how my anathema status has whittled away my involvement in school activities. She asks every now and then whether I’m depressed. Hopefully this will put some of those fears to rest.

“Since I won’t be home anyway, why don’t you and dad go out to dinner?” I suggest.

Her voice brightens. “We’ve wanted to try the new Italian place on Shoreline. But Kathryn, I don’t like you out so late. The minute you’re done—”

“I’ll call you. Then you guys can pick me up.”

Despite my promise, I’m reluctant to call her when we finish cranking out the Thursday edition. It’s only 7:30, earlier than any of us expected. Mom and Dad are probably still at the Italian place.

“You were such a huge help,” Heidi says, giving me a swift hug. “I’m going to talk to Mrs. Tierney. You really shouldn’t get shut out the way you have. Still want a ride home?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her my parents are going to get me, then I reconsider. Mom and Dad haven’t gone out together once since I’ve lost citizenship because they’ve been so busy protecting me. They’ve confined themselves to home just to make sure I’m not besieged by hunters while at home by myself.

Why ruin the night for them? I want them to have dinner and enjoy it. Heidi can drop me off. Mom may yell at me when she gets home and finds me there already, but it’ll be worth it to give her one night to be a regular human being.

“Yeah.” I beam at Heidi. “Let’s go.”

We’re driving past the park on Beach Street. My eyes comb the shadows outside the car, uneasiness crawling into my heart. I’ve only been out after dark twice since losing citizenship: the night of Conrad’s birthday and the night of the Shelter Valley Massacre. Something feels wrong tonight. I’m nervous.

“I love this song,” Heidi proclaims as we sit at the long stoplight on Beach and Acre. She turns up the radio.

I look down only for a moment.

And then suddenly they materialize out of the darkness, rushing in front of the headlights, beating their hands on the roof of the car, the windows. Heidi shrieks. I go rigid in my seat.

A familiar face flashes by. Hands yank at the locked doors to the car.

“Open up!” shouts a voice from outside.

All I see are the weapons. The knives, the swords. Heidi exclaims, “It’s a hunting guild!”

“It’s the school guild,” I tell her, recognizing familiar faces.

“What do they want?”

“What do you think? Drive.”

She bursts into tears.

The hands keep hammering on the windows. Keep yanking on the doors. Others gesture for Heidi to open them. For a moment, I’m shocked that classmates are actually out there trying to kill me, then I brush the thought aside.

“Drive!” I order Heidi again.

“I can’t,” she sobs, shaking. “They’re in front of the car. I’ll hit them.”

Anger surges through me. “Just drive anyway. They’ll move rather than get hit!”

She convulses with frightened tears. “But what if they don’t? It’s assault. I’ll be an anathema.”

She’s right, of course. She hits these people with her car, and she’s interfering in legitimate law enforcement activities. She injures any of them, and she will lose her citizenship.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” I urge her over the sound of hooting and shouting from outside. “You’re freaked out. That’s okay. They can’t get in the car. Go forward slowly and they’ll get out of the way. I swear.”

She shakes her head over and over again. “If they don’t… If they don’t…”

I might as well have been driving myself this whole time. Heidi is not any sort of protection. “Back up, then! The way is clear!”

Still sobbing, she backs us up. The school guild runs after us. They’re going to surround us, block the way again. I know it.

“Okay, Heidi, let me drive.”

“You want to drive?”

“Yes. I’ll take care of this. Let me drive. It’s not assault if I do it. Quickly!”

“Okay,” she whimpers.

I expect her to ease out between the seats and climb into the back. I don’t expect her to unlock the doors and
get out of the car
.

“NO!” I shout at her, lunging for the steering wheel, but I can’t throw myself into her seat in time to take over, to move us.

It’s too late. The hunters are already on us, yanking the doors open and pulling me out of the car.

There are hands everywhere, grabbing me. I scream and lash out with my legs. There are people pulling me, yanking me. I flail out wildly with my hand, managing to seize my backpack with me before I am thrust onto the concrete sidewalk by the road.

Heidi is still weeping noisily, clutching herself by the open driver’s side door of her car, a useless ball of terror. She begs piteously for them to leave me alone. There are hunters clutching my arms, holding me back, tearing my backpack away. Suddenly I’m slammed against the side of the car and all I can think is that this is it. This is it. My own classmates – not even a real hunting guild – and they’re going to kill me.

“Got her, we got her!” shouts someone.

Another voice. “Okay, now what?”

“Simple.”

The calm, controlled voice makes chills of genuine terror sweep over me. I’m hauled around by the tenth grader restraining me to face Russell where he stalks towards me, the headlights sweeping over his demonic smile.

“Haven’t you seen what happens to anathemas on TV?” he asks the other hunters, drawing a knife from his belt.

I scream and try to wrench out of the sweaty, half-hearted grip on me. I do, and almost get away, but more arms snare me, bowl me over. Arguing erupts around me.

“Wait, what?” A girl’s voice. “I didn’t think we were here to kill her.”

“Yeah, you said she’d know about anathema activity in town,” shouts Jimmy Valdez, a ninth grader. “You didn’t say we were hunting her!”

“She goes to our school,” complains someone else. “This is messed up.”

“Then hold her still,” Russell snarls as I fight the hands holding me. “I’ll do it myself.”

“He’s been stalking me,” I gasp, looking around frantically. “Guys, you know me. He wants to murder me. Please, he’s crazy.”

“Hold her still!” Russell roars, because I’m fighting my way out. No one wants to help him, but they also can’t bring themselves to help me.

“We can’t just kill her—” someone says.

And then I drive my elbow into the stomach of the person behind me, and dive forward. My elbows and knees scrape concrete but I don’t care. Heidi’s begging them between sobs to leave me alone, and there’s shouting of people saying they didn’t sign up for this. Some others are backing off, trying to pretend they have no part of it. Russell is shouting and others are wavering.

“Five thousand dollars. Who wants five thousand dollars?” Russell shouts. “Hey, you’re not getting away!”

But I stumble onto my knees on the wet grass of the park, my shaking hands ripping open my backpack. Just as a few start towards me uncertainly, I tear to my feet and thrust my machete up before me.

Everyone freezes in place beneath the dim streetlight. Anger explodes through me, looking at their stupid, stunned faces. It’s like they just realized what’s happening here. They thought they were playing a game with just my life at stake, not their own lives.

“This is not a game!”
I scream at them. “This is life or death. You come at me and I will stab you! I swear I’ll do it!”

My voice shakes, but they seem to believe me. A few raise their hands, looking frightened by all this. Others are still watching me in a distinctly predatory way like they’re giving a lot of thought to Russell’s promise of five thousand dollars to split. A few are like Heidi, completely terrified. More are beginning to break away from the others and flee down the street.

“This is screwed up. This is wrong! I’m out of here,” says Jeffrey Levy, starting off down the street. “Corgin, you’re a sick freak. Come on, guys.”

He’s a popular eleventh grader, and obviously holds some influence with a lot of these people. More begin to follow him.

“Come back,” screams Russell, starting after them. “Come back, you cowards!”

I want to make a dash for Heidi’s car, but that means going straight through the hunters and there are a few who might change their mind. Instead, I creep back, glad their focus has momentarily shifted from me. I begin moving faster and faster, and then I throw a look over my shoulder and see that Russell has noticed. He sees me. He draws his machete and starts after me.

I launch into a sprint, my legs burning, my breath rasping in and out of my lungs. The machete weighs down my hand, but I dare not let it go. I swerve around the corner onto a familiar street, and the golden light spilling down from the porches beckons me.

I throw myself up the steps to the nearest door and knock. “Hello, hello, is anyone home? I need help! Please let me in.”

A curtain slides open, a woman peering out at me, her eyes wide. She lifts something that glows in her hand. My stomach drops when I realize it’s a cell phone. Identifying me. A sharp pain registers in my chest, because I remember doing this whenever a stranger knocked on the door and I didn’t know who they were. Everyone does it. It’s common sense. You check to make sure you’re not being visited by an anathema.

She is.

Her eyes widen when she sees what her phone says, her face going pale. Her curtain snaps shut.

No help here. I dash back down the steps and run farther down the street. Many faces peer at me through windows, but always, always the glowing of cell phones being consulted. Always, the curtains close. Some don’t bother closing the curtains. They just watch me through their windows like I’m on a TV screen. What is it about a thin sheen of window and concrete that fools people into thinking they’re removed from what’s happening beyond it? Then again, maybe I’m just lucky none of these people run out with knives to claim my bounty for themselves.

Russell appears at the end of the street, following me.

Terrified, I begin to sprint again, though I don’t know where I’m going. I could pound on all these doors, screaming for help, and no one will let me in. They’ll just let me die. My bad leg is beginning to throb with pain but I barely feel it. I keep running, feeling like I’m in a nightmare, my relentless pursuer barreling after me. I twist around the next corner and it hits me where my steps have brought me, just on instinct.

Conrad’s street. Conrad’s house.

I tear up his steps and frantically ring the bell. I pound my fist on the door.

“Conrad!” I shout. “Conrad, let me in!”

There’s no sound from inside, so I run back down the steps and peer up from the yard. A light is on, and then someone appears. I can’t make out more than a vague silhouette from Conrad’s room, a shadow swimming against the wavy curtains. I wave my arms desperately. “CONRAD! CONRAD, OPEN THE DOOR!
HE’S GOING TO KILL ME!
”

The silhouette withdraws from the window.

I wait, my heart pounding, frantic terror clawing inside me.

But the door doesn’t open. It doesn’t. I stare at it, unable to comprehend this.

It hits me then that it’s not going to open.

Conrad isn’t going to let me in. He really doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if I die. We’d broken up but it never occurred to me that he hates me this much. All those years together and they don’t count for anything now. My legs feel weak like they’re going to sink beneath me. This is my final rejection by the world. The is the final snip cutting the lifeline tying me to my old existence.

Dizzy with shock and disbelief, I almost don’t hear the faint laughter from behind me.

I turn to face Russell. He’s slowed down to watch me as he stalks down the muted nighttime sidewalk. My heart pounds furiously.

Russell draws his machete, orange streetlight gleaming off its blade. Triumph seems to radiate from every plane of his face. “Look at that. Ran right back to the ex-boyfriend’s house and he can’t be bothered to help. Practice ended hours ago. You know he’s home.”

My eyes sting. I blink furiously, refusing to let him see me cry even if his words are ripping a fresh wound inside me.

Russell’s smile is ugly. “Guess that means you’re all mine.”

I’m shaking all over.

“Tell you what,” Russell says, his tone mock friendly. “I’ll go easy on you. Put the machete down, and I’ll just slit your throat, Kitten. Real quick and painless. If you fight me, though,” he shakes his machete at me like an admonishing finger, prowling ever closer, “then I’ll make it real slow. And I’ll make it
painful
.”

He’d make it slow and painful anyway. I know that in my heart.

Resolve forms in my mind, clear and cold: I’m going to fight. He can kill me—but I can also kill him. Anathemas kill hunters, too. This has been coming since the service corridor.

Russell is larger and much stronger than me, but he can’t use his right hand. He’s fighting with his left hand only. He won’t be coordinated. He’s probably slower than me. Overconfident. I’ve never seen another cheerleader fight a football player to the death, but I have some very real strengths of my own and he has some very real weaknesses. This can’t be a hopeless situation. I won’t allow myself to think that.

Sweat pricks up on my hands and forehead. I raise my machete and meet Russell’s eyes like I have no fear. “Go ahead, then. Take your best shot.”