Catalyst (17 page)

/
ˌ
ənˈ
känS
Hə
s/

adjective

1. not 
   conscious
   ; without awareness, sensation, or cognition.
   
2. temporarily devoid of consciousness.
   
3. not perceived at the level of awareness; occurring below the level of
   conscious
    thought:
   
4. not consciously realized, planned, or done; without 
   conscious
    volition or intent
   
5. not endowed with mental faculties:
   

I READ A
story once about a woman who spent half of her life in a comatose state, able to hear all that went on around her, but unable to respond. She was trapped inside her body, inside her mind, and it nearly drove her mad. Eventually, the woman’s body awakened, and the physicians were shocked to know that, despite their efforts to rouse her, she had been aware. And it was that awareness, and ultimately hope of one day awakening, that kept her sane.

After all, if some deep part of her was alive, then all of her could be revived.

I felt the pricks of the needles, heard the rhythmic beeping of the hospital’s machines, the scuffing of shoe soles on tile and the smell of antiseptic.

My stomach was sore. Abdominal muscles that I didn’t even know existed hurt. But despite my awareness of all of these things, my eyes would not open. No matter how hard I tried, or how hard I strained, I couldn’t make my fingers or toes move. I couldn’t open my mouth to speak.

I was entombed in my own flesh.

For days, I was a prisoner in my own body. Dark. It was so dark. I had no idea whether it was day or night. Sleep and wakefulness blurred. Time meant nothing.

“THERE ARE NO
signs of life.”

My father’s voice answered, “But she
is
breathing. Is there any brain activity?”

“We haven’t bothered to test her. I know it’s difficult for you to accept, but it’s been coming for a long time. This is simply the end of her road, Elect Anderson. I’m very sorry.”

My father’s sigh. My mother’s whimper. A shuffling from across the room, probably Sonnet.

But something was missing.

Where was Mitis?

He would never leave me alone, not with them. He knew they didn’t care. Mitis cared.

“The poison? What was it?”

“Arsenic, sir. The scrub probably found it at your house. It’s a common ingredient in weed killer and pesticide. She was already very ill. It probably didn’t take much to send her body into this state. I’ll leave you alone to speak about your wishes, but I would recommend that you allow her to slip away peacefully. She’s been through so much. Her body simply cannot take any more.”

No. Mitis didn’t poison me. That’s not possible.

I saw it. In his eyes, it was there. He loved me. Didn’t he?

“Thank you, Doctor Duton.”

“Certainly. I’ll be outside.”

The swish of curtain fabric. Footfalls on tile.

Step, step.

Step, step.

A door creaking closed.

Silence.

“What is there to even discuss?” groaned Sonnet. “She’s a vegetable.”

“Sonnet!” Mother scolded. Her words seemed slurred, or maybe it was my hearing.

“What? It’s true. The pet was naughty. You’re putting him down, right?”

That wasn’t possible. Mitis would never hurt me, let alone poison me. I knew he was hurting because of his brother, because of his circumstances. He lived in poverty and was now alone. He was alone because… because he couldn’t get the medicine to his brother in time. He didn’t have help. He was locked out and alone.

Could he want revenge?

A tear leaked from the outer corner of my eye and streaked across my temple into my hair.

Was it all an act?

My father spoke up. “We’ll do better. We’re going to send him to one of the villages. He’ll spend the rest of his life thinking of us, and there won’t be anything he can do about it. We’ll be untouchable.”

Mother asked, “Why did you bother to test him?”

“We didn’t.”

Sonnet and Mother giggled.

Test him for what?

Tears clogged my throat. I couldn’t breathe. Gasping. Erratic beeping. Frantic footsteps and shouts. “Clear the room!”

Darkness.

/
r
ə
ˈ
lēs/

verb (used with object), 
released, releasing.

1. to free from confinement, bondage, obligation, pain, etc.; let go:
   
2. to free from anything that restrains, fastens, etc.:
   
3. to allow to be known, issued, done, or exhibited:
   
4. Law. 
   to give up, relinquish, or surrender (a right, claim, etc.).
   

noun

1. a freeing or releasing from confinement, obligation, pain, emotional strain
   
2. liberation from anything that restrains or fastens.
   
3. some device or agency for effecting such liberation.
   
4. a grant of permission, as to publish, use, or sell something.
   
5. the releasing of something for publication, performance, use,exhibition, or sale.
   
6. the film, book, record, etc., that is released.
   

WHITE LIGHT, LIGHTNING
striking my eyes, burst into the room. I pinched my lids closed and tried to use my feet to push myself away from it. Keys rattled, and someone touched me. My hands, my wrists, maybe?

I couldn’t feel anything but pressure. My left arm flopped down, then the right.

A boot nudged my thigh.

“He’s filthy, but not dead.” The voice was deep, gravelly and belonged to a man. The rancid smelling thing? That was me.

“Bring him out,” a female ordered.

Two sets of arms grabbed me and dragged me from the darkness. I couldn’t see. My eyes watered and no matter how often I blinked, they wouldn’t adjust. Only bright white existed.

When I started to think I’d gone blind somehow, blurs finally began to take shape among the brilliance. First there was black, white, and shades of gray. Then colors began to fill in the blurs.

Another moment later, things began to clear up. I could see. I was outside. My bare feet hung heavy, bumping along behind me. Dirt, grass, and gravel scraped my skin. Two soldiers were taking me toward a building. It looked like the small shack I’d been led to when I entered the city, the one between the two walls. It was cinder block, painted gray with a rusting tin roof. Streaks of rust had carved pathways down the exterior.

They were going to kill me.
Was this where they put the pets down?

The men took me to the back of the building, stripped me and used a water hose to clean me off. I couldn’t lift my head up to get any of that water in my mouth. It soaked into the ground before I could sip from the puddles. The water stung. But it was necessary. I was a mess. Being locked in a room for a week, chained to a pipe, I had no soap, no way to wash, and no bathroom. Nothing.

When they were satisfied, the older soldier turned the hose off and coiled it back onto a rack. The other, a younger guy, walked away and returned with a fresh pair of jeans and a blue shirt. The younger one helped me dress while the older one smoked a cigarette, eye-balling me with disgust every time he looked in my direction.

Shadows eased the pain in my head and eyes when they helped me around to the front and into the door of that building.

The room was empty except for a chair and a small wooden table that held one of the two things I desperately needed. A round pitcher of cold water, beads of sweat dripping down the outside of it, sat in the middle of the table and beside it was a clean, upside-down glass. The men positioned me in the chair, with hands out when they let go, to make sure I could hold myself upright.

Everything was fuzzy. My mind. Something floated beyond the haze, desperate to break through, but not strong enough to do so. What was I doing here again?

My fingers, hands, and arms tingled like crazy, but I flexed them and the feeling was returning.

I didn’t ask permission. The time for manners had come and gone. I needed it, every drop. Once I was finished with the liquid in the pitcher, I’d lick the droplets of condensation. I’d had nothing to drink in so long. So long. Quenching the thirst: it was all I could think about.

Fumbling with the glass and then the pitcher, one of the men cursed, muttering about cleaning up after scrubs. He took the pitcher and begrudgingly poured the glass full of water. It bubbled and then cleared. Slowly and carefully, I grabbed the glass with both unsteady hands and brought it to my mouth. The first gulp made me realize how dry I was.

They could be poisoning me.
It didn’t matter, without water, I was going to die—at least it felt like it.

Seven.

She was poisoned.

Sonnet poisoned her.

I was accused of the crime.

I’d been locked away.

“Don’t drink too much too fast. You’ll vomit,” shouted the sour soldier.

“How long?” I croaked.

The soldier I’d somehow ticked off, the middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, left the building, kicking the door shut behind him. The other one, who looked a lot like the soldier who’d stunned me the day I met Seven in the back of his car, stared at me.

“How long were you detained?” he asked, raising his brows.

“Yeah.”

“It’s been six days.” He leaned against the wall across from me. The building couldn’t have been more than ten feet by ten feet. It was little more than a shelter, a mostly-empty room and a small one at that.

Six days. Was that all?
It seemed like so much longer.

I took another sip of water from the glass, my hands shaking so badly that I was sloshing water onto my jeans and shirt. I didn’t know where my shoes had gone.

“Where is Seven?” My voice cracked, and my vocal chords strained to get the question out.

The man crossed his arms. “Seven Anderson?”

I nodded, taking another sip.

“What do you know about her?” he inquired.

“I am her companion. Her sister, Sonnet…”

He narrowed his eyes. “What about Sonnet?”

“She poisoned her. She’s been doing it for years. It’s why she’s sick.” I could finally talk without my voice cracking.

The soldier sized me up. “Do you remember me, scrub?”

I nodded again. “Pretty sure you lit me up with your stunner a few weeks ago.”

“That I did. My name’s Miller Enoch,” he said, pushing off the wall and pacing. “Why would Sonnet Anderson poison her sister?”

Why would a soldier who was hell-bent on taking me into custody a few weeks ago even be speaking to me?

“Other than the fact that she hates Seven, I’m not sure. But I heard her talking about it to someone else, over a page. I swear she’s responsible. I know that the Anderson’s fingers are all pointed at me, but I swear it…for whatever it’s worth. I know you won’t take a scrub’s word over that of a citizen, let alone an Elite, or an Elect.”

Enoch stopped and stared at me, taking in my tattoo sleeve, the gauges in my ears, my collar—it was still around my neck.

“Sonnet Anderson died in a very tragic accident. She drowned. Her body was found yesterday morning at the lake.”

I sucked in a sharp breath. That was no coincidence. Someone was getting rid of evidence.

I swallowed more water. “Can’t pin that one on me.”

Seven and Sonnet didn’t get along, but Seven loved her sister. This was going to crush her.

He shook his head. “No, I guess not.”

“What about Seven?”

Enoch stared at me for a long moment. “She’s supposed to be released from the hospital today.”

“No!” I tried to jump up and fell to the floor, my legs unable to hold my weight. My chin hit the concrete floor. “You can’t let her go home with him.” Shuffling toward the door, I gritted my teeth, pulling my weight, trying to reach the wall so I could get leverage. I needed to get to her.

“Who? Can’t let her go home with who, Mitis?”

He used my name. I stopped struggling and let him help me up, using the wall as a crutch.

Panting, I told him, “Her father.”

“Why is Elect Anderson dangerous?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Seven was adamant that he didn’t care about her, that he would use her death as a re-election ploy, to get the sympathy vote. But, damn it, it’s more than that. Something’s off about him. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“You want to kill him.” Enoch had me pinned from the get go.

So I gave him what he wanted. “That was my plan. When I walked through those gates, when I signed up for the companion program that was my plan: kill a simple, preferably an Elite. The fact that Seven chose me and that her father was an Elect was just a bonus.”

Enoch lifted my arm and put it around his shoulders, grabbing it with his free hand. And then he did something unexpected. He helped me.

First Seven. Then Cason’s owners. Now Enoch. But why Enoch?

“Let’s go check on her, shall we?”

Soldier Enoch eased me into the back seat of a black sedan that was parked on the other side of the small building. “It’ll look suspicious if you’re in the front,” he explained.

Enoch drove well—much better than Seven, though he had more experience. He couldn’t have been much older than me. His hair was dark and jutted out at all angles. His nose was sharply pointed, as were his ears. Enoch wasn’t a looker. I just hoped that he wasn’t about to feed me to the wolves.

The non-Elite section leading into City Center was abuzz with people, crossing the streets in varying directions, hurrying their steps to get across before the car got too close. The thing all of the people, the men and women had in common? They were all haggard and trudged slowly along. They were exhausted.

“What’s going on with all the people?”

“They’re headed to the non-Elite section. They’re workers, building a new city. Have you heard the train whistles?”

Had I? I couldn’t remember ever having heard a whistle.

“No.”

Enoch glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “The railroads have been repaired between here and the new city. So the citizens work longer hours. The Elect are pushing them to the breaking point. Before the tracks were fixed, they worked fewer hours because they had to walk to and from the city and the walk was long. They were still tired, but not like this.”

“What’s so important about finishing the city so soon? This one isn’t disintegrating in the next few years. Most of this will all stand.”

Enoch glanced at me in the mirror before driving across the imaginary divide leading to the Elite section of Confidence. “You’re right. The city will be here for years. But the elect are determined to finish the new construction projects and move people to the new city as quickly as possible. It’ll be called Olympus. Isn’t that crazy? It’s like the Elect are comparing themselves to the ancient Greek Gods or something. It’s sick.”

He braced an arm on the headrest of the seat next to him, twisting to see me. “What’s worse is that Olympus isn’t the only city being built. There are five, spread out across the country. The railways will connect them. Citizens of the current cities are being separated into two groups.”

“What sort of groups?” I asked.

“Everyone in the cities now is being tested. Those with superior genetic profiles will be allowed to live within the new cities.”

I cocked my head at him. “What about the people who don’t pass the test?”

Enoch shook his head. “They’ll be herded into villages, forced to produce food and goods for the cities. It’s slavery.” He eyeballed my collar, knowing that forms of owning people and slavery already existed and was accepted in Confidence.

“What about the scrubs?”

Enoch snorted. “No one cares about scrubs, but I think most will find a home in a nearby village. They would be given rations of food and land to build a home on. It’s more than most have now, right?”

I looked out at the opulence that dripped overtop the Elite section. The façade of perfection was revolting. “Yeah, it is.”

The Anderson estate was only a few blocks away. We passed Aric’s house.

“So, why are you telling me all this?”

Enoch slowed the car. “I’ve been tested. Let’s just say that I’ve always been a high achiever, and I find it ridiculous that I failed a test I had no control over.”

“They gave you the results immediately?”

He laughed darkly. “No, but I have some friends in high places. They want me to leave, escape the city before they drag us all away. You know what they want to call us?”

“No idea.”

“Lessers. Like we’re not even human.”

They called us scrubs. Lessers didn’t seem like that much of a leap.

I thought about it. My head still pounded, but my arms were okay. The feeling of pins and needles was fading fast now. I pinched the bridge of my nose to ease the throbbing in my head.

“So, are you going to run?”

Enoch was quiet, so I looked up into the mirror. “Hell no. I’m going to try to stop this before it’s too late. And taking down the Elect would be perfect—even one of them. It would tarnish their reputation, plant the seed of doubt for the general population.”