The Death Series: A Dark Dystopian Fantasy Box Set: (Books 1-3) (21 page)

We were ushered back into the commons, pulse-pads in hand. There was another head honcho guy out there, and through my semi-drug fog, I spotted two other instructors—one from Bravo and one from Charlie—along with a bunch of assistants.

The head honcho guy waved at my group. “This group will be escorted to Delta.”

Delta?
That hadn't been part of Avers' instructions.

We followed one of the instructors, the assistants flanking us. Scanning the area, I saw Tiff and John.
I assumed that I had pinged paranormal and that was why I was getting moved to another room, but that didn’t explain what John was doing there. He looked over at me and shrugged.

I searched for Jade. When I spotted her, she smiled at me, and a tight spot in my chest loosened. I also saw Sophie, but Brett and Jonesy weren't there. I didn't really know Sophie, but figured she was okay because Jade dug her.

We walked through Delta's doors and settled into our new seats.

We were arranged alphabetically. Only one kid separated Carson and me—Alex of the bad piano playing. We gave each other the guy-nod.

Head Honcho went to the front of the room. “I am the instructor for this building. You have all been moved here because your responses indicate paranormal aptitude. We will resume your testing in”—he looked at the pulse clock—“approximately three minutes.”

Another inappropriate urge to laugh came over me, and I bit the inside of my cheek until the copper taste of blood squelched it. I ducked my head, my hair sliding into my eyes. My cheek hurt like hell.

A skeletal guy was leaning against a kid-sized desk angled into the corner, drumming his long, tapered fingers against its edge. His face was all dark planes with a complexion to match. His fingers were stained nicotine yellow. He had to be rich since he was obviously a smoker. 

Head Honcho went over to Smoker and had a whispered conversation, his fingers nervously running the length of his tie. At one point, they both looked out at the classroom and seemed to stare straight at me. Their focus could have been on Carson or Alex, but somehow, I knew it was me. AFTD was so rare that I'd be the star of this little show.

A chime sounded. Gaunt-man lounged in his corner and Head Honcho worked over his tie one more time before moving back to the front.

“You've answered a satisfactory amount of academic questions, and we have a strong idea of where each of you fall in these categories. This building is being utilized to further gauge your individual potential.

“You will have a series of control questions interspersed with academic questions. These questions are tailored to your individual gifts. Every year, we have been surprised by a new ability, sub-ability, or one not easily quantified.”

“You may begin.”

I pressed my thumb to my pulse pad.

Useless question after question appeared. Most seemed standard but a few were funny, like:

I answered, <
They’re all right.>

How dumb was that.
What were you supposed to say?

They need the tomahawk?

This was a control question. I bet they had people in windowless rooms without food thinking this crap up.

Another laughable one was:

Real answer:
they suck, of course.

Even in my semi-stupor, I realized that I had to play along but not be too obvious about it. Until recently, I could have answered pretty honestly. But lately, I didn't feel all adults could be trusted.

Finally, I answered,
Some are trustworthy.

The pulse chimed for lunch. I pressed my thumb to the screen, and my answer floated away to be cataloged, for better or worse.

***

I was wrong, lunch wasn't served in the testing rooms, it was in the cafeteria, like usual. At every door stood what I thought of as Formula People. They all wore the same ties and suits or skirts and sensible shoes.

My friends and I, plus Sophie, snagged one of the coveted round tables along the wall. The seats were the best because I could see everyone when we talked and keep things private. The noisier the better.

I spotted Carson sitting with Brett and some other standard loser plug-ins a couple of tables away.

Jonesy unraveled his gigantic lunch. His lunchbox was kind of like Dad's: a huge rectangular tin thing with a flat bottom. It had been red once but had faded to a dull rust color.

First, the thermos came out with what I was sure was a quart of milk, then two sandwiches bursting with lunch meat appeared. He had a bag of Funyuns, which made breath reek like ass but tasted strangely good. Dessert was a fat brownie full of disgusting walnuts.

The girls watched this process with various degrees of disgust. They had about the same lunch stuff as each other. Jade pulled out a small recyclable container that had some disgusting salad thing with tiny chunks of chicken. I grabbed her spork and did a full search for anything substantial. Nothing. Sophie had a noodle-salad casserole that smelled like rotting mayonnaise.

John said, “Jonesy, look at what the girls eat. Maybe you could get a clue.” I knew he was yanking Jonesy's chain.

Jonesy huffed, unimpressed. “I wouldn't eat that stuff if someone put a gun to my head.”

Jade sniffed. “Well, you go ahead and eat three meals in one. Sophie and I will eat healthy.”

John looked down at his lunch, which mimicked Jonesy's but with an awesome chocolate chip cookie instead of the disgusting nut-brownie—and shrugged.

I laughed, and we all started eating.

Between bites I asked John, “So what gives? You hit the radar as something ’cause you're in our building.”

We looked expectantly at John.

A slow flush crept up his face, he wasn't used to the attention, but he rallied. “I don't know. I thought there was a bunch of control questions, but there wasn't anything I thought was paranormal.”

Our heads swiveled to Sophie, who had just shoveled a bite into her mouth, a small lump protruding from her cheek. We waited until she swallowed.

“What?” she asked.

“Well, what about you?” I inquired.

She shrugged. “I guess I have some astral projection.”

“Some?” Jade said.

Sophie glanced down, her tight curls cascading forward, almost brushing the nasty casserole.

“Maybe a little more than some,” she mumbled.

Leaning forward, Jade cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered something to Sophie.

Sophie looked around nervously then settled her gaze on Jonesy.

“You can't tell anyone,” she directed, looking pointedly at Jonesy.

“I'm not going to say anything!” he nearly shrieked.

We all gave a big sigh.

Jonesy leaned forward. “So barf it out. If it's not so juicy you think I'll blab.” He grinned, popped another Funyun in his mouth, and crossed his arms across his chest.

Sophie gave him a sharp look
.
“So it's like this. About a month ago, I started dreaming I was traveling to all these places, far away places, like Europe. Remember in history class, when a bunch of us came in with the CE about the assassination?”

John nodded. “I did my current event on that president.”

“The French one?” Jade asked.

“The prime minister
,
” Sophie corrected, sounding exasperated.

“Right, prime minister. My bad,” John said, looking embarrassed. He of the perfect GPA had made a mistake. Unheard of.

I put my hand over my mouth to hide my grin.

Sophie looked smug.

John's pale complexion flamed to life again. Being a known brain-iac only to be shown up by Sophie, a girl no less!

“Anyway,” Sophie waved the awkward moment away with a hand, “I was
there
,” she said in a low voice.

Jonesy leaned forward. “You mean... there,
there
? Like, as in, astral projection there?”

Sophie nodded.

“Well...
damn,
girl, no wonder you aced that CE! Cheater!” Jonesy said.

John said slowly, “But they don't know who did it.”

Jonesy yelled, “Do you?”

“Sh, Jonesy... God!” Jade said.

“Chillax, nobody heard.” Jonesy leaned back in his seat. The bigness of situations didn't impact the Jonester.

“We need to be circumspect,” Sophie said.

At our confused looks, she added,

“Thoughtful and deliberate,” Sophie expounded.

“More big-boy words for you, Jonesy,” I said.

“Can it, Hart,” Jonesy growled. “You didn't know what it meant either.”

He had me there.

“Off topic, guys,” John said. “So... you
know
who did it, Sophie?”

“Yeah,” she replied.
“But that's not important. It's what happened after.”

John palmed his chin, then finally shook his head. “I remember that the guy signed some important document.”  .

Sophie nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, you're getting warmer. You remember all the adults were raging about how that document would 'change the face of France'?”

I remembered my parents talking about it. I wasn't listening though. It fell under Not being Informed. “Yeah, so?”

“He didn't actually
sign it
. Well, he did, and he didn't.”

“Oh, Sophie!” Jade said. “Just tell them, or I will.”

Sophie glared at Jade. “He was dead when he signed it.
Dead
.” She leaned back in her chair triumphantly and stabbed a helpless curlicue noodle with her fork. She popped it into her mouth and chewed slowly while we all sat, mouths agape, digesting this latest disaster.

“Parker,” I said.

Swallowing, she pointed her fork at me. “Bingo.”

John said, “So if I’m following this, after the assassination, the prime minister was raised by Parker, who directed him to sign the document.”

“What? Did the dude die twice?” Jonesy asked.

Jade sighed. “No. Listen, there was an assassination. But the bad guys made it look like he lived. The prime minister signed the thing as a zombie
,
then they made it look like he didn't make it after all.”

Jonesy nodded. “Oh. Well, I did my CE on some Greenpeace thing.”

No wonder he didn't have a clue.

“Gah!” Sophie said, disgusted with the general ignorance that was Jonesy.

“Everybody knows I don't dig that civic crap.”

“What-ev-er! It was kinda important,” Jade said.

Jonesy shrugged, completely unconcerned.

“The bottom line: Parker changed history,” I said.

We were all quiet at that revelation.

“You're in deep shit,” Jonesy told me.

“Ya think?” I replied.

Jonesy bobbed his head. “I do.”

Sophie said, “Listen, I'm a witness to the whole thing. What do you think about that? Imagine the trouble I'd be in if
they
knew that
I
knew.”

“We need some kind of plan, an objective,” John said.

“A what?” Jonesy asked.

John just looked at him; we did a lot of that.

“Listen, have any of you freaks o’ nature considered that the Jones man here doesn't have any cool powers?”

He was a mundane in a pond of paranormals.

John ducked his head. “You're right. I'll try to be more patient. After all, you get stuff done.”

“Yeah! Damn straight! I'm accomplished. I'm legitimate. I'm—”

“Okay, Jonesy, we know your importance,” Sophie said.

“Listen,” I said. “Let's not get distracted. We've got”—I glanced at the pulse clock—“less than three minutes to formulate a plan. And let me just restate the obvious: we still don't know what the blue hell John is.”

“That's true, Caleb,” John said. “But we have bigger problems, like Carson and Brett, and getting through this test.”

“Well, I want to meet somewhere and figure it out,” Sophie said.

“Where?” Jade asked, glancing at the clock again.

Jonesy let a slow grin spread over his face.

I started to shake my head. “No-oh, don't you even
think
it.”

Jade added, “No way, Jonesy.”

“Yes way, sista!”

“Oh crap,” John moaned, doing a face-palm.

“What?” Sophie asked, confused. She hadn't been fully looped yet.

“The Cemetery!” Jonesy clapped his hands together gleefully, barely containing his joy.

A glimmer of hope sparkled in my mind's eye, wrapping a fist around it. I held it tight like the world depended on it.