Compliance (10 page)

I straighten against the wall, guilt and regret hardening every muscle inside me. “I… I… I’m sorry.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Glory, I love you. But something’s going on.”

“There is a lot going on, but nothing you don’t know. I
lost my brother, remember?” Cal thinks Drake is dead. “And I was kidnapped. I’m trying to get over it, but it’s hard.” My voice sounds tight. I can’t fake sincerity. Not with Cal.

“There’s something else.” He shakes his head slowly. “I’ve known you your whole life, and if you can’t be honest with me, well…” He runs his hand over his shortly cropped hair. “Maybe Stacy’s right. Maybe you and I are over.”

I gasp. His expression is hard and his words shoot into me like thousands of tiny spikes. Even if letting him go might be the right thing, the honorable thing, I can’t lose Cal. It may be selfish, but I’ve lost too much.

“Is that what you want?” I ask, my voice small. “To revoke our license?”

His eyes fill with sadness. “No. Not at all. But I can’t—I won’t—go on like this.”

He runs his hand lightly down my arm, stopping to hold my wrist. His thumb traces the edge of my bracelet and his touch ignites little fires inside me, opens a deep ache in my gut. I didn’t realize until he threatened to take them away that Cal’s support, his friendship, his love, are the only things keeping me stable, keeping me from dropping into the gaping dark hole of loneliness. Cal’s the closest thing I have to family right now.

He takes my hands, intertwining our fingers. “You’ve always been secretive.” He leans in closer. “You had to keep secrets from me because of your brother. But you don’t need to keep secrets anymore. Not from me. You can trust me. I tell you everything.”

I nod but can’t speak. I feel transparent under his gaze, and for a second I wonder if I
am
transparent. Maybe Cal is a Deviant with some kind of a truth-sensing ability.

But that’s ridiculous. Cal’s transparent to me too, and I hate that I’m hurting him right now, that I’ve deceived him. Cal doesn’t keep secrets—not from me—and I’m terrible to keep them from him. Especially after he gave me an alibi last night.

It’s not fair. This has to end.

I look up into his eyes. “If you want to be with Stacy, I’ll go with you to HR to revoke our license. I’ll tick whichever box you want so our stories concur.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want to be with Stacy.”

“Good.” The word is out before I can think.

“I want you to be honest.”

I squirm, wanting so badly to have someone else know my secrets, especially Cal. “If I tell you,” I whisper, “you can’t tell anyone.”

He leans closer. “I promise.”

I close my eyes for a moment. “When I sneak out at night,”—Am I really going to do it? My stomach twists, my mouth dries. I open my eyes—“it’s to meet with Mr. Belando.” I can’t tell him more.

His eyes widen. “Why?”

I look around to make sure no one else is near. “Belando thinks there’s a mole inside COT. Someone working with the terrorists.”

“Really?” Cal’s grip on my arm tightens. “Why did Belando come to you?”

“He thinks I can help him find Deviants because of my kidnapping. That’s why he got me into the COT program.”

Cal nods as if everything that’s happened in the last three months suddenly makes sense. “Let me help.” He’s unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

“No. You can’t.” I look into his eyes. “And no one else can know about this.” I press my palm against his chest. “No one.”

He nods. “I promise. Who do you think it is?”

“No idea.” I look around to make sure we’re still alone. “Mr. Belando thinks the terrorists are planning to attack the President’s Birthday celebration.”

His body tenses. “Half of Haven will be there.”

“I know.”

“Don’t worry.” Cal pulls me into an embrace so tight I can feel his heart beating through my skin. “If Mr. Belando knows about the plan, the Comps will stop it. But be careful. I can’t lose you. Not again. When you were kidnapped, I thought I’d die.”

I relax, encased in Cal’s protection, his love. Maybe it
is
time to unburden all my secrets, my guilt. If I tell Cal everything I know about Deviants, about Shredders, about the dust, about life Outside, maybe he’ll accept me for who I am, especially if I tell him about my vow never to use my ability to kill.

The rest of the truth bubbles inside me, but I swallow hard to keep it down.

The risk is too high. The timing’s not right and I need to keep focused on my most important goal. Once I find Adele
and prove to Burn and Rolph that I deserve to stay in the FA, maybe then I can tell Cal everything.

I pull back and look into his eyes, now filled with heat.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” I say softly. “If Belando finds out, he’ll kill me. I promised not to tell
anyone
.” And by telling Cal, I’ve put him in danger.

“You can trust me, Glory. With anything. You know that, right?”

Pressing me against the wall, Cal bends to capture my lips and I yield, letting the swirling thrill of his kiss erase my fears, assuage my guilt, annihilate the weight of everything I can’t tell him.

T
HE TENSION IN
the gymnasium is thick and electric. In front of us, a Shredder thrashes against chains, holding his outstretched arms between two metal poles.

Several of the recruits yelp and jump back, but I stand stock-still, fighting to control my hatred and fear. And fighting to understand why Larsson brought this monster not only into Haven but into our gym. This explains why he had us dress in full combat uniforms for class today, but we’re unarmed and I know firsthand what these demented monsters can do.

The Shredder appears to be shirtless, but his clothes might be plastered to his skin with dried blood. Gashes gape on his neck and their symmetrical placement, three on each side, make the openings look like part of his anatomy rather than injuries. Perhaps his gashes are gills?

I shiver with the knowledge that if I ever became addicted to the dust, it might turn me into one of these monsters. I’d rather die. I’ve managed to commit enough atrocities without dust madness.

“Recruits.” Larsson rubs his hands together. “Time for your real training to begin.” The entire group moves back like a ripple on the surface of a lake.
Cowards
. I’m left out front.

“I see we have a volunteer.” Without seeing Larsson’s face under his visor, I can picture his cruel, derisive expression.

Another recruit steps up to join me. It’s Cal, and I resist the urge to shift closer to him.

“Bring in the cage,” Larsson yells, and a group of at least twenty Comps carry in sections of linked metal walls bounded by steel bars. They clamp them together until they form a box around the Shredder who continues to fight against his bindings, foam forming at the edges of his cracked, nearly black lips.

My fellow recruits hoot and holler. Now that the monster’s caged, their bravado awakens, and shouts of, “I could take him,” and “He doesn’t look so bad,” circulate around the group, building in volume and bluster.

I grit my teeth. These idiots have no idea. They haven’t been up-close witnesses to a Shredder tearing into a human body or ripping off strips of skin. They haven’t seen Shredders’ mindless cruelty even toward each other.

And none of my classmates have actually killed a Shredder.

The crowd cheers as the Comps bring in a dead body on
a stretcher. Bile rises in my throat. It’s a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, his curly blond hair wet against his head as he lies lifeless, dressed in only a pair of shorts. I try not to shake my head as I imagine the Comps’ plan. My best guess is they’ll toss his dead body into the cage so we recruits can see a less-gruesome version of a Shredder in action.

A man wearing a white coat over his suit takes out a needle and injects it into the dead boy’s neck.

With a scream, the boy bolts upright on the stretcher—not dead—and looks around with open-eyed terror. “Where? What?” His words are barely audible through his hoarse voice and over the roars of my fellow recruits, most of who seem to find this spectacle exciting, not appalling.

Larsson blows his whistle and we all quiet down. “This Deviant has been condemned to death,” he says. “Mr. Singh, the SVP of Compliance, has agreed to let us use his execution for this demonstration rather than schedule an expunging.”

The group cheers. I don’t. Instead, I hope this kid’s Deviance is something that will help with his self-defense. Not that he’ll live, even if he survives the Shredder.

Then I see the boy’s hands and feet. They’re webbed like the pictures of ducks and geese from the extinct animals textbooks from history class. His webbing won’t help him fight this Shredder. I imagine that’s one of the main reasons he was selected.

The boy jumps off the stretcher and runs, but he’s quickly surrounded by Comps and restrained, arms pinned behind his back. He thrashes and kicks his feet, clearly realizing his fate.

“Solis. Up front.” Larsson calls my name and my insides clench. “Asani, you too.” He calls out Ansel’s last name.

Cal moves forward with Ansel and me, and I’m grateful that Larsson doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“Closer.” Larsson lifts the visor on his helmet. “All of you. Up here. Now.” He moves within a few feet of the front corner of the cage. “If you graduate, which you two won’t, the lives of other Comps will be in your hands. I can’t abide cowards. Especially not weak ones.”

Refusing to be pushed from behind or to show fear, I march forward until I’m standing less than a foot from the closest wall of the cage. Through my visor, I look toward the Shredder and see what looks like terror in its eyes. But that’s impossible. Just a reflection of mine. I know Shredders can think and plan attacks, but they don’t experience fear.

“Lift your visors, cowards,” Larsson barks, and with a rumble of snaps, everyone complies. Viewed without the dark plastic between us, the Shredder’s skin is even harder to look at: brown and red and black, with pale-yellow patches on his chest, a color that might once have been white.

I recognize the off-white patches and nearly wretch. It’s three of his ribs, exposed through dry and ravaged flesh. I cast my gaze down, less to protect myself from the vision than to protect the Shredder from my eyes.

“What’s the matter, Recruit,” Larsson yells, and before I’m certain who he’s speaking to, he grabs my arm and throws me forward so I slam into the bars of the cage. The Shredder howls and struggles.

“Leave her alone,” Cal says, and my muscles clench.

No
, I think.
Stay out of this, Cal.

Larsson stands stock-still, anger simmering under a strange and terrifying calm. “I told Belando it was a mistake to take dating partners into the same COT class. He’s an idiot.” He shakes his head as if he’s discussing a misbehaving child, not his boss. “The girl will put you in danger,” he says to Cal. “She’ll get you killed.”

“No she won’t, sir.”

In a flash, Larsson’s fist, covered in heavy Comp armor, flies forward and smashes into Cal’s exposed face. Cal’s head snaps back and blood rushes from his nose.

“No,” I cry out. Cal’s bent at the waist, his hands covering his face. With all the blood, it’s hard to tell how much damage was done.

Larsson glares at me but instead of acknowledging my outburst, he shoves the slumped Cal and yells, “Clean up your mess.” He points to the puddle of blood.

The Shredder howls, probably at the scent, and I start to question my vow. If I caught Larsson’s gaze right now, my look would most certainly kill.

Someone tosses Cal a cloth and he wipes his face, then holds the fabric down to slow the bleeding. I want to comfort him, to help, but I don’t have a death wish and would likely make things worse for Cal.

The clang of metal on metal draws my eyes. The Comps open a door on the back wall of the cage, and throw the Deviant inside. He presses his back against the iron bars, but the Comps slam their guns into his body, forcing him forward.
The still-restrained Shredder bucks so ferociously I fear it’ll tear off its own hands to free its arms.

With a loud snap, the clamps around the Shredder’s wrists release. Its arms drop to its sides. For a moment, the creature’s startled and confused, then it spins to face the Deviant who’s trying to climb up the side of the cage, but his webbed hands and feet won’t grip the bars.

The Shredder lunges and scrapes his fingers down the boy’s back, leaving what look like claw marks. The Shredder’s three middle fingertips resemble knives and I gasp in realization. He gashed his own neck with those hands, explaining the symmetry. I look away. I will not watch this. I’ve witnessed enough horrors.

Larsson grabs my chin and pulls me forward. “Watch.”

My neck strains against the force, refusing to turn back.

“Watch, or flame out.” He leans in close to my ear. “I’ll break your neck if I have to.”

I don’t doubt him for a second. His hand forces my face back to the cage, but he can’t force my eyes open. My Deviance tingles and sparks behind my eyes. I can’t control it. A scream fills the room and I’m not certain whether it’s the Deviant or the Shredder.

“Open your eyes. You need to see this for your own good.” Larsson’s voice is hard, but calmer than I expect. I comply, and the Deviant boy’s directly in front of my now-opened eyes, his face pressed against the bars.

Our eyes lock and I fight against my power. It’s no use. I’ve lost control. My Deviance has triggered and I’m locked onto the boy’s brain.

Killing him would be the merciful thing to do—and I could. To end this more quickly, to spare this fellow Deviant from the torture, all I’d have to do is squeeze his brain, or twist his heart, or snap his carotid artery, or any of a number of things. I can hear and feel his heart beating loudly, as if it’s inside me.

But I won’t kill him. Never again. I lower my lids to break our connection.

Still gripping my chin, Larsson pushes me to the side and I stumble to the floor of the gymnasium, my hand sliding into the puddle of Cal’s blood.