Compliance (4 page)

Larsson frowns. “It’s important to remember”—Larsson voice is all instructor now—“that not all Deviants are easily identified. Some only show their Deviance when threatened. If either of these recruits actually were Deviants, they’d have shown their true colors under pressure.”

Apparently Cal just passed a test. So did I.

Cal picks up his gun and straightens. Breathing better now, I stand, and Larsson points to the tag still stuck into my leg.

“That strike wasn’t fatal,” he says to Cal. “If this weren’t an exercise, this Deviant might have killed you. With the President’s Birthday less than two weeks away, we have to be extra vigilant. No points today.”

Cal tagged me and should be awarded the points. Nowhere in the rules does it say the tag strike needs to be lethal.

Inside Haven, the Comps only carry Shockers, their electric charges effective as long as their barbs penetrate clothing—and they penetrate every clothing material except leather, which is rare in Haven.

Larsson’s ignoring the logic of his own exercise. He’s punishing Cal for talking back, for being my boyfriend.

“Got a problem with that?” Larsson asks Cal.

“No, sir.”

A loud boom pulses through the air, pounding into our ears and our bodies. My arms fly up to cover my head. We all duck.

Shouts and screams rise in the distance, and Larsson puts his hand to his ear, presumably to turn up his communicator.

“Terrorist attack,” he tells us. “One of the factories in Sector ES4 was hit.”

My heart races. ES4 is where Jayma works.

“Report back to the barracks,” Larsson shouts. “On the double.”

Most of the group head for the door to the building’s stairwell, but I crane my neck, trying to pinpoint the blast’s location. Terrorist attacks were rare in the past, but this is the eleventh one in the last three months. Please let Jayma be safe.

Cal grabs my arm and leads me after the others. “Bloody Deviants,” he says. “Every one of them deserves to die.”

C
AL CHECKS OVER
his shoulder, constantly scanning. Both of us grew up in the penthouse slums, and being back in the cramped upper floor of this residential building makes me feel both safe and sad. The smell of cooking rat meat mixes with the tang of too many people and the chemical smells that cling to the sky all over the Pents.

“Relax.” My fingers graze the upper arm of Cal’s t-shirt. “No one saw us leave the barracks.”

“You’re right.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Every Comp who’s awake is dealing with the terrorist bombing. We’re clear for at least another hour or two.”

At least that long. Cal has no idea how often I sneak out of the barracks.

“I couldn’t have slept tonight,” I say, “without knowing that Jayma and Scout are safe.”

“Me neither.” He swallows. “Let’s check the roof.”

At the end of the corridor, I reach through the hole in the wall to make sure the rope that leads to the roof hasn’t been found or moved since we were last here. Labor-level employees, especially those who live in the Pents, don’t have access to e-notes, so there’s no way to check on Jayma and Scout without coming over. I heard that there used to be a System screen in this building, but it was deemed unnecessary and re-commissioned before I was born.

Cal runs his fingers over his closely shorn hair. I miss the way his blond hair used to drape over his forehead, falling close to his eyes. But even with it cut short, Cal’s undeniably handsome. He turns and light from outside the window glints off his face. My fingers itch to trace over the light stubble on his sharp jawline.

Shaking off those thoughts, I lean out, grab the rope, and climb. It grows taut below me as Cal follows. At the top, I peek over the roof’s edge to see Scout and Jayma there—making out.

Passion wafts from their entwined bodies, and Scout shifts, pulling Jayma tighter. My cheeks heat and a hint of longing erupts inside me. Keeping my gaze down as if I haven’t seen them yet, I clear my throat and climb onto the roof.

“Glory!” Jayma leaps up.

Bent to avoid hitting her head on the sky, she races toward me, pulling me into a huge hug. She’s working too hard in her new job, burning way more calories than she’s
taking in, and her ribs form hard ridges under my fingers. “I didn’t think I’d see you until the Quarter End Free Day.”

Cal and his brother give each other backslapping hugs.

“Are you on leave?” Scout asks. “You guys in COT get a lot of time off. Tonight, the QEF Day, and then the President’s Birthday—all within a couple of weeks. Wow.”

“We’re not exactly on leave,” Cal says, and I shoot him a look. Better if Jayma and Scout don’t know how much trouble we’d be in if we were caught outside the barracks.

“Just time for a quick hello.” Cal straightens as far as he can and puts his hand on a beam as he passes between the roof and the sky. “And we’re probably going to be on duty for the President’s Birthday. We don’t get that much time off.”

“We came because we heard about the bombing,” I tell Jayma. “We wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“It was horrible.” Her eyes fill with tears. “The blast went off two buildings over from mine. Everything shook, and the smell…” Scout runs to her side and wraps his arm over her shoulders. Her HR-issued dating bracelet glints in a beam of light as her hand rises to his chest.

Cal steps next to me. His arm rises to follow his brother’s example, but I shift forward, removing his opportunity. I’m so grateful for his patience, and I twist my dating-license bracelet.

The FA Commander ordered me to maintain my dating license when he sent me back inside Haven. Rolph figured that making any changes in my personal life would draw Management suspicions and cast doubt on the kidnapping cover story that I used to explain my nineteen-day disappearance
from Haven. It’s impossible to know whether Rolph is right, but the stakes are too high to test, so I can’t end things with Cal.

“Did you know anyone who got hurt in the blast?” Cal asks Scout.

“No, but what a mess,” he answers. “Five workers died and seventeen were taken to the Hospital.” Scout shakes his head. “Worse than dead.”

“We don’t know that,” Cal says. “No one knows for sure what happens in the Hospital.”

Jayma frowns. “Comp training has changed you.”

“No it hasn’t.” Cal shakes his head.

“I still can’t believe you’ve both joined the enemy,” Scout says. “The Comps are practically Management.”

“Someone’s got to keep Haven safe.” Cal squares his stance. “If it weren’t for the Comps, who would catch the terrorists and Deviants?”

“But Comps do more than catch terrorists and Deviants.” Jayma’s face flushes. “I don’t understand why you want to be one. Hasn’t Management caused us enough grief?” She looks down at her feet. “You’ve forgotten what it’s like up here in the Pents.”

“All I’m saying”—Cal leans on a beam above his head and his pectoral muscles press against his t-shirt—“is that I don’t think you should assume every bad rumor we’ve heard is true. ‘Haven Equals Safety.’”

Her head snaps up and her cheeks flare. “I can’t believe you’re quoting slogans.”

Cal draws a long breath. “Once Glory and I are Comps,
we’ll be able to help you guys too. We’ll all eat better. We’ll all have an easier life.”

“And that makes it okay to put innocent people into the Hospital?” Jayma turns to me. “Glory, why are you so quiet? Are you going to defend the Hospital and Management too?” Her eyes probe mine and my stomach squirms.

I turn to Cal. “Have you ever heard of someone being released from the Hospital?”

“No, but—” Cal shifts.

“But nothing,” Jayma says. “I don’t know what they do to patients in that horrible place.” She shivers. “I’m not sure I want to know. It’s enough that no one ever comes out.”

Cal slams his fist against his open palm. “None of those workers hurt today would even have been sent to the Hospital if it weren’t for those Deviant terrorists.”

My stomach tightens. “You don’t know for sure that the terrorists are Deviants,” I say. “They’re just as likely to be Parasites, or even Normals fed up with Management policies.”

“Of course they’re Deviants.” He spins toward me. “Who else would commit terrorist attacks?”

Why would Deviants commit them?
I want to ask, but I don’t. I’ve got so many secrets from Cal it’s a wonder I don’t burst. I don’t know who the terrorists are, but I don’t believe that they’re Deviants even if Management claims they are. If they understood Deviants, they’d know that we don’t draw attention to ourselves. We stay hidden.

Jayma and Scout sit on the roof as a unit, wrapped in each other’s arms.

“Tell me about Comp training.” Scout’s voice is full of
excitement. “Have you guys captured any Deviants yet?”

Cal sits, and his chest broadens as he leans back on his arms. Always strong, his body has filled out since we started Comp training, both from the exercise and the better-quality food. His biceps flex and his shirt hugs his hard torso. Being up here with Scout and Jayma, it’s like time has rolled back, and the feelings I had for Cal flick through me like flames.

“The training’s tough, but great,” Cal says. “Glory’s a star.” He pats the gravel beside him.

I sit as close as I dare, feeling his heat in the air between us. “He’s exaggerating,” I tell them. “Cal’s the top of our class, and just today he bested me in an exercise.”

Cal doesn’t correct me or elaborate. Maybe that’s the way he saw it too.

“Aren’t you scared?” Jayma asks, looking at me. “What if you come face-to-face with a Deviant? I’ve heard that some can tear out your heart with their bare hands—worse than the Shredders.” She shivers and Scout pulls her closer.

Cal shifts toward me, and his bent leg touches my thigh. “We’re well trained,” he tells her. “Plus, we carry weapons and wear armor.”

“And a lot of those stories you’ve heard are just that,” I add. “Stories. Fairy tales to scare little kids.” I shake my head.

Pulling hearts out?
When he’s enraged, Burn could do that. But even if any of the other Deviants I’ve met
could
do that, they wouldn’t. Except maybe in self-defense.

“Not all Deviants are dangerous.”

Cal spins to face me. “Don’t let Larsson hear you say that. He’ll think you support Deviant Rights.” I don’t respond and
he turns back to Jayma. “Don’t worry. We Comps keep Haven safe. I’m hoping our class will be assigned active duty on the President’s birthday.” His hand grazes down my back to rest low on my hip.

Heat, then guilt race through me. I can’t bare the thought of losing Cal’s friendship, but I don’t want to lead him on or make him think things might go back to where they stood before. And yet I don’t have the will or energy to fight the physical feelings burning inside me. My body wants comfort, wants to turn back time, wants to lean into Cal’s touch.

I reach out a leg and tap Jayma’s with my foot. “Today,
your
job was dangerous, not mine. I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“I wish we had the same work placement,” Scout says. “The second my shift ended, I raced to find her.” He kisses Jayma’s forehead. “If I’d lost you…”

Scout pulls Jayma into a tight embrace, and Cal’s thumb strokes my hip sending delicious, warm ripples through my body. In this moment I want to risk everything. I want to let Cal back into my heart; I want to let him get close; I want to tell him my secrets—what I am.

Regaining self-control, I rise. “We should get home.” My fingers slide over Cal’s shoulder, and his hand grazes the back of my thigh. I lean away and hug Jayma. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“W
HAT’S THE BEST
way to kill a Shredder?” Ansel asks from one of the front desks in the class.

“Slice its effing head off,” Thor answers, and some of my classmates struggle to contain their laughter.

“That’s enough.” Mr. Shaw, our Enemy-Phys instructor, holds up his hand. Deep wrinkles carve valleys between his eyebrows. “I will not tolerate off-policy language in my classroom.”

Thor leans back in his chair, hands behind his head, and stretches one leg out from under the small desk. Bright red spots flare on Shaw’s cheeks at the blatant lack of respect.

“Does anyone have a
serious
answer for Recruit Ansel’s question?” Shaw asks.

Cal raises his hand. “Gun blast to the brain.”

Shaw nods. “Yes, that is often effective.”

I killed a Shredder by exploding its head, using my gathered emotions. Shuddering, I sink lower in my chair, hoping to stay invisible.

Shaw points to the projected image on the wall behind him. “Shredders have been known to survive severe wounds to the chest and abdomen.” He swipes his hand in the air and another image appears.

Half the class visibly shifts back in their seats as we’re shown a gruesome image: a Shredder lying on a metal table, its torso cut open down the middle. The creature’s insides are dark brown—nearly black—and shriveled.

Shaw clears his throat and points at the cadaver. “This shows the dissection of a Shredder less than fifteen minutes after its death.” Several recruits gasp and I lean forward for a closer look. The body looks dehydrated, like it’s been dead a long time.

“Shredders live off of the dust,” Shaw says, “with little or no liquid in their diet. Therefore, their blood becomes thick. They dehydrate.”

“How do they stay alive?” one recruit asks.

“Our scientists are trying to determine the answer to that question, and to others.” Shaw displays another screen showing a Shredder spread-eagled in chains, and a Comp in full body armor slicing across its chest with a huge knife.

“Cool,” someone says from the back.

“When do
we
get to do that?”

“We should do a live dissection.”

More suggestions erupt from my classmates, and Shaw
changes the screen to show the same Shredder, but with what has to be a ten-inch gaping wound across its chest.

“Notice the time stamp on this image.” He points to the lower left-hand side of the screen, then gestures for the image to change. “Now
this
time stamp.”