The Opposite of Living (Wayfarer's End Book 1) Page 2

  I struggled to get my arms free, but it was impossible. She was too strong. I didn’t even budge her.

  “Those nice people are the only family you have. They’re sorry that they didn’t come for you sooner. If you’d taken time to listen to them rather than attacking your Aunt like a wild animal, you’d already know that.”

  I bared my teeth in a warning snarl, but she gave me another shake. “Don’t give me that. I know you’re smart and I know that you are perfectly sane. You can make better choices. Your Aunt and Uncle are probably your last chance to have a hope in hell at a normal life. Don’t you understand; we can’t keep you here forever? If you don’t stop acting like a crazy person you are going to end your days being locked up somewhere with people who actually suffer from mental issues. And honey, I do not want that for you. Whether you believe it or not, I actually care about you. So from now on things are going to be different around here, we are going to be expecting much better things from you and I will be watching you like a hawk. I will be trying my damnedest to make sure you make the most of this opportunity.”

  I growled in response and twisted my head to snap at her, but stopped with a yelp when she dug her freshly painted talons deeper into the back of my neck. I knew when I was out-gunned. She had won. I let my whole body go slack and dropped my weight until she was forced to let me slide like boneless Jell-O into a heap to the floor.

  She stared down at me, shaking her head in exasperation, probably wondering what on earth to do with me. I groaned and let my head droop lifelessly to the side, hoping she’d think she’d accidently killed me when she’d shaken me so rudely. Served her right if I was injured.

  Ignoring me, she picked up all the kitchen supplies I’d dropped one by one and headed back down the hallway. I lay there for a long time, waiting for her to come back, until the cold floor seeping into my bones made me shiver. I pulled myself up slowly and slunk back to my room, mostly unharmed.

  The Many Truths about Me

  I’d developed some theories about who I was and where I’d come from. The Head Interrogator and the wardens had their own ideas, of course, but they were boring. I had become an expert at not listening to them. My versions were much more interesting.

  Assassin—this was my favourite. As a young, abandoned orphan I showed so much promise as a toddler, I was brought to the attention of a secret group of assassins. As a toddler in the orphanage I’d already developed superior fighting skills that made me famous. The assassins adopted me and brought me up as their apprentice. When I was twelve years old, I was given my first assignment, but something went wrong and they were forced to abandon me when I was caught and dragged to the prison. They were still out there somewhere, waiting for the right opportunity to rescue me.

  Royalty. I was born of royal blood in a time of great upheaval in a faraway land. Maybe my kingdom had been in a different dimension. With all the wars going on, my parents didn’t have a lot of time or resources to protect me so they sent me away with a trusted servant to hide until it was time to take my rightful place on the throne. Unfortunately, the servant secretly worked for our enemy, the dreaded Althorians. Giant lizard-like creatures with wild yellow eyes. Instead of keeping me safe, he attacked me with magic and left me for dead. Instead of killing me, he wounded me badly enough that I lost my memory and my ability to speak. His evil magic still clung to me, made everyone hate me and think I was a wanted criminal. A murderer who did terrible things. I was hunted by the entire police force, captured and dragged to the prison where I was fed terrible food and not treated like royalty at all. I was sure one day my parents would find me, blow up the institution, and return me to my birthright.

  Alien. Nestled behind Saturn’s rings, my people came from the moon called Titan. They were brilliant scientists. In order to explore Earth without being discovered, they disguised their observers as human children. They only picked the smartest and bravest volunteers for their missions because many life-forms on Earth were hostile. Observing was simple. Everything I saw or thought got uploaded automatically to the mother-ship, which was invisibly hovering outside the Earth’s atmosphere. I would only know when my mission was complete when the ship came down and carried me away.

  These were only a few of the theories I’d come up with. I wondered which one was going to turn out to be true in the end.

  I should say at this point, even though I called the hole I lived in a prison, I knew there were worse places to live out there. They called the institution a “progressive living facility,” which meant there weren’t any bars on the doors and they couldn’t beat you or do shock therapy on you or anything. The worst I had to do was eat crappy food, go to counselling sessions, and listen to people tell me how I was supposed to feel. The rest of the inmates lived downstairs where there were dorms, a common area, and an exercise yard. I stayed upstairs in the private wing because they didn’t know what else to do with me. The place was supposed to be a short-term facility for kids who needed help “re-integrating into society.” Lots of spoiled, rich kids were sent there by their parents because they’d gotten into trouble and their parents needed the Interrogator to “fix” them. The inmates were in and out in less than six months, at least most of them. I, however, had been there over a year, since as long as I could remember.

  The only reason I was allowed to be there at all was because my arrest had been so “high profile.” I had heard the wardens talking about it being in the newspapers and on TV, but I didn’t believe them. I was a ward of the government—I didn’t have any family—that’s who paid for me to be here. I should have been kicked out a long time ago for all the stunts I’d pulled. No matter what I did, the Warden and the Head Interrogator still wanted to keep me around for some reason. I had been lucky so far, but my luck couldn’t last forever.

  April 5th

  Day 370 of my Incarceration

  I carved another notch into the baseboard beside my bed to mark that I have been locked up here for exactly one year and five days. The Warden told me they only have funding to keep me for two to three years, maximum. After that, who knows?

  I was in my lair kicking the underside of my bed and pondering my fate when the strange people came back. I growled low in my throat and flipped over on my stomach so I could watch them.

  This time they both sat on the floor outside the door to my room, where I’m sure they prayed they would be far outside my range of fire. Showed how much they knew. The woman had tape under her eyebrow and a line of tiny puncture wounds from where my shrapnel had hit her. I couldn’t believe I’d missed hitting her eyeball. I never missed.

  They sat there and talked quietly to each other while I watched them from deep within my lair. They weren’t trying to whisper or anything, but my hearing faded out, replaced with a sharp buzzing sound, like a thousand angry bees humming inside my head. It didn’t scare me. It happened sometimes when people talked about me and went away once I was alone again. This time it was getting in the way. I strained to push the buzzing away so I could hear, but it was no good. I inched closer, pushing at the wall of books that made up the edge of my cave to see better.

  The assassins must have heard me. They paused and turned to face me at the same time with these bright, cheerful smiles pasted on their faces. They looked expectantly in my direction and went back to talking as if nothing had happened. The buzzing in my head sputtered, choked and died completely, leaving me strangely exposed. Their words fell around me like water, even though I couldn’t understand them. They were not just talking to each other; they were talking at me as if I were part of their conversation. I froze and fought against the sudden nausea rising in my throat. Moving ever so slowly I reached down to make sure the carefully sharpened pencils I had stashed were within easy reach, I gripped one tightly in each hand, ready for action.

  After staying curled in that rigid pose for what seemed like forever, it dawned on me, the assassins were probably not going to attempt to come any closer. I allowed myself to relax a fraction of an inch. My mind wandered and I idly watched them talk. The way they opened and shut their mouths was interesting; it made them look like fish under water. I wondered what they could possibly be saying. None of their strange words meant anything to me—the sounds were bubbles rising and bursting—but after a while, I could catch a few phrases here and there. The woman was telling a story.

  The parts I understood sounded like a fairy tale about a brother and sister who had lost each other somehow and the girl’s journey to find him. Even though the story didn’t make sense, it made me feel an ache deep in my chest. Sometimes, my dreams about the little girl took place in the time before she was locked in the car. In those dreams, she had a small brother she looked after. I wondered what it would be like to have something of my own to look after and protect. Someone who loved me and looked up to me.

  There are 365 rules for staying alive according to the Survive! Website. Here are a few tips to survive the end of the world:

  Stay in hiding. Only come out of your bunker when necessary to gather supplies. The less activity around your lair, the less likely your base camp will be discovered.

  Have a supply of stockpiled weapons and food ready at all times. Do not wait for disaster to strike before beginning to gather your supplies. Always be prepared for anything.

  Avoid the sunlight. Only travel outside when there are shadows to cover your movements. The sunlight is your enemy.

  Stay silent. You are now prey and prey that survives makes as little noise as possible. There’s a reason you don’t know what sound a deer makes but you do know what noises a chicken makes. Deer are survival experts. Chicken are dinner.

  On the seventh day, they didn’t show up. They had visited every day that week to sit in the hall and talk
at me, but in the end they stopped coming. I guessed they’d finally had enough of me. I didn’t care. In fact, I was almost relieved to get back to my normal life and not have to stay hidden under the bed in my lair for hours at a time. One good thing, the Warden decided I had behaved myself long enough. She showed up in my room with a small smile on her face.

  “Here’s something to entertain you while your aunt and uncle are away, Carolina. We’re all very impressed with your behaviour these last few days. Excellent job. Keep up the great work.”

  I didn’t want to hear a stupid speech. I almost threw my lumpy pillow at her, but was glad I hadn’t when she wheeled in a cart from the hallway. It was my things! She’d brought Gordon and my computer back safe and sound. I was so happy to have him back, I spent the rest of the day watching episode after episode. I added ingredients to improve three of his recipes and wrote the best one down to put in my box. Then I practiced yelling at my sous-chefs in my head.

  Massive idiot, I thought at the imaginary man cowering at my feet. A one-armed monkey in the zoo could cook beef better than you. This beef is raw! It was fun imagining myself calling everyone “insufferable blights on humanity” and telling them to jump in their ovens if they couldn’t cook better, and things like that. It was something I actually looked forward to. If I was ever able to talk again and have my own restaurant one day.

  If there was any human in the world I could admire it would be Chef Gordon. He knew how to yell and nobody dared to push him around. They were all scared of him, like everyone was scared of me. I’d bet when the cameras were off he was a biter, too, and that was why they were so intimidated by him.

  The rest of the day I worked on my project for Mrs. Smith for my Natural Science class. I had picked The Spanish Newt as my subject because he was beautiful, but also scary. I hoped he would creep her out enough and she would get the hint to stop asking me to do all those stupid extra projects.

  I had a big fold-out poster board I’d covered with interesting facts and pictures about the newt. I even made pie-charts of its life-cycle and dietary habits. She was definitely going to be impressed.

  Fact: Did you know that when the Spanish Newt is attacked, it defends himself by expanding its ribcage until the sharp points on the end of its ribs burst through the skin? Its skin is so poisonous, whatever attacks it will instantly drop its prey when the deadly poison-tipped ribs start jabbing painfully into its mouth. I liked the newt because it was brave and smart enough to do what it had to do in order to stay alive.

  April 15th

  Another Incident that was Totally Not my Fault

  When I woke, I was cranky as a hornet. That stupid dream tormented me all night and I was exhausted. I didn’t want to think about why the same scenes and people played over and over night after night. I’d been stuck with the same dreams for over a year. Since the day I woke in this hellish place. Surely that wasn’t normal. Other people had different dreams every night, didn’t they? I had no way to ask.

  I was still thinking about the dream when the assassin made her attack.

  I hadn’t even seen it coming. I was on my way back from the bathroom still wearing my pajamas, half-asleep and staring moodily down at the ugly, speckled linoleum squares lining the long hallway. So deep in my thoughts, the woman seemed to appear in front of me out of thin air. Her long black hair swirled around her shoulders in a wave as if she’d been moving quickly and it hadn’t had time to catch up with her. She said something unintelligible to me, her voice coming out in a series of sharp, quick yelps. Her large eyes were bright with excitement as she moved swiftly toward me and closed in for the kill.

  I hardly had time to think or defend myself before she flung open her arms in order to wrap me in a fatal death hug. I tried to escape, I really did, but she was much too close to me. So close, I could smell her perfume that always made me think of dark exotic flowers from gardens in Egypt or Spain or somewhere. My only choice was to stand and fight.

  With the speed of a trained karate expert, I whipped my head around like a rattlesnake and caught the soft bare skin of her upper arm in my jaws, and I bit down as hard as I could, closed my eyes and did not let go. I let my body go limp, all my weight hanging from my teeth.

  She let out a piercing scream and fell backwards, dragging me with her awkwardly as she slapped at my head and face with her free hand. Dimly, I was aware of the blows, but they were painless, raining down on me from far away.

  Time slowed down. My movements were sluggish like I was moving underwater. All I could hear was the sound of my own breathing. The air sounded thick and ragged in my throat and blocked out most everything else. Far away there were noises, high pitched staccato yelps and lower, deeper voices, but they didn’t seem to have anything to do with me. Finally, I heard a sound I did recognize; the Warden’s clacking heels heading toward me with angry purpose. The sharp, familiar prick of a needle pierced my side and the sting of the sedative spread across my body. I gasped and released my jaws just as everything went dark.

  I woke up sicker than I’d ever remembered being in my entire life. I was too sick to eat breakfast, my head hurt from all the drugs, and I stayed in bed all morning trying not to throw up. At lunch time they tried to serve me watery soup from a can. Hours later they brought up dinner: limp, tasteless pasta shaped like alphabet letters. I couldn’t look at that slop without wanting to hurl.

  I drifted in and out, my dream world and reality mixing together like watercolours on paper so I couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. Sometimes the little girl would be there sitting on the end of my bed watching me with a sad expression. Next I was plunged back in that same old dream, only it was different. The assassins were there, too. The man standing with his back to me, staring up and down the street as if he were looking for something. The woman stood by the car, fingers inches away from the door handle, her dark eyes staring at me reproachfully. Why was she looking at me like that? Had I done something wrong again? She reached out to the door handle of the car. I leaned forward breathlessly, waiting. Could she open it? The instant her fingers touched the door, I was back in my room, in my bed, alone.

  When I was finally well enough to sit up and look around, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I was still in my own room, but it had been completely changed while I’d been passed out. The wooden desk in corner was bare on top. My computer was gone as was my stack of Gordon’s that had been sitting beside it. The recipes I’d stuck up on the wall had all been taken down, leaving only grey marks to show where the tape had been.

  Cautiously I peered under my bed. My heart sank. Empty. My lair was completely gone. There were no books. No blankets. No weapons. Everything I had in the world was gone. I looked up by the headboard, but already knew what to expect. The escape route I’d been digging in the drywall had been completely sealed over and painted as if it had never existed. Like I had never existed. This room could belong to any of the inmates. I had been left with a bed with a standard grey blanket and my clothes. That was what was left of my life.

  I lay there for a long time, numb and empty, trying to piece together what had happened to land me in solitary again. I remembered having strange dreams about the assassins; I remembered screaming and the prick of the needle. But what had happened before? It came to me in a flash and despite knowing I’d lost everything, my mouth curved into a smile. I had taken down a trained assassin using only my teeth as a weapon. I had to be one of the best, most ruthless fighters who had ever lived. Who else could have fought like that? I wondered if there was a place you could go to get trained to fight professionally and if the Warden would send me there.

  They didn’t leave me alone forever, of course. The next day I finally stopped feeling sick and was able to walk around on my own so I had to visit the Head Interrogator.

  It wasn’t my Warden who took me there, but a strange lady with her blonde hair in a tight bun on the top of her head. She didn’t say a word to me; she barely looked at me at all. She motioned me to follow her and deposited me in front of the Interrogator’s door before turning her back on me and walking away.