Beasts and Savages (The Beastly Series Book 1) (5 page)

“Ms. Dawning said I can’t switch once I’ve chosen a career.”

“Just because you can’t change your mind doesn’t mean that they can’t move you on their own.”

“That’s not fair!” I cried. A burning anger flared through my system.

“Nothing about the hunt is fair, Lea.” Nana sighed. “Do you think those boys worry about fairness when they die during the hunt? They don’t. In fact, they volunteer.”

I dropped my fork. Suddenly, I wasn’t hungry. Nana had opened the door to a barrage of questions long buried in the back of my mind.

“How do they die? Why do they have to die? And why would they volunteer?” I whispered. Speaking louder would acknowledge the death that surrounded the hunt, something I’d been avoiding.

“Those are questions for your mother. Tradition says that preparing for the hunt is the tie that keeps you and her bound after you become a mother. I’ll not mess with tradition.”

After breakfast, I wandered the house and tried to read. The craving grew. I couldn’t sit still. Watching the clock was agonizing, but I couldn’t help myself. By eleven, my gums ached. At eleven-thirty, I couldn’t take it any longer. I filled the metal water bottle, and Nana followed me to the basement. She kissed my forehead and wished me luck before I stepped inside.

I flipped the switch outside the door and the hum of the lights echoed through the room. I set the water bottle down on the bench. I felt panicked. The walls were closing in on me. Immediately, I regretted my decision to come down early.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The wanting deep in my core exploded and my hands ached. The pain in my gums sharpened. I tasted blood and licked my teeth. My canines had dropped. The florescent lights hurt my eyes, and I made a mental note to bring sunglasses next time. After about an hour, the hum of the lights had given me a headache.

There was an audible pop in the room followed by intense burning in my right hand. I squeezed my left hand over it and yanked it back. A welt on my left palm was going numb. I had poked myself with one of my own bristles. Several fiery pangs on my hands sent current after current of pain up my arms. I knelt down and placed my palms flat on the cool floor, gritting my teeth so I wouldn’t scream.

Once the pain began to wane, I opened my eyes and inspected my hands. Hard brown bristles spiked out of the tops of them. When I flattened my hand, they lay flat against my skin. I made a fist. The short spines poked up into the air. My nails had hardened and grown to fine points. Blood welled on my thumb when I pierced it with a nail. I stuck the wounded thumb in my mouth. The metallic taste came at the same time as a flash of red.

I pulled my thumb out of my mouth and stood. A red fog invaded the corner of my vision. I closed my eyes and shook my head, willing it away, but the fog grew thicker. The hunger deep in my core called to the mist. As it clouded my vision, the red beckoned the want. I rubbed my eyes with my palms, careful not to poke myself. Nothing would erase the soupy haze.

I sat on the bench and tried to think of a way to stop the red clouds in my eyes. My mind moved slowly and words would not come. Several frustrating minutes passed. I clenched my fists tightly. I needed to think and the only word that would come to me was red. I clenched harder, until my nails threatened to punch through my skin. My vision flashed and for a moment the world was nothing but hot embers of anger.

There was a burst of pain in my hand and the rage subsided. The fog thinned. Pain. My agony had lifted the haze. I stabbed my hands and arms with my nails, relishing the clarity that came with each puncture. The sleeves to my green cotton tunic had snags, puncture holes, and blood marks from my wrists to my elbows. Finally the fog was nothing more than a red mist in the corner of my eyes.

I wanted a way to remember how I felt while changed, a way to record this event so that I could remember it and be prepared next time. I held up a bloodied index finger and began to write words on the wall: hunger, pain, anger, red, fog.

As the pain subsided, the mist thickened and crept back into my mind and vision. The aching hunger mounted. I looked over my hands and arms. I couldn’t bear to cut myself up more. I paced and massaged my temples, willing myself to think of another way to keep the red anger at bay. I counted my steps. The fog slowed, but still ebbed at my consciousness.

I had lost track of time. The intensity of the change left me weak and tired. I lay face down on the cold floor and pressed my forehead against it. The coolness was wonderful on my flushed skin. I closed my eyes and hoped that sleep would come before the hazy rage could completely take me over.

***

The hum of the lights filled my ears. It was smaller than I remembered, less intense. I opened my eyes and squinted in the light. The fog was gone. I pushed myself up. Red splotchy circles covered my hands. The bristles were gone; my changing was over.

I sat on the bench and thought back to the last thing I could recall. My mind was cloudy, like I was trying to relive a dream after waking up. My head ached slightly and my neck was sore from sleeping awkwardly on the floor. I remembered fog, and red anger, cutting myself to make the mist disappear. The bristles. I knew the agony that came when the bristles punched through. I examined the words written on the wall with my blood.

Everything. I remembered everything.

I strode to the box on the wall. I had to get the combination carved into the door frame to open the lock. My fingers traced each number and deftly turned the dial. After the final number, it clicked. I opened the little door and pulled the lever, expecting to hear an alarm. Nothing happened.

I lowered myself onto the bench and waited. Minutes passed. No one came to the door. I couldn’t take sitting any longer. Pacing, I thought of scenarios that would cause a delay. It could be Monday morning. Grandmother and Mother could be at work and Nana at the market. My pacing quickened as worse scenes flashed through my mind. I began to worry that Nana had to be taken to the hospital or that there had been a terrible accident at the Recycling Center.

Tears pricked at my eyes. I sat down again and cradled my head with my hands. I took a few deep breaths. Panic wasn’t the answer. Once I had controlled my breathing, I went back to the door. I checked the edges. There were tight seams along the sides of the door, but I found a small gap at the bottom. It was just small enough that I could fit the tips of my fingers under it, but the door was too thick to feel the other side. I stood and looked up at the ceiling. It appeared to be a false ceiling, the kind that had empty space above it so that the light would be flush. I climbed on the bench and reached up. I was too short to reach a tile.

A click echoed throughout the room and a rush of air pulled at my hair. The door opened. I jumped off the bench, clearing half the distance to the door.

“Lea?” Mother's head popped around the door.

“Mom!” I ran to her and wrapped my arms around her neck. I heard a metal clang and looked behind her. Grandmother and Nana stood by the stairwell. Nana held an aluminum bat and Grandmother a piece of wood. I pulled away from Mother. Something was wrong.

“Sweetie, It's only Sunday afternoon. When the alarm sounded, we thought you had destroyed the box.” Her face was apologetic.  Nana and Grandmother leaned their weapons against the wall.

“You thought I would get that violent?” My voice rose. “You were going to hurt me?”

“We came to check on you.  We had to protect ourselves, Lea.  You could have been dangerous. We never expected you to be finished changing.” There was a defensive tone to her voice.

I looked down at my hands and arms. “I only hurt myself long enough to clear the fog. Then I slept.”

The women gasped collectively.  Mother placed her hands on my shoulders. “Lea. Think carefully before you answer. Do you remember everything that happened in that room? Everything from yesterday until now?”

I stared at the women. The last twenty-four hours had been a blur of agony and rage. I nodded. Grandmother's eyes turned to steel and she turned her back to me, marching up the stairs. Nana bobbed her head up and down. She looked like a frightened child.

Mother's eyes were serious. “Don't ever tell anyone that you remember your changing.  No one. Don't even mention it to us again.”

“Mom, what’s wrong?” I whispered. Her seriousness and Nana's frightened expression scared me.

“I don't know. Your change was half the time it should have been and you remember it. That's not normal.” She hugged me and whispered in my ear, “Promise me you won't tell anyone. Ever.”

“I promise.”

CHATER 4

~ The Exam~

Rally met me at the gymnasium doors. She shifted nervously but smiled and waved when she saw me. “Lea! We don't have to run today!”

“What?” I glanced at the windows in the closed doors. They were covered with paper. I looked back at Rally. “Why don't we have to run?”

“We have to take an exam instead.” She played with her hands as she spoke.

“What kind of exam?” I pulled open the door. Inside the gym were numbered cubicles made of carpeted walls that stood about six feet high. I strode to the closest one. There was no door. Inside the makeshift room was a cabinet on wheels, a stool, a light, and the type of table you sit on while visiting a doctor. A nurse was placing equipment on a paper lined tray and writing on a clipboard. She looked up long enough to give me an annoyed glare.

“Sorry,” I whispered sheepishly and turned to find Rally.

“Well?” Rally asked.

“A medical exam, Rally. We are getting medical exams.”

“Why?”

Ms. Dawning stood by the locker room passing out cups and paper gowns. As girls streamed in she called out, “First and last names on the sample cups. Come to me once you have changed into your gowns. Place your filled cups on the tray.” She handed Rally and me each a gown and cup and motioned to the markers on the tray.

“What's going on? What kind of sample?” Rally asked.

“Not now, Rally.” Ms. Dawning looked harried. She motioned Rally away.

“Don't you know anything? She means a urine sample.” One of the twins pushed through the crowd.

“Is she right, Lea?” Rally followed me over to the tray and began writing her name on her cup.

“Yeah.” I put the marker down and headed for the locker room. Rally followed. We continued to our usual corner of lockers near the back. Rally was full of nervous chatter and questions.

“Listen,” I told Rally, “I don't know what’s going on, but don't listen to rumors. Ask the doctor as many questions as you like, but don't listen to the other girls. They're just trying to scare you.”