Authors: Maureen McGowan
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Fantasy & Magic, #Paranormal, #Dystopian
Compliance
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2013 by Maureen McGowan
All rights reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. Request for permission should be addressed to:
Amazon Publishing
Attn: Amazon Children’s Publishing
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140
www.amazon.com/amazonchildrenspublishing
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN-13: 9781477816530 (hardcover)
ISBN-10: 1477816534 (hardcover)
ISBN-13: 9781477866535 (eBook)
ISBN-10: 1477866531 (eBook)
Book design by Alex Ferrari
Editor: Margery Cuyler
First edition
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CHAPTER ONE
T
HE GLOW FROM
Arabella’s eyes seems a hundred times brighter than the glow from the moon light projected onto the sky. It’s hard for me to call the dome’s inner surface the sky now, or the synthetic light the moon, but I must. No one can know I’ve been Outside.
As I lead Arabella down the narrow alley, tall dark buildings press in from both sides and as much as I appreciate the extra light her eyes create, it’s dangerous. If someone spots us, she’ll be tossed outside the dome to be torn apart by Shredders. So will I.
I stop. “Take some deep breaths,” I tell her. “Calm yourself down.”
“I’m sorry, Glory.” Her voice is small and shaking. “My eyes glow more when I’m scared.” She seems much younger than her thirteen years, and her breaths quicken so much
that her chest heaves. Phosphorescent green tears spill and then fade as they trail over her cheekbones. “I’m such a freak.”
I give her frail body a reassuring hug. In spite of her small stature, her clothes are too small, and the shoulder seam of her coarsely woven shirt needs mending. “You’re not a freak,” I tell her. “And where you’re going, lots of people are Chosen.”
“Chosen?” she asks.
“Chosen is another word for Deviant. Nicer, don’t you think?” And appropriate in Arabella’s case.
My Deviance, on the other hand, is a curse and I won’t ever use it again. Not to kill.
Arabella’s shoulders slump. “If I’m Chosen, how come my parents hid me away? How come Management wants to kill me?”
“People are afraid of what they don’t understand.” I wipe a tear from her cheek. “How many of your friends don’t need to carry a torch to see in the dark?”
She looks down. “I don’t have any friends.”
My throat tightens. “Don’t worry. Where you’re going, you’ll find lots of new friends.” And, I hope, someone to take care of her now that I’ve ripped her away from her parents.
For an instant, I wish I could go with Arabella, return to the safety of the Settlement and see my dad and brother again, but it’s not possible. Besides, here I’m saving lives, working undercover for the Freedom Army to rescue Deviants from inside Haven and get them to safety.
Looking up through the narrow space between two
factories, I tilt my head to find an unobstructed view. Exhaust belches from the factories and wafts high above us, snaking and searching for a way to escape. The vents here must need repair; but through the smoke I make out the faded blue panels of the sky. They slope sharply in this part of Haven, and based on the angle of the moon light’s glow, we’re going to be late to meet Clayton.
Arabella’s the thirty-seventh Deviant I’ve rescued in the three months since I returned to Haven. It’s a perfect record and I’m not about to fail now.
“I know this is scary,” I tell her. “But you’re going to be safe. I promise.”
Arabella shakes her head, and her nearly white hair floats up around her frail shoulders. I hug her again, keeping my breaths long and even, hoping to transfer a sense of calm to her. When I found the young teen, she was living behind a false wall at the corner of her parents’ tiny apartment, barely able to move. Once her mom and dad discovered her Deviance, not long after she turned twelve, they hid her and almost never fed her, from the look of things.
Arabella’s parents’ relief when I claimed I could help her was obvious. They barely questioned me before handing over their daughter to a stranger, releasing them from the need to dispose of her body.
I’m being unfair. I probably gave them the first hope they’d known since Arabella’s Deviance surfaced and she began her year in captivity. When we left, they told her they loved her, and their relief was more likely because I spared them the pain of watching her die.
“I was thirteen, too, when I lost my parents.” I pull back from our hug. “Three-and-a-half years ago.”
She looks up and the green glow in her eyes fades. “Did they die?”
“My mom died.” My heart clenches, but I push the memory away and look up at the crumbling bricks beside us. “My dad’s still alive, but for three years I thought he was dead. My brother and I thought he died when our mom did.” That’s enough truth. She doesn’t need details.
“So you and your brother were all alone for
three years
? No parents?”
I nod.
“Why did your dad leave? Where did he go?”
“Same place you’re going.” I rub her back. “His name is Hector Solis. Say hi to him for me, okay?”
“How did you survive without parents?” Her voice catches.
“I just did. You will too.” I check the moon light’s angle again. We need to move.
“What’s your brother’s name?” she asks.
“Drake.” I scan the alley for movement. “He’s Chosen, too.”
“Your brother’s a Deviant?” Her eyes widen. “Did he get exed?”
“No. He’s safe and happy.” At least he was three months ago. “I helped him, just like I’m helping you.”
“Are
you
a Deviant?” Her voice has grown stronger, her eyes less bright.
“Time to get moving.” I pretend I didn’t hear her. “If you
hold onto my shirt”—I hand her the back hem—“can you keep your eyes nearly shut?”
She nods. “I can’t control my Deviance. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Your Deviance is cool. I wish I could see what’s in front of
me
in the dark.”
“Really?” A half smile drifts onto her sad and terrified face.
“Yes. But right now your eyes draw too much attention.” I make sure she’s holding onto my shirt; then we move down the alley, starting more slowly and gathering speed as Arabella gets used to walking blindly. I can’t risk leading anyone to the hand-off location Clay and I use. If it’s discovered, he’ll have to find another, and I won’t be able to save more Deviants until he does.
I’m due to get a new list of targets at tomorrow night’s briefing with Clay, and I’m itching to see it. There’s only one name left on the list I have now, and I haven’t been able to find her.
Arabella’s eyes flash, lighting the street. I wince, fearful we’ll be discovered, but she quickly casts her eyes back down, and I slow my pace, imagining her terror.
Finally, we reach the exchange point, and as we approach, the top of Clay’s bald head pokes out of the manhole cover that once was in the center of an ancient street from Before The Dust. The round, metal disk now spans a third of the remaining street’s width.
My tension unfurls. We arrived just in time.
Seeing us, he drops down, and I turn to Arabella. “You need to climb down this ladder.” I point to the hole.
She shakes her head wildly and her eyes glow, bright green illuminating the entire alleyway.
“I’ll go with you.” I’m not supposed to go down—Clay will have to leave the cover open longer—but of all the people I’ve helped, Arabella’s the most fragile, the most frightened.
Taking her shoulders, I steer her over the opening and bend with her, guiding her foot onto the lowest rung she can reach. She’s shaking and I’m not even certain she’s strong enough to climb down a ladder alone. I grasp her under her arms and then put my foot at the edge of the same rung she’s on. “I’ll help you. Step onto my foot.”
She does, and she weighs almost nothing. I move my other foot down. “Now the other one.”
She obeys, and with my arms still tucked under hers, I let my hands slide over the street’s surface. Wishing I were holding a rung, I step down with her foot above mine, and my bent back scrapes on the edge of the hole.
We slip. Her body tenses, but I grab the top of the ladder just in time. “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’m right behind you. You won’t fall.”
She grasps the ladder without me having to tell her and we descend together. “Right, left, right,” I whisper to prepare her for each step and keep us in sync.
When we reach the bottom, Clay flashes his torch in our direction, grunts, then strides over and looks up the ladder. “This is getting too dangerous,” he says. In the glow of Arabella’s eyes I can see he’s equal parts impressed and annoyed that I came down. The cool, damp air sparks goose bumps on my arms.
“Arabella,” I say, “this is Clayton. He’ll take you from here.”
Her eyes brighten.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “He’s saved lots and lots and lots of kids like you.” Clay must sense her fear too because he forces his tanned face to smile, revealing teeth that glow in the light of Arabella’s eyes.
“My parents t-told me never to talk to strangers, even before they knew I was a Deviant.”
I place my hands on her shoulders. “My parents taught me the same lesson, and it made it hard for me to trust the boy who helped me and my brother, but do you know what I figured out?”
She shakes her head, her eyes wide and glowing.
“I figured out that it’s one thing to be cautious and another to never trust
anyone
.”
She nods, but her eyes are still full of phosphorescent worry.