Authors: Tiffany Truitt
Chapter 34
I rocked back and forth, my hands covering my head and my eyes closed tight. I needed a moment. I needed a moment. I needed a moment.
After James, George, and his men left us, Lockwood had asked the others to give me some space. He had taken it upon himself to watch over and tend to Louisa. I had to pull myself together before I was ready to speak with her. She couldn’t see me like this. I couldn’t go to her the empty girl she grew up with. And that’s all I felt in that moment—emptiness.
I reached my fingers up and touched my new slash mark. It scared me that I felt nothing as my fingers dug into the burn.
I couldn’t go back to feeling nothing at all.
Ten seconds. Ten seconds, and I would have to get to work.
One. Two. Three. Four.
“Damn it, Tess,” a voice behind me said. “Why didn’t you stay in the community? You were safe there. I thought I could scare you into staying with the message on the body. But you had to be so stubborn. I guess you learned that from me. And when that didn’t work, I thought I could slow you down with the wound. But you had to be you. You just couldn’t stay safe. I thought the last message would have made you realize it was me. Louisa’s birthday. The one I forgot. The confetti. The first book we ever read.”
That voice. A man’s voice. It didn’t belong to Henry, Lockwood, or Eric, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know it.
I lifted my head and opened my eyes.
I stared at the man now in front of me. He was older, haggard, tired, but I knew him despite the time that separated us.
My father.
He was standing right in front of me.
I had to make sure this wasn’t another delusion. I reached out a hand toward the man I thought the council killed. My father gently grabbed onto it and pulled me to my feet.
He was alive.
I didn’t know what we were supposed to do next or where we were going to go. I didn’t know what George meant about helping him bring down the council. I didn’t know if I would ever see James again. I didn’t know if it was even possible to save Louisa.
These were all questions I would have to answer.
And soon.
But I wouldn’t be doing it alone.
Acknowledgments
Writing and getting your first book published is a herculean task. The second book? Damn near impossible. Insecurities, writer’s block, more insecurities…I was ready to give up. But being blessed, I was surrounded by the most supportive people and friends a girl could ask for.
I could write many, many terrible epic poems dedicated to the people who helped push me to complete this book, but I wouldn’t wish that torture on anyone. Instead, I’d like to thank a few special people.
Cat, Kenneth, Amy, and Abed—thank you for one of the best summers of my life. Without your long talks and crazy nights, I would have lost my mind. Hemingway style.
The extended Truitt family—who needs a publicity team when you have a whole army buying out your books?
Entangled Publishing—for continuing to take chances.
And, most of all, Stacy—thank you for putting up with my writer ennui.
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Keep reading for a teaser chapter…
Prologue
Year: 2133
The T-screen in our family room crackles just before President Cartier fills the screen. I wonder briefly if Lawrence is watching him, too, like the rest of America, or if he was given an advance showing. After all, the president is his grandfather. I remember the first time I met President Cartier. He was less gray then, less wrinkled. He was joking that Lawrence was too mature for a six-year-old and asked me to take him under my wing, teach him how to be young.
Now four years later, staring into the T-screen on one of the biggest nights of my life, I wish I had some of Lawrence’s maturity. I wish I weren’t so…afraid.
President Cartier smiles widely into the camera and begins his talk. It’s prerecorded—the same talk given every year to each new group of ten-year-olds. I’m told they used to show the video in class on the first day of school, but so many children left crying that they felt doing it at home was better. I’m not so sure. Right now, it’s eight o’clock in the evening, which means I have only four hours until they come—four hours to prepare.
“Ladies and gentlemen of our beloved nation,” President Cartier begins. “Today marks the first day of your journey to adulthood. It is not to be taken lightly. But rest assured, your parents and older siblings sitting with you have endured this same talk. Time has not changed our process, which, in the very least, should bring you comfort.”
He smiles again, this time in that condescending way that adults do. It’s supposed to reassure us. It doesn’t.
“Parents, please hand over your child’s Taking patch.”
Daddy holds out the tiny silver case to me, the silver catching the light from the composite crystal chandelier above us. I try to steady my hands as I sit it in my lap, my legs jumping ever so slightly.
“Now, boys and girls, please listen carefully to these instructions, as they will not be repeated.”
The screen dims and an image appears of America just before the fall. A voice-over blasts from the T-screen, explaining all the things I already know. Power led to the most destructive war in our history—World War IV. The screen cuts to the full scope of the nuclear war, showing city after city, at first beautiful and strong, and then the bomb hits and there is nothing left but rubble and smoke and sadness. Our world, decimated and no longer able to thrive.
I lower my eyes from the screen, hoping Daddy doesn’t notice. The commander doesn’t appreciate weakness, even in his daughter, but it saddens me to think how far we fell. I lift my head again and focus back on the screen, anxiously awaiting the important part—the part where the Ancients attacked.
I watch as the screen changes to the alien crafts arriving in our skies, watch as more and more appear until they look like large flocks of birds. There are too many to count. Too many to defend against. We now know that they are older than us as a species, much older. Thousands of years older than the first known existence of man, though I’ve often wondered how they know. Did one of them tell us? Is it a guess? Regardless, that is how we now know them as the Ancients. What they were called before, I’m not sure. Though I can imagine the people of the time thought of something more appropriately frightening than
alien
.
“Please pay attention, Ari,” Mom says, motioning to the screen.
I clear my throat and nod. I didn’t realize I was staring at my patch case, hard in my hand. It’s small. Maybe eight inches long and four wide. And inside…inside rests the single most frightening thing any of us has ever held. Our patch.
The screen cuts again to the signing of the Treaty of 2090. The five leaders of Earth with the Ancient leader, though there was no Ancient present that day, or at least not visible to us. I know little to nothing about what they actually are or what they looked like prior to our agreement. I know only what the current Ancient leader looks like and he
looks
human, though most say they aren’t really like us. It’s an illusion. Some say they’re made of water. Some say plant. Others say they are no form at all, existing yet not—at least not in the way we do. I’m not sure. Still, there is an empty chair present at the table, as though the Ancient leader sits there, bored, waiting for the meeting to adjourn.
The screen zooms in on the treaty, to the six signatures that agree to our new role. From that moment on, we were no longer just human beings—we were hosts. We provide them with antibodies through the Taking so they can survive life on Earth, which is the only reason we’re alive. Had their bodies responded to Earth as they had hoped, we would all be gone. Genocide of the human species. Instead, they needed us—and we needed them. Our planet was destroyed, and they alone possessed the ability to terraform Earth back to health. Could we have done it on our own? Yes, but not before millions died of dehydration or starvation. We needed an answer quickly. They needed a new planet. And so the treaty was signed and we agreed to follow their rules.
President Cartier returns, another fake smile on his face. “You now understand our history and the importance of what you are about to embark upon. Please remove your patches from their cases and let us go through the proper Taking protocol for this evening.”
I slip my hand over my patch case and pop the lid open, exposing the tiny silver patch inside. It’s as light as composite silk, as smooth as water. Two large oval pieces connected by a thin one-inch piece of cloth that goes over the bridge of your nose. I lift the patch into my hand and hear a nearly silent buzzing from it, as though it’s alive—though I know that must be whatever Chemist technology is within it that allows the patch to immobilize us.
I run my thumb easily over the fabric. It doesn’t look or feel so scary. Then President Cartier instructs us to put on our patches and I feel my body turn to stone. My eyes widen as they lift to the T-screen.
“Go on, dear,” Mom says from beside me. She pats my knee easily and smiles brightly. “It’s okay.”
“I thought we did it at night?” I say, my voice small.
“We do. This is just a test. It allows you to feel the sensation with us around you. That way you are less afraid. Let me help.” She takes the patch from my hand and starts for my face.
“Wait,” I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. “What’s going to happen? What will I see? How will I get it back off? What if I can’t—”
“It’s okay,” she says again. Then she leans closer to me and I feel my breath catch.
I don’t want to do this. Please don’t make me do this.
And then the smooth cloth slides over my eyes, blinding me. I relax for only a moment, then the patch suctions around my eyes as though laced into the bone, and I feel it against my temple, pressing, digging in. I want to pull it away. I scream out for Mom to help me and hear her say over and over that it’s okay, everything’s okay.
Briefly, I hear President Cartier’s voice in the background. He explains the Taking, how our bodies don’t feel the Ancients receiving our antibodies. How our daily supplements guarantee we have plenty. How our assigned Ancient will come into our room at midnight and how the Ancient will Take for thirty minutes before returning to Loge, their planet. The patch then deactivates, he says. I wonder why he’s saying all of this so quickly and then I know.
As though someone turned off the sound, I can no longer hear. I strain to find a sound in the silence, but there is nothing. And then I can no longer feel or smell. My lungs burn and for a moment I’m sure I’m being suffocated. I try to move my arms, to reach for Mom, but they won’t budge. I try to scream out but no words come. Panic sears my mind, and then one by one my senses return. I feel Mom’s hand gripping mine hard, hear President Cartier’s voice in the background, but still I can’t see or move.
I know I should be listening. I know I should try to remember what to do and how and when. But all I can think about is how in four hours I will have to do this all by myself, in the darkness of my room, waiting, blind and immobilized…as one of them comes for me.
If I could scream…I would.
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