Ordinary (Anything But) (17 page)

Christian couldn’t move. He was paralyzed. One time he thought he heard the girl from school’s voice. Honor. One time he thought he felt her tender touch. The pain had eased for just a moment, but then had been unleashed harsher than ever. Christian had imagined her presence. That was the only explanation. He was alone, all alone
with his never-ending torture. People poked him, stuck him with sharp instruments. He heard them talk, heard them discuss him like he wasn’t a person, like he was a thing. Something was drawn from his body. He would have thought it was blood, but it wasn’t warm. It was cold. Something was placed in his neck. The despair took over. Christian let it. He wanted it over with, that’s all he wanted. Christian wanted the pain gone.

***

Christian felt her again and it soothed him a little. He thought he could even smell her skin and it smelled like sunshine and warm air, things he’d taken for granted and now longed for. He wanted to say something, to let Honor know he was aware she was there. Her sorrow was stronger than all the pain he’d endured. It washed it away, made it into something bittersweet. Where his heart should have been, it ached, but in a different, less painful way. She was the only one that cared in the hell he was in. Honor kept him from losing all hope, from giving up. If she was there, he wanted to be too. He had to fight; he couldn’t let whatever was happening to him take over him completely. The blackness wanted to consume him, wanted to make him something inhuman. Christian wouldn’t let it. If Honor hadn’t given up on him, he couldn’t either.

He slowly, painfully turned his head, and saw her. A jolt of awareness went through him. Her blue eyes were wide and full of sorrow, for him. Christian had always thought her pretty, but now, he saw her even clearer. Her eyebrows were arched and slim, her lips wide and full. Everything about her was brighter, more enhanced than he remembered. It didn’t do any good for her to feel bad for him. There was nothing she could do. Christian turned his h
ead, away from her woeful face. Cold tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, letting him know he still lived, in some way. But it wasn’t him. He was different. What had been done to him? What had happened to him?

Christian’s body felt like ice ran through his veins. He was cold, but not as cold as before, like his body had adapted, had changed to keep him alive, if that was what he was. His body didn’t hurt so much anymore. He was healing, getting stronger.
He could hear things again for longer periods of time, not just bits and pieces of words, but full conversations. Christian heard all kinds of things, most of which he wished he hadn’t.

They kept him locked up like a dog. They were wary of him, but brave with the barrier between him and them. They watched him from their safe little corners with their guns, eyes darting in the dark. He could see them, he could smell their fear. Christian heard their whispers. The other UDs watched them as well, and him. Some were adapting well, others were not. The tortured, insane cries he heard from the cells of those who were not adapting well were something Christian never wanted to hear again, but knew would haunt him. It was maddening, listening to them day and night.

Christian knew what he was. He’d heard it all from the UDKs
’ lips. He’d heard what they thought of him, of everyone like him.

His heart beat slowly, only twenty beats per minute. Christian had counted. He had all kinds of time to do insignificant things as he sat in his white-walled cage with the window. He’d died, yet he somehow lived. Christian was a freak
, something that shouldn’t be. He thought of his mother and father and wondered which one had passed the virus to him. Something in him told him it was his mother. The way she’d acted that day…how long ago had that been? Why hadn’t she
told
him? What of his brother and sister? Were they at risk too?

He thought of his goals and dreams. Christian was going to go to school, became a successful writer, eventually get married, maybe have a kid or two a long way in the future. Now…that was all done. Christian stared at his right hand and arm, watched the veins and muscles tighten and flex. His muscles were more defined, bulkier. He did hundreds of sit-ups and push-ups during the nigh
t, but he never got tired out. He had endless energy and being cooped up like he was; it was getting to be too much. If he didn’t get out of there soon, he was going to go mad. Two meals a day were sent through a slot in the door, but even that was too much. He could go hours and hours, maybe days, without eating or drinking. Christian felt strong, invincible, like a machine. It was scary and exciting at the same time.

“Hey, UD, having fun here?”

It was the bald man from school the last day Christian was
a normal teenage boy. His scar distorted his face even more than it already was as he grinned, showing yellow teeth. Christian could smell him through the wall between them. It was an onion garlic tobacco scent that almost gagged him. He’d been there before, taunting the other UDs, watching the girls in a way that turned Christian’s stomach. Burns was his name. He stood in the middle of his empty room and stared at him, not moving, not speaking. He told him with his eyes what he thought of the agent who was nothing more than a weasel.
He
was the animal, the dog, the one that should be locked up. Christian didn’t have to see his soul to know it was tainted, black with corruption.

Burns swallowed. “You don’t scare me with your witchy eyes.”

He tilted his head, wondering what he meant. Witchy eyes?

“You’ll get what you deserve.
Some day. I only hope I’m the one that gets to give it to you,” the agent said before sauntering off, toward another UD’s cell. Christian heard him speak to a girl, heard the cruel, sexual things he said to her, and he burned with the need to execute him, to erase his existence. The world would be better off without Agent Burns in it.

The agent made his rounds, making sure to rile up each UD he walked by. He was not a smart man. What did he think was going to happen when the walls were no longer between him and the UDs? Eventually one of them would seek retribution
. It was only a matter of time. When he passed Christian’s room on his way up the stairs, he made sure he was standing in front of the glass, where he wouldn’t be missed, where Burns would be forced to look at him. He glared at him, his hands fisted at his sides, his
witchy
eyes telling him what he thought of him. Christian was grimly satisfied when the man hurried away.

***

Christian didn’t need much sleep, maybe a few hours at a time. In the dark, when he let his mind wander as he lay on the hard bed, bitterness tugged at him. Why him? That was the question that plagued him the most. Why any of them? Why had the virus affected him the way it had and someone else, someone like Honor, the way it had? Resentment weaved its way through his veins and into his heart, turning him colder than he already was. It wasn’t fair. What right did they have to keep him locked up? What right did they have to tell him how he could live his life?

He sat up in the dark, his senses attuned to her. Honor was coming toward him. Christian closed his eyes and willed her to go away. He couldn’t look at her; he couldn’t look at her knowing they used to be the same and were no longer. They were supposed to be enemies now. Christian couldn’t bring himself to hate her, but he also wanted nothing to do with her. She was a UDK. He was a UD. That was all that was n
eeded to be known. And yet, when she stood there, searching for him in the darkness, he couldn’t ignore her. The pale light behind her illuminated her skin, made it shine like porcelain. Honor looked ethereal. Angelic. She looked like everything he’d always wanted and now could never have.

“Christian?” she whispered.

Christian stayed out of the glow of light, knowing she couldn’t see him. She might have been able to see what differentiated a UD from a normal human being, but it hadn’t heightened her nighttime eyesight any. Something shifted in her expression, became sad. It twisted at him and he gritted his teeth, unconsciously moving toward her. He told himself to stay away, but his feet kept walking until he was to her. Christian saw her flinch and was angered by it. She had no right to fear him. He’d given her none. He stared down at her, his eyes trailing over her ebony strands of hair and her dark eyes. What was she thinking as she studied him in the semi-dark?

“It’s Honor…from school?”

Christian’s gaze cooled. Did she really think he wouldn’t remember her? The virus hadn’t affected his memory. He was insulted. Christian told himself to walk away, back into the dark. Honor swallowed and turned her head, but not before he caught the stricken look on her face. It made him feel like an ass, which annoyed him. When she faced him again, her eyes were tinged in sadness, her lips turned down with it.

She started to withdraw from him, to pull away. “I just…wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Panic hit him. Honor couldn’t leave. He would be lost again if she did. He felt a little like his old self when she was near, a little human. Christian didn’t want that feeling to go away. He hated the solitude, the dark, the emptiness that wanted to engulf him and consume his soul. Christian opened his mouth, the single word, “Honor,” leaving his lips, his voice dry from disuse. After that, his brain shut off.

Honor stopped and looked at him. Christian didn’t know what to say. It didn’t matter because an alarm sounded, it piercing his eardrums and instantly making his head throb. He moved away from the window, back into the dark. Christian sank to the floor with his back to the wall and closed his eyes, waiting for the horrible sou
nd to end.
Go away, Honor
, he thought, and when he opened his eyes, she had.

***

It was still night when seven armed men came for him. One stood out. He was the leader, the man in charge. He was the man from the school. Not Burns, the other one. Christian thought his name was Nealon. He wasn’t that old, maybe in his late twenties, but his eyes were. They’d seen too much to the point where they no longer wanted to. His hair was messy, his eyes bloodshot. An overhead light flickered on, swathing the room in artificial daytime and hurting his eyes.

“Open it,” Nealon commanded with his
eyes on Christian.

Christian stood along the wall, hands at his sides, waiting. Maybe they were going to kill him, put him out of his misery. He couldn’t decide if that would be a good thing, or a bad. Part of him wanted it to be over with, this strange existence he abhorred and didn’t want. The other part of him refused to give in, to give up. He wasn’t made like tha
t. Christian wasn’t a quitter. He straightened. If they were going to kill him, they were going to have to survive a fight against him first. The men entered the cell cautiously, guns at the ready, eyes shifting in their heads. They were scared of him. There were six of them and they had guns and they were scared of him. Nealon alone wasn’t.

“Let’s do this the easy way, Turner.”

Christian stiffened. No one had called him Christian or Turner since he’d arrived there; no one but Honor, and now the agent. He had just given Christian a little piece of himself back with that acknowledgment.

“It’s late, I’m tired, and I’d rather not have to shoot anyone tonight. You’re being transferred to another facility while you continue to adapt to the UD virus. We’re here to escort you to a plane. You’re going to get on it. No problems.
Right?” Nealon had his hands raised, palms out.

Christian’s eyes shifted from one man to the next. They flanked him, three on each side. He could take them. He could have his freedom back. Christian tensed, his body readying for action.

“I wouldn’t.” He paused, looking at the agent. Nealon stared back, one eyebrow lifted. “I’m good at reading facial expressions,” the agent said with a shrug. “You might make it out of here. But if you do, you’ll be caught eventually. They always are. If you fight, you die. If you cooperate, you live. I don’t think there’s really any decision to make, do you?”

Christian relaxed his stance. The guy had a point. Didn’t mean he agreed with it. He watched as Nealon reached into his back pocket and his
hand came back with handcuffs. Nealon angled his chin, silently asking for Christian’s cooperation. “It’s a precaution. Turn around, put your hands on the wall, and spread your legs. No sudden moves or these guys shoot.”

He studied the agent’s features, deciding he spoke the truth. Nea
lon’s gaze was steady, direct. Christian did as he was told, Nealon guiding him with a hand on his back up the dimly lit stairs and out of the building. It was cool out, but Christian didn’t mind. It matched his body temperature. It was quiet, too quiet; the only sounds that of boots against the pavement. A full-sized tan van was in the parking lot. A side door opened, revealing a barred cage. Christian looked at Nealon.

“Again, precaution,” he said quietly.

Three of the men jumped in, readying the cage. Nealon nudged him forward and Christian moved. Again he thought of making a run for it. Something held him back. Something told him it wasn’t the right time. His handcuffed hands were chained to a bar, his legs as well, another chain around his waist. Christian felt like a criminal. The only crime he’d committed was being born with a virus that had the power to alter his DNA, to make him into something abnormal.T hree of the men remained in the van, the other three stayed at the facility. It smelled like fried food and stinky feet in the van.