***
The sky is still dark grey, the sun not yet ready to come out of hiding. A band of orange light brightens the horizon as the day prepares to awaken. I wish I could’ve gotten more sleep.
I stop by Shilah’s room before heading to the train station. “Are you ready for today?”
“Yes, are you ready? I swear, Allira, you’re more nervous about going to the Institute than I am.”
He always seems so relaxed about going. If I were Defective, the Institute is the last place I’d want to go.
“I know, I’m sorry. I just worry about you. I’d hate to lose you and have to turn your room into my very own personal walk-in wardrobe.” I smirk at him.
Humour is a pretty bad defence mechanism to have, especially when you don’t exactly have the right sarcastic tone and a lot of the time people can’t tell if you’re being serious or joking.
Shilah shakes his head and nudges me with his elbow as he walks out of the room.
Drew and I arrive at school, and the buses are lined up out front. Standing in line, we wait to be herded onto them like cattle.
Drew and I spend the entire trip in silence. I feel sick to my stomach, as I do every year. Drew seems as on edge as I do, although I don’t know why. The trip takes longer than usual; well, it feels like it anyway. The journey has no fresh scenery the whole way. It’s a real stunning view of concrete and then desolate dry land for as far as the eye can see.
I start to think of other places I’d rather be right now: the dentist, for one. You have to go to the city to get into a dentist. I’ve only ever been once when I needed a filling, and it scared the life out of me. Since then I’ve vigorously brushed my teeth twice, sometimes even three times, a day. The sound of the tiny little drill still haunts me. I run my tongue along my teeth, and I swear I can still feel the pain, but I’d much rather be going to the dentist today instead. I’d also rather be getting something that Ebbodine calls a “pedicure.” One summer she made me catch the train into the city just so we could experience one. I had to save two weeks’ allowance to afford it, and then they started poking and prodding my feet like it was meant to relax me. I spent money on what I’d classify as a very real form of torture. Even so, I’d prefer that over going to the Institute. I’d rather be taking an exam right now or getting up in front of the whole school to perform a speech. I’d even prefer being dunked in a pool than going to the Institute, which, for me, is massive.
After an excruciatingly long two hours, we arrive at the Institute. The estate from the outside looks like a haven. A charming white brick fence surrounds the perimeter, tall palm trees line the driveway, and there’s a green meadow beyond that. As we reach the end of the driveway, the grounds are well maintained, and as it is every year, it’s all spotless and pristine. It really does look like a peaceful place. I don’t know why it gives me the creeps, but it does. The buses drive through the gates one at a time, drop the kids off, and then exit so the next bus can enter. It takes a while, but eventually we’re all standing at the entrance to the main building.
We’re led into the main foyer and are welcomed as usual by the director, Mr. Brookfield. The main foyer has high ceilings, and the whole room is big enough to fit all 200 kids from our school. The building reminds me of a church, minus the pews and awful stained glass windows. The complete right-hand side of the building is floor-to-ceiling glass, which overlooks a tranquil garden with a pond and trickling fountain. I know I should find this inviting, but my gaze is always drawn to the left, where there’s an emergency exit. I fantasise about walking out nearly every time I’m here.
“Welcome, students, welcome.” Mr. Brookfield seems remarkably upbeat today. My brow furrows into a scowl. I don’t have the energy to deal with upbeat. “Well, we have some very exciting news today. As you all know, this facility was built to protect those who are different. We are a centre to help and comfort those who really need it. Those who are confused and scared about what they’ve become can seek shelter and support and successful treatment here. I cannot stress this enough—we are here to help.”
This isn’t the normal speech given each year on the tour. I’ve heard it so many times I could probably do it myself. This year it’s different, and I suddenly become very aware they have us all in a locked room with no escape. That emergency exit is looking even more enticing.
“We, here at the Institute, are always striving to find the best possible way to treat those who come through our doors, and although the law states that anyone who discovers they’re Defective must be treated at the Institute, we understand many may be hesitant about coming forward. This is why we developed these annual tours for all people of school age so we can show you that this is indeed the best and only place for them.
“With that in mind, I’m ecstatic to announce that in our medical centre here at the Institute, we have been able to develop a test that will tell us who of you are genetically prone to developing a defect. This is not brand new technology, but we have been able to tweak a testing system that was used many, many years ago. It’s the technology that aided in the cure of Cataclysm Fever. Before the vaccine against this disease was invented—which is now administered to everyone at birth—doctors could use a simple blood test to determine whether someone was a carrier. We have taken this research and combined it with what science we already know about the genetic makeup of those who are Defective. I’m more than pleased to announce that today is the beginning of a new era and the beginning of help for some of you young people out there.” He pauses, surveilling the room with a smile that freezes my blood. “We will be administering blood tests to all here today.”
There’s a large gasping sound, and then the room falls silent. Everybody is looking around at one another; confusion, worry, and fear show on everyone’s faces. My first instinct is to run to Shilah, but I can’t even see where he is; there are too many people. I glance at Drew, but he’s staring straight ahead with a blank expression.
“Drew,” I whisper, hoping no one else can hear me. “Are you okay?” I ask, unable to hide the tremor in my voice.
He doesn’t respond. “Drew,” I whisper a little louder this time. The room has broken out into quiet, hushed chatter.
He glances down at me, his eyes wide and cold. “Everything will be okay. We have a few days to get everything sorted. It’s okay. Shilah will be okay. I promise.” He sounds so panicked, his words don’t even sink in right away.
Shilah? How does he—?
Drew grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me lightly as if to bring me out of my shocked daze. “Not now, I’ll explain later. Don’t tell them anything, just act normal. You can start by wiping that look off your face. It’ll be okay, everything will be okay. You hear me?”
His head is so close to mine I can feel his warm breath on my face. I nod to stop him from gripping me so tightly. He kisses me on my forehead, embraces me, and I don’t want to let him go.
If I wasn’t confused before the end of Mr. Brookfield’s speech, I certainly am now. My head is spinning as if I’ve been hit with an overload of information and my brain isn’t working quick enough to process it. Drew lets go of me but grabs my hand and holds it tight. As the reality of what has just happened settles in, I’m not sure if I want to hold his hand, but I fear if I let it go, I might collapse. Has he known about Shilah this whole time? Why didn’t he say anything?
They start dividing us into our tour groups. What did Drew tell me to do again? Right, act normal. I’m not sure I can manage it, but I’ll try. All I really want to do is get out of here.
Someone else across the room must have been feeling the same way, because suddenly there’s a big commotion coming from near one of the emergency exits.
Standing on my tiptoes, I try to see what’s going on, but there are people pushed up against me, all trying to get a glimpse, and I can’t see over their heads.
“Let me go!” a girl wails so loudly I think the whole hall can hear her.
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A voice comes from the microphone. “Everyone, sit!” Everyone finds a spot on the floor to sit down. I follow suit and sit, and that’s when I see her. She’s younger, probably Shilah’s age. I’m not sure if I recognise her, but she kind of looks familiar. I’ve probably seen her around school.
Two men in medical scrubs drag her out while she continues to scream and kick her legs trying to fight them off. They have her hands bound behind her back. I start to wonder what ability she’s hiding. Did she really think she would’ve been able to escape? I know I found those exits tempting, but logically how far could I have gone? Maybe she has an ability that could have helped her escape if she was quick enough. Me, I would be on my own.
Mr. Brookfield returns to the stage with the microphone in his hand. “Everybody, calm down,” he says. Loud conversations echo off the walls, and Mr. Brookfield looks like he’s losing patience. “Everyone, quiet!” Silence falls and Mr. Brookfield lets out an exaggerated breath. “Now what has been displayed here is the kind of reaction we had hoped to avoid. You all need to look at the bigger picture: In a few days, you won’t ever have to worry about what or when your defect might become active or if you have one at all. That’s a good thing. There’s no need to panic unless you have something to hide. I do hope this will be the only upset we have here today.” His tone is authoritative and final.
That poor girl’s parents—they sent their daughter to school one day and she will never return.
The rest of the tour sticks to the usual plan. We’re taken in our groups of twenty and shown the rest of the grounds. We always tour the hospital, accommodations, library, and the dining hall. The only thing that changes is the order in which we visit them, based on what group we’re in. Today our group is the last to go to the hospital where the blood tests will be done. I wish we could get it out of the way first, seeing as there’s no way to get out of it and all I can think about is the size of the needle I’ll be faced with later.
The accommodations we’re shown are small but seem comfortable enough. There are no bars like in a prison, but the thought of being forced to live here makes the walls start closing in and the room seem even smaller. In reality, it’s like a studio apartment you’d find in the city. There’s a double bed, a small dining table, and a private bathroom, but there’s no kitchen since all meals are delivered to the rooms or supplied at the cafeteria, which is our next stop.
When we get there, I can’t stomach the thought of food and just get a bottle of water. Supposedly, we’re eating in the same cafeteria that the Defective eat in, but in all the years of coming here, I’ve never seen anyone else in this room. I guess they can’t have “dangerous” defectives mingling with innocent students.
After we’ve finished our lunch, we’re taken to the library which is apparently also the “school.” Because defects are generally discovered before the age of eighteen, the majority of new people here at the Institute are still of school age. Again, in all the years of coming here, I’ve never seen anyone in the library.
I feel like we’ve just rushed through the tour today, but looking at my watch, I see we’re pretty much on schedule. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been listening to anything the guide is saying. I’ve been too worried about what’s coming, about what Drew said, and about what will happen to Shilah. I wish I knew where his group was. Have they had their tests yet?
The guide brings us into a long hallway in the hospital with ten chairs lined up on each side. We’re instructed to sit and wait until we’re called into the room where the blood test will be administered. Everyone sits in silence. I can’t bring myself to look at anyone, so I pick a spot on the floor and stare at it. Drew, who is next to me, gives me a nudge.
“Your turn,” I hear him say. I get up slowly and make my way down the hall. My legs feel weak like they could go out from underneath me at any moment. I pull myself together and walk into the room, taking a seat where they tell me to. The room is cold and sterile. It’s completely white and smells like cleaning solvent.
“Just before we take any blood today, we need to get a few details down,” a woman in her mid-thirties with very curly bleached blonde hair says. Her makeup is poorly applied and caked on her face.
I try to feel sorry for her, but I’m too worried about what questions she might ask me. I can’t refuse to answer. If I do, won’t that raise more suspicion, incriminating myself and my family?
“Okay, I’m going to need your name and date of birth, please.”
“Allira Daniels, I’m eighteen in two days.”
“You’re eighteen in two days?”
“Yes.” I haven’t even given my birthday a thought with all that has been going on. I probably wouldn’t have even remembered, had it not been for this stupid day. It’s always around my birthday that we have to make this trip.
“Ah, well, I’d say you’d know by now if you were Defective.” The theory goes that once you turn eighteen your adolescent hormones are stable enough not to trigger it. “Do you have a defect that you’re aware of?” she asks casually, as if the answer doesn’t have the potential to ruin my life. Has this ever worked? Who would say yes to that?
“No.” I hope that didn’t come out as high pitched as I think it did.
“Okay. So, have you ever had a needle before?”
“No.” My voice quivers.
“Oh, it’ll be fine. It’ll just feel like a quick sting, kind of like a bee sting,” she says, her voice flat.
I turn my head to face away from the needle, fearing that if I look at it, I might pass out. There’s a hard pinch, and I don’t know where the hell this lady is from, but they must have some mighty big bees. It stings like a bitch. When the pain dies down, I think it’s over and start to relax, but then I feel the blood being drawn out of my arm. I become a little lightheaded and queasy. I just want it to be over already, and as if she could hear me, she removes the needle.
“There. That wasn’t so bad was it?”
Hmm, that’s debatable.