Saven Deception (2 page)

The stench of stale sweat, unwashed skin, and rancid body
odor assaults my nostrils and I gag. The temperature in the carriage must be
pushing ninety degrees, and a steady line of sweat coasts down my spine, gluing
my shirt to my back. A craving to crawl out of my skin hits me like a bullet to
the chest.

It’s not a new sentiment. It’s an urge I
feel at least once every hour.

A potent desire to be anyone but myself.

To live any life but this one.

Heat rolls off the large body behind me,
and the man grunts. The desire to shed my skin accelerates, and I shudder
uncontrollably. Everywhere I look, I’m confronted by a sea of grimy bodies in
dirty, sweat-encrusted work clothes. Being short sucks almost all the time, but
being stuck in the middle of an overcrowded, bursting-at-the-seams subway
carriage, during one of the hottest heat waves New York has known, sucks butt
on a stratospheric level, and has me cursing the genes that stalled my growth
at five feet one.

Claustrophobia swoops in, surrounding me
in an anxiety-laced cloud. I know I’ve reaching my tipping point.

I can’t bear this a second longer.

With my lungs screaming for air, I push my
way forward and fling myself out onto the platform in the nick of time. The
train eases out of the station as my legs make a break for freedom. I bound up
the stairs two at a time, my entire being straining for release.

Bursting out of the station gate, I slow
my pace, and my breathing returns to normal. I set out in a westerly direction.
The setting sun leaves a dull orangey-red trail in its wake as it rapidly falls
in the advancing nighttime sky. Nevertheless, it’s still hot as hell.

My eye flits to the holographic Commi-Reel
projected in the sky against the backdrop of the fading day, and I shriek when
I spot the time. Dammit! I’m going to be late. If I breach curfew again, that
will make it three times this month.

My parents will literally kill me.

My body clearly understands the
criticality of the situation as my legs move of their own accord, and I start
pounding the pavement.

High-rise residential blocks encroach on
all sides as I run. The tall, gray concrete slab constructions fill the skies
as far as my eyes can see. Intermittent, drab storefronts are the only break in
the monotony of my surroundings. Each Sector mirrors the previous one. Dense,
thick smog fills the air and I splutter at regular intervals as my lungs claw
for something clean and fresh to inhale.

There isn’t a sinner in sight.

Of course, there isn’t.

Most of them are already crammed into
their boxy apartments or en route home via the sweaty death trap they call a
subway. A rapid-transit high-velocity transportation system has been in
operation in the Core and Midi Circles since before my birth, but here in the
Outer Circle, we have to resort to using the old New York subway system despite
the safety risks and considerable concerns.

Last year’s massive subway crash cost
thousands of lives, but the government stubbornly refuses to extend the Velo
network to the Outer Sectors. Lack of finances was spouted. A likely story.
Irrespective of protests to the contrary, the lower classes are more than
expendable and don’t we know it. I’d bet my miserable life the government
arranged the crash themselves.

That’s one unique way of tackling the
mounting overpopulation crisis.

I round the corner into Sector Seventeen.
Three more to go but my legs already ache. Squinting up at the Commi-Reel, I
clock the time and mentally calculate the distance. Twenty-four minutes until
curfew. Two miles to run. If I can maintain this pace, I
might
make it.
If I’m lucky.

But Mother Luck never shines on me.

Wiping my hand across my moist forehead, I
stumble sideways as my body slams full force into an Imposer. Landing
unceremoniously on my ass, I wince as a dart of pain shoots up my spine.

A metallic hand is extended and I’m pulled
to my feet. “Wrist, please,” he commands. This one talks in a human voice, so I
know he’s part of the Robo-Police force—part-human, part-robot, and not one of
the pure cloned kind.

Flipping my arm, I reluctantly obey,
thrusting my wrist upward as the Imposer scans my skin. “Sadie Owens. Seventeen
years of age. Sector Fourteen. Medi-Tech employee number 133779. It’s twenty-three
minutes to curfew. What are you doing out on the streets?”

I’m reluctantly impressed. He said all
that without drawing a breath. “Um, I … I felt sick,” I lie, glancing at the
dwindling time ticking away on the digital clock. I need to get out of here and
fast. “So I had to get off the subway and make it home on foot.”

“Two infractions already this month.” He
scans the holographic report skimming over the film of his eyes. “Don’t make it
a third. Move on.”

I maneuver around him and start sprinting.
I’m never going to make it now. Mom will be furious. I’m mentally preparing
myself for a tongue lashing when the latest government news bulletin blares out
from the Commi-Reel.

The announcement is typical. Updates on
the political talks between the Sovereign Northern States of America—our ruling
government—and the newly Unified States of West and South America. The
Independent Republic of Central America and the Eastern Seaboard States have
yet to throw their hat into the ring.

I zone out. Same old, same old.

None of the proposed reforms will do
anything to change my life or alter my fate. I’m stuck right where I am until I
die. Unless …

My mind wanders and I drift off into La-La
Land. I dream about Thalassic City. About opportunity. And second chances.
About actually living.

The sound of gunfire breaks through my
reverie, and my eyes dart to the screen. Screeching to a halt, I blink twice in
case my eyes are deceiving me.

PRISON BREAK.

The words flicker in and out on the screen,
and I stand there with my mouth agape as I watch the recording of the daring
convict escape.

Six men. Five days on the run. All
orchestrated by one prisoner.

Something like this has never happened
before. At least not in my lifetime.

Wow.

ARMED AND DANGEROUS. WATSON MANLY ELEVATED
TO NO.1 ON MOST WANTED LIST. IF SPOTTED, DO NOT APPROACH. CALL 1-899-201-304.
REWARD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO HIS CAPTURE.

I wonder what this Watson Manly person did
to deserve a spot in the penitentiary and how he managed to escape. Although I
don’t know him, and I’ve no idea what crime he’s committed, I’m already rooting
for him.

Not sure what that says about me.

A loud peel of laughter travels up my
throat. Something out of the ordinary has finally happened, and it sends a
spark of electricity directly to the dull lump in my chest.

I start to run but stop mid-jog. Nineteen
minutes to curfew. I’m screwed now anyway, so I might as well give my lungs and
my legs a break. I stroll forward at a more leisurely pace, ignoring the panic
waiting in the wings.

As I approach the next Sector, I’m
half-watching the rest of the news on the screen and half-lost in my obsessive
inner monologue, when a hand snags my elbow and I’m yanked sideways.

I scream as a hand clamps down over my
mouth and I’m hauled backward against a solid form. I’m dragged roughly through
a door, my feet trailing the ground in front of me. Adrenaline surges through my
veins, and I twist and turn in my captor’s arms.

“Dammit. Stop squirming. I won’t hurt
you,” a gruff male voice says.

Raising my legs in front of me, I swing
back and kick him in the shins. He cusses but his hold doesn’t loosen.

Of course, it doesn’t; a kick in the shins
from me is probably akin to a feather-tickling.

Tugging me down a darkened passageway, he
lashes out at something on the ground, and the sounds of telltale scurrying
fill the air. I emit a muffled scream.

“Keep quiet or he’ll find you.”

My frantic breathing echoes in the quiet
space.

“I’m going to release you if you promise
not to scream. I repeat. I will
not
hurt you. Tap my arm in agreement.”

Reaching up, I land my hand briefly on his
arm. Bunched tendons strain under my fingertips.

Slowly, he releases me and I try to get my
errant breathing under control. I’m only short of a full-blown anxiety attack.
“I want to show you something. Come on.” He acts as if he’s my new best friend;
as if this is totally normal. Straightening up, I risk a peek at my captor.
Long, shaggy, dark hair falls to his broad shoulders. Warm, brown eyes meet
mine and I swallow, hard. He towers over me.

Then again, most people do.

In my head, I weigh up my chances of a
successful escape as my eyes dart to the door.

“Don’t run.” He astutely assesses the
situation. “I promise I won’t hurt you. It’s not safe to be out there right
now. If you follow me, I’ll show you why.”

Biting down on my lip, I’m dubious, but
realistic enough to know that I can’t outrun him.

“This way.”

Wary, I follow him, taking small,
tentative steps. The room is large and dark and visibility is poor. My feet
crunch on litter and debris as I walk across the space toward the window. A
damp, squalid smell fills the air, and I slap my hand over my mouth. A few
shapes are huddled over a makeshift fire in the center of the floor. Hushed
voices talk lowly. Intense shuddering rocks my body and I drag in a gulp of
air.

This was a bad, bad idea. I hover
uncertainly.

“Look,” my captor says, beckoning me. He
stares out the dirty, blackened window.

I inch toward him, careful to keep a
reasonable distance. Peeking out, I spot the black and amber Police Autovee
parked across the street. A formidable figure steps out, clad in the official
State Police uniform. His jacket buckles under the myriad of shiny buttons
adorning the front.

“That’s Commissioner Williams,” I
acknowledge, recognizing him instantly. His face is always plastered over the
Commi-Reels, and I feel as if I know him on a personal level. “Why is he in the
Outer Circle?” I wrinkle my nose. Few dignitaries grace our shores for fear of
being heckled, mugged, shot, or worse.

“Watch.”

Gulping, I watch the scene unfolding
across the pavement. A police officer appears in the doorframe clutching two
clearly frightened young girls. The girls are flung roughly into the back of
the Autovee, and the Commissioner climbs in the front passenger seat, glancing
surreptitiously around him before the door closes. The vehicle glides away and
I slump against the window. Remembering my surroundings, I flinch back and
scrub my hands down my arms.

“What’s going on?” I eyeball my captor.

“I’m not quite sure, but from what I’ve
gleaned so far, they show up in one of the Sectors of the Outer Circle on a
nightly basis, and it’s always the same deal. Two girls taken away from their
families. Never to be seen or heard from again. I saw you walk by and I was
afraid they would notice you.”

“How do you know all this?” I pin him with
a probing look.

“Let’s say I have certain contacts who are
very well-informed about the goings on in our society. And, um, certain skills
that enable me to find out things that I shouldn’t be able to.”

My eyes sweep his face, noting the layer
of dirt sticking to his skin, the tiny amber fleck in his chocolate brown eyes,
his strong masculine nose, and the advanced discoloration of his teeth. There’s
a softness to his features.

He won’t hurt me. I’m certain of it. In
fact, I think he just saved me.

The last vestiges of my stress flee.
“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He rocks back on his
heels. “What’s a pretty girl doing alone on the streets at this hour? You do
realize it’s almost the eight p.m. curfew?”

A rosy red flush blooms in my cheeks.
Self-consciously, I tuck my wavy, silvery ash blonde hair behind my ears. No
one has called me pretty before. Dumb, selfish, idiot, fool, and freak are more
the types of sentiments I’m used to. “Um, I know.” I shift from foot to foot.
“I better get going. My mom is going to string me up.”

Booming music blares from the Commi-Reel
attracting both our attention. I lean into the grimy windowpane—earlier disgust
forgotten—as the image of Thalassic City appears on the edge of the screen. It
could be my imagination, but I swear my captor sways toward it too.

President Bane addresses the nation.
“Today we stand on the cusp of stupendous change.”

I snort and my captor chuckles. That man
always sounds like he’s ingested a dictionary along with a box full of silver
spoons.

“Our evolutionary journey takes the next
logical step forward with the imminent announcement of the commencement of ‘The
Experimento.’ Those selected will be contacted within the next hour. Thank you
to all those brave souls who registered their interest. Your willingness to
support your government as we attempt to tackle the problems, which plague our
society, is more than admirable. On behalf of the government of the Sovereign
Northern States of America, I thank you for your commitment and loyalty. And to
those individuals chosen, I wish you the best of luck. Know that you carry with
you the hopes, desires, and aspirations of the nation.”