Chapter 8

Marcus was an excellent cook.

In New Vancouver, there was no need for special skills or hobbies. You learned only what was needed for your job, and only after you had been chosen. Looking back, Zane realized his childhood had been very bland. He had never learned to cook. He had never done anything particularly memorable. He had only done what had been asked of him and only what was ordered by the Governors.

Apparently, in other cities, Governors were far more lenient. They allowed children to learn other skills along with what was required. Marcus, Mallory, and Daisy had been allowed to have a hobby, something they were truly passionate about. Zane did not know what he was passionate about. He felt as if he were a machine created by society; he had no pleasures, no skills, no hobbies, no strengths or weaknesses. He was simply a human being of the most primal sort.

But Marcus. Dang, that guy knew how to cook. Even though Zane had probably gotten diabetes from his own breakfast, he could not turn away the eggs benedict and english muffins Marcus prepared. Even though there was no stove and he was required to use the trashy microwave, he made do. And it was delicious.

All five of them consumed Marcus's cooking within minutes. Daisy, even after eating a whole box of Froot Loops, was ravenous. She ate like a wolf, spooning food in her mouth nonstop. She was only focused on one thing; food. Zane rolled his eyes and finished off his breakfast.

"What do they hope to accomplish by making this place so comfortable and homey?" he asked curiously, posing the question to the table as a whole.

Mallory cocked her head, thinking. Her blue nose piercing caught a beam of artificial light and threatened to burn out Zane's retinas. "Obviously, they want to discourage escape and rebellion." There was a piece of bacon in her curly black hair.

"Isn't rebellion what they want from us for this experiment to work?" he asked quizzically. He definitely remembered Wawrzynski saying something along those lines. But just picturing Wawrzynski's face made him want to punch a hole in the steel wall.

"The first phase of the experiment is done," Daisy chipped in through a mouthful of eggs benedict. She reached across and plucked the piece of bacon from Mallory's hair. The other girl never batted an eye as Daisy popped the small flake into her mouth. "They thought the rebellion and anger made us more susceptible to the serum and gave us a higher probability of not dying." She went back to inhaling her food.

"And now they're trying to take the rebellion away and make us compliant," Marcus said.

After what Wawrzynski had done and what he had cursed Zane with, it was going to be a long time before he got compliance from Zane. And if he had told his parents Zane was dead, it would be even longer. The others seemed to be thinking the same thing.

Joseph looked up from his empty plate. "I've been fed up with this wretched society for years. How does Wawrzynski intend to make us compliant?" The question was a good one. Zane had only seen the cruelty of the Governors for just over a week, and already he had decided he would never go back. New Vancouver had seemed perfect for many years. Zane had never known a life outside of it. Now that he knew he could have chosen his own life path and become anything he wanted to be, it didn't seem so perfect. He recalled Joseph's love of comedy and entertainment. Could it be that Joseph had been secretly hiding a hobby from the Governors? If so, why had he been inclined to tell Zane right when he met him?

Perhaps Joseph had seen the shred of prejudice and rebellion inside Zane, and decided that he could be trusted. Zane felt a new respect for Joseph.

But, nonetheless, if Wawrzynski had known Joseph was such a rebellious person, why had he chosen the boy? There had to have been far better suited candidates within New Vancouver with the right amount of prejudice. Zane had had very little and had managed to survive the procedure. Wawrzynski had another motive. Zane just couldn't figure out what.

Mallory set down her fork. "I assume he may have another serum, or perhaps try some sort of bribery or brainwashing."

"That's excessively cheerful," Marcus noted. Mallory stuck her tongue out at him.

Zane stood up with the others. The scrape of chairs on shaggy carpet filled the room. The little red lights on the security cameras blinked. Joseph shuffled off, presumably to change clothes.

"Do you think we're the only ones who survived the first phase?" Zane asked curiously. If they had been, Wawrzynski would be seriously hounding them.

Daisy frowned. "I doubt it," she said. "But if that is the case, Wawrzynski will expect us to hone sooner."

Marcus collapsed in a chair and threw one leg over the arm. "Isn't that just a fancy word for refine, or train?" he asked.

Daisy sighed and shook her head. "Yes, Marcus, keep up," she said, glowering at him.

Mallory threw herself down on a Froot Loop-dusted sofa. "So if he wants us to train, does that mean we don't?" One of her eyebrows raised, and it bore an eerie resemblance to Daisy. Zane found this quite terrifying.

Zane lowered his voice. "What if we go along with it?" he hissed quietly, hoping the security cameras could not hear. The others regarded him with blank looks. He elaborated. "If it seems like we're loyal to Wawrzynski, he won't have to use this method of compliance, or whatever the hell it is."

Marcus still regarded him blankly and Daisy lightly slapped him on the cheek. "You got that?" she hissed, to which he simply turned his blank stare toward her. Appearing fed up with Marcus, she turned to Zane. "So you're saying if we go along with whatever Wawrzynski wants, he might be inclined to give us more freedom?" She blew a strand of her brilliantly blue hair out of her face. She regarded him with a curious look, and she flicked her gaze to Joseph, recently seated next to Zane. Zane fixed her with a fierce scowl, but she only suppressed a giggle. God, he wanted to kill himself right now.

He realized they were all looking at him expectantly. "Yeah, yeah, that's what I'm saying," he said, hardening his already fierce look at Daisy. She shrugged, rooted around in the couch cushions and pulled out a stray Froot Loop.

She once again said, "Score!" and tossed it up, catching it in her mouth. Then she casually leaned back, placed her feet on the coffee table, and said, "I'm gonna take a nap." Zane began to object but her eyes were already closed and she had swept her hair over her face.

Mallory noticed him watching Daisy. "Don't worry, she does that often."

"In the middle of strategic conversations?" he whispered.

Mallory shrugged. "Pretty much," Marcus nodded in agreement. Zane sighed. Great.

Joseph leaned forward, and his hand brushed Zane's side, making him shiver and unconsciously glance at Daisy, preparing for the shrill of excitement. Fortunately, she was not awake to see it.

Joseph seemed anxious to change the subject. "Marcus, where did you learn to cook?"

This question sparked an hours-long philosophical conversation about right and wrong, and growing up in different countries. It was an eye-opening experience to hear about Marcus and Mallory's childhoods and knowing he could never replay his. He would forever be the sad kid who didn't have a hobby. He learned that Marcus's mother was in a wheelchair, so he had learned to cook to help her cut down on necessary movement. He found out Mallory's family liked to go to the beach on the weekends and bask in the hot southern sun. Daisy woke up halfway through and pitched in to the lengthy conversation. Her story was probably the most interesting to Zane. She had been hunting wild animals for meat since she was very young. He had difficulty believing that she could kill anything but a box of Froot Loops.

The conversation never drifted back to escape or connivery. It stayed fixed on hobbies and lives so far, and Zane found he didn't mind conversations such as this one. It was a completely new experience for him and he was enjoying it immensely. Aside from the sly glances Daisy kept shooting at him and Joseph.

Throughout the day, they snacked on all the junk food. They laughed and they cried, and they sympathized with each other. They shared each other's embarrassment and chastised Daisy for her Froot Loop addiction. By the time it was ten at night, Zane felt he truly knew these people. In New Vancouver, you were to consider everybody equal. There was no inclination to believe some people were better than others. As a cause of this, Zane had never had a true friend. But now he felt like he had four friends.

When everyone began to yawn, Zane made an executive decision. "Time to hit the hay," he said. They stood up and began to disperse. All but Daisy, who was once again zonked on the couch, fast asleep and snoring loudly. Mallory laid a hand on Zane's shoulder.

"Leave her. She'll be fine."

Zane shrugged and shuffled to his room, his feet leaving shallow paths in the carpet. His eyes were threatening to close. A goofy smile danced on his lips. Despite his predicaments, he was content.

When he entered his room, his eyes spotted the syringe laying on top of the small bedside table. He frowned. He had forgotten about it. His gaze drifted to his pinkie finger on his right hand, the finger that now had practically nothing before the first knuckle.

He absentmindedly rubbed his left thumb over the smooth hill of skin that showed no evidence of a previous fingernail.

He wondered what he had done to deserve this. He had lived a completely ordinary life by New Vancouver standards. The governors could have easily selected someone else to send to Wawrzynski. Zane wished he could be back in that predictable life. Here, he didn't know what was going to happen day after day. It was irritating and exhilarating at the same time.

He began to rotate the large syringe with his fingers. He had to escape. He realized now that New Vancouver was definitely not the right place for him. And he knew that this fortified building was not to be his home. He would make it out of here. And he would take the others with him. That was his mission. He knew now just how much he had been missing living in New Vancouver.

But he still doubted his loyalties to such a plan. It sounded ridiculous, but his mind wanted him to stay, to give Wawrzynski a chance to explain himself, even though he knew it would do him no good. He had to escape. He just had to hope when the time came, he could force himself to do so.

An unwelcome wave of sadness overwhelmed him and he stumbled toward the bed. What if he couldn't make it out? What if this place was destined to be his deathbed? His hands began to tremble, and he hastily stuffed the syringe into his pocket.

"Hey, you okay?"

Zane lifted his head, his hair obstructing his view, but the voice was unmistakably Joseph. Zane tried to force a nod but realized it would mean nothing. He was not okay. He didn't know if he would ever be okay again. His previous life lay in tatters at his feet. He couldn't help but feel that his own actions led to this. His prejudice over the years and the immediate judgement and the rebellion he hadn't realized he had been committing.

Zane heard the whine of springs and realized Joseph had sat down beside him. The other boy wrung his hands in his lap. He heaved a deep breath and Zane couldn't help but hope Joseph felt this overwhelming sadness as well.

"You want to talk about it?" Joseph inquired softly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His left foot tapped against the ground as in apprehension of the coming conversation, which didn't make Zane feel any better.

"I don't know," Zane responded, and it was a genuine answer. He had no idea what he wanted to do. He felt as if he were waiting for a purpose, something he was told to do. He tried to tell himself he wasn't a blindly loyal citizen of New Vancouver again, but he felt no less directionless.

"I can't decide whether I want to go back or if I want to leave forever," Zane told Joseph, hoping that he didn't sound foolish. "It's like there's these two forces inside me, trying to pull me in opposite directions." He gestured with his hands to emphasize his point. Joseph watched him curiously. "I just want to know which way to go."

Joseph leaned toward him so little it was almost imperceptible. "Sometimes there is no right way," he said thoughtfully. "Sometimes you have to make your own way." He adjusted the hem of his shirt and his foot began to tap a little faster.

Zane pondered this for a moment. "How am I supposed to do that?" he asked. The syringe felt like a million pounds in his pocket.

"Nobody is telling you what you can and can't do anymore," Joseph pointed out. "Without boundaries, I believe anything is possible." He turned and looked Zane straight in the eye, his sky blue eyes full of wisdom. "They've forced you to have a certain mindset."

"I know, I know," Zane said miserably.

"You just have to figure out how to change it," Joseph said quietly. "You can be whoever you want to be now. There's nothing holding you back, Zane." The way he said his name sent a shiver down Zane's back. He managed a nod, but Joseph's eyes did not stray from his.

"You once told me I taught you to expect the unexpected," Joseph said with a shred of whimsy and reminiscence. "Maybe it's time you follow your own advice."

With that note of finality, he stood up and departed the room.

Zane found that he felt much better. The combination of Joseph's soothing voice and his kind words had alleviated much of the darkness that had threatened to overwhelm Zane.

He lay down softly upon the blankets, and his hands fell to his side.

His eyes shot open when his hand brushed the syringe in his pocket. A reckless idea sprouted in his mind. It was dangerous, but it could help them escape. Anything to get out of this awful place. There's nothing holding you back, Zane.

He focused and felt another small amount of his pinkie finger slide off, but didn't care because these cells would come back to him in a few seconds. He watched as the particles snuck inside the syringe until it was a small tornado of whirling cells. He willed it to liquify and, in moments, a large amount of light pink fluid had filled the syringe. The serum.

He stabbed the syringe through the cargo pants into the meaty part of his thigh. Spots danced before his eyes.

Before he passed out he pushed the plunger, and the liquid sank into him.

His dreams were filled with fire and suffering.