“I’dliketodiscussyourtutoringservices.”
“Ihadafeeling.Thisisaboutthegirl,right?Themostrecentattackvictim?”
FurstfinallyglancedbackatEve,hisforeheadwrinkled,hisglasses
hoveringatthetipofhisnose.
“Pardon?”
“Youknow,onestudentishardenough.I’mmissingclassesalmostevery
day.Peopleare talking aboutme,justlikeIthoughttheywould,”sherambled.
“I’msorry,butwhateveryou’reoffering—freegradschool,apony,Idon’t
care—Ican’ttutoranotherchimera.Itwouldsolidifymyfate.Everyonewould
knowwhoIam.”
Furstrestedhispenandcockedhishead,hisgazeemotionless,almost
bored.“Areyoufinished?”
“Youdon’tevencare,doyou?”
“WhetherornotI careisbesidethepoint,MissKingston.Youhaveclearly misconstruedthematterforwhichyouarehere.”
Evestoppedshort,confused.“Wait—youdon’twantmetotutorthegirl?”
“No,MissKingston.Thethoughthadn’tevenoccurredtome.”
“Oh.”Evelookeddownatthegroundandtookinadeepbreath.She
assumed she would feel relief, but instead she felt puzzled, nonplussed, and evenabitangry.
“Whynot?”
“Whateverdoyoumean?”
“WhyamItutoringJasonandnother?Doesshehaveherowntutor?”
“No,MissKingston.Shewillnotbetutoredbyyouoranyoneelse.”
“Butwhy?”
“Thatisclassifiedinformation—”
“SowasthefactthatI’machimera,andyetyoufoundawaytoputyourstrong
senseofmoralitytothesideonthatone,”Evescoffed.
Furstglowered.“JasonValentineisthesonofa senator— ”
“SoI’veheard.”
Furst lifted his chin as if to deflect against Eve’s cutting scorn. “Our most
recentchimeraisofamore…pedestrianlivelihood.”
“Pedestrian?”Evesneered.“Ofalltheadjectivesyoucould’vechosen,you
used pedestrian?”
“Well,whatwouldyouhave preferred,MissKingston?”
“Well,Iguessyoucould’vetakentheboldrouteandjustcomeoutwiththe
truth—thatshe’sunimportant.Thatherparentsaremechanicsorschool
teachersorwhateverelse—not senators.”
Furstleanedbackinhischairandcrossedhisarms.“Haveyoufinished
judgingme?”
“Hardly.”
“AsmuchasI’dlovetoseetheworldthroughrose-coloredglasseslikeyou
—”
“Me?Seetheworldthroughrose-coloredglasses?Has hellfrozenover?”
“You‘rootfortheunderdog,’asthesayinggoes,”Furstcutin,hiswordsstern.
“It’sanhonorabletrait,but,alas,itisunrealistic.Myjobrequiresmeto
bepragmatic,not idealistic.”
Evebitherbottomlip.“Iguesscallingit pragmatismmakesitsoundalotless despicable.”
“It’s easy for you to label me as the villain, Miss Kingston,” Furst coolly added,rifflingthroughthedocumentsonhisdeskonceagain.“Afterall,Idid
invadeyourprivacy,asyousoeffectivelyindicatedduringourfirstmeeting,
andnowthere’sthisdisagreement.But,aswespeak,onehundrednew
patrolmenarestationingthemselvesacrossBillingtonatmyrequest.Wehave refinedoursecurityandacceleratedourdefenseefforts.Andontopofthat,I
havemadespecialarrangementsforanewadditiontooursurgicalteamatthe
medicalward.You’veheardofDr.Dzarnoski,yes?He’sthecountry’sleading
expert in humanovus medicine. He’s here to treat our victims, and he’s here because I asked him to be here. Now, Miss Kingston, do I still sound like a villaintoyou?”
Evescowled.“JusttellmewhyI’mhere.”
“I’dlikeafullreportonJasonValentine.”
“A report?Whatdoyoumean?”
“Howishedoing?Howishecomingalong?”
“Hewantstoleave,”shesnapped.“Hedoesn’tunderstandwhyhe’sstill
coopedupintheisolationwingwhenhischestisfullyhealed.”
“Ah…so thisisthesourceofyourhostility.AndIassumeyouwantsometype ofexplanationforthat?”
“Idon’t,buthedoes.”
Furstremovedhisglassesandrubbedhisforehead,strainedbyher
badgering.“Theyoungmansufferedseriousinjuries.Youcannotpossibly
understandtheseverityofwhathisbodyendured.Hemay feelfine—”
“Withallduerespect,weren’tyoutheonewhotoldmethataweekwas,and
Iquote,‘morethanenoughtimeforachimeratoregainhisstrength’?”
Furstbowedhisheadandmusteredahalf-smile.“Ihadforgottenhowsharp
youare—toosmartforyourowngood,ifIdosaysomyself.”
“So,what’sthe realexplanation?”
“MissKingston,theworld,forthemostpart,isfamiliarwiththemany
qualitiesofchimeras:thegift,themusclememory,theremarkableimmune
system.They’vehearditinthenews,readitinbooks,andsoonandsoforth.
Butfewhaveactually seenthesetraitsputtothetestinapublicsetting.”
“Idon’tunderstandwhatyou’regettingat.”
“Peoplearealreadyawarethatachimeracanhealatamuchmore
accelerated rate than the average human being, but they do not get to see this healingprocessinaction.Jasonsufferedtraumathatnoordinaryhumancould
livethrough.Peoplefinditunsettlingenoughjustknowingthathecould
survivethathorror;canyouimaginethefear,the hysteria thatwouldensueif people knew that he not only survived, but fully healed in only a week? It wouldcreateanuproar.”
Foronce,Evewasatalossforwords.Shesatinsilence,hereyeslikedaggers.
Finally,shespoke.
“How… pragmatic. ”
“Iknowyouthinkit’sunfair,andtosomedegreeitis,butit isforthegreater good.Besides,Mr.Valentineisspendingmuchofhisdayslearningfromyou,
and that is quite a privilege.” Furst’s words, though kinder than usual, were dripping with artificiality. “Now, on that note, tell me how the young man is progressing.”
Evebreathedindeeplyandcradledherheadinherhand.“He’s…”She
hesitatedforamoment,hermindwanderingtotheirsessionstogether—tohis
breakthroughearlierintheday,thetinglingofherspineasshewasliftedfrom herseat,andthewarm,triumphantsmileonhisface.
“He’sstruggling.”
Furstfrowned.“Isthatso?”
“Justneedsmorehelpwiththebasics,Iguess.”
“Well,Iappreciateyourhonesty.Isupposewe’regoingtohavetoaddressthis
issueprettyvigorously.You’remeetingwithhimfivedaysaweek,
correct?”
“Yes.”
“Wellthen,we’rejustgoingtohavetoincreaseittosix.Betteryet,we’llmake itdaily.Youunderstand,yes?”
“Yeah,”Evestuttered.“Imean,ifIhaveto.”
Furstofferedacondescendingsmile,pleasedwithEve’ssuddenagreeability.
“Splendid.” He returned his attention to the paperwork on his desk. “I think we’redonehere,then.You’refreetoleave.”
Everefusedtomovefromherchair.ShestaredbackatFurst,hereyes
scathing,andwaitedpatientlyforhimtofeelherpresence.
F
urstlookedupfromhisworkandremovedhisglassesyetagain.“Didyou
hearme,MissKingston?”
“Iheardyou.”
“Isupposeyou wantsomethingfromme.”
“Justasimpleexplanation.”
“Whohaseverything?”sheasked,hertonestrictandunwavering.
“Pardon?”
“Andwhat iseverything?Andwho’sFairon?”
“Idon’tbelieveIfollow.”
“Lastweek,youwereinthemedicalwardwiththatpatrolman,”Eve
explained,thoughsheknewwithoutadoubtthatFurstrecalledtheinteraction.
“Iwanttoknowwhatyouweretalkingabout.”
“Yes,Iimagineyoudo.Butthatdoesn’tmeanI’mobligatedtotellyou.”
“It’stheInterlopers,isn’tit?YouweretalkingabouttheInterlopers.”
Furstpursedhislipswithaggravation.“MissKingston,ifyou’reconcerned
foryoursafety,Icanassureyou,there’snothingtofear.”
“Look,itcan’tbe thatsecretiveifyouandColonelScarfaceweretalkingabout itoutintheopenlikethat.AndifIhavenothingtofear,you’d tell me what’s goingon.”
“MissKingston—”
“I have a right to know,” Eve boldly interrupted. “This affects me, too. It already affected Jason, that girl today, and God knows how many others. We deservetoknowwhatwe’reupagainst.Youneedtotellmewhat’sgoingon.”
Furst remained unresponsive except for his eyes—they glared back at Eve, morphingintotinyslitsthatspokevolumesmorethananywordshecould
possiblyutter.Itwasthatpenetratingstarewhichconfirmedhergreatestfear:
thateverythingwasfarfromokay,thatBillingtonwasmostcertainlyinastate
ofturmoil.Andwiththatrealization,Furstfinallybrokehissilence.
“Myreceptionistwillseeyouout.”
***
BANGBANGBANG.
Evestaredatthefrontdoorinsilence.Shecouldseethewoodgrainrattling
witheachloud,heavythump.Someonewaswaitingontheotherside;they
wereimpatient,poundingatthedoorincessantly,asiftheirpersistencewould
somehowbendherwill,butitwoulddonosuchthing.Shewasaccustomedto
situationssuchasthis,andshewas notansweringthedoor.
BANGBANGBANG.
Sheglancedaroundtheentryway—herauntwasnowheretobefound,aswas
typical,thoughevenwhenshewasthereshewasn’treally,atleastnottoEve.
She turned back to the door—it looked alive, like a horrible monster, and in thatmoment,shecouldlookatnothingelse.
Sheflinched;aloudchorusofringingjoinedtheendlesspounding,thetwo
soundstransformingintoafrightfulsymphony.Itwastoomuch—Evesprang
tolifeandhurriedtothecorneroftheroom,whereshecurledupintoasmall,
tightball,coveringherearsandtremblinginplaceasshekepthereyesfirmly
focusedontheliving,breathing,monstrousdoor.
Glassshattered,spillingacrossthelivingroomanddanglingfromthe
windowinsharp,jaggedpieces,andEvescreamed.Asmall,silverobjectwas
flungintotheroom;shehadn’tanytimetodiscernwhatitwasbecauseshortly afteritrolledacrossthecarpet,asteadystreamofsmokeoozedfromit,filling theroomwithaninfinitemassofgrey.Evecoughedonthesmoke,herlungs
rawinherchest,andsoonhereyesstungsobadlythattearsgusheddownher
face.Therewasnootheroption,noescape,andso,againstherbetter
judgment, she ran for the door. It was what they wanted, after all—she knew this, even at such a young age, for she had experienced enough torment to know how it would end. In a fit of wild hysteria, she swung open the front door,tookinonelong,painfulbreath,andwaited.
Ahot,soggymesssplatteredacrossherface,stickingtohercheekbeforeit
slid down her neck and dropped to the front step. She wiped her hand across herface—blood.Apileof,well, somethingwassittingatherfeet—itwaspink, slimyandstankofrancidflesh.Rottenmeat—theentrailsofananimal.Eve
gagged,nearlychokingonherownvomit,anddaredtolookoutatheraunt’s
frontyard.
Therewerepeoplelinedupacrossthelawn,thoughtheirfaceswerejustablur,
as all she could see was a blanket of putrid guts. The people laughed menacingly,shouting“chime”overandoveragainastheyflungtheentrailsat her, pelting her across her face, splashing her with blood and muck until it drippeddownhernoseandeyelashes.Thestenchwasunbearable,buteven
worse was the wet slapping of the guts against her body. She screamed, the sound of her agony meshing with the despicable laughter until it faded into silence—untilhervisionchangedfromendlessredtoaquakingdarkness.
Eve lurched up in her bed. It was a nightmare, and she flattened her hand againstherchestasshefeltherheartbeatslowlyregainitsnormalrhythm.She
checkedherclock;itwasthreethirty-fiveinthemorning,andshestareddown
atthelightofthemoonthattrickledunderneathhercurtains,faintlysettingher dormroomaglow.Madisonwassnoringlikeafatman,tossingandturning
TherewasnowayEvecouldgobacktosleep,foreachtimesheclosedher
eyes she saw nothing but red rain pouring down on her, a red that morphed into a pulsing, streaming black. It was decided, then—she tied her hair into a ponytail and slipped out of the room, desperate for a taste of the night and a hintofpeace.
TheelevatorridedowntotheRutherfordlobbyfeltlongerthanusual,andEve
nervouslytappedherfootuntilshefinallyreachedthegroundfloor.The
lobbywaswarmandinviting,mostlybecauseitwasempty,andshebaskedin
the solitude, comforted by the sound of nothing but her boots hitting the tile floor.
Shesighed;alongstroll,shethought,wasallsheneededtoclearhermind.
Shewouldfindaspot,anisolatedcornerofthecampus,stareupatthesky,and
thinkaboutwhateverthehellshechosetothinkabout—certainlynother
nightmaresorthegod-awfulInterlopers,astheyhadalreadytakenupenough
spaceinhermind.Shehadtoshaketheanxiety,toridherselfofherdemons.
Thegleamofthemoonandthecoolnightairwouldbetheperfectcureforher
worry,andwithasenseofhope,Evebargedthroughthefrontdoorsof
RutherfordHall.
Evefrozeinhertracks.Arushoficynumbnessshotupfromherfingersand
through her entire body, paralyzing her heart and lungs within her chest. She wanted to close her eyes, but they remained open, staring in disbelief at the
grotesquedisplaybeforeher.
Alarge,metalconstructintheshapeofan“X”wasproppedinfrontof
RutherfordHalllikesomeobscurestatue,andashadowyfigurehungfromit
—abody,limpandbroken.Dead.Hisarmsandlegswerepinnedtothe
structure by large, needle-like rods, soaking his limbs in deep red blood that saturatedhistatteredsuit.Buthisfacewasthemostterrifyingpartofall:long, silver needles pierced through his eyes, securing his head to a metal sheet behindhim.Streamsofbloodhaddriedonhischeekslikegruesometears,his
jawhangingopenasifhisscreamscouldstillbehea
rd.
Eveknewthisface—shedidn’tneedtoseethedeadboy’seyestoknowthat
thiswasMarshallWoodgate,sonofthecurrentPresidentoftheUnitedStates.
Asherparalysisslowlysubsided,Eve’seyesmadetheirwaytothe
bloodbathatherfeet.Hugestreaksofrubyredwerespreadoverthecourtyard
grounds,wildlysmearedacrosstheconcretebeneaththeX.Suddenly,she
realizedthatthesavagedisplaywasmuchmorethanjustahorrifyingmess—it
was a message. Large letters painted in fresh, young blood detailed a hateful threatthatcouldnotbeignored:
STANDDOWN,ORMOREHUMANSWILLDIE.
CHAPTER6:NIGHTMARES
“We will not stand down. This country does not fold under the threats of terrorists,norwillitaccedetothedemandsoftheInterlopers.”
TheVicePresidentandhispodiumwereprojectedintothemiddleoftherec
room,thehologramsoclearandvividthatEvecould’veswornitwasreal.She
andtheVicePresidentweretheonlytwofiguresthere—theroomhadcleared outlongago,asthispressconferencewasarerunfromdaysprior—butEve
couldn’tseemtomovefromthespotwhereshestood.Shewatchedthespeech
onrepeat,playingitoverandoveragainoneverynewsstationshecouldfind,
untilshehadmemorizedeachwordandhandgesture.Itwasalmostaformof
self-torture.
Ifshewerehonestwithherself,she’dadmitthattherewasn’tmuchneedto
watchthenewsanyway:thewordofMarshall’sdeathhadspreadlikewildfire,
andnooneknewmoreofthegruesomedetailsthanshedid.Still,evenaweek
after she’d discovered his body, she could think of nothing but the bloody messageandtheneedlesprotrudingfromhiseyes.
TheVicePresidentdisappearedfromtheroom,andasomberanchorwoman
tookhisplace.Sheclearedherthroatbeforeshespoke.
“TheautopsyhasconfirmedthatMarshallWoodgatewashuman,which
wouldmakethisthefirstdocumentedmurderofahumanbeingbyanInterloper.
Police have released a statement confirming that Marshall’s death did not involve any type of dissection, and that it appears the Interlopers’ only intent was to send a message to the American people. While their agenda is still centered on the chimera population, it is clear that the Interlopers are now willingtoexecutehumansinordertomeettheirgoals.”