Naomi Grim: Complete Novel (Parts 1-4) (The Silver Scythe Chronicles), Page 2

  "Darkness," Father said. "I pulled some strings with Dunningham. Keira and Chase will be able to visit you tomorrow."

  Finally something to smile about. "Thank you so much, Father." I had come to the conclusion that I'd already seen my best friends for the last time. I hugged my parents and little brother one last time before they walked out the door.

  Bram lagged behind. I wished he would say something to me, even if it were just an insult. I needed to know where we stood.

  As if reading my mind, he paused in the doorway. "Bye, Nay," he said softly. Then he left.

  I spent the rest of that day in my cell, attempting to sleep off my depression.

  * * *

  "So you had visitors," a man commented at breakfast the following morning.

  "Yeah."

  "That must be nice. No one else here is allowed to have visitors. I would kill to see my family again." The man shoved a spoonful of mush into his mouth and continued to talk. I had to look away.

  "Shut up, Jack," said another man. "You know how it goes. Even in prison. That's just the way it is."

  Jack laughed to himself. "Yeah, for now." Then he laughed, shooting mush across the table.

  * * *

  I waited in the small room again, this time for Keira and Chase. As soon as the door opened and they stepped into the room, I wrapped my arms around them both. The three of us stood for a moment, just holding each other.

  Chase pulled away first. "I can't believe this is happening," he said, pacing the room.

  Keira shook her head. "This is the part I hate about being a Grim. No one's allowed to make a mistake." I waited for the rest. I waited for her to tell me how I'd been warned and now I was going to pay the ultimate price.

  "I'm just grateful they're sparing my family," I finally said.

  Chase sat on the table. "I wonder how they'll do it."

  Keira punched him in the arm. "Chase!"

  It was a good question. I had actually been wondering the same thing. I'd seen a variety of executions. Grims had been shot, beheaded, or hung. I figured being beheaded would be the quickest, least painful way to go.

  "Sorry," Chase muttered. "Naomi, I wish there was something I could do. If there was anything, I would do it without a thought."

  I believed him. "I know."

  "Is there anything you'd like us to do?" Keira asked.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You know, last wishes."

  I thought for a moment. "Tell Bram I'm really, really sorry. Oh, and say good-bye to Sullivan for me. Tell your parents I'm sorry I screwed this up for them."

  "Nobody cares about that anymore. Everyone's worried about you," Keira said. "Especially Bram. He came over last night and cried for about an hour."

  "He did?" That was a huge difference from the reaction he'd given me yesterday.

  "Of course," Keira answered. "You're his sister. You think he wants you to die?"

  "No. I just never imagined he'd cry." I looked at my friends. "The last thing I ask is for you guys to get married." I wasn't sure where that had come from.

  Keira and Chase made eye contact, then looked away. "What?" they both asked.

  "Yeah. I think you two would be perfect for each other. You're already friends. That way I'll know that you're both with someone worthy."

  They looked at the floor and said nothing. Chase was probably thinking that Keira really wanted to be with Bram, and Keira was probably thinking that Chase wanted to be with me.

  Again, the half hour was up way too soon. Kora came and my friends had to leave. I would have given anything to trade places with them. They were going home to their families, comfortable homes, and refrigerators full of food. Most of all, when the next evening came and went, they would still be alive.

  Chapter 36

  The morning of my execution, I was allowed to shower. The shower was cold and timed for only five minutes, but it was a shower. The kitchen served me a breakfast of oatmeal and fruit in my cell—a luxurious breakfast by Gattica's standards.

  When I finished my breakfast, I left my empty bowl and tray on my bed. My cloak and scythe had been delivered to the prison. Being a Grim, although not technically, I would be executed in the cloak and buried with my scythe. Before all that, I would have to be strapped to the year-subtraction chair so I would become mortal.

  I sat twiddling my thumbs. I had no idea what a person in my position should have been thinking at the moment, but I thought of my father—my real father. He was dead and buried, and I would never get to meet him. I wondered what he looked like. He had to be something if Mother had risked her life to be with him.

  I thought about my name, and how Dunningham hadn't allowed my parents to give me a suitable Grim name. I couldn't believe he had known about me all along. It was impossible for me to fathom that my mother would let that vile creature touch her, but it was a testament to how much she loved me.

  Around noon, Ravi came for me. I noticed a sadness in his eyes. He took me to the bottom floor of the prison, where Dunningham and Doyle waited. Neither of them seemed to be able to make eye contact with me. Maybe the thought of killing a sixteen-year-old girl was actually weighing on their conscience. For the first time, I was placed in handcuffs. I shuddered as the cold metal slid around my wrists.

  A guard carrying my cloak and scythe followed Doyle and Dunningham as we walked to the carriage. We climbed inside, me again stuck in the middle. I knew we were going to the Mill for the chair.

  Dunningham looked over at Doyle. "Have Reynold make the announcement that all Grims are to report to the square in an hour."

  "Yes, sir," Doyle said, pulling his cell from the pocket of his suit jacket. Always the loyal servant. I wondered what Dunningham's punishment would be if he ever learned of Doyle's betrayal. Doyle was the man Dunningham trusted more than anyone.

  I weighed my options. I could blurt out Doyle's secret right then and there, but that wouldn't do anything to help my situation. I needed to have a one on one conversation with Doyle in order for his disloyalty to be beneficial to me.

  The ride to the Mill was long and quiet. The silence was only interrupted by a dinging in Dunningham's pocket—his death alerter. The device warned him of upcoming deaths. He called his assistant and told her to send the assignment to Damon. Damon was a boy who lived two houses down from me. We turned toward the Mill. The building grew larger as we approached, and so did the lump in my throat.

  The carriage came to a stop. Doyle opened his door and climbed out, waiting for me to do the same. I sat frozen. The longer I prolonged this, the longer I’d live.

  “Let’s go,” Doyle ordered.

  I stayed put, staring straight ahead. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dunningham turn his attention from his cell to me. I didn’t care. I was already scheduled for execution. What did I have to lose?

  Apparently, Doyle wasn’t used to being ignored. He cursed and grabbed me by my arm before yanking me from the carriage. I tried to pull away from him, but he tightened his grip. Reynold got out of the car with a black cloth. Before I could wonder what it was for, he wrapped it around my face, covering my eyes. I hadn’t expected to be blindfolded. Doyle dragged me toward the Mill. I supposed it was best for me not to see what was happening. My bare feet slid along the gravel. Something sharp got stuck in my foot. I wanted to stop and remove it, but I knew that wasn’t an option.

  The smell of sulfur that always radiated from the Mill filled my nose. The air was thick and it was hard for me to breathe. I heard Dunningham cough a few times behind me so I knew he was following us.

  The texture of the ground changed, smoother now and easier on my feet. We must have been close to the building. I heard the automatic steel doors slide open. Someone pushed me inside. Several seconds later, the door closed behind us.

  I sensed movement all around me. Probably the Mill workers, captured Foragers. I wondered what role they would play in this rebellion. We stopped, and I heard a beeping. We were at the elevators. Th
e chair was located on the third floor. I was shoved inside and fell against someone with a large, solid chest, probably Reynold. He helped me stand upright.

  I almost lost my balance as we began to move upward, but I caught myself.

  A phone rang. Dunningham answered. "Yes, Hesper . . . em hum . . . Doyle, what do you feel like having for dinner?"

  "Whatever you'd like is fine," Doyle answered. I don't know why Dunningham even bothered to ask him.

  The elevator doors opened, and I was escorted out.

  "Hesper, some nice rib-eyes would be wonderful," Dunningham said before hanging up. Nice. They would enjoy steaks while my body rotted in the ground.

  The chair was kept in a room at the end of an extremely long hallway. I remembered from the other times I had come that there were plenty of doors on each side. I'd always wanted to know what was in them. It seemed that nobody knew. I was tempted to ask Dunningham, but I knew he wouldn't tell me.

  I tried to walk slowly, but Doyle and Dunningham wouldn't let me. Each time I fell behind, they would push me forward. At last we stopped, and I heard more beeping. One of the men was punching in the code that opened the door.

  "Access granted," said a robotic voice as the doors slid open.

  I stepped inside, and the smell hit me right away. I couldn't describe the odor of the chair room, except that it made me feel sick. It smelled like something burnt, like flesh.

  My body was pushed down into the seat. Seconds later, my handcuffs were removed and straps were tightened around my wrists, cutting off the circulation I'd recently learned I had. Someone wrapped straps around my calves, tying me to the legs of the chair. My feet were cold on the room's metal floor. Whatever had been stuck in my foot earlier didn't hurt anymore. I didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

  Someone strapped a cold metal helmet to my head. That was the worst part. Doyle stood in front of me. I knew the smell of his cologne. He buckled the helmet's straps underneath my chin. The helmet was heavy and fastened too tight.

  I wished someone would remove my blindfold so I could see what was going on. I wanted to know when Dunningham flipped the switch so I could be prepared.

  No one spoke. The only noise came from the huge machine that would generate the electric shocks. I braced myself.

  "All set," Reynold said.

  A sharp sensation formed at the top of my head. That was how it started. I clinched my teeth and squeezed my hands closed as the feeling intensified. It moved through my neck, chest, stomach, thighs, and then finally down to my feet. I began to shake involuntarily. I hated that part, not being in control of my own body.

  The pain was excruciating then, but I wouldn't scream, I wouldn't make any noise that indicated I was in pain. I remembered what Father had said about being brave and not giving them the satisfaction.

  I imagined the large blue screen in front of me. Had I not been blindfolded, I would have seen the number 417 on the screen before the procedure began. I would able to watch the numbers run down, one year per second. My procedure would take at least 317 seconds, or five minutes and seventeen seconds.

  Dunningham should stop the machine at one hundred because any Grim with one hundred years or less could be killed, but if they wanted to be especially hateful, they could let it run longer.

  I figured Dunningham wouldn't do that. If he did, it was very possible the machine could kill me. He wouldn't rob himself or his Grims of seeing a traitor's execution.

  My body continued to convulse. The first time I had to go through the year-subtraction process, Mother had told me the trick was to think of something else to keep my mind off the pain. I tried to do that, but my mind kept going back to the agony.

  I'd forgotten how much the process hurt. Why did we continue to incur infractions if we knew we would have to go through this? Maybe we forgot how painful it was and often needed a reminder.

  I thought of Keira and what she'd said about Bram crying. I knew my brother loved me, he just didn't like to show it, or he didn’t know how. I thought about my parents and how this would plague them forever. I don't remember a minor Grim ever being executed without their parents being killed along with them. At least those Grims didn't have to live with the awful memory of their child being put to death. My parents would.

  I wondered if Keira would make a new best friend. One who followed the Grim Covenant and wouldn't get her into trouble.

  Earlier I had said I would give anything to be in Chase and Keira's position. But I'd changed my mind. I'd give anything to be human. To live in their world. Sure they lived short lives, but at least they got to live. It had to be better than this. I didn't think it was fair, seeing as though I was part human. Why couldn't I lived in that world if I wanted?

  The shocks began to lessen so I knew the process was almost over. The shocks stopped, and I felt immediately ill. Someone stood in front of me. Doyle again. The smell of his cologne wasn't helping the nausea that had overcome me. First the helmet was removed. Then the straps. Before I could stop myself, I bent over and vomited.

  "No!" Doyle yelled as I unloaded. I pictured my puke covering his expensive leather shoes.

  "Oh dear," Dunningham mumbled, probably glad it wasn't him. "Well, get cleaned up. There's only thirty minutes until the execution."

  I assumed Doyle left the room. Dunningham was very punctual, and he wouldn't stall an execution for anything.

  He made a call for someone to come clean up my mess.

  "Are you done?" Reynold asked. I opened my mouth. Nothing else wanted to come out so I nodded. I longed for a glass a water to get the disgusting taste out of my mouth. He grabbed my arm. "Listen, step over the vomit."

  My mind told my body to move, but my body wouldn't listen.

  "I can't." I was too weak to move.

  Someone else entered the room. "Let him clean it up," Dunningham said. "Then you'll have to carry her."

  I heard water swishing around. The smell of bleach, ammonia, and some other chemical filled my nostrils. I needed to sneeze but it wouldn't come out.

  After a minute, Reynold slid his arm under my thighs and lifted me from the chair. "Do not puke on me."

  I nodded, but I couldn’t make any promises.

  I rested my head against one of his broad shoulders as he carried me to the carriage. He placed me on the back seat with Dunningham and then we were off to the square.

  My head felt too heavy for my neck to hold up so I leaned it against the window. "How are you going to do it?" I asked Dunningham once the carriage had taken off.

  "What?"

  "How are you going to kill me?"

  "First of all, I'm not going to kill you. You've killed yourself, my dear. I am simply carrying out the rules of the Covenant. That's the problem with you rebellious Grims. You knowingly break the rules and then act like I'm the bad guy when I have to inflict punishment. As for how . . . we'll let that be a surprise for now. Whatever it is, it will be a death befitting a Grim who has betrayed her colony."

  I sighed. He probably wouldn't answer my next question either, but I figured I'd give it a shot. "Why did you forgive my mother's crime?"

  "And we'll stop talking now." I could hear the annoyance in his voice.

  "I know what she had to do to keep us from getting executed, and I think it's disgusting. I would have rather her let you put us to death."

  Surprisingly, Dunningham chuckled at this. "If you're thinking of making a similar arrangement, I might have considered it had your execution not already been scheduled and announced. It's too late to turn back now. Pity."

  How many Grims had he made this "arrangement" with? I pressed myself against the carriage's door, trying to get as far away from the vile creature as possible.

  Chapter 37

  The carriage came to a stop. Reynold opened my door and I stepped out. I was dizzy, but I was determined to walk on my own. He wrapped my cloak around me and lifted its hood over my head.

  He pushed me ahead. We were on concrete now
, which was not easy on my feet.

  "Hold on," he said after a few moments, "there's steps."

  That meant we had made it to the stage. Every Grim in Nowhere had to be standing in the square watching, but I heard not a sound. They wouldn't be permitted to speak until Dunningham told them to.

  Reynold led me up the wooden steps and across the stage. At last, he removed the blindfold. At first I squinted as my eyes adjusted to the light, then I was awed by the sea of black hoods standing in front of me. I had never witnessed a gathering from this perspective. Everyone looked solemn. No one looked happy to be there, as they had in previous gatherings. Maybe because my father was popular and respected in Farrington.

  I spotted my family in the front row. They had been required to stand there. Dorian looked down. I couldn't see his face since it was covered by his hood. Bram scowled, as usual. He looked at me, made eye contact and then looked down like Dorian. Mother held a black lace handkerchief to her face to keep herself from crying out loud. Her mother had given her that handkerchief and one day she would have probably passed it on to me. Father had one arm around her, holding her up. He looked at me, gave me a small smile, and nodded.

  After seeing my family, I looked around the platform for the first time. To the left of me was Dunningham's podium, where he prepared to make his speech. To the right of me were the gallows. I was being hung. I looked at the rickety wooden frame with a noose hanging from it. The gallows had been built hundreds of years ago, but had never been replaced because they were sacred.

  I should have known better than to wish for a quick painless death. I had done a horrible thing to my fellow Grims. I wondered how long I would hang in that noose before I died.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Doyle walking onto the platform, wearing a crisp black suit and polished leather shoes. He stood by the steps with his arms folded against his chest. I was happy I'd thrown up on him.