《Testing Day》

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Once the guards are satisfied we are safely secured, they escort us from the Testing Room and back toward our cells. It's when we're in the hallways, passing corridor after corridor of stark white walls and Facility employees outfitted with Network headsets, that we talk with one another, though as in the testing room, we find time to chat regardless.

"How do you think you did?" Rima asks, nudging her brother in his side.

He frowns over his shoulder. "I was sweating bullets back there, Ri-ri. Don't think it was because the air-cooling system was on the fritz, either."

Rima quickens her pace so she can catch up with him and rests her head briefly on his shoulder. "It'll be okay, Jo-Jo," she says, smiling.

He shrugs, though his cheeks turn as red as Marava's nails. "How about you?"

Rima chews on her bottom lip. "I feel pretty good about the multiple-choice." She grimaces. "But I'm never sure about the essay. Always feel I could have written more."

Tujo gapes. "Didn't you write like seven pages for the last test?"

Rima nods sheepishly, her interest suddenly geared toward a particularly unremarkable piece of white tile flooring.

Tujo sighs. "And you think you don't write enough." He rolls his eyes, and the corners of his lips pull upwards. "What am I going to do with you?"

The same blush creeps onto Rima's cheeks.

"And what about you?" Nol says, addressing me. "How'd Shakespeare do for you this time?"

"To pass or not to pass," I say with a shrug. "That is the question. Only time will tell."

He slows so he can match my pace, and suddenly, the scent of his soap - rainwater and fresh pine - floods my senses. All the boys smell this way, just as all us girls smell like honey and clove, but it's only Nol's smell that lodges some kind of discomfort in my chest.

"Think Marava got another 100?" His breath tickles my face, coaxes a few of my curls to flutter in front of my eyes. For a second, Nol is concealed behind a thick, black curtain. I can't very well move my hand without the guard giving me a shock, so I have to shake my head to get my curls out of my eyes. Nol chuckles as he watches me.

"If the kitty wants to keep her claws, she'll have to have," I say.

Nol arcs a brow. His blue-green eyes come alive, like gemstones catching the light. "You think she really sucks dick for some cheap plastics?"

I scowl. "Why? You interested?"

He smirks. "You jealous?"

I gulp and nudge his shoulder. He breaks out into a full-blown grin, one that favors the left side of his face more than his right. It's adolescent and awkward, and I find myself mimicking that smile because it's just so damned infectious. "I mean, if she'll do that for some nails, think of what she'd do for some Monday Blues..."

"Or Thursday Ghost Whites," I add.

Nol's forehead wrinkles. "You think she'd do more than a little dick sucking for Thursday Ghost Whites?" He shakes his head. "Maybe a shaker, but nothing more. They're minor antidepressants. Nothing special." His eyes spark to life again, blue and green intertwining, dancing, sky and forest meeting. He loved talking about prescripts, knew all their real names and the proper dosages, how to dismantle them into their singular components and combine them into something new. He wasn't allowed to mess with our pills, but there was nothing in Facility protocol preventing him from chewing your ear off about their effects and side-effects. "Now the good stuff, that's the Monday Blues. They can rival the high you get on Surge, without all the withdrawal symptoms and crippling addiction." After a moment of thought, he leans in. "Hell, I'd do a little dick sucking of my own to get my hands on a stash."

I shake my head.

"Though," he says, that devilish smile creeping up to his lips again, "I prefer women, in case—"

"—I was wondering?"

He looks like I punched him in the gut for assuming something that was so clearly incorrect. I snort. "Don't worry, I wasn't. Though I'll float that idea around to some of the whitecoats, see if there's any willing to take you up on your offer." I grin and speed up.

"You wouldn't," he whines from behind. He begins to say something else, but I can't hear him over the flood of people screaming and stampeding straight toward us. 

¤

The guards take a protective stance in front of us, lined up shoulder to shoulder. They heft their guns, aiming them at the crowd.

"Halt!" The guard on my left screams at them. "Disperse at once!"

"Halt?" Tujo whispers. "What is this, the middle ages?"

Rima shushes him, her mouth open, eyes eliciting a look of panic mimicked by the faces of the crowd frantically coming our way. These people are dirty, smeared with dust, with blood. White lab coats are no longer white. Rima grabs Tujo's hand. He squeezes her fingers with his own.

"Holy shit," he says. "What's going on?"

"Hal—" The guard begins to scream, but a gunshot rings out over the clamor. It's the head guard, the one who carries the activation key for all our DECs.

The crowd slows as his laser sight lands on the chest of one of the front-runners. It's a man, a whitecoat sporting clearance level-three, judging by the ID card attached to his lapel. Tears run down his cheeks, cutting through the grime caking his face, his hair. His shirt's rumpled, one side untucked, the flap only covering part of a urine stain around the crotch.

"What's happened?" the lead guard says.

The man's eyes flit around. From the guards, to the red dot hovering over his chest, to us, all seven of the Facility's Liars. He turns to face the way he came and shivering, raises a finger. "Someone's broken in," he mutters.

I gape. The Facility's been designed so that something like a break-in never occurs. Key card and input codes change hourly. There are locks on every door and at every point of entry, each requiring the correct voice command and an approved retinal scan to unlock. The Network monitors all activity through the myriad of cameras stationed at what's deemed the Facility's most vulnerable spots. The walls are reinforced concrete and steel lattice-work, the doors galvanized two-inch-thick steel. All the windows are shatterproof and bulletproof and become electrified from eight at night until six in the morning. There's no way what this man says is the truth.

The guard seems to share my opinion because he grunts and floats his laser sight to another - a stocky woman, a cleaner by the looks of her black smock and rubber gloves. Bleach wafts off her in waves.

"What's going on?" he says.

She too turns and looks back the way they came. "They've—"

The hallway behind her goes dark. Red emergency lights kick on, giving the hallway menace and bite.

"They're here!" the man shouts, and the crowd moves as one, barreling into the line of guards. I barely have time to sidestep them before they're rushing past. A few get caught in the stampede and slam into the ground. Faces bounce off tile, a few teeth explode from opened mouths. One of those to fall is the cleaning woman. She looks through the forest of retreating legs and up at me with pleading eyes. 

Trembling, her hand reaches out. I cling to my safe position pressed against the wall. As she's forming the words, 'help me,' a shoe crushes her head. There's a sharp crunch, as her skull sinks inward, and it takes me a moment to realize she's now dead, her blood gushing from the wound and spraying the bare ankles of men and women who continue to trample her, embedding the concave depression in her skull.

Nol grabs my arm. I whip around and lock eyes with him. "What do we do?" I ask, watching a few guards fight their way through the dwindling crowd to inspect the corridor. Smoke slithers out from its depths like dragon's breath. A woodsy scent taints the air.

"You need to trust me," is all he says.

I blink. The lights in our hallway shudder before plunging us into darkness. Rima screams. A second later, the emergency lights kick on, and we're drowned in a diffused red glow. I look on the ground, trying to find the head guard. He's one of the casualties. His body lays in awkward right angles, his arms splayed, crushed at the elbows and wrists, his legs spread-eagle, shattered at the shins, his feet flaccid, ankles twisted.

"What are you doing?" Nol says.

I rifle through the guard's pockets, find the activation key, and press disengage. The DECs return to their slim, metallic rings.

"Nice one," Tujo says. With giddy fingers, he whips the bracelet free. It falls to the ground, landing in a pool of glistening blood. I can't tell whose blood it is. The guard's, the cleaning woman's, or the four others that hadn't moved fast enough.

I too, remove the bracelet, pocket it, then kick the corpse over.

Marava winces. "Christ, that's ugly."

His face is split open at the mouth, and his jaw hangs unnaturally low, close to his chest. Shards of his visor stick out of what little is left of his cheeks. I choke back vomit and peel the gun from his arms.

Again, Tujo applauds my quick thinking and since he seems so happy with our current situation, I chuck the gun at his chest. He catches it awkwardly, and then, gives me an inquisitive look.

"You seemed so gun-happy." I focus my gaze on the corridor. The rapid-fire sound of gunshots reaches my ears. I inhale through clenched teeth. Smoke's begun to fill the hallway in a haze. I hunker down, where the air's cleaner, easier to breathe. The others follow.

"B-b-but I've never shot one before," Tujo stammers.

"My educated guess? You aim and pull the goddamn trigger. Try not to kill one of us by mistake."

With trembling fingers, Tujo raises the gun, points it down the hall. Rima holds onto his forearm, helping to steady him. He looks relieved by her gesture.

"And don't accidentally slip over the bodies and give our position away."

He nods, though his eyes go wide as he chances a glance near his feet. He's obviously not thought about tripping over a corpse or slipping in a pool of blood and gore. He better start thinking about it and find himself some good footing.

Once again, Nol grabs my arm. "You need to trust me," he says.

Footsteps, slow and heavy, echo down the hall. The first flicker of flame laps the edges of the corridor. A human-shaped shadow skirts across the opposing wall.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

More shadows follow, and the footsteps grow louder as they draw near.

I tear my gaze away from the hallway to scowl at Nol. "And why's that?" I hiss.

He puts his hands on my shoulders, and I bristle under the force of his grip. "Because," he says, stiffening as a red dot skims the front of his uniform. He puts his arms in the air and stands. "They're here for me."