《Surprises》

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It's nighttime when we reach the fringes of an abandoned property lined by falling white fence. A laminated sheet, nailed onto the mailbox, states this house was slated for demolition in 2077 - almost two decades ago. Guess the Council didn't have enough manpower to destroy all the homes they'd forced people to evacuate.

I lean past Sin, which means I'm on the verge of standing, to spy over the shoulders of our driver. Van headlights roam along a dirt road, illuminating trees on either side. Their branches intertwine overhead, allowing for only freckles of midnight sky to be seen.

As the van slows, a floodlight kicks on and assaults my eyes with too harsh a glow. There's a house, single story, tucked away on a patch of browning lawn, half-hidden by overgrown hedgerows and piles of red brick.  Crows, scrawny, their feathers ruffled and glistening with grease, perch on the hood of a rusted stationwagon whose front tires have begun to sink into the ground.

On the right, there's a shed, and a large, barn. Peeling red paint, bleached by the sun, takes on a rusted hue, like that of drying blood. My hand tenses around the cloth Marava had given me.

With a squeak of brakes, the van pulls to a stop. The driver and passenger get out, their doors clinking behind them before they reappear as they pull the backend doors open. A waft of air, fresh and crisp, scented with fresh rain and heavy pine, a smell that instantly reminds me of Nol and causes my heart to race, sweeps into the van, where I hadn't realized we'd been mired in a stench of body odor, sweat, blood, and gunpowder.

One by one, we file out of the back and give our legs a good stretch. There aren't any stars dotting the sky, but there is a moon, large and full, luminescent. It's light spills across the ground, over my slippers. I dip my fingers in its path, move them to watch how the light dances over my flesh.

"Enjoying yourself?" Nol sidles up to me, hands clasped behind his back.

"As much as I can," I say, moving my hand out of the light. I take a huge gulp of air and relish in the way it doesn't smell like a locker room after a hard day's practice.

Nol stares at my face. I shift my weight, hoping it seems like I'm giving my legs a good stretch. "How's your lip?"

"It'll heal." Just like my hand. Just like all the wounds, seen and unseen, afflicted today. They'll heal, eventually, if they don't kill us. "You?" I nod to his bandaged hand, where rust-colored drops have seeped through the gauze around his knuckles.

He touches that hand gingerly and grimaces. "I think I got out all the metal shavings. Hurts like hell though."

"Yeah. I bet punching a holographic projector's a lot like hitting Kevlar."

He smiles and fidgets in his pockets. "I've got some more," he holds out his hand to me, palm up. "Let me see." A crumpled ball of gauze slips free of his pocket. He grabs it before it hits the ground. His eyes bore into mine. "Your hand, Ten," he taps a forefinger on his outstretched hand. "Let me see it."

I shake my head. Looking at his hand reminded me of Snitch and of all that blood as it oozed over Nol's fingertips. The cold fury in his eyes and the aggression in which he'd destroyed that projector. I couldn't help him then, why should he help me now?

"What I need is a new hand, not some clean bandages." Nol frowns. I give him a perfunctory clap on the shoulder with my good hand. "Thanks though."

"Liars!" Della motions us over. "Line up!"

Tujo grimaces. "I know we saw the Facility implode on itself, but somehow it doesn't feel like we've left."

I nod. "Maybe it's their way of making us feel comfortable."

Marava snorts. "As if." She runs her fingers through her shoulder-length hair, pulling at the tangles. She glares at the Titav looming next to the spot where we've been ordered to convene. "Next thing you know they'll be weighing our shits."

My mouth gapes. Had Marava just cracked one?

Tujo's laugh answers my question. "Or forcing us to take tests." He furrows his brow. "One-hundred and fifty questions, all multiple choice."

"You think they eat M.E.A.T?" Rima chimed in.

I shake my head. "Probably rations, canned goods. Things that won't expire."

"Like Twinkies?" Tujo says. I look at him curiously and he blushes. "I'd read it on the Network. It's some kind of hollowed yellow sponge, filled with cream. Supposed to be the only thing that can weather the apocalypse," he scratches the back of his neck. "Aside from cockroaches."

"We've weathered the apocalypse," Rima says as she rubs her hands together in front of her chest.

Tujo leans in. "You cold, Ri-ri?"

Before she can answer, he's undoing the snaps on his Liar shirt. Rima smiles and puts a hand up to stop him.

"Technically," Marava says, speaking more to us than she ever has before. "There hasn't been an apocalypse for us to weather."

Rima chews her lower lip. Her slippers kick up dirt and dried grass. "We've weathered more things than most." Her voice trembles. "Like almost dying." She looks at me at that last part.

"So we're just like cockroaches?" I say.

Tujo grins and fists the air. "Team Cockroach!"

We shuffle into a single-file line in front of the Collective. A few men and Keran exchange glances at Tujo's uncharacteristically chipper mood.

I smile. "I vote for Mars being Head Cockroach, then!" Imitating Tujo, I thrust my arm skyward careful not to move my hand too much. Rima chuckles.

"Seconded," Sin says.

We all turn to look at the man less wordy than a brick wall. He raises his shoulders and cocks a brow. That's more expression than he's ever given.

"That settles it," I say. "If Sin's on board, we must have struck comedy gold. Marava's Head Cockroach."

Marava clucks her tongue at us. Tujo whoops and then, we all quiet and still as Della approaches, a dozen Blackhole bags clutched in her hand. We all shirk back. Tujo was right. Though we'd left the Facility, it didn't feel as though we had.

The smart bag Della lovingly carries ever nearer was fairly common military fare. Made of opaque metallic fibers and outfitted with the latest bio-monitoring tech, it could cinch around a neck at the touch of a button, regulate air purity and flow, and if by chance, the bag's sensors caught wind of wandering hands, the fabric constricted, stoppering air flow, leaving the wearer to suffer an agonizing death.

When we'd all been transported to the Facility -- for our safety, they'd said -- we'd each had a Blackhole shoved over our heads. 

Rima shudders as the Titav leader looms over her, bag swaying in the breeze. She stares pleadingly into Joey's button eyes. The stuffed bear's head slumps forward as if ashamed at its inability to help. Tujo's got his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw set like concrete. Green eyes pierce through the curtain of hair that's fallen in front of them, gleaming with all the danger of venomous snake, raised and readying to strike.

I place my hand on his shoulder. He whips around and looks ready to punch me in the gut. I blanch."Tujo." My voice is little more than a whisper. "Cockroaches can weather worse."

He snarls, flexes his fingers, then curls them into his palms. He's thinking, weighing my words against his desire. I wish I didn't have to stop him. I wish I could let loose the lead and watch him pummel Della's face, but just as clearly, perhaps even more so, I can visualize him lying face down, drowning in his blood, a dozen or so bullet holes buried in his back. He relaxes and lets his hands hang loosely at his sides. I nod, grateful not to have my head chewed off.

"Let's go, killer," Della says, giving the bag a little jingle. Rima winces at the word killer and shirks back as the bag is thrust in front of her face.

She maintains enough sense though to ask, "Why do our heads need to be covered? We've arrived," she looks at the house, the stained siding, and wrap-around porch. "Haven't we?"

Della harrumphs. "You think this is our HQ?" She shakes her head enough to make her bangs sweep across her forehead like windshield wiper blades. "Please. This is just one of many waystations." Leaning over her, Della's lips grazing Rima's ear, she adds, "It makes us harder to track."

Striking like the lethal viper she is, Della moves, throws the bag over Rima's head. The cord cinches at the prompting of Della's finger on the Blackhole control she's palming. The fabric muffles Rima's whimpering. Tujo's hands go tense. He snarls but doesn't give off any signs he's planning on doing something stupid.

Della straightens, arcs her back, gives a little yawn. She's framed by the moon, and could almost pass for a wolf, howling into the night. God knew she had the fangs.

"Now," she returns her attention to us. "We've got to sneak you inside Neon Brights. To do that, we need to visit the Key Forger. Out of respect for him," Tujo scoffs at the word respect coming from her mouth. Della ignores him with ease, as though she'd done it a hundred times before. "We need to keep his location secret. All outsiders," she nods at us. "That's you all in your pretty grey uniforms, need to be kept in the dark. Hence," Tujo doesn't smirk here even though I thought he would. Guess he wasn't in the mood to laugh at their diction again. "The Blackholes."

She thrusts the remainder at Keran, who catches them with a deft hand. "Get the others situated. I need to make contact with Peres."

Keran's eyes go wide as full moons. "Did something--"

Della nods. "El Accosta." Keran growls and grips the gun strapped to her back.

Della shakes her head. "No casualties. Just some damage to our stock." She turns and heads up the stone path to the house. As she passes Nol, she says, "Looks like we'll be needing another batch, Chemist. Think you can manage?"

Nol shrugs. "Make sure you have what I need."

"Don't worry," she pats him on the head. "We've taken care of it. You'll have everything."

Floodlights flicker on at Della's approach. Motion sensors. She pulls back the screen door, knocks twice, and stomps her boot heel. In seconds, the main door screeches open and Della disappears inside. Keran clears her throat and our attention is directed to her.

She moves down our line, sidling us with the bags like we're war criminals about to be executed. There's a smile playing at her lips as Sin grabs the bag from her and plunges it over his head in his typical no-nonsense kind of way.

Before Tujo allows his vision to go dark, he reaches for Rima, intertwining his fingers in her own. The bag sags over his shirt collar before Keran, with gusto, pulls the cord to cinch it in place. Quint puts the sack over Marava's head and grabs her hand, before allowing Keran the honor of doing him.

Nol's next and I'm a little disappointed he didn't reach out for my hand, but considering I'd just spurned his offer to redo my bandages, I could understand his reasoning, if that had anything to do with it at all.

When Keran stops in front of me, her smile is full-blown across her face, her lips pulled to their limits as the corners almost touch her earlobes. While maintaining that smile, she thrusts the sack toward me. "One-zero," she says, giving the bag a little shake. "Time to saddle up."

I stare at the proffered bag, then at the hand who holds it. "Why go this far for us?"

Keran sighs and drops the bag. "What are you going on about?"

She spits and this time she manages to hock it right on my slipper. The fabric is thin enough for me to feel it trickle over the slope of the toe and onto the ground. The idea of clapping comes to mind, but just as quickly, I squash that urge. I'm trying to have a serious conversation with her, not instigate a gunfight that will leave me riddled with enough bullet holes to strain spaghetti.

"Why get us all chipped? Why not just leave us here? We can't get inside the Aviary right?"

Keran rolls her eyes and rests a hand on her hip. She looks like a tired mother fed up with the child who can't shut up for a goddamned moment. "You read that somewhere?"

I snort. "For the most part, all I did was read."

Keran narrows her eyes and her hand moves with lightning speed from her hip to her holster, fingers wrapping around the gun grip so hard sparks might fly. "All I did out here was learn how to shoot far less annoying things than you."

She snarls. Great, the personality of Marava coupled with the rash, idiocy of Tujo and a few hand grenades. I'm a little surprised I'm still standing, but there's no doubt in my mind it's all because of Della.

"We don't need chips."

Keran strokes the gun's body, running her thumb in circles near the hammer. Her forefinger rests dangerously close to the holster's clasp. "You could leave us here, let us die. You have Nol, why even bother to sneak us--"

She takes a step toward me. I take one back. Maintaining a large berth in this circumstance seems to be the best course of action, but no matter how much distance I shove between us, a bullet could close that gap in seconds. Keran strains her neck so she can be eye level. There's the slightest bit of air between her bootheels and the ground. She's a child. It's so easy to forget.

"We need bodies," she whispers, before her hand coils around my neck, drags me forward. The world goes dark, fabric pushing against my nostrils as I inhale. A click sounds in my ear, probably from the metallic cord locking into place. "Enjoy your trip." Keran kicks my foot, the same one she'd spit on, with the tip of her boot, before the sound of her footsteps begins to fade.

I'd been in the dark before, all us Liars had. Tujo more times than Marava had grimaces. When we were disobedient, like that time Tujo spilled a tray of 'food' on a whitecoat in the cafeteria because the whitecoat had stared too intently at Rima, or when Marava had bitten a teacher because they'd taken her crayons away before she'd had time to complete the test's last triangle, we would get sent to the Reflection Room. Hours, mostly - Tujo sometimes got days - spent in complete darkness, with only yourself to keep you company.

Dangerous thoughts manifest in dark spaces, so I'd learned to stifle those voices, gag and bind them, lock them up until I was allowed to leave the room. Tujo'd been too young, too impulsive to have mastered that. Every time he came out of the Reflection Room, he looked a little more hollow. The darkness had  clawed at him, scooped out a part of him and left it, a casualty, on the Reflection Room floor.

I hope the darkness doesn't get him this time. I hope Rima's touch will keep him grounded, keep his thoughts focused and clear, remind him of the purpose he'd given his life - protect Rima.

I feel something hard prod my back. "Move," someone says. It's a masculine voice, so not Keran, though it could be Della if she'd given voice modulation a spin. "Go."

Whoever it is, prods my back again, harder. The grass crunches undertow. There's the sound of rustling, could be trees or fabric. The slap of something on metal. The Titav asshole prods me in the back, though this time, I stumble forward.

I put my hands out to buffer my fall, but a hard piece of metal strikes  across both knuckles. Pain ripples through me, heating every bit of muscle and sinew, causing my brain to scream. An arm jerks me to my feet before I can hit the ground.

A howl bursts free of my lips, and it's deafening to my ears as if the bag has stopped the sound from escaping. There's a gush of hot liquid and it trickles over my middle finger.

I drag my feet as the searing pain begins to cool. My head, fuzzy, my thoughts dull, comes into sharper focus. When the rod prods my back, it's gentler, because whoever's holding it has made his point.

Grass and dirt, change to something harder, concrete, tile, flooring perhaps. Our feet make scuffles across the surface, a stark contrast to the ringing thud of Titav leather. A hand tenses around my shoulder, forcing me to stop. The scuffling of Liar slippers fades, extinguished one after the other.

Finally, I hear a familiar voice. Della. "Get them in the back, two at a time. Hoods stay on."