Talented
Sophie Davis
Talented
Sophie Davis
Copyright 2010 by Sophie Davis
Smashwords Edition
Praise for Talented . . .
“Action-packed H.I.V.E-like adventure, about a group of teenagers who aren't afraid to embrace their fears and fight for what they believe. The whole idea was so vividly put to paper, that I could immediately see it in my mind - all thoroughly explained so as to immerse the reader in this world so like our own and yet, so different. Talia's emotions are yours; her pain your pain, her loss yours. She never scrambles her words, and funnily enough - unlike most heroines - is the first to admit to be either too clingy, or too afraid. She sees her faults and it is that which makes her all the more real.”
21st Century Once Upon a Time Book Review
“This book seriously blew my mind. The concept is like nothing I've ever read. I read it in one sitting and now I'm dying for more. Talia is an incredible heroine. Her powers are amazing and her strength is unbelievable. I never change my mind about which boy I like. This is the first time it has happened. When I started it I loved Donavon. Then by the end I hated Donavon and loved Erik. Erik and Talia are meant to be. Their adorable together. How cute they were is probably why I loved it so much. Donavon is just a jerk.” I really wonder how the author came up with this. It's so unique. The storyline never slows down. It's very action packed. Overall I really really really liked this. I’m dying for the sequel. I highly recommend this. 5/5 stars.”
Beneath the Moon and the Stars Book Review
“Talented was so well written and vivid that I just couldn't help but imagine this being a movie! Right from the beginning the book drew you in and I didn't feel at all lost. Skipping to middle of the book... I LOVED LOVED LOVED Erik! He just seemed like such a great match for Talia, thought at the beginning I really liked Donovan and Talia as a couple. Now, I'm not going to say too much, because I don't want to spoil the book (I almost wrote "movie" there!) Not only was the romance wonderfully written and not over the top and sickening, but every other part of the book was just as good! As I previously mentioned, the action was super vivid and it allowed me to relate to Talia and put myself in her place…This is definitely a must read! The second book in the series is coming out in SPRING 2012, and I can't wait!!!!!”
Tumbling Books Book Review
To my father, Henry, I love you, Dad.
Chapter One
An earsplitting wail punctured the silent night, shattering the illusions of my dream world and bringing me back to reality. My eyes popped open. I became instantly alert as the sound reverberated through the dark cabin again. I bolted upright in my bed. Terror seized me. I knew that noise. In school, I had done monthly drills in response to that noise. Emphasis on drills. I’d never heard the sirens for real. I’d hoped that I never would either. Even now, as the warning bells blared through the speakers in the clearing outside of my cabin, I prayed that it was just a test.
I could only see the parts of my room illuminated by the ribbons of artificial lights streaming through the slits of the wooden blinds covering the windows. In the short time I’d been awake, my swollen eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Hastily, I threw back the blanket as my trained eyes darted around the cabin. The other two beds were empty. Crap. Henri and Erik, my cabinmates, must have heard the invasion sirens and run out immediately. How had I slept through that? Why didn’t they wake me up? Assholes.
I didn’t waste time putting on real clothes, or even shoes. I flung the cabin door open with my mind before I was fully out of my bed. I ran into the night: pajamas, bare feet and all. I sprinted straight into the center of the Hunters’ Village. I stopped abruptly; for all of the training drills I’d taken part in at school, there had yet to be a single drill since my arrival at Elite Headquarters two weeks ago. I had no idea where I was supposed to go, or what I was supposed to do. Breathe, Talia, I reminded myself. Just breathe.
The night air was unseasonably warm for late September, but a chill ran through my body, all the way to my bones, as panic gripped and twisted my insides. The sirens sounded again. We were under attack. Elite Headquarters was being attacked. Calm down, you need to breathe, I ordered myself. I forcibly inhaled the warm air through my nose and then blew it out, unsteadily, through clenched teeth.
Slowly, I turned, pivoting in a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree-circle. Chaos was the only way to describe the scene surrounding me. Pledges streamed from the cabins around the Hunters’ Village. Panicked screams pierced the silence between siren blasts. I dug my nails, sharply, into my palm to prevent my own fear-driven yelps from escaping. Clear your mind. Focus. Concentrate your energy, I coached myself. Trying to obey my own commands, I closed my eyes and forced my mind to go blank.
My hyper-sensitive ears immediately registered a faint whizzing sound from above. I tilted my head back as I opened my eyes. The night sky looked like it was falling, one star at a time. It took several seconds for my mind to process what my eyes were seeing; stars weren’t falling out of the night sky, but bombs were. Swallowing over the lump in my throat, I forced the unpleasantness clawing its way to my mouth back down. The people who panic in a crisis are the people who die, I reminded myself.
The bombs exploded, expelling bright neon liquid when they made contact with the ground. One landed several feet in front of where I stood. Fear got the better of me and I screamed as the bomb burst and several drops of the glowing liquid hit my bare skin. I wiped at my calves, frantically, smearing the fluid with my palms. I rubbed my hands on my thin t-shirt, and it instantly began to glow. I waited for pain that never came. I stared, wide-eyed, as bomb after bomb detonated on the ground, leaving neon puddles in their wake. Pledges ran with hands over their heads in an attempt to protect their faces.
I needed to do something, anything, besides standing here waiting for another bomb to hit me. I concentrated all of my considerable mental energy on the falling explosives, and focused on slowing their descent. After several seconds, the bombs froze in mid-air. I let out a breath that I wasn’t aware I had been holding, as I strained with the effort of holding them in place.
Upon opening my mind, I felt a flood of mixed emotions. The panic radiating from the other Pledges’ brains mirrored my own. Strangely, I also felt enjoyment - laughter even - mingled with the fear and anxiety. Confusion engulfed my other emotions.
What was going on? Donavon, I thought. I needed to find Donavon, he would know what was going on. I pulled some of my mental focus away from holding the bombs and sought out Donavon’s mind. It took me only seconds to find him, but once I did, I was even more perplexed.
Donavon was laughing. I could feel his glee as he watched the scene I was currently starring in from a different vantage point. I honed in on his exact location; and he was close. Concentrating harder, I slipped deeper in to his head. Finally, I saw Hunter’s Village through his eyes. I knew exactly where he was standing - on a small hill that overlooked the Village.
“Donavon?” I mentally called out to him.
“Welcome to the Hunters, Tal,” he laughed.
“WHAT?!?” my mental voice screamed at him. Was he joking?? This was an initiation ritual?? Irritation quickly replaced my fear and confusion.
I narrowed my eyes in his general direction; I had a feeling that he could see me from his perch, even though I couldn’t see him. I was so annoyed at being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night that I let my mental hold on the “bombs” slip, causing one that had been hovering not far over my head to hit me square in the face. I opened my mouth to scream and the neon liquid nearly choked me. Accidentally swallowing a huge gulp, I began to gag. I fell to my knees, retching, and willed myself to throw up the unknown substance.
Donavon’s laughter filled my head again, “It’s just colored water, Tal.”
He clearly found the situation to be hysterical and himself clever. Anger washed over me. The last two weeks had been the most physically demanding of my life, and now I was being roused from bed in the middle of the night to have faux bombs launched at me??? So not funny.
I concentrated on what I now knew to be water balloons – I picked that detail out of Donavon’s mind – and refocused my energy to again freeze them in mid-fall. I honed in on Donavon’s mind and forced the balloons back through the air to their origin, to Donavon and his group of cohorts. Not waiting for his reaction, I turned on my heel and walked back into my cabin, slamming the door, and crawled back into bed, not caring that I still looked radioactive.
I had the covers pulled over my head when I heard the door open, accompanied by loud laughter.
“Talia,” Erik called. “Come out and play.”
“Leave me alone, you ass,” I snapped. Three distinct sets of laughter chorused in response. I felt the covers being yanked back. I clung to the soft fabric of my white comforter, but I was no match for the three boys. I kicked and punched as Donavon leaned over me. His dark blonde hair was soaked with the neon liquid, making me feel a little better.
“Don’t be a spoil sport, Tal,” he laughed. “This is your formal welcome into Hunters Pledging.”
He wanted to see a spoil sport? I would show him a spoil sport. I kicked him in the stomach, hard, and he grunted. I flashed him a wicked smile. Erik pinned my legs down, giving Donavon the opportunity to scoop me up off my bed. I continued to squirm as he carried me across the cabin and back out into the night. He had over a foot and close to a hundred pounds on me, so my efforts were in vain.
“Come on Talia, it’s almost over,” Erik whispered as he walked next to us. I craned my neck to face him, and gave him a nasty look. He just laughed; I was hardly a threat at the moment.
Donavon carried me over to where a group of other Pledges had already begun to congregate. He placed me on my bare feet in the wet grass, but kept his hands firmly on my upper arms. Mentally I sent him a string of angry expletives. I didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling; he was enjoying my discomfort way too much.
“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Henri Reich,” an extremely tall, lean boy said, quieting all of the side conversations taking place among those gathered. “This is a little something we at the Hunters like to do as a welcome to the new Pledges. I know that you guys have all been working really hard these past two weeks. Making it this far means you’ve passed the initial phase of training, and are well on your way to graduating and becoming full-fledged Hunters. Congratulations.”
When Henri stopped talking, Donavon released my arms. He stepped back so quickly I stumbled, nearly falling over. Donavon was not the only one who had retreated, all of the older Hunters had moved away from us, leaving me and the other Pledges standing in the center of a new circle. More balloons rained down on the small group of us before I could register what was happening. These balloons were filled with a thick gooey liquid in varying colors - paint. I used my hands to shield my head, but it didn’t really help.
When the color assault finally ended, I removed my hands and looked around at the older Hunters. Some were doubled over, they were laughing so hard. Even the most serious of the group were shaking with silent laughter. I scowled, hoping that this was the only welcoming gesture they’d planned for us.
Donavon appeared behind and wrapped his arms around my waist. “Are you mad at me?” he whispered in to my ear. I reached my paint-covered hands up to his face and smeared squiggles down his cheeks. Then I ran my fingers through his damp, blonde hair, leaving most of the paint behind.
“Not at all,” I smiled sweetly.
“Enough, enough. I can’t take all the cuteness,” Erik joked, coming over to us. “Congrats Tal, you made it through your first round of training and now you are officially a member of the most awesome Hunting team ever: mine,” he said, smiling broadly. Erik had smears of turquoise paint, the same color as his eyes, across each of his high cheekbones; the color complemented his tan skin nicely. He leaned down to hug me, and I noticed flecks of purple and red paint decorating his thick black hair. I gave him a half-hearted hug in return.
“Talia, I’m glad to have you as part of our team,” Henri said as he wrapped one of his long arms around my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I’m really glad to be here.” I was. This was what I’d been working towards since I’d started attending the McDonough School for the Talented, seven years ago.
At the end of their junior year, students selected the top three divisions of the Agency in which they wanted to work after graduation. Then a Placement Committee – consisting of each Division head, the Director of the Agency and McDonough’s headmistress – reviewed each student’s test scores, their Talent and their Talent ranking, and assigned them to a division. Students spent their senior year, or Pledge year as the Agency termed it, working and training with their designated department. Not every student scored high enough to be rewarded with one of his top three choices - those students were randomly doled out to the less desirable divisions. The Hunters had been my top choice; my only choice. I knew I wanted - needed - to be a Hunter from my very first day.
For most it’s an easy decision; they go with other Talents of their kind. Others, like me, want to do something different, or their particular ability does not have a niche. It’s not unheard of for Talents besides Morphers, Light Manipulators or Telekinetics to become Hunters, but I am one of the few who actually did. Most non-morphing Hunters aren’t assigned to a team, but serve as “floaters” instead. Floaters are Hunters that join individual Hunting teams on a short-term basis, usually for just one Hunting mission, to lend their individual specialty when it’s needed.
“The food and drinks are on the way out, so please take advantage. As a special treat, curfew for the night has been lifted. And there will no training until after lunchtime tomorrow, so enjoy yourselves,” Henri called to the entire group.
Upon arriving at Elite Headquarters to start our Pledge year, each Pledge was assigned to a Hunting team with a vacancy. Hunting team has three members, but when one member leaves – for whatever reason – the Agency replaces him, or her, with a Pledge. Part of what made the Hunters such a competitive division was the fact that they only took as many Pledges as there were vacant Hunting Positions. This year only fifteen of us were accepted, much less than most years.
I’d been assigned to Henri Reich and Erik Kelley’s Hunting team. Henri was the oldest, and the leader of our trio. He stood almost two feet taller than me and was all lean muscle. His eyes were warm, light brown, and he wore just a little longer than most Hunters would. Henri had been kind and patient in my short time working with him.
Erik was his polar opposite. He was only a couple of years younger than Henri, but was much more immature. It had amazed me to learn that they were such good friends, regularly hanging out in their free time. Erik was shorter – somewhere right in middle of Henri’s height and mine – and more muscular than Henri, but by no means bulky. His thick, dark hair naturally fell to one side, and was long enough that he used a bandana to keep it out of his face when we practiced. He had extraordinary turquoise eyes; peculiar eye colors were a byproduct of the same nuclear spill that had caused our Talents. My own unnatural purplish-blue eyes were a result of the same catastrophe.
Several more Hunters came over to welcome me and offer their congratulations. Graciously I thanked them. After a short, squat boy with dark brown hair; whose name might have been Lenyx; had extended his felicitations, Donavon grabbed my hand and led me away from the group.
“Thanks,” I mentally sent him.
I wasn’t exactly what you would call social. For most of my life I’ve had only one friend; Donavon. When I was young my family traveled a lot, and I rarely had the opportunity to spend time with other children. My parents had hired private tutors for me since we never stayed in one place long enough for me to go to school. Donavon was a social butterfly, but he knew that large groups of people make me uncomfortable.
“I figured you might want to get away.”
“What makes you think I want to get away with you?” I teased him. He pulled me close, wrapping one arm around my waist, and lifted me off of my feet until our lips met. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back; I could never stay mad at him for very long.
“Told you that you wanted to get away with me,” he whispered in my ear, setting me back on my bare feet. His breath tickled my ear, and I giggled in spite of myself.
He took my hand and led me behind the semi-circle of cabins, known at Headquarters as the Hunters’ Village, and into the woods. We followed a short, dirt path through the trees, and into another small clearing. There was a small fire already blazing in the center of the clearing, and blankets and pillows were spread out next to it.
“It’s been so long since we spent time alone together. I thought that since you don’t have a curfew tonight maybe we could sleep under the stars.” His mental voice sounded tentative. I could tell he was afraid that I’d say no.
We hadn’t spent much time, just the two of us, in nearly a year. Since I was younger than Donavon, I still had to complete my time at school when he’d come here, to Headquarters. The time apart had been hard on both of us. I’d seen him on holidays and the occasional weekend he’d been allowed to leave, and we’d talked daily, but it had been a huge change from seeing each other in classes and at mealtimes. One of the things I’d been looking forward to the most was being around him again.
I strode confidently towards the blankets and sat down. I patted a spot on the fabric next to me. Donavon gave me a huge smile and took a seat, folding his long legs underneath him.
“Donavon . . .,” I mentally began, looking at my hands uncomfortably. I did want to spend the night with him out here, under the stars, but I also didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.
He lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his clear blue eyes.
“I know, Tal. No pressure, I just want to spend time with you.” His mental voice was soft.
“Thank you,” I said out loud, giving him an appreciative half-grin. Donavon was only a year older than me, but that year seemed to make all the difference when it came to taking the next step in our relationship.
We both lay down with our heads on the pillows, facing each other. Donavon draped one arm over my small waist, and extended the other one under my head. We stayed like that for the rest of the night. Nobody walking by would have been able to overhear our conversation, even though we talked until just before sun rise. Our entire exchange took place mentally. We rarely spoke “normally” – not since that first summer when we met.
Donavon pulled me in closer, and I buried my face in his broad chest feeling comfortable, and relaxed for the first time since arriving at Elite Headquarters.
I drifted off to sleep as the sky turned from the dark of night to the pink of morning.
Chapter Two
The Great Contamination, as the history books called it, occurred a little over one hundred years ago. It started with natural disasters – earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, and tornados. Those catastrophes destroyed small coastal fishing villages and devastated large industrial nations alike. The above-ground damage was extensive; entire towns were washed away. Millions, world-wide, lost everything, including their lives. Within weeks of the initial string of disasters, the world received another shocking blow. The nuclear reactors buried deep in the Earth’s surface had begun to leak. Originally, the governments of the most powerful nations in the world banded together in an attempt to contain the waste. They called in world-renowned scientists, but nobody could figure out how to prevent the spread of the nuclear material.
In less than one year all of the world’s oceans were officially declared contaminated. The decimation of marine life was just the first step on the path to the destruction of the world’s eco-system. Governments all over the world issued massive health warnings; swimming in the world’s oceans became prohibited, and the remaining sea life and land animals were deemed unsafe to eat.
As if the initial effects of the disasters were not bad enough, several years after the contamination the long-term ramifications became apparent. Any and all animals that survived the spill were rounded up and bred, in an effort to slowly rebuild the populations. But the animals born in captivity weren’t normal. Horses were born with horns, dogs with feathers instead of fur, fish with three eyes and even two headed pigs were reported.
Quickly it became evident that the anomalies weren’t specific to animal life. The change in animals was followed closely by changes in plant life. Leaves began to glow at night, and the bark on trees grew a fuzzy coating, stinging anything that touched it. Even insects began to exhibit changes in color, size, and number of appendages.
However, the most drastic effects of the contamination weren’t observed until the first post-contamination children were born. Most afflicted children were born with unnatural eyes, white blonde hair or an extra finger or toe here and there. A large percentage was also born with a little something extra – something more serious.
As the first post-contamination-era children reached the age of five, parents started to notice that the kids were – in a word – weird. Some parents hid their children’s abnormalities or, as they are now called, Talents. Other adults weren’t able to hide the fact that their child changed in to an animal at-will. It soon became obvious that these Talents were as varied as they were prevalent.
Morphing is the most common Talent. Some children can morph into multiple animals – called polymorphs – while others were limited to only one or two creatures – mono or dimorphs. Telekinesis, telepathy, compulsion, higher reasoning, viewing and visions were also among the first recorded Talents. Eventually light manipulators, electrical manipulators and mental manipulators were also discovered.
Of course, not all children were born with Talents. Many appeared, and acted, just as ordinary as their parents. Scientists studied both types of post-contamination-era children, desperately seeking answers as to why some were born “normal” while others were not. Experts experimented on the kids for years following the spill, but there efforts were to no avail. They were unable to isolate any single gene mutation that would account for the variation. Researchers were baffled. There was only one hypothesis that they could all agree on: The Talented were a direct result of the world’s nuclear contamination.
Some Talents were revered, while others were feared. Visionaries were among those prized. Everybody in the world wanted to believe a better life was on the horizon, and any child who claimed to see a brighter future was placed on a pedestal. On the other hand, telepaths and mental manipulators were among those feared; nobody liked the idea of children who could influence the minds of others.
The contamination levels remained extremely high for several decades after the initial breakdown of the nuclear reactors, so the first few generations of offspring were heavily saturated with Talented children. As time passed, the filtration systems became more advanced and scientists developed chemicals to counteract the effects on the human body, resulting in fewer and fewer children born with a Talent. The rarest Talents petered out early on, while the more common ones still remain over a century later.
Presently, less than a quarter of the population is born with a Talent. While there is no doubt that originally the Talents were a result of the nuclear contamination, today the cause is less certain. Some believe that children born with Talents now are the descendants of the first generation of children born in the post-contamination-era. Others believe that some individuals always possessed abilities, even before the spill, and the genetic irregularities that cause Talents were just enhanced by the nuclear material. Still others believe that it’s all chance, and being Talented is a fluke.
What do I believe? Some days I feel as though I am cursed: cursed with an affliction that cannot be healed; cursed to explore the mundane minds of those surrounding me; cursed to know what people really think about me; cursed to be burdened with other people’s darkest secrets. Other days I believe that I won the genetic lottery because, after all, who wants to be ordinary?
Chapter Three
“It’s rude to stare at people while they’re sleeping,” I slurred drowsily to Donavon, as I dragged myself out of sleep. I still had my eyes closed, but could feel him watching me. I could also feel the warm sun on my face and knew it must be mid-morning. I smiled. I didn’t usually have the luxury of sleeping much past sunrise.
“It’s time to get up sleepyhead,” he teased.
“Shhh. Sleeping,” I shot back, still grinning.
“I snagged some stuff for breakfast, and if you get up now we can eat together before you need to head back for your afternoon practices,” he tempted. He knew the fastest way to wake me up was promise me food.
“Ugggg,” I groaned loudly. Despite waking up with the birds for nearly half of my life, I was definitely not a morning person. I finally opened my eyes, and sure enough Donavon’s face was only inches from mine. His hair was cut short, so even after a night of sleeping outside he looked fresh and unaffected. I had a feeling that I didn’t look quite so good. My thoughts were confirmed when he reached out and gently detangled leaves and twigs from my wild dark curls.
The few female Hunters that I’d met wore their hair short so it was easy to conceal on missions. I’d briefly contemplated cutting my hair short, but when you’re cursed with thick and curly hair, short is not a good look. Instead, I usually threaded my long brown curls in to a braid that reached halfway down my back.
“How bad is it?” I cringed, not sure I wanted to know the truth.
“You look like an earth goddess,” he joked. I pushed him hard, causing him to fall over on to his back, laughing.
“Feed me please,” I said, still groggy.
I sat up and blinked several times, trying to clear the last vestiges of sleep from my otherwise perfect vision. The late morning light streamed into our makeshift campground through the tops of the surrounding trees. Donavon must have gotten up during the night to stoke the fire because it was still burning strong. He reached into a cooler sitting on the far side of his black-and-red-checkered blanket, and pulled out several containers. The first was a shiny, metal thermos that he placed in the fire to warm. The next contained bright red raspberries. The last plastic container held thick slices of a white, spicy cracked-pepper cheese. Finally, Donavon pulled out a loaf of bread with a crusty brown exterior and a soft white center. He used a Swiss Army knife to cut the bread, and used tongs to place it in the fire for just long enough to warm it. I watched, feeling extremely lazy, as he poured the dark-brown liquid from the thermos into two ceramic cups he pulled from a black canvas bag, and handed one to me. I held it under my nose, inhaling the rich aroma, as the steam pouring off the top warmed my face. He handed me half of the loaf of bread. I took it gratefully and spread several slices of the cheese along the length of the baguette, chewing happily. In between mouthfuls of spicy, cheesy bread, I popped sweet juicy berries.
“Good?” Donavon asked, watching me with an amused smirk. I beamed in return with my mouth closed, trying to keep all the food in.
“It’ll do,” I replied in the most off-hand tone that I could mentally manage. I didn’t want him to be too satisfied with the amazing and delicious breakfast he’d arranged. In truth, mornings like this with Donavon were what I lived for. Sitting here, alone with him, reminded me of when we were children, before life became so complicated.
After we finished eating we packed up our campsite, extinguished the fire, and walked the short distance back to the Hunters’ Village and our respective cabins. We paused when we entered the cluster of small houses. Donavon leaned down and kissed me good bye.
“Have a good day,” he grinned.
“You too.” I was still barefoot so I walked carefully through the grassy area, still checkered with splashes of paint and neon dye from the night before.
I gently opened the door to the cabin I shared with Erik and Henri. Both were, thankfully, still in bed. I glanced longingly toward my empty bed, still a mess of sheets and pillows from the night before when I’d been so rudely awakened. Tip-toeing across the wooden floor towards the bathroom, I silently prayed that the ancient boards wouldn’t creak. I had one hand on the doorknob to the bathroom when I heard a voice from behind me.
“Late night, Talia?” Erik’s tousled black haired head was just visible over the top of his dark green blanket. His turquoise eyes were shining with amusement. The streaks of paint were still on his face.
“None of your business,” I retorted, trying to hide my quickly-reddening cheeks.
“Actually it is my business. We’re a team. You, me, and Henri. Our lives depend on each other, so anything and everything that affects one of us affects all of us,” he lectured me, with mock seriousness.
“You’re still a Pledge, and I’m the leader of this team, so you have to do what I say; and I say you tell us where you were last night,” Henri chimed in. Great, they were both awake. I glared at him.
“You both know exactly where I was,” I squeaked. I sounded like a child getting caught doing something wrong, instead of an adult who had every right to spend the night with her boyfriend, which of course was what I had been going for.
“I wanna hear you say it,” Erik taunted.
“Why?” I demanded.
“So we can see you blush,” Erik laughed. Too late. The heat from my face was already spreading down my neck. Thank God the room was still somewhat dark.
I mentally shoved the bathroom door open and quickly stumbled through, willing it to close shut behind me. The door slammed hard enough to shake the wooden walls of the cabin. I heard Erik and Henri’s laughter even after I turned on the shower water.
I took my time in the bathroom, not wanting to face Erik or Henri sooner than I had to. There weren’t many girls who chose to become Hunters; most favored other divisions of the Toxic Agency after graduating from the McDonough School for the Talented. I had always wondered why, and now I knew. Most girls were too smart to subject themselves to shared living quarters with teenage boys.
When the water finally ran cold, and I had succeeded in removing all the paint, and likely the top layer of my skin, I turned the silvery knobs to their respective off positions and carefully climbed out of the shower. I toweled myself dry and selected a set of standard issue workout clothes, stretchy black pants and a stretchy black tank top, from my designated bathroom drawers.
I used the towel to clear the layer of steam from the small oval mirror over the sink. I closely examined my reflection, searching for traces of the previous night. Mercifully, my boring reflection was the only thing staring back at me. My damp curls looked black instead of brown from the water. My pupils were dilated, so that only a rim of purple was visible between the black center and the white sclera. My normally olive-toned skin was bright red, from the heat of the shower water and my vigorous scrubbing. I tapped my index finger on the pointy, slightly upturned end of my nose, as if that would help to flatten it down a little. I rubbed at the smattering of tiny brown dots that covered the bridge of my nose and my cheekbones; they didn’t go anywhere, assuring me they were all my own freckles and not lingering dirt. Finally, when I couldn’t find any additional ways to prolong my bathroom time, I wrapped the towel around my hair and opened the door into the main room of the cabin.
“Took you long enough,” Erik exclaimed impatiently. “You do realize that we all have to shower, right?”
“I thought you took your weekly shower three days ago,” I shot back.
“I did, but I have a hot lunch date with one of the Brains so I don’t want to smell.” Brain was a kind of slang term for a Higher-Reasoning Talent because their minds analyzed data faster than any computer. Erik wiggled his eyebrows at me, his trademark move, and then lifted his arm and sniffed.
“Charming,” I rolled my eyes.
“Do I smell, Tals? Maybe I don’t need to shower after all,” he asked, walking toward me and putting his armpit in my face.
“Eww, Erik! Honestly, if the girls that line up to go out with you had to spend as much time with you as I do, they would definitely reconsider.”
“No way. Every girl here considers you the luckiest girl alive.” I looked over at Henri and gave him an “is-he-serious?” look. He just shook his head. Erik and Henri had been friends and teammates, for two years I guess he was used to Erik’s bravado.
Erik finally went into the bathroom to take a shower himself, and I sat down on my unmade bed. I counted to ten, and then, as if on cue, Erik screamed my name followed by a long list of expletives; he’d discovered that I’d taken all the hot water. I smiled in satisfaction.
Chapter Four
In the decades following the Great Contamination it became clear to the powers-that-be that the Talented were a new breed of child that posed many potential threats. At global summits, the question of how to deal with these children was the most hotly debated topic. Fear of the unknown drove many nations to demand that the children be locked up “for their own safety;” imprisoning Talents was actually for the peace of mind of scared politicians. Some extremist nations even argued that the eradication of any persons exhibiting paranormal abilities was the only answer to the ever-growing problem. In the end, no satisfactory global solution was reached; instead each country was left to handle the situation in a manner that best served their individual interests.
Margaret Anne McDonough was the seventy-fifth president of the United States of America and also grandmother to tow-headed, five-year old Daniel McDonough – an exceptionally strong mind manipulator. President McDonough believed that the children born with abilities needed to be nurtured, and taught to use their Talents. She converted a military facility located in western Maryland, previously a presidential bunker, in to a training facility that soon became known as The McDonough School for the Talented.
The McDonough School for the Talented doesn’t only play host to American children. Since many other countries aren’t as forward thinking when it comes to Talents, the School welcomed all gifted kids from anywhere in the world. I, like many of the children there, wasn’t born in the US; I was born in Capri, Italy. Even though my parents, Francis and Katerina Lyons, traveled a lot on account of my father’s position with the government, I called Capri home until their deaths seven years ago.
At first, President McDonough merely offered families the option to send their Talented children to the school. Over time, however it became apparent that some parents were reluctant to have their children attend a special school; they didn’t want the stigma that many associated with having a Talented child. Instead, these parents chose to homeschool their children if they were unable to hide the abnormalities. If they could hide the abilities, these parents sent their kids to normal schools and pretended there was nothing “special” about them.
This ignited a chain reaction. Parents of “normal” children argued that it was unacceptable, because their offspring were at a disadvantage when compared to “Talented” children. These parents claimed that the Talented kids had an unfair edge in every aspect of life, including sports and academics. They argued that the Talented children shouldn’t be allowed to attend schools and play sports with the “normal” ones; it simply wasn’t fair to those born unaffected by the nuclear contamination.
Parents of non-Talented children weren’t the only adults calling for segregation of the Talented. Five years after the school’s inception, Congress passed the Mandatory Talent Testing Act. This law required that at the age of five, every child be tested for special abilities. Any child testing positive was brought to the School. As the first generation of these School-trained children turned eighteen and graduated, it became clear that all of the training and Talent development was going to waste, and TOXIC was born.
The Talented Organization of Exceptionally Interesting Citizens is an agency within the government that utilizes each child’s unique ability in the most advantageous way. Divisions within the Toxic Agency were created around the most prevalent talents.
The Hunters are aptly named, because their main duty is to hunt both people and information. Morphing, Light Manipulation and Telekinesis are the most common gifts among Hunters. If another division perceives a threat, a Hunting team is dispatched to neutralize it. When another division tumbles across valuable information, a Hunting team goes to retrieve it. Hunters have effectively replaced, what used to be the government’s more clandestine divisions – spies.
Toxic’s Crypto Division was created for Higher Reasoning Talents (Brains). The Brains spend all their time in front of computer screens, sifting through streams of encrypted communications, quickly decrypting the streams, and analyzing any hidden messages in their heads. They monitor every text, voice or holographic communication throughout the entire United States, and many abroad. Essentially, Brains are the eyes and ears of the Agency; they are the first line of defense against all threats, both foreign and domestic.
Toxic’s Tracking Division is staffed by Viewers – Talents able to remotely observe events taking place anywhere in the world. The more powerful Viewers are better able to control the Talent; given a picture or a piece of clothing, they are able to focus their energy, locate the individual, and give an accurate description of the surroundings. Unfortunately, strong Viewers are rare these days. The one or two Talents that test positive for viewing every year are usually too weak to be very effective trackers. At best, they are able to track an individual they are physically close with or related to by blood.
The Planning Division is home to the Visionaries, or Talents that see the future. The difficult with Visionaries is that most cannot control the timing of their visions. The average strength Visionary only has a vision every couple weeks, and it occurs at random. Most are unable to control the target of the vision as well. The strongest, or Elite level, Visionaries are able to concentrate on one person and see flashes of their future on command. The insight of Visionaries often prevents attacks on our country.
The Interrogation Division is manned by Talents with varying degrees of Telepathy and Mind Manipulation capabilities. Telepaths and Mind Manipulators use their abilities to question any individual thought to be a threat to the country’s safety. Telepaths can easily tell if a person is lying, and manipulators can compel him to tell the truth. The Agency even lends out weaker telepaths and manipulators to local governments to interrogate criminal suspects. Mental Talents have led to swift justice and an expedited legal system. Many years ago the Supreme Court ruled there was no need for a trial in cases where the prosecution has a documented Telepath or Mind Manipulator interrogate the suspect.
There are also divisions within the agency that are not gift-specific. The Research and Development and Medical sectors are staffed by any Talent exhibiting a high enough academic aptitude in one of the sciences, biology, chemistry, or physics. Those demonstrating extraordinary physical strengths, that aren’t accepted into the Hunters, or don’t want to be, join Toxic’s Military division or Guard Toxic’s various facilities such as, weapons plants, prisons, and the McDonough School. Some Talents stay on at the McDonough School and help the newbies develop their own abilities. Finally, there are the low-level Talents, some of whom end up in one of the agency’s manufacturing plants, assembling anything from weapons to office chairs. The really unfortunate low-level Talents become secretaries, cooks, or cleaning technicians.
After the death of my family, I came to live, and attend McDonough. My decision to Pledge the Hunters had brought me to my current home, the Hunters’ Village, at Elite Headquarters, located approximately one hundred miles west of the Nation’s capital in scenic Brentwood Springs, West Virginia. If all went according to plan, I would officially graduate in one year, become a Hunter, and find the man responsible for the deaths of my parents. But for now I would settle for learning to live with my new teammates, without killing Erik or dying of embarrassment on account of his constant teasing.
Chapter Five
I wasn’t hungry, but I accepted Henri’s invitation to have lunch with him before our afternoon practice anyway. Henri was twenty-two and already a full-fledged Hunter after following the usual Toxic protocol. He had started at the McDonough School, leaving his home in Somerset, Pennsylvania, when he was just five. At seventeen he’d Pledged the Hunters and come to live at Elite Headquarters. At eighteen, after successfully completing his Pledge year, he’d officially graduated and become a member of Toxic’s most coveted division.
Henri and I chatted comfortably through lunch. In the two weeks since my arrival we’d rarely spent any time alone, just the two of us. Normally during meals he lectured me about the nuances of life in the Hunters. But today he told me a little bit about his family back home in Pennsylvania. His parents, neither of who are Talents themselves had been shocked, yet pleased to learn that he was a poly-morph. His much younger sister, Melony, was twelve and also a Talent – a Light Manipulator. He visited her at the School as often as he could get away since neither went home very often.
Most people didn’t know about my past, so I let him do most of the talking. At School I had kept a low profile, not really displaying my full powers. Telepathy was not uncommon but advanced Mind Manipulation, like I was capable of, was extremely rare. Here, at Headquarters with Henri and Erik, they knew exactly what I was capable of; if it unnerved them, they didn’t let it show. Henri had even said that he’d requested me specifically because he’d heard rumors of my abilities.
After lunch we met up with Erik at our designated practice area, Area Thirteen. Today, like every day since I’d been assigned to Henri’s team, we worked on three-way mental communication. This skill was the entire reason Henri wanted me as part of his team. I was able to mentally communicate with each of them individually, but he’d thought I might be able to figure out a way for all three of us to hear each other at the same time.
Ordinarily I would’ve said three-way communication was not possible, but in this case I wasn’t the only one in our group with an unusual Talent for a Hunter. Erik is what Toxic calls a Mimic, meaning that he can mimic the abilities of any other Talent he is physically close enough to. When all three of us are together, Erik is able to mimic my mental abilities, and Henri’s morphing Talents at the same time. This allows me to communicate mentally with both Erik and Henri, and for Erik to communicate with both me and Henri mentally. The final step, the one we’d worked on every day for the past two weeks, was to establish the three-way link. So far, we weren’t having a lot of luck. Henri was becoming frustrated with my lack of progress and Erik’s constant threesome jokes, but he was doing a good job of hiding it on the surface. He was too polite to complain out loud, and too professional to let his disappointment show. Still, I could feel his patience waning with each passing day.
In addition to the mental training, we also trained physically. I typically spent my afternoons at the firing range, practicing with both firearms and a bow and arrow, or learning to control throwing knives. Once a week Erik also taught me how to fence; I wasn’t very good, a fact made more apparent by Erik’s amazing skill, but Henri insisted that it was important for me to train with every weapon available.
After our training that afternoon we went back to the cabin to shower and change.
“You gracing us with your presence at dinner?” Erik asked as I sat on my bed, drying my hair after my shower.
“Not tonight,” I replied, off handedly.
“We’re way better company then the Director’s son.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” I scowled. I was used to the way that others acted towards Donavon. He wasn’t only the son of the Director of the Agency, but also shares a last name with the founder of the school. Margaret Ann McDonough was his great-great-great-great-great grandmother, give or take a couple of greats.
“Oh Talia, come on now, I don’t need to tell myself that there are plenty of girls who tell me all the time,” he winked at me.
“Erik,” Henri warned, giving him a pointed look.
“What? You know it’s true. The only reason people want to hang out with him is because he’s the Director’s son, and they think that’ll somehow get them favors. Probably the only reason he got into the Hunters; he’s not even that good.”
“Erik. Stop,” Henri said through clenched teeth.
“Is that how you feel about me too? Is that why you wanted me as part of your team?” I rounded on him. I was seething. I might be used to the way that people talked about Donavon, but that didn’t mean I liked it. It wasn’t his fault that he was born Mac’s son.
“What?” To his credit, he seemed slightly taken aback, like he really didn’t know what I was talking about. My anger lessened slightly.
“Mac raised me. I lived with his family up until I came here,” I said evenly. “Do you think that I get special treatment? Do you think I only got here because of Mac? That he called in special favors to get me in to the Hunters?”
“Oh, shit. Talia, I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he apologized, but Henri was the only one left in the cabin to hear his words.
I was very sensitive, maybe overly so, when it came to my relationship with Mac –what those close to him called him – Director Danbury McDonough. The crappiest part of being able to read minds was knowing what people really think about you. Erik’s view wasn’t the minority opinion; a lot of other students thought I’d only been accepted to Pledge the Hunters because Mac had pulled strings to get me in. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that a lot of Toxic Operatives believed that too. They complained to each other – that if I were anyone else I would be working in some remedial Agency position, like food services or janitorial duty. It had been this way since I went to the McDonough School: the whispering when I walked past, the sneers when I answered a question correctly in class, the outright condemnation by all the girls my age when I started dating Donavon. It usually didn’t bother me much; mostly the accusations just made me work harder, and I didn’t make an effort to correct them.
The truth was that I worked extremely hard to get an invitation to Pledge the Hunters. Mac had begun working with me when I first came to the School. Hunters are typically Morphers because their natural Talents give them extremely heightened senses in addition to the ability to morph into a variety of animals, and in some rare cases other humans. I will never be able to “learn” to morph, since it’s not a learned behavior, but fine-tuning my senses was something that could be taught. So I did. I also took extra combat and weapons lessons every day instead of making friends. When I went to try out for the Hunters, I felt confident my abilities rivaled those of the best of my classmates. Captain Alvarez, the leader of the Hunters, had thought so too; I’d taken the liberty of taking a peek in to his head to make sure.
Chapter Six
After the Mandatory Testing Law took effect, several Rebel factions developed in response; they accumulated a strong following, mostly in the southwestern United States. The Rebels staged a small revolt, but the Agency had quashed it before it had gone too far. In the end, the Coalition of Rebel States: California, Nevada, Utah, Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico and Texas, seceded from the rest of the country and elected their own president. Over the years, the Coalition has served as a safe haven for citizens who championed a country where Talents were suppressed, hidden, where being Talented, was something to be ashamed of. One of the primary objectives of Toxic is to prevent the Coalition from gaining any more momentum. In fact, Mac’s main goal as Director was to defeat the Coalition’s leaders and reunite the country.
I was ten years old when my parents, Katerina and Francis Lyons, were killed in an attack by the rebels. My family moved around a lot when I was a child, on account of my father’s job as a government scientist, and at the time of the attack we visiting the States so that my father could attend an annual meeting with members of Toxic. My family always stayed in the same hotel in the same small town in Maryland, about twenty minutes away from the School’s campus.
The men in black came in the dead of night. My father and his bodyguard tried to fight them off, but they were greatly outnumbered. My mother hid me in a closet and went to my father’s aid, but she was no more a fighter than he was. I watched through the slats in the closet door, terrified, as the men in black mercilessly killed my parents. I stuffed my small fist in my mouth, and bit down until I tasted blood, willing myself not to scream out loud. I wanted to close my eyes against the carnage. Instead, I sat frozen, with my eyes open so wide that they began to water, producing tears even before my brain could process what was going on.
My parents’ deaths had been quick. One cold metal bullet to the side of my father’s head was all it took to steal the life of the man whose lap I curled up in every night before bed so he could tell me a story; the man who brought me cold milk and warm cinnamon sugar cookies when I had nightmares; the man whose warm, dark brown eyes and toothy smile lit up the room every time my mother walked in.
My poor mother, she never stood a chance. Before she could even reach my father, a man in black grabbed her from behind. With one flick of his wrist, a gaping wound appeared across her throat. The man in black tossed her carelessly next to my father’s crumpled form, like she was trash.
I was murderous. The feelings overwhelmed me, stirring in my stomach and rising like bile in my throat; overwhelmed me. Then the horrible, high-pitched shrieking started; it filled my ears, suffocating all of the coherent thoughts in my brain.
I am still not sure if it was the cold, calculated murder of my father, or the careless disposal of my mother – probably both – but I felt something inside of me snap. One minute, I was hiding in the closet with the silk of my mother’s long dresses pulled tight around my face, like curtains trying to block out the brutal scene in the bedroom. The next, I was sitting in the outer room of our hotel suite, surrounded by broken furniture, shattered glass, and the bodies of the men in black. They were all dead.
The heavy black clouds in the night sky matched the darkness I felt building inside me. The rain began to fall through the now-broken windows in fat drops; they came down slowly at first but it wasn’t long before the drops blended together, resembling streams of water falling from the sky. The rainwater was cold – a sharp contrast to the hot tears pouring from my eyes.
I don’t know how long I sat there in the rain before a large, blonde man rushed through the open door to the hotel room. I recognized him from meetings with my father, but I couldn’t remember his name. He was a large man, with broad shoulders, hair that was cut short, and a tanned lined face from spending time outside over the years.
The blonde man carried a large gun slung over one shoulder, and several smaller ones were tucked at his waist. An entire team of men clamored through the doorway after him. He held up one of his hands, indicating for the men to stay back. He approached me slowly, hesitantly. He was greater than an arms distance away when he tentatively extended one of his large, gloved hands toward me; I had seen people do the same thing with wounded animals.
“Natalia?” he asked in a soft voice. I couldn’t find the energy to even nod my head, I just stared blankly. “Natalia,” he repeated. “My name is Danbury McDonough. Do you remember me? I’m friends with your daddy.” I rewarded him with another of my blank stares. “Natalia, are you hurt?” He took my silence as an indication that I was not.
He knelt down next to me, and gently untangled my fingers from the folds of my dress. Without thinking, I threw my arms around his neck. He patted me awkwardly on the back, unsure how to react. I dug my small fingers into his shoulders, scared to let go. He carefully picked me up.
“You’re freezing,” he commented, hugging me close and trying to warm me with his own body heat. I started shaking, actually feeling the cold for the first time. He carried me through the crowd of men huddled in the hallway. The men spoke in low voices to one another as Mac carried me the length of the corridor, and down the stairs to a road car waiting in the parking lot.
“How many are dead?” One man whispered to the shorter man standing next to him.
“There have to be at least ten right there,” another proffered.
“Did she do that?” the shorter man asked, in disbelief.
“Impossible, she’s a child,” a heavily accented voice interjected.
“Does she even have a weapon?”
I could feel Mac’s body tense in response to the mutterings of the men.
He placed me in the back seat of the waiting vehicle. I curled into a ball as he covered me with dry blankets. My body and mind were numb, impervious to the rain and cold. He tucked the red and black fabric under my chin. I was vaguely aware that the material was itchy against my skin, but I didn’t move it away.
I could hear the soft ping of the raindrops hitting the metal roof of the car, keeping perfect time with the tears leaking on to the soft leather seat and pooling underneath my cheek. I tried to concentrate on the noise instead of the slideshow of my parents’ deaths playing on the inside of my eyelids. I was convinced that the images, now seared into my conscious, would never fade. The feelings I’d had in the closet were now gone, leaving me empty and hollow and tired – so tired. I closed my swollen eyes and willed my own mind blank.