What if I made a mistake? Would the keepers use me instead of the dummies to show the other weapons where to jam their knives?
My heart quickened.
"Hala," my keeper warned mildly, and I jolted out of my fearful fantasies. "Don't make me discipline you today."
I shook my head, gripping my fingers behind my back to stop them shaking. "I won't be bad."
His mouth thinned, not believing me, but he ushered me down the clean, white-tiled hallway. I got more worried, more tense, the closer we got to the big, sofa-filled room where we met visitors. The room itself wasn't scary—it was just a bright, open room that was always cool and smelled faintly of lilacs—but I'd seen so many bad things there that I couldn't help but brace for something terrible to happen.
My chest pulled so tight I couldn't get a breath into my lungs when we reached the doorway, but I glimpsed four weapons already lined up in front of the long, white couch, among them a head of black, shaggy hair, and a knot unwound in my chest.
I shook my head. No, that wasn't right. He wasn't here now; he'd been brought to the hutch decades later, kicking and screaming and punching anyone who dared to get close enough, so he’d told me. But I didn't question my luck, hurrying eagerly into the room and taking a spot at the side of my only friend.
"Chin up, Hala," he murmured so only I could hear, and I lifted my head, a scrap of air entering my lungs. "You're not alone."
"Neither are you," I whispered back.
But I knew how this inspection ended. I knew pain would strike me, even before the other weapons filed into the room and the sharp clack of heels preceded a stoic, intimidating woman, taller than even the men. Her white hair was scraped into a tight bun and an expensive dress draped her body, making her even more imposing.
"Show me the targets you’ve met," she ordered in a calm voice, holding out her pale hand to the keepers lined up against the opposite wall, not even looking their way.
It would take years for me to realise the keepers were watched every bit as closely as we were. It would take Vann, my best friend, opening my eyes for me to notice all the things that were broken and wrong about the hutch.
"Hmm," the woman mused, tapping sharp fingernails against the clipboard that was placed in her hand. She scanned the paper, reading something I could only guess at, and then lifted her head. "Which one is Hala?"
I gulped. Vann squeezed my hand before I let go and stepped forward.
"I am, ma'am," I breathed. That was the only name we'd been given to call her—ma'am. Not miss. Certainly not Grandmother. Just ma'am.
"And why are you so far behind everyone else, Hala?" the Origin asked with thin disapproval.
I opened my mouth, panic hitting hard. I wasn’t brave without Vann holding my hand; my lungs fought for air and words met my tongue all thick and clumsy. I looked at my keeper, but his face was closed and unfriendly.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I can do better."
"Yes," the Origin agreed. "You can. Give me that," she ordered the nearest keeper, and I started to shake all over, my bones knocking together as she snatched a long, metal stick from one of the keepers.
"I'm sorry," I repeated, trying to shrink away, wishing I could run. I'd seen weapons try, and knew exactly how that ended: the keepers took them away and they never came back. I didn't want to be one of those people who never came back.
"Don't be sorry," she replied, crossing the floor to me in her click-clacking heels. "Bebetter. If you keep being so weak and pathetic, the monsters will win. Is that what you want?"
"No!" I rushed out, staring at the pale woman with wide eyes, my whole body trembling. "No,no, I want to help you kill them."
"Good," she praised, and thrust the end of the cattle prod into my ribs.
There was a second, always a second, when I thought it hadn't worked, the prod was turned off—but then electric painblastedthrough my ribs, up my chest, and screamed through my heart. Or maybe that was my voice breaking as I screamed.
"Next time, you'll learn," she said, and drew the stick away.
I slumped to the floor, gasping out tears, and couldn't find the strength to move even as she went back to the clipboard and called out other people's names. There was no Vann to help me up off the floor when they were all gone, no friend to tell me to keep fighting, to be brave, no glint of care and companionship. Not for years. Decades.
7
Chains rattled as I startled awake, a choking sound in my throat and that white room clinging to my brain like sticky toffee. A memory—it was a memory. It wasn't happeningnow.
But I was still chained up in a basement.
Chin up, Hala,Vann's voice echoed through my mind, and I sucked in a breath. It hurt to hear and see him in my dreams. But he was right. I had to keep fighting; I couldn't let this beat me.