Chapter 6

Static noises escape the speakers overhead. Before I get to the tables, a hand reaches through the crowd and latches onto my sleeve. Someone drags me to a corner, slamming my head against the wall and pressing a hand to my mouth. "You're always one of us, no matter what they say. Always remember that."

Much of his face is hidden behind a plain black mask, but I glimpse a scar of two diverging arrows on his forehead. One of them points to the left and the other to the right. I free his head from his hoodie, revealing his tousled jet-black hair. Snickering, he keeps me pinned against the wall with his arm at my throat. "We'll meet again soon," he rasps. Then, he releases me and disappears into the shadows, blending with the night effortlessly until I can't see him in the crowd anymore. My fingers still trace the sore spot on the back of my head.

Soon, I shake myself out of that dazed stupor and join Esper back at the cafeteria. Beside her are Krystal and an awkward, lanky guy with thick glasses. Raking his hand through his hair, the boy shies away from our expectant gaze. With a sigh, Esper gestures to him. "That's Cal, my brother."

I wouldn't have recognized him if Esper didn't say anything. He gives us a wave and goes back to staring at the floor. Jax and Seth appear out of nowhere, the latter's face etched in a scowl. I don't think I've seen him smile since we got here.

Punching my shoulder, Esper frowns and stares into the distance, looking between me and the space in front of us. "I could be wrong, but I just saw a guy in a black cloak. He could be one of our seniors. To be exact, the valedictorian of the Institution from a couple of years ago. I heard he escaped the Sanctuary, and everyone thought the nuclear winter finished him off for good."

"What if he never left in the first place?"

Esper frowns at this, and the crackling speakers interrupt my thoughts. A man's voice fills the cafeteria, commanding us to listen. "Here's the deal, freshies. We'll play a little game during the orientation and decide who wins and who loses. It's simple. Winners will be enhanced for the first evaluation with Xavier tomorrow, giving them an advantage over the others who will be suppressed. I wish everyone the best of luck."

There's a slight buzz in the crowd, but it doesn't last long. Enhancing and suppressing was part of what we did back at the Institution. If we did well in our tests, we'd have an unfair advantage over the others who didn't.

The speakers power down. Cleo enters, her shoes clicking across the floor, each stab of her heels making my heart pound harder. Wordlessly, she walks to the far end of the cafeteria, where she unlocks a door that leads to a dingy basement illuminated by yellow lamps. She gestures for us to follow her downstairs, and we squeeze through the narrow entrance. From here on, I'm feeling my way through the semi-darkness while following the hesitant, tapping footsteps.

Water from the leaking roof lands on my skin, leaving a slimy trail down my arm before landing on the creaky stairs. The slight odor of wet rot saturates the room, possibly from the decaying wood. I switch to breathing through my mouth instead. It makes the stale air bearable, at the very least.

The low thrums of machinery vibrate through the walls, grinding into the deafening silence. My fingers no longer skim the wood. They brush against rusted metal instead. A deep bellow erupts like an all-consuming beast, luring us into its humble abode with its deathly baritone. Then, there's a familiar sound. It's like scratching a knife or a long claw across a wooden surface. Overhead, the lights shake and flicker. They cast forlorn rays on Cleo's shadowed features as she holds out a hand as a signal to stop.

"It's here. Get on when it comes, or get left behind. There's no way we're coming back for you, got it?" she rasps. Her eyes are pitch-black now. I step back until I feel Jax's hand against my back. I'd rather see Cleo with a crooked head and a lumbering gait. If she were a mutated false immune, it'd be easier than not knowing what she is now. Gasps float in the space between us, and no one dares to move. My restless muscles aren't even protesting.

She points straight ahead. Staring between the heads that block my view, I focus on the two beams of light illuminating the train tracks. Then, the screeching wheels grinding against the metal start from somewhere far off. It's still in the tunnel, but the noise grows more unbearable as it approaches. The ancient beast has been out of commission for decades now, and rust makes itself at home on the train's exterior. Spray-painted words are splayed across its side in a bright shade of red.

Train to Nowhere.

The concept behind this was from the old world. People would pay for a trip anywhere, as long as it's deep in the countryside. Most times, each destination stopped just shy of cutting them off from humanity. From the beleaguered middle class to the ambitious backpacker, all sorts of people tried it, mainly because this didn't burn holes through their wallets.

Now, it's used to transport rations and cargo, though I wonder how it doesn't crumble beneath all that weight.

It screams to a halt before letting us into the third-class carriage. Plastic seats hang from the wall, the fraying ropes holding onto the flimsy handles. The seats are quickly filled, so I lean against the doors. Everything whizzes by in a flash, the lights at the sides of the tunnel blurring as they fuse into one continuous streak. No one speaks. The air is filled with the engine's screams and the churning of wheels grinding against the track.

In the next few seconds, we emerge to a vision of undulating mountains and stilt houses. A visual of the dashboard is displayed on the screen in front. The needle is climbing into the green zone but doesn't push beyond that. More screens on either side of the cabin give us a front view of the scenery ahead. Not that there's much to see except a few mining towns.

Two children appear out of nowhere, laughing as they chase a butterfly to the tracks. Get off now. I repeat the words in my mind like a silent prayer, but the children don't see us and can't hear us either. Everyone else on the sidewalks is gone now. The train moves relentlessly, surging faster down the tracks. There's no stopping, and the numbers on the bright dashboard climb into the danger zone. We bang against the captain's door, yelling, bashing, and kicking the doorknob until it's barely hanging on.

The driver's seat is empty. Some people push past us, jabbing every button or switch. I nibble on my fingernails. My gaze darts along with everyone else, and I watch as they fumble with any controls, each one talking over the other. In situations like this, I can't act. My body is paralyzed and numb; only the wild hammering in my chest and my short breaths tell me I'm still alive. The children aren't just a speck in the distance. They're here, barely a few feet away from us, oblivious to the slaughter machine coming straight for them. Someone presses a button on the side. A shrill whistle rings out, and still, they don't move.

A smile tugs at the little boy's lips, revealing an adorable dimple as he traps the butterfly in a bottle. Next to him, the girl pouts and holds out her hand to him. Jax pushes the others aside. He studies the symbols on the console. Letting out a shaky breath, he flips the switches, and the massive beast swerves onto the next track.

We're still too late.

Staring wide-eyed at us, the children cover their eyes. Slowly, they fade away under the glaring headlights; their expressions scrunched up in agony as they flicker and disappear. "Holograms," someone says. Proxy set the trap, but we walked right into it.

We lurch forward again, hurling over a collapsed bridge. While we're scrambling back to our seats, the train dives into the murky waters. I collide with the seat in front while someone's backpack comes flying straight for me, knocking me against the side of the train before I hit the lavatory doors. The others slip down the near-vertical aisle in a crumpled heap. Seth looks like he's dying with all these people stacked on top of him.

Agony shoots up my spine, spreading through my head as the cabin lights go out. Water seeps in through the windows while cracks snake across the thick glass. The surging currents punch the windows open, letting in the gushing waters. They begin devouring everything. The foamy waves are rough against my skin, enveloping me in their icy grip.

Kicking and thrashing in the waves, we fight against the current's pull while it laps against the sinking train. Those who can't swim latch on to anyone nearby, dragging them down in a mess of flailing limbs and strangled cries. When the others tread water, Jax grabs onto me and hauls me up. "We're not sinking anymore." He points to the window at the back, and I follow his gaze until I spot a hook sticking out of the end of the train. It anchors us to the bridge. "So, Proxy didn't want us to die after all. That's new," I huff. That earns me a light chuckle from Jax.

A light, tugging sensation starts at my feet. The water around us bubbles and fills with a slick, black substance. My skin flares up with red bumps that spread like wildfire all over my body, quickly stretching into pus-filled lesions. Our blood forms crimson plumes in the water, and a metallic taste fills my mouth.

Those who managed to swim away are now standing on the seats. From there, they grip the handles and hoist themselves up. Moving from one chair to the next, they keep going until they reach the carriage above.

Seth grabs onto one of the seats. Leaning over, he extends his other hand to us. Pushing me forward, Jax hoists me up until my fingers graze Seth's hand. Though he holds on tight, my grip is still slipping out of his hand, and he grits his teeth with effort. An announcement from the carriage above catches the others' attention. They frown as they listen to a robotic voice on the speakers, pressing their lips into hopeless lines.

"The water is rising to dangerous levels. You will all drown if you don't close the doors to the next carriage."

They hesitate, watching as the water continues to surge upwards. It now tickles my shoulders and climbs up to my neck. Nodding gravely, the others slowly step back while we slip further beneath the waves. I taste the stinging salt on my tongue. Seth is so near the carriage above, but he still tries reaching for us. A brooding figure stands behind him, grinning before he plants his boot into his victim's back. "Sorry, but we save whoever we can."

I commit his face to memory, though there's not much to note aside from his unnaturally puckered lips. Disgusting. Lip boy sneers, climbing the chairs like a giant ladder until he reaches the next carriage. Seth emerges from the water with a swollen and peeling face, spitting blood from his mouth.

"They're just cowards," Esper says, giving her brother the side-eye. Cal is behind the closing doors, making no move toward us. There's not a shred of guilt or emotion behind those thick-rimmed glasses.

Soon, the water level recedes to reveal dry ground. While my wounds heal, I close Jax and Esper's cuts, all while ignoring the curious stares from the next carriage. Soon, all the doors slide open and let us into the expense of a disaster simulation track. We had this at the Institution too, where they taught us some contingency survival skills just in case anything happened to the safe zones.

Cleo's voice booms over the speakers, resonating against the walls. "The orientation is for you to understand your peers better, but we've got no time for all that jibber-jabber. So, at least you have a sense of who thinks about themselves. I'm not saying that this method is foolproof, but for the Trials, knowing this could make all the difference."

"Cheers to that," Esper says bitterly. I steal a glance at those doors again, but Cal slinks away into the crowd.

Slowly, the landscape fades to reveal the basement again, except the track's starting point is far enough that I have to squint into the distance. We step out of the train, crawling our way out through the windows and into the frigid air. Leaving behind speckled water trails, we head inside and get changed for dinner.

Once we're back, we've got a few minutes until the food is ready, so we freshen up in record time before making it back to the cafeteria.

Tonight's dinner looks like a lab rat's food. It's an enhancement, as labeled on the signs next to our plates. I pick at my food, stabbing my fork into the unrecognizable, mushy pile. Those who left us to die are injected with the Suppressant, and I can still hear their protests down the hallway.

When Lip boy joins us in the cafeteria with a cotton pad on his arm, he smirks and sits with us.