Page 34 of Silver Elite

I can’t see a thing.

Not even my own hand when I lift it to my face to rub my temples. For a moment I wonder if I’m back in the Blacklands. The suffocating blackness feels like a trip home. But I can’t smell the trees. The earth. When I inhale, it’s the scent of metal and grease. I’m indoors. But where?

My heart is pounding. I’m lying on a floor that feels like it’s made of metal and is covered with dirt. I wipe the grime off my arm as I attempt to sit up. The air is cold against my bare arms and feet.

It’s some sort of drill. I know this because I remember the gasps and screams in the barracks. I doubt an Uprising operative just walked in and managed to kidnap the entire training class. I also remember reading through the list of sections when the Program first started. We’ve been learning interrogation tactics all week.

This must be the resistance part.

I groggily manage to get into a prone position. My head is splitting like someone tried to crack it open with a hammer. I take a breath, and it’s in that moment that I realize I’m not alone. There’s someone else breathing in here with me.

“Who’s there?” I demand. Swear to hell, if it’s Anson…

“Wren?”

Ivy.

A better alternative, but not by much.

“Yeah, it’s me.” I clear my throat, because it sounds like I’m speaking through a mouthful of dirt. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She releases a pained groan. I hear the rustle of fabric. I think she’s trying to sit up.

I rest my back against the cold wall and bring my knees up, hugging them. “Where are we?”

“If it’s anything like last time, we’re at the train tracks. Railway car.”

“Last time,” I echo. Wary.

“Yeah. That’s where they took us for the RTI section.”

I was right, then. This is Resistance to Interrogation. For once, I’m grateful to have Ivy around, because she can tell me what to expect.

“So how does it work?” I ask. “We just sit here, and they come in and try to make us talk?”

“Pretty much.”

“How do they do that? Torture?”

“Nobody will be prying off your fingernails with pliers, if that’s what you’re worried about.” She sounds unhappy. “But it’s not going to be pleasant.”

“Understatement much, Eversea?” another voice drawls, and I almost jump out of my skin.

Someone else is in here.

Roe.

“Damn it, Roe,” Ivy grumbles. “How long have you been conscious?”

“The whole time.”

Neither of us even heard him breathing. Maybe Cross is wrong, and the kid can be an asset to Silver Block.

“A warning would’ve been nice.”

“Have I ever been nice, Eversea?” His chuckle travels through the darkness. “Also, in case I haven’t said it lately, you’re going to some pretty pathetic lengths to try to win my brother back.”

Ivy doesn’t answer.

“Won’t work, by the way.”

“Fuck you, Roe.”

“Such animosity. Where was that hostility when you were kissing my ass over dinners with the General? ‘Roe, you’re turning into such a handsome young man,’?” he mimics, chortling to himself.

I can’t help but smile in the dark. I can totally see her sucking up to the General. Anything to win Cross’s approval.

“You wasted your time,” Roe tells her. “He was never going to stay.”

“Yeah. Why is that?” She sounds tired now. There’s a soft thud, as if she’s resting her head on the metal wall behind her.

“Because you loved him too much. He doesn’t want to be loved that hard.”

Surprisingly insightful from the little general.

“Anyway, to answer your question, Darlington, this will not be pleasant at all. My brother prepared me for this.”

“Cross?” Ivy snorts. “I highly doubt he helped you prep. He doesn’t even want you in the Program.”

“Not Cross. Travis. He warned me what to expect.”

“And what can we expect?” I ask, since apparently Ivy doesn’t want to share.

“Well, first off, say hello to the next five days of your life.”

A shiver runs up my spine. “ Five days? Ivy, is that true?”

“I don’t remember how long it was last time. It felt like a long time,” she admits. “Every hour felt like two weeks.”

Neither of them is selling me on this exercise.

“They pull you out every few hours or so,” she continues. “Ask you to reveal something about the Command. Then they throw you back in here. No food, no water, no light, no sleep.”

“No sleep?”

“You’ll see.” She sighs. “No torture, though. Basic stuff. They slap you around, kick you. Sometimes waterboard you.”

“Oh, waterboarding. Just basic stuff.” I can’t help but laugh, and to my surprise, she responds with one of her own. “If you last the full five days without talking, then that’s it? They let you go?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. I guess it can’t be too awful, seeing as how you did this before and survived. So…” I shrug even though neither of them can see me.

Ivy goes silent. Roe seems to be done talking, too.

I lean my head back and prepare myself for what sounds like the worst party I’ve ever been invited to, with the worst guest list known to humankind.

Although I suppose it’s better than being stuck in here with Kess and Anson.

—

The first time they come for me, they throw a black canvas sack over my head and haul me forward by the armpits. They don’t say a word. I think it’s two men, but I can’t be sure. My legs drag behind me as I struggle to find my footing.

They throw me into another room. The bag is yanked off, and my eyes water from the sudden onslaught of light after hours of darkness. Ivy’s right. We’re on a train. A railway car that carries cargo. There’s only a narrow strip of windows near the ceiling, but the slits of morning light they allow in practically blind me. Along the sides of the car, heavy-duty chains and tie-downs are secured to the walls, ready to anchor cargo in place during transit. Large metal hooks hang from the ceiling, and I’m wondering if they’re going to string me up when I’m suddenly shoved onto a cold, metal chair.

I find myself staring at two men I’ve never seen before in my life. For a second, I question whether this is really a Command exercise.

“Where are Silver Block’s black caches?” one of them asks. He’s a muscular man in his mid-twenties with dark eyes and skin. His buddy looks older than that. A short, bearded blond man.

The black caches are weapons sites whose coordinates we had to memorize last week. They’re totally off the books. Secret reserves of weapons that could arm the Uprising if they wanted to use them, or cripple Silver Block if they chose to destroy them.

I take a breath and say, “Wren Darlington. Recruit 56. Silver Block.” That’s the only information we’re allowed to offer, according to what we learned in this section.

“That’s not what I asked, bitch.”

He slaps me across the face. Hard. My cheek throbs from the sting.

“Where are the black caches?”

“Wren Darlington. Recruit 56. Silver Block.”

After ten more minutes of that, they shove the sack over my head and drag me back to the other car. The pitch black welcomes me once more, almost comforting. I’m not scared of the dark. This is just a nice morning in the Blacklands for me.

“That wasn’t too bad,” I tell Ivy.

“You say that now.”

The door is wrenched open. Roe’s turn.

“Get your hands off me, godfucker,” he spits out as they manhandle him.

Once he’s gone, I ask, “Did you really go to family dinners with him? Because that sounds like a nightmare.”

Her snort of laughter echoes in the railcar. “Wasn’t fun.”

—

Those first eight hours aren’t awful. Truly. The two men drag us out, repeat the same question for ten, fifteen minutes, slap us around, throw us back in the car. My stomach growls a little and my mouth is parched, but I’m otherwise unaffected.

Until I fall asleep. Somehow, my body succumbs to slumber, but not for long. I’m wrenched into consciousness by the sensation of being submerged in ice-cold water. No. I’m not submerged. It’s coming from above me. Sprinklers. They’ve fitted the railcar with sprinklers. Assholes.

The three of us are now lying on cold, wet dirt. Shivering. And that’s when I realize this is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

The worst part is the bucket. Every time I hear the loud, steady stream of Roe pissing into it, I want to vomit.

“How do you produce so much urine,” I mutter in the darkness, “when you haven’t had anything to drink in twenty-four hours?”

He just chuckles and returns to his designated spot. We’ve each chosen our corners, with the vile bucket taking up residence in the fourth corner. I pray I don’t have to use it more than absolutely necessary. It’s mortifying, and I now realize why Ivy hates this section so much. Taking care of your personal needs with two people listening—neither of whom likes you very much—is a form of humiliation. Though I suppose that’s why they’re doing it.

—

Day 2. I think. Every time I fall asleep, those sprinklers dump ice water on us, so I have no idea how much time has passed. My stomach hurts. When they drag me into the other car again, I feel a noticeable lack of energy.

The interrogation drags on. That same question over and over again. Where are the black caches. Tell us where the caches are. Repetition is a tactic. It’s supposed to drive me mad, make me cave. And holy hellfuck, I want to scream for them to shut up. But I hold firm.

“Wren Darlington. Recruit 56. Silver Block.”

Mr. Muscles spits in my face. The glob slides down my cheek and mingles with the blood pouring out of my lip. We’ve graduated from slaps to outright fists. He uses that fist now, slamming it into my jaw.

I fall off the chair from the brutal force. The metallic tang of blood floods my mouth. But still, I refuse to yield.

—

The hours and days blur into one another. I lose all sense of time. The hunger becomes a constant companion. I’m so thirsty. I could lick the floor, but the sprinklers have turned the dirt into mud, and I refuse to drink mud water. Besides, Roe tried it already and we heard him puking in our bucket the following morning. Or night. Time doesn’t exist in this railway car.

I’m soaking wet because the sprinklers just went off again. My teeth chatter loud enough to echo off the metal walls. Loud enough that Roe lets out an angry curse and orders me to shut up. He’s been very quiet today. Ivy, too. There’s no camaraderie among our trio. We’re not bonding. Swapping stories. We’re wet, cold, hungry, tired, thirsty, and pissed off.

When our captors return Ivy to us, and I hear her defeated whimpering as she crawls back to her corner, I realize I can take advantage of this moment.

With their defenses stripped bare, their minds are mine for the taking.

I start with Ivy, whose mind is wide open. Not even a pretense of a shield. Guilt pokes at my gut, but I ignore it.

People have misconceptions about mind reading. They think it means a Mod can see their entire life. Their memories. But we can only hear what they’re thinking in the moment. I’m not worried about lurid memories of Ivy in bed with Cross playing in color behind my eyelids. I do worry her thoughts will be consumed by him, though, which evokes a twinge of jealousy that annoys me.

But Ivy isn’t thinking about Cross.

You can do this. You have to.

For Delia.

Ivy wants to join Silver Block for her older sister.

Delia. Died of a rare bone cancer that the regen chambers in the Point couldn’t quite eradicate.

I retreat, the guilt intensifying as Ivy’s grief surrounds my senses. I shouldn’t have invaded her privacy. Yet even knowing I’m doing something wrong, I still shift my attention to Roe.

His shield is intact. Strong, too. I could try to prod at it, search for a crack, but I don’t have the mental bandwidth right now, so I hug my knees tighter and close my eyes.

—

Ivy starts moaning sometime on Day 4. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m so tired. My stomach is cramping.”

Roe jeers at her from his corner. “Sack up, Eversea. You’re tired and hungry. Big fucking deal.”

He’s such a prickhole that I feel the need to be the encouraging one. “Ignore him. You got this, Ivy. You were able to survive RTI before. Just gotta do it again.”

“No,” she mutters.

“No what?”

“I wasn’t able to do it before. Why do you think I’m not in Silver Block, you dumb quat?”

I’m taken aback. Not by the verbal attack, but by her revelation. “You failed RTI?”

“I lasted three days.”

I pause for a moment. “Okay. Well. I’m pretty sure it’s been more than three days, so you’re doing better than last time. You just need to power through.”

Easier said than done, though. For me, too. I lie there shivering for hours. Sleep eludes me, those sprinklers ensuring I won’t have any sort of respite.

The next time our captors come for me, my teeth can’t stop rattling as I say, “Wren Darlington. Recruit 56. Silver Block.”

I wonder how Lyddie is handling this. She’s so delicate. Kaine, he could do this in his sleep. But not Lyddie. As the bearded man wrenches my head back by my hair so he can punch me in the face, I realize I desperately want Lyddie to make it. She might not be the best soldier, but she’s smart. She could even be brilliant. I think she can excel in Intelligence.

When I’m thrown like a rag doll into the darkness, Ivy is still moaning in her corner.

“Eversea,” I call toward her. “What’s it like in K? I heard you telling Bryce that’s where you grew up, right?”

“What?” She sounds dazed.

“I’ve never been there,” I prompt. “I’m curious.”

I think she knows I’m trying to distract her, because there’s a trace of gratitude as she says, “It used to be a lot better.”

“How so?”

“The controllers were nicer. Gave us more leeway, like looking the other way if we missed curfew. But it turned to shit when we got rezoned. After K merged with L, their ward chairman took over.”

It happens often, the rezoning. There were twenty-six wards when the system was first implemented. I believe we’re down to eighteen now. Some were integrated with their neighbors because of population decline. But most wards were swallowed up by natural disasters, as the coastline slowly tries to eat its way onto the Continent. The seawalls the General has the Company engineers tackling won’t hold forever.

“It’s really beautiful there,” Ivy continues, sounding wistful. “You’d think being so close to the Blacklands would be creepy or something, but honestly? The black mist in the distance actually makes for some gorgeous sunsets.”

“Did you ever go to the Blacklands?”

“No.” She’s horrified by the notion. “I don’t know anyone who’s gone in there and come out alive.”

“Roe,” I say. “Have you?”

His voice floats toward me. “Only to the edge. Maybe ten feet into the mist. It was Travis’s idea.”

“He took you there?” Ivy sounds surprised.

“The General had business in K when I was twelve. He brought us along, but we got bored and snuck off. My brothers dared me to walk in. Travis said it wasn’t a big deal if you had your flashlight. Asshole didn’t tell me they don’t work in there.”

Don’t I know it. There’s something wrong with the way the light reflects in the Blacklands. As in, it doesn’t. Everything is black. Always. Jim and I learned that lesson when he tried to bring various light sources on our hunting excursions. Flashlights didn’t work. Torches. Even his lighter.

It was fascinating to me. Each time he flicked that lighter, it wouldn’t work, but when we were in the clearing’s rare pocket of sunshine, he’d flick it to spark a visible orange flame. I wish we could study the phenomenon and find out why it’s like that. Or maybe the Company already has, and they just don’t want to share.

“Do you like Travis?” I ask Roe.

“I suppose.” His tone is grudging.

“How is he different from the captain?” I hate revealing my curiosity about his family, but it’s a dynamic I still haven’t been able to figure out.

Roe thinks it over. “Travis is very practical. Calculated. He does shit to test you, to see if you’ll be of use to him. He’s got a scientific mind. He doesn’t rely on emotion like Cross.”

Ivy snorts. “ Cross and emotion are not two words I’d put in the same sentence.”

“You don’t know shit about my brother. Either of them,” he sneers. “You didn’t have to grow up with them.”

“You barely grew up with them. You lived with your mother until she died.”

“I spent enough time at the estate to know what they’re like. What all of them are like. Especially her.”

I frown in the darkness. “Who?”

He makes a disparaging sound. “You know she never comes down when I’m over? Not even once.”

“Who?” I ask again.

“The General’s sainted Vinessa. My stepmother. Bitch won’t even venture down the stairs when I’m there. Doesn’t acknowledge my presence. When I visited as a kid, I remember being ordered to stay in the living room while the General was upstairs with his real family.” Roe lets out a harsh laugh. “Sometimes he’d keep me waiting for hours. Sitting there like some unwanted guest.”

Bitterness simmers beneath his words. I can hear the weight of years of hurt and rejection in his voice, but I can’t muster up much sympathy. He killed Betima without a shred of repentance. This is not a misunderstood little boy. He’s a dangerous man.

“I could never understand why she hated me so much. Sure, my mother worked in Human Services, but it wasn’t Mom’s fault the General developed a liking for her. Wasn’t her fault he knocked her up. Birth control wasn’t even mandatory back then.” Roe makes a derisive sound. “He’s the one who couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“Will you be telling us your sob stories the rest of the time we’re here or are you finished now?” I ask in a polite tone.

“You’re a real quat, Darlington.”

—

Mr. Muscles and the Bearded Man are jerks. They’re eating thick roast beef sandwiches in front of me. Am I supposed to beg for the food? I sort of want to beg. My stomach hurts so bad, it’s starting to cramp like Ivy’s. At least I’m not completely dehydrated. Each time the sprinklers jolt me awake, I hurry to tip my head and try to capture some of that moisture in my mouth. But they stop so fast, it’s only ever a few drops.

They throw me back in our car, which reeks of dirt, urine, and excrement. I settle in my corner and listen to Ivy’s soft sobs. When footsteps approach the door a little while later, Ivy whimpers. It’s her turn.

“You can do it, Eversea,” I say, my voice ringing with confidence. “It’s not that much longer.”

I half expect her to not return from the interrogation. She’s so broken down, it’s only a matter of time before she capitulates.

But she comes back, and I’m almost disgusted at myself for the little spark of pride I feel toward her.

“Good job, Eversea.”

“Thanks,” she murmurs back, and there isn’t a trace of animosity in her tone anymore.