Innocents Read online

Innocents

  Lena August

  © 2013 Lena August

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  I wake up to the smell of smoke. The thick bitter scent fills my small room, threatening to gag me. One of the islands must have surpassed its capacity again. My guess is that it is Thieves. Although Thieves is one of the largest islands, The Public Safety Council, or the PSC as most people call it, always has to find ways to decrease its population. Lately they have been using fires; they are easy and inexpensive and after you light the first match, the job gets done pretty quickly. Of course, the Prisoners’ Rights Association would freak if they realized the PSC was responsible for starting the fires, but on an island as dry as Thieves, it is easy to make it look like an accident and Mainlands doesn’t have enough officers to spare looking into fires on an island full of criminals, no matter how many people die.

  I live on Innocents, the largest and center most island which serves as the headquarters to the PSC. It also houses the children of those sent to live on the islands. Surrounding us are six smaller islands, each devoted to a different crime, Murderers, Thieves, Dealers, Addicts, Crazies, and The Violent (most of us just refer to them as TVs).

  The idea for the islands came more than 75 years ago. Prisons were becoming overcrowded and escapes more common so the three governing councils of the Northern American Alliance met to discuss a solution and out of that meeting the islands were born. The plan was to create seven islands a few miles off the shore of Mainlands. Then, when someone commits a crime, instead of being sentenced to prison, they are sentenced to life on the island that corresponded with their offense. The more serious the crime, the worse life is for you. For example, those sentenced to Addicts are allowed to live in decent apartments and have enough food to make life bearable. However, those sent to Murderers don’t get any help from the outside, no food shipments, no pre-made shelters, nothing to make life easier. They have to fend for themselves. We learned in school that most Murderers don’t live past their thirties. However, recently, the PRA has been lobbying hard for better conditions and more aid for Murderers.

  I came to Innocents twelve years ago, when I was five. My father had been supplying an anti-PSC group with weapons and the officers found out about it. I remember sitting at our kitchen table doing homework when they came to arrest him. They pounded on the door, demanding we open up. My parents were too shocked to react, so the officers kicked in the entrance. They stormed into our kitchen, guns drawn, demanding to see our hands. I will never forget the look on my father’s face, one of panic and defeat. They would have sent him to Dealers, but he resisted arrest. He pulled a knife and stabbed an officer in the heart. The officer’s partner then shot my father in the head. I remember watching the pool of blood grow larger and larger until it trickled over to my chair. I couldn’t stand up without stepping in it. Without my father’s income, my mother resorted to stealing. We lasted a couple of months until she was caught and sent to Thieves, and I was sent to grow up on Innocents.

  Now I am seventeen years old and almost done with guard training, soon I will be assigned an official occupation. You see, Innocents residents are never allowed to live back on Mainlands. Instead, we are trained to work as guards, maintenance workers, and food deliverers for the other six islands. Ever since I came to Innocents, I have been training to be a guard for Murderers, the most prestigious position available. Murderers guards live on two small islands off Murderers’ coast and spend the day patrolling Murderers’ shore from the outside of the fence surrounding it. They are allowed luxuries the rest of us are denied such as large houses, plentiful food, and unlimited electricity. It is also a dangerous job. Riots are common occurrences, and each of them brings the potential of death or injury for the guards. My guard instructor, Saffi Mehta, used to be a Murderers guard. She was injured in a fence assault and ended up losing her right arm. Her injuries forced her to return to Innocents and work as an instructor. Despite the dangers, I always knew that this is what I wanted to do, and I’m scheduled to take my Occupational test this week, the test that will decide if I will be able to achieve that dream.

  I glance over at my standard issue alarm clock sitting on the bedside table. The angry red numbers tell me that it is just past six in the morning. Sighing, I force myself out of bed; there is less than a half hour until I have to meet Saffi before school for my final day of guards training. I rummage through my closet until I find my training clothes: yoga pants and a light weight T-shirt, and dress quickly. I pull my blonde hair into a ponytail before heading to the commons area for breakfast.

  At this time in the morning, the commons is practically deserted. Most training takes place after school, which doesn’t start until eight, so the majority of Innocents residents are still asleep. However, Saffi claims that the three hours devoted to training in the afternoon aren’t nearly enough to prepare me for what’s ahead and insists that I get up early for a few extra hours of instruction. I grab a tray from the serving counter and sit down at one of the empty tables. As usual, breakfast is far from appetizing. Today it’s some kind of soggy, tasteless cooked grain and a glass of nutrient water. It’s gross, but I try not to complain too much.

  The desertification of much of North America has caused massive food shortages nationwide and I know that I should be thankful for what I have. Even so, it’s difficult to choke down. I curse as I look down at my watch, it’s already 6:30 and I know that Saffi will have words for me about my lack of punctuality. I drain the last of my nutrient water and rush to the fitness center. Like the commons, I have the place to myself, only Saffi is waiting for me. She’s dressed in cargo pants and grey T-shirt sporting the national emblem of the NAA: three interlocking circles with the words “order, unity, excellence” inscribed inside, her deep black hair is twisted into a practical bun. She scowls when I slide to a stop in front of her, out of breath from sprinting here from breakfast.

  “I’m glad you could make it, Brie,” she scolds, “I was worried that you had forgotten, or perhaps that you had something more important than preparing for your future.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes at her; I’m less than two minutes late. But one of the first lessons that Saffi taught me was the importance of punctuality and this is far from my first violation of that rule. Instead, I mumble and apology and Saffi seems to accept.

  “Alright Brie, since you’re obviously too distracted to make it here on time, we’re going to start with some meditative exercises,” Saffi instructs. I groan internally, I hate meditations and Saffi knows it. I never saw how teaching myself to ‘be one with my surroundings’ will help be in an attack, but Saffi is a big believer in the idea “mind over body.”

  After a half hour of deep breathing and stretching, Saffi finally allows me to stop and assigns me to forty five minutes in the Gamer, which is an advanced virtual fight simulator that allows students to participate in a variety of dangerous situations without actually risking injury. It got nicknamed the Gamer because it bears a resemblance to old fashioned machines kids used to play video games on in my great grandparents era.

  I pick up my practice knife, which contains motion sensors to track my every move and the first mission flashes on the screen: I’m a guard on Murderers’ southwestern border, statistically the most dangerous one, and a tree has fallen onto the chain link fence, compromising the perimeter. Two Murderers are coming at me and my job is to contain the threat and repair the fence before a massive breakout occurs. The first Murderer comes at me and I neatly sidestep his knife, grabbing his arm and using his momentum to send him to the ground. I knock him hard in the head with the butt of my blade and he slumps down, unconscious. The second one comes at me more hesitantly and I quickly evaluate her. The virtual Murderer is petite, about
an inch shorter than me, but I know not to underestimate her because of size. She could easily make up for that in speed and agility. She is also a lefty, which could complicate things. She makes her first move and we lock in combat. As we fight, I begin to recognize her fighting style. I’ve definitely fought her before, which means she’s not just a creation of the Gamer. I smile, only one other person I know fights as well as this, Saffi. She must be set up on the second Gamer. Knowing her technique, I am able to get the upper hand until finally I knock the knife out of her hand and bring my own blade down on her throat. The character dissolves and I am free to fix the fence, completing the mission.