The Separation Trilogy Box Set: Books 1 -3 Page 2

  Chapter Two

  We leave the celebration early, taking the bus back home. Even though it is being held in our honor, we have no interest in staying. It’s the same thing every year: people are happy, they drink too much, some fight, some kiss, and others pass out from laughing.

  I follow Luke into his room at our aunt’s house. The silence is soothing. My aunt’s rarely home, and sometimes when we go days without seeing or hearing from her, I think she might’ve met her gruesome ending, like my parents. Maybe I even hope she has. Our mom and dad were brutally murdered in front of Luke and me when we were twelve-years-old. We have yet to find out by whom, though we have our theories. Five years ago, we experienced the worst day of our lives, and because of that and other things, I haven’t been able to sleep by myself since.

  “Good win today, huh?” I say, as Luke slides open his closet door.

  “You know that was no good win.” Luke snatches off his hoodie and throws it in the floor. “Everyone we went against today was weak. It was an easy win. That’s why your head wasn’t in it.”

  I should’ve known this was coming. “I was not distracted. I was focused on the race.”

  “Kylie, you know you were distracted. You…” He turns his back to me, dropping the issue.

  “Come on, let me heal your back so you can fix my arm,” I say, looking over the dried blood stains on his shirt, ignoring his aborted comment.

  He pulls the shirt over his head, tossing it into the trash bin near the door. Blood’s slowly trickling down his back from the gaping wounds left by the arrows. Luke sits down on the bed in front of me. He’s ripped from training and working out so much, and he has a strong stance accompanied with a self-assured demeanor. He can be told nothing, and just like every other boy on this planet, he thinks he knows everything.

  The blood smeared over his back makes it hard to see his injury. I leave to grab a towel and soak it in warm water before wringing it out. I return to the room and sit next to him on the bed. Grabbing his right hand with my right to link the flexion circles they created in our palms, I rest the circled embellishments of my left palm over each hole until it lightens. Beneath my hand, his skin pulls tight as the cells within his body regenerate, and he begins to heal.

  The smaller circles of our palms match each other; they link us when we grab hands, binding our cells. The larger embellishment, the one that’s palm-sized, heals injuries. The scientists required this specifically for the longevity of their Creations.

  After the destruction in 2025, eighty-one years ago, there was a new development formed for the endurance of The America. A day now marked as the Great Establishment. The Premier and the Guidance enforced a change to maintain order in The America.

  Creations were founded; genetically created and trained without particular emotions that would hold normal humans back, and capable of taking the life of another without remorse. They were to enforce order without questioning why. Their loyalty is to the Premier and the Guidance of The America.

  Designed by taking the reproductive eggs of a woman and the sperm of a man, scientists fertilized the egg and infused it with an immunotoxin that would bind the cells of two embryos. They discovered a restoration gene they were able to insert into the embryos that allowed the inseminated twins to heal each other by simply linking their hands.

  This restoration gene created flexion circles in the palms of the twins. These embellishments are embedded throughout the body, making the healing process simple. The Creations’ ability to heal each other allows for a longer life and endurance in fight in worst-case scenarios. The body of a Creation not only makes for the perfect soldier but for the perfect host.

  Luke and I are Second Generation Creations.

  Luke faces me once I’m done healing him. Using the clean part of his towel, he wipes my arm around the wound. He throws the towel to the floor, grabs my free hand, and wraps his other hand around my forearm.

  It hurts at first, as the cells within my arm begin to regenerate, but the pain quickly lessens. Short, painless pulses crawl through my arm until the soft light emanating from his hand fades.

  I rub my arm, heading to my room. I hate it here.

  Months after my mom and dad were murdered, my uncle became less than uncle-like toward me. Thankfully, Luke saved me, but my uncle didn’t make it out alive. Those things that happened still haunt my dreams.

  I grab my towel from the back of the door and head for the bathroom to wash away the loads of dirt clogging my pores.

  Exhausted, I lie on Luke’s bed, taking my spot nearest the wall. Luke hits the light on his way to the bed. He lies on his stomach, and I place my head to his shoulder as I do every night. Something in him allows me to rest and wipes away the hurt and torturous nightmares. I can’t sleep on my own. The dreams—the memories of my uncle and my parents—I can’t take them. My brother helps keep the memories at bay.

  Something prods me in the forehead. And again. I grumble, waking up to Luke’s arm wrapped around my head, as it is every morning. The muscles in his arm twitch, waking me like an alarm clock.

  I shove his arm off my head.

  “Lukahn and Kylie, come downstairs!” My aunt’s voice cuts through the house like nails on a blackboard.

  I hate that woman. She was made our guardian after our parents died. A selfish, acrimonious woman who couldn’t give a flying hoot about Luke and me. After she found out what her husband did to me, she said, “If he didn’t think you were pretty, he wouldn’t have done it. Make yourself ugly if you don’t want men to touch you.”

  I lunged at her no sooner than the words left her mouth, ramming my fist into her jaw. Luke stopped me before I could get in a second punch and dragged me away from the house.

  “Let’s go, Ky,” Luke says, pulling me out of my thoughts. “See what she wants.” He pulls me from the bed with him as I refuse to go see whatever it is she could want. We stretch. His notable physique is accented by his six-foot-two-inch height. I’m five-foot-eight inches, and I wear it just as well. I have muscles from all the working out and training my brother forces me to do, but my feminine curves show no doubt who the fairer half is.

  My skinny aunt sits on the counter in her small kitchen, glowering at us as we enter. Her disgust for us is caked on her face, even heavier than her makeup.

  “What?” Luke scoffs, pursing his lips.

  “Next week,” she says with aversion, pointing her finger. “You both are getting the hell out of here. Today,” she spits, “you need to figure out where you’re going.”

  Next week, we turn eighteen. She’s forcing us to move out of her home, and either live with someone else or be on our own until Separation. The credits will stop rolling in for her, so she wants nothing else to do with us. If time could only fly. I’m ready for the next three months to pass already. Separation never sounded so good.

  “We have a new residence.” Luke manages a kind tone through his clenched jaw. “There will be no procrastination on our part when the day comes.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Good job on the race yesterday,” she says with a devilish grin. “You two no-good pieces of shit have to be good at something.” She hops down from the counter and trots out of the kitchen.

  My eyes follow her retreating figure, as if I could burn her with my stare.

  “I resent that woman,” I say, turning to head back upstairs, wanting to go back to bed.

  “Get out of this house,” my aunt yells from the hall. “Don’t come back until late tonight. I’m having company.” Her bedroom door slams, rattling the glasses in the cabinets.

  Luke heads for the stairs saying, “Let’s just go. We can hang out at the Diner or go to The Center.”

  Chapter Three

  “Hurry up, Ky! I need to get out of here before I kill our last living relative.” Luke stands in my doorway. He heavily resembles me, though his cheekbones are not as high, and I don’t have a beard spotting my chin as he does.

  “Can we even truly c
all her or them our relatives?” I mutter, turning my attention back to my reflection in the mirror beside my room’s door. I banana-clip my sandy brown hair and let it hang down my back. It’s ideal with where we live, to keep my hair pulled out of my face. A Wauler could blindside me with an attack at any moment.

  “What are you staring at? You look the same every day.” Luke comes in, standing next to me. “All you need to do is make sure you’re presentable,” he says, rubbing his hands over his sandy brown buzz cut.

  That’s easy for him to say. Luke keeps his hair cut short, and he rarely lets his mustache and beard grow in, keeping his look “low maintenance” as he would say.

  He kneels to retie his boots and triple-checks there are no wrinkles in his t-shirt and the crease in his jeans is noticeable.

  I roll my eyes. “You’re more full of it than a banana-stuffed peanut butter sandwich.”

  Luke and I care a lot about our appearance. We are reflections of my parents, whether they’re alive or not. It’s important we represent them well.

  Luke snorts. “Ew, Ky. Is that a zit?” He points at my face with his lip curled up.

  I lurch forward, bringing my frame closer to the mirror. “Jerk!” I shove him out of my room. My face is clear of any blemishes and unwanted marks. “I hate you.”

  He laughs, heading downstairs.

  I look over my face again, making sure there aren’t any pimples. The only thing wrong is my chin, which ends in a rounded point. Before it was broken, it aligned with my jaw. I took a hard hit from a man twice my size, and my brother couldn’t make it to me in time to fix it properly. My hand skims my jawline, trying to remember the shape it had once held, before I quickly remove my hand. This is just another risk we face living in The America today.

  But it used to be worse. The elder Normals who’ve been around for more than sixty years often talk about those times. Just after the invaders from the outer realms of the Earth penetrated the planet’s atmosphere using the Earth’s core, they caused destruction throughout the continents. Parts of land sank into oceans while other sections erupted. Things were never the same.

  Vojin, also an unearthly being now dubbed as the Earth’s protectors from things known and unknown in outer space, saved the Earth from the invaders’ destruction. A fight between them and the invaders broke out in the sky, sending colorful blasts striking through the firmament. Extraterrestrial beings fell into the water or the fire that was corrupting the land of the Earth. The Vojin triumphed over the invaders, and what was left of those invaders departed from Earth and gave up their planet to the Vojin in defeat.

  As a courtesy to the Earth’s inhabitants, the Vojin requested from their instructor, the one they believe is ruler over the universe, that the fire be moderated to preserve the remaining life of the humans. The request was honored, and a debt was owed. What was left of the world was mostly destroyed and required restoration. But instead of putting things back the way they were, the Premier changed this country, and the Trade changed the world.

  “Kylie!” My aunt’s voice shrieks through our small home, shaking my mirror. I hold it to keep it from rattling against the wall. “Which of the thirty states is responsible for The America’s electricity?” She’s the least concerned about the tasks spread out around our country, but I dare not ask her why she’s asking.

  I say, “Texas.”

  Without a thank you or acknowledgment of my response, she repeats my answer to someone on the phone and slams her door closed.

  I grumble, rolling my eyes. You won’t have to deal with her forever, Kylie, I remind myself.

  The America became factioned with the Trade’s change. The remaining thirty states are responsible for upholding their function and providing service to the country’s needs. But this forced change angered the humans when it was implemented. They hated that they’d lost their freedom, and they rebelled against the government and began destroying their own land. This was not in the plan, and the Guidance needed something in place to maintain order, something stronger than the humans, who could fight against the other countries that blamed The America for the invaders’ destruction.

  I look over myself once more, confirming my clothes match and leave for Luke’s car.

  “You told the evil witch we have somewhere to move. When did we find this place?” I ask, buckling my seatbelt.

  “I found a residence a few days ago. A two-bedroom flat, everything’s included.”

  “How big is it?”

  He gurgles as he exhales. “Agh, it’s big enough for the two of us to have our own space. Not that it’s needed,” he states sarcastically.

  I eye him, discomfort sinking in my stomach. “I see.”

  “It will be ready for us in a week. The moment they call me is the moment we move.” He takes a left, driving toward The Center.

  I prop my feet up on the dash, watching the streets. “Are we going to take our belongings from this house?”

  “Only our clothes. I have furniture ready to move in with us. Maybe with a new bed and a new room, you’ll feel better about sleeping on your own.”

  I grip my upper arms and peer at my reflection in the window as I ask, “Are you tired of me sleeping in your room?”

  “No, Ky,” he says in a remorseful tone. “But you can’t sleep next to me forever. I want you to be comfortable.”

  “Things are fine the way they are. I am comfortable.”

  “Okay, Ky…” he trails off, attention stolen by three Waulers―two men and a woman―pummeling a businessman. They take his suitcase and clothes and run off before I can think to help.

  Waulers are worse than parasites or the homeless awaiting a passerby they can beg for credits. They wallow in the streets, waiting for someone to walk by who they can mug or beat up for no reason at all. From what we’re told by those who’ve been around before the annexation, the Waulers never existed until after the first generation of Creations.

  It was a dark time, or so they say. The population of the world dwindled to the low billions, resources became sparse, water was drying up, and everyone began to blame The America for the destruction of the planet.

  A war broke out between the remaining countries; everyone was against The America. The citizens of The America became enraged and disordered because the little they had left was, again, being destroyed. They too began destruction, killing their neighbors, destroying what was left of their cities, scavenging for food and supplies. They became careless, and what was home to them no longer mattered.

  When security officials tried to implement order, the Americans killed them. There was no order, and The America and its visitors became out of control. The New Establishment seemed like the only option.

  “You’re going to The Center?” I ask Luke, pulling my eyes away from the standing man as local Creations come to his aid. Every day, all day, things like this happen.

  After the change… people changed.

  “Yes, I need to let off some steam.” There are boxing matches at The Center. They beat each other to a bloody pulp or until someone gives in. It’s the only reason Luke goes. Other than that, there’s nothing to do there besides swim and throw balls around. When there’s no snow, we use the land in the back to race. There isn’t anything for me to do at The Center but socialize, and this early in the day, none of my friends will be there.

  I unwrap a stick of gum and shove it into my mouth. Wherever Luke has planned for us to move, it’s better than living with my aunt. Most mornings, she awakes screeching our names from downstairs, forcing us from the house for one reason or another. She either has a new man coming over or she’s demanding Luke and I train harder because the better we do in the races, the more she benefits from the bonus credits and awards they send us.

  “Kylie,” Kennedy calls as we enter The Center.

  Luke hits my arm before he heads off to the boxing room. I jog in the opposite direction to Kennedy. “Hey.”

  “Congrats on your win yesterday. Number
four, right?” Her eyebrows waggle as she nudges me with her elbow.

  “Three, thanks,” I say, smiling. “What are you doing up here so early?”

  Kennedy checks the watch strapped around her left wrist then looks over at the sun. “Howard wanted to come here for a match. It’s in an hour.” Howard’s a boy she has been dating. “I tagged along, have to get all the time I can before Separation.”

  “Yes, that’s going to be hard.” Though Separation isn’t a worry for me, it must bother her. The way her eyes narrow and her nose turns red tells me she’s saddened by their parting that’s to come.

  She rubs her arms, her gaze becoming unfocused. “We know. I get you won’t understand it because you’re made differently and all, but we’ve been together for three years. I’ve been trying to prepare myself for it. I know the day is coming. I guess I’m trying to bring myself to accept it.” She wipes her nose with a sleeved forearm.

  Sensing her discomfort, I offer, “Let’s go watch the swim meet.” Offering activities that can serve as distractions can help to lessen sadness. I learned that last month in the Creation’s class, Emotional and Cognitive Empathy. Kennedy is sorrowful. Sorrowful: feeling, expressing, or causing great sadness.

  It isn’t that I won’t understand her discontent with Separation. I get it. However, Luke and I are here for war.

  A few boys and girls line up for the swim meet. Everyone is most competitive here in the longest-standing state of The America, Arizona. There used to be fifty states in this country, but since the destruction, it’s down to thirty. The top breeding states for Creations are Arizona, Illinois, and New York.

  They breed and raise the strongest Creations for enforcing law and order, first responders, providing a sense of security for the citizens, and the most durable of those trained Creations go off to fight in the wars.