CHAPTER ONE

MARCH 2086

LOCKE GRUNTS AS HE pulls the wagon full of freshly chopped oak to the pit. A couple of men help him unload the wood. Locke tries not to look down at the pit. He doesn't want to see the dead faces of people who used to smile at him.

Fourteen.

Fourteen people were executed this morning for disobedience, by Wolf's definition.

Locke had awoken this morning by a shrill scream from outside his window. He shared the room with three other men, one being Erik and the other two Tyler and Rick. Erik had made it to the window first, a string of curses instantly leaving his lips. Locke was scared to look after that, and he regretted it when he did. The bodies dangled from the trees scattered throughout the property like ornaments. He knew half of them.

The only thing he can figure is that Wolf caught word of the group plotting an escape. Locke isn't stupid enough to converse such thoughts aloud, but not everyone thought it through, obviously. He'd heard whispers of their conversations, but he had never intervened or told them to watch what they say. Perhaps if he had, they wouldn't currently be burning to ashes.

He tries to tell himself it isn't his fault, but that's much easier to say than believe.

Erik is one of the slaves helping to dispose of the bodies. He's become somewhat of a leader amongst the Normals. A lot of people look to him for guidance and strength when they're having really bad days. Honestly, Locke thinks if Erik wasn't here, the death toll would be much higher. He's talked many people out of suicide.

The two stand shoulder to shoulder as they watch the flame grow higher and higher, the smell of burning flesh filling the air. Both of them are used to the stench. This is practically routine at this point.

"I can't keep doing this," Erik says quietly, his eyes narrowed on the flame.

Locke swallows. "You don't have a choice."

Erik hums in reply.

A bit frightened he may do something rash, Locke rounds on him. "Look what happened to them, Erik. You need to tread carefully or else the same thing will happen to all of us."

Erik rubs his stubbly chin. "We need to get in contact."

"We have no idea where they are," Locke whispers, his lips barely moving in fear someone may catch on to their conversation and turn them in.

"We have to try."

Locke doesn't bother arguing the point.

The slaves leave the fire blazing as the morning bell chimes in the distant, signaling breakfast is ready. A horde of people file out of the buildings scattered amongst the large estate, grouping together to head to the mess hall. There is no shoving or pushing or string of curses being yelled from impatient people--everyone is silent and walking in step. There's a dead glaze over everyone's eyes, like the only part of them functioning is enough to keep them breathing and moving. They might as well be zombies.

Erik and Locke maneuver their way through the crowd once inside the enormous cafeteria, striding to their usual table where Sasha always awaits them. Ruby is there too, sometimes, but it's typically only the three of them with people forced to sit near. Stories have circulated about where the three have come from, stories of Eve naturally attached with it. He doesn't doubt someone from Micah's camp is spreading the rumors. No one wants to be associated with people who are friends with the enemy.

There's one little girl named Olivia who follows Sasha around everywhere, though. Locke assumes they're the same in age, perhaps Sasha being a bit older, but nonetheless they're never apart. Now, the two sit side-by-side sharing a chocolate bar another camp member gave them out of pity.

Locke immediately digs into the eggs and bacon on his plate, sipping his orange juice in between. He knows there's a farm a little down the street from the estate where some slaves are sent every day to tend to. He doesn't know how Wolf acquired the animals or crops, albeit he supposes it doesn't matter all that much. He's being fed two decent meals every day, after all. He's eaten more food his short stay here than he has in the past year.

People greet Erik as they walk past, but dismiss Locke as if he doesn't exist. Maybe if he was as good a leader and influence as Erik, he might've gained some of their respect by now. He doesn't particularly care, though. Making friends in this hellhole makes no difference to him. Let them think what they wish to believe. He's used to being the villain in the story.

Some time into their meal, another bell rings, however it is not to signal any part of their daily routine. Everyone in the room turns to the back where Knox stands on a tabletop, gathering everyone's attention instantly. The people sitting at the table he uses as a stage shrivel back and huddle close to each other. Out of the four trainers, Knox is by far the worst. He doesn't give a damn about anything except fighting and winning.

"Thank you for your attention," he says in that deep voice of his, causing Locke's shoulders to hunch instinctively. "Today marks the first of March, and as you've all been informed, our first recruitment will take place."

Locke's throat goes dry. How in the hell had he forgotten all about it? Sasha whimpers across the table from him. His jaw clenches.

"This will be the first group of children to be placed in training. It's a great honor we hope you all embody and respect." Knox reaches down to an assistant who hands him a piece of paper. "We've compiled a list of children whose birthday has passed or will pass within the month. Anyone ten years of age will be asked to come forth for their first session."

"Locke," Sasha whispers, her eyes wide. "What do we do?"

Locke scrambles for something to say.

Erik inhales sharply. "Sasha, you have to do it."

Her eyes widen. "But--"

"It won't be for long. I don't intend on us staying here forever," he tells her reassuringly in a gentle voice. "Do you trust me?"

Her eyes well with tears, but she nods curtly.

He gives her a soft smile.

The three tune back into Knox going off his list. Out of hundreds of people, there's quite a few children eligible. For a brief moment, Locke risks relief when Sasha's name isn't called. Unfortunately, Knox is only halfway down the list.

"Lincoln Caldwell, Tanya Mills, Sasha Herring..."

Locke pinches his eyes shut. Please be a different Sasha, please be a different Sasha, please...

He hears her shoes scruff the tile as she stands.

Locke can't bear the ache in his chest and keeps his eyes shut tight.

He hears Erik whisper more comforting words, then her footsteps echo as they get farther away, mixing with other small feet.

Erik nudges him. "She's strong, Locke. She'll be okay."

Locke shakes his head. "It's not supposed to be this way."

"I know. But for now, there's nothing we can do."

Locke breathes in shakily, daring to look at the little girl as she stands in a cluster of other terrified children. Some of them actually look excited. It churns Locke's stomach and he looks away again. The little girl, Olivia, is called shortly after. She hurries to Sasha's side, seeming more afraid of being separated than being forced to fight.

Knox smiles sardonically when he finishes. "As you were," he says, dismissing the crowd as he jumps down and leads the pack of children out of the mess hall.

***

Sasha keeps her shoulders hunched and her head down as she follows the horde of kids out of the cafeteria. Olivia stays close to Sasha' side, forever the silent one though she whimpers quietly to herself.

Terrible thoughts race through her head as she considers what they may have her do. From what she can tell, there's no bad guys except the monsters running the camp, but they certainly won't train her to fight them. Who, exactly, is there to fight in a world where everyone is fighting? There are too many sides to choose only one.

Perhaps this is only to prepare them in case someone gets brave enough to raid them. Highly implausible. King Wolf has a tight knot of security around the place, and plenty of friends on the outside. She can't imagine anyone would be foolish enough to risk entering this place, knowing they'll probably never make it out again.

Knox leads the pack to the courtyard, which gives Sasha a sliver of hope. She doesn't see any racks of weapons or targets, so maybe those things will be for another time. She certainly hopes so. The last time she held a weapon, her body had been painted in blood and her mind had been blanketed in misery. She still remembers the feel of the sticky liquid, still remembers the smell. It was her first time in a fight. Her first kill.

She had rescued Eve, so she doesn't regret it.

But it doesn't make the fact any easier to swallow--she had murdered someone. Maybe he wasn't a someone when it happened, but he had been once. He was still human despite his unnatural appearance. He was still a person and she'd taken that away from him.

Her mommy would be so mad. Her mommy would hate her.

The thoughts make Sasha swallow back her relief and blink away tears. She doesn't know what the world did to deserve this destruction. She supposes the world itself didn't do anything, but the people inhabiting it did.

Knox clasps his hands behind his back as he scrutinizes the children, his nose scrunched in disgust and his lips pursed. He scans the crowd a few more times, back and forth, back and forth, before finally clicking his tongue to speak.

"I'm going to put you in ranks. I want to know how many of you have experience and how many of you are completely useless." He narrows his eyes in on a few faces, and Sasha instinctively ducks behind a taller kid.

Knox motions to three guards who had followed them out. They each divide to take up separate positions a few feet from each other. "If you've ever fired a gun, go stand in front of Miller," Knox says, and Miller raises his hand so the kids know who he is.

Sasha swallows again when she sees about ten of the kids break off to join Miller.

Knox is dissatisfied with that. He wishes there were more. "If you've ever used a dagger or wielded a blade of any kind, go stand in front of Gregory."

Sasha inhales sharply. She doesn't want to lie in case he has some magical way of knowing. She gently pries herself away from Olivia, who stares at her wide-eyed as she parts from the large mass to join Gregory. Almost half the kids migrate in front of the beast. Sasha doesn't know whether to feel relieved that she's not alone or sick to her stomach that other kids have been forced to endure such activities.

Knox says, "Right then. The rest of you get to start with Freddie over there. I'll come around and choose a few students who I think have potential. Do not disappoint us."

Gregory surprises Sasha when he gives the twenty or so children a friendly smile, even showing his fangs. He leads them out of the courtyard to a building apart from the main one. It's one room, though it's grand and spacious and covered in padding. Sasha clenches her fists in anticipation. Will he force her to hold one of those despicable objects again? She's not so naive as to think he won't. That's what she's here for, after all.

He goes to the left side wall and pushes a button, forcing the wall to slide open, much to Sasha's utter amazement. However, the countless knives and swords and daggers that line the entirety of the wall stifles her astonishment quickly.

"You may choose only one weapon for today's training. If I see any of you smuggling more than that, well... I'm sure you can imagine the consequences," Gregory says, stepping aside as if to gesture the kids move forward.

A chubby boy is the first to do so, picking up a katana and grinning wildly. It makes Sasha's stomach churn.

As if the boy flips a switch in everyone, the group of children rush forward, eager for a blade to call their own. Everyone except Sasha, of course. She lingers behind, tracing circles in the padding with the tip of her sparkly shoes, purposely avoiding eye contact with Gregory. Expectantly, he sees her anyways. And he doesn't allow her to ignore the inevitable.

"Go on, kiddo," he says to her firmly, though not unkindly. "Don't worry. None of them are gonna swipe at you, okay?"

Sasha isn't scared of other children. She's scared of herself.

She presses her lips together, unsure if she's allowed to talk back.

Gregory sighs, kneeling to meet her eyes. "Look, you gotta do it either way. Just go grab something that catches your eye."

"I'm scared," she finally says quietly, furrowing her eyebrows though she holds his gaze.

He frowns. "I told you those kids won't bother you."

"I'm not scared of them."

"Then what are you scared of?"

"Hurting someone."

He actually laughs. "Oh, darlin', you got a pure heart. You don't gotta worry about that either, all right? You won't be fighting anyone, not today."

She bites her lip to keep from telling him how she killed one of his kind. She doesn't know how he'd react. And, nice as he may seem, she doesn't know if he'd get angry with her and off her right in front of everyone.

So, reluctantly, she steps away from him and towards the weapons where only a few indecisive children still linger.

She doesn't pay attention to what she grabs. She doesn't care enough, and if she has any say at all, she doesn't intend on using it.

There's a worry in the back of her mind saying she won't be so lucky.