both.”
She looked around the room before muttering “I won’t miss this, that’s for sure.” She glanced back at me. “They said you charged Cole after he shot me? Gutsy. Stupid, but gutsy.”
Remember that lie I mentioned earlier? When I nodded, it began right then and there.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“I wait to be linked to my FIP,” she said.
Then in a mocking, highbrow voice she added, “
Individuals whose safety and protection are essential to the welfare of the human race
is such a mouthful. So
we
,” she motioned between the two of us, “call them FIPs. It’s easier. We made T-shirts.”
I made a mental note to remember this useful windfall of hip so I could share it with Junie and the others to enhance my rep.
“How long will getting your FIP take?” I asked.
“Could be tomorrow, could be a year,” she said flatly. “No one knows. Hope it’s soon though. I want to get linked and get out of this place.”
“What do you mean by linked?”
“When you get your FIP, you’re linked to them. It’s hard to explain. Their safety becomes more important to you than anything else on the planet. Make sense?”
I shrugged, “Kind of.”
“You don’t really know what it’s like unless you’ve done it, which I haven’t.” She shrugged her shoulders. “How are
you
feeling?”
She had kind eyes, but you could tell they’d been through a lot and had barely come out the other side.
“Fine,” I lied.
“Riiiight,” she said sarcastically. “Trust me, I’ve been there.”
“I hurt everywhere. Happy?” I said.
“Beyond,” she said with a grin. “Thirsty?”
There was a glass of water on a nightstand to my left. I started to reach for it, but Katie reached across and got it first. Her movement was fast, almost unnaturally so. Curious, I took the glass from her.
“A pleasant side effect of fire,” she said. “Since your body knows it will never feel pain, there’s no hesitation on movements anymore. Makes you faster than you were before.”
I drained the water.
When is the last time I’ve eaten or drunk anything?
My stomach gave a growl. Katie took the glass and put it back. I really watched her this time. The movement was faster-than-normal enough to be noticeable, but not fast enough to raise suspicion.
Knowing I was watching, she smiled. “Now you keep taking your medicine and you’ll be just like me.”
I gave a light laugh. There was the clang of a tray being dropped nearby. Katie stiffened, alert and ready. There was something about her that sent a shiver down my spine. She was no longer my older confidante. The façade was over, and the look on her face was that of a stone-cold killer. Realizing her mask had fallen away, she quicklyjoked, “Looks like you’ll probably take my place as the regular here.”
“Let’s hope not.”
She took a deep breath as she absentmindedly touched her wound.
“I thought you said it didn’t hurt?”
“It doesn’t. It itches,” she said. A few seconds of silence passed before she announced, “I better get going.”
“Please don’t go,” I said, fighting fresh tears. I didn’t know this girl; I didn’t trust her. But she gave me hope, like maybe I could actually get through this. I didn’t want to be alone again.
“No. Stop that,” she scolded, as if I were a child. “You can’t do that anymore. Not here. The girl you were can’t survive here. She won’t make it. You need to become someone else.”
“Okay.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes.
She held my hand and whispered, “I’m trying to give you advice I wish someone had given me.” She gently let go before continuing, “But I gotta get going. They’re moving me to new quarters while I wait to be linked.” Her eyes twinkled again. “I get to have a TV and a radio. Man, I miss TV.”
When she reached the edge of the curtain she turned. “They’ll try everything they can to break you. They’ll hurt you. Threaten you. Threaten your friends.
Catharina Ingelman-Sundberg