“There they are!” a male voice calls, and Jada yells: “We’re making s’mores!”
Four long logs circle the wide iron fire pit, which breathes plumes of white sparks and radiates crackling red heat. I drop onto the opposite end of the log Javier sits on. Nobody settles between us, leaning back from the fire.
One of the twins strums a guitar on the log across from us. He looks up and says,
“‘Yo quiero Taco Bell!’”
“… What?”
“Your sweatshirt.”
I look down and see the phrase emblazoned on my chest in bright purple letters.
“Oh I … didn’t see it before.”
He nods. Then: “Did you puke?”
I’m unsure how to answer him.
“’Cause if you haven’t yet you probably will. I puked when they put mine in,” he adds. “Troy did too.”
“Troy did too what? What are you saying about me to the new girls?” The other twin walks into the shifting circle of firelight from the main cabin with a paper plate stacked with graham crackers and broken chocolate bars.
“That you were sick after kill switches.”
“Nah, I was fine.”
“Dude, you puked!”
I quickly wipe the corners of my mouth.
“It hollows you out.” The hushed, low voice comes from Javier. The firelight brushes the long line of his cheek with amber and sets tiny gold sparks in the center of his eyes.
“I was wondering why you were all so well behaved.” My voice is still scratchy. “Now I know.”
“Yeah, but don’t stress about it too much,” Kurt, the twin with the guitar, says. “As long as you don’t try to escape or kill another camper, you’re perfectly safe.”
“Safe? The way they manhandled us back there, no guard would’ve gotten away with that at my prison—”
“It’s strategic. Not personal. They need to establish physical authority up front,” Erik’s voice cuts in. There’s a crazy elevator sensation low in my stomach as he emerges from the dark and sits heavily beside Kurt. I don’t make eye contact but am all too aware of him as he snatches a bag of marshmallows from beside the log and spears one on a stripped branch. “They’re two middle-aged weirdos in charge of the first-ever elite force of teenaged assassins. How did you think they were keeping us in line? Merit badges?”
I can feel him staring me down, so I force myself to meet his gaze through the leaping fire, and he laughs. “Awww, someone doesn’t like getting treated like one of the bad kids!” I turn my head, bracing myself for when he starts taunting me about being innocent in front of the others.
But instead he says, sarcastically: “Guess you should’ve thought about that before you tested as a Class A.”
“But why use Class As?!” I ask wearily. “Aren’t there special forces and spies and stuff who volunteer and train professionally for this kind of thing?”
“The people we’re going to be killing are U.S. citizens.” Kurt places his fingers along the frets in a series of chords without strumming. “So they need a crime scene that’s, uh, unprofessional.”
“And then if we get caught they can be like ‘More senseless Class A violence!’” Troy does a voice like a stern newscaster: “‘How fast can we round these monsters up and shoot them directly into the sun? NASA experts weigh in!’”
“So what, they expect us to get caught?”
“Hopefully not. That’s what our training is for.”
“But why not train older Class A types and give us a chance to …” I’m about to say appeal when I remember that’s not an option anymore.
“Um, have you met an older Class A?” Jada shudders theatrically. “I had two locked up on my block. They could barely get through a room inspection with three bosses and a taser.”
“Yeah, most Class As are a little too far gone down the bones-as-wind-chimes road after twenty-five.” I can hear the smile in Erik’s voice, though I don’t look over at him.
“It’s really not a bad deal, considering,” Troy says cheerfully. “In ancient times they would have just strapped us to stakes and burned us for demons or something,”
“They’re trying to do basically that now,” Kurt sighs. “Congress is majority Protectionist.”
“Majority what?” I ask.
“Protectionist? Hello?” Jada snaps. “Protectionists, the people who think everyone should be forced to take the Wylie-Stanton? And anyone who tests as Class A should be like, killed or something? ‘Prevention Is the Best Protection,’ those people?”
“Oh, they would never kill us,” Erik says. “That would be inhumane. They’ll just drug us to the point where all we can do is watch TV and piss our pants.”
“Luckily we don’t have to worry about that,” Javier says quietly. “Since we’re in the Teen Killers Club.”
“Yeah. Now you’ve gotten your kill switch, you’re officially a member!” Troy says, with ta-da jazz hands.
“Is she, though?” Jada picks at a graham cracker, her almond-shaped nails glinting in the firelight. “She hasn’t even told anyone her number yet. She could be a zero like Dennis, for all we—”
“One.” Nobody’s gravelly voice startles me. Jada sucks her teeth and Troy stifles a laugh, but then Nobody adds, “A decapitation.” And there’s a small, appreciative silence.
I don’t want their approval, but I need it. For this crowd, scary is good, crazy even better.
“So not eleven?” Erik blinks at me innocently, and I bite my lip.
So he’s decided to play dumb about my case with the group. But the cost of that might be endless teasing. Which, fine. Teasing I can handle.
Javier leans forward past Nobody so his eyes connect with mine.
“One way to look at camp is, like, as a chance to do good,” he begins.
“Good?” Erik’s laugh cuts across the fire. “‘A chance to do good’? Did you actually just say that?”
Kurt’s strumming slows.
“Did I stutter?” Javier keeps his tone light, but the rebuke is there. “Yeah, that’s what I said. Our targets are seriously bad people. Domestic terrorists. Cult leaders. Corrupt politicians—”
“Putting aside your naive acceptance that Kate and Dave would only have us kill ‘bad people,’” Erik interrupts, “you know there’s no such thing as good and bad, right? There’s strong and weak. That’s it. That’s the only binary that exists. When the strong kill each other in the name of the weak they call it being good. When the strong kill in their own name, it’s called evil.”
“There’s also the view that killing anyone is evil,” Dennis says. I’d almost forgotten he was here, he’s been sitting so quietly on the log to my left this whole time.
“That’s classic, coming from a zero!” Troy laughs, and everyone else joins in.
“FROM ZERO TO HERO!”
“Dennis the Non-Menace!”
“How are you a zero?” I ask him as the others continue laughing. “How did you end up here if you never killed anyone?”