Page 7 of The Godhead Complex
Sadina wished for an ounce of wisdom from her grandmother about all this, but Grandma Sonya died years ago. “So . . .” Sadina looked at the fire as she thought out loud. “How did you know who to trust?"
Old Man Frypan put another piece of wood on the fire as if the answer required patience. He sat back down and softly said, “You trust yourself more than anyone else.”
“So, I shouldn't trust anyone else?”
“You’re jumping to it too quickly.” He slowed down his words, “You trust yourself first, and after that you trust thosewho trust you.” He stoked the fire, its flames reflected in his glistening, wizened eyes. “The only mistake you could ever make is trusting the trustless.”
Orphans had no parents.
Orphans had no siblings.
Orphans had no friends. . . . Only enemies.
Minho sat up and reached for his knife; when he pulled the sharp blade from its sheath, he realized he’d only been awakened by the sounds of the group making breakfast. Old Man Frypan snapping twigs. Roxy cutting root vegetables. Dominic humming a song. He slowly put his knife back in its holder and avoided eye contact. Mornings, when he floated in that dreamlike battleground between sleep and awake, he often didn’t know where he was and grabbed his weapons on instinct. In those early moments of the day, he reverted back to his Orphan days. Ready to shoot. Ready to stab. Ready to survive. Maybe the group knew his reflexes were on overdrive and that’s why no one slept too close to him. Sometimes he had a good solid sleep, so restful that even in his dreams he wasn’t anywhere close to the Remnant Nation, but the further he went from his training ground the harder reality seemed to snap back when he woke up. He moved his knife to his hip and reminded himself that he had friends and he had a mom, now. And, most importantly, he had a name. His name was Minho.
“Orange . . . ,” Roxy said in a way he imagined a mother’s tone might sound when something isn’t wrong but not exactly right.
“Yeah?” Orange took a glimpse at Roxy’s bowl.
“Here.” She motioned for Orange to hold out her hand. “I think this potato you found me is a rock.” She plucked the rock out of the bowl and into Orange’s open palm.
“Oh.” Orange laughed at the potato-looking chunk of rock. Minho had never heard her make such a sound, a cluster of small laughs like Trish and Sadina made.
“Orange is trying to break our teeth on break-fast!” Miyoko yelled with her own chortle.
Minho watched as Orange bounced the rock in her hand, a thing she could use to kill three people without so much as a thought. Anything an Orphan held in their hand became a weapon.
He wondered if she felt the same disorientation in the mornings, if she, too, had to slow her heartbeat in order to keep the practices of the Remnant Nation at bay. The Orphans were in training from the age of four. Trained to fight. To kill. To survive. Until then, were they cared for by nannies until they were able to stand and balance their own weight? He didn’t know. His earliest memory was Griever Glane forcing him to kill a mother wolf in front of her cubs. He turned the wolves into orphans only to later die the same death as their mother. Was that what the Remnant Nation did to him?
“Your eyes are open but nobody’s home.” Roxy looked right at Minho as if what she just said were a question. She had funny ways of saying ‘good morning,’ unlike Sadina’s mom who spoke gently and said things like, “rise and shine, kiddos.”
“Getting there.” Minho didn’t have the heart to tell Roxy any of these dark thoughts. Both past and present. He watched Orange closely with every bounce of the rock in her hand. Every time it met her palm he waited for her to peg Miyoko in the temple for laughing at her. Pelt Dominic in the ass for being such an ass. But she didn’t. She just tossed the rock up in the air and watched it fall.
If having friends was changing Orange, maybe there was hope. Maybe leaving the Remnant Nation meant they could also leave the Nation’s imposed beliefs behind.
Orange vaulted the potato-looking rock farther up this time. As it dropped to eye level her elbow swung in a way that made Minho’s own muscles flinch from years of training. Orange flicked her wrist with hand-to-hand combat skills and gave a hard backhand that sent the rock flying into a nearby tree. The islanders gawked at her precision. Minho smiled.
“Whoa,” Dominic said. “I wanna learn that.”
“Do it again!” Miyoko grabbed a stone from around the campfire. “Is this one too big?” Orange repeated the trick, big heave into the air, quick swing of the elbow, backhand that sent the rock flying. This time a little closer to Dominic, whizzing past his ears.
Minho sighed, even as the others cheered. Orange was a good fighter, but she deserved to be more than that.
Humanity deserved the right to evolve. Didn’t they? Be better than this?
Born fighters could evolve into born leaders if given the chance. Maybe even nameless Orphans who killed dozens of trespassers on sight could turn out to be something more. Something much more.
Just maybe.
Or not.
CHAPTERTHREE
Secret Mission
Isaac didn’t plan on bringing up the Timon and Letti thing again, especially not while they cleaned up camp, but Sadina just couldn’t let it go.
“The reason I trust them—that I think maybe Kletter lied . . . I mean, she killed her whole crew. Eight people. That’s enough right there not to trust her. But besides all that, the reason I think I trust Letti and Timon, is that theytrusted us.” Sadina paced while Isaac folded up her grass mat. She kicked up dirt behind her with every step. “They said it themselves, they could have killed the rest of the group, just like Kletter, but they let them follow our clues. They trusted us.”
