The Sixteens

A forest in the winter is among the most beautiful picture the world has to offer. Tall trees with their majestic branches draped in blankets of thick, powdery snow reached towards the soft grey sky, and the almost unearthly quiet that wrapped the forest and everything in it in a peaceful embrace.

Then the silence shattered like glass as a shower of bullets passed over our heads as we ran out from under the cover of the trees, towards a tiny fishing cabin sitting in the center of a small clearing. The tallest of my companions, a tall figure dressed all in black raced ahead of us, yanking open the door of the cabin as the other figure - also dressed in black, fired half a dozen bullets into the air from a small handgun pressed into its black-clad palm.

“Hurry!” The tallest figure yelled in a deep, throaty voice. “They’re close!”

The second figure grabbed me by the wrist and put on an extra burst of speed, dragging me out of the snow and into the cabin. The figure placed a hand onto my chest and pushed me to the floor, pressing my back against the painted plywood wall.

“Stay there.” The figure ordered, and I obeyed, pressing my body to the wall and listening to the pounding of my own heart as the tall figure slid into the room behind us, slamming the door and pressing against it, a slightly larger gun raised into the air, waiting. The second person crouched by the window, its barely visible eyes narrowed at the sky.

“That was entirely too close.” It said, gloved hand still gripping the handgun. “I didn’t like that one bit.”

“I know.” The tall figure muttered, getting to its feet and pulling off its hood, revealing a boy with sandy brown hair and blue eyes. “At least he didn’t get shot.”

He was me, I guess.

The smaller figure dropped the gun onto the faded rug on the floor and yanked off the head coverings that concealed snapping green eyes and long brunette hair that tumbled down the back of a petite young girl.

“Still.” She growled as she tossed her head coverings onto a couch and gingerly plucked the gun off the rug. “They’ve never been that harsh before. I thought the president ordered the marked to be brought in alive.”

The boy started to answer, but before he could the girl dropped to her knees and shot us a wide-eyed glare. “GET DOWN!” She hissed.

Without a word, the boy fell to the floor, then glanced at me with cold eyes, as if to say don’t move. Moving was the last thing I wanted to do. The air was freezing, and my Green Bay Packers hoodie wasn’t blocking out the cold anymore.

The thudding sound of bullets hitting the side of the cabin wall, followed by the soft whirring noise of the drones cracked through the freezing air, and I held my breath. The girl, who was still crouched beneath the window, aimed the muzzle of her gun at the ceiling, finger poised on the trigger, ready for anything.

I studied her for a moment, choosing to focus on her rather then on the pounding of my heart. She was short, maybe five-foot-two, and had long, dark brown hair that spilled down her back. She was agile and lean, and her muscled frame was clothed in heavy black and grey clothing that made her nearly melt into the shadows of the cabin. Her companion was dressed in the same way, except for his headwraps were pushed down around his neck. He was tall and stocky; a build that my football coach coveted. His massive hands were wrapped around the handle of his gun, but he didn’t look ready to shoot. His eyes were trained on the window, watching the bleak grey sky.

The girl gasped, and in one quick movement, shoved herself away from the wall and buried her face in her arms as a shower of bullets hit the window, shattering the glass into a million pieces, raining down on the place where she had been moments before.

Through the shattered window, I could see three drones hum through the sky in the form of a triangle, red sensors blinking as they tried to relocate their targets.

Both of them moved at the same time, aiming their firearms at the drones and firing a dozen shots at the robots. Their bullets hit the drones with a metallic screech, and in seconds, the drones dropped from the sky and landed in the soft snow beneath them.

“They’ve already sent our location to the base,” The girl said, straightening up and pressing the magazine release with one finger. “And I’m almost out.”

The guy stood and set his gun down on the rickety table in the corner. “At least we have time.”

The girl shrugged, and then they both turned to me for the first time. Their eyes dragged over me, cataloging my features in an almost automatic way, almost like they couldn’t help it. There isn’t much to see. I’m not tall, but I’m not short. I’m not fat, but I’m not skinny either. I have curly black hair and light brown skin, thanks to my Latina heritage. The only part of me that makes me slightly double-take worthy, is my eyes.

They were red.

Bloody and opaque, they stand out like a beacon next to my otherwise unremarkable features. They are the eyes of a marked sixteen. The mark of a dead man.

It all started fifteen years ago, when President Sandlier passed a law that decreed that when an infant is born, they are to be fitted with a chip that tracked their life until the age of sixteen, when their fate would be decided based off of their life achievements. The best and brightest got to stay, their futures marked with the intense green eyes that would fade after a few weeks. The rest of the sixteens woke up with red eyes that didn’t fade. They were the bottom of their class, the ones that barely got by rather then excelling.

Marked sixteens got ten days after their marking to tie up loose ends - say goodbye to family and friends before heavily armed government officials appeared at their doorsteps to take them away to end their young lives in unimaginable ways.

All in the name of solving overpopulation.

And I am one of them.

The girl reached down and offered me her still-gloved hand. “You’re pretty fast for a newbie.” She said softly.

I let out a noncommittal grunt and took her hand, letting her drag me to my feet. “I guess.”

We stood in silence for a few seconds, no one knowing how to introduce the topic that was nagging at the edges of our brains, until the guy pulled his head coverings back on and walked out of the door, mumbling something about firewood.

“Who are you guys, and why did you…” I trailed off, waiting for them to fill in the blanks.

The girl took a deep breath, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Well, I’m Haven, and that is my brother Beck.”

I was tempted to mention the difference in hair color and eye color, but it didn’t seem like the most pressing topic at the moment, so I kept quiet and let her talk.

“ - and we are part of a group of sixteens that escaped the death law called the Saviors.” She continued, speaking in a rushed, quiet tone. “We escaped, and we made it our mission to rescue the others.”

What?

“Wait, there are survivors?” I asked, momentarily forgetting the cold in my shock. “How many?”

“We are approaching one-hundred and fifty,” Haven replied easily. “We live outside the city in an underground compound. It’s like a mini-city; there are families down there, all sixteens that survived and started families.”

The thought of a marked sixteen having children shocked me to my core. My entire life, it had been “work hard, so you can live.” Now, I know that they are not only surviving but thriving outside the city and the grasp of President Sandier.

Before I could respond, Beck burst through the front door, his arms laden with sticks.

“It’s starting to snow,” He announced as he shuffled across the floor and dumped his armload into the fire-ring in the center of the room. “We should get dry and get moving if we want to get back to the compound before dark.”

Haven nodded, and then turned back to me. “They are all down there, where they will stay until it is safe for them to come up.” She explained. “They are refugees now.” As she spoke, she began to unwind her wraps from around her and shaking the snow off of them.

Beck let out a grunt as he stood, a fire crackling where there had been simply damp earth moments before. “They are safe in the compound, but it’s not fair to the children. We teach them about the Overground, but it’s not the same.” He said softly as he took off his wrappings as well and laid them on the floor by the fire. “Give me your hoodie and your socks.”

I peeled off my outer layers and crouched down by the flames, next to Haven as she continued to speak.

“It’s hard, but it’s worth it. Overpopulation is a problem, but if you knew what happened to the marked before they died . . .” She trailed off, her eyes fixed on the flames. “There’s a better way.”

Holding out my numb fingers to warm them, I leaned back against the wall and exhaled softly. “Are you . . . marked?” They looked like they were my age, but it was hard to tell.

Beck nodded as he collapsed next to me. “Yep. I’m eighteen, and I still have to wear contacts when I go out just in case.” He reached out, and with a finger, he slid one of his blue contacts to the side, revealing bloody red eyes, the exact same shade as mine.

“I was rescued the night of my birthday, and then I was a part of the rescue team that snatched Haven.” He said.

“I was grabbed during gym.” Haven piped up. “But yeah, we are marked.”

Our little group plunged into silence for a moment, until I asked: “How did you know about me?”

Beck chuckled lightly, and Haven smiled. “The leader of our movement is Silas McCalister. He’s a high ranking member of Sandlier’s cabinet, and he started smuggling the marked out when it became clear that Sandlier’s intent was more sinister than anything else. Because of him, we get the info about each marked sixteen, and we try to rescue them before their eyes actually turn.”

“So that’s how you know about me.” I mumbled softly, turning the information over in my head.

“Aiden Hamilton, sixteen years old, son of Rebecca and Johnathon Hamiltion, marked.” Haven rattled off, counting the items on her fingers. “Yes, that’s how we know. We got caught up, so that’s why we weren’t able to get to you before your eyes turned. What color were they before?” She asked suddenly, whipping her head around to face me.

“Um, kind of a hazel-ish. Why?”

She shrugged casually, turning her eyes back onto the fire. “No reason. I just like to ask.”

I was about to reply when Beck clamped one of his massive hands over my mouth and stared at the shattered window. “Everyone hush.” He ordered in the same deep, throaty voice he had spoken in earlier. Haven froze next to me, her muscles tight, ready to spring.

She reminded me of a cat, small and agile, with hypnotizing eyes and muscles that made her ready to strike at any moment.

Very slowly, Beck reached out and snatched up everyone’s garments, tossing my hoodie, socks, and a thick woolen wrap into my lap. “Get dressed.” He hissed as he pulled on his boots. “I hear something.”

I pulled on my clothes, and Haven helped me wrap the length of fabric around my shoulders and head. I stuffed my feet into my sneakers as the two dressed quickly. Haven slid over to their discarded weapons, and in a graceful, silent move, reloaded both of them and tossed Beck his gun.

My heart thudded in my chest, even though I hadn’t even heard anything, and all of a sudden, the cold didn’t seem as big of an issue.

“Someone put out the fire,” Haven hissed, not moving her gaze from the window.

Thankful for a distraction, I darted forward and began collecting the snow from the floor and depositing it into the fire-ring until the flames were successfully extinguished.

As the last of the smoke from the fire disappeared into the air, the hum of drones filled the air, and Haven let out a string of curses as she tightened her grip on the trigger.

“Aiden, stay behind Beck.” She ordered. “They’ve got us surrounded.”

I stepped closer to Beck, feeling dwarfed by his broad shoulders and imposing nature. He cocked his gun and pulled his hood over his face. “Haven, get back!” He hissed through gritted teeth. “I swear to god if you get shot . . .”

Haven whirled around, making eye contact with Beck that was so intense, I got second-hand shivers from it.

To Beck’s credit, he didn’t flinch.

“No matter what, he gets to the compound alive.” Every syllable dripped with intention, and Beck nodded, his eyes still locked with hers.

“No matter what.”

At this point, I am seriously beginning to doubt the “sibling” bit, but at the moment, there were far more pressing matters to attend to, so I kept my mouth shut.

“Aiden, do not stop running, no matter what happens, okay? We will get to the pickup location and then get to the compound. Do. Not. Stop. Running.”

I swallowed hard, and nodded. “I won’t.”

And then Haven threw open the door and raced out of the cabin, leaving Beck and I with nothing else to do but follow her.

My feet slipped and slid as I ran, but due to the adrenaline that was coursing through my veins, I was able to keep up with her as we dashed across the sparkling snow. Beck was on our heels, occasionally opening fire on a particularly close drone.

The treeline was nearing with every agonizing pump of my legs, and we had almost reached it when we heard a grunt, the terrible sound of gunfire, then the blood-curdling sound of Haven’s scream.

“NOO!”

The sound ripped through the silent, icy trees, and even as Haven’s warning echoed in my ears, I skidded to a stop and whipped around, my eyes landing on Haven first, as she dashed back the way we had come, and then on Beck’s body lying on the ground, his blood tinting the snow around him a deep crimson.

“Holy shit . . .” I gasped as I rushed over to him. “Beck . . .”

Haven dropped to her knees and wrapped one hand in his. “Jesus Christ, Beck. I - I’m so sorry.”

But his eyes were cold and unfocused, staring blindly at the grey sky above him as the snow under his body slowly got redder and redder.

Tears rolled in silent streams down Haven’s cheeks as she reached down and closed his eyelids and wrapped his clothes tighter around him.

“I love you, idiot.” She whispered, still clutching his hand.

It was such an intimate scene, that I didn’t feel like I’d earned the right to witness it, and I would’ve turned away if the sound of the drones weren’t getting louder with every passing second.

“Haven . . .” I mumbled, reaching out and grabbing her shoulder. “We have to go.”

She wiped the back of her hand over one cheek and nodded stiffly. “I know.” Reaching out and grabbing Beck’s weapon, she stood and forced it into my arms.

“Wha -” I stuttered, holding the gun away from my body, like it was going to explode. “I can’t -”

“You can and you will.” She said, her voice cold. “Like I said to Beck - we are getting to the compound.”