I put on the goggles, tighten the straps, and then ready my umbrella. She trembles with excitement and anticipation to match my own.
A virtual landscape flickers to life in front of me, full of obvious—and not-so-obvious—obstacles. I take a knee as if I plan to spring forward from a starting block. The evening is cool, but already I’m starting to sweat: a trickle down my spine, a quick wash behind my knees, pinpricks along my forehead.
Jack was right.
I am going to have to finesse this.
Chapter 12
Pansy
King’s End, Minnesota
Sunday, July 9
The Academy’s first test for the Sight is a blunt, crude series of obstacles. No sense in being subtle with thirteen-year-olds. For some, the Sight hasn’t even shown up by then.
But it will by the end of that first summer, even if all you possess are mild premonitions.
The Sight can manifest in any number of ways. Jack has a variation where he can intuitively sense connections between events, objects, and especially people. He spent two years in the field—mandatory for nearly everyone in the Enclave—but moved into the intelligence section soon after.
For others, the Sight shows them specific things. For example, Sandeep, with his (newly discovered) ability to sense earthquakes. Some can predict things like all the market crashes in a one-hundred-year span (helpful for when you’re not a government agency but are run like one). However the Sight manifests, there’s always one thing in common.
Self-preservation.
Beyond that, the Sight doesn’t have rules. It would be easier if it did. Sometimes what I consider self-preservation and what it does are two vastly different things. That’s why a series of blunt, crude obstacles is ideal.
So, the rope bridge across the mountain-fed stream? The notion that the rope will fray and then snap when you reach the midpoint? The inability to place a single foot on one of the rickety slats? That telltale trickle of blood from your nose?
That’s the Sight.
Of course, that trickle can easily become a gush. The stronger the Sight, the messier it is.
My mother always said she suspected when I was two—I was prone to alarming nosebleeds—but knew for certain by the time I turned four. When I asked how she knew, she’d dismiss my question with, “Oh, it runs in the family. Your grandfather had the Sight.”
Starting when I was eleven, we trained. We trained for two solid years before my first summer at the Academy. My Sight was already honed by the time I arrived. My aim was much higher than that of those who hoped to avoid all the traps and prove to the Enclave that they had extraordinary ability.
I needed to decide which traps to avoid and which ones to walk into without a thought for my safety. There’s no stopping the nosebleeds, but if you lock down the Sight fast enough and hard enough, you might only end up with a trickle you can wipe away. In King’s End, we always passed off my nosebleeds as an autoimmune issue. But that doesn’t work with the Enclave.
Some families embrace all the Enclave has to offer and throw their children with the Sight into its maw. And, yes, I’m quoting my mother. Others, like my mother, caution their children with the Sight, teach them to control and conceal. I think of what Mort and Jack told me about Sandeep and wonder which part of the course caught him.
Because the course Agent Darnelle has laid out caters to both groups. You could overachieve your way through these obstacles. My Sight is already picking up the transmissions, alerting me to this tripwire and that pitfall. Part of me wants to grab each brass ring. I could run the course on those dopamine hits alone. I duck my head, sniff, and take a quick swipe beneath my nose.
But there’s another layer beneath the obvious one, a second, hidden exam. I’m only getting flashes because I’ve locked down the Sight. I want to ask: Who made this? But that would only give me away. Whoever did, their Sight is as good as mine, or possibly even better.
This isn’t merely an examination. Already, my skin is prickling in anticipation of all the stings I’m going to collect. It’s also a training course. For someone like me, someone whose Sight could be honed into a weapon.
“Whenever you’re ready, Agent Little.” Agent Darnelle’s voice is calm. I want to say it’s almost soothing. It’s definitely self-assured.
I wonder, again, if my examination started yesterday.
I dive in. I don’t have a choice. I don’t even know if I can finesse the exam. Will that hidden layer activate my Sight no matter how hard I lock it down? A flurry of virtual Screamers streams past. An obvious ambush. Please. You don’t need the Sight for that.
I unfurl my umbrella and dispatch them without much effort. Even so, a series of stings erupts along my shoulders. The Screamers vanish into a crevice. While I know it truly isn’t there, I pitch my umbrella at an angle, hunker down behind it, and repair the fissure.
I run my fingertips along the space as if weaving invisible threads. Slowly, that blank, endless expanse grows smaller and smaller until it vanishes. In real life, fissures never truly go away, no matter how expertly we mend them. It’s why the Enclave needs permanent post agents in far-flung and out-of-the-way places.
Before I can stand and tackle the next obstacle, a tree falls and I roll out of the way. Or rather, I anticipate the virtual tree fall mere seconds before it comes crashing down. A ripple of leaves wavers in my peripheral vision, what would, in real life, be a hair’s breadth away. I pause for a moment. This close to the ground, the course flickers in and out. I pull in a breath and realize my upper lip is damp.
