The Forsaken

faint.
    “Naw, the machine does all the work.” He adjusts the halo, tightening the cold metal around my skull. “You can even fall asleep if you want. Most kids do, once the serum takes hold.”
    “How long . . . does the test take?”
    “Depends on the person.” He leans over and extracts an object from the top drawer of the cabinet. It looks like a candy bar. He unwraps it and hands it to me. It’s made of green plastic, with the texture of spongy foam.
    “Put that between your teeth,” he instructs. “It helps calibrate the data.”
    Groggy and unquestioning, I do what he says.
    “What happens afterward?” I ask, forcing the muffled words out around the plastic. “Do I just go home?”
    “So many questions.” The tech chuckles. “You need to stop talking and start relaxing.”
    The plastic makes it difficult to talk anyway, so I lean back in the chair. The tech taps a few keystrokes into the computer. I shut my eyes.
    But in the final moments before the injection puts me under, I hear something unexpected—other voices inside the tiny room. I realize the door to my testing cell has been opened again, and that people are stepping inside.
    I don’t understand why they’re here. I’m probably just imagining things. My eyelids are too heavy to lift now, and the metal halo has me immobilized. I sense that the voices are talking about me. Is this normal? They grow fainter, and I realize I’m about to sink into a drugged slumber.
    Then, out of nowhere, an image explodes across my vision in the instant before the blackness claims me:
    It’s the blue-eyed boy from the island.
    Beckoning me. Calling my name.
    And behind him is that mammoth spiral staircase, baking under the tropical sun.
    I try to ask the boy who he is, and what he wants. I try to reach out and grab his hand. But he dissolves into a million shimmering particles, like cosmic dust.
    Then waves of silky blackness well up from all sides, and I succumb to the darkness.

FORSAKEN
    ONE SECOND LATER, I wake up choking and gasping, with the worst headache of my entire life.
    I try to open my eyes, but blinding light stabs my retinas. I try to scream, but my lungs are filled with smoke.
    My ears are ringing, and I realize I can barely hear. It hurts to think. My hands are numb, my face bruised and battered.
    I must have been in an accident. Maybe a car crash on the Megaway. It’s all a blank. My memory has been shattered like a smashed mirror.
    I dare to open my eyes again, and the brightness causes a fresh surge of pain. But I manage to get on all fours.
    What has happened to me?
    I raise a trembling hand and touch my forehead. The skin feels raw. Singed and blistered. I’m beyond terror now. I just want to lie down until the pain goes away.
    But something inside won’t let me give up. I push up with both hands, like an animal rising to its haunches.
    When I finally get my eyes to stay open, I’m looking at large green leaves and dense, lush foliage. This is obviously not New Providence, where everything is industrial and utilitarian. This place is tropical. I crouch for a moment, then manage to stand on shaky legs, trying to push past my pain and confusion.
    Everywhere I look are ropy vines, exotic trees with intertwined branches, and neon pink and blue flowers. The air is humid and dank. It smells like earth and decay.
    Some of my memory starts to return: the testing arena, the scan, those voices in the room . . .
    But it’s not possible.
    I stagger around in disbelief, seeking a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of my surroundings. In the distance, a huge stone structure ascends into the gray clouds. A broken spiral staircase.
    I feel stunned.
    Terrified.
    Betrayed.
    Somehow I am on the island.
    The Land Across the Water.
    I sink to my knees like I’ve been punched in the belly. I’m too scared to cry. How could this have happened to me? There’s been a horrible mistake!
    Okay. It’s probably just a hallucination brought on by the serum , I tell myself desperately, trying not to hyperventilate. There’s no way I’ve actually been sent to Island Alpha. I’m not an Unanchored Soul! But the vegetation, the heat, and the smell of the soil are too visceral to be the product of my imagination.
    I crouch in the underbrush as my senses slowly return. Other than distant birdcalls, the island around me seems completely deserted. I touch my aching forehead again.
    I shouldn’t be here. I’m a normal, decent member of the UNA. I’m