My wrists were uncomfortable. I tried to move them, but could not. "Ow," I said groggily.
I opened my eyes, and for a moment, could not make sense of the space around me. Where was I?
Jordan's brain instantly began analyzing. It was a small, dark, musty room. The floor was damp, and the cracks in the walls let in very little light. We could hear the rain tapping against the roof.
Jordan was tied to a chair. And that cute Marco boy was sitting across from her.
He looked up from his magazine, and tossed it on the floor. "Good morning," he said amiably.
"Where am I?" I asked blearily. Jordan's head pounded around me.
"Tied to a chair, in a shack, in the woods. Which is exactly where you'll stay for . . . " he paused, and counted on his fingers. " . . . twenty-nine more hours."
Twenty-nine hours. In twenty-nine hours, I would be dead from starvation. My eyes grew wide. He knew. That meant . . .
"You're an Andalite," I whispered.
He looked at me with pure contempt. Looked at me. Not Jordan. His eyes were fixed on her forehead. "Close enough."
The horror began to dawn on me. I had been captured by the Andalite bandits. They had every intention of keeping me confined until I starved. I was going to die. They were going to kill me. Just because of my species. I was going to die.
My horror trickled through into Jordan's consciousness. {Hey . . . this means you're in trouble, right? OKAY!! Go Marco!}
I began to violently struggle. I twisted in my seat. Wrenched my hands back and forth. Rubbed my feet desperately. I had to get out! "Don't do this!" I shrieked. "Don't do this! Let me out!"
Marco watched me for a moment, his face impassive. Then he stood up, grabbed my shoulders, and looked straight into Jordan's eyes.
"No."
That one whispered word chilled me to the bone. I felt the blood drain out of Jordan's face, and the world stood very still. "You can't . . . " I choked.
"No, see, you're wrong!" Marco shot back, almost before the words had left my mouth. "We can. Just like you can wrap your filthy slug bodies around the brains of the people we love! All's fair in love and war, right?"
I glared at him. I wasn't about to get into arguing morals with somebody so sick. He and his species had caused more Yeerk deaths than anyone else. Andalite filth. "Why are you in human morph?" I hissed.
He looked surprised at the question. He opened his mouth, then slowly sat back down and picked the magazine back up. "I like having fists for interrogating controllers," he said. Then he pointedly began to read.
{Okay, he was cute before,} Jordan said. {Now he's gorgeous. I mean, come on. He's gonna get you out of my head! I don't think he has a girlfriend, either . . . }
"Shut up," I moaned.
Marco glanced up. "I didn't say anything."
I clenched Jordan's jaw. Tried to tune out her chatter. She began to burble cheerfully about all the things she would do when I was gone. About how cute Marco was. And, for a change of pace, about what a jerk I was.
Bad memory. Bad memory. The host doesn't exist anymore, not really.
The door to the shack banged open without warning. It was night outside, and still raining hard. In the doorway I could just make out a girl, dripping wet and breathing hard. I couldn't see her face in the darkness.
"You're early," Marco said. "Your shift doesn't start until a half-hour from now."
"Oh, I'll be happy to start now," the girl said. Her voice was laced with triumphant danger. "This watch will be pure pleasure."
Jordan knew that voice. So did I. The girl was Rachel.
"Fine, whatever you say." Marco rolled up his magazine and shoved it in a duffel bag. "See you tomorrow."
"Yeah," Rachel said tersely. She stood by the door, immobile, until Marco had left.
"Don't kill anything," Marco said on his way out.
Rachel didn't reply. She simply closed the door, and took her place across from me.
{Wait, I'm confused,} Jordan said. {Why the heck is Rachel here?}
I was wondering the same thing. I knew for a fact she was human. Why was she with the Andalite bandits? And, come to think of it, why did that Andalite pose as Marco and bother going to school, instead of strategizing out in the woods? I searched Jordan's memories. She had once been to a school production of "The Lion King" with Marco. The show had been over two hours long, and he had remained in his seat the whole time. He hadn't left to demorph.
Which meant that he was human.
Oh, fugue. They were all human. I stared with wide eyes at the shadowed face of Rachel. My host's sister was one of the Andalite bandits. She was one of the mass-murderers. The butchers. The enemies of my entire species.
"You," I whispered.
"Me," she echoed.
Was this why I had developed an unusual fascination for her since the day I infested Jordan? Had some secret sense suggested that she was one of the bandits? Had she ever done anything to give herself away? I felt sick to Jordan's stomach. I had some strange feeling for this girl - something between admiration and pity that I had no name for. And she was one of the enemy.
"You know, Yeerk, I've been waiting for this day for a long, long time now." She searched Jordan's face eagerly. What was she looking for? Fear? Pain? Some reflection of her own evil?
{Dude!} Jordan cried. {Rachel's one of the good guys! I can't believe this!} She was filled with glowing pride and love for her sister. Pride and love that were instantly covered by a scab of indignation. {Hey, what took her so long to rescue me?}
"Filth," I spat.
Instantly, she leaped up, rocked my chair back, and had her arm around Jordan's neck. Her mouth was pressed up against Jordan's ear. "The only reason I'm not killing you for that is because you're in my sister's body," she hissed. Her hot breath tickled Jordan's skin. Goosebumps ran down Jordan's spine and out to the tips of her fingers. She released me, and paced back to her own chair. She looked at me as Marco had, straight at Jordan's forehead. "Of all species, Yeerks have no right to call anybody filth."
{Whoa.}
I stared at Rachel. She leaned forward, peering at me. "I'm going to sit right here, Yeerk, and watch you die. I'm going to make sure that the last thing you hear is me laughing." Such unbridled hatred coursed through her. There was a burning hunger in her eyes. A light of destruction. She was on the edge of her seat to watch a sentient creature die. Just because of my species, she was going to subject me to a long, torturous execution. Her lips twitched, inching their way towards a smile.
"You're insane," I choked.
"Yeah," she laughed. "Probably."
I opened my eyes, and for a moment, could not make sense of the space around me. Where was I?
Jordan's brain instantly began analyzing. It was a small, dark, musty room. The floor was damp, and the cracks in the walls let in very little light. We could hear the rain tapping against the roof.
Jordan was tied to a chair. And that cute Marco boy was sitting across from her.
He looked up from his magazine, and tossed it on the floor. "Good morning," he said amiably.
"Where am I?" I asked blearily. Jordan's head pounded around me.
"Tied to a chair, in a shack, in the woods. Which is exactly where you'll stay for . . . " he paused, and counted on his fingers. " . . . twenty-nine more hours."
Twenty-nine hours. In twenty-nine hours, I would be dead from starvation. My eyes grew wide. He knew. That meant . . .
"You're an Andalite," I whispered.
He looked at me with pure contempt. Looked at me. Not Jordan. His eyes were fixed on her forehead. "Close enough."
The horror began to dawn on me. I had been captured by the Andalite bandits. They had every intention of keeping me confined until I starved. I was going to die. They were going to kill me. Just because of my species. I was going to die.
My horror trickled through into Jordan's consciousness. {Hey . . . this means you're in trouble, right? OKAY!! Go Marco!}
I began to violently struggle. I twisted in my seat. Wrenched my hands back and forth. Rubbed my feet desperately. I had to get out! "Don't do this!" I shrieked. "Don't do this! Let me out!"
Marco watched me for a moment, his face impassive. Then he stood up, grabbed my shoulders, and looked straight into Jordan's eyes.
"No."
That one whispered word chilled me to the bone. I felt the blood drain out of Jordan's face, and the world stood very still. "You can't . . . " I choked.
"No, see, you're wrong!" Marco shot back, almost before the words had left my mouth. "We can. Just like you can wrap your filthy slug bodies around the brains of the people we love! All's fair in love and war, right?"
I glared at him. I wasn't about to get into arguing morals with somebody so sick. He and his species had caused more Yeerk deaths than anyone else. Andalite filth. "Why are you in human morph?" I hissed.
He looked surprised at the question. He opened his mouth, then slowly sat back down and picked the magazine back up. "I like having fists for interrogating controllers," he said. Then he pointedly began to read.
{Okay, he was cute before,} Jordan said. {Now he's gorgeous. I mean, come on. He's gonna get you out of my head! I don't think he has a girlfriend, either . . . }
"Shut up," I moaned.
Marco glanced up. "I didn't say anything."
I clenched Jordan's jaw. Tried to tune out her chatter. She began to burble cheerfully about all the things she would do when I was gone. About how cute Marco was. And, for a change of pace, about what a jerk I was.
Bad memory. Bad memory. The host doesn't exist anymore, not really.
The door to the shack banged open without warning. It was night outside, and still raining hard. In the doorway I could just make out a girl, dripping wet and breathing hard. I couldn't see her face in the darkness.
"You're early," Marco said. "Your shift doesn't start until a half-hour from now."
"Oh, I'll be happy to start now," the girl said. Her voice was laced with triumphant danger. "This watch will be pure pleasure."
Jordan knew that voice. So did I. The girl was Rachel.
"Fine, whatever you say." Marco rolled up his magazine and shoved it in a duffel bag. "See you tomorrow."
"Yeah," Rachel said tersely. She stood by the door, immobile, until Marco had left.
"Don't kill anything," Marco said on his way out.
Rachel didn't reply. She simply closed the door, and took her place across from me.
{Wait, I'm confused,} Jordan said. {Why the heck is Rachel here?}
I was wondering the same thing. I knew for a fact she was human. Why was she with the Andalite bandits? And, come to think of it, why did that Andalite pose as Marco and bother going to school, instead of strategizing out in the woods? I searched Jordan's memories. She had once been to a school production of "The Lion King" with Marco. The show had been over two hours long, and he had remained in his seat the whole time. He hadn't left to demorph.
Which meant that he was human.
Oh, fugue. They were all human. I stared with wide eyes at the shadowed face of Rachel. My host's sister was one of the Andalite bandits. She was one of the mass-murderers. The butchers. The enemies of my entire species.
"You," I whispered.
"Me," she echoed.
Was this why I had developed an unusual fascination for her since the day I infested Jordan? Had some secret sense suggested that she was one of the bandits? Had she ever done anything to give herself away? I felt sick to Jordan's stomach. I had some strange feeling for this girl - something between admiration and pity that I had no name for. And she was one of the enemy.
"You know, Yeerk, I've been waiting for this day for a long, long time now." She searched Jordan's face eagerly. What was she looking for? Fear? Pain? Some reflection of her own evil?
{Dude!} Jordan cried. {Rachel's one of the good guys! I can't believe this!} She was filled with glowing pride and love for her sister. Pride and love that were instantly covered by a scab of indignation. {Hey, what took her so long to rescue me?}
"Filth," I spat.
Instantly, she leaped up, rocked my chair back, and had her arm around Jordan's neck. Her mouth was pressed up against Jordan's ear. "The only reason I'm not killing you for that is because you're in my sister's body," she hissed. Her hot breath tickled Jordan's skin. Goosebumps ran down Jordan's spine and out to the tips of her fingers. She released me, and paced back to her own chair. She looked at me as Marco had, straight at Jordan's forehead. "Of all species, Yeerks have no right to call anybody filth."
{Whoa.}
I stared at Rachel. She leaned forward, peering at me. "I'm going to sit right here, Yeerk, and watch you die. I'm going to make sure that the last thing you hear is me laughing." Such unbridled hatred coursed through her. There was a burning hunger in her eyes. A light of destruction. She was on the edge of her seat to watch a sentient creature die. Just because of my species, she was going to subject me to a long, torturous execution. Her lips twitched, inching their way towards a smile.
"You're insane," I choked.
"Yeah," she laughed. "Probably."