Defect - By Ryann Kerekes Page 0,23

leaving mine. My stomach drops.

A few minutes later, Kane returns carrying a black duffle bag on his shoulder. All of the others have been dropped off by their guard and are waiting impatiently. Kane unceremoniously drops the bag at Rena’s feet, shooting a look in my direction. Then he goes to help Will secure foam targets printed with the outline of a human body against the side of the fence every few feet.

Standing here lined up, I can watch Will work at the fence. I note the way his shoulders move, and the muscles in his back flex as he holds the target up with one hand and secures it with a tie with his other hand. He secures two for every one Kane sloppily posts to the fence. When Will finishes first, Kane throws his last target in the grass and stalks off, cursing under his breath. I press my lips together to keep from laughing. Apparently they were racing.

Rena intercepts Kane, blocking his path from leaving and points him over to join the lesson. With a satisfied little smile on her lips, Rena opens the bag and spills its contents into the grass. She separates the gun-looking devices from various wires and clips. We’re instructed to line up in front of a target and then take twenty steps back.

Rena stands in front of us, commanding everyone’s full attention. “Today I will show you why you don’t want to find yourself at the wrong end of one of these.” She looks over at Kane and her mouth twitches in a smile. Holy crap, is she actually going to shoot at Kane? Is that what he and Will raced for? He lost and now has to be her target?

I wonder out loud to Sam why we would need to use a pulse gun. She shrugs her shoulders, and stays quiet, watching Rena.

“The pulse gun is a non-lethal weapon. It’s used to subdue dangerous Radicals who may have gained entry across the fence.” She holds the gun out in front of her so we can see it. “It fires darts that pulse a current of electricity into the victim, inhibiting their muscle control. It incapacitates their movement and allows us to take the person into custody for questioning.”

Rena faces Kane and steps feet shoulder-width apart, straightening her posture. I take a deep breath and watch her. I know I can replicate her pose. What terrifies me more than anything else is the idea that I’ll have to fire at Kane. He doesn’t need any more reason to hate me.

She raises the gun out in front of her, pointing it at Kane’s midsection. I swallow down a massive lump that’s lodged itself in my throat. I dare a glance over at Will. He’s smiling. I’m so mesmerized watching him smile, the soft lines around his eyes and his straight white teeth that I miss Rena firing the gun. But the second I hear it, I turn back and see Kane drop to the ground, twitching violently.

Two wires are attached to his chest, and Rena lowers the gun as the electricity continues to surge through his body, stunning him into submission. He continues writhing on the ground for several minutes. When he stands up, he tears the darts from his chest and stalks off, but not before shooting me a nasty glare. Crap.

We practice loading the cartridges into the pulse guns, while Rena comes around to show us how they work.

I take a minute to just get used to the feel of it in my hands. It doesn’t evoke a sense of fear inside me like it probably should. It must be because I know I couldn’t kill someone holding this. Even still, I have no desire to fire this at an actual human being, and I’m glad we’re using dummy darts and foam targets today.

We work in groups of threes, each taking a turn with the gun. Rena walks among us, checking people’s posture as she goes. She stops and watches the guy – Drew, she calls him – next to me.

He holds the gun with a cocky look of determination that makes my skin crawl. He fires, and hits the target in the dead center of the chest.

“Good. Left arm,” Rena commands, helping him reload the weapon.

Drew aims and fires again, and I see the darts shoot out and attach to the left arm of the target.

“Right arm,” she says softly, giving him another cartridge.

The target’s right arm gets pierced.

“Right between