The Third Gender: Hope and Prey Book One by Ackerman Micah

Author:Ackerman, Micah [Ackerman, Micah]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Micah Ackerman
Published: 2014-12-10T05:00:00+00:00

Hope was led to an office in the rear corner of the makeshift field hospital, where she was introduced to a Third named Cartwright who was the director of the medical staff. Cassandra had explained on the walk over to the building that Cartwright was a Third who had become renowned inside the camp for having leeched off of four doctors. His father had been a doctor and the first place he went after “changing” was the local hospital. Cartwright was one of the few Thirds at the camp who wore glasses, which immediately distinguished him from the rest. He was skinny, with a thick, flattened nose and his cheeks were sunken in, creating a strange contrast. His face reminded Hope of her aunt’s pug, a small dog that always nipped at Hope’s fingertips whenever she tried to pet it.

Cassandra left Hope in the office and went back to wherever she went after helping newbies find their way. Hope sat in a folding chair in front of a large desk, which Cartwright sat behind, leaning back in a comfortable-looking red leather chair with an oversized headrest. The desk was scattered with stacks of paper and a computer monitor that acted like a barricade when Hope tried to make eye contact. She wondered if the monitor had been strategically placed.

“So you have some medical experience?” Cartwright asked, jotting notes into a yellow notebook.

“Well, my first time leeching was off my grandmother, who was a nurse.”

“That makes you a nurse. You own those experiences now.” Cartwright smiled at Hope. Something about him looked older, more secure. He simply didn’t have that teenage aura and he spoke in a low, masculine tone. “A lot of us seem to dismiss those experiences as temporary. You’ll always retain your teenage personality, because if not we’d lose ourselves in the memories and experience we gain through the leeching process. Some call it ‘feeding’, but that’s really not accurate because we don’t derive any physical nourishment from the act. The knowledge, though, is like something filed away in your brain. The more you feed, the more you’ll have to learn tap into that knowledge when you need it. Think about it. I bet you know how to stitch a wound, draw blood, and start an IV line, and so much more.”

It was true—Hope did know all of those things, but she couldn’t get past the feeling that those thoughts and learned skills weren’t her own. “I do know that stuff, but...”

“Good. Then you should be quite useful when the casualties start to roll in.” Cartwright leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on the desk. He was fidgety, another example of the strange dichotomy between his mature way of speaking and his anxious physical mannerisms.

“Why? Are you expecting casualties? Are we going to be attacked?”

“Attacked? No, but we understand that the round-up teams are going to have a difficult job. They’re going to have to take by force; Americans won’t give up their freedom easily. It’s been ingrained in them to resist captivity, and some will fight back.

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