The God's Right Hand: a young-adult dystopian novel (Eris Andraste Duology Book 1) by Shanti Hershenson

Author:Shanti Hershenson [Hershenson, Shanti]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Apollo
Published: 2022-03-30T16:00:00+00:00

13

You Damn Girl, You Monster

I don’t sleep for the rest of the night.

My eyes are open and staring at the ceiling—at the darkness that does nothing but remind me I’m awake. I don’t remember what it’s like to dream anymore; what it’s like to feel human and not like a weapon or a monster that lies under a child’s bed. I suppose it’s dark under the shelter bed, similar to what I’m seeing now. And for a moment, I feel as if that’s where I really am; as if I’ll emerge from my hiding to scare a poor, innocent kid. Leo doesn’t fall under that category.

At some point, the darkness is shattered by a startling light. It flickers like lighting, more and more frequently with a current that makes my heart pound. And then the flickers stop, gradually lighting up the whole room. The light wraps around me and I sit up, looking around. The other soldiers in the room begin to sit up too, letting out exhausted groans. As I try to come to my senses, a patchy audio begins to play over the presumed intercom system. It plays on repeat, a few times, quieter each round.

“Good morning soldiers of Camp Ellinwood, your rest must reach its end, for an eventful day lies ahead.”

I look over at the soldiers that are already standing up, their covers in a mess on their beds. They all have disheveled hair, and once more, I become aware that I am still in this uniform I can’t take off. I feel dirty and uncomfortable—my whole body is scratched from the material—but there’s nothing I can do about it. Instead, I ask a question that I hope will divert the attention off me. At least for a little bit.

“Does it always play the same thing?” I chew on my cheek as I ask this, the apprehension biting at my excitement. I’m hardly looking forward to the day and whatever training is to come.

“No, it doesn’t—today’s an important day, I guess,” the woman, Eleanor, states. “They’re preparing for something—at attack, I presume—and these last few days things have gotten intense.”

All eyes turn back to me, and immediately, I hold severe regrets for the question I asked. Especially when, from the corner, a muscled and powerful-looking man says, “You’re so lucky to have conveniently just arrived right now.” He halts, takes a step forward. My body quakes with visible worry. “What’s your story? How’d you end up here—with all of us—when you don’t look all that special?”

I sigh. I know I can’t say the reason why, not that I would ever want to. I don’t know how much they’ve been told about my arrival and the whole reason I’m here—all I know for sure is that whatever they would’ve learned about me is fabricated and false.

“I was drafted a few days ago,” I lie, noticing already that my story doesn’t make sense. Mumbles ripple through the room. “I guess all my exams were above average, so now

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