The Genetic Code

Chapter 17

We're standing in the open field area behind the cabins where we've dropped off our bags. We stand in our ten respective groups, wearing colored shirts that correspond with our groups.

Group 1 is grey. I survey the groups of students and pick out the familiar faces: Kera in red, Thalia in purple, Suzy and that peroxide blonde guy in black along with one guy I recognize as his lackey by the matching bruised face, and Sterling in grey next to me.

"Now that all of you have changed into your camp shirts, it's time for our first camp activity!" The woman who seems like she's high on some kind of joy pill announces with an overflowing amount of zeal. She holds a red ball, bouncing it up and down slightly in her palm. "Shark dodgeball."

Those two words put together are definitely not music in my ears, the complete opposite, actually. It sounds like what I imagine a cat running its claws down a chalkboard would sound like screeching in my ears.

Dodgeball... but not just any dodgeball, shark dodgeball... with a whole cohort of vicious Perfects — some of which I've already managed to make enemies out of in the first week of school, and others who just seem to dislike me even though they've never met me (probably due to the fact that I'd lived as a Normal all my life and have already been 'contaminated' by the disease that is mortal flaw, so they're afraid I'll contaminate them as well by being in their proximity). If that's not the recipe for the best-ever hot, steaming plate of fresh pandemonium, then I don't know what is.

"The world is a scary place, a competitive place. There will always be people trying to beat you down to get on top; it's like a game of survival, kill or be killed — that's the key principle of evolution, after all." Joy-pill has a more serious tone on, her pitch has even gone down an octave from her usual.

Wow, what a way to start a pre-game briefing, she's definitely set the atmosphere.

"As the most highly evolved race of human beings, us Perfects already have a natural advantage for success."

I see other students nodding along in agreement, while I swallow my scoff.

"So rather than be savages who wildly scrimmage for survival, we should instead learn how to engage in friendly competition within the top tier who are already guaranteed it."

As she says this, I once again have to bite back my indignant sneer, but I'm surprised to see Sterling do it for me.

"Shark dodgeball is a simulation of the real world: Knock others out or be knocked out. There are no boundaries within the court, and anyone can pick up dead balls from the ground to throw at opposing team members. If you catch a live ball, you can throw. Once you're hit and the ball goes dead, you're out. If you throw and miss, and the ball goes dead, you're out. The whistle blown twice signals to pause the game. Other than that, there are no further rules, I trust your own judgement. The last one standing is the winner, and your team will get a special reward."

She then reassumes her usual exuberant tone, "Oh, but of course, all is in jest and friendly competition... Let's play!"

Eighty-two students stand in a marked out rectangular area which will be our playing court, poised and ready to attack each other with rubbery spherical weapons which are currently in the hands of the respective facilitators around the perimeter of the court. This is probably the worst idea anyone has ever come up with in the history of mankind and I stand right in the middle of the horrible mess, waiting for the dreaded sound of the whistle signaling the start of this death match.

The whistle blows, and the facilitators toss twelve balls randomly into the court. Students disperse like wild animals, preparing to attack or defend.