An Agent's Inbox #13

Dear Gabrielle Piraino, 

Seventeen-year-old Sasame will do anything to get rid of the undead mutants that threaten her city. She kidnaps those immune to the virus for her agency, who claims they're creating a stronger antidote.

For two years, she carried out her missions believing every word her boss told her. All that is ruined the day she meets Konan at the summer festival. At first, she avoids him. Her boss has strict rules against relationships. Yet Konan's determination intrigues her.

Sasame pretends this new friend of hers isn't a big deal, but her boss isn't happy with the rumors he hears about his precious hunter. He forces her to watch the slaughter of another hunter's girlfriend.

Leaving the agency isn't as easy as putting in a two-week notice. She'll become a target if she disobeys. Or she can kill her biggest distraction--Konan--to prove her loyalty.

IMMUNITY HUNTER, a YA Dark Fantasy novel of 85,000 words with series potential, shows the struggle of teens surviving in a post-apocalyptic city as seen from six points of view. As a film student, I understand the importance of characters in a story. From a small cast of friends to a large world, a story cannot live without the characters breathing life. Though IMMUNITY HUNTER has the ensemble cast close to that of the A SONG OF ICE AND FIRE series, it tells a story that will appeal to fans of THE WHITE RABBIT CHRONICLES by Gena Showalter and AN ENEMY series by Charlie Higson.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely, 

E.M.S.

IMMUNITY HUNTER

A cool wind blows between the tall buildings of downtown swirling my hair around my face. There's not a car, person, or stray cat in sight. The dark-haired boy with his eyes glued to the small screen of his phone almost trips over the curb. Walking these dark streets alone this late looking down at a phone is just dumb. Forget sneaking. Short of yelling his name, he's not going to notice me. This will be an easy hunt.

I walk up behind him and jab the spikes of my brass-knuckle-shaped stun gun into his ribs, the power up as high as it'll go. His phone drops to the ground as his body stiffens. Now he knows I'm here.

Maybe his brain will fry before his eyes bulge out. On second thought, The Organization wouldn't appreciate me tampering with their new "blood donor".

A swift kick into the jagged-brick wall and he's knocked out cold leaving a small blood stain behind. Hopefully, the impact of his head slamming into the concrete doesn't kill him. He's still breathing--for now.

"Idiot. Pay attention to where you're going."

The distant rumble of a truck engine gets closer and a few blocks in front of me headlights turn onto the street. Using both hands and every ounce of my strength, I grab him by the foot and drag his limp body into the alley next to us before we can be spotted. I sit on the dirt-covered concrete beside him, stun gun at the ready in case he wakes up.

Right on schedule, the extraction team shows up in an ambulance to collect the victim. Two men, dressed as paramedics, climb out of the front seat and rush over to me and the unconscious boy. Within seconds, they're gone. Another name crossed out of my notebook. The Organization is now one step closer to finding a stronger antidote to the Konadai virus. They better be happy. I've been with them for two years now and they always seem to need more donors. It's starting to wear me down, but I can't stop now. It doesn't matter; the immune are put to better use this way.

"You did well, Sasame."

I spin around to see an Insider, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt, standing behind me.

"I know, thank you," I say.

There's no need for her to watch me tonight. I did my job. I remove my backpack, unzipping it to put my stun gun inside. She vanishes before I look up. Freaking snitch.

Insiders watch all of the Hunters, but I seem to be their favorite.

I sling the backpack over my shoulder and walk out of the alley. Tonight's mission has gone even easier than I expected.

* * *

It's only another mission, I tell myself as I try to sleep. I stare at the ceiling fan spinning on low. There really isn't a need for the fan as the air is cool, but normally its sound comforts me. Tonight is different. The blades of the fan turn to knives. Blood rains down on my face and the screams of my victims pierce my ears. My eyes shut and then open them again. No blood or sharp blades, only the whirl of the fan. Tomorrow will just be another "mission".

The sound of Lynn talking to her husband, Brock--my substitute parents--reaches me through the wall from the hallway bathroom.

"I pulled some strings and got the perfect mission for Sasame," Lynn says over the sound of water running in the sink. "She's going to Summer Fest to meet teenagers her age for some much-needed interaction."

Lynn's squeaky, high-pitched voice is like nails on a chalkboard. It sounds like she has had the same cold for years.

"Your mission sounds more like a scheme," Brock says. He's right, this is a scheme to get me to act "normal" around other people. I'm seventeen, not twelve. I don't need to make friends. Besides, the people in this city don't need to know who I am. My job works better when I spy on a smaller group instead of trying to mingle with serval thousand. If they want me to go to that festival then I'll go, but there won't be any mingling.

Since I doubt I'll get to sleep anytime soon, I toss the purple, diamond-patterned comforter to the other side of my bed and walk to my laptop on the desk. The bright screen burns my eyes but I power through it. I have no idea what I'm searching for, maybe a way to avoid this so-called assignment to go to the festival. The Organization won't appreciate that if they have anything to do with Lynn's plan.

Ever since my parents disappeared, The Organization that I devote my loyalty to was kind enough to give me replacements. Not that I need them, I can take care of myself. Nothing comes up in my mindless internet surfing. I slam my laptop shut, climb into bed, and throw the covers over my head.

The walls are so thin in this townhouse, I'm surprised they've never heard me scream into my pillow at night. Tonight, I put the pillow over my face to block out the sound of them talking.

* * *

From human to Okamikiin, everyone is laughing and stuffing their faces with fried food. The bright sun makes the early evening warmer than usual. I had spent most of the day trying to decide if I want to go to the festival or pass on this ridiculous ploy. After a little persuasion from Lynn, I end up caught in the middle of a crowd of happy people.

Everywhere I turn, the faces of strangers bombard my vision. As I try to push my way through, they all become a blur. They are random people who couldn't care less about me being here. Soon my head starts to spin like I'm trapped. All I can see is a kaleidoscope of colorful clothing. The thick smell of greasy food clouds my nostrils. My breakfast starts to reappear in my throat. I've never been good with large crowds. They make me nervous. Lynn knows that. The Organization knows that. It's in my profile, for crying out loud.

My aching head isn't making this any better. Searching for a place of peace, the restroom sign glows like a beacon of hope. I make my way inside and move straight to the sinks. In the handprint-smeared mirror, I stare at the girl I've become, wearing makeup for the first time in days and her lips pulled tight in response to the squeaky laughter of children and their mothers’ catty gossip echoing against the concrete walls. Why are they so happy? These people act as if our lives aren't in danger. Maybe we are alright and I'm the one freaking out over nothing. But the growls echoing over the wall late at night are a constant reminder.

I dip my hands into the cool running water, splashing some on my face in my attempt to wash away my daunting secrets. I'm not ashamed of who I am, but I'll be shunned from society if anyone finds out. The water runs down my round cheeks dripping from the end of my chin.

I can't stay in here forever. Then again it's not like anyone is missing me outside. I head toward the doors, my red high-heeled boots clicking on the linoleum floor.