The Great Contamination, as the history books called it, occurred a little over one hundred years ago. It started with natural disasters—earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes, tornadoes—that destroyed both small coastal fishing villages and large industrial nations alike. The aboveground damage was extensive; entire towns were washed away. Millions worldwide lost everything, including their lives. Within weeks of the initial string of disasters, the world received another shocking blow. The nuclear reactors buried deep in the Earth’s surface had begun to leak. Originally, the governments of the most powerful nations in the world banded together in an attempt to contain the waste. They called in world-renowned scientists, but nobody could figure out how to prevent the spread of the nuclear material.

In less than one year, all the world’s oceans were officially declared contaminated. The decimation of marine life was the first step on the path to the destruction of the world’s ecosystem. Governments around the world issued massive health warnings and swimming in the oceans became prohibited. The remaining sea life and land animals were deemed unsafe to eat.

As if the initial effects of the disasters were not bad enough, a few years later the long-term ramifications started to become apparent. Any and all animals that had survived were rounded up and bred in an effort to rebuild the populations. But the animals born in captivity weren’t normal. Horses were born with horns, dogs with feathers instead of fur, fish with three eyes, and even two-headed pigs were reported.

Quickly, it became evident that the anomalies weren’t specific to animal life. The change in animals was followed closely by changes in plant life. Leaves began to glow at night, and the bark on trees grew a fuzzy coating, stinging anything that touched it. Even insects began to exhibit changes in color, size, and the number of appendages.

However, the most astonishing effects of the contamination weren’t observed until the first post-contamination children were born. While most afflicted children were born with unnatural eyes, white-blonde hair, or an extra finger or toe, a large portion were also born with a little something extra—something more serious.

As this first post-contamination generation reached the age of five, parents started to notice that their kids were… odd. Some parents hid their children’s abnormalities or, as they are now called, “talents”. Other parents weren’t able to hide the truth, given the fact that their child could change into an animal at will. It soon became obvious that these talents were as varied as they were prevalent.

Morphing was the most common talent. Some children could morph into multiple animals—called Polymorphs—while others were limited to only one or two creatures. Telekinesis, telepathy, compulsion, higher reasoning, viewing, and visions were also among the first recorded talents. Eventually, Light Manipulators, Electrical Manipulators, and Mental Manipulators were also discovered.

Of course, not all children were born with talents. Many appeared and acted just as ordinary as their parents. Scientists studied both types of children, desperately seeking answers as to why some were born “normal” while others were not. For years experts experimented on the kids, but their efforts were to no avail. They were unable to isolate any single gene mutation that could account for the variation. Researchers were baffled. There was only one hypothesis that they all agreed on: the Talented were a direct result of The Great Contamination.

Some talents were revered while others were feared. Visionaries were among those prized. Everybody in the world wanted to believe a better life was on the horizon, and any child who claimed to see a brighter future was placed on a pedestal. On the other hand, Telepaths and Mental Manipulators were among those feared. Nobody liked the idea of children who could influence the minds of others.

The contamination levels remained extremely high for several decades, so the first few generations of offspring were heavily saturated with Talents. As time passed, the filtration systems became more advanced and scientists developed chemicals to counteract the effects on the human body, resulting in fewer and fewer children born with a talent. The rare talents—such as teleportation and healing—dwindled away early on, while the more common ones—such as manipulation—still remain over a century later.

Presently, less than a quarter of the population is born with a talent. While there is no doubt that originally the Talented were a result of the nuclear contamination, today the cause is less certain. Some believe that the children born with talents must be the descendants of the first generation of children born in the post-contamination era. Others believe that some families had always possessed abilities and the genetic irregularities that cause talents were just enhanced by the nuclear material. Still, others believe that it’s all chance, that being Talented is a fluke.

What do I believe? Some days I feel as though I am cursed. Cursed with an affliction that cannot be healed. Cursed to explore the mundane minds of those surrounding me. Cursed to know what people honestly think about me. Cursed to be burdened with other people’s darkest secrets. Other days, I believe that I won the genetic lottery. After all, who wants to be ordinary?

“It’s rude to stare at people while they’re sleeping,” I slurred drowsily to Donavon as I attempted to drag myself out of sleep. I still had my eyes closed, but could feel him watching me. I could also feel the warm sun on my face and knew it must be mid-morning. I smiled. I didn’t usually have the luxury of sleeping in.

“It’s time to get up, sleepyhead,” he teased.

“Shhh. Sleeping,” I shot back, still grinning.

“I snagged some stuff for breakfast, and if you get up now, we can eat together before you need to head back for your afternoon practices,” he tempted. He knew the fastest way to wake me up was by promising me food.

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“Ugh,” I groaned out loud. Despite waking up with the birds for nearly half of my life, I was definitely not a morning person. I finally opened my eyes and, sure enough, Donavon’s face was only inches from mine. His hair was cut short, so even after a night of sleeping outside, he looked put together. I had a feeling that I didn’t look quite so good. My thoughts were confirmed when he reached out and gently detangled leaves and twigs from my wild dark curls.

The few female Hunters that I’d met wore their hair short so it was easy to conceal on missions. I’d briefly contemplated cutting my hair, but when you’re cursed with thick, curly hair, short is not a good look. Instead, I usually threaded my curls into a braid that reached halfway down my back.

“How bad is it?” I cringed, not sure I wanted to know the truth.

“You look like an earth goddess,” he joked.

I pushed him hard, causing him to fall over onto his back, laughing.

“Feed me, please,” I said, still groggy.

I sat up and blinked several times, trying to clear the last vestiges of sleep from my otherwise perfect vision. The morning light streamed into our makeshift campground through the tops of the surrounding trees. Donavon must have gotten up during the night to stoke the fire because it was still burning strong. He reached into a cooler sitting on the far side of his black-and-red-checkered blanket and pulled out several containers. The first was a shiny, metal thermos that he warmed in the fire. The next contained bright red raspberries. The last held thick slices of a white, spicy cracked-pepper cheese. Finally, Donavon pulled out a loaf of bread with a crusty brown exterior and a soft white center. He used a Swiss Army Knife to cut the bread, placing it in the fire just long enough to warm it. I watched, feeling extremely lazy as he poured the dark-brown liquid from the thermos into two ceramic cups he pulled from a black canvas bag. He handed one to me. I held it under my nose, inhaling the rich aroma, as the steam pouring off the top warmed my face. He handed me half of the loaf of bread. I took it gratefully and added several slices of the cheese along the length of the baguette, chewing happily. In between bites of spicy, cheesy bread, I popped mouthfuls of sweet, juicy berries.

“Good?” Donavon asked, watching me with an amused smirk. I beamed in return while trying to keep all the food in my mouth.

“It’ll do,” I replied in the most off-hand tone that I could manage mentally. I didn’t want him to be too satisfied with the delicious breakfast he’d arranged. In truth, I lived for mornings like this with Donavon. Sitting there, alone with him, reminded me of when we were children, before life became so complicated.

After breakfast, we packed up our campsite, extinguished the fire, and walked the short distance back to Hunters Village. We paused when we entered the cluster of small houses. Donavon leaned down and kissed me goodbye.

“Have a good day,” he grinned.

“You, too,” I replied with a smirk. I was still barefoot, so I walked carefully through the grass which was still checkered with splashes of paint and neon dye from the night before.

I gently opened the door to the cabin I shared with Erik and Henri. Both were, thankfully, still in bed. I glanced longingly toward my empty bed, still a mess of sheets and pillows from the night before when I’d been so rudely awakened. Tiptoeing across the wooden floor towards the bathroom, I prayed that the ancient boards wouldn’t creak. I had one hand on the doorknob when I heard a voice behind me.

“Late night, Talia?” Erik’s tousled black hair was just visible over the top of his blanket. His turquoise eyes were shining with amusement, streaks of paint still on his face.

“None of your business,” I retorted, trying to hide my reddening cheeks.

“Actually, it is my business. We’re a team; you, me, Henri. Our lives depend on each other, so anything and everything that affects one of us affects all of us,” he lectured me with mock seriousness.

“You’re still a pledge, and I’m the leader of this team, so you have to do what I say; and I say you tell us where you were last night,” Henri chimed in.

Great, they were both awake. I glared at Henri.

“You both know exactly where I was,” I squeaked. I sounded like a child getting caught doing something wrong, instead of an adult who had every right to spend the night with her boyfriend.

“I wanna hear you say it,” Erik taunted.

“Why?” I demanded.

“So we can see you blush,” Erik laughed. Too late. The heat from my face was already spreading down my neck. Thank goodness the room was still somewhat dark.

I mentally shoved the bathroom door open and quickly stumbled through, willing it to close behind me. The door slammed hard enough to shake the wooden walls of the cabin. I heard Erik and Henri’s laughter even after I turned on the shower.

I took my time in the shower, not wanting to face Erik or Henri sooner than was necessary. There weren’t many girls who chose to become Hunters. I had always wondered why. Now I knew. Most girls were too smart to subject themselves to shared living quarters with teenage boys.

When the water finally ran cold, and I had succeeded in removing all the paint—and likely the top layer of my skin—I climbed out of the shower. I toweled myself dry and selected a set of standard issue workout clothes—stretchy black pants and a stretchy black tank top—from my designated bathroom drawers.

I used the towel to clear the layer of steam from the small oval mirror over the sink. I closely examined my reflection, searching for traces of the previous night. Mercifully, my mundane reflection was the only thing staring back at me. My damp curls looked black instead of brown from the water. My pupils were dilated so only a rim of purple was visible and my normally olive-toned skin was bright red from the heat of the shower water and my vigorous scrubbing. I tapped my index finger on the pointy, slightly upturned end of my nose as if that would help to flatten it down a little. I rubbed at the smattering of tiny brown dots that covered the bridge of my nose and my cheekbones. They didn’t go anywhere, assuring me they were in fact freckles and not lingering dirt. Finally, when I couldn’t find any additional ways to prolong my bathroom time, I wrapped the towel around my hair and opened the door into the main room of the cabin.

“Took you long enough,” Erik said impatiently. “You do realize that we all have to shower, right?”

“I thought you took your weekly shower three days ago,” I shot back.

“I did, but I have a hot lunch date with one of the Brains, so I don’t want to smell.” Brain was a slang term for a Higher-Reasoning Talent because their minds analyzed data faster than any computer. Erik wiggled his eyebrows at me, his trademark move, then lifted his arm and sniffed.

“Charming,” I sarcastically commented while rolling my eyes.

“Do I smell, Tals? Maybe I don’t need to shower after all,” he asked, walking toward me and putting his armpit in my face.

“Eww, Erik! Honestly, if the girls that line up to go out with you had to spend as much time with you as I do, they would definitely reconsider.”

“No way. Every girl here considers you the luckiest girl alive.”

I glanced over at Henri and gave him an “is-he-serious?” look. He just shook his head. Erik and Henri had been friends and teammates for two years. I guess he was used to Erik’s antics.

Erik went into the bathroom and I sat down on my unmade bed. I counted to ten, and then, as if on cue, Erik screamed my name followed by a long list of expletives.