CHERUB Fan Fiction: Part Three

Zara drove Serena across campus in a golf buggy and they stopped outside a building with a flat roof made of sequoia logs that were so large they looked more like entire tree trunks than anything else. The area around it was a gravel garden and a pond with patches of duckweed filmed over the surface. She could see catfish and goldfish flitting through the water in and out of her vision.

“This is our new Japanese dojo. Well, it’s not really new, it’s about five years old, but it’s the newest of the three. A dojo is a training hall for martial arts. The literal meaning in Japanese is ‘place of the Way’. I never quite figured out why that has anything to do with people kicking each other in the arse every few minutes.”

They entered through a set of double-doors and into the large hall. Eighteen kids were sparring in pairs, wearing white karate pyjamas with black belts. In the corner closest to Serena a pretty, Japanese girl with straight black hair tied into a ponytail was straddling a muscular, blonde haired boy who had been forced onto his front, with her knees pinned to his sides and his arms twisted into a painful lock between his shoulder blades. As they passed this pair, the girl bent forward and hissed into the boy’s ear.

“You cheating, lying, son of a whore. Scum of the earth…” and then, catching Serena’s eye,

“What are you looking at?”

Zara led her into a smaller room with a floor made up of wiry, blue matting. A girl with a long blonde ponytail and a black karate belt was doing stretches at the back, with her back arched, bending forwards.

“Take your shoes and socks off,” Zara instructed. “Have you ever taken self-defence classes before?”

“Yeah,” Serena replied, “but it was only basic street defence; nothing as serious as judo or karate.”

“This is Alison,” Zara told her, and as the girl stood up, Serena recognized her as one of the twins she had seen this morning; the one who had helped her by the lift. “She’s going to spar with you.”

Alison walked over and pressed her hands together, bending forward in a bow that she has seen many times in movies and on TV. She was shorter, skinnier, and altogether significantly smaller than Serena, who felt that this might be a huge advantage for her during a fight. And besides, Serena had been in countless fights at school and out of school and had learnt to be utterly ruthless. On the other hand, this girl, with her bright blue eyes and little-girl smile, just looked sweet.

“Here are the rules,” Zara warned. “The first person to get five submissions wins. You can submit by speaking or by tapping your hand on the mat. Both of you can withdraw from the bout at any time. You can do anything whatsoever to get a submission except eye gouging. Understand?”

Both girls nodded, and Zara handed them gum shields. The girls stood two metres apart from one another in the centre of the room. Alison looked like the kind of girl who, when she was younger, cried over people killing spiders; the sweet, naïve little kid who wouldn’t hurt a fly.

“Fight,” Zara shouted from the corner.

Before she could move even a millimetre, Alison had jabbed two fingers into the side of her left breast. Distracted, Serena clutched at it in pain, and the innocent little girl hooked a foot around her ankles and tipped her onto the mat. Alison flipped her over onto her front and dragged a long, sharp fingernail through the flesh in her opponent’s back, deep enough to draw blood, twisting Serena’s arms into what could have become a full Nelson if she hadn’t, at that point, yelled, “I submit!” through her gum shield.

Alison immediately released her and stood up, cracking her neck from side to side. Her opponent scrambled up and faced her off.

Serena was prepared for this round, though. When the start signal came, she lunged forward speedily and knocked her over clumsily, straddling her waist with both hands around her neck. Alison narrowed her eyes and gripped Serena’s wrists, forcing them away with exceptional strength. She then pressed her thumb into her opponent’s palm, and Serena buckled, collapsing onto her knees helplessly, as Alison stood and towered over her with flames in her eyes. She tried to move, but for some reason that thumb was controlling her entire body.

“Submit,” Alison growled, “Or I swear to God your hand is going to be broken in so many places you won’t even be able to count to five anymore.”

“I submit,” she gasped, and as the menacing figure released her she could sense a vehement anger radiating from her opponent that had not been present before.

“Are you sure you want to carry on?” Zara asked, warily. Pride gripped hold of Serena and shook her. Don’t give up. If you give up now you’ll have to stay in Luton forever.

The girls squared up for a third time, and the fiery anger that blazed in the little girl’s eyes was threatening, to say the least.

This time Serena didn’t even see her. She didn’t see that upwards-facing palm as it smashed into her nose, spraying what seemed to her like a pint of blood onto the mat. She didn’t see the tiny, powerful fist or the fury in her opponent’s face. All she saw was a flash of pale flesh, and then she felt something hit her stomach at an upwards angle. It was this, perhaps, that caused her to collapse onto her knees and vomit all over the floor.

“I submit,” she coughed, retching again, staring dizzily at the mixture of blood and sick on the blue matting. “I submit, I give up, I withdraw, I-” She retched once more, but didn’t get up. She stayed on all fours until she felt a breeze brush past her ear and hear a soft voice whisper to her.

“Good fight, bitch.” And then the door to the room slammed shut. Zara bent and helped the poor girl to her feet.
* * *

Serena felt like she might be sick again as she tried to focus her eyes on the test that sat before her on the wooden exam desk. She had pieces of tissue clogged up each nostril, her clothes were a mess, she reeked of the stench that comes with blood and vomit, and she was already considering giving up.

“Are you alright, kid?” Zara asked, her forehead wrinkled with sympathy. Serena glared at her without a word. The Chairwoman shook her head. “Right, that was a stupid question. So, um… Simple intelligence test. A mix of verbal and mathematical skills. Forty-five minutes starting now.”

As she worked her way through the paper, the questions got harder and she struggled especially on the mathematical problems, but the verbal were easy for her. The pain that soared through her entire body and the pre-retch feeling she got every few moments were no help either and after forty-five minutes she still had an entire page left.

“What next?” she asked Zara warily. The Chairwoman grinned evilly.

“Next? Oh, you won’t like this one. It’s excruciating. Some students call it the horrors of CHERUB life. But you only have to do it once a day. We call it lunch.”

* * *

Serena ate lunch alone, in a minuscule box room connecting to Zara Asker’s office. The door was locked throughout her meal, but as soon as the tray was set down in front of her, she realised she was ravenous, and ate with vigour. She had been given spaghetti Bolognese and broccoli with chocolate mousse for pudding and a bottle of water to quench her thirst.

She was immoderately grateful that the food before her was something she was willing to eat, as opposed to something like tomato soup, which, she felt, even in her hungriest, most exhausted state, she wouldn’t touch.

After eating, she felt stronger and more alert than she had been previously that morning. With a fresh burst of confidence, she stood, ready to face the last three tests.

* * *

“Do you like chicken, Serena?” Zara asked, folding her hands in her lap.

“I guess,” Serena replied, lowering her eyes.

They were in Zara’s office once more, and presently they sat facing each other over the mahogany desk. Between them, on its surface, stood a wire cage, and inside it, a large, plump chicken stood, nibbling on the mesh. Every few moments the ignorant bird shook its feathers; the mix of russet and auburn undulating down its body with grace.

“Would you like to eat this chicken?” the Chairwoman offered, indifferently.

Serena raised an eyebrow.

“It’s alive.”

I have eyes, love. I can see it’s alive. Would you like to kill it?”

The teenager considered a moment. “No.”

“No?” Zara seemed surprised. “Why ever not?”

“Because I am not a trained shohet, and therefore if I kill this chicken, and there’s no telling whether I’ve cut it in the right place or not. See?”

“Well, you wouldn’t be cutting it. You’d be stabbing it. A clear shot at the neck should sever the main artery and kill it within thirty seconds.”

“But if I don’t sever the main artery the poor creature is going to die a slow, painful, and utterly meaningless death.”

“Quite true.”

“Then I’m sorry, but I’m not going to kill the chicken.”

“I thought you wanted to be a CHERUB agent.”

“I do, but…”

“Then kill the chicken.”

“I can’t, please-”

“Yes, you can.”

“No, I-”

“Just kill the chicken, Serena.”

“Please don’t make me…” She could feel hot anger rising in her chest.

“Just kill it.”

“No! I’m- no, no, no, no…”

“For God’s sake, Serena, just kill the Goddamn chicken.”

“No! Look, Zara, my religion is important to me, and if I have to sacrifice that in order to work for CHERUB, then I’m not sure I want to.” Her eyes burnt and she felt her throat tighten. Zara frowned at her.

“Well, then. On to the next test.”

* * *

Serena stopped stressing over the poor little poultry product and what would happen to it when she sat the colossal wooden obstacle. It must have been at least fifty metres high in the air, and she quaked in her boots with the fear that had suddenly spread through her entire body. Perhaps it was only in her mind, but she was certain she could hear the squawk of a crow high up in the thick canopy. She could visualise this crow swooping down to the forest floor to scavenge at the mangled bodies of agents that had failed to complete the obstacle.

The moment this thought entered her mind she gave an involuntary moan in her throat and pressed her eyelids shut, shaking her head as if to free that thought from her memory.

Serena turned to see two people jogging across the field in her direction. They were of different sexes, she saw as their features became more apparent as they moved closer, but both were fit, their leg muscles clearly defined below the rim of their grey sport shorts that cut off at the knee. When they reached the spot where she was standing with the Chairwoman, neither one was gasping for breath, as she most definitely would have done after running the length of several football fields. They were introduced as Michael and Gabrielle, and Serena knew immediately that they were somewhat of an item. The dizzy way they looked at each other- it was sickening.

Sandwiched between the two older CHERUB agents, Serena began the long, unsteady climb up a rope ladder. She had no fear in her at this point; heights had never really bothered her, it was just the vertigo that made her stomach lurch that made her feel sick. The climb stopped abruptly about seven metres up, and a long, vertical metal pole stretched over to the base of another ladder. Michael turned to face the twelve-year-old with a friendly smile.

“Don’t fret, kid. Just keep looking up and you’ll be fine.”

Facing forwards, he gripped the pole with two muscular arms and let the rest of his body drop. He hung there for a moment, then swung his legs up with a grunt of effort and began to move mechanically across the pole, hand over hand, until he reached the other side and beckoned for the youngster to follow.

With his example in mind, she wrapped her palms around the pole and pushed her legs up and around it, then began to shimmy across. It was an exhilarating feeling, and just as she had begun to enjoy herself, she reached Michael and the rope ladder at the other end. Gabrielle joined them a few minutes later, and the group promptly began the ascent up the second, much shorter, ladder.

This time, when they halted, it was only to prepare for a metre jump between two narrow wooden planks. For the first time since beginning the obstacle, Serena looked down. The vertigo was not as bad as she had anticipated, but a new piece of information had entered her mind in the split-second she had spent staring down at the field far below. There were no safety mats to catch her if she fell. If she did fall, it would most likely be to a very painful failure. Nevertheless, she jumped. There were three more jumps like this, each further apart than the last, and then another climb up a rope ladder.

Now twenty metres above the field, Serena’s vertigo intensified greatly, but she raised her chin to keep the ground away from her line of vision and, after some encouragement from Gabrielle, followed Michael as he leapt easily across the now one-and-a-half-metre gap between the slippery planks.

Shivering in the air under the light drizzle that had begun to peck at her skin, Serena was led to a balcony with a hand rail on either side, and looked down. A narrow plank was attached to the front, and it would be a steep journey down. Where the plank ended, a long piece of rope swung in the air with a knot at its base, about three metres from the ground. Below it an unpleasant-looking swamp loomed. Michael took a run up and gave the plank an uncontrolled walk down in five steps. He wrapped his legs around the rope and swung forwards. After a few moments, he released the rope and sailed forwards, releasing it at exactly the right moment so as not to land himself knee deep in icy swamp water, but so that he didn’t shatter his kneecaps either. He landed softly on the ground a few centimetres from the water’s edge and rolled forwards, then brought himself to his feet and waved.

“So… I do this and that’s it?” Serena stuttered, cracking her knuckles nervously.

“Sure. But take a run up and, uh…” she grinned, slapping the youngster on the shoulder. “Don’t fall, okay?”

“That’s comforting,” Serena hissed sardonically, before running forwards and power-walking an uneasy five steps down the shuddering plank. The rope looked sturdy enough, but she gave a hearty tug on it to make sure; she wasn’t exactly the most light-weight person on the planet. She exhaled deeply, wrapped her legs around the rope, and swung herself forward. As she soared through the freezing drizzle, she realised she should have timed this better. Measuring vaguely how far she needed to be from the ground, she jumped just after the peak of her flight, splashing clumsily into the shallows of the swamp. Unfortunately, the boots weren’t waterproof, and her feet and ankles were soaked with murky water.

* * *

For many of the twelve years she had been in existence, Serena had looked cynically upon those who had irrational fears of things like heights, or spiders, or mice, but for the last nine years, no one knew that she had a deep, seemingly insuperable fear of swimming. When she was seven, her mother had asked her if she had any desire to learn to swim, and had accepted her refusal without much argument. She had conveniently left her bathing suit at home every time the school insisted on taking her year four class to the local pool, and since her father had disappeared before her second birthday, he too had little input to her swimming abilities.

In the twelve years she had spent living on Planet Earth, she had avoided it. And yet, here she stood, at the edge of the large, rectangular swimming pool, fully dressed in her now filthy CHERUB uniform. Her hands trembled with fear and memory. She curled them into fists and held them still.

“It’s simple,” Zara explained. “Dive in, rescue the drowning brick, and swim to the other end.”

Serena swallowed and nodded, holding her breath in her lungs. She curled her toes over the edge and bent her knees, preparing for the jump. She splashed clumsily into the water. She found herself sinking slowly, and scrabbled for the ladder. She pulled herself out, gasping for breath and sobbing uncontrollably.

“I can’t do- no, I can’t- I- oh, please… No, I can’t, I can’t , I can’t- Don’t- Can’t- No…” she began to hyperventilate, drawing in breath sharply and letting it out in choked gulps. Zara handed her a brown paper bag with a concerned frown upon her face; Serena held the bag over her mouth and inhaled, sobbing uncontrollably. She exhaled slowly, and inhaled again.

“Serena, calm down. Deep breaths. Come on. You’re okay. Breathe deep…”

* * *

“So, do you think we should offer you a place here?”

Serena was, once again, sitting across from the Chairwoman in the comfortable leather armchairs by the fire; she was exhausted, she felt sick, and from her body a retch-worthy stench was radiating strongly. She raised an eyebrow.

“You tell me.”

“Well, you did okay on the first test.”

“She steamrollered me.”
Zara chuckled. “Alison is fourteen- she’s one of the best martial artists at CHERUB. You would have passed if you’d won, but there was maybe a one in a million chance of that happening. You retired when you realised you wouldn’t be able to defeat her, and you didn’t once complain about your injuries or ask to recover before the next test.”

“Well, she was puny but she was obviously going to win.”

“Right. You scored superbly on the intelligence test. Most of our new recruits have at least two or three pages left before they finish, and you did even better than that. You scored exceptionally on the verbal questions, and decently on the mathematical.”

“So, how did I do on the next one?”

“Hm…” Zara thought for a moment. “Well, you failed, but by a hair.”

Serena held her face in her hands.

“I should have killed the chicken,” she mumbled.

“No. You shouldn’t have. The chicken is a test of your moral courage. You would have gotten a high pass if you had killed the chicken immediately, or if you say you’re opposed to killing animals or eating them and refuse to kill it.”

“But I-”

“Yes, Serena. You refused. But you got upset and begged me not to make you. You performed quite poorly. The fourth test, however, was excellent. You didn’t dither, you weren’t scared, or if you were, you didn’t show it. I think you are the first new recruit in my time who hasn’t freaked with fear on that obstacle.”

“Heights don’t really scare me.”

“That’s good. That’s really good. So, the fifth test.”

“I can’t swim, Zara. And that was the deep end; I should have told you that.”

“We knew.”

“What? You knew? Then why did you make me go in there?!”

“We didn’t. If you’d battled through and recovered the brick, you would have gotten full marks. If you jumped in and had to be rescued, it would have shown you had poor judgement and you would have failed.”

“So how did I do?”

“Well, we were hoping you would decide that the task was beyond your swimming abilities and that you would back away. But you didn’t need rescuing either. You took matters into your own hands and rescued yourself. It shows you have poor judgement, but it also shows that you are able to get yourself out of sticky situations like that. So, I’m giving you a low pass. In conclusion,” Zara sighed, “I’m happy to offer you a place at CHERUB. If you need a few days to decide, we can send you back to Luton, or, if you’re sure, you can stay here.”

“No, I’m sure. My mother died last year, I haven’t seen my father since I was in nappies, and I’m never going to see my sister again. I have no life in Luton. I’m staying.”

“Okay,” the Chairwoman smiled. “We’ll find you a room, and we’ll send someone to get your stuff from the foster home you were in. Oh, and you’ll have to choose a name.”

“A name?”

“Yes, a name. A new name. Nothing too unusual and it has to match your ethnicity. So you can’t name yourself something like Serena Patel or Serena Adeonojobi.”

The exhausted recruit thought for a moment, then smiled.


TO BE CONTINUED...