Abandon (2 page)

When the runner came to alert me of a group coming in fast from the west, I knew it was Indy. And that Jag would call a meeting, never mind that my vision-screen read 2:53 a.m.

The runner, Saffediene, kept a steady stream of chatter coming over my cache. I let her talk, grunting in agreement or providing one-word answers when she asked a question. The closer we flew, the tighter my stomach clenched.

“We’ve been waiting for Indy for weeks,” Saffediene said, flying close to me and touching my elbow.

I glanced at her, trying to figure out why she was grinning at me in the middle of the night as we flew toward the cavern that doubled as a Resistance hideout. The system of caves was about the size of my standard-issue house back in the Goodgrounds. But it was underground. With rock walls that oozed water. All things considered, I preferred standing guard in the middle of the night and crashing during the day. That way I didn’t have to talk to people I’d rather avoid. I didn’t have to watch Jag whisper with Vi and thread his fingers through hers.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, looking away from Saffediene. “We need to know the whereabouts of Thane Myers.”

“His last known location was the Goodgrounds,” Saffediene said, her hand still on my arm. “Same as Indy’s.”

“Yeah,” I confirmed. Thane was crucial to our survival. We didn’t need him on our side. Not with us. But we needed him to act as Informant on Director Hightower. We needed his eyes and ears inside the Association of Directors. Without Thane’s inside surveillance, we’d be crippled.

Sure, our Insiders included Starr Messenger. She’s freaky-talented, but she’s still a student. Trek Whiting is more experienced, but nowhere near climbing into the Director’s back pocket.

As Gunn liked to remind Jag, we needed Thane—badly.

The knot in my gut turned into an iron weight as soon
as I landed outside the cavern, which was part of a series of shallow mountains. The entrance was concealed by a rotted tree stump that stunk like a million unpleasant things all rolled into one. Despite Saffediene’s serious strong will, she was only a wisp of a girl with long blond hair. She struggled to push aside the stump before strolling into the cave. I lingered outside, relishing my last few breaths of fresh air.

I didn’t really like being trapped underground. Fine, I hated it. To me, there was nothing worse than sleeping in a cage—talking, eating, breathing inside a box with one entrance and no exit.

I squared my shoulders and took one last lungful of unrecycled air. I arrived in the main chamber just in time to see Indy punch Jag in the mouth.

I couldn’t help but smile.

*   *   *

Ten minutes later I sorta “loved” Indy for punching Jag. And by “loved” I mean “hated.” The air in the cavern already reeked of everyone’s breath and body odor, our stockpiled food, earth, metal, and murky water. Why not add some blood?

I didn’t know why Indy had slugged him—and I didn’t much care. Of course Jag didn’t offer an explanation.

After Vi had glared Indy’s face off, and after Pace had bustled Jag down the hall to the infirmary, I escaped to my
hole of a room, where somehow the stench had already permeated. I yanked my notebook off the crude shelf and began scribbling. Anger simmered under my skin. Communicating with Jag would be simpler if he’d get fitted with implants. But he’s as stubborn as he is smart, and he won’t allow a technician within fifteen feet of him.

Everyone living in the cavern used their cache for conversation. Jag’s voice echoed off the walls everywhere he went. But now that an implantless Indy had arrived with her team, talking out loud would become normal again. I sorta “loved” her for that too.

Falling back into being Jag’s second-in-command came naturally for both of us. I had half a dozen items on his to-do list when I sensed someone coming down the hall. I tucked away my anger, loosened the grip on my pencil, and pasted on my Insider face. I’d gotten pretty good at thinking and feeling one thing while portraying something completely different. Fine, I was damn good at it. I’d been doing it flawlessly for four years.

Besides, I knew who was standing outside my door. “Hey, beautiful,” I said without looking up. “Jag stop bleeding?”

“You sound tired,” Vi said, ignoring my question.

I allowed myself to look at her. The sight of her made me ache. Because I could only look.

Not touch.

“I’m always tired,” I said. Vi wore a pair of men’s jeans that hung off her bony frame and a faded blue T-shirt. In the wild we scrounged for whatever food and clothing we could find. “The Director of Mountain Dale donated some clothes,” I said. “Nothing’s arrived yet?”

A sparkle entered her eyes. “Don’t I look good in these?” She gestured to her outfit.

She’d look good in anything. Or nothing. “Absolutely.” I moved toward her as she took a tiny step into my cramped quarters.

“Zenn—”

“Don’t,” I cut her off. I pretended to be someone I wasn’t in every relationship I had. I wouldn’t fake it with her anymore. We didn’t need a cache—or words—to communicate. She could read my every thought.

While my voice was more developed than my mind control, I could catch the gist of most people’s inner thoughts.

Especially Vi’s.

I focused on the ground as I felt her inner conflict, her inability to make decisions, even simple ones. I’d like to think it was just a side effect of Thane’s extreme brainwashing, her crazy-controlled life, or that making choices was a new thing for her. But all that would be a lie.

Vi just sucked at making decisions. Especially hard ones.

“I love you,” I whispered, looking directly into her eyes. “It is what it is. I can’t change it. I don’t want to change it.” I took a deep breath and prepared to say what I should’ve said long ago. “I can’t change you, either. I don’t want to. Not anymore.” I gathered her into my arms and was more than a little surprised when she let me.

For the first time since Jag had picked us up outside Freedom, I kissed her. I could lie and say it didn’t mean anything. But I was done lying. Kissing Vi was earth-shattering every—

single—

time.

The memory of her smooth, warm skin kept me sane during those long hours on my hoverboard. The smell of her hair gave me energy to talk to one more Director, endure one more sleepless night.

I’d do anything for Violet Schoenfeld.

She pulled away first. “I just came to tell you that Jag’s ready to start.”

I nodded, trying to bottle up my emotions before any more spilled out, revealing too much.

Vi traced her fingertips over my eyebrow. “I love you, Zenn Bower.” She turned and walked away, leaving her next words unsaid but screaming through my mind.

But I love Jag Barque, too.

3
.
Two weeks ago, the night Gunn and I had rescued Vi and Zenn, Gunn had pulled me aside after everyone else had gone to their holes to sleep.

“Starr Messenger gave me this.” He held out a blood-crusted chip. “I haven’t been able to watch it,” he said. “My wrist-port shorted out.”

I didn’t need a cracking wrist-port to watch a microchip. “Let’s go see my brother.”

Pace manned the tech development for the Resistance in the second-largest cavern in the underground safe house. Since Ty’s death I don’t think he’d slept more than a few
hours at a time. He hadn’t said as much, but I knew. His eyes told me things his mouth couldn’t say.

When Gunn and I showed him the chip, he pulled out an e-board. “Let’s see. From Starr, you say?”

“She’s the hot contact,” I told him. “I’ve dealt with her for years,” I explained to Gunner. “She used to send messages every week.”

“Every week?” he asked. “For how long?”

I shrugged. “Three years? Close to that. I wouldn’t know every intricacy of Freedom without her.”

“Here we go,” Pace said. The projection screen above the e-board brightened with Starr’s face. She’d done something funky with her hair. I liked it.

“Gunner,” Starr’s voice said, and it echoed weirdly from the projection. “I’m sorry about Trek.”

I cut a glance at Gunn, who frowned. “That’s what she starts with? Trek Whiting?”

Pace paused the vid. “Trek is a genius,” he said. “He’s our communications guru in Freedom.”

“Oh, sure,” I said. “Trek. Love him.”

But Gunn did not. He wore a sour expression and rolled his eyes. “So the guy can falsify a feed. Big deal.”

But it was a big deal, whether Gunn liked him or not. “What’s with you and Starr and Trek?”

“She’s my match, and they’re together.”

“Oh, well,” I said, the pieces aligning. “So you don’t like him.”

“He’s not my favorite person,” Gunn confirmed. “But I’ll deal. Keep going.”

Pace started the vid again. “Trek and I are still fully on board with the Resistance. When you get somewhere safe, make sure Jag Barque watches this.”

I leaned forward as the camera cut away from Starr. The image vibrated and the screen went dark. One breath later, a new stream started. This time the camera wasn’t in Starr’s room.

“That’s a laboratory,” Gunner whispered.

“Where?” I asked, scanning the long rows of counters in the vid.

He didn’t answer as the image zoomed in on one workstation. A man sat on a high stool, a piece of tech clutched in his hand. He wore a white coat, gloves, and a pair of protective goggles.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” Gunn said. “Most of his face is covered by those glasses.” The three of us leaned closer, anxious not to miss a thing.

The man—not much older than Pace—fiddled with his
tech instrument. He glanced at the camera—right at it. “My name is Cash Whiting,” he whispered.

Gunn jerked away from the screen, and Pace paused the vid. “What?” Pace asked.

“Cash is Trek’s brother,” Gunn said. “He’s—well, Raine drained him and, uh, now he’s dead.”

I raised my eyebrows. “She killed him?”

“No, no,” Gunn said. “Zenn’s report said Thane did.”

“Why don’t I have that report?” I asked.

Pace put his hand on my arm. “You rescued Zenn two hours ago, bro. Give him five seconds to sleep before he downloads every report he’s filed in the past eight months.”

“Fine,” I said. “But no one gives
me
five seconds to sleep.”

Pace smirked. “I can give you some meds that will give you as long as you want.”

I waved him away. “Where did Cash Whiting work?” I asked Gunner.

“Evolutionary Rise,” he said. “Raine told me about an Alias list. His name was on it, with ‘Insubordinate’ behind it. And ‘Deceased.’ ”

I nodded my understanding as Pace restarted the vid. Cash leaned over his station, and the camera showed his view, as if it were perched on his shoulder.

A tray lay in front of him. He poked at something liquid
and pushed the end of his tech instrument. Blue dye seeped into the tray, brightening little rectangles one at a time until they were all showing.

“Administration of DNA,” Cash whispered. “From someone with voice talent.” He covered the tray and placed it in a chamber at the back of the counter.

I sucked in a breath. I knew what the scientists did in the Evolutionary Rise. Entire floors had been dedicated to creating genetic copies of talented people.

“Whose?” Gunner asked, his pale face almost gray. “Whose DNA is that? There aren’t many voices in the world.”

I knew what he was really asking:
Is that my DNA?

I put my hand on his arm. “I don’t know.”

On the video an alarm rang, and we all jumped.

“Time to see if Batch 4395 can support life,” Cash said, almost like he was making a video journal for his scientific records and not for us. Maybe he was.

“The embryos have been grown in the dark,” he continued. “The temperature was kept two degrees below normal standards. They’ve been starved of the DNA needed to create a voice box—until they receive this application of DNA from Subject 261.”

Cash removed the tray, and I leaned even closer to the p-screen. “Upon application, the embryos are warmed in an
accelerator for three minutes and fifteen seconds. If life is sustainable, the blue dye will be purple, and physical evidence of life will be visible to the naked eye.” Cash removed the lid.

He gasped.

I yelled.

Pace stumbled backward.

Gunner swore.

There, on the projection screen, purple overwhelmed every other color. The embryos had already begun to grow, the rectangles I’d seen before rounding into fetuses, pushing against each other and the edges of their containers.

Cash Whiting’s face filled the screen. Fear lined his eyes. “This experiment is a success. Subject 261 will be brought in for DNA donation. The army will be grown in thirty days.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and I saw the movement in his throat as he swallowed. When Cash turned back, he set his mouth in a thin line of determination. “I will destroy them, and all my notes. Starr, get this out to the right people. If They can replicate my procedures, the Resistance will never stand a chance.”

The screen went dark, leaving only silence hanging over everything.

“Dammit,” I said. I paced away from the e-board and
rubbed my hand along the back of my head. Starr spoke again, drawing me back to the p-screen.

“He destroyed them all, as well as his notes. He died for his actions. Hightower has doubled the personnel in the Evolutionary Rise. We don’t have much time.”

“No kidding,” Gunner said, his voice haunted and hollow.

“I will be available to cache with you, Gunn, beyond the wall,” Starr continued. “Trek will send Pace the coordinates and times. We’ll keep you updated on any news from inside the Rises, especially the Evolutionary Rise.” She looked down for a moment. When she met the camera again, her eyes sparked with power. “We can still win this. Do not lose hope.”

Then the screen went black. I blinked, and a violent shade of purple imprinted on the backs of my eyelids.

“Destroy it,” I whispered.

“Jag—” Pace said.

“Destroy it,” I repeated. I stood up straighter and pinned Gunner and Pace with a glare. “The three of us know. No one else needs to be burdened. We’ll use this knowledge and Starr’s intel to our advantage, but we don’t need to freak people out.”