Renegade (11 page)

I slumped forward. What was I missing? Why was this so difficult? And if Mom had wanted me to open these, why hadn’t she left me a clue?

A clue.

Suddenly, Grady’s voice rang through my head. “Nicole wanted me to tell you that the answer is always close to your heart.”

Could that be my clue? If so, what did it mean? Did it allude to some knowledge I possessed, deep inside, knowledge I kept close to my heart? Like what? The knowledge that I was human? That Mom had loved me? I pondered those ideas briefly before discarding them. That all seemed a little too touchy-feely for her.

I straightened when another idea occurred. Maybe she’d mean literally, like I had another secret slot or drive, somewhere near my heart? My fingers flew under my shirt, prodding and poking over my skin, my ribcage, anywhere remotely in the vicinity. They fell away in defeat a few moments later.

I banged my head against the tree. “Damn it!”

Something had to be there. I’d given up too quickly.

My hands returned to search more thoroughly, brushing the pendant necklace away in annoyance.

The pendant swung and I went still. My fingers found the emerald again, pressed it into my palm. The necklace Mom used to wear. The one that she’d fiercely protected while she was alive. The one she’d handed to me, before the life drained from her eyes.

“. . . close to your heart . . .”

I raised the gemstone, rotating it carefully as I inspected it with both my eyes and fingers, scrutinizing every facet for even the tiniest hint that the necklace was more than simple jewelry.

Intact, intact—wait. On one end, I felt the tiniest hint of an imperfection. A tiny crevice, so thin I’d almost missed it.

I tried to tame my rising excitement. It could be nothing. Just a flaw. But, as if a puppeteer pulled my strings, my hand lifted and without hesitation forced my index nail into the groove.

The bottom of the gem slid open, exposing a thin strip of metal. As I stared, something clicked in a dim corner of my mind.

A key. The pendant wasn’t just a necklace, but a key.

Letting my instincts guide me, I rotated the pendant until the metal part faced my skin, then pushed it down, hard. Right into the crease of my elbow, and immediately upstream from the flowing data.

The instant the cool metal touched my skin, my entire body jerked. The strands suddenly pulsed brighter, hotter. They grew thicker and thicker and started flashing: huge, forceful flashes that I felt all the way from my head to my toes.

I held perfectly still—terrified that any movement would send the data spiraling beyond my reach again, possibly for good—and pushed through all the chaos to zero in on the file.

Come on. Come on.

The symbols flickered and disappeared. No. Not again.

But then something extraordinary happened. The glittery strands exploded back into existence, sending all the incomprehensible gibberish flying in every direction. Like a firework sending off millions of sparks.

The next moment, the sparks flew back together, but this time, they rearranged themselves into something readable.

And just like that, I was in.

The first file title pulsed into view.

Under that ominous listing, there was a single entry.

That was it. The extent of the information in that particular file. Which I guess made the next part of my search a no-brainer. Looked like I was heading to Illinois.

All that subterfuge, just to lead me to another name. I rolled them both around in my head, feeling for any familiarity. At the name Daniel Lusk, something sparked in my memory. It vanished too quickly to grasp. Nothing at all at Steven Jensen.

I couldn’t help but think it was overkill, somehow. But Mom had to have known what she was doing. Clearly, the guy she wanted me to find was in hiding, and it was imperative he not be found.

Feeling a little deflated, I shifted over to the next glowing box.

This file burst open in a kaleidoscope of colors, all of them scattering throughout my mind like dust before the pieces flew back together, rearranging themselves into pixels. A photo this time.

And then the pieces formed the whole, and I could barely think at all. Because I recognized the face of the man in the photo. The brown hair. The eyes that squinted a little when he smiled. The Phillies shirt.

My entire body went frigid, and my hand shot out toward the tree, to support my suddenly shaky legs.

This man, I knew. Even though I’d been told he never existed. I’d mourned his death before I’d discovered the darkest of truths and had all my pretenses of normality ripped away. That he wasn’t really my father at all, but an implant. A phony memory installed by my mom to protect me from Holland.

Now I had no idea where the truth resided. Because clearly the man from my memories was, indeed, real.

Why, Mom?
I questioned silently. Only the whisper of the wind through the trees answered.

Had she programmed him into my head to make him easier to find, in case something like this happened? Who was he? Another scientist? A friend? Ex-CIA, like Grady? Who?

I let my mind wrap around the photo, absorb every nuance of his features, while at the same time, the memory of his programmed scent filled me. Musky with hints of pine, and familiar. Was that also another truth in hiding? Would I ever know for sure? Because apparently Mom had done such a good job weaving the truth with lies, I might never unravel their complicated web.

In the background of my mind, the third file square gleamed, waiting to be opened. I reached for it tentatively, a little afraid now of what I might find. But hiding in the dark was no longer an option.

Motion. Symbols, dancing through my mind on phantom legs. The information began to assemble, sluggishly, but before it could form discernible language, something crackled through my head, and just like that, everything vanished. Well, everything except one word. Or rather, another name.

My head filled with Mom’s weak rasp.
Sarah.

The sound of my harsh breathing surrounded me. I plunged into the file, sifting through a hollow channel, searching for any kernel of information I might have missed. But it was like tunneling through a vacuum. Not a speck of data anywhere.

Why? Why would Mom give me an empty file?

And then, the red words blinked into my head, answering my question.

Defeat gripped me with cold, heavy fists. The file was gone. Erased by Mom for some reason I would probably never know.

I scraped my fingers against the rough bark. There had to be a way to get that data, surely. Maybe I should try one more time?

With a deep breath, I relaxed my hands, my mind, and submerged back into the empty void where the Sarah file used to exist. Surely a trace of the code was in here, and if I could find that, I could track it back to the original material.

All I felt was emptiness, a stark, sleek void barren of the colorful life that pulsed within the usual data strands.

Nothing, not even a blip. Except, wait.

A flash, followed by a tremor . . . which fizzled into nothing, like waves suddenly disappearing into a flat, placid pond. I concentrated all of my energy, dove in again. This time, I felt something give. This was it! I was going to unlock—

A pulse of sheer white light, so strong I stumbled back. A sharp, angry sizzle. A shock, brief, but powerful, zapping its way from my head to my hand. Then a burning rush in my wrist and my own robotic voice sounding in my head, without my permission.

A firm pinch, replacing the burn.

“Mila?”

Hunter’s voice sounded behind me at the same time the tiny rectangle pushed up through the drive in my wrist. My other hand flew to cover it, while I felt the weight of his hand drop onto my shoulder.

“You were gone so long that I got worried. I called, but you didn’t answer. Everything okay?”

I whisked the card into my left hand and curled my fist around it. The entire thing was hot to the touch. With my other hand, I quickly snapped the pendant shut.

Leaves crackled under my feet as I whirled and slipped the card into my pocket at the same time. I searched his face for any signs of recognition or greed, or even horror, but all I noticed was the confused tilt of his head.

That, and his pupils—dilated as they tried to make use of the tiny amount of light available.

My fingers eased their way out of my pocket while my nonheart steadied. Of course. The light from the open car door only diffused the darkness so far . . . just enough to make out my figure, but most likely not enough for him to see the tiny plastic and metal square that had punched its way through my skin.

No, I was the only one who could see clearly into the darkness and shadows. If only I could erase the dark thought that lingered, unseen, inside me, like a cancer eating away at my last shred of hope.

Don’t let the V.O. see what you’re capable of.

“Everything’s fine.”

He gave a funny twist of his mouth before turning. “We should probably get back on the road then.”

I followed as he clumsily navigated his way back toward the car, stumbling a few times over branches he couldn’t see. One time, I thought he was actually going to fall, so I swooped up and caught him by the arm.

“Thanks.” He paused, then his eyes flashed with humor. “Unless you touched poison ivy with that hand.”

“Whatever. There’s no poison ivy out here,” I said, lifting my hand to swat him playfully. I stopped before I could deliver the blow, brushing my hair behind my ears instead. I knew I had to keep up the charade of a flirtation, but that didn’t mean I had to believe it myself. Wanting something badly enough didn’t make it true. I should know that by now.

Try as I might, I couldn’t lie to myself, though. I couldn’t change the fact that my first reaction, when he’d walked up, had been happiness. I’d been excited to blurt my news to him, to share that I knew exactly where we were going. Then, reality had crashed down, pulverizing my eagerness until nothing but dust remained.

“If you say so,” he teased.

“Come on, we’ve got a long way to go before we get to Saint Louis.” I crunched my way back toward the car, not bothering to pause when I heard his startled inhalation behind me. I’d broken the news like this on purpose, so he couldn’t get a good look at my face when I lied about our travel plans. A location not on the far side of the world, but enough out of the way to keep my ultimate destination a secret. I needed to buy myself time to figure out where to unload him and his GPS device. And more importantly, how to unload him.

Despite not being susceptible to the cold, I wrapped my arms around myself and had to force away a shiver.

“Saint Louis? Since when?”

I walked over to the driver’s side, busied myself with opening the door. “Since the first Grady was obviously the wrong one. One of my mom’s old friends lives there. I figure he’ll know something to help me zero in on the right Grady.”

A pause while Hunter scrunched his long body into the passenger seat. I fidgeted with the rearview mirror positioning while his eyes searched my face. “Can’t we just call him?”

I shrugged like it was no big deal and shoved the key into the ignition, while between us, suspicion hovered like an invisible wall. The corresponding catch of the engine gave me another moment to compose myself. “It’ll be harder for him to blow me off if he’s staring me in the face.”

For an extra-long three, five, ten seconds, all I heard was the engine’s hum, the whir of tires on asphalt, and Hunter’s even breaths. “Huh” was all he said. But that one noise held a wealth of distrust. He checked the cell phone he’d pulled from his pocket, tapping it a few times and frowning before turning and stashing it back in his duffel. Then, he stared off into the distance, his teeth chewing at the inside of his cheek.

Meanwhile, suspicion pressed against my throat like a boot. What had he been reading on his phone, and how stupid could I be? I should have disabled it when I had the chance. Doubts—they were tormenters, vicious things that picked away at me, piece by piece by piece. Ever since I’d discovered the GPS, I hadn’t been able to shake the poisonous burn in the pit of my stomach, like acid eating away at the lining. Even now, the thought of it, blinking away our location to a group of strangers who wanted to rip me apart for money, made the burn intensify.

And beneath it all, deep down, lurked a truth that I wished I could hide from myself. Deep inside, I knew I still cared about him.

But that couldn’t change anything.

Bitterness raced across my chest, surrounded my heart, and hardened the pump into the inanimate object it really was.

He sighed and then rolled to face me, bracing his chin on one palm. “I’ll go to Saint Louis with you, but after that, I’m done. And I want you to be prepared. In case things don’t go the way you hope they do.”

The pressure on my neck pinched a little tighter. Hope? What hope? Hours ago, he had been my
only
hope, but now . . .

My mouth twisted. Hunter needn’t worry. I already knew nothing would turn out the way I’d hoped. But one thing was for sure.

I would definitely be prepared.

I
checked the rearview for another glance at Hunter’s duffel bag. Something I’d been doing far too regularly ever since I’d watched him stash his phone inside. Worry nagged, and once again I cursed my shortsightedness. I should have incapacitated his phone back at Grady’s. Now, the uneasy feeling churning in the dark recesses of my body served as a constant reminder of my error.

I guess having overactive emotions isn’t my only android flaw.

Rectifying this mistake meant I needed to put his phone out of commission. One by one, I would thwart Hunter’s tools, until the V.O. no longer had a way to track me down. Then, I would do whatever was necessary to ensure Hunter couldn’t track me down, either.

I needed to buy myself time to get to Chicago and find Steven Jensen. And a plan was slowly formulating. In order to do that, I needed to send Hunter and his GPS in the opposite direction. That way, by the time the V.O. discovered I’d eluded them, it’d be too late to find me again. I’d be long gone.

We’d passed a number of semis during our trip, which helped spark the idea. I just needed a few supplies. Duct tape, zip ties, that ought to do it. That was all I needed to break into a truck, stash a bound and gagged Hunter and the GPS inside, then send them on their way across the country, and out of my life for good.

Another vicious stab under my rib cage, a single flicker of doubt. If somehow, someway, I were wrong about this . . .

No. Those kinds of thoughts would only make what had to be done hurt more. Think like Three, I reminded myself. Force the emotions away.

“You okay to drive still?” Hunter asked.

“Fine.”

While I’d been programmed to feel fatigue at regular intervals, it was just that—a feeling. Lack of sleep would never dull my reflexes—because androids didn’t need rest.

He stretched his arms overhead. “I’ll try to stay up with you this time. So you don’t fall asleep at the wheel.”

“Honestly, I’ll be okay. No sense in both of us being tired.”

“Hey.” He rested his hand on my shoulder, and my entire body alerted to his touch, signals going haywire as a riot of emotions swept me.

Stop.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. I’m just tired and confused. Let’s talk about this once we’ve both rested up, see if we can’t figure things out. If running from the cops together isn’t a bonding experience, well . . .” The soft teasing note in his voice made me swallow, hard. All traces of his smile vanished when he said, “I was wrong before. We’re in this together, got that?” The abrupt turnaround made the knot in my throat grow.

His blue eyes stared into mine for several long seconds, and oh, how I wanted to believe in him. I needed something to believe in—something other than Holland and lies and death. “Besides, the radio has been begging me to save it from your substandard deejaying effort,” he finished, sounding more like the old Hunter.

While he tapped at buttons to find a more acceptable station, my forced smile faded as my thoughts returned to the duffel bag on the seat behind me.

The tightness in my throat returned, traveled downward to my chest. I might have hated lying to Hunter, but it paled in comparison to not trusting him.

More than anything, I wished I could have my hope back.

We sped down the road while he fiddled. “Here we go. Now this is music,” he said, sinking back into his seat with an exaggerated sigh while a high-pitched male voice belted out words to accompany furiously paced guitar. As I watched his strong fingers tap an enthusiastic rhythm on his knee, I almost wished that I hadn’t found the GPS. Then I could at least enjoy this part of the journey. Live in the moment.

Hunter patted his pockets and pulled out a pack of gum, popping a white square out of the foil and into his mouth. He extended the package to me. “Want one?”

The peppermint smell filled the car, and suddenly, I was transported back. To another man, one who reeked of peppermint and disinfectant, a combination of smells that set my skin on edge. Holland. Trapping Mom in a room full of fire to push me into performing an obstacle course from hell. Holland, chaining Lucas like a dog so that I would torture him—all in the name of “science.”

Holland, warning me in his toxic drawl that the V.O. made him look like a saint.

I waved away his hand before settling my fingers on my churning stomach.

“You okay? Looking a little serious there.”

I relaxed my grip and shot Hunter a manufactured smile. “I’m just . . . zoning.”

I allowed my gaze to linger on his faded blue eyes for an extra heartbeat before refocusing on the road. I wanted to feel human, I really did.

The problem was . . . my need for survival was stronger.

True to his word, Hunter was still awake a few hours later when a digitized voice announced:

Gas level: forty-eight miles remaining.

My hands jerked on the wheel. “What the . . . ?”

“Hey, that’s weird. I don’t remember switching that on.”

Hunter’s voice cut through my confusion and I felt a wave of embarrassment wash over me. That had been the car talking, not me. For a moment there, I’d been afraid a new computer had somehow wormed its way inside me.

After all, it had happened before.

“One of us must have hit the button by mistake. Probably for the best—running out of gas isn’t my idea of a good time,” I said, trying to keep my voice light.

“I saw a sign a few miles back. There’s a town a couple exits away.”

I knew that. I’d been planning to stop, regardless. This town would be the perfect spot. Grab my supplies and dispose of Hunter. Hide the Jeep, somewhere so that it wouldn’t be noticed as abandoned for a few days, perhaps even longer.

“Perfect timing, too. I didn’t get a trip to the forest like you did.”

“Right.” I could feel my cheeks flushing. An android—embarrassed over bodily functions she didn’t really need to perform. Another thing I was sure Holland had never programmed.

A high, melodic note distracted me. I heard Hunter squirm in his seat, and finally looked over to see him pulling his cell phone out of the bag. “Sorry,” he said. “I turned the sound back on in case my parents tried to call.”

He caught my sideways glance and hastily angled the phone away. Then he hit the button on top to make the screen go blank and tossed it to the floorboard. “Parents?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.

“No, no . . . it’s nothing.”

The note sounded once more, and Hunter reached for the phone again. But before he did, he shot me a quick look—so quick, I wasn’t even sure he realized he was doing it.

This time, he angled his body toward the passenger window as he typed on the keypad. The way you would if you wanted to hide whatever message you were sending. My suspicion climbed when, a few clicks later, he chucked the phone by his feet again. “There, turned off the ringer.”

“Anything important?” I asked, all the while monitoring his body language out of the corner of my eye. So I noticed when he froze for an instant, before starting up with his nervous finger drumming on his thighs.

“Nah. Just an old buddy wondering when I’ll be coming back to SoCal for a visit.”

Which sounded perfectly plausible, except for the way he stared out the window, refusing to look me in the eye. Something people tended to do whenever they lied.

In the distance, signs of life sprouted on either side of the highway. Houses, businesses, a few lonely billboards, all mixed in with grass and foliage. A green sign appeared on the right side of the road.
GAS/FOOD, NEXT EXIT
.

There was a black-and-white squad car pulled up at the first gas station. Hands tense, I kept my foot steady on the gas, passing that station and continuing on. After a half block and several glances in the rearview to make sure no one was following us, I turned into the truck stop across the street, one with a store and restaurant attached. The station had four lines of pumps with only one taken, given the time of night. With a jerk of my hands, I turned the car sharply, so that we were at an outside pump, the farthest from the attached market. I pulled into the middle position, making sure the backseat of the car was shielded by the credit card payment center and pumps.

Less chance of being seen from the store, by curious passengers and workers. Less chance of being seen by Hunter.

Before he could say anything, I popped open the fuel tank and dug some cash out of my pocket. “I’d better stay out here and pump while you go in and pay,” I said, looking back over my shoulder in the direction of the other station. The cop car was still there, lurking.

Yes, I knew.

My face was out there, somewhere. Just waiting to be recognized.

Hunter waved away my hand. “I’ve got it. You want anything?”

Snacks. I was discussing snacks with one of the people who wanted to disassemble me. When had everything gone so crazy? “Candy,” I said anyway, remembering the unexpected sweetness of the Starbursts that we’d shared, back in Minnesota.

Back when Hunter had still represented a chance at life. Now, he represented the opposite.

“Okay. Be back in a minute.”

He reached down toward the floorboard, and for a second, I thought he was going to take his phone with him. But all he did was tie his shoe before unfolding his tall body out of the car. I watched his lean form walk away. Then my gaze roamed over to the semis, lined up on the far side of the lot. As soon as Hunter returned, I’d run inside the store and search for the restraints.

The second Hunter reached for the door to the market, I swooped down and grabbed his phone. I searched the icons until I found text messages. I went to press the text icon when the phone flashed red.

I needed to hurry.

A list of phone numbers popped up, so I clicked on the top one. The text bubbles appeared and I scanned:

I looked to see who the sender was, but all that was listed was a phone number, not a name.

“Damn,” I breathed, watching helplessly as the screen went black. Now what?

I tried to make some sense out of the texts, but there just wasn’t enough to go on. Although the last one sounded odd for a friend to send. Not so odd if the friend was a member of the V.O. waiting for a special delivery.

I stared at his phone, with the gray-and-white-checkered case, sorrow burrowing under my ribs and piercing my synthetic heart. I’d begun this journey brimming with hope, and now . . .

For an instant, I debated plugging the SIM card into my wrist, but after the close call last night, I decided the risk of getting caught was too high. Plus, what if the V.O. had it booby-trapped somehow? No, the safest bet was putting the thing out of commission. Nothing too obvious, as I couldn’t risk revealing my hand to Hunter too soon.

I fidgeted with his phone, thinking.

The red light blinked to life in my head.

I answered, and instantly, a schematic of the phone emerged before me, a 3-D grid showing me every chip, battery, and wire. A tiny red, pulsing arrow pointed at one spot.

With my finger, I pushed hard on the circle indicated, increasing the pressure until I felt something inside the phone give.

That ought to do it.

I replaced the phone on the floorboard, in the exact position I’d found it. Now, Hunter had no contact with the outside world.

My gaze returned to the rows of semis. Enough of them for me to trick Hunter over there, then knock him out, without anyone seeing? I thought so. I glanced up, saw that Hunter was at the register, paying, and plotted the rest. I should be able to break into the back of the truck, no problem, but I’d want gloves.

I looked down at my fingers, studying the tips. At least, I assumed I’d need gloves. Did my biologically grown skin hold fingerprints? I held my fingers aloft and saw the distinctive whorls patterning the tips. It appeared so.

Fingerprints. Grady’s reminder chided me. If only I’d been as smart as him, and researched Hunter at the very beginning. He’d told me to get on that—though how he’d expected me to just jump right up and check out Hunter’s prints, I had no clue. It wasn’t like I carried a forensic kit on me at all times.

The prompt made my eyes widen. Or maybe I did.

But where? Only one way to find out. I answered in the affirmative.

And as though my response had unlocked a hidden door, I knew. Even before the prompt flashed.

That sounded simple enough. I started to look around the car for an item Hunter had touched before realizing: there was nothing in here I hadn’t touched, too. Our fingerprints would be commingled everywhere, probably smudged.

The GPS, though. I’d been careful to grab it by the sides. And I needed to get it anyway. Now. Before Hunter returned.

Settling the baseball cap on my head, I stepped out of the car. A TV was playing just above the pumps. Ignoring it, I pretended to drop something, then practically dove under the Jeep. I zeroed in on the tiny mass with unerring aim. I slid out and pushed to my feet with the tiny object carefully pinched between my fingers. I glanced toward the store and saw that the cashier had handed Hunter change, and told myself to hurry. Meanwhile, the TV screen continued its newscast over the pumps.

“The temperature will take a steep drop tomorrow across the eastern half of the country, so make sure to pack your coats. Now, for your regional news.”

I glanced up to see a man had replaced the entirely too chipper woman, then turned my attention back to Hunter. Did I have time to try the fingerprint thing now?