Renegade (27 page)

Holland’s throat spasmed, and his cheeks turned a blotchy, angry red. But wisely, he sank back into his chair.

“What are you playing at?” he whispered. His eagle eyes were trained on me.

The beast inside me bucked, twisted, rose in a blistering inferno. Every cell in my body was aware that just a few feet away, on that video screen, sat the person I loathed most in the world.

My fists tightened, my legs tensed to pounce. Seeing him so close made all the dark feelings pound my skull, summoned the bitter need to squeeze every bit of life from his sadistic body. Watch him bleed out the way Mom had.

“I’m not playing at anything,” Quinn said. She strolled over to me, rested one manicured hand on my shoulder. “I’m showing you up. For the record, we’re recording every detail of this transaction. Ah, not so fast. If you sign off, the events will still happen as planned, but instead of giving you options, I’ll be forced to release a video of your epic failure to all of your superiors. To the DOJ. To the entire country, actually. The damage will be done, even if you don’t stick around to see it. At least if you stay tuned, I’ll give you a choice.”

Beneath the surface in my head, something powerful coiled, biding its time. Eager to be unleashed.

I would rain destruction down upon Holland’s head, and I would enjoy it. I would fill this empty hole inside me with his pain for once. His suffering.

Holland stood by, shoulders back, trying to appear impassive. “You schedule some kind of freak show?” he said to Quinn, but I noticed that his teeth clenched down on the gum he’d been chewing, and he was scratching his palm with his index finger. An obsessive, repetitive motion.

“This man is General Holland, with the U.S. military,” she started, staring right into the camera.

“He’s been trying to hide something from the American people, and I think it’s time they knew the truth. This man not only created a multimillion-dollar weapon in robotic science, he let it escape, putting all of you in danger. Then he tried to cover up the escape—you know why? Because he cares more about saving his own ass than he does about anything else.”

Holland sat motionless, shoulders back. But his cheeks were pooling with blood again, flushing a bright red.

“This girl, right here?” Her fingers dug into my shoulder. “She might look like a normal teen girl, but she’s not. She’s dangerous. A weapon. An experiment in robot science. Mila, show the camera your USB port.”

The video camera whirred as Teek typed in the command for a close-up.

“Now for a demonstration on exactly how out of control the general is with his expensive piece of equipment. Mila, show him the gun.”

I lifted the gun high, let Holland inspect it.

“Now, this is the part that I love the most. General Holland isn’t just an out-of-control egomaniac, he’s also a common thief. He stole this project from me, years ago. My ideas, my research. He created this android, the MILA 2.0, to have emotions. But he and his team messed it up. They gave her too many, made her feel too much. She escaped once, and when he got her back, he realized his mistake and tried to rectify it. He couldn’t, of course. So, I’ve fixed what he couldn’t. I took all of the emotions that were hindering Mila out, and in doing so, made her the efficient weapon that General Holland here couldn’t create. We’re going to demonstrate that now. Teek, pan in on the prisoners.”

The camera swept over the four bound and gagged hostages, and Holland swore.

“What the . . . ?”’

“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” Quinn continued, ignoring him completely. “Mila is going to execute the prisoners, as a little demonstration of my success. Of course, you can keep that from happening at any time by giving me the access codes to the intel accounts.”

Execute the prisoners
. Why did that sound so very wrong? At the same time something dark twisted inside me, I watched a bead of sweat trickle down Holland’s craggy face. The sight of him squirming created a power surge, deep within my core. For once, I was in control.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “You’re the Vita Obscura.”

She tossed her hair and laughed, putting her hands together for three slow claps. “Ah, he finally sees. I knew you’d figure it out eventually.”

“Extortion, Quinn? That’s what you’ve resorted to? You know I can’t give you those codes.”

She shrugged, a dainty motion. “Then I guess they’ll all die, and I’ll be forced to release this footage. Kiss your career—really, your entire life—good-bye.”

Another trickle of sweat joined the first. “You’ll never do it. It’d mean signing your own death sentence.”

Her eyes glittered, and her smile bared her teeth. “Then I’ll die happy, knowing I took you down with me. I’m willing to take that risk. I have followers who will continue on in my name, freeing technology and bringing it to the people. Stopping megalomaniacs like you from acquiring power.”

Conviction rang in her voice, and her chin remained up.

This was no bluff, I thought clinically. Even from whatever distance away and through a TV screen, Holland could see that.

Quinn left my side to stand in front of the prisoners. “Now, who goes first?” she said, her gaze inspecting them one by one. “I think we’ll start with someone easy, to give you time to warm up. Peyton,” she announced, reaching down to pull the gag from his mouth. “Any last words?”

He turned his head to look at Sophia, who had tears leaking down her cheeks, and then Hunter, who stared ahead stoically.

Another ping in my head, this one stronger. The restraints subdued it immediately.

“I’m sorry,” Peyton rasped. “Hunter, you were right. I shouldn’t have gotten any of you into this.”

I watched the tableau, felt another burst of emotion, of absolute wrongness. My skin went frigid, before the sensation was zapped into oblivion. Then . . . blissful emptiness. My gaze swept over to Daniel, who met my eyes unblinkingly. He didn’t look frightened or alarmed. He looked . . . sad. And even though it probably wasn’t true, I had a feeling his sadness wasn’t for him, but me.

I blinked and shook my head. What an odd thought.

“Mila, if there’s any of you left . . . I’m sorry I made such a huge mistake. Please, don’t do this. Not in front of my family.”

A pretty speech. I could admire the honesty.

Quinn nodded at me, encouraging me to proceed. “You know what needs to be done,” she said softly.

My fingers tightened on the gun and released the safety. A pretty speech, but for me, a wasted one. Across the way, I saw Samuel wince and turn his head.

Hunter came to life then, thrashing against his restraints. His words were stifled by the gag, though. In the subdued part of my brain, a voice tried to cry out. This was wrong. So very wrong. But I couldn’t feel why, and without emotion, I couldn’t fight it.

Something screamed from a deep, buried place, urging me to break free of whatever shackles Quinn had used to tie me down. But every time sympathy or guilt surged, to provide me with incentive, it receded just as quickly.

I felt like I should care, like I was missing a key component here.

“This is what happens when the government can’t control its technology, and won’t share with the people. They get in over their heads. They create a danger for all of us. We’re going to show you exactly how dangerous they really are.”

Her voice swept across the room, growing louder and louder in her fervor. Her hands reached out, as if beckoning to the masses to join her.

“The government is failing you. The military is failing you. If I could steal this weapon so easily, don’t you think our enemies could? We need to make the government quit making decisions on our behalves, and quit trying to control all the technology. Technology should be free.”

She inhaled, then said, “Sometimes, to make a point, we have to make sacrifices. Mila, please aim the gun at Peyton.”

Without concern, my fingers gripped the gun tightly. My hand raised the weapon upward, in a slow and steady arc, until the barrel pointed right at the center of Peyton’s forehead. The air was heavy with fear and sweat, and beneath the gag, I could hear a low, muffled whimper from Sophia.

“Quinn, this is insane! You’ve proved your point. We’ll take you back—I’ll even acknowledge your role in the research. Let’s talk about this,” Holland bellowed, but Quinn ignored him.

I ignored him, too. Because I was pointing a gun at someone’s head, and instead of feeling terrified, or sad, or any of those awful, draining things, an electric-like energy surged through my limbs. Power. Right now, I had it. And I wasn’t about to give it up.

“Last chance. Holland, do you want to give me the codes?”

Silence on his end.

Quinn sighed. “I’m sorry, Peyton. Hopefully you find it comforting knowing that your death will help further the cause.”

Peyton swallowed, and closed his eyes.

“Fire.”

Without emotions to hold me back, it was a simple thing. Cake. I simply squeezed the trigger, and sent the bullet flying. A small red circle bloomed in the middle of Peyton’s forehead, before his entire body jerked back against the chair. A moment later, he slumped, while somewhere behind me a girl shrieked.

I stared at him, and something dark writhed around inside me. Something was wrong here, I could sense it. But the feeling kept getting subverted under the barrier in my mind. Security, holding everything in check.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god,” someone repeated between sobs. Abby. Then came the sound of shoes, hitting the floor fast. Racing away.

“Holy shit, Quinn! That gun wasn’t supposed to be loaded! What did you do?” The roar of protest came from Samuel.

“Change of plans,” she said. “Did you really think Holland would be impressed by a pretend show of force? Please. Like I said, sacrifices have to be made sometimes to reach the final goal.”

“Not like that,” Samuel whispered, his horror-struck gaze bound to Peyton’s limp form.

“Yes, just like that,” she snapped. “Whatever it takes. You can’t be a revolutionary if you aren’t willing to have losses. Grow up, Samuel.”

Silence ticked by, broken only by Sophia’s moans. Nearby, Hunter stared straight ahead, at nothing. Almost as if he’d shut down.

My pulse continued to beat at its normal pace.

“If this is what growing up is all about, I’m done here.” With that, Samuel turned and walked, his footsteps heavy.

“Don’t even think about coming back with a weapon, Samuel. I’ve got guards stationed outside,” Quinn yelled after him. Silence greeted her.

“Now, on to the next.” She stalled in front of Hunter for a bit, then turned to Daniel instead. “Daniel next, I think. We’ll save the hardest for last.”

She removed his gag. “How about you? Any last words for your makeshift daughter? How poetic, really. That a part of Sarah will be responsible for ending your life. After all, you and Nicole were responsible for creating hers . . . and Mila’s.”

I listened without interest, waiting for her to finish so I could get on with it.

Daniel didn’t rise to Quinn’s bait, instead focusing directly on me. “Mila, I made a mistake in turning you over to Quinn. Your mom would hate me right now for this . . . and she’d be right. She was always right.” He paused, cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to her. No matter what happens, I want you to know—you are my daughter. I tried to reject that, because it hurt too damn much, but it’s the truth.”

His words resonated in me. I knew all about trying to reject hurt. I couldn’t blame him.

“Listen, you need to fight it off. Sarah, if you’re in there—please. Fight this. You’re better than this. You’ve done a terrible thing, but if you carry her plan out entirely . . . there’s no coming back from that. Do you hear me? You will never make it back with your soul intact.”

I wanted to fight, but I couldn’t. There was nothing left inside to give me the desire.

“I don’t have a soul,” I said. Again, a little tug at my heart, one that quickly subsided.

“Not true! If people have souls, then so do you.
Mila? Mila, I hope you can hear me.”

At first, I thought the voice was a figment of my imagination. Like I’d finally cracked . . . or I was just dreaming it into existence. But then I heard it again. A deep voice. A familiar male one.

Lucas?
I formed the question mentally.

We don’t have much time. I’m going to help you break free of this chip. Just . . . give me a second
. In the back of my brain, where Quinn had poked with her needles, where the insert was, I felt something moving. Probing. A new presence.

“Quinn, there’s a very special place in hell for you—right along with Holland,” Daniel said, giving up.

She shook her head impatiently. “You don’t understand. You never were a true believer. You go into revolution knowing that people will die. That’s just how it works. You should die content, knowing you’ve furthered the cause. But you’re just a coward, like most of them.”

“This chip in your head, it’s controlling everything. Your movements, your emotions. I’m trying, but you need to help. You need to feel to fight this.”

How? How did I fight it? And . . . maybe I didn’t want to. I didn’t really want Daniel to die, but maybe . . . maybe it was easier than the alternative. At least when I shot him, it wouldn’t hurt me inside.

And, to be honest, I didn’t really want him to not die, either. My hand lifted, almost as if of its own accord.

Think of something powerful. Something—someone—that moves you. Your mom?

A drum pounded, in that spot in the back of my head. Harder. And harder. Mom.

The drumbeat grew stronger, throbbing against the constraints. The constraints held, but under the constant onslaught, I felt the tiniest bit of give.

Good, but that’s not enough. Push harder. Think of the things that caused you to feel the happiest. Or the saddest. Whatever you do, just try to feel.

Mom, telling me to live with her last breath.

Hunter’s lips, pressed to mine.

The beach, twirling with my parents, with the man standing before me. The man who I was threatening with a gun. Kicking water at Hunter, racing for the waves.