Renegade (8 page)

My body tingled with a newfound energy. I had always enjoyed reading. Now I had the ability to learn a limitless number of stories. I could catalog and house entire collections. Experience them all.

About a quarter of the way in, though, the excitement dissipated. My hand started trembling, just the tiniest bit. Halfway in, the tremble turned into a shake. And then I just stopped and stared. Stared in disbelief while my body went cold, cold, so cold. I lowered the book and swallowed at the huge brick in my throat. Gazed at the back of Hunter’s head while his hands flew in wild gestures, in what I gathered was a reenactment of some crucial manga fight scene. I desperately tried to will away the terror threatening to squeeze me with iron fists, tried to subdue the mad thump-thump-thump of the faux pulse pounding in my ears. Grady’s voice, questioning me.

“That boy—you vetted him, right?”

Out of my memory banks came an image from the past. Hunter, sitting on that bench in the courtyard back at Clearwater High, reading this exact book. His first day at school, yet somehow, he’d found his way to my favorite spot—the one where I went to be alone, where no other students bothered me.

I hadn’t questioned it then, that or the way he’d shown up as the new kid at school shortly after I did, because why should I? Back then, I hadn’t even known what I was. But maybe I should have.

Because that book that Hunter had been reading, back in Minnesota?

That book was about a girl. A girl who was an android.

Beneath the growing stranglehold of fear, of doubt, of disbelief and anguish and denial, a thought was so frantic, it felt like a beating, throbbing pulse of its own, slapping against my skull. That one thought consumed me.

How well did I really know Hunter? How well?

As quietly as possible, I closed the book and eased it back into the vacant slot, not wanting to draw any attention to what I’d read. It was just a precaution, I told myself. A total coincidence, nothing more.

Except—how many coincidences could you have, before a chain of events could no longer reasonably be construed as random? The events in question flashed through my head with perfect precision. Hunter, showing up that day at the Dairy Queen—when I just so happened to be there. Hunter, in the courtyard—the one place where I could always count on being alone. Hunter, transferring to my English class.

I took one unsteady step away from the bookcase, then two, as the timeline replayed, faster and faster.

Hunter, consoling me in the barn, and asking me out on a date. So accepting of my “prosthetic” arm after a joyride got me tossed from a truck and my circuits were revealed. So willing to travel across the country in an instant when I’d called him.

Across the country to help me, on the strength of one date and an almost-kiss.

My fists clenched, tighter and tighter, and I had to turn away. None of that made any sense, though. I mean, if he’d really been stalking me, why had he let me see the book in the first place? It would have been so easy to have been reading, I don’t know,
Huckleberry Finn
, or whatever boys liked to read these days. Though he clearly had a genuine interest in manga, based on the discussion he was still having with Ashleigh.

I stared at his tall form and my breath caught around a desperate mix of uncertainty and terror and hope. I found myself shaking my head. No.

Not this kind, sensitive, magnetic boy who’d always been there for me. There was no way,
no way
he could be teamed up with Holland. Right? His hair was the opposite of military-approved, and besides, he was too young. Unless he’d lied about his age?

I bit my lip and studied his profile. Okay, so maybe he could be seventeen, eighteen max. But doubtful he was older, right?

Then again, Lucas hadn’t been much older, either.

And the military wasn’t the only group after me. I also had the Vita Obscura to worry about.

The Vita Obscura. Who had, coincidentally, shown up not long after Hunter came to town. In fact—and now I was feeling dizzy—hadn’t they attacked our house while Hunter had me out on a secret date?

My mind couldn’t even reconcile that notion. Was I being paranoid? Hunter, part of the group who wanted to dismantle me, piece by piece, and make a fortune off my technology? No. It was unfathomable. I mean, beyond not believing that Hunter could be part of such a terrible plot, surely a member of the V.O. wouldn’t actually go so far as to try and kiss the girl they knew was an android . . . would he?

A hand flew to my mouth. But we hadn’t kissed yet—not really.

“I don’t want to take advantage.”

That’s what he’d said, back in the motel room. But what about all the other times we’d been close? Was he feigning interest to lead me on? I had no way of knowing his true motives. Hunter had said it himself at the amusement park.

“So I have a few secrets.”

The uncertainty, the back and forth, bubbled up inside me, until I worried that I might explode at the slightest provocation. Like I was a hand grenade primed and ready to be thrown. The room was too small, too crowded. Too full of horrifying possibilities.

“I’m going to use the bathroom and get ready for bed,” I said abruptly. “Good night.”

Hunter stopped midsentence and straightened, his smile fading. “I’m sorry, Mila. I didn’t realize—”

“No! I mean, I’m fine.” I continued backing toward the door. I needed distance. Distance to clear my mind, to prove to myself that these thoughts were crazy. Hunter couldn’t be part of this whole conspiracy. If he was . . .

No.
I shook off the thought. It was too terrible to contemplate.

I forced my lips into a smile. “You two finish your book talk.”

“You’re sure?” Hunter wavered, taking one step toward me but then looking back over his shoulder. I waved him off and whirled for the door.

A second later I was inside the bathroom, door locked, pacing the floor and trying to curb the rising dread that made my head too heavy to function.

Stop it
, I told myself. Suck it up and
think.

It was times like these when I almost envied my updated, improved “sister”—MILA 3.0. She never had to worry about emotions interfering with her logic.

With one more deep breath, I stepped away from the door and toward the oval mirror hanging over the sink. Ever since I’d escaped from Holland’s compound, I’d had this constant niggle, this worry that after everything that happened, the tests they’d subjected me to, and the things I’d done, that one day I’d look in the mirror and see a completely different girl staring back at me. At the very least, I expected Mom’s death to leave some kind of mark, like a faint haze of sadness that aged my otherwise youthful face.

But no. My face looked exactly the same as always. Same bright leaf-green eyes, same exact skin tone, same oversized lower lip. I looked in the mirror and what I saw made me tremble. The hair, it was different, but the face . . . I still looked exactly like Three.

As I stared at my reflection, I felt some of the terror, the anxiety, fade, leaving behind a calmness, a steadily growing sense that controlling my emotions equaled controlling my future.

Three was the kind of person—machine—who could torture people without remorse. Who wouldn’t care if someone—say, a boy—had betrayed her. To her, emotions were just masks—responses programmed into her so she could pass as a human. Three wouldn’t feel pain if a human died. She wouldn’t agonize over lies. She would just . . . exist.

Something that sounded like a nice option at the moment.

The logic soothed me, wrapped around the frantic feelings and smothered out their harsh edges. But a tiny voice shrieked its protest. My human voice. Of course, Three would also do General Holland’s bidding without a second thought, no matter who got hurt along the way. Three was the perfect weapon.

But if Three was the perfect weapon, then one thing was damned certain. I could learn how to become one, too. On my own terms.

I averted my eyes and splashed cold water on my face, took care of my simulated biological functions, as Holland had so kindly put it, then retreated to the spare bedroom. Thankfully, Hunter was still with Ashleigh, which gave me time to slip into my sleep clothes. As I changed, my gaze fell on his duffel bag, which sat on the floor against the wall.

The thing had been in our old motel room, and right there in the backseat for the entire car ride out here. Yet not once had I thought to check the contents.

I approached the bag, forcing one foot to step in front of the other.

I’d performed a weapons scan outside, and none had shown up in the vicinity of Hunter’s Jeep. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t hiding other things in there. Or the V.O., with their sophisticated gadgets. Maybe they’d come up with something undetectable.

I unzipped it with trembling fingers, pushing clothing aside. Pausing to clear the hitch in my throat when the room filled with his distinctive scent. I rummaged through every inch, including his toiletry bag. Unless the V.O. had designed toothbrushes that doubled as Tasers, there was nothing to find.

No gadgets, no weapons. But if he were V.O., wouldn’t there be evidence on his cell?

I pulled out his smartphone, tapping the screen with hesitant fingertips. If I were wrong, this was unforgivable. Delving into his private information like I was entitled.

Acting just like a spy.

Nothing incriminating there, either. A gathering relief rose in my chest, small at first, but growing to an epic size. There was nothing here to indicate that he was anything other than the boy I thought he was. If he were with Holland or the V.O., surely I would have found something. A weapon. One of those interference gadgets the men who’d attacked Mom and me at the motel had had.

There was only one place left to check now, and then I would put this out of my head for good.

The Jeep.

After rearranging Hunter’s bag the way I had found it, I headed for the hall, hanging back a second to give my sensors a chance to update.

I crept down the stairs without incident and was out the front door in record time. Darkness had fallen, and my vision kicked in, illuminated the night with that slight red cast.

I raced down the walkway to the edge of Grady’s property, on swift and quiet feet. I reached the gate.

I debated an instant before declaring it too risky. Not with Grady monitoring when the gate opened and closed.

This time, I would have to climb.

I studied the giant post that housed one side of the gate, then bent my knees and prepared myself to launch. With a forceful jump, I propelled myself toward the layered stone at full speed. My left foot hit first, high off the ground, and without losing momentum I immediately vaulted upward and off, twisting to the right. I surged toward the top, my fingers catching the end of a metal spike, and I hauled my body upward. A moment later I straddled the gate, before dropping to the pavement on the other side.

I landed easily in a crouch, holding my pose when a car pulled into a garage at the far end of the street.

When no one else stirred, I jogged over to Hunter’s Jeep and hunkered down on the sidewalk side, pressing against the vehicle, trying to be as invisible as possible. I needed to know if there were any weapons or spy tech around.

Good, that was good.

My phantom heart kicked in my chest. Let me be wrong. Let it be something else.

I dropped to the ground and pushed myself under the Jeep, scraping my neck on loose gravel. My nostrils filled with the pungent combo of asphalt and oil. I scanned the back driver’s wheel well—flash of red
.

Tucked away, almost buried by the tire.

My fingers didn’t want to function but I forced them. I grabbed for the object, carefully pinching it by the sides. The texture wasn’t firm like I’d expected, but yielded a little. Squishy. The object resisted my first two gentle tugs to remove it, but finally pulled free, with resistance.

I shifted the tiny square until it dangled in front of my face. A cube of metal, with a blinking red light. Encased in a silicon-like substance.

The very same GPS device used by the V.O. to track us before. I looked closer, and it got even worse. Inside the device was a tiny microphone.

I lay there for at least thirty seconds, dazed. I cursed myself for not scanning the car before and my heart buckled and twisted, as if trying to escape the proof in my hands.

Then, I replaced the device in the wheel well and scooted out from under the Jeep. When I went to stand, my legs went leaden. My stomach surged into my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, as if that could blot out reality. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The pain was staggering, enough to double me over.

A pile of coincidences, finally toppled by the last, most damning one.

Hunter was with the V.O. He had been all along.

That ever-widening hole, deep in my pseudo heart? That was the feeling of hope dying. I couldn’t lie. Up until that moment, a tiny reserve of hope had still slumbered deep in my chest. Dormant but alive. But as I stared at the GPS, the reserve evaporated, leaving a dried-up, cracking riverbed in its wake.

A few streets over, a car engine turned over with a hiccupy grind, reminding me that I couldn’t stay here forever. I had to get out of the street and back into the guest room, before anyone noticed my absence.

On autopilot, I reclimbed the gate and crept back to the house, my mind festering with a toxic blend. Disbelief. Acceptance. Betrayal. A sense of loss so staggering, I thought my legs might yield. And finally, unanswered questions, assaulting me with a sharp bite. How could Hunter betray me like this? He’d known the truth about me all along, and he hadn’t revealed a thing. I’d felt guilty about not telling him everything, but he’d been deceiving me. I saw everything in a different light. Why he avoided kissing me. Why he insisted upon coming with me. Was the story about his lowlife dad even true?