The dirty line where a wall met the filthy floor. The flickering light of a television casting shadows over something she didn’t want to see. The recoil of a gun in her hand as tin cans flew off the edge of a fence. Someone’s birthday. Off-key singing, a candle that wouldn’t blow out. A dusty backyard at midnight, yellow light leaching out from a curtained window. A boy. A little boy with a bruised face and a cut lip, who said, Don’t go.
Then Reese recognized the Nevada desert: hot sun on brown dirt and rocks. Running for miles with nowhere to go. Men and women beside her in matching fatigues, every one of them watching her warily as she sprinted, one foot after the other, wishing she could outrun this place, this thing they had done to her. The memory skipped, and Reese saw Torres’s hands holding a soldier down beneath muddy water, cutting off the pulse in his throat. His esophagus collapsed beneath Torres’s fingers, and she rocked back on her heels, feeling as if an animal had clawed its way out of her body.
Reese recoiled from Torres’s consciousness. In front of her Torres was watching her intently, hopefully, and Reese said, “Wait. Almost.” She forced herself to go back in because she knew she was close. It was there, nearly buried beneath all those black memories, beneath the armor of Torres’s anger and cunning. It was in the rapid pulse of her heart, the speed with which her blood pumped through her body, the iron of her muscles and sinews. Reese understood her deal.
“You’re dying, aren’t you?” Reese whispered. Torres’s body was burning up her physical energy at a rate that Reese couldn’t believe. She couldn’t replenish herself fast enough. Inside Torres’s body, Reese felt the decay eating away at her, like a corpse rotting into the ground.
Torres’s face was grim. She didn’t seem surprised. “This thing they did to me is going to kill me?”
Cold sweat trickled down Reese’s back. “You don’t have to die,” she said, grasping at straws. “The Imria—they can save you.” She had no idea if it was true or not, but it was the only thing she could think of.
Reese sensed a spark of hope flare within the soldier, but it was extinguished before it had a chance to burst into flame. Torres jerked her hand away from Reese. “You’re lying. Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying,” Reese insisted. “Help us get back to the Imria and we’ll ask them. They have really advanced science—”
“As advanced as the shit the military stole to fix me up? I don’t think I want any more of that science.”
“The military screwed up. The Imria won’t. I swear. They didn’t screw up with me.” For the first time since she had woken up in that hospital after the car accident, Reese realized it was true. The Imria hadn’t screwed up with her. The thought was so startling that it sent a shudder through her body.
Torres stared at her long and hard. Her face was expressionless, but Reese knew the soldier was spinning through every possible option to keep herself alive. Finally she leaned close, her breath hot on Reese’s ear. “If I leave, they’ll take my kid. It’s too late for me. I’m in too deep. You better not say shit about what you just told me. You say anything and I’ll come and kill you myself.”
Ice went down Reese’s back. “I won’t say anything, I swear.”
Torres drew back. “Give me your hands.”
Her heart pounding, Reese held them out, wondering if Torres was going to ask her to look again, but instead Torres pulled out a plastic restraint. The efficient jerk of the plastic against her already sore wrists drove a gasp out of Reese.
“Back downstairs,” Torres said, opening the door. “No funny business, Holloway.”
Reese didn’t resist as Torres pushed her out of the bathroom. At least her hands were in front of her this time.
CHAPTER 37
Griffin was a medic. Reese couldn’t tell whether she had been genetically modified like the other soldiers because she didn’t touch Reese, but there was something horribly wrong with Griffin’s right hand. It looked as if it had been cut off, leaving the blunt stump of her forearm behind. Out of that stump grew three fingers, nailless and limp. Griffin used her left hand to raise the needle to Reese’s shoulder and caught Reese’s eye.
“What’re you lookin’ at?” she said in a rough voice.
“Nothing,” Reese said, averting her gaze. “Please don’t give me any more drugs. They’re messing me up.”
“That’s the point.” But Griffin paused and squirted some of the liquid out of the syringe before she plunged the needle into Reese’s arm.
It was still dark in the basement when Reese awoke. She heard the sound of breathing from the other side of the room. David and Amber. She tried to focus her mind, to seek out David. She was still foggy from the drug, but it wasn’t as bad as the first time she woke up. David? There was no response, and she thought he must still be unconscious.
Reese scooted back until she bumped against the wall, and then pushed herself into a seated position. Her back hurt, her shoulders hurt, and her hands were numb from the restraints, but it felt better to sit up. She stiffened as footsteps sounded above.
Torres’s voice filtered through the floorboards. “Orders came in. We’ll move them after dark.”
“Who’s taking point?” Wilson asked.
“You’ll drive. Carter’ll sit in the back to keep an eye on them. The rest of us will go separately in the truck, and the agent will follow you.”
“You’re leaving them with just Carter?”
“You think he can’t handle three drugged-out teenagers?”
“No, ma’am. I mean, of course he can.”
There was a long pause, and Reese got the impression that Torres was speaking more quietly, but she couldn’t make out a single word.
“I’ll go check the vehicles,” Wilson said.
“You do that,” Torres said.
Reese heard the back door open and close. A chair dragged across the kitchen floor. Then nothing.
Reese.
Her head snapped in David’s direction. David? Are you awake? She got to her feet, her knees wobbling.
I’m awake.
She walked toward him carefully, trying to remember where he was in the dark basement. When her foot nudged David’s back she knelt down, her bound hands touching his shoulders and neck. He moved slightly. “Are you okay?” she whispered. He felt groggy inside, and beyond that there was pain in his jaw from where the soldier had struck him.
“I’m okay,” he said, wincing as he tried to roll over.
She helped him to sit up.
“Did they hurt you?” he asked.
“No. That woman, Torres, she stopped them.”
“Is Amber okay?”
“I think so. She’s still asleep.”
“How long have we been down here? We have to—”
“Shh.” Reese heard footsteps again and they both froze. Have the drugs worn off enough that you can hear me clearly? she asked him silently.
I think so.
The footsteps faded away. Then listen. She told him what she had heard right before he woke up. We have to get away from them. When they move us, that will be our best chance.
You think we can get past Carter?
We don’t have a choice.
When Torres, Griffin, and Wilson came downstairs a few hours later, Reese was back in her designated corner. Amber had woken up only a few minutes before, and Reese had wanted to check on her, but there was no time. Wilson pulled David to his feet, and Griffin went to Amber. “Where’s your shoes, E.T.?” Griffin asked.
Torres found one and then the other, kicking them over to Amber. “Put them back on,” she said before going to Reese and yanking her up. “Time to move.”
Griffin and Wilson went upstairs first, pushing their charges ahead of them. Torres drew Reese close and whispered in her ear, “Wilson will stop the vehicle. He’ll give you ten minutes. If you can deal with Carter and the special agent, you’re out. You owe me. Diego Luis Torres. Children’s Home of Los Angeles. Don’t forget.” She shoved Reese t
oward the stairs.
Stunned, Reese began to climb, Torres’s words echoing in her brain. You owe me. Torres was going to give them a chance.
She didn’t have long to be happy about it. Outside, it was nighttime and it smelled like the middle of nowhere: dirt and grass and nothing. A bare bulb over the kitchen door revealed a farmhouse with dingy, peeling siding. Several vehicles were parked on the concrete driveway. One was an army truck, and Reese saw movement in the back that made her suspect several of the Blue Base soldiers were inside. The second vehicle was a champagne-colored sedan, the same model as the one used by Agent Forrestal in San Francisco. She wasn’t surprised to see a man in black leaning against the side of it. The third was a blue van, the kind that paranoid parents on television always pointed to and said, “Don’t ever get into one of those.” Next to the van was the soldier who was going to escort them. Reese recognized him immediately as one of the men who had threatened Amber and beat up David. Carter.
Reese watched David and Amber climb into the van ahead of her. When she passed Carter, she saw a gun at his waist as well as what looked like a couple of blades. She began to think that Torres’s offer of help—if that’s what it was—left a lot to be desired.
The interior of the van had two benches in it, just like the SWAT vehicle they had arrived in. David and Amber sat down next to each other, and before Reese had a chance to say a thing, Carter said, “Other side, lezzy.”
Reese hesitated. He shoved her. She almost went sprawling but managed to find her balance at the last second. She sat down across from Amber, her heart pounding.
“Watch it, Carter,” Torres said. “They have a scratch on them when they arrive and I’ll cut off your balls.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Carter said, sounding as grouchy as he could without pissing her off. “Ain’t Griffin gonna dope ’em up?”
“They’ve been doped too many times. We do it again and they might die. You saying you can’t handle three skinny teenagers, two of ’em girls?”
Carter’s shoulders stiffened. “No, ma’am.”
“You’ll get a message when we have the location specifics.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Carter climbed in and sat down next to Reese. She inched as far away from him as she could.
Torres looked into the van, her gaze pausing on Reese. “All right. See you later, kids.” She slammed the van doors shut, and they were in the dark until Carter reached past Reese to bang on the panel separating the cab from the back.
“Lights, Wilson,” he called.
A moment later a dome light snapped on. Reese heard the van’s driver-side door close, and then the engine turned on. As the van started to move, she looked at Amber. Her hair was matted on one side with dirt, there was a dull bruise on her cheek, and her wrists were bound together in her lap. Dirt from the basement floor was smeared all over her knees and shins. She gave Reese a pointed stare, her jaw clenched tight, as if to say We have to get out of here.
Reese nodded very slightly—she didn’t want Carter to notice—and glanced at David. She was vaguely surprised to see that he was still wearing his tie. It hung askew from his loosened collar, now soiled with the blood that had trickled down from his face. There was a black stain on his cheek from his nose to his mouth, and even though Reese knew he healed quickly, the sight of it made her stomach lurch. His eyes turned to hers briefly.
Carter’s watching me, he thought.
Torres is helping us, she told him. He kept the surprise from his face. She said the van will stop, but we have to get out on our own. We have to take out Carter and the man in black following us.
Shit.
They rode in silence for a while as they tried to come up with a plan. Reese knew that the three of them would have to work together, but even if they all attacked Carter at the same time, it still seemed like a long shot. The man was big and solid and bristling with weapons, and he wasn’t going to be nice to them. And then if they did get past Carter, there was the special agent to contend with.
I have to get Carter’s gun, she told David. That’s the only way.
David’s gaze lowered. Reese guessed he was trying to assess the soldier’s weapons. Finally he thought: I’ll kick him.
What? That’s not gonna do much.
I’ll kick him in the face. When he’s distracted, grab the gun.
She stretched her wrists against the plastic restraint. We need to cut these off.
We’ll take his knives too.
What about Amber? You need to tell her. There was no way for Reese to communicate with Amber when the whole width of the van was between them, but David was sitting only a few inches away from her. She sensed David’s dismay as he realized this, and for a second his eyes flickered toward Reese.
Okay, he thought. She saw him begin to move incrementally closer to Amber.
It seemed to take forever, because Carter was keeping his eyes on both David and Amber, but when the van turned a corner, David used the momentum to slide up next to her. After they rounded the bend, Reese saw that his leg was pressed against Amber’s, and she was keeping a carefully blank face.
A beeping sound came from Carter, and Reese watched out of the corner of her eye as he removed a device from his pocket. It looked like a cell phone, although it was encased in some kind of thick, protective covering. He pressed something on the screen and then held it up to his ear.
“Wilson, we have the location,” Carter said.
Wilson’s voice could be heard through the phone, tinny and unclear.
“Christ, you gotta be kidding me,” Carter said, disgruntled. “Fine. Five minutes.”
I told her, David thought to Reese.
She glanced at Amber, whose face was slightly flushed, her eyes lowered.
She’s in?
Of course she’s in. David seemed a little rattled, and Reese wondered what else he and Amber had communicated, but this was definitely not the time to ask him.
Carter slid the phone into a holster on his hip next to one of his knives, and Reese tried to visualize where his gun was. It was on his right hip, next to her. The phone was toward the front, and the blades and an extra ammunition clip were attached on his left. Thinking about how she could grab the gun made nervous sweat break out on her skin. She had gone shooting with her mom once before, when a particularly nasty case had terrified her into believing she needed to teach Reese how to handle a gun. Reese had thought her mom was crazy at the time, but in retrospect, maybe her mom had done her a favor. They had gone to a police shooting range and her mom’s friend Jose Gutierrez had walked her through the whole thing: loading the clip, the stance she should take, how to aim. The only thing she remembered clearly now was that the handgun scared her half to death the first time she shot it, the kick jerking her arms back so that the bullet completely missed the target. She was no expert on guns, but Carter’s weapon didn’t look that different from the one she had shot. She desperately hoped it wasn’t. She was grateful that he wasn’t carrying a machine gun.
The van began to slow down, and Reese tensed up. She looked at Amber and David. They tried to appear relaxed, but she could tell they had noticed too.
You ready? David asked.
No, Reese thought.
The van pulled to a stop. Reese thought her heart was going to jump right out of her chest, and nothing had even happened yet.
On my count, David told her. One, two—
She was definitely not ready. David leaned back against the van wall and kicked Carter straight in the face with both feet, shoving the soldier’s nose back. Blood spurted from his nostrils as he let out a guttural cry, and David kicked him again before he could recover. Reese heard the awful crunch of cartilage as Carter’s nose broke.
Reese lurched at the soldier, her bound hands extended to tug the gun out of its holster. To her utter shock, she got to it before Carter noticed her. The gun was heavy and cold and she scrambled to her feet, trying to point it at him. He lunged at her, blood pouring down h
is face, and managed to shove her backward into the rear wall. Her head slammed into the steel.
“Wilson!” he shouted. “Wilson, get in here!”
David was on his feet trying to drag Carter away from Reese, who had backed up into the corner, but the soldier threw him off like a fly. David smashed into the doors. In the second that Carter was distracted, Reese raised the gun, bracing herself as she aimed for his leg. She squeezed the trigger just as Amber seemed to come out of nowhere and plunged the heel of her shoe into Carter’s neck. The noise of the gunshot was so loud in the enclosed space of the van that Reese’s ears began to ring. Carter collapsed, screaming. The bullet had torn into his stomach, and Amber was standing above him with her shoe still in her hand, blood dripping from the heel and onto a horrible-looking gash on Carter’s neck.
“Oh my God,” Amber cried, face white. “You shot him. You shot him!”
“Are you okay?” Reese asked, appalled by how close Amber had come to the bullet. “I didn’t know you were going to do that—I could have shot you!”
“I’m okay,” Amber said, although she looked like she was about to pass out. She dropped the shoe, and it bounced off Carter’s twitching body and onto the metal floor of the van. She backed away, bumping into David, who was trying to unlock the van doors.
Reese pushed herself to her feet and edged around Carter. His eyes had rolled back in their sockets, and he seemed to be on the verge of falling unconscious. The doors opened and Reese felt the night air blowing into the vehicle. She noticed that one of the knives on Carter’s belt was gone—David must have grabbed it somehow—but the phone was still there. Before she could second-guess herself, she knelt down and pulled it off his belt, juggling it in her bound hands with the gun, and jumped out of the van.