Her hand fell away. “Tell me more about your granddad.”
Lucky snorted. “He’s a grumpy bastard. He got messed up after fighting in Vietnam. I moved out there a couple years ago—my mom’s deceased and my dad’s in Afghanistan. Third tour. He only gets leave every six months.”
His head was pitched downward so his hair hid his face. She wanted to tuck those strands back and read the words between his words: a mother who died too early. A father who wasn’t there. A grandfather ruined by war. Where did he fit in to all that?
“I’m sorry about your mother. How did it happen?”
He shrugged a little stiffly. “Car accident. Isn’t that how they always go—moms who die too young?” He paused, and then cleared his throat. “I was little. Five years old. I don’t remember much. I didn’t see it happen.” His words were a little forced; maybe he didn’t want her to feel sorry for him, but how could she not? She knew all too well the devastation of squealing brakes, tearing metal, burning plastic. She ran a finger across her lips, not sure how to convey the rush of sympathy she felt. She wanted to squeeze his hand. Press her cheek against his and whisper she was sorry. But her mother was still alive—how could she ever sympathize?
“It must be hard not to have your dad around either,” she said at last. “But it’s a noble thing he’s doing, serving in the army.” She winced. She sounded like her dad on the campaign trail, not a friend.
Lucky was quiet for a while, picking at his toes, but then he brushed his hair back and grinned. The tension broke. “Have a soft spot for soldiers, huh?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
“I was on my way to enlist when I woke up here. Just . . . saying.”
His words slowly sank in, as her cheeks warmed.
Was he flirting?
He went back to picking at his toes. “My granddad didn’t want me to enlist, but there aren’t a lot of options for a kid like me. I wasn’t exactly academically gifted. Besides, if you get in at eighteen, you can retire by thirty-eight with a full pension. Thought I’d head to Hawaii after my service. Cash government checks and grow old on a beach somewhere with a girl and a guitar.”
Cora perked up. “You play guitar?”
He examined his left hand, flexing it slightly. “Not so much anymore.” He watched his tendons working, frowning like he was reliving some bad memory. “I busted my hand a few years ago. Got mad and punched a wall. But I still like strumming around, alone so no one can hear how bad it sounds. Music helps me make sense of things.”
Cora’s heart squeezed. “Yeah, I . . . I know exactly what you mean.”
Their eyes met, and she told herself not to look away. Her bleary eyes and tired muscles seemed to fade around him. At last she cleared her throat. “Maybe whoever put us here will fix your hand. Nok said her asthma was cured, and Rolf’s bad vision.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize we’d been taken by such thoughtful kidnappers.”
She leaned into the pillow of his jacket, soaking up the smell of him lingering in the seams. “I think Nok’s tougher than she seems. She acts meek, but . . .” She paused. She’d caught Nok in a lie about her living situation in London, but Nok hadn’t struck Cora as dangerous or malicious. Just scared. And Cora wasn’t one to judge—she was keeping secrets of her own. “Anyway, I like her. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a girl friend.” She ran her finger over her chapped lips, regretting saying anything. “Please don’t ask why.”
“I don’t care why.”
She smiled. “You’re good at this, you know. Keeping everyone calm. You’ll be a good leader, in the army.”
“Leader?” He snorted. “All the army teaches you is how to follow.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “You want to know how I really get the others to listen?”
“Besides punching Leon in the face?”
He smiled, ignoring the comment. “Chickens.”
“Chickens?”
He nodded solemnly. “My granddad bought a chicken farm after the war. Preferred their company to humans. They’re not so different from people. You’d be surprised.”
“You’re serious?”
He smiled in a self-conscious way that formed the hint of a dimple in his left cheek. “When laying hens get flustered by a dog or a hawk, you have to reassure them or they won’t produce. You put gentle pressure on their wings. Makes them feel safe. Not many people know this, but chickens are smart. They respond to a hierarchy. That’s where the whole idea of pecking order comes from.” His smile faded. “Whenever my granddad introduces new chickens to the flock, he plays them music. The same song over and over. It lulls them into complacency.”
Cora pulled his leather jacket tighter around her shoulders uneasily. “You think whoever put us here is doing the same thing, with that jukebox?”
He paused. “Maybe. Nothing really makes sense. I mean, why the five of us? Six, if you count that dead girl. Were we just in the wrong place at the wrong time? I don’t know why they’d want me. I’m just a part-time mechanic who’s failed more classes than he’s passed.”
He leaned his head back, so his hair fell away and showed that dimple. Her first night in Bay Pines, she’d been so scared and alone. She’d cried into her pillow so her roommate wouldn’t hear. Now, the same sting pushed behind her eyes. She wiped away the start of tears.
He was quiet for a moment, then reached out an arm. “Come here.”
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m going to chicken you.”
Cora’s surprise melted as he pulled her into a hug, like he would a frightened bird. She started laughing and crying, either or both or somewhere in between, but she felt less alone. Friendships were important; that was something she’d learned at Bay Pines. The dimple didn’t hurt, either.
CORA WAS GROGGY WITH half sleep when hazy morning light spilled through the open doorway. If she’d slept at all, it had only been fits and starts. No dreams of angels. Only nightmares.
She rubbed her eyes and found Lucky snoring against the doorframe.
They were very smart, their captors. Very clever. They hadn’t gotten all the details right, but at first glance through the doorway, she could almost be fooled. The light was soft and pink, like a sunrise. The gentle sound of ocean waves echoed from the beach. The town would be convincing, if they hadn’t thrown such disparate types of architecture together in an attempt to condense the world’s thousands of cultures into a single town square.
The sound of jukebox music drifted toward her, and Lucky jerked awake, muscles tense until he saw they were safe.
Leon came down the stairs, disheveled, and stared through the front door. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “I’d hoped it was a bad dream.”
Nok came down behind him. She’d transformed her drab black dress into an outfit worthy of the runway. She’d ripped the hem to shorten it, cinched it with one of Leon’s ties—he certainly wasn’t using them—and thrown on a band T-shirt identical to the one Cora wore.
Nok rested a hand on her hip, striking a pose without even meaning to. “You don’t mind me wearing one of your shirts, do you? There are duplicates of everything in the dressers upstairs. As if anyone would need ten of this awful dress. And if we’re going to be rescued today, I might as well look good.”
Cora forced a smile. Smile, even when you aren’t sure a rescue is going to come.
Rolf came tripping down the stairs, looking like a sleepy porcupine with his hair sticking up at random angles. Lucky stood, stretching his back. “I had some ideas last night about how we can figure out where we are and who put us here.”
Leon patted him heavily on the shoulder. “Sure thing, Bright Eyes. Just not before breakfast.” He sauntered toward the diner.
Lucky cursed and started after Leon.
Rolf rubbed the back of his neck like it ached, watching the two boys argue outside. “Leon took my pillow in the middle of the night. Said he was twice my size so he should get twice the pillows
.”
He chewed on his lip and blinked. Though Cora was usually good at reading people, Rolf was an enigma. His red hair swept down to nearly hide his eyes, two blue-green mysteries in an otherwise expressionless face.
“You can’t let him bully you,” she said.
His face remained impassive, except for a slight twitch in one eye. “Guys like him have been beating up on me my entire life. We call them bøller—bullies. I tried standing up for myself once. I went to a private school in Oslo where a team of boys twice my size waited for me each day after school by the bus stop. Karl Crenshaw was their leader. He was a big Scottish kid, ugly, always made fun of my twitches. One day he beat me with a cricket bat. I was in a coma for two weeks.”
Nok made a sympathetic pout but frowned suddenly and dropped her arms. “Do you all feel that?”
Cora did. Her skin was tingling. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck rose like static electricity. She exchanged a worried glance with Nok. “We’ve got to get the others.” They ran toward the square as a crackling sound started, but Cora couldn’t trace it. It seemed to come from everywhere. It built like pressure, a constrictive feeling like taking off in an airplane, and got stronger and stronger until Cora thought her body might burst.
As she rounded the corner, she saw Lucky ahead. He turned and met her eyes. She never thought she’d see someone so brave look so afraid.
A scream came from behind her, and she whirled to find Nok with a hand over her mouth, letting out frightened little gasps. A creeping feeling crawled up her neck—the same feeling she got around the black windows, only a thousand times stronger. Lucky crashed into her, holding her tight, preventing her from turning around.
“What is it?”
“Don’t, Cora. Don’t look.”
Whatever was standing right behind her was terrifying even to someone as brave as him. But he couldn’t stop her from looking. She had to.
She looked over her shoulder.
They weren’t alone.
UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
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11
Cora
A NEW FIGURE—A MAN—STOOD next to the cherry tree. He had to be close to seven feet tall. Something about his black uniform suggested a soldier, though Cora had never seen clothes like his before. They fit closely to the muscles of his arms and chest and moved with him so seamlessly that they were almost liquid cloth—except for the row of knots down one side. He wore a utility band slung across his chest, which glistened with equipment that looked far more advanced than the prototypes her father invested in. He carried himself as stiffly as a soldier in an army recruiting ad, with buzzed hair and the straight back of a warrior—except for a few key differences. His impressive height. His skin, which was somewhere in between the color of copper and bronze and reflected the sunlight like metal. And his eyes.
They had no irises. No pupils. They were entirely black.
Breath slipped from her. His was the face from her dreams. The most beautiful creature she had ever seen, yet he no longer looked angelic. He was terrifying.
And he isn’t human.
They weren’t in a dream, or virtual reality. They’d been taken by gods or aliens—or monsters.
The soldier flexed his glove.
Rolf fell to his knees. Nok crumpled next to him. The soldier’s presence screamed danger, but there was something captivating about him too, like staring into a flame. It was impossible to look away.
Coldness pooled between her shoulder blades. She leaned closer to Lucky, her heart pounding. Had this man been the shadowy figure behind those black windows? Studying them, like Rolf said? Was he the one who had dressed her in a stranger’s clothes?
Movement flickered to her left.
The black-eyed man’s presence didn’t seem to have the same captivating effect on Leon, who let out a war cry and lunged forward. Cora’s breath caught. Don’t fight back, that was the rule in situations like this, but Leon hadn’t gotten the memo—or hadn’t cared.
The soldier watched patiently, arms at his sides.
Leon collided with him.
Cora flinched. She expected cracking bones and spurting blood, but the moment Leon touched his shoulder, the stranger threw him. It was an effortless movement, no more than swatting a fly, but it sent Leon—who had to weigh 250 pounds—fifteen feet away.
All the strength from Cora’s body drained into the grass.
Leon pushed himself up, shaking the sweat out of his hair, looking stricken. “That bastard—he zapped me with some bloody thing!”
But the stranger held no weapons.
“Remain calm,” the soldier said. There was no trace of an accent, but his pitch was monotone and deep, just as unnatural as his eyes. “You are not in danger.”
“Who are you?” Lucky asked.
The soldier cocked his head. A second passed, and then another. Cora burrowed deeper against Lucky’s chest. The man’s eyes burned right through her, down to her innermost thought, hypnotizing her with a single look. She traced her eyes over his bare arms, his hands, his chest. The angel from her dreams—or rather, a demon. He looked so very close to being human, but he was beyond that, clearly from another place or time. Not just his metallic skin and otherworldly beauty, but the magnetic feeling he gave off. He radiated otherness.
“I am your Caretaker,” he said.
“Take us home,” Lucky demanded.
The Caretaker tilted his head, as though perplexed by the idea. “That is impossible. You are on our aggregate space station, far from your solar system. These habitats are meant to replicate the lives you would have experienced on Earth. We hope it pleases you.”
Cora drew in a sharp breath.
Not on Earth?
Her fingers fell away from Lucky and curled around the edges of a nearby tree, her stomach weightless even though nothing had changed. The tree beneath her hand wasn’t real. The grass wasn’t real. It wasn’t attached to soil; only whatever made up their space station, metal and pipes and tubing and materials she’d probably never heard of.
A cherry-blossom petal fluttered to the ground.
It landed in the grass, and she jerked her head up. Nok sobbed loudly—real tears, nothing fake now—and Rolf took her hand, as though hand-holding could protect them. Leon lay flat like he’d been knocked out cold.
Stay calm. Wait for help. Meaningless words now.
“Why did you bring us here?” Cora asked.
“We took you for your own benefit. My people are called the Kindred. We are the most advanced among the intelligent species, and as such, take responsibility for overseeing lesser races. We are stewards of endangered species such as yours.”
“Endangered?” The word tasted wrong in Cora’s mouth. Siberian tigers were endangered. Polar bears were endangered. Not humans.
The Caretaker flexed his black gloves. “Earth is a dangerous and unpredictable world. The practices of your species are unsustainable. So we have brought you here, where we can ensure the survival of your race regardless of your planet’s well-being. Here you have ample sustenance and a microcosm of the various habitats and cultures in your world. We have given you a variety of stimuli to exercise your minds and bodies. You will find these enrichment activities to be rewarding.”
He produced a small token from his pocket identical to the ones in the shops. It glinted in the sunlight, burning dark spots into Cora’s eyes. “There are eight enrichment puzzles in the biomes, and eight in the settlement areas. Complete each enrichment activity and you will receive a token redeemable in any of these commercial establishments. The candy and toys are authentic artifacts from Earth that will help you maintain an emotional connection to your previous home.”
She stared at him. Games. Toys. Candy. These people—the Kindred—thought they were children.
No, not children.
Animals.
Cora clenched her jaw, centering herself. Her headache throbbed, pushing her toward anger.
“Why us?” Lucky asked.
The Caretaker’s black eyes shifted among them. “You each display valuable attributes. Strength. Morality. Beauty. You are, in your own ways, paragons of your species.”
Nok started whimpering low, like a dog.
“We have three rules we require you to follow,” the Caretaker continued, oblivious to her fear, “which are for your own benefit and that of your species. The first is to solve the enrichment puzzles. This will strengthen your physical and mental conditioning. The second rule is to maintain your health by eating the food we provide for you, getting ample sleep, and cooperating in routine health assessments. The third rule is to ensure the continuation of your species by engaging in procreative activities.”
He spoke with such little inflection. Procreative activities? Cora took a step back as though the Caretaker had just burst into flames. “You put us here to reproduce?” she choked.
The Caretaker turned to her. “We require immediate compliance with Rule One and Rule Two, but we understand that your species does not adapt quickly to new situations, so we have granted you an adjustment phase. By the end of twenty-one days, we expect you to fully engage in Rule Three. If not, you will face removal.”
Removal. The word had a sinister ring. “Is that what happened to the dead girl we found on the beach? She didn’t cooperate, so you killed her?”
The stranger’s eyes shifted to Cora, and she got that involuntary shiver down her spine again. There was something so unnerving about him. So familiar. He’d been in her head—in her dreams.
“Girl Three’s death was the result of an accident,” he replied.
Girl Three? Was that how their captors thought of them, as nameless specimens? What did that make her, Girl One or Girl Two?
He continued, “She attempted to swim too far through the ocean habitat before we had properly adjusted the saline levels. On Earth she was a gifted swimmer; we had not anticipated how far she could go. The problem has been corrected. There will be no more accidents. Your safety is of utmost importance to us.”