The Darkest Legacy

  All at once, I knew exactly what Roman had meant when he’d said Mercer valued his steady hand.

  “It got to be too much for Max—the guilt, I mean. He might not have been the one pulling the trigger, but he saw each death and kidnapping as being on him. It got to all of us in different ways, and everything came to a head on the last job Mercer sent us on. Mercer wanted Roman to kill a former business partner and make it look like a burglary gone wrong. But in a burglary setup, you don’t just kill the mark. You have to kill any witnesses present, too. And the guy had young kids. Max saw them when he went fishing for the man’s location.”

  I gripped the steering wheel. “What happened?”

  “Max usually traveled with us, and we didn’t always know the parameters of the gig until we were nearly there because his locating became sharper the closer he got to the mark. Well, the night before the job, he woke up and tried running. Roman caught him a few hours later, and Max finally explained that he’d seen the guy’s kids, and that he was done, no matter what the consequences were. So Roman let him go. Escape. Knowing about the kids ultimately decided our fate, too, because it wasn’t like Roman and I were going to go forward with the mission alone and kill a bunch of innocent children…but running meant leaving Lana behind.”

  “Did you think about trying to go back to Mercer alone?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I almost did. I didn’t want to leave Lana, but I couldn’t go back and blame it all on Roman. Mercer would have sent team after team to kill him. And even though he’d never admit it, Roman needs someone to look out for his well-being.”

  At that exact moment, Roman rounded the corner of the playground again and made his way toward us.

  He opened the back door, slamming it shut behind him. “They said they’re sending someone over just as soon as they can.”

  Before Priyanka could say anything, Roman added, “The only reason I don’t like your idea is because of the risks involved with it. There’s no way to get to Max without breaking him out, and from what I’ve seen, there’s no way of breaking in undetected, either. He’s in there for a reason, Priya. He doesn’t want any part of this.”

  “Wait…breaking in where?” I asked.

  I was really starting to fear the looks the two of them exchanged.

  “Roman and I bailed from the mission about an hour after Max did, but that was enough time for him to disappear,” Priyanka said. “We finally tracked him down a few days later, when I found police records saying he’d voluntarily turned himself in at a station in Texas, and they dropped him off at some kind of facility. The security was too tight to try to scope it out, and the fact that he did the thing he’d been threatening to do—turn himself in—made us decide to leave him alone.”

  “What part of Texas?” I asked.

  “North, right near Oklahoma. What was the city we drove through?”

  That last question had been aimed at Roman. “Wheeler.”

  That sounded familiar, but my thoughts were too scrambled to piece together why.

  “Max could have been moved,” Roman pointed out. “Or that place could have shut down. It’s been almost six months.”

  “No, let’s go,” I said. “If he’s still there, we can see if he’s willing to help us. It’s that, or storm any and all of Blue Star’s facilities without all the facts.”

  “Again,” Roman said, “the issue isn’t just getting Max out, it’s finding a way inside.”

  I shifted the car out of park and guided the wheels onto the road again. The sun was slipping down toward the horizon, bold and shining despite the oncoming darkness of night. I drove us into it.

  It was a wild idea. The sheer recklessness of it made me feel like I was careening around inside my own body.

  “We don’t need to find a way to break in,” I said. “We just have to let ourselves get caught.”

  Miles and hours passed, but I still couldn’t shake the girl from my mind.

  Priyanka was stretched out across the backseat, her head resting against the door. She’d tilted it back just enough to look up at the highway cameras as we passed beneath them, counting each one under her breath. Roman fought the slow drag of sleep, drifting off, then startling awake a few seconds later.

  I turned the radio on, and was pleasantly surprised to hear the zone announcer’s voice jump out at us. “Here is the current hourly summary of the news….In Washington today, Interim President Cruz’s campaign announced that they had met and surpassed the sudden surge in fundraising money collected by Joseph Moore’s campaign. Cruz herself announced that a new budget agreement had been reached with the United Nations, extending the repayment deadline and securing additional funds to support the Department of Defense….In local zone news, the mayor of Nashville…”

  On and on, each state giving an update about their progress, about the new UN-sponsored factories that were employing whole towns, new highway projects, new schools, reopened universities, the return of parades, road closures, rally stops by local and national campaigns. I held my breath as she reached Louisiana, waiting to hear about the body the police had to have discovered by now.

  Instead, she skipped over the state and moved on to Florida’s reopened public beaches.

  I glanced down at the dashboard, then at Roman in disbelief, waiting for the newscaster to circle back to it. Mel had taught me that it was better to pad bad news with good, to soften it, but the announcer clearly hadn’t been given the same advice.

  “Finally, the press secretary announced today that the interim president has asked Congress to reallocate the funds set aside for the Psi reparations program to the defense budget to increase the number of Defenders who are tracking the whereabouts of the Psion Ring. The reparations program, which would have seen a small financial stipend given to surviving Psi and debt forgiveness for their families, will be put on indefinite hold.”

  Having reached the end of her news summary, the station switched back to soft classic rock standards.

  “Shit,” I breathed out, banging my hands against the wheel. “Shit!”

  “They can still change their minds,” Roman said. “You can still change their minds. We have to stay focused on gathering evidence.”

  I shook my head. The reparations package had just barely survived being cut apart during the vote in Congress. Knowing they’d used me as the excuse to kill the project Chubs had fought so hard for made me sick; the betrayal of it was almost too much to take.

  It wasn’t just that, though. It was the fact that they didn’t even mention the girl—that she clearly hadn’t been deemed newsworthy—that made me want to roll down the window and scream at the world. Wake up, wake up, wake up!

  They were covering up her death. Sweeping it ever so quietly under a rug. The zone news reports weren’t meant to be in-depth, but Cruz’s administration had always prided itself on its transparency after years of secrecy by Gray. From a publicity standpoint, though, it made perfect sense to trumpet the good news and not draw attention to the expected spots of trouble that came with resetting a whole nation.

  Now…now I wondered if they had actually cut out the rot at all, or if they’d only applied a fresh coat of paint over it.

  Something is happening in America, I thought. And no one wants us to know.

  “I REALLY DON’T KNOW ABOUT this….”

  “I want you to do it,” I said. “Just think of it as doing me a favor. I’m asking you to do it. I’ll beg if it makes you feel any better.”

  The exterior bathroom on the gas station had been slowly baking in the sun all day. Despite the small vent for light and air, it felt like being inside a coffin. Even Roman was stoically fighting to keep his expression neutral as sweat poured down over his face, causing the eyeliner Priyanka had smeared around his eyes to run. I didn’t have to look in the mirror to know that mine looked the same.

  “While I do enjoy being begged for things,” Priyanka began, “begging for me to punch you in the face is not going to make m
e feel better about said punching.”

  “The Psi Tracking System uses facial recognition to match to its database,” I said, running a hand over my hair. Priyanka had helped me slick it back into little braids that ended in a short ponytail. We’d chalked the whole thing hot pink before applying a liberal coating of gel to keep the color from running as long as possible. “We need to mess with that function.”

  “O, ye of little faith,” Priyanka said, clasping a hand to her heart. Like the rest of us, she was wearing all black clothing that we’d salvaged from a donation bin. Unlike the rest of us, she was actually pulling off the look. Her hair was twisted into a high bun, and her black shorts, flowy black top, and over-the-knee black boots looked almost sophisticated. Roman and I looked like we enjoyed kicking little kids and stealing their Halloween candy.

  “You think I can’t handle hacking their device, duplicating your current profile, and then changing the name and any other necessary details in less than two seconds?” she asked.

  I looked at Roman. “This isn’t going to work, is it?”

  He sighed. “What about us?”

  “I created clean ID profiles for us in their system ages ago in case we ever did get scanned,” Priyanka said. “We’re fine. Two regular ole Greens.”

  “Then maybe we should go in alone,” Roman said, casting a quick look at me. “If we can’t get back out, at least we can find a way to get word to you about whatever Max finds. You could go on without us.”

  “No,” I said, straightening my black skirt over the torn black tights. “This is an all-for-one-and-one-for-all situation. Given the secrecy surrounding the facility, I don’t think we’re going to be able to find a way out until we’re on the inside.”

  I wasn’t going to let them take this risk without me there to help them. If we really were trapped there, then I’d find a way to contact Vida with Ruby’s location. There was always another way. But the thought of not finishing this—that, I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

  Someone banged on the door from outside.

  “Can you hurry up?” a man called, sounding irate. “Other people need to use the restroom!”

  “I’m puking in here!” Priyanka called back. “I’ll be taking my sweet-ass time unless you’re looking to get projectile vomit all over your face and the horrible slacks you’re no doubt wearing!”

  “Ew,” I said.

  “I’m getting the manager!”

  “You do that,” Priyanka called back. “Stomp away like a little baby and go cry to Mommy.”

  We all chose to ignore the venomous string of cursing that followed.

  “Anyway, I still think you need to hit me,” I said, trying to sound as reasonable as someone could while asking to be punched. “In the eye, and maybe in the mouth to bust my lip open again.”

  “Why?” Priyanka said. “Why do you want me to hit your adorable face? Why are you so cruel to me?”

  “I’ve been on televisions and in newspapers and magazines for years now,” I said. “You really don’t think people are going to be able to make a visual ID of me?”

  “Speaking from experience,” Roman said, his hair wild and teased up, “don’t underestimate the power of context. You’ve made it this long without being caught. They’re not going to expect you to be this careless now.”

  “And look at you,” Priyanka said, turning me back toward the cracked mirror. I could barely make out my reflection through the thick layer of graffiti, but what I could see was a study in extremes. Hard and soft, bright and dark. And, like always, the truth was somewhere in between.

  “All right,” I said. “But if something goes wrong, and they do make a visual ID of me—”

  “Then we’ll abort the mission and fall back on Plan B.”

  “Isn’t Plan B the one where we drive to and fro aimlessly until we happen to find another clue about where Ruby might be?” I asked.

  Outside, the sound of car engines had turned from a faint murmur to an unending roar.

  Showtime.

  “We’ll be all right,” Roman said, rising from his perch on the toilet seat lid. “But if they see you hesitate, they’ll take a closer look. Whoever you’re choosing to be, be that person boldly.”

  I gave him a small salute. “We doing this?”

  Priyanka shook out her shoulders and arms, then reached for the tire iron resting against the door. “If I fall, avenge me.”

  I took up my own tire iron, which I’d grabbed from a nearby auto body shop. “No. No one’s doing any kind of falling. If someone pulls a gun, and, this being Texas, they likely will, immediately put your hands up and get on the ground.”

  “How long have you been waiting to say that?” Roman asked Priya.

  “Pretty much from the moment I forgot to say it while we were on the Turner job.”

  “That was three years ago.”

  “It calls for a very specific kind of situation, Roman. I have to feel the moment—”

  “Focus,” I said, passing Roman the baseball bat. “Ready?”

  He inspected the chipped wood, running his hand over the broken end of it, then nodded. Priyanka took a deep breath, her look of confidence flickering. Then she shoved the door open with her shoulder, spilling the hot glare of bleach-white Texas sun over us.

  An hour ago, when we’d arrived, there had been a few cars lined up for the weekly gas ration. Now they wrapped down the dusty, otherwise barren street. The businesses and homes nearby had recently been bulldozed and the debris was still piled high. It looked like a scene out of the apocalypse.

  The man who’d yelled at Priyanka earlier was wearing slacks and a faded button-down, and looked old enough to be her grandfather. His sunburned skin flushed a deep shade of purple as Priyanka dragged the sharp edge of the tire iron down his front.

  “All yours, big guy,” she said, tapping him on the shoulder with the tire iron as she sauntered by.

  The boots had added three inches to Priyanka’s already towering height, and she worked them, swinging the tire iron as we passed by the convenience store and moved toward the cars already at the pumps. I kept my head down, watching for trouble out of the corner of my eye. Inside the store, the woman working the counter picked up the phone, her face visibly paling through the glass.

  Roman veered away from us, coming up behind the police officer keeping watch. The man grunted as Roman snatched his gun out of its holster and tossed it away, letting it skid across the pavement. With startling efficiency, he got the policeman in a headlock, applying just enough pressure until the grizzled man collapsed in a dead faint.

  Priyanka took a running leap onto the hood of a sedan at the pump, then stepped onto its roof. “Ladies and gentleman, you’re just in time for today’s freak show and, lucky you, you get to play a starring role! Turn over your gas ration cards and maybe we won’t electrocute you or burn this place to the ground.” She tapped her heel on the sunroof of the car she was standing on. “That means you, too, handsome.”

  The man all but fell out of the door, scrambling to run away.

  The cars at the end of the line peeled off, racing down the street to avoid trouble. Phones lit up across my mind like fireworks, suddenly active as they placed emergency calls. A dozen. Two dozen.

  I walked over to the nearest SUV, where a woman was cowering inside, and smashed the passenger window in. I shoved my arm through the broken glass, holding out my hand to her.

  “It’s—it’s already in the machine,” she stammered, pressing her back up against her window.

  Oh. Right.

  I tried deepening my voice, with mixed results. “Take it out, then.”

  Unsurprisingly, it was the obnoxious whirring of drones that came first, buzzing overhead. Priyanka waved an arm and they crashed to the ground, smashing into heaps of metal, glass, and fire.

  The flurry of movement and shouts came to a dead stop.

  “Did you think I was kidding?” she called to them. “Who’s next? Who wants to bake inside the
ir own car when I turn it into an oven?”

  Roman brushed by behind me, muttering a faint “Jesus” before knocking a side mirror clear off a minivan.

  “Stop where you are, you fucking freaks!”

  All of us pivoted toward the far end of the line, where a man had braced a long rifle over the hood of his truck. Three others, two women and another man, had pistols and rushed toward us. One fired off a shot, likely by mistake—it slammed through the metal overhang above the pumps. Priyanka jumped down for cover.

  “Careful!” someone shouted. “Christ, you’ll light the whole place up!”

  “All right, all right!” Priyanka said, holding her arms up.

  “Get down!” one of the armed women growled. “Right now, before I plug one into your freak brain.”

  “Well, you don’t have to be rude about it,” Priyanka muttered.

  A hard barrel pressed into my back at the same moment someone gripped my arm and wrenched me down onto the burning pavement. I saw Roman snarl, lunging for whoever was behind me, as the other armed woman appeared at his side, gun trained on him. The assessing look he gave her chilled my blood, even with the scorching air baking us through our dark clothing.

  “No,” I said sharply. He looked at me, at the place the man pressed my cheek to the ground. I struggled against his weight, the way his knee drove into the small of my back like he was trying to break my spine, twisting just enough to turn my face upward. The sound of the Amarillo police’s sirens sang out in the distance.

  And then I got what I’d asked for—the man’s free fist sailed down toward my face, and I dissolved into heat and darkness.

  THE STEADY ROCKING, THE LOW, even drumbeat, the stifling, sleepy air, the scent of leather and warm, clean skin—it all made it that much harder to rouse myself from sleep. But the gentle pressure against my wrists was enough to remind my body of its many complaints. And my face…