James turns his face into my hair, whispering so Cas won’t hear. “Me too.”
And somehow those words remind me of something, a phantom memory I can’t quite place. The pill in my pocket could change that—I’d remember everything. I pull back from James and see the look in his eyes, an uncertainty, as if he senses a familiar memory too. He opens his mouth to talk, but then Dallas calls to us from the front door.
“Unless you’re advertising for handler intervention,” she says, “you’d better get out of sight.”
The mention of handlers is enough to make me move. James takes my hand, and we walk toward the empty-looking building, toward what’s left of the rebels, and hope we’re safe from The Program. Even if for only a moment.
CHAPTER TWO
THE INSIDE OF THE BUILDING is cluttered with construction materials: large sealed buckets, piles of dusty bags, and flattened boxes of cardboard. I swallow hard, wondering how we’ll live in an empty warehouse, when Dallas goes to the other side of the room and yanks open a door.
She gestures to the space around us. “This is just the front,” she says. “We live downstairs. It’s safer that way.”
“Are there exits?” I ask, peering behind her to see a dark staircase.
She rolls her eyes. “Are you the safety inspector, Sloane? Of course there are exits, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t go out during the day. They’ve been running your story on CNN and I can’t risk you being seen.”
“Did they mention me?” James asks. His anger at Dallas has tempered down, which I guess is positive, since it looks like we’ll be stuck together for a while. My dislike for her hasn’t eased up even a bit.
“You were mentioned,” Dallas tells James. “But they haven’t gotten ahold of your photo yet. Wait until they do; then we won’t be able to hide you well enough.”
James smiles at me and I slap his shoulder. “What?” he asks. “This is good. It means people must be questioning The Program. Why else would we be running from them?”
Cas chuckles and walks past us to make his way downstairs. Dallas stays, her hand on the doorknob, leveling her gaze on James. “Doesn’t work like that,” she says, and I hear the regret in her voice. “They’re going to spin it. They always do. The Program controls the media, James. They control everything.” Dallas seems unsettled about her comment, but she tries to cover it quickly, turning to hurry down the steps.
James watches after her like he’s trying to figure her out, but if what Cas says is true and Dallas has been through The Program, she probably doesn’t even know herself. So James is out of luck.
We descend the narrow staircase to the lower level, which I realize is barely below the street, to enter the first room. It has high windows, though they’re covered with yellowed newspapers. The vents pump a steady flow of air as we pass, sending a chill over my arms. I’m not sure how they have electricity, but I guess the rebels aren’t as ragtag as they look.
In the center of the room is a cracked leather couch and a few folding chairs, but otherwise the space is lonely. Ominous. “Where is everyone?” I ask, worry starting to build. “I thought you said there were others. You said Lacey was here.”
Dallas holds up her hands, telling me to calm down. “It’s okay,” she assures me. “They’re all here.” She heads back into the hallway, and it’s long—impossibly long—until I realize it’s the length of the entire building. Styrofoam peanuts have been swept into the corners. The fluorescent lights above flicker and hum.
“They’re probably in the back,” Dallas says. “This place isn’t so bad, you know. It was the first safe house I came to after getting out of The Program.”
“You went through The Program?” James asks. Knowing this about her seems to draw his sympathy, but Dallas turns on him fiercely.
“Don’t feel sorry for me,” she says. “I don’t want your pity. The Program took everything from me—and not just from here.” She taps her temple. Next to us Cas looks down, uncomfortable with whatever Dallas is referring to. “Let’s just say,” she starts again, “they owe me a whole hell of a lot.” Vulnerability passes over her features and she wraps her arms around herself before turning to walk down the hall alone.
“What was that about?” I ask Cas, feeling like I might know more about Dallas’s state of mind than I want to. It seems like a jump, but I think about the creepy handler Roger—how he bartered with the patients. And what they had to give him in return for a moment of their own memories.
“It’s not my story to tell,” Cas says seriously. “But I’m sure you’ll hear about it eventually. Secrets are hard to keep in this camp.”
“Sloane?” The voice is soft as it calls my name. I look up to see Lacey at the end of the hallway. She’s standing there, her blond hair dyed a deep red, wearing a black tank top and a pair of camouflage pants. There’s an explosion of relief and we both start forward, meeting somewhere in the middle with a hug. “I didn’t think you’d make it,” she says into my shoulder. “Your picture is everywhere.” She pulls back, holding my upper arms as she examines my face. “Are you okay?”
I’m not sure how long I’ve known Lacey—can’t remember my past—but since returning, she’s been my constant friend. “I’m fine,” I tell her. “Scared, but fine. James and I went to meet you at the border, but you weren’t there.” Dread slips in. “Dallas said Kevin was gone.”
Lacey gives a quick nod, unable to hold my eyes. “He never made it to the rendezvous point,” she says. “He was taken into custody, I guess. I . . . don’t know where he is now.” Her grip on my arms tightens, and I know there’s more to her and Kevin’s relationship than she ever let on. Whatever it is, she’s not going to tell me right now. She pulls me forward into the room where Dallas and a few others are standing around.
In the middle of the dim space is an oval table with at least a dozen chairs. The wood is warped and some of the seats look like they might collapse, but Dallas grabs one, spinning it to sit on it backward. Her gaze is immediately drawn to the door when James walks in.
James scans the room, pausing when he notices Lacey. “I’m digging the red,” he tells her, even though I think he really means to say he’s glad she’s safe.
Lacey smiles, her expression softening. “Why am I not surprised to see you here, James? Oh, that’s right. Because you’re a pain in the ass who constantly defies authority.”
He reaches to pull out a chair for her. “Looks like we have a lot in common.” After she sits, James pulls out another chair for me and then takes the next spot over. “So, Dallas,” he calls, leaning his elbows on the table. “What’s the plan here? What exactly do the rebels do?”
The three people around Dallas sit down, waiting for her to explain. They look normal—and not “returner” normal either; there are no collared polos or khaki skirts. Regular normal.
“Not all of us have been through The Program,” Dallas starts. “Some, like Cas”—she points to him—“are here because someone they cared about disappeared, committed suicide. Or forgot them completely.” The girl next to Dallas lowers her head. “The Program is everywhere, and it’s becoming harder and harder to find people to fight with us. Especially adults. The rebels are trying to grow, to expand so we’ll have the numbers to inflict real damage. But The Program is always one step ahead of us.”
“What happened to the other rebels?” James asks. “The ones who were in your safe house?”
Dallas wilts slightly. “The place was raided,” she begins, “and the ones who didn’t get away were dragged back into The Program. The official report said they were in recall—a side effect where memories crash back and drive a person insane—but that was a lie. The Program took them into custody to squash any rebellion. But they couldn’t risk another incident.” Her face grows pale. Suddenly she’s not a rebel. She’s just a girl. “The Program makes them disappear.”
“What?” James asks, wide-eyed. “Are they killing them?”
“We don’t k
now what they’re doing to them. All we know is, certain patients disappear. They never contact us again; they never pop up on our radar. Basically, if The Program catches us . . . they’ll end us.”
“We have to save them,” James says. “We can’t let—”
“It’s too late.” Dallas waves her hand. “There’s no way to break anyone out of The Program. We’ve tried.”
“Maybe you’re doing it wrong.”
“Shut up, James,” she says dismissively. “Like you know. We’ve tried, we’ve failed. It never ends well, so we’ve had to write them off. It’s not like it was an easy decision.”
“What are you going to do, then?” he demands. I can’t believe Dallas would just give up. She seemed tougher than this.
Dallas takes a second to compose her thoughts, and it’s like I can see her hardening herself against them. “They’re the accepted loss,” she says coldly. “For now, we’re what’s left. But I’m trying to find someone, something, to help us. When we gather everyone together again, we’ll fight. I promise you we’ll fight.”
Dallas stands, pulling her long dreads into a high knot. She looks rattled by James’s comments, and she can’t hold his eyes. “I suggest you get some sleep,” Dallas says in our direction. “We have plans later, so I’ll need you back here at four.” Before we can ask any more questions, she leaves the room, taking the conversation with her. It’s quiet for a moment, and then James leans over to whisper to me.
“If I ever get sent away, Sloane, I expect you to save my ass. Is that clear?”
“And vice versa,” I say. He gives a definitive nod and then turns to study the others in the room. Lacey is sitting quietly, her arms folded over her chest. This may be the most subdued I’ve ever seen her. It worries me. My stomach growls loudly, and James glances at me before calling to Cas.
“Hey, man,” he says. “Do you have any food in this place? This one”—he hikes his thumb in my direction—“sounds like she’s on a hunger strike.”
Cas laughs. “Yeah. Let me show you around.” I get up, but Lacey is still sitting there, rubbing her forehead like she has a headache.
“You okay?” I ask, reaching to touch her shoulder.
She lifts her gaze, and her eyes are out of focus, as if she’s staring through me. “Stress. Rebels. Who knows?” She smiles weakly. “It’ll pass.”
Her response does little to placate my worry. “James,” I say, turning to him. “I’ll catch up with you in a second.” He leans forward as if asking if everything is all right. When I nod that it is, he walks out into the hallway with Cas. I move closer to Lacey.
“We’ve been through a hell of a lot,” I tell her. The other rebels eventually filter out, and in the quiet, the sadness starts to fill the air. “I’m sorry about Kevin.”
Lacey closes her eyes. “Me too.”
Kevin was the handler assigned to me right after The Program, and Lacey was my only friend. I had no idea they even knew each other until Realm’s sister mentioned it. “How did you get involved with the rebels?” I ask Lacey. The room is empty, but I keep my voice hushed—paranoia engrained at this point in my recovery.
“It was Kevin,” she says. “I met him at Sumpter High, weeks before you ever showed up. There was something about him that told me he wasn’t like the other handlers. We met a few times at the Wellness Center. Talked outside. And then we went out for coffee—in another town, of course. He told me he could see I was a fighter. He asked me to be part of the rebels. Then you appeared, and you were like me—a natural troublemaker, I think.” We both smile at this, but I ache at the loss of Kevin. He was my friend.
“He called me before he disappeared,” Lacey says, swiping under her eyes to catch the tears. “Kevin thought he was being followed and told me to go ahead without him to meet you and James. He said he’d see me at the rendezvous point. I waited so long. I waited until Cas and Dallas showed up, and I fought them when they tried to make me leave without Kevin. I even punched Cas in the face. I fought like hell, but they shoved me into another van and one of the guys swept me away to here—just a few hours ahead of you. I think Kevin’s gone, Sloane,” she says. “I think he’s dead.”
“He could be in The Program,” I offer, although I’m not sure what sort of consolation that’s supposed to be, especially now that Dallas has told us that rebels disappear. “When this is over, we can find him.”
Lacey wipes roughly at her cheeks, clearing away the tears she couldn’t catch. “No,” she says. “He’s over eighteen and he knows too much. They’ve killed him. I know they have.”
“Don’t think that way,” I start. “There are so many other—”
“Sloane,” she says, cutting me off, “I’m actually really tired. Can we talk about this another time? My head is killing me.”
“I’ll be here,” I say. “It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” I try to make her smile, but Lacey only thanks me and hurries from the room. Alone, I glance around the barren space, processing the fact I’m actually here. I’m a rebel.
* * *
The kitchen is a revamped office with a small counter and sink, a white refrigerator, and an old cooktop. “What did this building used to be?” I ask, looking around.
“Don’t know,” Cas says. “This place has been here for a while, but Dallas couldn’t remember exactly where it was. I tracked it down for her; it’s in pretty good shape. A lot better than some of the other places I’ve lived in.”
Cas pulls a couple of burritos out of the freezer and pops them into the microwave. I murmur my thanks and take a seat at the round table while James leans against the counter. Now that there’s actual food, I realize how hungry I am.
“So,” Cas says, motioning around, “I know it doesn’t look like much, but at this location there are ten of us—twelve now. We had about thirty members in Philadelphia, but that includes the ones who were taken back to The Program. We’re not sure how many we’ve lost yet.” He lowers his eyes. “We’re starting to have more safe houses than people.”
The microwave beeps, and Cas puts the burritos on a paper plate and sets it on the table. James sits next to me and immediately grabs a burrito. He quickly mumbles around the food in his mouth that it’s too hot to eat.
“I was never in The Program,” Cas says conversationally. “But I lost my brother to the epidemic.”
I look up, a sharp ache in my chest. “Me too.”
“And my little sister went missing a while back,” Cas adds. “Presumed dead. After Henley died, she kind of lost it. Became really paranoid, said our phones were tapped and that she was being followed. She disappeared, but it turns out she was right about The Program. I watched the handlers from the road as they showed up at the house looking for her.”
“How old is your sister?” James asks.
“She’d be fourteen now.”
A wave of nausea hits me with the thought of someone so young doing something as desperate as running away, possibly killing themselves. “I’m sorry,” I say, pushing my burrito toward James.
Cas sniffs hard. “Thanks. I keep thinking one day she’ll just show up. I’ll give her a big hug, and then I’ll ground her for the rest of her life.” He laughs, but he doesn’t look like he believes his words. He doesn’t think his sister will ever come back.
Cas pushes off the counter and lets out a shaky breath. “I should go,” he says. “I’m exhausted from the drive, and I need some sleep before our meeting.”
“Thank you,” I tell him quickly. “I really appreciate your help.”
“We’re going to help each other,” he responds. “Otherwise none of us will make it. Now, the room at the end of the hallway is yours. But I’ll warn you,” he adds with a smile, “it’s not much.”
“Damn,” James responds. “I was hoping for little chocolates on my pillow in the morning.”
“Next stop. Promise.”
After Cas leaves, James resets my food in front of me, motioning for me to eat. After we’re b
oth done, we grab a couple of bottles of water from the floor next to the fridge. Even though it’s still daytime, it feels like it could be midnight—our days and nights are twisted around now that we’re on the run.
When we get to the room, James pushes open the door and actually laughs. The small room has a twin bed and a shabby wooden dresser. There are no windows, only a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling as a source of light.
“Whoa,” James says, glancing sideways at me. “I sure hope I’m up to date on all my shots.”
I walk inside, relieved to see clean-looking sheets on the mattress. James closes the door and throws the lock before tossing the duffel bag on the dresser. He stands there, looking about the room and I go to sit on the edge of the bed.
“Could use a woman’s touch,” he says, glancing at me. “You up for it?”
I smile, knowing he’s not exactly talking about my decorating skills. But I’m still bothered that Kevin is gone, that Lacey isn’t feeling well. I’m still bothered by everything.
James’s eyes slide over me, reading my expression. “Let’s crash,” he says softly. “We haven’t had any real sleep in days, and I think we should be clear for what comes next.”
“And what’s that?” I ask.
James shakes his head. “I wish I knew.” He exhales and climbs onto the bed. He slaps the flat pillow a few times and then curls up behind me. When he’s quiet, I look down at him. His eyes weaken slightly. “Want to snuggle?” he asks.
We’ve been through so much the past few days, few months, few years, I’m guessing. It’s too great to even put into words, so I nod and settle down next to him.
James moves until his mouth is at my ear. “We made it,” he whispers, the curve of his bottom lip grazing my skin. His other hand slides up my thigh, and James pulls my leg over his hip. Wrapped around him, I feel safer—like I can hold on to both of us.
But as James kisses my neck, I think about the pill in my pocket. We haven’t had time to discuss it, not fully. “James,” I say, my voice hoarse. “We should talk about the orange pill.”