The Hunt

  My heart gave an uneven thump.

  He looked like Zane. Not in his lighter coloring or stocky build—he was a younger version of the chief in that way—but in those flashes of expression. That brotherly resemblance tore at me. It wasn’t Zane, thank God, but it could have been, and I could see him in Quinn.

  Quinn managed to reach an almost upright position, revealing for the first time his arm strapped to his chest in a makeshift sling. “It’s not…I’m not…My parents don’t have any money to pay you,” he panted through clenched teeth, directing his words to someone off-camera. Even with the awkward angle, you could see something wasn’t right with his arm. It was bent in strange places, like he’d developed new joints between his wrist and elbow. One of them appeared to have broken through the skin, leaving a bloody gash and a flash of white bone.

  Nausea rose in the back of my throat. I’d had my arm broken. Multiple times. Sometimes by accident, sometimes deliberately. The sharp pain—and the sound, oh God, the sound was the worst, that horrible crack that took you apart at the seams, signaled you were mortal, frail, and broken.

  The screen bobbled, Mara crying as she tried to hold the tablet steady, and the image of Quinn froze and then broke apart smoothly into blocks, a fancy fade to black.

  I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached. Clearly, someone fancied themselves a filmmaker, concerned about effects and appearances in what amounted to a torture video. Oh, I would show them all kinds of effects when I got ahold of whoever had stood by and filmed this.

  Words appeared on the screen in a slow scrawl, each line bumping up the next, Star Wars style.

  His arm appears to be fractured in two places.

  His ribs may be cracked.

  He resisted.

  That is unfortunate.

  With timely medical care, a full recovery is likely.

  Provided infection doesn’t set in.

  It was like a horrible (and misguided) attempt at poetry. The video started again immediately, but it was impossible to tell how much time had passed since the previous segment.

  Quinn was calmer now, swaying slightly in his seat. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about school,” he mumbled. His eyes were glassy, his skin now an unhealthy shade of grayish green. Either they’d given him something to address the pain or he was moments from passing out. “I was going to…Maybe you can send the tuition check to these bastards instead.”

  Zane sent a questioning look to his mom.

  “He was having trouble adjusting, failed a few classes,” Mara choked out. “They cut his scholarship last semester. Your dad found out when he called the school after he got this video. Quinn wasn’t answering his phone, and his roommates haven’t seen him since Sunday.” Her voice dissolved into a barely contained sob.

  “That’s why he didn’t come home this summer,” Zane said, more to himself than either his mother or me.

  “And tell Zane I’m sorry,” Quinn said, his words muzzy with exhaustion.

  Next to me, Zane jerked as if he’d been struck. I slipped my hand into his, and he squeezed it tightly.

  “I should have been a better brother,” Quinn said as his head dipped down to his chest—whether he was succumbing to the drugs or passing out, I wasn’t sure. The screen faded to black again—this time by making the image ripple and wobble into nothingness—and my stomach clenched in anticipation. Another message was coming, no doubt. They hadn’t yet gotten to the point, but they would. They weren’t going to all this effort just because they could.

  And sure enough, seconds later, the word scrawl started again.

  Ariane Tucker:

  Exit 340 on Interstate 94

  2 P.M. Tuesday

  Even though I’d been expecting to see my name eventually—what else could this be about? It wasn’t like Quinn was a highly desirable ransom target in any other situation—it still sent a shock through me, the familiar letters in such a strange context. And that punctuation after my name, one little colon, made my stomach fall.

  It changed everything.

  This message was addressed to me. I’d known this was my fault, but seeing it spelled out so clearly made me want to throw up.

  They’d sent to this to the chief, counting on him to get Mara involved, which would then, eventually, lead to us.

  The worst part was that they couldn’t have known I’d get the message or even that I’d be close enough to meet their deadline. There were any number of places where their plan could have fallen apart. But Dr. Jacobs didn’t care. He was arrogant—or desperate—enough to take Quinn and hurt him anyway.

  Zane’s fingers tightened on mine, and I realized I’d already begun backing up, heading for the stairs.

  “You aren’t going,” Zane said, his voice rough. “We’ll find another way to get him back.”

  Before I had a chance to respond, the words vanished from the screen and another image of Quinn appeared.

  I froze. I’d thought the video was over. Threat implied, message received.

  But Dr. Jacobs wasn’t done with me yet. No, that would have been too kind.

  On screen, the frozen image blinked into movement and Quinn bent over, retching from the pain and moaning every time his arm and ribs were jostled. But he couldn’t stop. It was an awful, vicious, escalating cycle that devolved into hoarse screams and whimpers within seconds.

  Even the cameraman seemed affected, the focus on Quinn slipping momentarily to the wall before fading to black.

  But the screaming continued. It was a loop, I was pretty sure, of previous audio, but it was horrible just the same.

  The color washed from Mara’s face, and tablet slipped in her grip, dangling from her fingers.

  Zane grabbed the tablet and thrust it at me before taking his mom’s arm and helping her to the edge of the bed.

  I fumbled with the device to pause it. The sudden silence in the room made my ears ring.

  “It’s okay,” Zane murmured to his mother, who had her face buried in her hands. “It’ll be okay.” He gave me a helpless, pleading look. One that begged me to make the words he’d just said true. His family might have been messed up, but it was still his family. His brother suffering and his mother in pain because of it.

  But I couldn’t respond. Something was gnawing at me. Something wasn’t right. Obviously. But beyond Quinn and the message and the entire situation.

  I’d missed…what? What was it that had triggered this additional unease, the growing sense of dread in the pit of my stomach?

  I frowned. It was in those last few seconds of footage; it had to be. Right when the otherwise unflappable auteur had lost his cool and gone to the wall. Something about that didn’t sit right with me. Why include it when the rest of the video had been ruthlessly edited? Clearly it wasn’t an accident or a lack of skill.

  I found the volume buttons on the side of the tablet and turned down the sound all the way before pulling the slide bar back on the video to the final segment.

  Somehow it was more gruesome without sound, possibly because there was nothing to distract from the image on screen. But I forced myself to watch.

  And…there. Flash to the wall. I hit pause.

  “Ariane?” Zane asked with a frown.

  “Hang on,” I said tightly.

  The walls were nondescript, but upon closer inspection a very specific kind of nondescript. One I recognized.

  And I should. I’d spent enough hours staring at those walls. They had a plastic sheen, likely for easier cleanup and sanitizing, but with a nubby texture to them that was faintly visible in the close-up.

  At night, I used to lie on my cot and put my feet up on the wall to experience the texture (everything else in my cell was relentlessly smooth). I would pretend I was Outside and it was grass.

  In fact, if I squinted hard enough at the image on screen, I felt I could almost see the slightly darker spots on the wall where I’d put my feet, night after night.

  Quinn was in my cell at GTX.

&nbs
p; And Dr. Jacobs wanted me to know it.

  I closed my eyes, my breath slipping away as my chest tightened in fear and frustration.

  “Ariane?” Zane asked again, sounding more alarmed.

  The wall was another message, one more subtle than the words.

  I wasn’t sure if it was a warning—you know how hard it is to break out of GTX, forget about breaking in—or a lure. Maybe I was supposed to pick up on that clue without realizing that they’d planted it deliberately and head in to save the day, thinking that I was pulling one over on them.

  Either way, the result was the same. They’d be expecting me to try to get Quinn at GTX. The already impossible security would be double or tripled.

  And yet, going to the designated meet and attempting to get Quinn without being captured would be even more difficult.

  I’d been trained to assess situations like this and determine the best action to take, even when the best action was none. Especially when it was none.

  Surrendering serves no purpose, my logical half pointed out.

  Except to save Zane’s brother!

  My two sides clamored back and forth, vying for dominance.

  It’s bait, temptation to your weaker self. You know that. Once you give in, they will have you forever, both physically and mentally.

  Which was true. If I went to GTX, I wasn’t coming back out. But even that wouldn’t be a guarantee of Quinn’s safety or Zane’s. If anything, it might only make things worse. Dr. Jacobs would turn to them every time he wanted something from me.

  Once again, caring only served to hurt me and others.

  But doing nothing, is that really an option?

  I looked at Zane, sitting next to his mother on the bed, the strain and fear written on his handsome face. Just a couple weeks ago, he’d had a regular life, worrying about tests, lacrosse games, and college essays. I’d done this to him.

  And yet when he noticed me watching him, he met my gaze with confidence and, God help me, hope.

  In me.

  Crap.

  QUINN AND I HADN’T GOTTEN along in a long time. Scratch that, we’d never gotten along. We are brothers, three years apart. We would have fought over who had two more inches of room in the shared misery of the backseat on family excursions, who was getting more air, anything and everything.

  But that was normal sibling stuff, as far as I could tell. It had changed, turned into something worse, only when we were older. One day, it was as if he were suddenly miles ahead of me, even when we were in the same room. He was a stranger I happened to share a house and a bathroom with.

  I didn’t know when it started or why, but I remembered when I finally figured out that something was different and it wasn’t good.

  We’d been in the backyard doing throwing drills with my dad. (There was no “tossing the football around” with him.) I was nine and Quinn was twelve, and for once I must have done something right, because my dad was in Quinn’s face for a change.

  “Even Zane did better than that, for God’s sake,” my father shouted. Those words, and that tone of disgust, would be permanently carved on my heart after that.

  I was drowning in fury and humiliation, and then Quinn…Quinn glared at me, as if I was doing something wrong.

  It was in that moment when it had finally clicked for me. We weren’t on the same side anymore. When we’d bickered and beat on each other before, we’d always still teamed up against our parents. To get out of trouble, to weasel another hour of television, to find our Christmas presents in the weeks before the holiday.

  But in one of those quick flashes of insight, where everything else seems to stop for a second while you struggle to absorb some screamingly obvious revelation, I’d known that Quinn and I were done. We weren’t brothers anymore, just two people fighting over the same resources.

  Seeing him in that video, though, he’d looked so vulnerable, so broken.

  I swallowed hard. That wasn’t the Quinn I knew. I didn’t remember the last time I’d seen him cry. Or apologize to me for anything.

  He really thought he was going to die.

  You okay? The memory of Quinn checking on me at that party suddenly filled my head. At the time, I’d been embarrassed and angry and just wanted to disappear, and his question had only exacerbated those feelings.

  But he’d been trying to look out for me, making sure I was all right. An overture, not of peace exactly but maybe an acknowledgement of his role and responsibilities as an older brother, something I thought I’d never see again.

  I should have been more grateful for the attempt.

  My eyes stung suddenly. We had to save him. We couldn’t just leave him in there.

  The bed beneath me shook with my mother’s sobs. I tentatively put an arm around her too-thin shoulders. She didn’t react to the contact, her hands covering her face as she curled into herself, elbows resting on her knees.

  I glanced up at Ariane, who continued to stare down at the tablet, but with a blankness to her expression that suggested she wasn’t actually watching anything but thinking instead.

  “Ariane?” I asked.

  Her gaze flicked up to meet mine. I thought I saw a quick flash of fear and then something, sadness, maybe, before the emotion and expression drained from her face, leaving her as unreadable and unknowable as she’d ever been.

  She pushed the button at the top of the tablet, putting it to sleep with an audible click; tucked it under her arm; and stepped toward my mother with a precise economy of movement.

  “What’s at that exit, Mara?” Ariane asked flatly.

  My mom dragged her head up from her hands to stare up at Ariane blearily. “What?”

  “Exit 340 on Interstate 94. What’s there?” Ariane repeated, not exactly with patience. More like a robotic evenness. You could almost see the cogs and wheels turning in her brain as her personality and emotion and humanness, for lack of a better word, took a backseat to the military-type training and alien instincts that lived within her as well. She looked…well, she looked more like Ford than ever in that moment. It sent a chill through me.

  My mom cleared her throat and straightened up, responding unconsciously to Ariane’s crisp and expectant tone. “The Cheese Palace,” she said.

  I frowned. The what? It took a second longer for a few vague memories to emerge. A castlelike building, a giant cheese emporium, with a huge plastic mouse statue wearing a Packers jersey and holding a beer-scented candle just inside the door. Cheese, beer, and football. Pretty much the three major exports of Wisconsin.

  Concentrating on it, I had another dim recollection of Quinn and me running around the store, going long with one of those little circles of cheese in red wax as our football. Then my dad had gotten ahold of us. I could still recall the feeling of his fingers digging into my shoulder when he caught me with the “ball,” doing that thing where he was red-faced and shouting but only with his eyes.

  Clearly, I’d been inside the Palace at some point. Maybe a family vacation, like our one disastrous attempt at camping years ago. The memory of the Cheese Palace seemed to be tied to that of a campground swimming pool with a metal edge, superheated in the sun, that burned my palms when I tried to haul myself out.

  To my surprise, Ariane nodded at my mom, as if she’d somehow been expecting this answer. “A tourist attraction, in a high-traffic area.”

  Glad it made sense to her. It seemed insane to me. All those people watching, both at the Cheese Palace and in vehicles passing on the interstate. “Isn’t that riskier?” I asked.

  “In an isolated area, I have greater freedom to take action against them. Dr. Jacobs is worried about that. He should be.” Ariane’s tone darkened with something that sounded a lot like grim pleasure.

  In other words, it would be a lot easier for her to use her training and abilities, go all badass assassin on them—hey, man, you reap what you sow—if she didn’t have to worry about innocent humans getting in the way.

  So, Jacobs had set up the mee
ting, intending to use families, honeymooners, and random drivers with a tiny bladder or a taste for Baby Swiss as human shields.

  I grimaced.

  Ariane returned her attention to my mom. “You said Quinn’s roommates haven’t seen him since Sunday. Do you know when on Sunday? It would be helpful if we could narrow the time window.”

  My mom shook her head. “I don’t know. I didn’t…I wasn’t the one who talked with them.”

  Ariane cocked her head to one side, considering. “When did the chief receive the video message?”

  “This morning. Early. He called and told me he was coming and I’d better meet him.” My mom stared down at her folded hands, examining the white points of her knuckles as if they held more information.

  Ariane nodded, her face a blank, but I could almost hear the wheels in her head turning.

  She was gathering data, trying to put the pieces together. Why that exit had been chosen as the meeting point, how long Quinn had been gone, and when he’d likely been injured.

  She was planning. Ariane was going to save Quinn. Somehow she was going to get him out of there.

  A rush of relief washed over me, followed almost immediately by bile-filled frustration. She was going to risk herself to save him, and I needed her to because I couldn’t fix this.

  In the small world of high school, I knew my way around. I’d been bored, restless, feeling like I’d outgrown it. I was just biding my time. But that meant I’d been the expert, the one who’d guided Ariane through our elaborate scheme to get even with Rachel.

  Now I was nothing. Goddamn it. I was tired of feeling useless.

  I stood up and stalked past Ariane to stand in the doorway. I needed to move, to do something, anything just not to feel like a lump of clay. I didn’t expect to be able to do the same things she could do, obviously, but just to have a purpose, a way to contribute to the situation.

  To be fair, not many people could have done something to help in this situation. Well, not many humans, anyway.

  The hybrids, though, they were a different story.

  I flashed on a mental image of the four of them crowded together around a whiteboard, their pale heads tipped together as they studied a series of Xs and arrows.