29.
Tasing someone you don’t like is really hard. Tasing someone you like is unthinkable. It hurts. Real bad. Sure, the Hawk and Hans probably deserved it. But Pace? Jag’s big brother? Yeah, that was torture.
But I did it. I aimed horribly wrong and barely grazed his arm. He still fell like a sack of rocks. His pulse was beating strong in his wrist. I tucked Pace’s hair behind his ear thinking that at least Jag had a friend.
That’s the last nice thing I thought about Jag. What a big, fat liar. Ooh, I’m all alone. Kiss me, Vi, so I’ll feel better. Whatever.
I stepped into the seventh terminal as the one on the end began to vibrate. I said my name and dissolved into particles before anyone appeared in the room.
Back at the facility, I raced down the quiet halls, my irritation growing into a living, breathing thing. Zenn had tricked me with a kiss. So had Jag. My dad used to hug me. Maybe that was his way of betraying me while I thought it was a gesture of love. How had I been so stupid? How could I not have known? About any of them—Zenn, Jag, Dad.
By the time I arrived at Jag’s door, my fury was ready to be unleashed.
I knocked at the same time I entered. Jag sat at a desk under the window, writing in that loser notebook. He glanced up, all light and joy—until he saw me. “Um, you’re pissed.”
“You think?” I dumped the bag from Pace on the floor, my fists clenched at my sides. “I think you better tell me everything before I explode.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that.” His mouth twitched in an annoyingly sexy way. If he didn’t look so good, I probably would’ve punched him. But I didn’t want to mess up his face. Well, maybe a little.
“What the hell is a Choker?” I asked.
Jag’s eyes flashed with fear before he smiled. “Did Pace call you that?”
“Yeah. And what’s with Pace anyway? Why didn’t you tell me about him? You two have been having a great party while I’ve been bawling my eyes out, sneaking around, and fighting with Baldie. Oh, and—”
“You’ve been crying?”
I ignored him. “—then I had to blast the Hawk and another tech ranger, and then your brother, who is very cute, by the way. All while wearing this stupid sticker that apparently I can’t get off until I find—”
“Wait a minute. You think Pace is cute?”
Yeah, I’d said that just to see what he would say. “—Gavin, and I don’t have the first clue who that is. And my pockets are loaded with weapons. Weapons, Jag! Like we’re gonna have to fight or something. Assuming we can even—”
“Gavin? And what do you mean you think Pace is cute?”
“—get the hell out of here before my dad arrives and hauls us off to Freedom for a life of Thinking.” Even as I said it, I wondered if maybe things would be different if I could hug my dad. Actually look into his eyes. Talk to him. He’d been in my head long enough, said things that blurred which side of the line he really stood on.
But I didn’t want to find out for sure my dad wasn’t on my side. Because if he bled good, that’d be like losing him all over again.
“Why are you just standing there? Haven’t you heard anything I’ve said? Get packed up.”
He remained standing there, staring.
“You’ll have to carry your own tech crap. It’s heavy.” I couldn’t sense my dad nearby, so I flopped on Jag’s bed and closed my eyes. I hadn’t slept and now we were headed off into who knows where. My head hurt, and I needed a pain stick. The bed shifted when Jag sat down. I expected his touch, but when his cool fingers brushed my arm, I still jumped.
He handed me a pain stick (damn him). “Vi, a Choker is someone who fills you up,” he said, his soft voice reaching to the furthest parts of my soul. “Fills you up so full, you feel like you could choke.”
Well, that was the absolute perfect thing to say (damn him to hell).
He wrapped his arms around me and cradled me against his chest. “You’ve been crying?”
“You looked like you were going to kill me last time I was here.”
He chuckled softly. “You think Pace is cute?” His voice took on a distinct jealous edge.
I shrugged. “He looks a lot like his brother.”
He kissed my gloved hand, right on the sticker. “So, we gotta go see Gavin.”
“Yeah. She’s a ranger in Seaside.” I groaned. “Rangers! I tased three of them. That’s got to be like, I don’t know, the death penalty or something.”
“Yeah, we better get out of here.” He got up and started shoving the clothes from his dresser in a backpack I’d never seen.
“Where’d you get that?” I asked.
“Pace. He’s, uh, beamed in a few times since I got here.”
The words going through my mind were so inappropriate, I bit down to keep them from spewing out. He tossed me an identical bag. “Here’s yours. Go get your stuff. Don’t forget that book.”
“Fine,” I said. “But you’re telling me everything on the way there. You think I’m a liar? You’re ten times worse than me. And you have to carry the weapons, Mr. Muscles.”
He grinned at me without remorse. “What can I say? Baddies are born liars. Just look at you.”
It took maybe two minutes to transfer the weapon-tech to the backpack and stuff in the extra set of clothes from the dresser. I had just powered on the wall to request a water bottle and protein packets when the door creaked open.
“Vi? Come on, we gotta go,” Jag said.
Sighing, I shouldered my backpack and shoved the weapon phone in my pocket. He reached for my hand, and when we touched, an electric charge pulsed from his hand into mine. I didn’t think that signaled something good. Or rather, it did mean something—or someone—good was very near. We needed to leave and fast.
“We can’t teleport,” Jag said, and he was right. Each terminal has to be programmed with a specific location, and we didn’t know where we’d end up. And we didn’t have time to reprogram them.
“What about the window?” I strode over to the billowing curtains and swept them aside. A blank wall stared back. “A projection,” I whispered. Our options had dwindled. I wished I’d taken that stupid ring from Baldie when I had the chance.
“Come on, babe. Front door.” I followed Jag into the hall, both of us running. I tried not to look at the walls, but my eyes lingered on them as they filled with faces.
Greenies.
My dad.
The Director.
Other Thinkers I didn’t know.
They moved and spoke. Typed into e-boards. Glared at me as I sprinted into the lobby.
Zenn and his team of Special Forces formed a wall in front of the only exit. Zenn smiled, and I imagined his controlled eyes behind the dark sunglasses.
“Tell them to let us leave,” Jag whispered.
“You’re stuck,” Zenn said as we approached.
Let us go. We have clearance. Director’s orders. I repeated the words in my mind, telling each one of them individually.
One by one, they stepped back until only Zenn remained. “Vi,” he said, and something desperate hid inside my name.
Jag pulled on me, but I jerked my hand away. Reaching up, I removed Zenn’s lenses. His eyes held nothing but agony.
“Help me,” Zenn pleaded. “I can’t . . . I’m not strong . . . Your dad . . .” His voice became lost in his throat and tears leaked out his eyes. I cradled his cheek in my palm, remembering how much he once meant to me—how much he still did. I wanted nothing more than to bring him with us to Seaside.
“I love you, Vi. Don’t forget about me.” When Zenn opened his eyes, they clouded over again. He stiffened and turned toward the exit.
“Come on, Vi. He’s being controlled. We have to go.” Jag hauled me away from Zenn. I felt a part of my soul stay with him. He deserved that much.
Jag inhaled sharply, and I slammed into him before I realized he’d stopped.
“Thane,” Jag said, his voice low and full of warning. “Or is it Lyle?”
My head cleared when Jag spoke that name. I peered around Jag’s shoulder to see Dad standing in the doorway.
“Violet, I can help you get that sticker off.” Dad’s voice cascaded over me like a fountain of icy water. It zinged through every cell, a confirmation that he was a Thinker. I don’t know how I’d missed it growing up. I hated him then, for the way he was controlling Zenn.
“She doesn’t need your help,” Jag growled.
“She certainly doesn’t need yours,” Dad shot back. “You’re deliberately making this harder than it needs to be.”
“And I always will.” Jag took a tiny step backward, crushing into me even further. “I will not work for you. I will not serve the Association. Not now, not ever.”
“It is your duty.”
“I told you once, Lyle, I’ll take death over duty.”
I slipped my hand into Jag’s and squeezed. My dad’s gaze followed my movement, but he ignored Jag’s use of his alias. “Violet? What is your choice?”
Seeing him in person didn’t make anything easier. It only made the truth that much harder to shoulder. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My throat scraped with the effort it took to speak.
“Jag refuses to use his voice, something he knows the Association of Directors desperately needs. And you, my talented offspring, you have the gift of control. So what will you do with it?”
Excellent question. “I won’t help you,” was all I could come up with.
“That’s really not the best choice.” His eyes shone with anger, with hurt, with disgust. “You have a responsibility to use your talents. How can you turn away the people who need your help?”
“By ‘help’ you mean controlling them?” Jag clipped out the words. “Brainwashing them so they live in ignorance of the world around them?”
“No, by giving them the structure they need so they don’t pollute the water. So they don’t cut down all the trees. So they don’t neglect the sick and poor. So they don’t destroy themselves with their selfish choices.” Dad spoke in a calm, rational voice, but his face grew bright red. His fists clenched and he seemed to swell until he towered over me, the same way he had when I was a child. And I knew: he was good, through and through.
“Let us leave,” Jag commanded. “Now.” He squeezed my hand, which I took as Jag-speak for Help me.
I repeated his words in my mind and imagined a scene where my dad stepped to the side. Teleported back to the Goodgrounds. Took a long afternoon nap.
“I mean it, Thane. Let us leave, or I’ll really use my voice on you.”
I felt fierce desperation to make my dad let us leave; Jag’s voice was that powerful. Again, I played through the scene where Dad let us go. Jag commanded, “Step aside.”
Dad’s eyes clouded. He stepped to the side. A moan escaped as he attempted to fight both Jag’s voice and my mind control. He dropped to his knees, his head cradled in his hands. Something pulled in my heart. He was my dad. Family bonds and all that.
I’d taken two steps when a heavy hand landed on my shoulder.
“Remember me, Vi,” Zenn wheezed. “I’m on your side.”
Then Jag was pulling me out the door and my dad was cursing the day I was born. My eyes wouldn’t focus in the bright sunlight. I stumbled along, tangled in painful thoughts of Dad and confusing memories of Zenn.
A sob raked through my throat as I ran.
30.
Only sand and betrayal existed.
The desert landscape repeated endlessly, as did my tortured thoughts about my not-so-great—and not-so-missing—father.
Tall plants with strange limbs dotted the horizon. The arms grew at funky angles with sharp spikes covering every inch. They stood guard, protecting an unknown secret of the barren wasteland. The sun beat down on me until I poured with sweat.
“Jag,” I panted. “I have to stop.” I fell to my knees, gasping for air. Thankfully, Jag seemed just as winded.
“Okay,” he said. “But only for a sec. One drink.” He pulled off his backpack, revealing sweat stains where the straps had been. He produced a bottle of water and drank the whole thing. He handed one to me and I copied him, slopping a good part of it down the front of my shirt.
Jag took out another bottle and dumped half of it over his head and then did the same to me. The warm water cooled my skin, which felt like fire.
“Let’s go,” he said, repacking his bag and standing up. “Oh, your arms.”
The T-shirt I wore left most of my arms exposed. I touched the bright pink flesh on my forearm. It hurt. Maybe the covering clothes were a good idea too.
Jag rifled all the way to the bottom of his pack. “Here, babe. Put this on. You might be hot, but it’s better than burnt.” He tossed me the long-sleeved prison shirt.
“I thought they took all our stuff away.” I pulled the shirt over my head, waiting for an explanation. A look of supreme annoyance flashed across his face, like we didn’t have time to talk about this. “Well?”
“Pace got it all,” Jag said. “Food and everything. Let’s go. There’s a stream at the bluff, and some trees we can take cover in. Thane can’t arrest us once we cross the gorge into the demilitarized zone.” Lines of worry appeared around his eyes. “Come on, we’ve still got a long way to go.”
I suppressed my questions about the treaties and how Pace had the authority to get our stuff back. Better to be confused than caught.
And so I ran.
Somehow my lungs kept working, but every muscle complained. I’m sure I slowed Jag down, but he never said anything and matched my (s)low-class pace.
The crooked-armed trees and reddish sand blurred together until I could have passed the bluffs without noticing. Finally I fell down and couldn’t get up again. Jag said something about going over the next hill to scout ahead. I think I grunted before he left.
I prayed the outcropping of rocks was nearby and that I would have the strength to get there.
“The cliffs are another mile or two,” Jag said, collapsing next to me. “We can make it by full dark.”
My voice scraped through my throat in an animal growl. That’s Vi-talk for Okay, but then I’m sleeping and you can’t make me take another step.
Jag smiled as he helped me stand up. “I know, babe. We’ll sleep when we get there.” He took out the weapon phones and handed me one. “But we have a welcoming committee.”
I sighed. “Wonderful.”
Halfway up the dirt swell, he crouched and slithered on his stomach, pushing with his feet and clawing with his hands. I copied him, feeling like an idiot. But the intense techtricity drowned out the embarrassment.
“Tech,” I whispered. “Tons of it.”
“Who’s in control?”
We reached the top, and I blinked back the white spots caused by the tech buzz. In the distance, orange cliffs stretched into the sky. A golden flicker of fire licked at the base, just before a dense stand of trees—and water. My mouth grew even drier.
I focused on the glow of the fire and found the minds of the people crowded around it. “Greenies,” I whispered, relieved to feel that my dad wasn’t there. “Mechs too.”
“What do we do?” Jag asked.
“Well, I think I can power down the Mechs.” I closed my eyes and extended my mind across the sand. “There’re maybe . . . twenty of them. High-class ones that require decoders, but, well, I’m pretty sure I can do it without the code.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure you can too.”
A flicker of irritation sparked in my mind. I wished he would’ve told me about my talents a long time ago. I sure could have used that information to cross the border.
“Earth to Vi. Come on, babe. Stop blaming me for everything.”
I took a deep breath to quiet the perfect comeback.
“Twenty Mechs present a lot of problems,” Jag continued. “We can’t have them following us into the desert. They never stop; the sun doesn’t bother them. And, technically, they’re immune from the treaties. M
an, I hate Mechs. How many Greenies?”
I still needed a course on what the treaties entailed. Seemed to me that if Mechs could enter the desert, then it wasn’t safe.
“I’ll explain later,” Jag said. “How many Greenies?”
Anger smoldered through my veins. I hated how he was inside my head, listening.
“Vi, how many Greenies?” He didn’t sound sorry.
“Ten,” I said, swallowing another insult. “Five men, five women.”
“That’s nothing. Why so few? Hmm, maybe they think we won’t fight back. Weird.”
“Jag, everything is weird to me, including every damn thing you just said.” Yeah, the biting-my-tongue-thing only happens once in a lifetime, and I’d just used my quota.
He shrugged in response, which pissed me off even more.
“Okay, here’s what we can do,” Jag said, rolling over and staring at the sky. “Option number one: stay here and wait until morning so we can see better. That sucks. Forget that as option number one. New option number one: Get as close as we can, turn off all the Mechs, and fight the ten people.” He didn’t wait for me to reply. “Option number two: Get as close as we can, listen to see what their plans are, and then act at the best time. Hell, that sucks too. Okay, option number three: Well, I don’t really have an option number three.” He looked at me, like I was supposed to ramble on to myself about insane options too.
“Okay, why don’t we just start west now?”
Jag sat up and rubbed sand out of his hair. “The road goes straight west from the bluff. There is no other way.”
Why couldn’t we just walk up like we didn’t know they were there, turn off the Mechs, and tase everyone else? Maybe use those bio-canisters I’d taken. Jag could just tell them to sit down or something. I mean, the guy has voice control.
“Yeah, let’s do that,” Jag said, standing up.
I grabbed his pant leg and pulled hard. He fell, sending sand into my eyes and mouth. I coughed and spit. “Wait just a minute. Do what? I didn’t say anything.”
His eyes betrayed him—the guy could do a lot more than simply feel emotions.
I punched him, hard. In the shoulder—because I’m partial to his face. “I’m so sick of you reading my thoughts like they’re your personal journal.”