Surrender

  “That journal again.” Her voice held no power. Her eyes weren’t sharp. I didn’t think she was a Thinker in any form.

  “Do you have it?”

  “I don’t even know why you guys want it. I’ve read it, and it doesn’t even make sense.” She stood so calmly; her gaze never wavered.

  “Where’s Jag?” I asked. If she wouldn’t help me find the journal, I knew he would.

  “He stole my hoverboard in Castledale. That’s why I crash-landed on that other thing. My board would’ve made it much faster. He’s probably already here.” I glanced around as if he’d materialize from the silver wall the way she had. “So where is he?”

  “He instructed Fret to tell you to come to the Goodgrounds. Did Fret tell you that?”

  “If Fret has sick boots and freaky green eyes, then yeah, he said I wanted to be in the Goodgrounds.”

  She frowned, rubbed her hands over her bare arms as if cold. She should be, because the air in the room delivered a make-my-teeth-chatter chill. “We’ll have to evacuate. Welcome to the team, Gunner.” She turned and moved back toward the panel.

  “Wecome to the team? Wait a second.” I leapt to follow her, unwilling to be enclosed in the doorless cavern longer than necessary. I emerged into a much brighter room, filled with old wooden chairs, backpacks, and teenagers.

  The floor had been cut from the rock, and the arching ceiling dripped water. But these guys had access to some serious tech. Gadgets covered all available surfaces; people spoke in quiet voices and elbowed each other when they caught sight of me.

  “Freakin’ freaker,” a girl not much older than me said. “You weren’t kidding, Indy.”

  “He looks just like him,” someone else said.

  “Like who?” I demanded. The faces closest to me emptied.

  “Jag,” the freakin’ girl said, her voice dull.

  “Don’t talk like that,” Indy snapped. “You’re not in charge here, wiseguy.”

  I glanced around, still unconvinced that Thane wasn’t here. I swore I’d seen his ring, swore someone had their fingers locked around my throat. I almost wanted to see Thane. Then I could grill him with questions and finally figure out what was really going on.

  “Okay, guys, listen up,” Indy said, raising her voice enough to make an echo bounce off the overhanging rocks. “This is Gunner. He’s the runner from Freedom.” She glared at me. “We have to evacuate this space. Pack it up.”

  The members of the Resistance didn’t resist. They didn’t ask questions. They simply started loading up their gear.

  “Wait, wait,” I said, half-turning so my back faced most of the crowd. “Where are we going? And why? And where’s Jag?”

  “We’re relocating to a more secure location nearby,” Indy said through clenched teeth.

  Like I cared if she was upset. It wouldn’t kill her to dole out a few more answers.

  “Why?” I prompted.

  “Because you showed up, genius. Your little how-to-crash demo didn’t go unnoticed. Hovercopters have been scouring the area since midmorning.”

  “Where’s Jag?” I asked for the tenth time. I needed the journal, dammit!

  “I’ll tell you in the more secure location,” Indy clipped out. “Do you want to come with us or not? You’re welcome to stay here and find out how outsiders—and rebels—are treated in this city.”

  The very thought of that made my empty stomach tighten. “Yeah, I want to come with you.” I looked around for something, though I didn’t know what. “Do you have some shoes for me? And, uh, what can I do to help?”

  She rolled her eyes in response, collected some tech from the table, and walked away.

  * * *

  I didn’t know pine needles could be so pointed. And for future reference, the forest was filled with sticks. Sharp ones.

  My feet felt raw by the time we reached an ancient, abandoned house on the edge of a whole graveyard of dwellings. In the light of the half moon, all the buildings looked foreboding and sad. Trees ran right up to the back of the house. I filed in after everyone else, half-expecting Jag to be chilling inside with my juiced-up hoverboard, flipping through the journal.

  He wasn’t.

  Dust blanketed the table and chairs, the old electric light fixtures, everything. But not as much as there should’ve been, probably. My suspicions were confirmed when Indy said, “Jag used to conduct business here. We’ve taken over the area so we can run our meetings.”

  “What kind of meetings?” I asked.

  Indy’s only answer was to stroll toward the front door. She motioned me forward, and I reluctantly followed.

  Outside, the air held the unmistakable sound of freedom. Transmissionless. Behind me, I could feel the wonder and anxiety of Indy’s team. To my right, I felt…

  … a twinge of fear. And then a hard knot of determination. I swung my gaze to the house across the street. The windows stared back, dark and blank.

  “What’s—?”

  “Jag checked in here yesterday, just for a few hours. Then he went to his uncle’s house in the Centrals.” Indy walked down the crumbling sidewalk with her head held high, her shoulders square. “Over the past eight months I’ve established a tiny settlement here, consisting of completely free-thinking people.”

  I couldn’t comprehend her words. They seemed to twist and reorder themselves in my head. “What?”

  “This region had been under a looser level of control for twenty-five years. A whole settlement of free-thinking people existed just beyond the fence.” She nodded further west. “The Badlands. It’s controlled now, has been for about eight months. Thane made sure of that.”

  I wondered if Thane’s reach was global. It certainly seemed to be. We walked silently down ancient streets with houses on both sides. The forest had reclaimed the area; sproutlings and weeds grew through driveways and right up to front porches.

  “But we’ve been smuggling some of the strong-minded into these houses ever since. We hold nightly classes on how to survive without government aid. Tonight we have a seamstress showing everyone how to mend their own clothes.”

  She paused, as if waiting for me to say something. I didn’t. I’d seen this for myself in Rise Twelve, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised people could fend for themselves in the middle of a forest. I looked around. I wouldn’t even know what to eat here.

  “If people can take care of themselves, they don’t need a Thinker,” Indy said. “If you can sew your own clothes and make your own meals, you don’t need the government to provide everything for you.”

  Indy let me chew on that in the silence for a while. This was Rise Twelve in the wild. The Insider goals coming to life.

  At the end of the street she crossed to another cracked sidewalk and headed back the way we’d come. “You wanna go in?” She stopped in front of the house, and though it didn’t look any different from any of the others, I could feel the emotions of the people inside.

  Anxiety. Fascination. Happiness.

  “No, I’m good,” I said.

  Indy crossed the street back to the lair. I followed, and we entered the main living area, where a dozen other teenagers were hanging out. I wondered if the stairs in the corner would bear my weight and if there were proper beds in the rooms above.

  Along with a heavy dose of debilitating hunger, worry gnawed at my gut. I needed (a) something to eat, stat, (b) someone to help me find the journal—and Jag, and/or (c) everyone to stop staring at me.

  Instead, I got (d) Indy.

  She beat a couch cushion against the floor to dedustify it, and then sat across from me. “You hungry?”

  “Yes.” My mouth watered at the thought of food.

  She held out a glass of cloudy water. So not food. I took it. “Um, thanks.”

  “It’s protein,” she said, that edge of annoyance accelerating.

  I drank it, not really enjoying the fizz as it popped in my throat. “It’s super,” I choked out.

  Indy folded her st
ill-bare arms, as if trying to keep herself from clawing my face off.

  I appraised her as I took another long swig of the not-food-but-protein-water. Surprisingly, my stomach stopped freaking out. Indy reminded me of Raine, with that calm collectedness that not many people could pull off. A slight waver of distrust flowed from her, but other than that, she held herself together.

  “Can we talk in private?” I said, leaning forward and lowering my voice.

  The people loitering in the living area hightailed it out of there when Indy raised her hand and waved them away. “Go for it.”

  “I need that journal. It belonged to my father, and it has information that will help the Resistance, the Insiders, all covert operations within the Association.”

  Indy sighed, looked away.

  “Jag said you’d have it,” I said, trying—and failing—to be patient.

  A flicker of resignation flew across her face. “I think … no wonder he was so mad.”

  I didn’t have the energy to even say, “What?” so I just waited for her to explain.

  “He turned the office inside out. Then he took off.”

  “So you don’t have the journal?”

  Indy swallowed, wouldn’t look directly at me. “He may have said something like ‘I can’t believe you lost it,’ before he left.” She crossed her arms and frowned. “In my defense, I’ve been running the freaking Resistance by myself for almost a year. And that journal makes no sense.”

  I didn’t care if it made sense or not. I needed it. “Where did Jag go?”

  “To his uncle’s place in the Centrals. A farmhouse, I think. He needed medical help, and his uncle is a safe contact.”

  “I need to go there, stat.”

  Raine

  38.

  Vi and Zenn didn’t return before lights out, so I lay in bed with my transmissions plugged in. The brainwashing messages rotated around and around in my head, but I didn’t hear them. I obsessed over every technicality about getting into my dad’s office.

  Surely my dad would’ve changed his entrance code.

  Surely there’d be reinforced squads of EOs watching the flat.

  Surely my mother’s files would be floating in the oblivion of deletions by now. I mean, he’d erased her life as completely as possible. And if he did that inside my mind, I didn’t think he’d be keeping e-copies of anything Mom-related.

  I never made it to midnight. The door to my flat clicked open, releasing the pent-up tension I’d filled the apartment with. I sat straight up in bed, my eyes glued to the doorway.

  Cannon leaned against the doorframe, his breathing somewhat labored. I jumped out of bed and went to meet him.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, throwing my arms around him and holding on tight.

  “Let’s go to the nocturnal lounge,” he said.

  I didn’t hesitate. I slipped into some shoes, donned my gloves, and walked next to him to the Medical Rise. Once we were safely tucked away in the deepest, darkest corner of the most unused lounge, I allowed myself to breathe.

  This silence had always been welcome. It had always felt natural between Cannon and I, even when in the next moment he might tell me the name of another girl he wanted to sneak out and see. Even after I’d completed another drain and had so much shame boxed up inside.

  We always had the purifying silence of the nocturnal lounge. We always had each other.

  “You were right.” I broke the silence.

  “About what?”

  “I’m not as good as you. I shouldn’t have gotten involved with Gunner Jameson.”

  Cannon sighed as he reached for my hand. He held on, his bare palm to my gloved one. “Doesn’t matter. I wish you would’ve picked another guy, one that didn’t have fifteen red flags on his record, but whatever.”

  I allowed myself half a smile, because Cannon had only allowed his voice to half-tease.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I think I made things worse for you.”

  Cannon remained quiet. I wondered if he was angrier than I thought, if I’d pushed things too far because of Gunner. We’d never had this awkwardness between us, and I was determined to erase it.

  “Cannon, I’m sorry,” I repeated. “Please don’t be mad.”

  “I’m not mad,” he said. He truly sounded not mad.

  I pressed my eyes closed to keep the tears inside. “I didn’t know what would happen. I tried to be careful. I didn’t mean to make your life harder.”

  “Let’s just call it even,” he said.

  I pushed myself into a sitting position. “Even? What do you mean?”

  Cannon lay still with his eyes closed too. Rain began to carress the window in soft patters. After only a few seconds the rain gave way to snow, the patter replaced with more silence.

  “Cannon?”

  “It’s raining,” he said.

  “I’m not going to melt,” I said, refusing to continue the game. I got up and left the nocturnal lounge. I ignored the clone who offered me an assortment of protective gear. I stood at the glass door, watching the snow fall, wondering when Cannon had started keeping score.

  “Raine, I really am sorry.” Cannon came up behind me, his voice pleading and soft.

  Before I could turn and re-establish our best friend status, something hot pricked my elbow.

  I looked down to find a needle sliding out of my skin. Cannon held the other end of the syringe. Tears leaked out the corners of his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Those two words echoed in the resulting blackness. Cannon caught me before I hit the floor, before I passed out.

  I’m sorry

  sorry

  sorry.

  * * *

  The smell lingering in the air terrified me. I knew this scent. Bleach and silver polish and tech and lab-coated physicians. The smell that clung to my dad.

  To death.

  Sure enough, when I opened my eyes, I lay in laboratory seven. The tech lights overhead made starbursts pop in my eyes. I squinted but couldn’t see anything. Only the ceiling, which was a new vantage point.

  The ergonomic where I usually sat felt harder, unyielding under my back. With horror, I realized I wasn’t sitting in a chair.

  I was lying on a table.

  A long, silver table, no doubt.

  The table.

  “She’s awake,” someone said.

  “I told you she wouldn’t be out long,” my dad answered.

  Before I could respond—I wanted to scream and rage—several pairs of hands moved over my body, applying sensors and tech gunk.

  My arms got stretched out so my body formed a T and were secured at the shoulder, elbow, and wrist.

  I tried to lift my head to see more of the lab, but a tether ran across my forehead, and I couldn’t look left or right, only eternally straight up.

  Panic clogged my throat; fury built in my bloodstream. I unleashed a string of choice words, all meant for my father.

  No sound came out of my mouth.

  Something cold painted my right palm.

  “Lie still, Rainey,” Dad said.

  As if I could move. I wasn’t sure what was happening, but being strapped to a table, silenced, and then told to lie still didn’t sound like party preparations.

  Then a warm hand suctioned to mine, and surprise flitted through me. Who was that? Was there someone else like me? Someone cursed with this seeing talent?

  Horror shot through me when I thought: Had the scientists in the Evolutionary Rise cloned me?

  I didn’t know, because in the next second, fire erupted in every cell of my body. Licking flames coated my skin; billowing smoke filled my lungs; hot ash pricked at my brain, my eyes, and my somehow still-beating heart.

  My body reacted without direction from my mind. My back arched (violently). My voice screamed (silently). My eyes cried tears of pain and loss (eternally).

  Being on the table had never been like this for my victims. They just lay there, unhappy, sure, but not in so much pain th
ey contorted and thrashed.

  Except for Gage. Horror snaked through my body. Whoever was draining me didn’t have control of their ability. They were going to kill me—just like I had killed Gage. The desire to yank my hand away before I died screamed through my soul.

  Eventually the pain faded. My muscles relaxed.

  At least until the images came up on my vision-screen. They started murky, obscured by a wavering film of plastic.

  But Gunner is Gunner, no matter if he’s in high-def or not. A swirl of sound and smell and touch moved around me. But I existed inside the eye of the hurricane, immune to all of it.

  Because of Gunn. Across my vision-screen, I saw him standing outside. The sun streamed down; it must’ve been springtime. The grass was still greening from the winter. Red tulips had just bloomed in the garden along the front of a small, brown-brick house.

  The windows were all blinded, but the front door opened, and I skipped down the steps. My hair flowed behind me like white silk, and I wore traditional plainclothes. Nothing special. Nothing to indicate where we lived, or when. Gunn glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and couldn’t hide his grin.

  Without speaking, we moved toward the corner of the house and around it. The vision followed, as if we had spider surveillance, recording everything. I felt removed from the scene, yet fully immersed in it as well.

  On the table in the lab, my heart pulsed quickly with anticipation and fear, just as it did as Gunn and I strode toward an orchard. Once under the cover of trees, he stepped closer to me and took my hand in his.

  A stream of tears trailed over my cheek at his gentle touch. At the warmth and safety of his hand. At the way he smelled like strength and fresh-cut grass and buttered toast.

  “That’s all there is, sir.” The words cut through the beauty of the apple blossoms, obliterating the picture into fragmented shards. I couldn’t identify who’d spoken, so strong was the ache to return to that orchard, be with that guy. My vision hadn’t changed. What I wanted and what would happen when I got it were one and the same.

  “She wants to love deeply.” Dad sighed, like this was the worst thing I could want. “I don’t think I need to see any more,” he said. “Get her cleaned up.”