Burn (14 page)

Besides, I'm going to catch the thief if he has the balls to try again. I ask a nurse if I can access some of their basic supplies. I show her my ID card that marks me as a patriarch. She leads me to a closet with bandages, soap, various ointments and nutritional supplements . . . and what I want—vitamins. I grab a bottle of B12 tablets and make my exit, Leo at my heels.

On our way to the elevator, we pass all the portraits of dead patriarchs and matriarchs again. Leo looks away as we pass his dad. I wonder how well he remembers his parents. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure,” Leo replies.

“What family was your mom from?”

“Fisher,” he says. “Uncle George was her cousin.”

I look up the hallway toward my dad's nameplate. “Did your parents ever tell you how they met?”

“It was an arranged thing. Like most marriages within The Fifty.”

“Does that bother you?” I ask. “Knowing that these families are picking out some girl for you to marry?” The vitamins rattle in my hand, taut with nervous energy.

Leo shrugs. “Honestly, I don't spend a lot of time thinking about it.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “Are you asking because of your thing with Christina?”

God, she's not even here, and still this feels awkward. “Yes and no. I mean, it's not like we're at the point where we'd even talk about a permanent commitment.” I pause for a moment, about to mention her college plans, and then realize all of that might be totally irrelevant given our present circumstances. We'll be lucky to make it through today. “I guess I'm just trying to figure out how important it is. You know. To keep the families totally human, genetically speaking.”

Leo stops in front of my dad's nameplate. “Weird being part of an endangered species, isn't it?”

I nod. “Is it our responsibility to keep it going?” Honestly, as I think about the differences between H2 and humans, which come down to our origins and some discrepancies in molecular structure so tiny that they can only be detected by extraterrestrial tech, it's hard for me to understand why it matters, except in principle. I stare at the blank space where my father's portrait will hang. “I wish I could have talked to him about it.” I close my eyes. “Did he ever talk about it with you?”

Leo is quiet for a few seconds. Then he sighs. “Kind of? At the March board meeting, one of the Bearden matriarch's daughters—her name is Kim—decided to marry a guy who wasn't a member of The Fifty. There was no way of knowing if he was H2 or human.” He chuckles. “Well, I guess there was, but your dad wasn't telling anyone about it. And there were big questions about whether Kim could remain a member of The Fifty if she didn't marry within the group. Some people, like Rufus, were really outraged that the Bearden family was even still speaking to her. I guess he expected the Beardens to completely cut her off.” He pushes his glasses up on his nose. “Your dad was really quiet in that meeting. I don't know how he voted. But afterward, he said it was a decision every family would have to face, and he hoped they would remember what was important.”

My heart beats a little faster. Christina and I had just gotten together in March, and my dad must have known she was probably H2, just based on the odds. “Did he say what was important?”

Leo's brow furrows. “I asked. And he just said that every family had to decide that among themselves.”

I grit my teeth. Dad put off all those conversations, and now they'll never happen. And meanwhile, as he was keeping me in the dark, he was talking to Leo, who's almost three years younger than I am.

I want to put my fist through the wall, right where Dad's picture will be.

I want to sit down on the floor and try to breathe, because it's almost impossible right now.

I can't do either. I need to stop a thief, hack some satellites, and save the fucking world. “Next stop, morgue,” I say briskly, swallowing the lump in my throat. “My mom's probably already down there, if she ever left at all.”

We get on the elevator. Leo shuffles his feet as we descend. “She's having a hard time with the autopsies,” he says.

“Why did you go with her last night?”

“I wanted to know if Uncle George suffered,” he mumbles, confirming my suspicions. “She said it was quick.”

I don't parse the death of George's body with the death of George himself, because we don't really know how it happened, what the Sicarii did to him. Maybe my mom has some answers by now. The elevator opens onto a basement level brightly lit and completely sterile-looking, white tile and white walls. Cold as hell. I shiver as my sneakers squeak along the hallway, following Leo to a swinging set of doors. It opens into a room with drains in the floor, a row of sinks along the back wall, and a long table containing a shitload of medical equipment, centrifuges, a mass spectrometer, and a set of microscopes. This place isn't just a morgue—it's a forensic lab. Awesome. “Mom?”

“Tate?” she calls from a room to my left. “In here. Hang on.” A tap switches on, and a moment later, she comes out, wiping her hands on a towel. She's wearing a rubber apron that makes her look like a butcher. “I'm in the middle of the dissection,” she says somberly. “Dr. Ackerman was too busy with patients to help this morning. How are you?”

“Rested. Fine,” I tell her. “You?”

Her mouth twists at the corner. “I may have found something, but I'm not sure yet.”

“What is it?” Leo asks.

She gives him a sympathetic, motherly sort of look, one that seems odd on her serious face. “Are you sure you want to hear this, Leo?”

He folds his arms over his chest. “I'm not a child.”

She puts her hands up. “Okay. I've discovered some anomalies in George's skin.”

“Anomalies,” Leo says quietly.

“In addition to the sweat glands, there are secretory glands that I've never seen before.”

“Like, they grew there? Something alien?” I ask, trying to wrap my head around what she's saying.

“Perhaps.”

“What do they secrete?” Leo asks in a tight voice.

“Unknown, as of yet,” Mom says gently. “I'm using caution as I examine them, but at this time, I can tell you that the structures are definitely unnatural. I'll have more answers later today.”

“You're being careful, right?” I ask. “We still don't know how the Sicarii go from body to body.”

She gives me a smile. “I wear full protective gear when I'm working. I'm taking every precaution.”

“Good.” I look her over, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her brown eyes rimmed with red. And I think of my dad, how he left so much unfinished, including his relationship with me. “I don't want anything to happen to you.” It comes out rushed. Soft. I'm the one who sounds like a child.

My mom's eyes get shiny. “Like I said, I'm being careful.” She clears her throat. “And I need to get back to work.”

“We'll leave you to it, then,” I say. “I just came down here to see how you were doing and to grab some things. Do you have a black light?”

She points to a cabinet over the set of sinks. “There's a wand light in there. Why do you need it?”

I walk over to a shelf that contains all sorts of chemicals and take down a bottle of ethanol. “To catch a thief.”

Leo grabs the black light from the cabinet, and I snag a metal bowl, stirrer, and specimen brush. My mom doesn't bother asking me what I'm up to, but she gives me an amused, fond . . .
sad
 . . . look that tells me I'm reminding her of my dad. She says she'll call me if she discovers anything and retreats back to her autopsy, and Leo and I walk back to the elevator.

“I approve,” Leo says as he looks over our supplies. “Your dad would have thought this was hilarious.”

“He's the one who forced me to learn this kind of thing.” I don't say that he never cracked a smile while he did it, either. I can barely fathom what “hilarious” looked like on my dad, and it kind of kills me that Leo knows.

I swallow back the bitterness on my tongue. “Leo? Was my dad . . . I don't know. He talked to you about a lot of stuff. But what was he like when he was with you?”

“What was he like . . .” he says thoughtfully, then pushes at the bridge of his glasses. “He was sad, Tate. He was nice, but he always seemed kind of sad. And honestly, sometimes he seemed sadder after spending time with me.”

“I'm sure you didn't make him sad, Leo,” I say, my stomach aching.
But I probably did.

“No, I know I didn't. I think . . .” His eyes meet mine. “I think he kind of wished I was you.”

Guilt lances through me as I say, “I don't know if you're right. He and I fought. A lot.”

“He never talked about that. He did talk about you, though. All good stuff.” He glances at the ethanol and vitamins I'm carrying. “All true stuff.”

I bow my head. And all I can think is
why.
Why, if he could talk to Leo about me and say those nice things . . . why couldn't he just say those things to me? Why was he so shut down? So machine-like, except for those final minutes when I held his hand and watched him die? Why does it have to be like this? And why does it have to hurt this much?

We find Angus in his office suite with Kellan. They're standing next to a closed door, which is locked using yet another electronic code vulnerable to hacking. I assume it's the storage room Angus told me about. He frowns as he looks over my armload of supplies. “Do I even want to know?” he asks.

“It's just a backup,” I tell him as I sit on the floor and dump the bottle of B12 pills into the metal bowl, then crush them with the heavy ethanol bottle. Next, I pour the ethanol over the pill debris and stir until it's dissolved. “Maybe don't mention this to anyone else?” I say to the two of them.

Angus nods in this bemused kind of way as I use the specimen brush to paint the dissolved B12 solution over the electronic keypad, the door handle, and the threshold in front of the door. I stand up and switch on the black light, and Kellan's eyes go wide.

“Vitamin B12 is fluorescent under black light,” I explain, gesturing at the bright yellow glow beneath the light. “You can hack the code, but it still takes a pair of hands to open the door and swipe that scanner. Assuming we can keep this between ourselves, the thief won't know he has this stuff all over his fingers and shoes. It can be easily wiped off and reapplied.” I pour the remaining solution back into the ethanol bottle and hand it to Kellan.

Angus gives Kellan a hard look. “We'll definitely keep this between us.”

With that done, Leo and I clean up and head to the computer lab. Race isn't here yet, but that's fine with me. I sit down in front of a monitor and bring up the plans, using
Josephus
to access them. Leo settles next to me. “So we have to figure out the password to wake up those satellites?”

“Yeah,” I say, bringing up the satellite files. “I've been chasing my own tail trying to think of what it could be.”

“Were the Black Box developers helpful?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “I haven't talked to them. I didn't think they knew Dad well enough to know what he might have been thinking.”

Leo scratches at a spot on his shoulder. “Sounds like you're putting a lot of pressure on yourself. Nobody said you had to figure this out alone.”

“I'm his
son,
” I blurt out, louder than I intend. Suddenly, my eyes are burning. I turn my head and stare at the wall, willing away my envy, my stupid desire to prove I'm worthy.

“You don't have to rub it in,” Leo says quietly. “Trust me, there wasn't a moment I spent with him that I wasn't aware of it.” He scrubs his sleeve across his face, a quick, angry movement. “I was so jealous of you, I could barely stand it.”

I blink and turn back to him. We glare at each other for a few moments. “Sorry,” I finally say.

“Me too,” he mumbles.

I draw in a breath and let it out slowly. “I think he'd be glad if we did this together.”

Leo lets out a raspy laugh. “Yeah. I think he would. So let's do it.”

I gesture at the satellite plans on the screen. “If these do what we think they'll do, anything hostile that tries to come through—and specifically, anything that scans Sicarii—gets zapped.”

He gazes at the schematics. “Do you think your dad knew what the Sicarii were? He did scribble that word on his paper, along with the two-zero and the two-zero-four.”

“No way of knowing. But since the H2 scanner technology detects three species, he probably deduced the third was bad news. It's possible he didn't activate the satellite system because he really wasn't sure yet, and he thought he'd be alive to make the decision when the time came. Or maybe he was just about to do it and simply didn't get the chance.” I rub my throat as I click the button that says “enter activation code” and bring up the password box. I should be used to talking about my dad in past tense by now, but I'm not. “Right before he died, he told me that ‘when the time comes, it's Josephus.' That's all he got to tell me. Turns out it was the password to access the files. But to actually activate the whole satellite network?” I point at the cursor, blinking in expectation of a magic code that will unlock a way to protect our planet against invasion.

“Your dad never did anything without a reason,” Leo says, echoing what I already know. “Why do you think he chose ‘Josephus' as the password to access the files?”

“No idea. But—”

“Just let me try something.” He scoots to the next terminal and wakes the screen. “Does this thing have a browser on it? Oh, here it is.” He clicks it open and Googles
Josephus.
The first several results are for one guy. A second later, he's at Wikipedia. “Josephus was a Jewish historian from the first century.”