Don't Look Now (5 page)

Peter powered down his laptop and turned off the satellite uplink. Starting the car, he eased down the driveway. When he reached the street, he peered in both directions: deserted. He drove down the block to his parents’ house and pulled in, already fantasizing about lying down on his pillow.

Which is why he didn’t notice the black SUV that rolled past a minute later, slowing to watch his Prius enter the garage.

CHAPTER
THREE

“T
hat was easily the worst movie I’ve seen all year,” Amanda announced the next afternoon as they walked out of the theater. “Seriously, the worst.”

“I thought it was awesome,” Peter replied.

“You didn’t,” she said, exasperated. “I mean, really? The aliens turned out to be friendly all along?”

“That’s what I liked about it. Total shocker at the end.”

“Oh my God, that was terrible,” she groaned. “And even worse was the part where the guy went after them with a paint gun—”

Peter smiled as he watched her talk. Amanda’s face was animated, the color high in her cheeks as she gestured wildly with her hands. This was sort of a tradition they had after seeing a movie together; he’d enjoy it at face value, while she analyzed it to death. Few films stood up to her scrutiny. But this was what she liked best about going to the movies—tearing them apart afterward.

And he’d always gotten a kick out of seeing her riled up.

“Are you even listening?” Amanda demanded.

“Yeah, of course,” he said defensively. “You’re going on about how the diner scene didn’t make any sense.”

“Well, it didn’t.” She snorted. “I mean, that part practically belonged in a different movie.”

“Like I said.” Peter grinned. “Totally awesome.”

“You’re impossible.” She smacked his arm.

“You gotta admit, though. Kind of the perfect movie for a snow day.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You’re right.”

They smiled at each other. It had been kind of a perfect day all around, Peter thought. The snow had started falling right before dawn, making it impossible for plows to clear the roads in time for school. So he’d gotten his wish, and slept until nearly noon. Then, on a whim, he’d called Amanda to ask if she wanted to check out a matinee. She’d said yes, and to his surprise, even offered to come to him, rather than meeting near Tufts. Stranger still, she’d agreed to go to a cheesy Hollywood blockbuster, instead of insisting on a documentary or something with subtitles.

Maybe she’d changed, too, he thought as they walked through the parking lot. The snow had already started to melt, leaving the pavement glistening. It was balmy enough to leave his jacket unzipped. The sun shone down brightly, reflecting off the gold in her hair.

She looked stunning. Peter had a flash of how she used to taste, strawberry and mint mixed together. Her lips were bright red, shiny from the beeswax lip balm she always used. He had a sudden and overwhelming urge to kiss her.

And then, just as quickly, an image of Noa interceded. They were so different: Amanda with her bright wavy hair and small, compact frame; Noa, dark and willowy. Both passionate and intense, but that was where the similarities ended.

Peter cleared his throat. “Want to grab something to eat?”

Amanda didn’t answer. She’d stopped dead in the middle of the parking lot and was staring past him.

“What is it?” he asked.

She started walking again, but her stride was different and strange, kind of a slow shuffle. “Amanda?” Peter watched with a growing sense of dread as she drifted right, then circled around him. He turned, following her with his eyes. Amanda’s face had gone completely blank, her eyes unfocused. Her jaw hung slightly agape, lips loose. Like she’d suddenly turned into a zombie.

He grabbed her hand. “Amanda, stop.”

Obediently she fell still, but didn’t meet his eyes. Her hand felt icy cold, yet clammy. Her chest rose and fell faster than normal under her winter coat, her breath coming in short pants like she’d been running.

“No,” he said softly.

“What?” Abruptly, Amanda blinked and looked at him, then down at their clasped fingers. “Why are you holding my hand?”

“You were . . .” Peter trailed off. Self-consciously, he dropped her hand.

“I was what?” she demanded when he didn’t finish.

“Nothing.” The sun vanished behind a cloud, and the sudden chill made him shiver. He closed his jacket and mumbled, “I was just asking if you were hungry.”

“I should head back,” Amanda said, obviously disconcerted. “I’ve got a test tomorrow.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Let me drive you.”

“I’ll take the T,” she replied, avoiding his eyes. The air between them was suddenly thick with tension and discomfort. “Can you drop me at the Brookline Village station?”

“Sure, but I don’t mind driving to your dorm. I don’t have—”

“I’ll be fine.”

“We could grab something to eat along the way,” Peter pressed as he climbed behind the wheel. “Someplace quick.”

“I haven’t been very hungry lately,” Amanda said, buckling herself in. “Stress, probably. I’m pretty swamped with midterms coming up.”

“Right,” Peter said faintly. Now that she mentioned it, she’d clearly lost weight. Her cheekbones had hollowed out, and her clothes hung more loosely. Peter searched for something to say that would break the pall, and came up empty.

“Thanks,” Amanda said when they finally pulled up to the station. She turned to get out, then spun and leaned across the seat to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Let’s do it again soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Peter agreed.

He watched, hands clutching the steering wheel, as she hurried through the door to the T station. A car honked behind him; the light had turned green. Peter drove a block, then pulled over to the side of the road and parked. Dropping his head down, he fought the hot tears pressing against his closed eyelids.

“I’ll kill him,” he whispered under his breath. “I’ll kill him for doing this to her.”

“So what now?” Zeke asked. “Do we go after the other three targets he mentioned?”

“Too risky.” Noa shook her head. “Could be a trap.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” he agreed, keeping his voice low.

They were sitting together in the living room. Everyone else was upstairs, still asleep after the long night. Their hostage had become a lot more forthcoming once Noa produced a vial of blood that was loaded with the PEMA virus, courtesy of their “little army’s” raids. Apparently the fact that there hadn’t been a single PEMA case in anyone over the age of twenty-five didn’t matter; his eyes had widened with terror, and he’d proceeded to tell them everything, including the locations of three other lab facilities.

Not bad, considering that in actuality the vial had been filled with water tinted red with food coloring. None of the labs he’d listed had been in Phoenix, however, which was puzzling. She’d asked specifically about Arizona, and he claimed to have no idea what was going on there. So either Pike & Dolan only shared some information with their mercenaries, or he was still holding out.

Or Peter was wrong about the Phoenix lab. Although if he was, it would be a first.

Noa still didn’t know the guy’s name, and frankly preferred it that way. Maybe Peter was right, and taking him had been a really bad idea. But she’d become increasingly frustrated. Peter was able to provide some information, but it came slowly, which left her group with a lot of time to sit around doing nothing. And these kids weren’t easy to handle unless they were occupied by a mission.

Zeke yawned. Noticing, Noa said, “Why don’t you get some more sleep?”

“In a bit. You already crashed?”

Noa nodded. She’d gone down hard around five a.m. and had slept like the dead for twelve hours. That was pretty much all the rest she needed; now she’d be up and alert for days. Which was weird, but helpful given the circumstances.

“Hungry?”

“Not today.” She’d gorged herself the day before last, eating several thousand calories in one sitting. That usually held her for a few days, too; in between what she’d started to think of as “feedings,” Noa could only tolerate liquids. “Anyway,” she continued, ignoring the small twinge she got whenever her physical quirks were being discussed, “I still think we should head to Phoenix.”

“Right. Did Peter send any more details?”

“He’s sending the blueprints today. If we start driving tonight, we could get there by the day after tomorrow.”

“It’s fourteen hours away, right?” Zeke rubbed his forehead. “We could make that in a day.”

“But then we’d be tired when we arrived. This way we’ll have time to set up a base.”

“That should be easy. Lots of foreclosures in Arizona.”

“Yeah, but more nosy neighbors, too, I’m guessing.” Through a slit in the curtains, Noa could see a young boy on a BMX bike winding slow circles on the street in front of the house. He was the only person she’d seen on the block all day.

“Anything from the other groups?” Zeke asked.

“All quiet,” Noa said.

“Feels like it’s been a little too quiet lately, huh?”

Noa met his eyes. They were dark brown, like his hair. She was pretty sure he was Latino, but during all these months together, he’d never talked about who he was or where he came from. She knew only that he’d been trapped in the Boston foster care system, same as her, and that he’d escaped from one of the labs before they experimented on him.

Right after she’d gone on the run with Zeke, she’d sent out a kind of call to arms on wikigroups and memes. The response had been overwhelming. Chapters of “Persefone’s Army” started cropping up across the country, faster than they could keep up with them. Unfortunately, most turned out to be kids looking for an excuse to raise hell: a coffee shop chain was vandalized, their
PA
logo spray painted across the windows; a car dealership was set on fire. Throughout the media there were scattered reports about this new, terrifying “teen army.”

It all calmed down pretty quickly, though; the vandals either lost interest or were caught and arrested. Meanwhile, Noa and Zeke had assembled their own core group, filled with kids they trusted. Some were teens that Zeke had been working with before he met Noa; others were kids they’d set free together.

Now the official Persefone’s Army was composed of four units, each based in a different quadrant of the country: the Northeast, Southeast, Northwest, and their own, the Southwest contingent. Each group was tasked with tracking the activities of Project Persephone in their area, trying to save targeted teens, and infiltrating facilities whenever possible. There was minimal contact between the units; Noa preferred to have them operate as individual cells, each with its own leader.

That way, if one group was captured, they wouldn’t be able to bring the entire network down. It was kind of like the protections Noa used to set up for company networks, a real-world firewall.

But those precautionary measures meant that she never knew much about what the other units were up to. Peter was in charge of monitoring them, and he’d been in touch less and less frequently of late.

Which made Noa wonder if he was regretting the decision to stay involved. He was probably back with his old girlfriend, enjoying his old life. Helping her out might have become a burden.

No
, she told herself. Peter cared about this as much as she did. After all, these monsters had killed his best friend.

“You sure Peter’s right about Phoenix?” Zeke pressed.

Noa shrugged. “He hasn’t been wrong yet.”

He frowned. “Sucks that we can’t just hack in ourselves.”

“Too risky. If they tracked us and figured out where we were . . .”

“Yeah, I know,” he grumbled. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”

Ever since going on the run, they’d stopped hacking into networks directly; P&D had proven too adept at finding infiltrators quickly. So Peter handled their online work and research, and Zeke clearly resented him for it. Hacker pride, which Noa understood—sometimes her fingers itched for a keyboard; she hated having to steer clear of the one place she’d always felt most comfortable. But they couldn’t risk endangering their unit.

“He’s right about Phoenix,” Noa repeated firmly.

“If you say so.” Zeke stood and stretched, exposing his lean lower belly. “I’m going to crash. Wake me for dinner.”

“Sure,” Noa said, forcing herself to look away.

“And Noa?”

She turned to find him framed in the doorway. “Yeah?”

“You’re doing great. I mean it.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” she muttered, remembering the way Turk had challenged her last night. Sometimes it seemed like if she made one wrong move, the kids would pounce.

“Hey.” Zeke hunkered down in front of her, wrapping his arms around his knees. “You okay?”

“Not really,” she said, biting her lip.

He reached out and stroked her hair with one hand, smoothing it back from her face. In a low voice he said, “I think you’re amazing.”

Noa blinked, surprised. Suddenly she was having a hard time swallowing. Zeke was looking at her with a serious expression, his eyes warm and full. He started to lean toward her, and her breath caught.

“Um, hi?”

They both looked up, startled. Teo was standing awkwardly in the doorway. “Daisy wanted me to tell you the guy is awake again.”

Zeke quickly straightened up. “I’ll deal with it. You get enough sleep, Teo?”

“Sure, yeah. Slept great.” Teo looked back and forth between them. “I just wanted to thank you again, for, y’know, letting me join you.”

“No problem.” Zeke clapped him on the shoulder. “We gotta work on your timing, though.” He threw Noa a crooked grin, then turned and left the room. Teo hovered in the doorway an instant longer, then slunk back down the hall.

Noa tucked her chin on her knees and stared out the window. She was having a hard time sorting out how she felt about Zeke. If Teo hadn’t interrupted, would she have let him kiss her? She rubbed her wrist with her thumb and sighed. As if life wasn’t complicated enough right now, she suddenly had boy trouble. In spite of everything, Noa smiled. A year ago, that would have been pretty much inconceivable.

The kid on the bike was still outside, even though the shadows were lengthening and it was probably getting cold. He spun in slow, lonely loops, his head down. She wondered if a family waited for him, or if he was another lost kid, like her; like all of them. As night fell, she kept watching until he was just a shadow drifting in and out of the circle cast by a streetlamp overhead.