Fugitive X (19 page)

Lexi and Farryn nodded, and Erica shrugged but didn’t object. Cass sat down in the dirt. That City that Nick was so eager to attack contained her birth parents. And her little sister. Why should she cooperate? Why in the world should she let herself be dragged around the woods?

“What are you doing?” said Nick.

“I’m not going with you,” Cass said.

“Cass, there’s no time for this,” said Nick.

“You better go get that collar back from Ro, then,” Cass said. “There’s no other way you’re going to get me to walk out with you.”

“Dammit, Cass!” said Nick. “I’m your brother! The bots are the enemy!”

“It’s not that simple,” Cass said.

“Cass, we’ve got to go!” Nick said.

Cass just shook her head.

Lexi stepped between Nick and Cass and squatted down, putting her forearms on her thighs. “Cass,” she said quietly, “I know you’re confused, but be reasonable. The bots aren’t going to take you back. They’ll kill you.”

Cass shook her head again, refusing to even consider what
Lexi was saying. “You’re not going to have any more luck than my brother, Lexi,” she said.

Lexi stood, throwing her hands up in frustration. Farryn walked over to his pack and opened a flap, digging inside. He pulled Cass’s self-portrait and a pen out of his pack and walked over to Cass. She frowned at him. Did he really think he was going to make a difference? “You’ve already shown me this,” she said.kneeled down and held the paper out to Cass, blank side up. He held the pen out toward her. “Draw something,” he said.

Cass stared at Farryn, her heart suddenly racing. “That’s stupid,” she whispered.

“Draw,” Farryn said.

“What would I draw?” Cass said.

“How about your brother Kevin,” he said.

Cass shook her head. “I don’t know what he looks like,” she said.

“Then just draw a boy. Any boy,” said Farryn. He nudged her gently with the pen. “Come on.”

Cass slowly reached out and took the paper and pen. She set the paper on a nearby flat rock and tentatively began to draw. Her hand moved slowly, her head still pounding, and it was such an effort to form the oval of a face, to keep her hand from shaking the pen right out of her grip. But slowly her grip steadied, and her lines grew more confident, and her hand began to move more quickly, almost as if by magic, and
it became like she was watching her hand draw and had no control over it. The pen flew over the page, and a face emerged. After a minute she was done, and she dropped the pen and stared. She knew the face staring back at her from the paper. It was her little brother Kevin. She knew him. Her temples suddenly pounded and she had to squint and put her hand on the ground to keep her balance, and then her stomach twisted, and a wave of nausea overcame her, and she vomited in the dirt.

KEVIN’S BURNS HEALED IN TWO DAYS. WITH HIS HANDS BACK, IT WAS
time to try to escape again. But he wasn’t sure how. The Wall gap climb wouldn’t work again—maybe he should just find a quiet, dark spot and climb the Wall? No, the perimeter alarms were probably active for the whole Wall.

He lay in bed and considered the problem, staring unfocused at the ceiling. He’d have to find some way to disable the alarm, or at least trick it into ignoring him. He couldn’t get caught again—he had to assume that 23 and Dr. Winston weren’t bluffing about a second failed escape being treated harshly. If Captain Clay got involved—he felt a nervous tingling in his hands at the thought. Whatever punishment she came up with, it would be brutal.

So how to beat the perimeter sensor? He tapped his fingers one by one on his forehead as he brainstormed. Maybe it was a matter of thinking of the alarm like a circuit—he just had to find a way to keep the circuit unbroken, to bridge the gap that his body was creating. So that led to the next question—what type of sensor was being used? Electromagnetic? Optical? Something else?

“Rise and shine!” said Otter, lifting the side of Kevin’s mattress and dumping him onto the floor.

Kevin landed hard on his elbows and knees, bruising himself on the hard floor. “Rust!” he said. He pushed himself up and glared at Otter, who ignored him, whistling and walking to the showers.

At breakfast, Otter sat with Wex at a separate table from the other boys and girls. Was this the Island equivalent of dating? Kevin wondered. Kevin almost laughed out loud—Otter was somehow managing to keep his biceps flexed the entire meal. It must have been exhausting, actually, Kevin thought. It looked like he was trying to arm wrestle his fork.

After their meal, 23 was waiting for Kevin outside the mess hall. “The Governor has requested to see you in his laboratory,” it said.

“Let me check my schedule,” said Kevin. Pil laughed. Even Cort smiled briefly. 23 ignored the remark and began walking. Kevin followed.

“Why’s the Governor so interested in me?” Kevin asked.

“I do not know, and I will not speculate,” said 23.

“Yeah,” said Kevin. “Thanks for the help.”

They continued on in silence. 23 led him back to the Governor’s lab in his cellar and opened the door. “Enter,” it said. “I will wait outside.”

Dr. Winston was waiting for Kevin in the lab, leaning back against the worktable he had used to operate on bot 6. He wore his stained work smock and had a set of scope glasses pushed up at his forehead.

“How are your hands?” Dr. Winston asked when Kevin came down the stairs.

“Fine,” Kevin said cautiously.

“Clever idea, the modified solder,” said Dr. Winston. “But poor execution.”

“Well, I didn’t have much time to work on it,” said Kevin.

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Dr. Winston. He straightened and walked over to the metal cabinet on the wall that Kevin had noticed last time he was in the lab. “Come,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

“Why?” said Kevin, not moving. “What’s going on? Why do you care about my hands? Why do you want to show me stuff?”

“Kevin,” said Dr. Winston, “now that your hands are healed, do you plan on trying to escape again?”

Kevin knew it would be useless to lie, so he said nothing.

“Yes, of course you do,” Dr. Winston said, shaking his head.
He sighed. “Kevin, I had a strange feeling about you when you were brought in. Déjà vu, almost. Do you know what that is?”

Kevin shook his head no.

“I felt as though I had seen you before. Like I already knew you. Have we met before, Kevin?”

“No,” Kevin said.

“No, we haven’t,” Dr. Winston said. He moved back to the worktable and laid his hands on its surface, leaning forward. “I ran a genetic assay from samples gathered without your knowledge—hair, skin cells, et cetera. I was following a hunch.” He paused. “The results were very interesting.”

Kevin could feel his heart pounding in his ears. What was Dr. Winston hinting at?

Dr. Winston reached down to a shelf under the work table and picked up a small vid screen. He tapped it a few times, stared at it a few moments with a sad smile, and then held it up for Kevin to see. “Kevin, do you recognize this man?”

Kevin stared at the 3D image of a man in his twenties with a thick head of brown hair and a skinny, pale face. It took him a moment, and then it hit him almost like a physical blow. “That’s my father,” Kevin said. “My father, when he was . . . younger. How’d you get that?”

“I took it,” said Dr. Winston. “Thirty years ago. It’s a photo of my son.”

THE REBEL WHO HAD LOST AN ARM DIED—HEART ATTACK INDUCED BY
shock, Nick overheard the medic say. One other rebel, a woman, had died on the battlefield. Everyone else was able to break camp and hike out.

Thankfully, after drawing the picture of Kevin, Cass seemed willing to travel with them. It was a breakthrough, he knew, a sign that a few of her memories were starting to come back. But Nick was worried about her—it was apparently physically traumatic, the jumbled fight that her mind was going through. She seemed weak and dizzy and had thrown up twice more. He was making sure she kept sipping water, so that she didn’t dehydrate, but there was little else he could do to help.

Also, he had to admit, he was a little annoyed that Farryn had been able to reach her, when he, her own brother, had failed.

Because of the wounded and the amount of gear they were carrying, the group of seventy or so stretched over a quarter mile and moved slowly. Nobody was complaining, though—not the wounded who limped along painfully, nor the men and women burdened with double loads in order to lighten the packs of the wounded. Everyone seemed to silently agree that they had no choice. The bots had been a mere half mile from the camp. The site was no longer safe. They had to move, or wait for the bots to come back and finish the job.

They headed northwest. Nick assumed they were moving to another hidden campsite, but his attempts to ask the rebels where they were heading, and how far they had to go, were met with silence or even outright hostility. So much for whatever goodwill he had gained from the battle, Nick thought.

They walked all day, mostly in silence. Nick tried to speak to Cass, but she didn’t respond. She did nod, and accept drinks from his canteen when he offered, which was something, at least.

As the day was fading into evening, she surprised him by saying, out of the blue, “I remember a big campfire, and lots of kids. Did I . . . did we do that a lot?” Her arms were folded across her chest, like she was angry or cold, and she wouldn’t look Nick in the eye.

Nick took a moment to calm the rush of excitement he felt. “Yes,” he said. “Kidbons. Bonfires for the kids at the Freepost, whenever the Council had its weekly meeting.” He tried hard to sound neutral. His instincts told him that if he seemed too excited, too eager, he would scare her off.

Cass nodded. “Kidbons. Yes. Kidbons.” She drifted back toward where Farryn was walking. Nick could see Erica farther behind—she had offered to take a rear guard.

“She’s remembering,” Nick said quietly to Lexi. “She’s coming back.”

Lexi took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s good,” she said. “Really good. But it still might take a while. You can’t rush her.”

Nick nodded. Lexi held on to his hand and pulled him closer. Nick’s heart sped up. Was she about to kiss him?

“Nick,” she said, whispering, “the rebels are never going to trust Cass.”

Nick frowned. “When her memory comes back fully, it’ll be fine . . .”

“What about the way we found her? Just waiting for us on the road? Ro’s letting that go for now, but he won’t forget.”

It was odd, Nick agreed. Very strange. But what could he do?

“We should leave the rebels,” Lexi said. “You, me, Farryn, and Cass.”

Nick shook his head. “And Erica? What about her?”

“We don’t owe anything to Erica!” Lexi whispered angrily. “I still think she’ll lase us in the back someday.”

Nick felt a rush of annoyance.
This again!
“Look, Lexi, just because you’re jealous doesn’t mean you can call Erica a traitor.”

“Jealous!” Lexi said loudly. “You . . .” she said, her voice again an angry whisper, “you are a moron.” She strode away.

“Lexi, wait!” Nick said, but he let her go. He knew that anything else he said would probably just make it worse.

That evening they set up a makeshift camp near a dry creek bed spotted with low boulders. As night fell Ro called the entire group together, except for three of the worst wounded who were already resting among the rocks, and four perimeter scout guards, who were spread out twenty-five yards beyond the camp in each of the cardinal directions.

“I’ll keep this quick,” Ro said, just loudly enough for everyone to hear. “We lost Cooper and Michaela today to the bots. They were good fighters, and loyal friends, and they will be missed. The bots have the blood of two more on their hands.” He hesitated. “I risked brief comm contact with the three other rendezvous squads, and none of them have been attacked. We were the only lucky ones. Regardless, the mission has been aborted. We don’t know if it was a breach in our comm security or just bad luck that put those bots in our path, but the other squad leaders and I agree that we’ve already been too compromised to continue with the attack right now.”

A few of the rebels grumbled angrily. Next to Nick, one man spoke up. “So we just give up that quickly?”

Ro took a step toward the man. He said nothing for a few moments, collecting himself, and then said, his voice low but tight, “We’re a day’s hike from our northwest campsite, maybe a day and a half with our wounded. We go there, we heal up, and then we plan a way to kill some bots. A lot of bots. Got it?” The man nodded, and Ro held eye contact, then nodded back. Ro raised his voice again to readdress the group. “Okay, everyone have their guard shifts for the night?” The men and women nodded. “Then get to it,” Ro said.

That night Nick lay on the sandy ground of the creek bed near his sister. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t get up and move, at least. He was hoping that Lexi would lay down nearby, but she pointedly found a spot on the other side of the creek bed, behind a boulder that blocked her from his view. Nick sighed.
Well, one problem at a time
, he thought.

“Cass,” Nick said, then waited.

Cass was silent, and Nick felt a pang of disappointment, but then she rolled over and said, “Yes?”

“Cass, I’m sorry for this. For the way you’ve been treated. For all you’ve been through.”

She didn’t reply.

Nick looked up at the night sky between the trees. It was a bright night, the moon nearly full, with only a few clouds. A light breeze rustled the leaves gently.

“You were dying, Cass,” Nick said. “The bots had shot you, and you fell on a branch and it went right through your lung. You were bleeding to death.” Nick saw his sister again lying there in a puddle of blood, her face ghostly white, the stick jutting from her chest. He blinked hard, breathed deeply to dispel the image. “Letting the bots take you was my only option. I couldn’t let you die. Cass, do you remember any of it?”

Nick waited but was met with only silence. He sighed and closed his eyes.

“A bit,” Cass said, so softly that Nick could barely hear. He opened his eyes. “I remember the pain,” Cass said, “and lying in a puddle . . . and I’m starting . . . I’m starting to remember things about you, and the Freepost.”