Rebels Rising (Dark Rebels, #1) (11 page)

Janine was not a fool, and she wanted to live.

“You are connected with Krista, in some way. Maybe not Connected, the way so many of you are, but still there is something there. Yet you cannot seem to find her. That is odd because you have never failed us before when it came to Krista, never once. You have always managed to find her. Sometimes it took days, and once or twice it even took years, but find her you always did, and I am sure you will again.

“However, be aware that time is of the utmost importance right now. It is of the essence, do you understand me?”

Janine nodded. “Yes Sir, I will find her.”
If she does not find us first
. That thought was buried but there, and uneasiness poked its head up and looked around to see who had spoken. Could Krista be foolish enough to come after them? She had that little band of misfits with her, after all, and she might have learned from them that her parents were being held prisoner. Maybe the mind wipe was beginning to wear off as well, and her memories, her real memories, were returning.

That would be beyond bad, and for a multitude of reasons. Her stomach tightened into a knot as the Director turned to face her, his dark eyes probing hers until she wanted to scream. “Janine, you are a Seeker. You have been spared the fate given to many like yourself because you have a talent we need and cannot be without, but do not mistake that kindness in letting you live freely as a weakness.”

“I would never do that, Sir.” That was the honest truth. She knew exactly what happened every day, all around her, and the thought of being Enthralled to the Machine made her want to toss herself off the nearest highest cliff. Worse were the experiments that went on, tortures labeled necessary for learning, but what were they—any of them—learning?

Such thoughts were traitorous and she knew it. They never rose to her mind, and she knew the Director did not see them, but she was still afraid. Cold sweat broke out under her armpits.

The Director stood silent, waiting. It was one of his best techniques. People faced with that would grow nervous and begin to babble and talk themselves right into the grave or worse before it was all over with. She stayed silent, biting her tongue hard enough to bring blood when the silence grew so heavy words began to form behind her compressed lips.

“Get out.”

She went. Outside his door she paused, wiping a trembling hand across her face and taking a long breath of relief before she headed out and onto the campus itself. Her thoughts were still cloaked, but she had learned long ago how to build a little room, like a small library in her head, where she could go and sit and think without fear, and it was there that she went as she strode across the campus toward her dorm room.

She was thinking of the time when she had met Krista; she had seen her and just known. That was why she was a good Seeker: she knew as soon as she saw someone if they were Natural, or Prime or even Beta. She could feel them, see them in ways others could not.

She had been hiding her own talents. Her grandmother had caught her lighting her palms one day and beaten her almost bloody for it. “Never do that!” she had hissed. “That is the Devil’s own handiwork!”

Janine had been terrified. Was she evil? Did the Devil know what she had done; would she go to Hell? All those things had followed her for a few years, but then Krista had moved in next door. Krista, who shone like a beacon, burning so bright it hurt to even look at her.

Janine had trusted her, had shown her what she could do, and had hoped that Krista could show her something too. And she had. The Powers that Krista had were huge and terrifying, and Janine had become instantly jealous. Why didn’t she have those Powers? She wanted them, craved them...they should have been hers! Krista did not want them at all!

She recalled the night they had come to take her away. It had all been Krista’s fault. Krista had caused the DARK to open its huge, fearsome eye and look right down on the two of them in that closet. Krista, with her Powers that could change and shape worlds, had called out to the DARK, and they had come.

She had watched her parents die. Honestly, that had not hurt very much. She had never felt like she belonged with them anyway. The first years in the lab had been hell, torture and testing and days spent Enthralled and nights spent running endlessly down corridors, a mouse in a maze for the education of the Creators.

She had hated everything and everyone, had wanted nothing more than to escape, to be freed of her Power and its terrible cost until they had found her true Power, her true calling, and had named her the youngest ever Seeker.

Becoming a Seeker had freed her from agony and pain. If she did not find Krista, she would go back to the lab, to the testing and trials and the Machine. She could not do that, not ever again!

“I am going to find you, Krista, no matter what it takes,” she said.

The wind ruffled the bare limbs of the trees near her and she shivered; she did not like that sound. It made her think of death.

***

B
lake was also staring down the past.  He stood at the top of the hill, staring into the distance at the ruined walls of the former lab. The weather had grown cold again. Ssnow drifted across the ground in hard, white pellets, and the heavy clouds in the mottled sky promised more bad weather to come.

Yet, there were flowers blooming at the bottom of the hill. He wondered if he were the only one who had noticed that. He doubted it, and he also doubted any of them did not know the cause of those out-of-season blooms. They were a sign, one of the signs that they had been looking for for years now, and now that it was here, all he felt was fear and worry.

The lab sent a smell to his nose. He knew that only the strongest of senses could have picked that scent up, but he had that. The scent was old and faded but still there; it was the scent of agony and despair. Some of that smell had come from his body.

Once, long ago, he had beaten his hands against the glass of the tube that held him, had choked on the fluids that had been forced into those tubes to sustain his life—if life was what you could call what he had had then.

How many times had they cut his wings from his shoulders to see if they would grow back, could grow back
just one more time
? The sound of the saw, the agony that had echoed throughout his entire body, the feel of the steel restraints around his wrists and ankles and middle, he had forgotten none of it.

He never would.

Things had been worse for him and Connor because of the empathetic bond between them. Their twinship had a lot to do with that, but it was not solely responsible for it. They both had other, smaller Powers, mostly unformed and dormant, but there.

They had been marked for Extermination, as had Tawny—this version of Tawny. They had been considered a failure because as they had grown and turned sixteen, the Powers had not developed as the Creators had hoped. Tawny, on the other hand, had proven to be exactly what they wanted—except her mind was still intact, and she refused to go on killing sprees while in animal forms.

Freeing themselves from the horror that had been that lab had been grueling, and it had cost them greatly. There had been seven in the original band, and only the three of them, Connor, Tawny, and Blake, had made it out alive. They had watched the others die, knowing it was their fault for talking them into trying escape.

The lab had had to be destroyed. They had not done that alone, not by any means. They had used the Remnants, and they had known that they were playing with fire, that what they were doing would have a high price.

Connor had been madly in love with Dorian, a small girl with hair the color of straw and a smile that was as shy as a morning glory. She had been able to summon the Remnants and harness their fury. How, nobody knew, and nobody could have known that the Remnants would fall on her, angered and starving for the energy that her Power unleashed in the rooms and hallways of the labs.

They had not just taken Dorian, however; they had rampaged through the lab, taking many of its denizens—and not just the workers and Creators, but others like themselves. The tubes had shattered, and newly born and unborn had died on the floors there.

The ones with smaller Powers had died too, screaming and begging for mercy. Maybe death had been that very mercy—many of them still had the scars of the torture they had undergone on their skins and below them, too.

Connor blamed himself for Dorian’s death. He blamed himself for all of it. There were times when his face would grow cold and his gaze would go distant. In those moments, not even Blake could reach him, and he wanted to. He knew how badly he was hurting.

His gaze went to Krista. There she was, the one they had all heard of, the one who seemed destined to end DARK forever. Yet she was weak and small and too human for that task. It showed in everything about her.

Her anger was vast, her control almost nil. She would get them all killed if she did not learn how to handle her Power, but who could teach her? That was a damn good question, because the truth was, she was stronger than any of them, combined. The Power that she held within her frail skin and bones was immense, capable of shaping an entire planet, a way of life.

She liked him, he knew that. He also knew that Connor liked her. Therein lay the problem. Connor had not been interested in anyone or anything since Dorian had died, and that had been almost four years ago now.

Yet he cared for and liked Krista, but was that all just a part of his trying to protect her in order for her to do what she had been born to do, or was it something else? He knew he could have just asked, but he was not sure he wanted to know the answer.

There was something about her, a fragility despite her obvious toughness and the strength of her Power. There was something soft and sweet and kind below that rage and hatred and confusion, something shining and beautiful and irresistible.

She was beautiful: her face was a work of art, and she had a body that made his body respond. He wanted her, in every sense. But Connor was his twin, his brother, and if he loved her...

His thoughts were carefully cloaked, and he was glad when Connor stepped out behind him and said, “What are you thinking?”

‘”I’m thinking of what comes next.” It was true enough.

“We have to take her to her parents.”

“Yes, I know, but what happens when she sees them? When she knows who they are and who she is? That anger she has could explode, and we cannot focus it. She cannot either.”

“I know.” Connor sighed. “It’s a risk we have to take.”

“Do you know which lab they are being held in?”

“No. I cannot see that far, but I know someone who could.”

“Who?”

“Janine.”

“She’s a Seeker!”

“Exactly.”

Blake asked, “Have you gone crazy? In case you have not noticed, Seekers are not on our side. Janine turned a long time ago; she chose to. It was up to her. What do we know about her, other than she is power-mad and hungry? She will do anything to stay ahead and to gain more Power, in every sense.”

“I know. That is why she is perfect.”

“We can’t turn her; she won’t turn and you know it.”

“Maybe she would, for the right price.”

Blake shook his head. “What kind of payment could we offer?”

“Blood.”

Blake felt revulsion fill him at the thought of a Seeker drinking from him, and his allowing it. “I am not giving my blood to a Seeker.”

“It would not be the first time.”

“Blood taken is not blood gifted, you know that.”

“Then what would you suggest? Taking down every lab?”

“She thinks we did it alone,” Blake said.

“I know. Are you going to tell her?”

“Tell her what? That we killed many in our escape, those who were our friends, and those who were still forming? Hell no.”

“That takes us back to the original question. How will we find her parents if we do not have help?”

“Maybe she can find them.”

“No, the mind wipe was too extensive. The memories coming back to her are partial, and they may not come back in time for her to put them to any kind of good use. She does not remember what lab she was taken to or where her parents are. If she did, she would be on her way there right now, and we would be chasing after her instead of standing around here talking.”

“Well, you got a point there.”

“Does she have a plan?”

“Kill everything that moves in her path.”

“At one time I would have thought that was a good plan too.”

Blake turned to face him. “Do you ever get tired of running?”

Connors eyes were watchful. “We will always have to run, Blake. You know that.”

He did know that. Even if DARK was destroyed, they were different, mutants, strangers on the face of a world that would not harbor them in safety. The world that lived around them did not take kindly to things that were different. “There is one way.”

“No! Never that, Blake! Is that not how all of this started in the first place?”

“If you don’t believe in Steven’s plan, why are we still with him? The SR is ours, it always has been, yet we joined with him and let him pretend that this is all his, that we are his foot soldiers.”

“We had to.” Connor put his hands on Blake’s shoulders, pressing down lightly. “Keep your promise.”

Blake’s gut twisted. He hated the humans, most of them anyway. The ones who were unpowered, who would shun them, who would look at him and his twin and see only freaks or something to laugh at, to experiment on, to cage and keep.

There were some humans who were not like that, and he knew it, just as the human part of him longed to be able to be just like them, to be able to walk around without fear or the burden that was his body, his Powers, his differences.

He had been torn apart by those feelings for so long that they were just part of him. He wanted to be human, and he wanted to be anything but. He wanted to be free to fly whenever he chose; he wanted to never know that feeling ever again. He both loved and hated his wings.

Connor whispered, “Look at me, brother. We have to stay with Steven’s group until we find her parents, at least that long. We need him, and we need the ones he calls.”