Resist (12 page)

“Why are you here?” Kyle asks. He looks around. “Are you going to get in trouble?”

“That's what I need you to tell me—why am I here? How did I get here?”

Kyle's grip on me tightens, and his confusion takes on a darker edge. Fear. “You don't remember?”

“They wiped my memories.”

“Yeah, but…” He shakes his head like he's trying to piece things together as much as I am.

What the hell? Why is he confused? Why doesn't he have my answers? Malone can't erase Kyle's memories—he has no implants.

“We were on the run from this place,” Kyle says slowly. He glances at the open door but strangely makes no move toward it. Is it because he knows as well as I do that we'd never make it far if we tried running? Or is it something else that I'm forgetting, if I ever knew it?

“I know that,” I say into his knees. “But how did we get back? Did they catch us? They kept finding us, didn't they?”

“They did.” Kyle climbs off the bed and kneels next to me so we're almost the same height. “Shit, if you don't remember, Soph… This is bad.”

“Tell me.”

But Kyle chews his lip and glances around again. Cameras, I realize. And microphones. He's afraid of being overheard. I grab his leg, partly in desperation and partly because I can't bear to be so close to him without touching him. His body tenses, but not with the anger I see in my memories.

Kyle presses a hand against my cheek, pulling our faces together. My lips tingle with the anticipation of kissing him, but he brings his mouth to my cheek, then to my ear. His nearness sends shivers down my skin. “We had to come back. Malone threatened—”

A clunking noise jolts us apart, and Cole clears his throat in the doorway. The expression he turns on Kyle is one of loathing, and he grabs my arm, lifting me to my feet. “Are you trying to get Malone to lock you in solitary for the rest of your life?”

“I'm trying to find out what Malone took from me.” I struggle with Cole, but his grip is too strong.

“Damn it, Sev, do you have any idea what I've had to do to make sure security didn't haul you away when you ran?”

Kyle jumps to his feet. “Since when do you have so much authority? I thought you were both peons around here.”

So did I, and I silently ponder the same question.

Cole ignores Kyle and my raised eyebrows. “If you want answers, Sev, I can give you answers. But leave him out of it.”

“Fuck you.” Kyle's hands ball into fists, but he wisely doesn't advance. Not yet. “I'm sure you're giving her all kinds of answers, but she wants the truth.”

I finally manage to break free of Cole. “Yes, I want the truth.”

“Then come with me before you get us hurt.” Cole moves toward the door. “Or before you get the mutant any more hurt.”

I open my mouth to argue, then shut it. Cole has a point. Cole always has a point. But can I trust him?

Cole seems to read the conflict on my face. “When have I ever not had your back, Sev?”

Shame for my distrust eats away at me. It's true. Cole always has. Despite my worries that he hasn't been entirely truthful with me, I should be able to trust him. I feel guilty for not doing so.

But Kyle breaks the silence between us, crossing his arms. “When? How about when you betrayed her? You want to tell her some truths? Explain to her that you were the one who kept giving our location away to RedZone. You never helped her escape from the camp—you went along on Malone's orders.”

Part Two

To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make

you something else is the greatest accomplishment.

~Ralph Waldo Emerson~

Chapter Thirteen

Tuesday Afternoon: One Day After Escape

Once the decision to leave Lev behind was made, the rest of our great mall escape became a blur. As I suppress a yawn, I replay our actions in my mind, and I'm surprised we were successful. Our sole lucky break in this adventure is that Malone is keeping his hand secret. Or, well, as secret as he can be when his operatives single-handedly trashed a suburban mall. But Malone hasn't released our images to the public yet. He obviously thinks he can bring us in without involving legitimate law enforcement.

Although we grabbed what we could before we left, we're still down more supplies. Some were lost in the fighting, and others—like our ammunition—were used. At this rate, my cash supply is no longer looking so plentiful. We have problems that go beyond figuring out how RedZone keeps finding us, though that's clearly the most pressing of them.

Shutting the door on our newest borrowed—stolen—car, I glance around our temporary hideout. Octavia directed us to a veritable field of abandoned, decaying warehouses. Breaking into one of them was simple, and now we and the cars should be safe for a while.

Should be, but clearly aren't.

When the last car door shuts, we gather in a loose circle. December's fading sunlight flows in through high, dirty windows, illuminating rusting beams and a dusty, concrete floor. No one says anything. No one wants to be the first to admit to the situation.

Finally, Gabe raises his hands in defeat. “Before we start the recriminations, we need some heat.”

Jordan helps him unload the portable chemical stove we picked up at a military surplus store on the way, and the rest of us stand around in dumb silence. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm exhausted and defeated. Leaving Lev behind weighs on my heart, as does the inevitable conversation to come.

“Is that thing really safe to use indoors?” Kyle asks. The box states
For Outdoor Use Only
.

Gabe connects the two main pieces of the stove's heating unit. The chemicals inside mix, and the reaction begins throwing off heat instantly. According to the box, it should be able to heat a ten-by-ten space for up to twenty-four consecutive hours. We've used similar devices at the camp when we trained for winter survival, although unlike this large, fifty-pound stove, they were truly portable. We carried them into the woods in our backpacks.

“No, it's not,” Gabe says. “But have you been safe at all within the last forty-eight hours? This is the least of your concerns.”

Kyle bites his lip like he wants to retort, then he simply takes a sip from his water bottle. The rest of us drape a tarp high over the stove, attaching it to the cars so the heat stays localized and we stay warmer.

Kyle's the last to join us around the stove when we finish, unable to resist the allure of heat forever. But he stays silent while we circle in endless debates about how we keep getting found.

“Malone could have hacked into the traffic cams,” I suggest. “I know the camp has the capabilities. It's how Malone keeps tabs on the nonessential employees who live in the town.”

Gabe drums his fingers on his knees. A thread is loose on the fingerless gloves he's wearing, and its presence irritates me. I'm cranky about everything. “I don't think so. We've passed through a lot of towns, and we keep switching up the roads we're taking. I'm sure several people back home could get access to any traffic cameras we pass, but not quickly enough to keep up with our driving.”

As with every theory, we talk this one into the dust too. In the end, even I'm convinced it doesn't hold up, and I scuff dirt into the floor in frustration. It wouldn't have been a good solution if I were right, but it would have been better than what we have left.

“One of us must have a tracker in them somewhere,” Summer says, spelling it out. “It's the only other option.”

“Or all of us have trackers.” Octavia rubs her eyes. “Maybe Sophia was right when she suggested it earlier. We could have had them implanted all along.”

It's the only possibility that makes sense to everyone, and the worst because without the right equipment, there's no sure way to discover if it's true. Then there's also the issue of what to do about it. If we can confirm trackers, removing them requires cutting them out in less than ideal circumstances.

Not to mention that when I cut mine out when I tried running away with Kyle, I tripped some kind of security backup in it and the electricity damaged one of my memory implants. Losing those memories of who and what I was, and why I'd been trying to escape with Kyle, is what got me into this mess. I ruined my plans and spilled Kyle's secrets to Malone, thinking I was helping save Kyle's life. Logically, I know it wasn't my fault, but I'll never shake the guilt and the what-ifs.

And I never want to go through that trauma of memory loss again.

“It can't be all of us.” I hold my hands closer to the stove. “I know I suggested it this morning, but if it
was
a normal thing to have a tracker, I wouldn't have had one specifically put in before I was sent to RTC.”

Kyle scowls at the mention of the college. “I remember you explaining to me that it's a standard tracking practice to always hide a decoy. So before you left for RTC, you had the decoy implanted, and it was the decoy you removed.”

I start to protest then shut my mouth. I suppose it's possible, although I'm not convinced. Either way, it's not worth arguing about any longer. We might as well check it out.

“So who's getting naked first?” Jordan asks, correctly taking my silence as surrender.

Kyle looks torn between amusement and horror, but it's the only way to check each other's skin for signs of abnormalities. It's also especially unfortunate because no one is thrilled to strip when it's so cold.

None of us are modest, but in order not to weird out Kyle, we split into pairs. I feel bad for Jordan, whom I have to take an extra long time checking, because the incision scar left by a tracker would be particularly difficult to spot in her dark skin. In the end though, I pronounce her clear. She does the same for me.

In fact, no one spots anything suspicious, so we're right back where we started with theories. Except for one. One theory that none of us voice because none of us want to believe it's possible.

Kyle, however, doesn't share our lifetime of loyalty. “Someone here is a traitor.”

I wince as the words leave his lips, and the reaction from the others is what I'd expect. Denial and anger. A chorus of “no” and “impossible”.

“You do not understand us at all.” Jordan is on her feet, fuming.

“Understand?” Kyle jumps up to face her. “I understand that until yesterday you were all naïvely complicit members of a terrorist organization that's responsible for the murders of hundreds—if not thousands—of innocent people. According to Sophia, you were raised to trust in them above all else. You've killed for them. Why should I accept that you've all had a change of heart and are better people?”

Jordan puts her hands on her hips. “Some of us have been wanting to get out for a long time. We just never had the
right
time until now. We are a family, and families do not betray each other.”

“That's you being naïve again. Families betray each other all the time in the real world. So do friends.”

I suck in a breath. Whether Kyle meant it that way or not, those last words strike me in the gut like a bullet. “We're not part of the real world. We're different. Besides, I'm not seeing it.” As I speak, the logical flaw in Kyle's accusation becomes clear, and I seize it. “We worked together to escape. If any one of us didn't do our part, we would never have been successful. So if there was a mole, we wouldn't have gotten as far as we have.”

This seems to pacify the others. Tension drains from Summer's face, and Gabe's shoulders sag as he nods along.

“All of you?” Kyle shuffles away from the circle and leans against one of the cars. “I was under the impression that he wasn't a part of the plan. He just showed up at the end.” Kyle points to Cole, and I know this is where he was leading all along. The animosity and distrust I sensed between them back in the motel has been festering since yesterday. I swear I can smell it in the musty air.

Cole, who's been mostly silent, raises his head and simply stares down Kyle. The force of that expression is more powerful than any words, and a person not as strong-willed as Kyle would crumple under it. But Kyle is unmoved, and I can't decide whether to be proud of his determination or annoyed by his accusation.

“Cole helped us escape. If he didn't show up when he did, we wouldn't be here.”

Kyle crosses his arms. “Are you sure? You obviously had a reason why you didn't include him in your plan originally, and he's the one who's been arguing that we need to stay together. Convenient, that.”

“I've been saying we need to stay together because it's safer for us this way.” Cole's voice is amazingly steady, although I hear the tint of irritation beneath it. “In small groups or as individuals, it would be much easier for RedZone to pick us off. You've seen what sort of firepower they can mobilize.”

“Yeah, I've seen. I also think it would be harder for them to find us if we weren't presenting a nice, fat target.”

I can't help but think Kyle has a point about splitting up, but I'm loath to leave the others. Leaving behind Lev is painful enough. If we split up, I'll waste too much time worrying about whether the rest of my unit is safe.

Those thoughts aside, however, I can't agree with Kyle. “I know the two of you haven't been getting along.” I glance between Kyle and Cole, hoping my face doesn't turn as red as it feels. “But, Kyle, Cole has always been there to protect us. You're wrong about this.”

“No offense, Soph, but you guys might have been trained to be badasses, but you're lousy judges of character.”

“That's not fair. The camp is all we ever knew.”

Kyle kicks off from the car. “That's my point. Is your loyalty to your family or to your home?”

“Home is nothing without family,” Jordan says. She's still glaring at Kyle, as if he's accused all of us of treason, not just Cole.

“Well, I'm sure that will be a huge comfort when RedZone finds us again.” Shoving his hands in his pockets, Kyle storms away, and the warehouse's shadows swallow him.

I can feel everyone's gazes on me, and Cole's especially, so I lower my head to my knees. Part of me wants to run after Kyle, but would he want that? And what would I say? I can't believe—I
refuse
to believe—that Cole would give us up to Malone. Yet I fear not chasing after Kyle is ruining whatever progress I've made toward repairing our relationship.

The stress of Kyle and Cole, not to mention of constantly being on the run, is building in me. I want to scream or perhaps pound my head against something. Since none of those options are good ones, I force myself to get up and walk away too, but I head in the opposite direction of Kyle.

I can't be made to choose sides, because I'm on both of theirs whether they appreciate it or not.

I wander the warehouse for a while—seventeen minutes, thirty-two seconds—doing what we should have done before setting up the stove. Scouting the security issues.

There are two entrances, including the large reinforced set of steel doors we drove in through and a regular door in the rear. I make sure that door can be opened in case we need to escape, then set about blocking it with a metal desk I find in a nearby office so it can't be opened from the outside.

The windows, approximately three hundred feet of them, face west, two stories above our heads. Several are cracked, all are filthy, and none can be covered even if we had a way to reach them.

During my inspection of the perimeter and search for anything useful that's been left behind, I discover Kyle lurking by a piece of ancient machinery that might be a printing press. I've seen photos of such things but am amazed by the size, regardless. How much paper did people used to use? Were there any trees left on the planet before e-sheets were developed?

Our eyes lock over the hunk of rusting metal, and I smile tentatively. But as tentative smiles often do, I think it comes across more like a grimace. “Come back to the warmth.”

“Eventually.” When he doesn't say anything else for a moment, I start to leave. Then Kyle says my name quietly. “Your loyalty is admirable.”

“Yeah, I get it. You just think I'm blind.”

Kyle's removed his hat, and his hair sticks up with static. He runs a hand through it. “Hey, don't take it personally, but for a bunch of spies, you're all strangely naïve.”

“Thanks. I always thought I was paranoid.”

“You can be both.”

I shake my head with a sad laugh. “With such positive personality traits, it's a wonder you hung out with me.”

“You have lots of other positive traits. You're smart and funny.”

“And loyal.”

The half smile on Kyle's face breaks into something fuller, and my heart breaks a little with it. “Loyal. And totally hot.”

Is he flirting with me? I do my best to mentally pummel my hopes, but my blood runs faster. “And capable of kicking your ass at video games.”

He puts a hand to his chest in mock despair. “Occasionally. Don't let your ego get too big there.”

I grin, can't help it. This is almost like old, pre-betrayal Kyle, and I'm practically dancing in my boots. “We have more to talk about. You should really join us.”

His smile fades slightly. “I will.”

This is why hope stinks. My good mood fades with his, scarcely lasting long enough to be called a swing. More like a mood blip.

Nodding, I wander away so he can have whatever alone time he needs.