Resist (5 page)

“And my head.” My hands curl into fists, wrapping around the soft fabric of my new sweater.

Cole seems to sense my tension. He raises his head and slips an arm around me in a loose hug. “Of course. I always said you were the smartest of us all.”

I have to laugh. “You were always a flatterer.”

“It's true, although I might be a bit biased.”

Grinning, he pulls me closer, and my heart flutters, though not with happiness. That might have been the case at one time, but now these feelings only exacerbate my confusion, and I can't rid myself of the fear that Kyle will look out the window and see us like this. Even if this hug is innocent on my part, it's not on Cole's.

I inch away with a smile on my face, hoping that will be enough to convince him I'm not trying escape his arms. “If you want to go inside and warm up, I can start my watch early. I don't mind.”

“I'd rather talk to you.”

I was afraid he'd say that. If distracting him by talking about my proof isn't going to work, I'm not sure what will. But I need something, and I wrack my brain for a new idea.

I'm too slow.

“Tell me about Kyle.”

Shit.

Cole stuffs his hands in his pockets, and I turn back to the parking lot, well aware that my unwillingness to look at him—hell, my whole evasive posture—is a dead giveaway to my thoughts. I'm too stressed to care. Too sick of pretending to be someone and something I'm not.

“Soph, look at me. Please.”

Sighing, I face him. “Copy, fearless leader.”

“Really?” Cole's expression is properly chastising. “Can we lay off the sarcasm for a moment? I just want to know what role Kyle played in your decision to run away.”

“What role?” I cross my arms because the cold is finally starting to bother me, and I decide how I want to interpret the question. “None actually.”

That's sort of true. When I'd discovered the illegal activities that Malone was up to, getting out had been important, regardless of Kyle. The fact that I was supposed to bring him in, however, and the timeline for doing so, had made my escape more urgent.

Cole's expression is blank, and he stares over my shoulder. Whether it's because he can't meet my gaze while we discuss Kyle or because he's interested in the car pulling into the lot, I can't say. I hear the car's engine rumble through the snow, but I can't tear my eyes from Cole to check it out.

Finally, he blinks. “So all this was independent of Kyle?”

“That's what I said. Why?”

“I don't know.” He raises his hands in a gesture of defeat. “It's just weird that you know this guy for three months, and suddenly your world is flipped upside down. You're running away from your life and taking him with you.”

“Saving him.”

“Do you like him?”

I freeze and immediately try to shake off my reaction. “Yes. He's a friend.”

“That's not what I meant.”

No, it's clear what Cole meant. It's evident in the fierceness that spreads over his face, and I feel like utter crap. Before I left on my mission, my relationship with Cole was starting to change. It's changed more since, but not in the way he wants.

“I know what you meant, but it hardly matters. Does it?” I can't be with Kyle anymore. Our relationship was built on lies.

Cole scowls, but some of the tension seems to drain from his stance. “No, I guess it doesn't. He's not one of us. He'll never understand you. He'll always fear what you can do. But you should know better than to get emotionally attached to the people you meet on a mission. It can get you in trouble.”

“Believe me, I'm aware.” I spent most of my mission berating myself for that very thing. Too bad knowing it and being able to do something about it are not the same things. “It's not easy though.”

“I'm sure it's not.” Cole's longest mission lasted only three days. He wouldn't have personal experience. “But if it were easy, no one would need us.”

No one does need us—that's what I want to say. We aren't essential. We weren't trained so we could save the world, fight injustice or protect the innocent. We were created to be weapons, and people only need weapons when other people have weapons. Weapons are for hurting people, and no one
needs
that. It's the wrong word.

Without showing Cole my proof though, my thoughts are pointless. Cole is a good soldier, not only a good weapon. He believes in things greater than us.

He grabs my arm, and I let him gather me into a hug, relaxing into his warmth. There's no denying it feels good to hold him. I'm craving comfort.

A second engine disrupts the peaceful moment, and I frown into Cole's chest. Two cars arriving in the last five minutes is odd. It's awfully late for new guests, and now that I think about it, I never heard anyone get out of the first car.

Cole holds me tight as I try to pull away. I shouldn't have come out here. Our conversation has distracted us both.

Discreetly, I jab Cole in the back with a finger. “I think we have a problem.”

Chapter Five

Early Tuesday Morning: Night of Escape

Cole's heartbeat quickens. Pressed against him, I can hear it. He lowers his face to my ear. “Go inside, alert the others. It doesn't look like a big team. They'll want this to be discreet.”

I grit my teeth in frustration. “How many?”

“I count four.”

“Human or…?”

“Can't tell yet.”

Probably not human. Not if there's only four.

A shiver trickles down my spine, and I casually back away from Cole. Six of us, seven including Kyle, should be able to overtake any normal threat. Which tells me this threat isn't normal. Malone is many things, but never stupid.

That also raises a question—how did he find us?

“Go warn the others,” Cole whispers. “I'll keep an eye on things out here.”

I slip inside, and the temperature change shocks me. I must have been colder than I realized. Kyle has stopped playing with his phone, and the room is pitch-black. Since RedZone already knows we're here, there's no point in hiding in the dark. I flip on the light switch.

Nothing happens.

Surprised into stupidity, I try again, but the room stays dark. Shit. I'm positive this isn't bad luck or a burnt-out bulb. RedZone has cut the power. That means there are more people here than just the four Cole counted in the parking lot. Someone must have pulled around the back of the building.

My unit members are stirring from the noise, and I whip out my phone for light. “Get up. They're here. They found us.”

“What?” Kyle bounds to his feet, as do the others. “How?”

The question travels around the room as I stuff a few unpacked supplies in my backpack. We were all fully dressed in bed, and we're all ready to go in seconds. Even Kyle is, and now that I know his history, I understand why he's always ready to run.

“We'll figure out how later,” I tell him, slinging my pack on my shoulders.

I kick an empty shopping bag aside, wondering how the next few minutes are going to go down. If I can figure out RedZone's plans, I can figure out how to counter them. So why kill the electricity? How do they intend to keep this attack on us contained? Are the people in the parking lot going to start shooting when we leave? The problem with this motel room is that there's no secondary exit.

Malone wants us back. Not dead. I'm missing something, surely.

Wading through my thoughts is like trekking through sludge. My head feels thick and my eyes heavy. How long has my hand hovered by the doorknob?

Gas—the answer is obvious. I can't smell it. Can't see it. And it's not a bad plan. They'll knock us out so we can't fight, and knock everyone else out so they don't see what's going on. It wouldn't be the first time some of Malone's goons have drugged me, nor the first time RedZone's gassed innocents to get at their targets.

All I have to do is reach a little higher, open the door and let in the outside air. But my hand is a lead weight and my eyes are closing. Behind me, no one else moves or speaks either. Whatever this stuff is, Kyle's no more immune to it than we are.

Once, I thought RedZone wanted us to be invincible. Indestructible. How stupid I was then. You don't create a weapon without a way to disarm it, and lately, I've been discovering Malone has a lot more ways to disarm us than I'd ever realized.

Thinking about Malone and what he's done to us provides me with just enough energy to press down on the door handle. The door opens a crack, pauses, then swings open a few more inches.

Cole stands there, looking confused. “Why are you taking so long?”

I stumble out without explanation. The fresh air flows over me, and I breathe deeply, trying to clear my lungs. Bullets be damned. No one's started shooting at Cole yet, so I don't think we're in danger that way.

He catches me as I gasp for air. “What's going on?”

“Gas. Get them out.” I grasp the closest support column and seek out the cars while my head recovers.

What I find isn't good. The cars are empty.

Before I can ask Cole where their occupants went, footsteps pound up to the second story. My hand tightens around the gun, and I take what cover I can find by the post.

Behind me, my unit members are coughing, gulping down the air. Cole's soothing voice is a whisper on the breeze. I want to make sure Kyle is okay, but all my attention is on the person—or thing—approaching. And if one is approaching from this stairwell, there must be more coming from other stairwells. But I can't do anything about it except hope my unit recovers quickly.

Then our attacker is here, climbing the last few steps so fast it appears in front of me all at once. Even ignoring its super speed, something in its movements are too perfect to be fully human. Something about its face is too blank.

It's a CY—one of RedZone's earlier creations. If it's fair to call me an augmented human, the CYs should be called humanized machines. There's less human in them than tech, and I don't simply mean in their heads, though that's part of it.

My stomach drops, but I raise the gun with steady hands. “Get back.”

I don't want to cause a scene any more than Malone does. Getting the cops involved, having my face possibly flashed all over the news and online, won't help the situation.

Something crashes behind me. Another CY has landed on the second floor. Vaguely, I'm aware we're being boxed in, but I stare down the first CY, searching for humanity that no longer exists in its eyes. He was a normal person once, possibly a criminal who volunteered for this so-called upgrade, not realizing his freedom was being bought at the price of a technological lobotomy. Whoever he was, he's gone.

A CY feels no fear. Has no compassion. Some are better at faking it than others, but they're not really designed for missions that require much pretending to be human. Still, it assesses me, or rather the unexpected situation. We were supposed to be unconscious, after all.

“That's not going to work,” Gabe says, crouching next to me. He's referring to my attempt to threaten the CY. They can't be threatened. They follow orders.

Gabe also has a gun pointed at the CY, though neither of our guns are ideal for this. Only RedZone's specially designed rifles can penetrate the armor under its clothes. A regular handgun with a typical caliber range is only useful if you manage to shoot a CY in the head. Even for us, that's more difficult than it sounds.

Ignoring Gabe's comment, I rest my finger on the trigger and address the CY again. “You don't want me to shoot. Your orders are to take us quietly, right?”

The CY cocks its head to the side. “If possible.” It shrugs, a surprisingly human gesture that I'm not prepared for.

It's what it's anticipating and what it planned for. In the split second of my confusion, it lunges forward. Its enhanced muscles move with such speed that its body is a blur. The gun is snatched from my hands, and I go flying with the force of the impact.

My head smacks the wall hard enough that my vision blackens, but the moment passes and so does the pain. Fear grips me around the chest. Although the CYs may be under orders to bring us in alive, bringing us in unbroken is unlikely to be considered important.

I scramble to my feet as chaos descends on the hallway. So much for stealth. Between the gunfire and the yelling, we'll wake up the whole town soon enough.

“Sophia!” Kyle calls my name, and I dodge as the nearest CY grabs for me. His hand smashes into the support post, and the wood cracks.

I swear, imagining that post as my head. “Kyle!”

A projectile whizzes by and lodges in the motel door. Not bullets, but tranquillizers.

I snag Kyle's arm and pull him down the hallway toward the steps. The only chance we have of escape is to split up. The hallway is too narrow to fight, and there's no way we can take down a CY in hand-to-hand. I need distance and a rifle, or barring that, the ability to get in a clear, up-close headshot without the CY being aware of it.

I slip on the half-heartedly shoveled steps, and Kyle steadies me. His eyes are wide with fear, but at least he's managed to hold on to his gun.

Something crashes to my left in the parking lot, and someone—Jordan, I think—lets out a whoop. There's no time to check it out. More operatives are racing around the side of the building. These are human, judging from their movements, and while their weapons are drawn, that means they don't worry me half as much as the CYs. They're obviously under orders not to fire on us unless absolutely necessary.

“Stay with me,” I yell to Kyle, then I take his weapon and charge the men.

I fire once, twice, and they scatter for cover around the cars. I'm not interested in killing anyone, so I take off after the farthest car. The parking lot is every bit as slippery as the steps, and I slide toward the car and launch myself over it, coming at the operative from above. The gun flies from his hand as he hits the ground. Bounding off him, I grab it.

Kyle has stayed low, tracking me from around the lot's darkened perimeter. I pause to catch my breath and push loose hair out of my face. Everyone's spread out. I can't find Summer or Lev, but someone is behind the Dumpster, shooting at one of the CYs.

Kyle reaches me, and I return his gun. “What the hell are those things?” he asks. “They're not human.”

“Not anymore, no. Get to—”

I never get to finish my thought because Summer screams. Poking my head above the car, I find her at last. She and Jordan are trapped on the second floor. A CY approaches from their left and two humans from their right. With her bad shoulder, Summer's not in much position to fight.

“Shit.” I spring to my feet and fire in the direction of the men. While they duck from me, Jordan and Summer make a run for it.

My relief is short-lived as Kyle tugs on my arm. “Sophia!”

I turn my attention away from the motel as Kyle shoots at someone. It's too little too late. One of the CYs is racing toward us, feet flying over the snow as if they barely touch it. Kyle's shots hit it dead in the abdomen, but that's not enough to slow it down.

“Save your ammo and run,” I yell.

Kyle clearly sees the wisdom in that because he doesn't argue. My backpack pounds against me as I take off after him down the street. At three in the morning, the town is devoid of life, but the night is surprisingly bright. The lights from a diner's sign and the twinkling holiday decorations reflect off the snow. Kyle's a good runner, and so am I, but even I'll tire before the CY. We have to get off the street, have to find some way to outmaneuver it because there's no way to outrun it.

“This way.” More lights, these from a hardware store, beckon ahead. A large area of the parking lot has been given over to selling live Christmas trees and other holiday supplies, and it's blocked off with cheap, metal fencing. Easy to climb.

I pull myself over the top, Kyle right behind. It's darker in here with lots of shadows cast by the shelves of holiday decorations, and the trees create an artificial forest. The sickly heavy odor of their needles settles in my lungs. Normally I like the scent, but there's too damn much of it as we shove our way through narrow aisles. No one's shoveled yet, and the snow reaches my shins.

“Listen.” Kyle grabs my wrist, and I pause. I hear nothing. No sound of feet moving through the lot or legs plowing through the snow. “Is it gone?”

“It's tracking us, trying to get the jump on us.”

Which is exactly what I need to do to take it out. CYs are fast. My handgun, like most handguns, is inaccurate at long range. And I have a small target to aim for. I need to get up close and personal without it sensing me.

“What are you thinking?” Kyle asks.

I quickly explain my thoughts, and Kyle doesn't hesitate. “All right then. I'll distract it.”

I cringe. That's what I was afraid he'd say. “I don't know what's in the drugs they're using. If it catches you—”

“Hey, I can take a bullet, remember? I can handle drugs.”

“We don't know about that.”

“Then I won't let it hit me.”

“Kyle—” But he's sprinting away before I can even tell him which direction I've heard the CY moving in, goading it at the top of his lungs.

That wasn't exactly what I had in mind for a plan, but it'll do. Through the trees, a single beam of light flashes, casting weird shadows. The CY has taken Kyle's bait. I wait a couple seconds, then step lightly after it. My feet sound so loud on the snow, but Kyle is louder.

I track it tracking him to the edge of the last row. Kyle stands near a display of wreaths. A giant white sign with
Merry Christmas
written on it hangs from two poles by the main entrance. He's an easy target against the backdrop.

Hidden behind a tree, I watch the CY emerge into the clearing with my heart pounding. It's smart enough to sense a trap, but it also has orders. No doubt Kyle is as important a target as the rest of us. Possibly more so.

“Surrender and this won't hurt,” the CY says.

I lift my hands to aim, but my arm snags a tree branch as I do. Thanks to the noise, the CY snaps its attention my way.

Everything happens so fast. Kyle screams and rushes the CY. Now there's no way I can get in my shot without risking hitting him too, and though he'd survive, I can't force myself to chance giving him a serious injury.

Then headlights flash down the road, and the roar of a tractor-trailer reverberates throughout the night. Recognizing my opportunity, I race from the trees. Kyle has the CY occupied, and my footsteps are lost in the blare of the engine. Two feet from the CY, I have a clear shot at the back of its head.

I take it.

The night seems to pause as the gunshot dies away, then time returns to normal. Kyle curses in surprise, and the CY crumples to the snow-covered ground. Heart pounding, I lower the gun. Relief floods my veins, but I also feel a little sick.