The Becoming: Revelations (21 page)

“Touché,” Remy acknowledged. “But … Brandt, this is big. This is
really
big. They were using human beings as guinea pigs to further some agenda we don’t even know. What was going to happen if the government actually managed to make Michaluk act the way they wanted it to act? Were they going to force the entire United States military to undergo the same treatments they used on you guys?”

“I don’t know,” Brandt admitted.

Remy hesitated and shifted her eyes to the darkness beyond their campsite. She studied it, listening to the crackle of the fire and the soft sounds of nature around them, the breeze blowing through the trees and rustling their leaves. She focused on the sounds around her instead of the ones spinning through her mind. Her next question was an obvious one, one that absolutely
needed
to be asked, but Remy was reluctant to even open her mouth.

Brandt seemed to realize Remy’s reluctance, because he interrupted her thoughts. “Remy? What’s on your mind?”

Remy blew out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and choked out the question. “Brandt … are you absolutely
sure
they didn’t do any testing on you? That you actually
were
in the control group like they said you were?”

Brandt hesitated, opening his mouth before closing it again. He shifted his eyes away from her as he found the words to answer her. “Honestly, Remy? I don’t know,” he confessed quietly.

It’d been almost five hours since Dominic had come to his room and announced that he was now confined to it, and Ethan had felt every single second of it. He’d initially entertained the idea of simply walking out of the room—after all, there was only one guy out in the hallway to stop him—until the four-hour mark, when someone returned and used a power drill and some screws to fasten the door shut, thereby earning every form of verbal abuse Ethan could throw through the door.

Ethan had spent upwards of thirty minutes yelling and beating on and kicking the door to no avail. Now he simply paced and brooded, kicking inanimate objects whenever the mood took him and pondering ways to escape the room, if not the entire hotel. When nothing plausible came to mind, Ethan abandoned his pacing in favor of slouching at the end of his bed in a funk.

Ethan didn’t understand what was going on. He had no idea why, after a month, Alicia suddenly wanted him pinned down, wanted his previously enjoyed autonomy ripped away. Obviously, a variable in the equation had changed.
Something
had happened that changed Alicia’s mind about him. Ethan had no way to know what that
something
was; all he had were possibilities and suspicions built upon by Dr. Rivers’s statements to him the day before—possibilities and suspicions that he couldn’t prove beyond a shadow of doubt.

And Ethan’s suspicions suggested that part of why he’d been locked up had to do with his meeting with Kimberly and Derek the day before. Both of them had seemed fairly forthright, honest, and sincere in their beliefs that Alicia wasn’t good for the people living in the hotel. They’d genuinely seemed to be exercising some discreet level of rebellion against the woman’s control. But it wasn’t difficult to fake that sort of thing. There was every chance that one or both of them had turned over to Alicia information on him and everything he’d said during the meeting in the Overlook.
I should’ve been more cautious,
he berated himself.
I shouldn’t have been so fucking trusting.

For not the first time in the past month, Ethan missed his friends desperately. If they’d been here, or if he’d been with them, then he wouldn’t be in the grubby situation in which he found himself stuck. He wondered where they were, if they were all okay, if they had enough supplies to keep them alive. He hoped Cade had healed well from her injury and that she and Brandt still got along. He hoped Remy was okay; he still couldn’t get the sound of her screaming for him out of his ears—the one thing he
really
wished he hadn’t been able to remember. He even hoped Gray was okay. He still wished he could see them all again, still wished they were there with him so he could ask for advice, get their opinions on Alicia and on the horrifying reality of which he’d learned over the past day.

A soft scratching sound met Ethan’s ears. His head jerked up, and he looked at the door in time to see a slip of paper slide underneath it. Footsteps in the hall rapidly walking away accompanied the paper’s appearance.

Ethan hesitated as he stared at the paper lying innocuously on the carpet. Then he darted off the end of the bed and snatched it up, clenching it tightly in trembling fingers. It was a note carefully printed in pencil, short, sweet, and straight to the point.

E—

Be ready. 9:00 p.m.

—
K

A surge of something resembling a mix of relief and hope rushed through Ethan’s body. He stared at the paper a moment longer, reading and rereading Kimberly’s words. He realized he was holding his breath only when his chest began to ache, and he let it out with a gasp. He crumpled the torn piece of notebook paper in his fist.

They were going to
do
something. They were going to help him. And then maybe they could get out of this hotel, maybe make a life of their own somewhere else. Where they could determine for themselves what they should do and when they should do it. Somewhere outside of Alicia’s control.

Ethan walked briskly across the room, still clutching the note. He looked around wildly, trying to find a place to hide it, and settled on simply shoving it into his pants pocket. He began to gather the few belongings he had left in his possession. There wasn’t much; a lot of it he couldn’t have cared less if he never saw again. But there was the locket, still hanging from its broken chain. That was one thing he refused to allow out of his sight again; the heart-stopping time when he’d believed it gone for good had been relieved when Kimberly had located and given him his bag the evening before. He tucked the locket into his pocket alongside the note, where it’d be safer than in the bag.

As Ethan packed, his mind hung onto thoughts of his friends, both old and new. His brain kept tripping over the same single question he’d entertained for the past five hours.

What in the hell is going on?

It’d taken half the night, but Brandt had managed to push past the ever-growing ache and pain in his shoulder and forearm, the nausea churning in his gut, and the pounding in his head in order to get some rest. It was a rest he neither wanted nor needed, but he took it anyway; he knew if he didn’t, Gray would breathe down his neck during the entire journey to Atlanta.

Sometimes, Brandt thought Gray acted entirely
too much
like Theo. He hadn’t decided if that was a good thing or not yet.

Brandt gingerly rotated his stiff shoulder as he stood at the opened back door of the Escalade, feeling the crinkle of gauze and medical tape wrapped around his shoulder and bicep. He waited for Remy to emerge from the thick trees at the side of the road. Gray was already in the Escalade’s driver seat, uselessly twisting knobs on the vehicle’s in-dash radio. Brandt didn’t bother saying anything to him about it anymore; the younger man never listened anyway. Brandt figured Gray had his reasons for the ritual, and he was sure it was mostly hope that he’d hear some semblance of civilization amidst the static. Brandt wouldn’t begrudge him that.

Sometimes, Brandt thought Ethan did too good a job instilling hope in the younger members of the group.

Brandt huffed out an impatient breath and rested his hand lightly against his holstered Beretta. Remy was taking too long—typical female—and he was ready to get moving again.

“Remy! Come on! Get the lead out!” Brandt called out. He contemplated going into the trees after her. He was sure he’d probably see something he’d later regret, and he was positive Remy would never forgive him if he did, but the potential for the resultant amusement was intriguing.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Remy replied irritably. She emerged from the trees, brushing her clothes off and grimacing at Brandt.

Brandt took her backpack and flung it into the back of the SUV before pushing the door shut. “It’s about time,” he teased.

“Hey, you guys have it easy, okay?” Remy protested. “Don’t blame me. Blame Mother Nature.”

Brandt snorted out a laugh and motioned to Remy. “Well fine then. Get in the car. I want to make it to Atlanta by this evening.”

“Think we can get there that soon?” Remy asked. Brandt heard the heavy doubt in her voice. “I mean, last month it took several days just to travel two hundred miles. This time, we’re talking … what?”

“Three-eighty,” Brandt clarified. He went to the back passenger door and started to open it for Remy.

Remy stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We’ve only traveled, like, eighty of those miles. And you’re proposing we do three hundred in less than twelve hours?”

“We’ve traveled one-twenty-five, Remy, not eighty,” Brandt corrected. “You slept part of the way. And besides, when we last went to Atlanta, we had to walk a good portion of the way,
and
we were traveling with twice as many people as we’ve got now. If we stick to the highways and avoid the interstates—”

“I know, I know. We’ll get there faster because there’s less vehicular congestion on the roadways,” Remy said in exasperation. “You don’t have to tell me this. I’m not new to this whole dog-and-pony show.” She sighed and twisted her ponytail around her hand. “I’m just concerned, that’s all. If we track down the Westin, and if Cade
is
there, I don’t think going in exhausted will help any of us drag her out of that woman’s dirty little paws.”

Before Brandt could formulate an appropriate response beyond the nasty one on the tip of his tongue, Gray flung the driver’s door open and nearly fell out onto the pavement. Remy and Brandt turned as one to look at him as he scrambled to his feet, and Brandt raised a curious eyebrow. “Are you … okay?” he asked reluctantly.

“The radio,” Gray told them, breathless with excitement. “I think I’ve picked something up.” Brandt and Remy merely stared at him, until Gray rolled his eyes and added, “It’s
not
a recording.”

Brandt and Remy stared for a second longer before launching into action. In a flurry of movement, Brandt shoved away from the back door, and Remy threw it open and flung herself inside. Gray was already back in the driver’s seat, so Brandt joined them, sliding into the passenger seat and pulling the door shut. Gray turned the stereo up so they could all hear clearly, and almost as one, they leaned closer to the radio.

Meanwhile, the search for Michael Evans continues,
a soothing female voice said over the car’s speakers.
Alicia Day and her people reportedly returned from another trip out of town chasing another lead on his location, but our spies say she did not return with Evans as initial rumors stated.

In other, somewhat related, news, there was significant infected activity near the intersection of Central Park Place Northeast and Ralph McGill Boulevard Northeast. Though we have no specific information at this time, Day’s people were involved, and shots were fired. Our people are currently investigating, but we can only hope that Day herself was involved.

Brandt heard the unspoken words under the woman’s voice, the words that seemed to say, “We can only hope she bit it in the fight.”

There are unconfirmed reports of an escapee from the attack. We’re in the process of searching the area for this potential ally to offer our protection. We will give updates on this situation as they become available.

That’s it for now. Those of you standing against Day’s control, tune in to the usual frequency at the usual time for your updated messages.

Over and out.

The radio station turned to dead air and then switched to the usual static they’d become so accustomed to hearing. Gray switched the radio off, clearing his throat in the silence that followed. “I, of course, don’t know what other frequency they’re referring to,” he said weakly, visibly overwhelmed at what they’d just heard.

Remy let out an ear-shattering whoop of excitement and bounced in her seat. Brandt fought to not cover his ears, though he did turn to glare at her. She ignored him. “There are people in Atlanta!” she exclaimed.

“There have been people in Atlanta all along,” Brandt snapped. “Gray, get moving. We’re wasting time just sitting here.”

“I
know
there’ve been people there all along,” Remy said, visibly deflated by Brandt’s lack of enthusiasm. “What I mean is there are people there who could maybe help us.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Brandt muttered. Stomach acid churned in his gut, and he started to feel nauseated again. He occupied himself with the road map, snatching it off the dash and opening it to examine it closely.

“Here’s what I’m worried about,” Gray spoke up as he pulled the Escalade back onto the highway. “Did you hear what she said about an escapee?”

“Yeah, I heard,” Brandt answered. He kept his eyes focused on the map.

“Do you think it might’ve been Cade?”

“I hope not,” Brandt confessed. “Because if it
was
Cade, well, she’s in infected territory and likely unarmed. On top of that? She’s within a mile of the Atlanta Medical Center.”