Wake Up Missing (18 page)

“The National Guard guys?”

He nodded miserably. “They're not going to help us. They've been ordered to track us down.”

“But . . .” I couldn't finish the sentence. It didn't make sense. “But that's not . . . Dr. Ames is working with a
terrorist
group, Quentin. How could the whole National Guard be part of that?”

Ben laughed.

“You think this is funny?” Quentin whirled around to face him.

“I think
you're
funny,” Ben said, standing his ground. “For someone who's supposed to be the genius of your family, you're pretty slow to figure things out.”

Quentin crossed his arms, and his eyes blazed at Ben. “You have it all figured out? You think you know everything because you've been all cozy with Dr. Ames? Go ahead. Explain how the National Guard got tied up with this terrorist group, because we'd love to know. And while you're at it, maybe you can tell us how to get away.”

Ben looked at Quentin as if he felt sorry for him. “Well, first of all, we're not going to get away. They're going to find us and take us back.” He sounded as if he were looking forward to that. “And second, the National Guard is not working with terrorists.”

“Then why are they following orders to track us down?” I blurted. “Quentin just said—”

“Oh, they're looking for us. But they're not working for terrorists, and neither is Dr. Ames. This project is—”

“Are you stupid?” Quentin threw his hands up in the air. “With everything we've seen—the files and the DNA codes and . . . and Trent—how can you still say that they're not trying to change us into these scientists?”

“I'm not saying that at all.” Ben smiled so calmly, it made me
shiver, even as sweat matted my hair to my face. “That's exactly what they're doing—creating a team of new-world thinkers to tackle our nation's greatest challenge.”

Sarah started toward him. “But you just said—”

Ben held up his hands. “I said they weren't working for terrorists. And they're not. This whole thing is a top-secret, elite forces project of the United States government.”

“You're telling us that our own government would . . .” Quentin stared at Ben, and his words trailed off as if he just couldn't believe it.

Neither could I. “
What?
” I'd heard Ben fine; his voice was loud and clear, strong and sure. But he
had
to be wrong. “Ben, if that's true, then—”

“No.” Sarah pushed past us and started walking deeper into the brush. “That's garbage, and I don't know what's really going on, but no matter what, we have to get out of here.”

“Do whatever you want,” Ben called, following her through the trees, “but it's true.”

“No, it's not!” Sarah whirled around. “It's a lie, Ben. It's
all
lies! They've been lying to us from the beginning.”

“She's right,” I said. Sarah was already forging ahead, and the rest of us followed her. Even Ben knew we couldn't stay out here and wait to be found. “Ben . . . what they told you . . . it can't be true. It just can't.” It had already been a struggle to
accept that Dr. Ames and Dr. Gunther weren't really helping us, that they were working with some terrorist group to change us into geniuses who could work for them.

Now Quentin was telling us the people who were
supposed
to be on our side—even the soldiers—couldn't be trusted. And Ben claimed our own government was doing this to us. I needed them to be wrong. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my voice. “Ben, what exactly did Dr. Ames say?”

“I told you the truth,” Ben said, ducking under a tree limb. He wouldn't say any more. “Believe whatever you want.”

I wanted to scream. It couldn't be real. “Quentin, when you said the National Guard was searching for us . . . maybe you misunderstood the whole thing. Maybe they were really—”

Quentin stopped so fast I would have run into him if we hadn't been moving so painfully slow through the brush. He whirled around. “Do you think I
want
to believe this? Do you think I feel good about telling you
nobody
's going to help us? I know what I heard, Cat.”

But I couldn't let it go. “
What
did you hear?”

He squeezed his eyes closed, then opened them. “Dr. Ames walked right up to the National Guard truck. Right up to the guy who was driving—he had stripes on his jacket; he was definitely in charge—and Dr. Ames said, ‘It's about time. Have you been in touch with Senator Wiley?' And the National Guard guy said, ‘We got the order, Dr. Ames. We're to provide you with whatever you need,
sir
.'” Quentin glared at me. “Is that sure enough for you?” He turned and started walking again, with Trent and Ben beside him. I could tell Quentin was furious with Ben, but I could also tell he believed him.

I tried to swallow, but my throat was dry. I nodded, even though he had already turned away. And I followed them.

Sarah tried to stay with me. Her cheeks were blotchy red, and she was starting to stumble.

We kept moving, but no one talked about what we'd do when we got to the dock. What if there wasn't a boat? What if there was? We didn't even know if Molly was still in the swamp.

We couldn't get too close to the road without being seen, so we hiked through the muck and shadows. Tangled roots snatched at our ankles, and it was slow.

The flies made me want to scream. I slapped at one and then another and another, waving the air until I was out of breath.

Sarah looked at me, her eyes empty. Her face was covered in welts; she wasn't even brushing the flies away anymore. “How far do you think we went in that van?”

“Not that far,” Quentin said, pausing. He'd been leading the way with Trent, who somehow didn't seem to tire like the rest of us. I wondered if his “treatment” made him stronger as well as smarter. “Maybe we can see a landmark by the road.” Quentin started toward the highway sounds, and we followed until he put up a hand. “I'll make sure it's clear.”

We crouched in the brush and waited while he pushed through the scrubby trees.

“See anything?” Sarah called.

Quentin didn't answer, but slowly, he backed away from the road. Halfway to us, he started running, and even though it wasn't very far, he was wheezing when he crouched down next to us. “They're stopped . . . there on the road,” he said, panting.

“Who? Dr. Ames?” Ben's eyes were wild.

“Maybe. I didn't see him,” Quentin said. “But two National Guard trucks are parked on the shoulder, and a bunch of guys with phones are standing around them.”

Ben sprang to his feet and took off, scrambling through the high grass, running toward the road.

“Here! Over here!” he screamed. “We're here!”

Quentin hadn't played football since his concussion, but he remembered how to tackle. He leaped into a run, flung himself at Ben's torso, thumped him to the ground, clapped a hand over his mouth, and dragged him back to where Sarah, Trent, and I still crouched, staring.

“What is the matter with you?” Quentin hissed. His eyes were on fire. “If they find us . . .” He looked around wildly, holding his breath, but the only sounds were road traffic. Ben's shouts had apparently been drowned out by truck engines.

Quentin's voice sounded tight enough to explode. “If they'd heard you . . . if they find us, they'll give us right back to Dr. Ames.” He glared at Ben. “I can't believe you'd do something so idiotic!”

Ben yanked his arm away from Quentin and started to run again, but this time, three of us latched on to him and pulled him down. Quentin locked his forearm around Ben's neck.

“Don't choke him! He's not thinking straight!” I was afraid
Quentin might hurt Ben; the look on his face was so wild. “He doesn't understand.”

Ben's jaw clenched, and sweat shone on his face. “You're wrong,” he said. “I do understand.” He struggled against Quentin's grasp, but Quentin was bigger. He twisted Ben's arm behind his back. Ben winced, but he kept talking. “You think you're so smart? I only got out of that stupid van with you so I could make sure you didn't get away and let the whole thing fall apart. I've known the truth all day.” He leaned forward and spit in the dirt.

“
What
have you known?” I stared at him.

“Everything. I asked Dr. Ames what was going on, right after we found the flight information. He told me the truth because he knew
I
could handle it. He knew I'd do the right thing.”

“What?” Sarah gaped.

“What truth?” Quentin's voice was strained, but he kept it under control. We needed Ben to keep talking. “About this whole thing being a government project?”

“That's right.” Ben's face was smeared with sweat and dust and blood from his nose, from Quentin's tackle. But his eyes were sharp. And his voice . . . his voice was full of pride. “We are part of an important, highly classified military project. In fact, we
are
the project.”

Trucks rumbled on the road—louder than before—and suddenly, Ben flailed out at Quentin again. I jumped up and helped Quentin hold him. We waited while the engines' roars faded and finally gave way to insect hum and frog peeps.

“They're gone.” I let go of Ben's arm, and his body went
slack. He sank to the ground, and Quentin let him go. There was nowhere for Ben to run now, no one left for him to call.

Finally, Sarah spoke in a weak voice. “So they really did plan to use us?”

“We're going to be the new Manhattan Project. They've been calling us Team Phoenix.” Ben's face glowed. His voice was full of energy, even though he'd walked just as far as we had, through the heat and without water. Was it because he was the only one of us who still believed in something? He wasn't talking in the past tense; he was talking as if this Team Phoenix project was still going to happen, as if he couldn't wait.

It still felt unreal to me. But ideas exploded in my mind. “Team Phoenix?” Sarah and I had seen the phrase in Dr. Gunther's e-mail, but we'd figured it was some sports team in Phoenix, Arizona. Now, I remembered another phoenix, the immortal bird from mythology that Mrs. Rock told us about in English class, the one that bursts into flame at the end of its life and then rises from the ashes, reborn.

“I said I told you the truth. Dr. Ames and Dr. Gunther were never working with terrorists,” Ben went on. “They're
fighting
terror. Team Phoenix is going to create new technologies and cures for diseases and weapons. And as soon as we get to the other clinic, they're going to introduce the new genetic material, and we're going to be brilliant. I'm getting Albert Einstein's DNA. Quentin's going to be Oppenheimer.” He turned to Sarah. “You're getting DNA from Lise Meitner. She's this amazing scientist who escaped from the Nazis and did calculations that led to the discovery of nuclear fission. Isn't that awesome?”

“No!” Sarah hugged her arms around herself, as if that could keep any of this from happening.

Ben kept going. “And Cat, you're getting Beatrice Shilling's DNA. She was an aeronautical engineer who figured out the technology to let World War Two fighter pilots dive without their planes stalling.” He looked at me as if he expected me to cheer, to be thankful that they wanted to make me into someone else. Then he held his arms wide as if they could pull us all together. “We're going to be the dream team that makes America the most powerful nation in the world. Nobody will mess with us.” Even though he sat, filthy, in the mud, Ben's eyes were bright. “Dr. Ames and Dr. Gunther are the best in their field, and they were chosen—
we
were chosen—to bring America back to greatness.”

“You believe all that?” Quentin's voice rose. “You think you were
chosen
because you're special? You were chosen because you had the crummy luck to get a concussion that made the right part of your brain vulnerable, so you got sent here like the rest of us.”

“Ben, think about it,” Sarah said. Her voice was sad. “How else could they get subjects for this project? You think people would volunteer to have their personalities wiped out?” She gestured toward Trent and his miniature laboratory-in-the-field. “Look at Trent! And who was Kaylee supposed to be? Marie Curie? She's sick, Ben; she might be
dying
. They
lied
to us. They tricked our parents. And they're lying to you, too.”

“They're telling our parents we're dead. What about your family?” As soon as I said it, I remembered. His parents were gone—his mom a long time ago and his dad, more recently, in Afghanistan.

Quentin remembered, too. His voice was softer. “Ben, man . . . I know . . . I know your dad was a hero. But this isn't how he gave his life for his country. He made a choice to serve. He went into it—”

“
I'm
making a choice.” Ben's voice was calm but strong. “I want to do this.”

“But . . .” I looked at Trent, so lost in the complicated connections of his own brain, he was barely aware that we existed. “But look at him!” I pointed to Trent. He never looked up. “He was somebody's big brother. He used to laugh and make jokes and play basketball, and now he's . . .” Trent's eyes lit up. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a pair of needle-nose pliers. “He's none of those things anymore.”

“He's something better.” Ben took a deep breath. “And besides, when this is all over, when the project is done, they can reverse everything. They'll reintroduce our old DNA and reload our old memories.
If
we want.” He sounded like he couldn't understand why anybody would want that, why anybody would want to be only who they are, and it made my heart hurt. I wanted my old self back, my old life back, so badly I felt like I might break into pieces.