A Girl From Forever (The Forever Institute series Book 1)

by Yolanda McCarthy

  I’m grateful for the space to think. So much has happened. My hands sting, my jaw hurts, the back of my head is sore from hitting the side of the van, and I haven’t yet fully absorbed being outside, without anyone from Forever.

  My mind keeps turning over the document Rehan showed me on his tablet. It’s fake, must be, the details about my friends stolen somehow. Rehan’s still lying. But the helicopter could have been sent by Forever.

  I won’t think about the bodies, about whether Forever just killed Rehan’s girlfriend and friends, maybe his father, too. KHH attacked Forever first, and I heard shots from the farmhouse before the helicopter even landed.

  Those bodies…

  If Forever killed them, it was self-defence.

  Do I believe that?

  If it was Forever, and they left to organise a better search, if they’re coming back… I need to decide whether to wait here, or find my own way back to London.

  Given Rehan’s behaviour, staying around here would be difficult. Better to play along… Could I get back to London on my own?

  I can’t stay here, hoping that Forever come back. What if it wasn’t them? It could have been a rival group, or maybe Lucas went crazy and did it himself, it’s the kind of thing Vol do.

  And I’m following his Vol son, into the forest. The hair on my arms prickles.

  We reach the treeline, where Rehan visibly relaxes, even though the ground here is pure mud, practically a bog. I pick my way through, trying to keep my trainers at least partially dry by choosing the least treacherous patches of ground. I eye Rehan’s boots enviously. I’ve never had boots, never needed any before. They look a lot better than trainers.

  “So, how are you liking your first trip outside?” asks Rehan.

  “It’s different.”

  We trudge on, looking straight ahead, at the trees, the sky. Anywhere, except at each other.

  “I never thought you’d actually come out,” he says suddenly. “I just wanted the generators down for a minute, to take out the back-up systems while we worked on the external cables. I thought you’d run a mile when you heard us blow the wall.”

  I would have, if I hadn’t been so worried about him. I don’t want to remember how I felt then. If he’s talking, I’d rather it be a topic on which he’s more likely to be truthful.

  “Lucas said that you attacked Forever because you hate the serum,” I say.

  Rehan gives me a curious look. “We’d never have invested so many resources at such a hard target if we’d had any choice. We didn’t have a choice, I didn’t have a choice.”

  There’s always a choice.

  He yanks a branch from a passing tree and smacks down some nettles that aren’t really in our way. “A month ago, we picked up some information from a security guard. Artie had been cultivating her all year. We already knew that Forever are killing Vol, but the guard boasted that the Institute had developed a new weapon to do that more efficiently, to find Vol, as well as to eliminate them when found. He called it Program 9, but we don’t know what that is.

  “That’s why we attacked. To get information on Program 9. If Forever can find us, or will be able to soon… We’re out of time. We need details, so we can come up with a way to protect ourselves, protect all Vol. Maybe even get evidence strong enough that not even the police can ignore it, no matter how many lawyers Forever buys.”

  “A Forever security guard just - told you this.”

  “She was drunk. Showing off to a handsome attentive guy. It took Artie months to find out that much.”

  Forever killing Vol? Ridiculous. More likely, Program 9 is a paranoid delusion, a sign of his approaching mental degradation.

  I wonder if he can hear it when I think things like that.

  “How exactly does Vol telepathy work?” I ask quickly.

  “Fern, I’m trying to apologise here. I never wanted to lie to you. It was necessary. To save lives. Children’s lives.”

  Spare me the speech.

  I step over a bramble. “I thought you said it was all a set up by Forever. Now you’re saying that you chose to do it.”

  “It looks like your abduction was planned by Forever, that we were being used, but we didn’t know that.” He shakes his head in confusion. “I guess they found out what we were planning somehow, and decided to use it to trigger your talent, or at least they hoped that it would.”

  My talent. Ha. “You don’t have a sister. Do you have an aunt with healing talent?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you chose me to talk to? Why not one of the others? Why me?”

  “Dad gave me the target details. Your details. He didn’t say why, just that he had information, but he couldn’t share the source, even with me. Look, I don’t understand all this either.”

  We squelch on through the mud. As Rehan holds a branch out of my way, I ask again. “Can you pick anything out of anyone’s head?”

  He sighs. “No. I can talk to someone telepathically, if they’re nearby. If they answer me, I can hear their replies, as if they’re pushing the words towards me – that’s how you and I could talk despite you not being telepathic.” The same as my classmates.

  “I know that. What else?”

  “I can sense other minds, especially Vol, if I’m sweeping for them and they’re not too far away. It’s like seeing lights in the distance at night. Vol, or Forever people with talent, give off brighter lights.”

  Don’t ask him. Don’t.

  “So which am I? Bright light or normal?”

  I don’t look at him, but his footsteps pause for a moment. “Normal,” he says quietly.

  We walk on. Trees and mud, trees and mud. At least it’s getting brighter. Normal. I already knew that I had no talent. It’s fine.

  Mud and trees, trees and mud. I hate this stupid forest. Hate Rehan. I need to get away.

  “So do you have some kind of range, or what? Can you talk to people from far away?” I ask.

  “My range is about a hundred metres, give or take, less if I’m stressed or tired. I had to park the van right outside the Institute wall when we spoke.”

  When I talked to him, I was resting on my bed, and Rehan said he was, too. Something so unimportant, but he lied about it. “Don’t talk to me that way again. In my head. Ever.” The demand slips out. “I don’t like the way it feels.” That sense of connection, of impossibly perfect synchrony. That lie.

  “Ok.” His face is expressionless.

  I guess I’ve had all the apology I’m going to get.

  I don’t believe that his telepathy is so limited – someone has been rifling through my head to create that stuff on his tablet, unless they really did hack Forever. “What about other Vol ’paths? What can they do?”

  “I don’t know any. Vol are rare. KHH is mostly people who hate Forever for another reason.”

  I kick a branch out of my way. “People join a terrorist group because they’re jealous of how long we’re going to live?”

  When the reply comes, his voice is cold. “No. People join KHH, from all over the world, because Forever has total power and no morals. No-one crosses them. If they want something done, governments fall over themselves to do it. Everyone wants to be at the front of the queue when the serum is made available outside the Institute. People who worry about what’s happening? People who used to work in the industries Forever destroyed? People whose children have talent, then disappear? Those people join KHH.”

  “Forever are scientists.”

  “Forever are mafia. They’ve been buying up influence since the serum was invented, whenever that was.”

  “I’m seventeen,” I say pointedly.

  “That tells us how old you are. Tells us nothing about the serum. I want to know how they got so rich. Bet they’ve had the serum for ages.”

  It’s pointless arguing with him. We plod on in silence.

  It’s an odd feeling, being completely reliant on someone you don’t trust at all, have every reason to distrust.
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br />   The sky decides to throw an ocean at us, and even Rehan agrees that it’s best to take cover. We crawl under a tree with dense branches, and huddle together. He takes off his waterproof jacket and holds it over our heads, like a tiny tent. Raindrops trickle down across his hands, his wrists, soaking his forearms. I stare at the muscles moving under his skin. I’ve never been this close to a boy, except in self-defence class.

  What it would have been like, to be outside with him if I was just a normal girl, not one of the hated Forever? If we got caught in the rain like this? If I could trust him?

  I sigh, and he laughs. “Long day?” he asks, knotting a corner of his coat to a branch above our heads so that he can rest his arms.

  “Long day,” I agree. He tugs me further under the jacket, our bodies a millimetre apart. Reminding myself to play along, I smile thanks, while my body yearns to get closer to his warmth, and my mind thinks only of escape.

  Carefully looking anywhere but at each other, we wait for the rain to stop.

  Chapter Six

  In the end, it’s not such a hard thing, to get away from a stranger who’s exhausted, grieving for his friends, worried about his Dad, making plans on the move, and continually reading his tablet. Rehan has got used to me following him around, and isn’t bothering to keep a close eye on me anymore. Even in the train station.

  At this hour, the platform is a blur. People, lights, chaos. A train speeds through without stopping, and I’m stunned by its sound and colour, the smells of elsewhere on the wind as it passes, shoving us away from the edge with a blast of air, then tugging us forward as if challenging us to follow.

  Rehan buys us coffee, and tickets to Wales without telling me why. I watch the train on the platform behind Rehan. I don’t know where it’s going, and I don’t care. I won’t get a better chance. I must time this just right…

  Rehan bends, resting the coffee cups on the platform as he unzips his backpack.

  Not yet.

  The train doors beep, warning that they’re about to close.

  I yawn, and step sideways, so that my left foot is next to the coffee.

  Rehan tucks the tickets into his bag.

  I nudge my foot sideways, tapping over his drink. Hot coffee splashes onto his ankle and he lunges for the cup, cursing. I sprint across the platform, through the train’s closing doors, shoving in between disgruntled commuters. The door shuts behind me.

  “Fern!” Rehan’s face stares at me through the door’s grimy glass, but he’s too late. He bangs on the door, but the commuters ignore him, and so do I, until the train starts to jolt away. Then I let my eyes meet his.

  I hold his gaze silently as the train slides me slowly away from him, gathering momentum, faster and faster, past the platform, into a tunnel. He’s gone.

  The carriage smells of wet passengers and stale food. I smile apologetically at the people around me, but they don’t react. None of these commuters care how or why I shoved in. They have no interest in me at all. It’s wonderful.

  Can he still sense me, or am I too far away? I wait for the sound of his voice in my mind, but there’s nothing, just a mechanical hum as the train gathers speed.

  Rehan knows what train I’m on, it’s possible he could arrange for me to be intercepted somehow. I’ve no idea how well organised or extensive KHH is, but they can afford bombs, so they have money. Should I ask the train guard for help? Is there a train guard? This train seems different to those I saw on TV.

  I don’t have a ticket, will I be arrested? We haven’t covered laws much yet, Geraldine said that they’re always changing so we’ll do them just before graduation. That made sense at the time.

  I peer out of the window as we approach the next station. It’s small, with a single platform on each side. There’s no ticket barrier on the platform I’m approaching, just an open gate to a carpark.

  I get off the train.

  I’m going to hitch hike home.

  Forty minutes later, I’m thoroughly disillusioned with my plan, and stiff from constantly waving my thumb at approaching cars. The rain hasn’t started again, but my legs below the knee are soaked from cars splashing through puddles. Finally, a car stops, and a smartly dressed woman with suspicious eyes peers at me from the driving seat.

  “Are you ok?” she asks, staring.

  The wait has given me plenty of time to ponder my story. “My bag got stolen, and I urgently need to get to Battersea in London, can you help me?”

  “Do you want me to call the police for you?”

  “No, thank you, my family will look after me once I get there. I just need to get to Battersea.”

  She hesitates. I can tell that she regrets stopping, probably she thought I just needed a phone call or something. “My work is in Fulham, but I could drop you at Chelsea? If I go further out of my way than that, I’ll miss my meeting.”

  “Chelsea would be amazing.” I don’t know where that it is, but anywhere is better than here. I say as little as possible, climbing into the passenger seat of her car, and she doesn’t seem to want to talk either. I’m happy just to listen to her music and watch the world pass by through the window. Houses and cars, shops and people. As we near London, the buildings grow taller and the road more crowded, cars beeping and pedestrians diving between moving vehicles to shave a few seconds off their journeys. I’m both intimidated by the chaos and hungry for it.

  The music stops playing and a man’s voice babbles from the speakers, describing songs and places I don’t know. But then my mind snags:

  “…London’s controversial Forever Institute. The Institute’s director confirmed that there was a minor breach of security but nothing was taken and everybody involved has been arrested. Let that be a lesson to you guys! Don’t try to sneak up on boffins, they’ll always see you coming. Speaking of what’s coming, let’s spin the wheel again and listen to an new release…”

  She lets me out at Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, asking if I know the way. I claim that I do, and she speeds off.

  I’ve done it. I’ve escaped my kidnappers, and made my own way to London.

  Tides of suited commuters wash around me as I stand there, savouring the moment. Eventually I start walking. The road must go somewhere. I see a slow moving bus, inching its way through the traffic, and I follow it. Perhaps the driver will give me directions.

  The bus leads me to a bus-stop, with a map on the shelter. Perfect, now I don’t have to talk to the bus driver. I inspect the map, which seems simple enough, and start walking towards Battersea.

  Then I hesitate, and as the bus lurches off, my feet wander back to the map. No-one knows where I am.

  I can do anything I want, go anywhere I want. This may never happen again.

  Once I’m back home, it’ll be at least a year before I can come outside, perhaps more if the KHH threat continues to rise. I think guiltily of my worrying friends. They would understand.

  And there’s no need to mention exact timings…

  Buckingham Palace is marked on the map, I’ve heard of that.

  The walk takes longer than I thought, and I get a little lost, so when I pass the Natural History Museum, I can’t resist slipping into the huge atrium. It’s as big as the Institute, bigger perhaps, but where the Institute is modern and efficient, this building oozes history and indulgence. Pillars of yellow and red brick stretch up to a huge arched roof that’s two, maybe three, stories high.

  I feel tiny as my feet click across the white floor. The Institute’s gym is the biggest room I’ve ever been in, and you could fit that gym into this hall many times over.

  I wander around, up and down stone stairs, taking it all in randomly, enjoying the warm hum of people musing around the place, so busy already.

  The crowd moves towards an escalator, and I move with them. I let the steps carry me up, through a giant globe, its interior glittering with foil magma and foam rocks. I drift through photos of earthquakes and displays of rock after rock. Just as I’m turning to leave, I se
e a room labelled human evolution.

  Evolution. The word tugs at me, reminds me of John’s lectures. There’s a museum guide sitting near the door, so I ask him, “Is there anything in there about the Vol?”

  He stares at me. “The what?

  “The Vol? Um…”

  “Are you winding me up?”

  “No, um, sorry… Forget it.” He’s only too happy to go back to his book, as I hurry past, to the display cases. There’s some seriously old skeletons, a prehistoric spear, and a human skull that’s been carved into a cup. Gross. I don’t know why anyone would want to drink out of that.

  There’s no mention of the Vol anywhere in here, but there is a special section near the exit about the Forever Institute. Two smiling mannequins stand side by side, holding hands as one of them points to the stars above. On the wall nearby, a white card explains in tiny print what extended lifespans could mean for deep space exploration. The display is tacky, but still manages to convey a sense of majesty, of hope for the future, of the endless possibilities that lie before mankind if we can just keep it together. Forever is always saying that one day we’ll be a space-going race and the serum will be free to all, and this display really gets a sense of that across.

  I’m excited, proud to be part of Forever, and that feeling is undimmed by the small notice I see as I leave the gallery: “Sponsored by the Forever Institute, London.” A little reminder from the universe that it’s time for me to go home.

  I give up on the idea of seeing Buckingham Palace, I can’t really remember where it was on the map anyway, and I’m tired. I walk towards Battersea, but it takes much longer than I thought, since I have to keep stopping to check my route on bus stop maps. Eventually, after forty minutes of walking in wet shoes, I see the tall chimneys of my home on the other side of the river. It points up at the sky, like the museum mannequin, if a bit more grubby.