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

by Yolanda McCarthy

  “What if there are others? What if every floor in the building is full of kids?”

  He shakes his head quickly. “No, I felt something here, I just assumed it was mice or something because of the lab below. I never thought of children. The floors below have no mental activity at all.”

  “But… My friends.”

  He shrugs helplessly. “If it’s not those guys chasing us, then they’re not in this building, I promise you.”

  The barricade clangs to the floor in the other room but at the moment I hardly care, staring at this glimpse of my past. Rehan spins and points his gun at the hole in the wall, where one of the 9A boys stares through. The boy’s dark hair flops forward, above eyes that would be attractive if the pupils weren’t so dilated. He grins when he sees Rehan’s gun, taking a moment to assess the challenge, then notices the nursery. This is not what he expected to see, and it throws him. If he’s been fed the same lies I was, then these cages will make even less sense to him.

  “The floor below is on fire,” I say to the boy, as the child tugs my hair. “We need to get these children to the roof. Help is coming.”

  “Your kind of help? Or my kind of help?” Floppy hair doesn’t trust me, and he shouldn’t. We should never have trusted anyone, any of us. His friends crowd around behind him, jostling to peer into the room.

  “I grew up here, too,” I add. “You were program 9A. I was program 9B.” And where on earth are my friends? “This is program 10A.” I gesture feebly to the cots.

  I want to tell him that we’re all stolen from our families, that we’re not immortal, and the Vol aren’t evolved, just ordinary humans who were meddled with a few generations ago, but this is no time to be ripping his world apart and he has no reason to believe me.

  “I can explain everything, but we all need to get to the roof,” I offer instead.

  “Why not downstairs?” Floppy hair wants to know.

  “Because downstairs is on fire,” I snap.

  The boy moves further into the room, and his friends follow him. Soon, they line the wall. The smallest of them is bigger than Arlo. Steroids? Are they a year or two older than my class? Then Floppy hair feints and a second later, has Rehan’s gun. “We can talk on the roof,” he says comfortably as he checks that the weapon is loaded, while his friend restrains Rehan. No-one seems to consider me much of a threat. “But I’m not promising to like your kind of help.”

  The children begin to cough, they can taste the smoke now. They don’t cry, don’t complain, don’t ask for help. So tiny, so conditioned. They expect nothing.

  A 9A girl strides towards me, all swagger and swaying hips as she holds her hand out for my gun. I give it to her. We both know she can take me, I’ll be safer unarmed. I turn my back on her to pick up another child, balancing one on each hip. Behind me, I hear the shriek of a laser, cutting towards the sky.

  The children stare at us all with wide eyes, as the 9A group watch Rehan cut into the roof, his gun pointed at his back as he works. The roof surface is hard, and the floor under our feet is uncomfortably hot by the time he’s finished. 9A happily stack furniture underneath the hole, they seem excited. I wonder if they’ve left the Institute before. I wonder what they’ve done.

  Rehan moves to climb through the hole he’s made, but Floppy hair yanks him back. “Not you. Her.” He gestures for me to climb up.

  I give one child to Rehan and try to disentangle myself from the other, but she starts trembling. “It’s ok,” I promise her. “We’re going on an adventure.” She stares at me, and I wonder if she knows what that word means. I wonder where her mother is, and if she believes her child is dead, as I prise the little girl away from me and give her to the woman who took my gun.

  I grip the sides of the hole in the roof, test my weight, then pull myself through, crawling away from the hole, to sit on the roof. Despite the situation, it’s wonderful to be outside and on top of London. The night is cold in my lungs, but clean, and I realise how much smoke we’ve all been breathing. From up here I can see walls of smoke pouring up to the sky from every side – much more of the building is on fire than I thought, it’s definitely not just the lab. Climbing down fire escapes is not going to be an option, even if the building has them. I wonder what KHH hit. Pretty much everything they could, I guess. This was a war, but I can’t see who won.

  I hear a noise at the hole, and look back to see the little girl being handed up to me. I pull her to my side, and the woman who took my gun scrambles after her.

  The woman glances around the empty roof. “Clear!” she shouts back through the hole.

  More of 9A scramble up onto the roof, and the tiny fingers curling in my hand begin to shiver. I find my voice. “Hey! What about the children?”

  “What about the Vol?” a thin boy asks pointedly, looking at me. Then they start arguing about whether or not they should throw me off the roof.

  I decide to ignore them, and move back to the hole. “Guys? I’ve got a very cold little girl up here, but she’s better off than the kids in there. Are you bringing them out or what? Some warm clothes would be good, if you can find any.”

  I guess I’m not acting like a Vol terrorist, or they can’t deny that I’m right, but soon those still in the building are handing up warm clothes for the little ones, and pushing more children up through the hole. Suddenly they start working faster, I guess the fire below them is getting more insistent. Stupid Rehan and his stupid napalm.

  Everyone on the roof gathers round to yank the children through the gap, and soon we’re all on the roof, with Rehan brought up second to last, prodded by Floppy hair, who seems fixated on him.

  I sit, cuddling the girl and another one, trying to look unthreatening and definitely not like someone who should be thrown off a roof. Rehan needs to work on his look, he’s just glaring.

  In the distance, I can hear the buzz of a helicopter, getting louder. Thank you. Thank you, KHH. I’m sorry for all the nasty things I’ve ever thought about you.

  Looking after the children has changed the dynamic of the group, some of 9A are fascinated by them, playing games that even the little ones are too old for, like finger-wiggling and peekaboo. Others stand tensely at the perimeter, soldiers without a general, waiting to see who’s in the approaching helicopter.

  I should try to defuse some tension, I can’t let KHH walk into this. They think they’re rescuing willing teenagers, not suspicious trainee assassins and a bunch of toddlers. Rehan is lost in a battle of glares with Floppy hair.

  I stand awkwardly. “So…” I gesture at the helicopter, “That’s our ride. They’re here to rescue us all” where are my friends “but they aren’t expecting the little ones so I guess it’ll be pretty crowded inside the helicopter. If you could all, um…” They’re staring at me, is that good or bad? “Pick a child to look after until we land, keep them warm, we can sort out everything else on the ground. There’s a lot to explain, but let’s get to safety first.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “Why is the building on fire?”

  “Why shouldn’t we just chuck you two off the roof and deal with everything ourselves?”

  “Where’s George? And John? And Security?”

  “What’s with all the Program stuff?

  “Are you Vol or Forever or what?”

  I hold out my arms to stop the questions, wishing the wind would stop blowing hair in my eyes.

  “I’ll answer everything later, I promise. For now – I’m Fern. I grew up here, like you, until I left last week. I am as Forever as you. Rehan is my friend, he got me out of the Institute. He’s – like us, except that he didn’t grow up here. There’s a lot – a lot – that you don’t know. I don’t know who George is or where he is. Security, everybody, hid in the basements when mortars hit the upper floors. John is dead, he fell from the building.” There’s a gasp – John has been a constant in their lives, a leader, almost a father. For them, for me. I hope really hard tha
t they don’t ask again why the building is on fire. I wonder what their telepathy is like.

  It’ll be obvious in a minute… “The helicopter coming to rescue us was organised by KHH.”

  The whole crowd flinch. “KHH are not completely bad,” I manage not to shoot an apologetic look at Rehan. “And anyway all we need from them is a ride to the ground. I’m asking you not to attack them. Once you’re on the ground, you can do what you like, but we really, really, need to tell you some stuff. That’s all I’ve got to say right now.”

  The questions pelt me again. “Why would KHH help us? They hate Forever!” I let the noise blur into a meaningless nothing and stare across London. It’s nearly morning. The helicopter is almost here. I’m almost done, I can see Anna soon, perhaps even tomorrow.

  The beginning of a smile uncurls somewhere deep inside me.

  I worry that the helicopter won’t be able to land, but it does, engines roaring as it lowers itself to settle next to us, blades whirring until we’re at the centre of a smoke whirlwind. I beat back the hair from my face with my free hand, but it’s a losing battle and I give up, bowing my head as I push forward to hand my little girl into outstretched arms reaching down from the helicopter – is the man I give her to from KHH, or from 9A? It doesn’t matter. 9A are all around me, surging forward as they lift up the children. Then their bodies are between me and the helicopter, pushing and shoving their way to safety, shifting Rehan and me to the back of the queue, away from the door as they scramble inside. It would be so easy to leave a child behind… I glance around the roof, no children have been forgotten. Rehan is doing the same thing when we hear the helicopter door slam shut.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  We’re only steps away and then I’m there, pounding on the helicopter door as Rehan jumps up, trying to see in the windows. Some kind of struggle is going on inside. The metal cuts my hands but I can’t stop hammering, just in case there’s any possibility that this was a mistake, that Rehan and I were forgotten, not left.

  But I know what 9A are thinking. All those ‘history’ lessons, with their focus on battle tactics, all those ‘self-defence’ classes – 9A have had them too. The years of brainwashing about Vol. They don’t trust me, don’t believe me, don’t care who I am.

  KHH are no match for 9A’s trained assassins, and the struggle inside will be brief. I hope for the doors to open, for 9A to shove KHH out, to give us that chance – but I guess they don’t want to risk admitting us, or perhaps they just don’t know how to fly it. In any event, the helicopter begins to rise.

  Rehan is incoherent with fury, grabbing the helicopter’s leg and hanging on, but he’s soon shaken free as the machine turns and tilts and moves away.

  They’re gone. I take a deep breath, then double over, coughing, lungs desperate for clean air which will never come. Rehan’s arm wraps around my shoulders to support me.

  “Ungrateful – stupid –” Rehan sputters into curses, pulling his scarf to cover his mouth from the smoke. I do the same.

  “I guess they don’t like us,” I offer through the fabric, and we laugh weakly.

  “Fire escape,” he suggests. “There must be something, surely.” We search the roof, holding hands so that we don’t lose each other in the smoke. I can barely see two steps in front of me, and I can’t remember where the edge of the roof is.

  This isn’t going to work, but what else is there to do? We have to try.

  Moments pass. Wasted, pointless, crucial moments. This search is taking time we can’t afford to spend, but I don’t have a better idea. We find the edge of the roof, stagger back from the wind’s pull, then lie down on our stomachs, working our way sideways along the edge of the roof, eyes sore from the smoke as we search the dark below for a ladder, for a windowsill below, anything really. There’s nothing. Tiny people run around on the ground, I wonder if they see us.

  I try not to think about how high we are, I focus on moving sideways, searching, always searching. It’s too slow. I rise to a crawl, and Rehan copies me. I can barely feel the pain in my leg anymore. Maybe the drug has numbed it, or maybe the makeshift tourniquet is doing bad things to my circulation, I don’t know.

  “Thank you,” Rehan says.

  “What for?”

  “I kept meaning to find a way to say a proper thank you to you, for saving me and Dad, when that car went for us. But it feels like now’s a good time.”

  “Well, then, yeah. I guess you’re welcome.”

  “And I’m really sorry about all the lies.”

  “Seriously? You want to have a heart to heart now?”

  “I don’t think we’re going to find a fire escape.”

  “We might. Or KHH might ditch those 9A guys, and come back.” I won’t give up. Won’t let him give up. “Come on, what happened to the big bad anarchist?”

  He snorts, but he starts moving again.

  Flames are curling out of the windows of the floor below, and it’s too hot to peer over the edge any more.

  I stop crawling, and look at Rehan. There’s so much I want him to know, but I’ve not got any words that make sense. Thank you for showing me the world jostles with Look what you did to my life and Sometimes I think I love you is right there next to I hate you how could you lie to me like that. None of them are true, all of them are, truth is too big to fit into words.

  In the end, it’s him that speaks first, as he gives up on the search, rocking back on his heels and pulling back the scarf from his face. “Burning to death probably sucks. So, you want to go with smoke inhalation? Or jump?”

  “I’ll keep looking, thanks,” I mutter through my scarf.

  “Suit yourself,” he shrugs, pulling the scarf over his mouth again. “I think I’ll jump.”

  I stare at him. “Now?”

  “In a bit. Perhaps the wind will blow me into the Thames. Or on top of the heli, I can bang on the windows and freak out those jerks.”

  He walks to the edge, not cautious any more, daring the wind to pull him down. Then it nearly does, and he leaps away from the edge, staggering back to me. I pull him close as he wipes his eyes, and we both pretend it’s the smoke.

  He wraps his arms around me. “You’re awesome,” he mumbles into my hair. “And tough. And really hot. If we weren’t about to die and stuff, I would definitely ask you out.”

  I try to lighten the mood. “On a proper date?”

  “Restaurant and flowers and everything.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “It would have been.”

  “You’re not really going to jump, are you?” I can’t imagine doing that.

  I feel him shrug. We could be talking about anything. And suddenly I’m angry with him, for giving up, for making so light of the fact that we’re going to die. I’ve only had a few days to get my head around the fact that I’m not immortal and now even the pathetic handful of decades I was born to, I’m going to lose.

  “That’s it?” I ask.

  He shrugs again.

  “What about calling KHH?” I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before. “There must be reception up here. Maybe they can get another heli, get that one back, anything…”

  He looks up. “They took my phones. Oh wait, you have one?”

  “Ah.” He sees my face and it’s painful to watch the hope disappear.

  “Sorry. No phone. But you’re a ’path, can’t you call someone that way?”

  “It’s not like I haven’t been trying! Since the heli left I’ve been yelling my head off in the direction of every mind I can find! Nothing. I don’t even know if anyone heard me. I told you it was pretty useless.”

  “Every mind except mine?”

  “Well, you did ask me not to.”

  “And I don’t have a helicopter.”

  “And you don’t have a helicopter.”

  He takes my hand, and we walk on, our feet smacking over the huge expanse of roof, eyes still searching for a way down, but soon our way is blocked by a patch of roof that’s
bubbling, melting, flames breaking through from the floor underneath, and we stop.

  “Perhaps we should try climbing down the walls?” I suggest. I’d rather fall than jump.

  “In a bit.”

  It’s ridiculous, to be outside, yet so trapped. What did Rehan say, that first night? “Stone walls do not a prison make,” I mutter to myself, “how wrong were you?” He hears me.

  “You remembered that?”

  “It’s catchy. I forget the next bit.”

  “Stone walls do not a prison make,” he quotes softly, stepping so that his front is against my back, “nor iron bars a cage. Minds innocent, and quiet, take that for an hermitage. If I have freedom in my love, and in my soul am free, angels alone – that soar above – enjoy such liberty.”

  I don’t have an answer to that, so I turn into him, hiding my face in his chest, seeking a temporary refuge from the burning wind.

  We both hear the helicopter at the same time. “They’re back!” I gasp.

  Rehan throws his head back, searching the sky. “Knew those morons wouldn’t be a match for KHH.”

  “Maybe the 9A lot felt guilty.”

  “Where are they?” We spin, still pressed together, his arms around me, but the smoke is spiralling everywhere and I don’t know which way the sound is coming from, it sounds directly above.

  Will they really risk landing in this? I wouldn’t take a fuel tank anywhere near these flames.

  There’s a strange, sliding sound above me, and something large shoots past me into Rehan, knocking him away from me, slamming him to the ground.

  A dark figure, five feet ten of lean female poured into a black uniform that gleams like polished leather. She makes a demonic silhouette against the flames behind her. Katrina. There’s a silver buckle at her waist, with a metal rope stretching up through the smoke, tethering her to the sky, to safety.

  “Katrina!” I choke on the smoke, as she kicks Rehan in the stomach, sending him shooting across the roof, away from her, away from me – further than any kick should send anyone. I’ve always loved her telekinesis, but now it scares me. Rehan hits the base of a chimney, and doesn’t get up.