I can’t meet her gaze. He was really there. Grief threatens to knock back the numbness, but I force it down.
She kisses my forehead. “It’s okay. We both knew what it meant for him to go. He tried so hard to protect you from Paragon. Your dad spent years dodging their requests. Took even longer to find his way in once you left.”
“It’s my fault.”
“Hush.” Mom lets go of my face and glances over her shoulder. “We should have told you sooner that Joyce was after you for this research. And when we wouldn’t give you up to her, she found other ways to get around us. But she was right about one thing.”
I follow her gaze to the table where one of Dad’s military bags is packed and waiting.
“What’s that?” I ask, knowing that bag is for me, and my homecoming won’t last long. And although I didn’t expect it to, disappointment still weighs heavy on my chest.
“You have the potential to save us all.” Mom nods toward the duffle bag on the table. “I’ve packed a few supplies in there for you, and some fresh clothes and shoes.” As if sensing my hesitation, she places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “She won’t stop, Ugene. Joyce will come for you here. You can’t stay. But you can stop her.”
How? I slide the bag off the table and slouch against the weight of it as I strap it over my shoulders, crushing Celeste’s small bag under it.
“Go to this address,” she says, handing me a slip of paper. “You will find help. But right now, you need to run, Ugene.”
A fist pounds on the front door, making me jump out of my skin.
“Run!” Mom hisses, turning me toward the back door. “And I will find you. I promise.”
Another pound. I tiptoe to the back door and look back, watching Mom stand straighter and fix her shirt and hair. “I’m coming!” she calls.
As quietly as possible, I slip out the back door. And I run, clutching the address.
Before I left the group at the park, Enid reassured me that I saved everyone. I shake my head, headed back to the park along the alley.
Saved. What an ugly word used to mask the truth. We started with one hundred thirty-nine people. Half that made it out of Paragon. Now, barely forty of us remained. Thirty percent. Which means along the way I lost sixty percent of the people who trusted me to lead them to safety.
I didn’t save anything. I started a fight. One we can’t win.
Paragon will come after us. The copy drive will protect us. It will right the wrongs, even if it doesn’t bring back those we lost today.
Andromeda’s chains are broken. Cassiopeia will fall. Celeste’s words ring in my head, and I glance at Miller’s unconscious form in the corner. How did I miss it before? Cass. Cassiopeia. It’s a bit on the nose.
Yes. Dr. Cass, and her vain sense of superiority, will fall.
Acknowledgements
I’ll be the first to admit that I had no idea what I was going to do with this story when I started it. All that I knew was that Ugene had to be special, and no matter what happened, Paragon could never discover a Power and give it to him. It was important that Ugene remain Powerless. Four different versions of this book exist just to get Ugene to this destination.
Everyone who enjoys Ugene’s story should join me in giving a huge thanks to my husband, Tazz, and my stepson, Brynden. One night, we sat around talking about “what if” stories, and we built a short story by saying: What if there was a boy named Eugene who lived in a world where everyone has a superpower except for him, and the only job he could get was delivering flowers on a bicycle? Obviously, the story has evolved quite a bit from that early rendition, but without that conversation, this story never would have come to life.
Despite snarky comments and cantankerous attitudes, I owe all my fellow writers of SPWG a huge debt of gratitude. Tim and Kyle for welcoming me into your exclusive group of writers. Mike I., Mike P., and Dennis for letting me know what a guy would really think of these situations. Gail and Jennifer for sharing your female perspectives—and for telling the guys when they were flat out wrong. You’ve all helped me see the weaknesses and strength in this book throughout the grueling process. You pushed me forward with your encouragement, and by calling me a loser (jokingly) when I failed to keep up with my writing.
To my parents, Mary and Eldon Zipse, I owe you more than I could ever give. You believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself, and your support helped me push through the hardest days. To Tonia and Micah Vanlandingham, my sister and her husband, you supported my project and encouraged me to reach out into the world to get it published. And of course, to all my friends and family who have supported me when I became a hermit and encouraged me through every step of the process. A writer cannot succeed without support.
Just like it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a tribe to create a book. I would be lost without my fantastic tribe and the communities of writers who have already walked in my shoes. To my editor, Maddy, your kind words and guidance gave me the courage and encouragement to move forward with this project. Thanks to all of you.
To my readers: everyone told me not to include you in my acknowledgements, that you wouldn’t care or see it as sincere, but who cares what everyone else says, right? Rebel with me! Show them they are wrong, and that you are a critical component in this book’s success as much as anyone else by leaving a review on Amazon, Goodreads, BookBub, or your blog. Hell, you can even send me an email directly. I LOVE hearing from my readers!
Ugene and the other test subjects escaped Paragon. They thought they were finally safe. But the battle for freedom is far from over.
KEEP READING FOR AN EXCERPT FROM THE STUNNING CONCLUSION TO THE SERIES, UNIQUE, AVAILABLE JUNE 12, 2020.
1
This isn’t what I wanted. What I wanted was to do the right thing, to help people, but now I can’t help but question just what the right thing is.
I’ve lied.
I’ve broken promises.
I’ve failed more people than I would like to count—though I could, and the number would be too many.
And for what?
This isn’t freedom.
2
The clean, crisp scent of earth and stone fills the small room I’ve been living in for what I can only assume to be days. I haven’t felt the warmth of the sun or watched the stars for so long I yearn for their comfort. Occasionally, I catch a whiff of rotten eggs, but the smell is so fleeting and rare I’m not certain if it’s real.
Where am I? This is a prison. Did we even escape Paragon? Maybe this is all part of the same simulation, giving us hope then isolating us to see how we react.
Since waking up here, I’ve only spoken to two people. A woman who told me through the door in a very reassuring tone that I would be released soon. They simply had to make sure that everyone was safe, and with so many people it could take a while. I asked her a million other questions, but she didn’t answer any of them. Instead, she offered the same assurances that all would be revealed soon.
The second person is the guy who delivers the meals. But he doesn’t say any more than, “It won’t be much longer.” Sometimes I swear I can hear the sympathy in his voice. Am I imagining it?
The last thing I remember, we escaped Paragon and I followed the address Mom gave me to Lettuce Eat, where for nearly two days Harvey gave us food and a place to rest while he arranged our escort to safety. Those of us who remained—forty-two of us out of more than one hundred—climbed into the back of a cold transport truck on the second day. Harvey reassured us that we were being taken to a safer location and that my mom would meet with me soon.
But then I woke up here, in this cell. Alone.
Did he sell us out to Paragon?
Or maybe none of it actually happened.
I lay on my single bed, atop worn flannel sheets, and run my fingers along the smooth gray stone walls of the cell, carved out with Powered hands. The bed and a toilet are the only furnishings. The door is made of reinforced steel with a small win
dow revealing a brightly lit stone hallway and a panel in the center of the door where the food comes in. More than once, I’ve tried forcing it open by pushing on it, or digging at the cracks until my fingers ache. It never budges.
Projecting in a small square on the wall, the Elpis News is the only station—a station Bianca’s dad operates. Famous newscaster Elpida Theus’s smooth, sand-colored face and perfectly styled golden hair is my primary source of contact with any form of life. Paragon has already rebuilt the destroyed lower levels of the tower to operational status, and they have called the “released” subjects to return. Not that anyone will. We are either locked in this place or too scared to risk returning.
“Daily operations are returning to normal,” Elpida reports from the lobby of the building, which is still under construction.
Other reports, released by Directorate Chief Seaduss, remind the citizens that regression is a looming threat and that the eastern boroughs, particularly Pax, have seen a significant spike in crime and terrorist activity. Are the reports real? Can I trust any of this is real?
It’s exhausting, and these questions often put me to sleep.
When I sleep, I have nightmares about Dad, Bianca, and Celeste dying all over again. The other test subjects who once counted on me to get them to safety now crowd me en mass, calling me a failure, a fraud, a worthless traitor. Of all the wounds I’ve sustained since arriving at Paragon, I have learned that words are the most cutting of all—and they take so much longer to heal.
My waking hours are plagued with worry about those who escaped with me and made it to Harvey’s place. Where is everyone? Where am I? So many questions tumble through my head that I try making a list, but as the days blend together that list begins to muddle, and I have nothing on which to write my thoughts. I can’t decide what’s real anymore.
Why has my mom sent me here? Where is here?
Not for the first time, I try to reach out with my mind and see if Madison is out there somewhere. Not that I can use Telepathy, but my hope is that, if she can sense me reaching out, she will find a way to connect.
And not for the first time, nothing comes back. All my life, I’d been isolated in a crowd of people and I couldn’t imagine anything worse.
Now I can.
3
The whoosh of the door opening stirs me. I roll over on the bed just in time to see the door disappear into the wall. Fear makes my muscles tense, ready to act. Maybe, if I’m fast enough, I can get out of the room. But the man who walks through is huge, with wide shoulders and a neck thicker than my thighs. Clearly a Strongarm. Any hope of getting past him quickly evaporates.
“Ugene Powers?” he asks, his voice deep.
My fingers wrap around the edge of the bed, heart pounding. I nod.
“Follow me,” he says. “And don’t try to run. You won’t get far.”
An overwhelming need for human interaction pushes me to my feet, paired with the fear that he would leave, and the door would close again. I follow close to him—probably closer than he would like—as he escorts me down a set of metal steps to the next level.
He gazes at me from the corner of his eyes as we descend. “We don’t mean you harm. All of this is just standard safety protocol.”
Safety. What a joke. I’ve been locked in that room for days. I know exactly what he can do with his safety precaution.
“What’s your name?” I ask, struggling to keep up with his faster strides. It’s been a few days since I’ve done much more than pace the cell.
He doesn’t answer. The guy is like a brick wall, but I really want him to engage somehow in conversation. No one has talked to me in days.
We stop at an arching stone doorway and he waves me in. Unlike the cell I’ve been in for the last few days, this room is far more comfortable. A worn-out, patchwork-repaired sofa rests against one wall, and beside it, a mismatched chair.
This is definitely not Paragon.
The only light in the room comes from the three lamps. One between the sofa and chair, one in a far corner, and one on the desk against the opposite corner. A woman with blonde hair pulled back in a severe ponytail perches on the edge of the desk, facing the room. We lock gazes, and something about her teases my memory.
“Do I know you?” I ask.
She shakes her head, making the straight tail wag. “Willow Barnes. I highly doubt we’ve met before. I would remember you, Ugene.”
Not really sure what that means.
Willow approaches, holding out her hand, and the moment she moves I see the slender, older man sitting behind the desk, frowning at an old computer as he scrolls through the contents. His white coat is wrinkled. He can’t be much older than my dad, but his sandy hair is peppered with silver.
The memory of Dad makes me freeze, chest clenching.
Willow takes her hand back. “Okay.” Her gaze follows mine to the older man. “That’s Doc. He looks after all of us.”
“All of who? Who are you? Where are we?”
“Have a seat, Ugene,” Willow says, motioning to the sofa.
It doesn’t feel like a request, so I obey and move to sit on the sofa. It’s a little lumpy, but still more comfortable than my bed. Willow perches on the edge of the chair, resting her forearms on her knees.
“You have a lot of questions, I’m sure,” she says.
“Understatement of the year,” I mumble, glancing again at the old Doc. Even he seems familiar.
“I want to explain a little bit about where you are before we get into your questions,” Willow says, drawing my attention back to her. “We call this place The Shield.”
I can’t help but snort. Confinement has made my cynicism a touch sharp.
“It exists in a secure location outside of Elpis, away from the prying eyes of the Directorate,” she continues as if nothing is out of the ordinary. “Doc and I make a point of collecting people the Directorate targets and offering them a safe space to live. When Harvey contacted us about your group, we jumped at the chance to help you.”
“Wait, help? Is that what you call this?” I wave around the room, though it isn’t the cell I’m used to.
“I understand why you would distrust us, Mr. Powers,” she says calmly. “But I can assure you if we hadn’t helped you would be back in Paragon already.”
“It’s Ugene, not Mr. Powers.” Reminds me too much of my dad.
“Ugene.” She nods. “My job, along with Chase, the man who escorted you, is to make sure everyone inside The Shield is protected. Doc oversees research and the medical team.”
I flinch back when she says research. Willow notices.
“It isn’t what you think,” she reassures me. “Our research is more about what Paragon and the Directorate are up to, deciphering their plans. That sort of thing. We won’t ever subject you to any form of testing and everything you do here is completely voluntary. Though we would love it if everyone found some way to pitch in to help The Shield operate more smoothly.”
Voluntary. I want to believe her but being locked in a cell doesn’t really leave me with a feeling of comfort.
“Why did you lock us all up? And how did we even get here?”
“I know the last thing you wanted was to be put into another cell, but we had no choice,” Willow says. “We needed to assess each of you individually against the potential risk you could pose to the safety of the people living here. It’s just how things are done. Everyone goes through the same process.”
Somehow, none of this is reassuring.
“As far as how you arrived at The Shield, we took extra safety precautions with a group your size. To protect everyone here, we must make sure that new members don’t know where we are located. So we used sleeping gas once you were all safely in the transport truck.”
“Afraid one of us is a spy or something?” My words drip with sarcasm, and I’m not sure if I mean them to or not.
Willow’s lips thin into a line, and she straightens.
My eyes widen. “You ar
e.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” she says, and I can hear the anger simmering in her voice. “And yes, we do have reason to believe that someone in your group is a spy from Paragon, working with the Directorate. I trust I can tell you this, based on what others have told me about you. They see you as their leader.”
I grimace. I would like to say they can trust everyone who escaped, but honestly, I only know a handful of them.
“Why would a spy be sent here?” I ask.
“The Directorate has been hunting us down for years,” Doc says. “We don’t agree with most of their policies, which makes us a threat.”
“So we aren’t in Elpis,” I say, trying to piece some of this together. “But I thought we couldn’t exist outside the city.”
“That’s what the Directorate would like you to believe,” Doc says. “But as you can see, we’re doing just fine.”
Just another Directorate scare tactic. Figures. “Well, I don’t see, actually,” I say, feeling the heat of days of anger building. “I’ve been locked in a cell like a prisoner. Why should I believe you?”
Willow heaves a sigh and scrubs a hand over her face, gazing at Doc. He doesn’t seem to notice, so she turns her attention back to me. The tension in her shoulders is obvious.
“We are sorry about the conditions,” she finally says. “It doesn’t usually take more than a day or two for intake, but there are so many of you, and not everyone has been…compliant.”
I wince. “Don’t say that word.”
“What…compliant? Why?”
“If you had any idea what we’ve been through, what Paragon put us through during their trials, you’d understand.”
“We do know what you’ve been through—I know what you’ve been through.” Willow scratches at her arm, and I notice a small incision scar. “I was in there just like you. I would have died in there if it hadn’t been for Doc.” She shifts, raising her chin up as she does. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I know you are the one who led the others out of Paragon. We are prepared to release you to your quarters if you can answer a few questions for us.”
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