“I’m Paul Samson,” the man said. “I work for military intelligence.”
“Oh,” she said, taken aback that he’d actually told her his name and what he did. That was a first here. “I came with two friends. Are they here?”
He glanced at his clipboard. “Still in intake. They’ll be along.”
Petra looked around the gym. “How many of us are there?”
“Currently twenty-three at this facility.”
At this facility? “How many facilities are there?”
This was met with silence.
“Okay, so where are we?” she asked instead.
“You’re in an underground bunker that blocks all radio communication.”
“Right. Because you’re worried we’re communicating with the cryptogens.”
“Correct. You’re being detained as threats to national and international security.”
Petra had to bite back her smile, the idea was so insane. Paul’s face showed no sign of amusement. He was blunt, but she was grateful he was actually talking to her and answering some of her questions.
“We’re at war,” he went on. “Our enemy has more advanced technology, and they’re intent on our annihilation. We suspect you share many traits with the enemy—”
“Sure, but—”
“We don’t yet know what you’re capable of. We don’t know what your intentions are.”
“Oh, come on!” Petra said, then checked herself. She needed to control her temper.
“We don’t enjoy detaining kids and separating them from their families,” Paul said. “All of you are here for the greater good. I think you can understand that, Petra.”
Her first name. Like some textbook maneuver to win her trust. She figured every kid had probably gotten this same speech.
“Yes,” she said, trying to sound contrite. “I understand. You need to know as much as possible about our enemy. So we can beat them.”
He regarded her carefully. “Exactly. You will be fed, and you will be safe, and you will be here until such time as we see fit.”
Petra wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t quite. He sort of reminded her of her mom. Very matter-of-fact. Following orders for the good of humanity.
“Are you in charge?” she asked.
“We’re under the command of Dr. Ritter.”
Her spirits plummeted. That guy with the freaky voice. Her eyes whipped around the room but didn’t find him. Why was a doctor in charge, anyway? Wasn’t it weird there wasn’t a major or colonel or somebody running this place?
“We have some tests for you now,” Paul said, and walked off. Her guard gripped her arm and steered her across the gym.
There were way more guards than kids here. All of them had Tasers holstered in their belts. She was led toward a corner of the gym with tables of equipment and a couple of white-coated lab techs.
“Sit down,” one of the White Coats said, nodding to the empty chair beside a boy swigging from a water bottle. His face was flushed, like he’d just finished laps. His green jumpsuit said W2.
“Hey, W10,” he said with a grin. And then in a fake whisper added, “I’m Darren.”
Her eyes went straight to his arms. They were pleasingly muscular, but what riveted her gaze were the gold-and-black tattoos that stretched from his fingertips to his upper arms, where they disappeared into his short sleeves. She squinted and looked closer. Were they tattoos?
“You don’t have any patterning yet, huh?” he asked her.
“Patterning?”
“Your skin’s shedding, though, right?”
“Mostly my legs so far.”
“That’s how it started with me, too. Then chest and back, and then arms. And after that, the patterns started coming in. Just kind of rising up through my skin.” He stretched his arm invitingly toward her. “Want to touch it?”
The weird thing was, she did. There was something hypnotic about the pattern, the spiraling black bands with gold triangles in between. It almost looked like medieval armor, but so amazingly smooth.
“You’ll be getting yours soon,” Darren said, like he was trying to reassure her.
“Oh boy. Something to look forward to.”
Darren had shaggy sandy hair and was handsome, in an obvious kind of way. It was weird meeting someone in a prison jumpsuit and not their usual clothes. She got a lot of clues about someone’s personality from clothes. But Darren seemed pretty easy to read. He had one of those good heads where everything was the right shape and in the right place. When he smiled, his cheeks dimpled and his eyes lit up with bad-boy mischief. He was good-looking and knew it, and was undoubtedly popular, maybe even an alpha. Ruefully, she realized he was the kind of guy she usually went for. But right now she didn’t even feel a flicker of interest. She wondered where Seth was.
The two White Coats were busy assembling small bottles and clinking glass things on a tray.
Darren looked at her. “You’re still hiding yours, huh?”
It took her a second to realize he was talking about her tail. Automatically she checked for his. Obligingly he angled his chair.
It jutted from his Velcro flap. It was much longer than hers, muscular and knuckled, and flattened toward the end. It had the same markings as his arms.
“Whoa! How’d you keep it hidden before you got here?”
“Very baggy jeans.”
She was catching a glimpse of what was coming her way, and she didn’t feel ready. She looked back at his patterned arms. That she could handle. And hadn’t she always wanted a tattoo? Once she and Rachel had snuck off to get one, but the parlor wanted a note from her mother—as if that would ever happen. The thought of Mom came with a stab of sadness, and she slowly pulled in a breath.
“I’ve gotta say, the flap’s way more comfortable,” Darren said.
His tail gave a swish and Petra gasped. “You can make it move?”
“Yep. Moves on its own, too. When I showered this morning, it nearly threw me off balance.”
She nodded. “When I swam, mine was twitching like crazy.”
“You swam? Where?”
When she told him about the lake on the eco-reserve, he looked at her with pure envy.
“Man, I’d love to go swimming. I guess we could now, if the water’s changed. All us W’s.”
“W for Water,” she said, and felt stupid that she hadn’t figured it out earlier.
She looked out across the gym. She spotted some L kids in brown jumpsuits doing laps, running way faster than anyone else, and she thought of Anaya with her super-strong legs, how she could jump. L for Land.
Her gaze roved on, and her heart gave a happy squeeze when she spotted Seth in a blue jumpsuit. He had his arms stretched out, and a White Coat was measuring his feathers. A for Air. Beside Seth was a girl who looked familiar, though Petra couldn’t figure out why. She had feathers, too. They weren’t as long as Seth’s, but their colors were even more vivid: purples and golds and greens and reds.
“The flyers,” Darren said beside her, following her gaze.
“That’s what you call them?”
He shrugged. “Seems pretty obvious. Runners, swimmers, flyers. I’ve even heard the guards saying it. Anyway, they’re kind of weird, the flyers.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling indignant on Seth’s behalf.
“They only hang out with each other.”
She couldn’t help smiling. Even in prison bunkers, there were cliques.
“Put this on.”
A White Coat was holding out a plastic mask designed to cover mouth and nose. “What’s this for?” Petra asked.
“It’s a stamina test. Hold your breath as long as you can. We’ll know if you inhale.”
“Okay.” Obediently she began pulling the mask over her face. “Is this to see how long I can stay underwater?”
“Yep,” said Darren, putting on his own mask.
“You’ve done this before?”
He nodded. “I hold the high score
.”
The White Coat said, “Take one last big breath. And go.”
As she held her breath, Petra tried to find Anaya. The gym was a bit like some bizarre science fair—with them as the exhibits. Grown-ups in white coats inspecting everything. Guards with Tasers in case anyone needed an educational jolt of high voltage.
She lost track of time. Above the door was a caged clock, but its second hand wasn’t moving. When she glanced at Darren, he winked at her. So conceited.
She closed her eyes and pretended she was underwater. Often her thoughts flowed back to that swim in the lake, how she’d seen so clearly and swum so well, and how good it felt to be in water, period. She still didn’t feel any need to take a breath.
When she opened her eyes, Darren’s forehead was creased. His eyes flicked to her, and she could tell he was hoping she’d bail first. That wasn’t going to happen. She winked at him. With a gasp, Darren sucked in a big lungful. His mask beeped. The technician made a note on her pad, then turned her attention to Petra, who counted out another fifteen seconds before sipping a dainty breath.
“We have a new high score,” said the White Coat as Petra peeled off her mask.
“Good going,” Darren said to Petra, but she could tell he didn’t mean it.
She knew it was silly, but she felt ridiculously pleased with herself.
A different White Coat rolled a skinny table in front of them. “Arms up here. I’m going to put a drop of fluid on your skin. Tell me if there’s itchiness or pain.”
“What is it?” Petra asked suspiciously.
“We’re doing a range of aqueous solutions.”
Aqueous meant water, which meant major allergic reaction.
“No way, I’m—”
“It’s okay,” Darren told her. “I’ve done this one, too. You’ll be fine.”
“How long have you been here?” she asked him.
“Four days. I was one of the first. They were still putting in light bulbs.”
With a glass pipette, the tech dropped a bead of cloudy liquid onto her outstretched forearm and then Darren’s.
“Any itching?” the White Coat asked.
She waited apprehensively, then said, “I’m good.”
“Me too,” said Darren.
A second fluid was dripped onto her arm, then a third and fourth. To her surprise she didn’t feel any discomfort with any of them. What was this stuff, and why wasn’t it triggering her allergy? She glanced at Darren’s tattooed skin. It really was strangely beautiful.
“Last one,” said the tech. She dropped a dot of yellowish liquid onto both their wrists.
Almost right away Petra felt a sharp point of heat, steadily spreading.
“That one hurts!”
The lab technician promptly drizzled another solution on her arm. The pain stopped instantly, leaving only a red dot on her skin.
“I’m good,” Darren said.
“Seriously?” Petra asked, looking over. The bead of liquid jiggled harmlessly on his unblemished skin.
“When your new skin comes in,” Darren said, “this stuff won’t hurt you either.”
He tilted his arm and the drop slid like oil off Teflon and landed on the table. There was a hiss as it burned a small crater in the laminated surface.
Petra looked at the White Coat in shock, then anger.
“You put that on us?” Petra said, her voice rising.
The White Coat glanced over her shoulder to make sure a guard was nearby, and Petra checked her temper.
“The experiment was controlled. You’re completely unharmed.”
Petra looked at her forearm. The red dot was already fading.
Still . . .
“You are both very acid-tolerant,” the White Coat said, like this made everything okay. Like it was something that might help them get a job later. The lab tech moved away and started typing on a laptop.
“Pretty wicked, huh?” Darren said. “We’re practically indestructible!”
He seemed awfully cheerful about being a freak in a bunker. She wondered how much he’d been told about what was happening. About what exactly he was.
“How much do you know?” she asked carefully. “Like, about—”
“That Paul guy briefed me when I got here. We’re half alien. Half cryptogen. Mom was abducted. My father’s not my real father—no big loss there. We’re not allergic to the plant stuff. Oh yeah, and we have transmitter things in our brains. Which is why they buried us down here. I think that’s about it. Am I missing anything?”
“Bugs,” she said.
“What?”
She told him about the second big rain, and the things she’d seen hatch in Dr. Weber’s lab.
“Holy crap,” he said. “What’ll they grow into?”
“Don’t know,” she said, then looked at his tattoos and his tail. “And we don’t really know what we’ll grow into either.”
SETH RECOGNIZED THE GIRL right away.
Back on Deadman’s Island, before they’d been discovered, Dr. Weber had shown them a video of a girl with feathered arms. She’d been in a hospital, crying.
She wasn’t crying now. Her feathers were a blaze of color as she slashed at a narrow length of lumber resting between two sawhorses. In a few quick blows, she cut through it, and the jagged halves clattered to the floor.
He remembered how, on Cordova Island, he’d been able to slash down the black grass. His arms were like scythes. He’d never guessed there were others like him.
The girl stepped back, frowning. Her thick angled eyebrows and dark eyes gave her a slightly ferocious look. She was tall, with a strong jaw and wavy hair cut in a bob that seemed old-fashioned, like a silent movie star’s. Seth tried not to stare. Her blue jumpsuit said A3. A thicker piece of lumber was set up for her.
“Her feathers are the sharpest,” said the tall, regal-looking boy beside Seth. His name was Vincent and he’d introduced himself when Seth was first brought over. His feathers were all different shades of purple. Nearby was a girl called Siena, with red hair and a long, pale face, lightly freckled. She looked kind of like a vampire. Her feathers had just started to come in and were vibrant shades of blue, the same color as her eyes.
“Who is she?” Seth asked quietly, nodding at A3.
“Esta,” Siena said. “She doesn’t talk much.”
“She seems really angry,” Vincent said.
She probably had plenty to be angry about, Seth thought. Didn’t they all?
There were lots of guards around them, way more than anywhere else in the gym. Paul, that hunk of vertical protein, stood watching with the White Coats as Esta demolished the next piece of lumber. When she was done, she went and stood off by herself. He wanted to talk to her, but he’d never been good at introducing himself.
“A4!” one of the White Coats said, and Seth had to check his own jumpsuit to realize that was him.
They’d stretched chicken wire across the sawhorses. Wood was one thing, but wire worried him. He didn’t want to tear his feathers.
“Go ahead,” he was prompted.
He took a careful swipe. Sparks danced off the tips of his feathers, and he looked around in alarm.
“Don’t worry, it’s just the metal alloy in your feathers,” Paul told him. They seemed to know more about his feathers than he did. “Keep going.”
Seth checked his feathers to make sure they weren’t damaged. Metal alloy? His next swipe was harder. Sparks flew as he cut gashes in the wire. It felt good to swing his arms and feel their power. One more slash and he cut through the entire sheet of chicken wire. He looked over at Esta to see if she’d noticed. Briefly, her intent eyes met his.
“All A’s, over here,” one of the White Coats said.
When Seth saw the two punching bags hanging from the ceiling, his heart sank. Each had been dressed up in a soldier’s battle armor with a happy face painted at the top. Someone’s idea of a joke.
He and Esta were lined up in front of the two bags.
&n
bsp; “A3 and A4, strike,” one of the White Coats told them.
“I don’t want to.” He didn’t want to attack something dressed up like a human. It would make him look like the enemy.
“It’s only an exercise,” said the White Coat, hardly looking up from his pad.
Without hesitation, Esta struck her punching bag. Her feathers cut through the fabric of the flak jacket and left a long gray gash in the armor beneath.
“Hold off.” Two White Coats came closer to examine the damage.
“Went right through the ballistic nylon,” said one.
“Couple of millimeters into the manganese steel plate as well.”
They moved to one side and looked at Seth.
“A4, you’re up.”
“No,” said Seth.
One of the guards stepped toward him, a Taser in his hand. Seth knew about those things. They shot out a wire and jolted you with high voltage.
“I urge you to comply,” said a meaty voice behind him.
Seth felt a chill as he turned and saw Dr. Ritter. He’d never wanted to lay eyes on him again. If they’re not human, how can they have human rights? Seeing him made Seth think of Dr. Weber, and how she hadn’t been able to help him—or hadn’t wanted to. He still wasn’t sure which. After his interrogation, he’d never heard from her again. He’d been thrown back in a cell, then blindfolded and taken to this place. He’d actually hoped he might see her here, but no. She’d abandoned him.
“Sure,” he said angrily. “I’ll comply.”
He flared his feathers to their full length and moved in on the punching bag. He slashed the flak jacket to ribbons. He was aware of the White Coats telling him to stop so they could study the damage, but Seth didn’t feel like stopping. With another blow he cut a gash across the happy face, sending foam flying. A final chop of his left arm severed the rope holding the punching bag, and it thumped on the floor.
“How’s that?” he demanded, turning to face Ritter. His pulse was loud in his ears. He felt a bit sick. He’d liked doing that, and it scared him.
He noticed that several guards had their hands resting on their Tasers and were standing very alert. Even Vincent and Siena looked alarmed. But Esta gave a small nod, like she understood what he was feeling.
Hatch Page 4