Nine

by Rachelle Dekker

  I gasped, not because it hurt but because it was such a shock to witness. Before I could respond any other way, she pulled her hand back out and held it up toward me. Her fingers clasped something, and when she opened her fist, I saw a small gold key.

  “You are in control,” the little girl said. “Just be.”

  I took the key and held it between my fingers. “What do I do with it?”

  The girl pointed to something behind me, and I turned to see that the white room was turning black. All around, black tendrils were clawing their way over the bright, clean surface, turning it dark. The wall of doors reappeared.

  I glanced back. The girl was gone. The white was gone. It was just blackness and the wall. Key in hand, I walked to the wall and made my way to one of the middle doors. The key slipped into the keyhole perfectly, and with a twist I heard the door unlock.

  I stood for a moment, unsure of what might happen if I opened this door but knowing I wasn’t going to make any other choice. I turned the knob and cracked the door open. In unison all the other doors opened as well. In both directions, all the doors were open.

  A surge of power ran through my veins as my eyes drank in what was playing out on the other side. It hit me like a warm breeze that wrapped itself around me and nearly knocked me off my feet. I saw it all. And as I saw, I remembered. I remembered everything.

  HANDS GENTLY PULLED Zoe up to sitting, her body throbbing, her skin tender. They placed a thin plastic straw between her lips, and a low voice instructed her to drink. The liquid had a bitter taste and was lukewarm sliding down her throat. She was aware that she was unbuckled from her restraints, and a few people stood around. With enough force she could catch them off guard and make a run for it. It was a thought she was too groggy to turn into reality. The drugs swimming through her bloodstream snuffed out the idea of resisting.

  They laid her back against the cold table and resecured her restraints. She turned her head to glance to where Lucy was lying, still under, deep inside her own mind. They’d only paused the torture to tend to Zoe’s nervous system and do a quick medical assessment, as they did every hour to ensure the pain lasted without killing her. The brief relief was its own kind of torture as Zoe braced for what was coming.

  Someone stepped between her and Lucy, and Zoe tilted her eyes up to see Gina looking down with pity. The doctor accepted a report that was handed to her from the other side of Zoe’s bed and reviewed the information. She nodded, then gave the report back.

  “She can withstand higher voltage if necessary,” Gina said. “I believe Number Nine is on the brink.”

  Zoe’s life mattered so little. She knew this doctor would sooner kill her than risk losing the information tucked away in Lucy.

  “You should feel proud,” Gina said, turning her attention back to Zoe. “You’re a part of something grand. You’re serving your country.”

  Nausea rolled through Zoe’s gut, and she nearly tossed the contents of her stomach onto the doctor’s shoes.

  “Dr. Loveless,” another voice called, “something is happening.”

  Gina turned to Lucy, joined by two others in white coats, all staring at the readings on DOT.

  Zoe moved her eyes up to the girl’s face, which was still and lifeless. Even here, she wanted to protect Lucy. She had failed.

  “Are you sure this is right?” Gina said.

  Lucy’s eyes snapped open. Zoe froze as the girl drank in the room for a long moment, her eyes darting over every surface faster than should be possible. And then things happened faster than Zoe could compute under the heavy dosage of drugs.

  Lucy broke her restraints and freed herself from DOT just as the rest of the room was becoming aware that she was conscious. Performing a fluid dance, the girl moved with dangerous accuracy. Sliding down the table to the end, landing with both feet planted, swinging around to grab the medical tray from the nearest cart, colliding it with the first skull before her. The nurse dropped cold.

  Two more approached, and Lucy flipped the tray sideways, using it like a blade, connecting the sharp side with one’s throat. He staggered backward, clutching his airway. Then she dropped to a knee, used her back as a roadblock, and forced the second attacker to topple over her crouched body. She wrapped her elbow around his neck and snapped it clean.

  She shrugged him off, jumped up, and headed for the two nurses at Zoe’s bedside. A blaring alarm sounded, bright light flashing. The nurses scattered, but Lucy was out for blood. She dropped, grabbed a thick black cord from the ground, and yanked it from the outlet in the floor. Like a whip she snapped it forward, its thick plug striking the back of the farthest nurse. She fell while Lucy grabbed three syringes from another cart and tossed them at the other nurse.

  Pop. Pop. Pop. All three needles stuck into the man’s fleshy neck. He cried out, stumbled, and Lucy was on him, pressing the weapons deep into his skin and injecting their poison. He fell hard, his face bouncing off the floor. Lucy strode to the nurse she’d struck with the plug.

  The woman cried out for mercy, but Lucy had none. She wrapped the thick cord around the woman’s neck and twisted, the snap filling the room.

  The doors on the far end slammed open, and armed agents, guns raised, entered in two clean lines.

  Zoe yanked against her restraints. “Lucy,” she whispered, her voice weak.

  Lucy looked back over her shoulder at Zoe, fire in her eyes, and moved to the thick electrical wires hanging above Zoe. She flipped the machine on, and the buzzing brought a shiver to Zoe’s bones. Lucy loosed one wire from the hooks that held it secure and swung it like an electric lasso, using a large medical tray as a shield. She looked like a superhero. Or a villain.

  Zoe heard a cry and saw that Gina had scurried under the table where Lucy had been tortured and was shaking like a leaf. Lucy had her eyes trained on the cavalry, and Gina tried to make a run for it.

  Lucy saw. She let the doctor get a few feet, maybe to let her believe she was going to escape, then she let her electrified whip loose. It struck the doctor’s calves. Shocks rippled up the woman’s body, and she collapsed to her knees. Lucy retracted the weapon and let it fly again. The cord wrapped around Gina’s throat, and with a firm tug she yanked the doctor back, her cries sounding through the room.

  Agents still filed into the room, but Lucy gave them no mind as she crossed to Gina, dipping low to grab a scalpel from a fallen tray. Zoe knew what was coming and thought to stop her. But then she remembered the electricity that had been pumped into her system, and she said nothing.

  “Please, Lucy, please,” Gina begged as she tried to crawl backward, but Lucy didn’t slow.

  She reached the doctor, raised her to sit, and drove the knife through the center of the woman’s chest. Gina gasped, tears rolling down her cheeks, and crumpled as Lucy released her. Gina heaved a few final breaths, blood dripping from the side of her mouth, and then she was utterly still.

  “Number Nine,” a male voice called.

  Lucy yanked the scalpel from Gina’s corpse and stood, facing the gathered agents, shield still in her left hand, knife in her right.

  Director Hammon stepped forward with hands slightly raised. “Enough, Number Nine,” he said, his voice calm and steady.

  “My name is Lucy.”

  Two agents dared to move, and Lucy flung her tray like a Frisbee in a perfectly straight line at the first, hitting his gun and causing it to blast the ceiling. She used the distraction to roll and grab more scattered medical tools. With inhuman strength and precision she threw them at the two attacking men.

  Two scalpels punctured the front man’s throat. Blood gushed out as he stumbled back. Long forceps landed in the second agent’s left eyeball. His screeching wails were enough to make Zoe cringe, blood pouring down his face.

  “Don’t move! Don’t shoot!” Hammon yelled. “That’s an order!”

  Lucy rolled forward, swept up the neck-scalpel agent’s gun, pushed up to standing, and aimed the weapon straight at the director.r />
  “Do not shoot,” he repeated to the agents. Then back to Lucy, “Number Nine, this isn’t within protocol. Think about your purpose.”

  Lucy cocked the weapon, but the director didn’t flinch.

  “You murdered all the others like me,” Lucy said.

  “Yes, I was following orders. You understand orders.”

  “You would have murdered me.”

  “So you wouldn’t have murdered them.” He tilted his chin to the bodies piled up around them.

  Lucy eyed the fallen agents and medical team, one still whimpering for life, barely hanging on. “You made me this.”

  Light danced behind the director’s eyes. “You remember.”

  “I’m supposed to be a weapon for good.”

  “There is no good. The best we can hope for is progress.”

  Lucy shook her head. “No, I will be for good.”

  Hammon dropped his hands, new confidence sparking in his face. “You will be whatever I want.”

  “No,” Lucy said, but her voice had a slight shake.

  “You will follow orders,” he said.

  Lucy was shaking her head but saying nothing. Zoe needed to do something, but she was still strapped down to the medical bed.

  “You will tell me where Olivia hid the files about Grantham.”

  “I want to be more—”

  “You are more, Number Nine,” the director started, taking a step toward Lucy. “Grown here, with unbelievable abilities, remarkable talents, fostered, trained, more skilled than most people can imagine. You can’t be anything other than what you are.”

  The shiver in Lucy’s voice had moved to her fingers.

  “You are the property of the Grantham Project,” the director said. “My property.”

  “Lucy,” Zoe called out.

  The girl turned at the sound of Zoe’s voice, and for a moment they shared a glance. Lucy, scared like a child.

  Then before Zoe could realize what she had done, it happened. Director Hammon nodded to someone in the shadows, and pops from the darkness carried the same tranquilizers they’d used before.

  One pierced Lucy’s shoulder. She tried to react and was stronger than she had been in the woods. She managed to swing her gun around and get one shot off. It hit the director in his upper leg, and he swore. Then Lucy wobbled, and five armed men rushed in, disarming her and taking her to the ground.

  “Lucy!” Zoe cried out and yanked against her restraints. She knew it was in vain. The drugs still swam through her body, and even if she were free from the hold of her straps, she wasn’t sure she had enough strength to stand.

  Others were assisting the director as he cursed through the pain, blood darkening his pant leg. “Get her to a cell,” he ordered, “and get me a doctor who isn’t dead!”

  Agents moved on command. Zoe was helpless to do anything but watch. Then Director Hammon raised his eyes and landed on her.

  “Take care of her,” he said to an armed agent beside him. “Make it clean. There’s enough mess in here.” The man nodded and signaled to two others.

  The director’s words echoed through Zoe’s head as they approached. “Take care of her.” She thought to fight back, her instincts screaming for her to do something, but she was too numb. Too tired. So she just watched them come. Felt them release her and drag her away, one thought playing over and over through her brain.

  She was going to die.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  HOURS HAD PASSED since they tossed her on the hard floor. The moments dripped by. She wished it was over already. The waiting was more painful than just being dead.

  When they came, she wasn’t ready. Her body froze, her mind raced. Surely there was a way to freedom. They grabbed her sore body from the cold ground and yanked her to standing. Three in total—one on either side and a third following directly behind—as they led her out of the holding room and down a long, dim hallway.

  At the end of the hallway was a door. It opened and light cascaded in, stinging Zoe’s eyes and causing her to blink. They pulled her into sunlight, exiting the building, the door shutting loudly behind them. The dirt was rough and rocky under her bare feet as they forced her to walk.

  The wind nipped at her thin covering, the sun beaming down but providing little warmth. Her mind was swimming, her chest filling with panic as she imagined where they were taking her. Somewhere off the grid, where they could shoot her, bury her, and let her body rot in the ground without ever being discovered.

  Or maybe it would be worse than a simple end? Maybe they would toss her in a deep hole and let her starve to death. Let her wither away in the elements. Let her be eaten alive by whatever creatures roamed the woods. Terror gripped her legs, and they stopped functioning.

  So they dragged her until they came to the edge of a cliff, and she knew they were going to toss her off. They stood her at the edge, saying nothing. No last words, no instructions, just placed her there as she shivered, staring at the rocky ground a hundred feet below. She heard one of their weapons cock, and she tried to swallow the hard lump in her throat. For a moment she considered jumping. Would it be more painful to land alive or be shot in the back?

  The gun exploded, and she braced for impact. Two clean shots. Pop, pop. She clenched her jaw, but nothing happened. A third shot. Pop. The sound echoed clean to the clear sky, but nothing impacted her body.

  She dared to glance over her shoulder and saw that one man remained. His gun was raised; the other two lay on the ground. Dead. Zoe turned slowly, her whole body shaking, her mind stunned.

  The man still standing lowered his weapon and yanked off the black mask that covered his face. McCoy stood before her, panting. Zoe opened her mouth in shock, but nothing came out. He took a step forward and she inched backward. The wind rocked her slightly, and she remembered she was close to a dangerous fall.

  “It’s okay,” McCoy said, raising his hands in surrender. “Just be careful.”

  She glanced backward and then stepped away from the edge, her heart bouncing up into her throat. She was trying to wrap her mind around what was happening. Had McCoy killed his fellow agents? Why? She wanted to ask but couldn’t seem to get her mouth to connect with her brain.

  As if reading her mind, McCoy began. “I’m a friend, I’m trying to help. You’re safe,” he said. “I was working with Olivia, and I’ve been trying to stay connected to Lucy since she was killed.”

  Zoe shook her head, still confused. Still unable to make words work with her tongue.

  “There’s a group of us that agreed with Olivia on the inhumanity of what was happening when the orders came down from above. I hadn’t been with Grantham as long as some, but killing those kids . . .” McCoy lowered his hands slowly. “I wanted to help.”

  “But you were working with Seeley,” Zoe said.

  “In theory, you know. Keep your enemies close.”

  “The barn raid?”

  “I wasn’t privy to that information. Hammon made an executive decision without filling us in. I’m so sorry, Zoe, for what . . .” Again, he couldn’t finish, and she was glad he didn’t.

  “I don’t believe you,” Zoe said. How could she, after she’d trusted Seeley and he’d turned her over to be electrocuted?

  “I don’t blame you,” McCoy said, “and I’m not asking for trust.” He moved a few feet left, where a small boulder hid a black duffel. He yanked it out and tossed it at Zoe’s feet. “There’s some supplies, clothes, money, enough to get you far away from here. You should have resources enough to start over. A new identity would be good. If you need a contact—”

  “What about Lucy?” Zoe asked.

  “I’m working on that. Don’t worry, I’ll do everything I can to help her.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not leaving without her.”

  “Are you sure you understand—”

  “They pumped me full of electricity the last few days. I understand.”

  McCoy went silent. He shook his head. “I could use your
help, but you should really think about what you’re doing. Because there will be no going back from here.”

  “How could I go on with normal life after this?”

  “Of all people, you could. You’ve overcome worse.”

  So, everyone knew who she really was. Zoe took a deep breath and thought about what he was offering. A way out. A clean break. Wasn’t that what she wanted? To go back to a time before she’d been connected to this insanity? Lying on the floor of the prison cell, hadn’t she begged for the opportunity she was now being given? But she knew that wasn’t what she really longed for. All she wanted now was not to fail Lucy. She loved her.

  She looked up from the black bag resting at her feet. “I can’t leave her.”

  “Zoe—”

  “I can’t fail her too.”

  “It’ll probably get you killed.”

  Zoe paused, letting his words sink in. Death was worth it. She nodded at McCoy and ignored the warning of danger she heard inside. “So there’s a plan?”

  “Not a very good one,” McCoy said.

  “How can I help?”

  He exhaled. “We need help. And you’re not going to like who I have in mind.”

  SEELEY UNLOCKED HIS apartment building’s lobby door. A large brown paper bag rested in the crook of his left arm as he pushed the door open and stepped in. The lobby had gotten a fresh coat of paint since he’d been here last—satin—and it shimmered as the sun shone through the glass entry.

  He’d only spent a handful of nights in this apartment, even though he’d been renting it for over a year. Work kept him away, but it was a nice enough place for Cami to visit. The elevator was currently under repair, but Seeley preferred the stairs anyway. He crossed the small lobby to the stairwell door and pushed it open with his shoulder.

  Two flights up, thirteen stairs in all, short and easy, and Seeley was walking down the hallway of blue doors. Number 215 was his, the last door on the left. After unlocking it, Seeley stepped inside the one-bedroom apartment and shut the door behind him.