by Carol Riggs
I sneak a look at him. What does he mean by that? I’m not sure if he’s implying he could do this vid better in his own body, or if he’s tired of being a Reducer. Or if he wants to hold my hand with his real hand. His face in the semi-darkness gives away nothing. He leaves his hand linked with mine until a dust cloud materializes in the distance and turns the color of rust.
“Watch out,” he says. “Something’s coming in that cloud.”
We grab our ray guns from the armrests. With our fingers on the firing buttons, we wait. The cloud swirls nearer and halts twenty feet away. Hovering. Minutes trickle by. The music slows to a creepy pace.
I shriek as something whips my neck. I twist left to find a slit-eyed alien snapping its slithery tentacles at me. It spits something wet onto my arm. I plug the beast three rapid shots with my ray gun before it quivers and falls.
“They’re tunneling under the sand!” Vonn yells, firing like crazy. More aliens burst into view, sending out tentacles like thin wet whips. “Ouch, take that, you slimy pile of guts—”
I keep shooting. The rusty cloud begins to disperse as Vonn and I gun down the aliens. When the last creature utters a harsh cry and flops onto the sand to bubble and froth in gruesome death throes, I holster my gun in the armrest. Yes! Enormous fun.
“Whew,” Vonn says, breathing hard. “That was awesome, but intense.”
I rub my neck and arm where I was whipped. “Yeah, what the haze? The theater’s got the air streams a little too compressed, don’t ya think?”
“Can’t say it’s not realistic.” Vonn chuckles, the sound low and comforting. He slips his hand back into mine.
Nice. I twine my fingers around his, aware of every single touch receptor that my hand now possesses. My sensory neurons are going wild.
The vid ushers us into a hovercraft, and the air speeds into an exhilarating breeze to simulate movement toward one of the spherical alien buildings. I grin a maniac’s grin in the golden glow of the scenery. Imagine. I’m holding hands with Superguy. Sure, it’s Matt’s body, but I can sense Vonn’s personality—his soul—in the way he moves his hands and in the way he’s lightly breathing. How he’s holding his mouth in that charming, satisfied smile.
I glance at his profile. Once we’re our real selves, will we have the same great connection? Vonn likes the Morgan who met him at the Institute and texted him on TeenDom. He also seems to like the Morgan I am now, inside Jodine. This version is the one he’s spent actual time with and gotten to know in real life. Am I different from my usual self? I’m not Jodine, but I’ve certainly been affected by her residuals and by aspects of her body—her taste buds, her song preferences, and a deep love for art and the color red.
Scary. Jodine could be rubbing off on me in ways I don’t even realize. Maybe Granddad was right when he said people’s appearances are a crucial part of their personalities. Vonn and I both might be different people when we’re in our own bodies.
How much different?
I don’t have time to ponder it further. An ambush party awaits us in the floating alien building. We escape by plunging down the building’s tether shaft and find ourselves in an underground passage filled with roaring fire.
Even so, it’s hard to drag my gaze from Vonn’s intriguing mouth. The thought of a kiss with him is much more tantalizing than the imminent danger we’re in.
Chapter 18
My footsteps are infused with a giddy bounce by the time Vonn and I leave the vid theater. No kiss has materialized, but the heady sensation of his hand in mine warms me from the inside out. We walk back toward the park, passing cafés and clothing boutiques and vidgame shops. One trendy café features a scattering of outdoor tables. The aromas of blueberry muffins and sweet coffee swirl over me, sending a pang through my gut, taking some of the air out of my giddiness.
Blueberry. Like the tea Granddad always drinks.
I wish I were heading to my own home right now. Except for hanging with Vonn, I’m far away from everyone I want to be with these days.
My glance sweeps over people seated at the café tables, and I lock gazes with Chad, the guy Vonn swore was his old friend Steven. That heart-shaped birthmark. The athletic build. His expression goes tight. A long-haired guy sits with him, and his glance ping-pongs from Chad to me.
Thoughts of kisses fly from my head. For Vonn’s sake—and my own suspicions about what the Institute is doing behind the scenes—I have to find out what’s going on. I stride over to Chad, pulling Vonn with me, and prop one hand on my hip. “Spill it. No two people can have the exact same birthmark. You have Vonn’s friend’s body, and I want to know how and why.”
“You watch too much science fiction,” Chad says. “People can’t switch bodies.”
“Loaners and Reducers do.”
He squints. “Nah. I wasn’t part of some crazy fat-reducing program. I’ve heard of it, though.” He rakes his attention over me, head to toe. “Are you in it? Looks like you need to be.”
The long-haired guy lets out a sputtery laugh. Great. Not the direction I want to go with this conversation, with the spotlight on Jodine.
Vonn gives Chad’s friend a hard look and pins Chad with an even harder one. “She’s talking about you, not her, and we’re not leaving until you tell us how you ended up with Steven’s body.”
“You’re both certified nutso.” Chad fiddles with the paper on his blueberry muffin. “I’ve been in this body all my life.”
“Yeah, right.” I release Vonn’s hand, pluck out my phone, and tap up a certain fanatic rights-advocate site. “Want some free publicity about this? I’m sure the WHA would love to hear the gory details, because they jump on stories about body swapping. I bet it’ll go viral in less than twenty-four hours. Oh, look, here’s their contact number—”
Chad leaps up and places a tense hand on my arm. “No, don’t do that. I can’t have any spotlights on me.” He scans the café area and ducks closer to my ear. “I’ll tell you. My buddy here already knows. Just promise you won’t say anything to anyone else, because I could get in seriously big trouble. You know how illegal this is.”
Yeah, because Transfers are only sanctioned for weight loss, period.
“Start talking.” I’m not promising anything.
He lands back in his chair with a thump. “Okay, so…I was dying in Missouri. Multiple myeloma—bone cancer. Four stinkin’ years of radiation, chemo, and a megacomplex-load of meds. All for nothing.” His voice is low, almost a murmur.
“Oh.” This isn’t what I thought he’d say. I’m not sure what I expected, to tell the truth. I step closer to hear him better. Vonn does too, re-gripping my hand as if he’s anchoring himself.
“My mom couldn’t handle that I was gonna die before I reached twenty-five.” Chad swallows as if it’s painful. “My dad left us a lot of money when he passed away, and since she works for National Health Care, she managed to find a place that did ERT procedures…for a price. The body I’m inside of now was on life support, brain dead because of some sort of bad accident in the Blue Zone. My mom said his foster parents agreed to have him taken off the machines and let me have his body. His life, swapped for mine. All I had to do was have my last name changed since I looked different, and get my ID chip tweaked.”
“A place that does ERT. You mean The Body Institute?”
He shrugs and flicks a glance at his friend. “I don’t know. In February I woke up in a hotel in Seattle with my mom. It could’ve been a black-market operation for all I know. Anyway, I didn’t think I’d run into anyone from the Blue Zone when I visited my friend here. Guess I should’ve covered up the hazin’ birthmark.”
“I guess so,” I say, unable to think of anything else. A black-market ERT operation…that doesn’t seem likely. The Institute’s genius tech is highly advanced and safeguarded, and I’m not sure anyone else could build the equipment and develop it properly, even if he or she knew the basic know-how. But that means the Institute would’ve done the procedure, and that doesn�
�t make sense, either. Especially since tweaking IDs is high-level illegal.
“If all of that’s true,” Vonn says, “why didn’t I see anything online about Steven being in an accident?”
Chad shrugs again. “Heck if I know. I don’t control the news or social media.”
I’m not sure this helps Vonn much. I don’t know if discovering Steven’s mind is gone forever hurts any less than always wondering what happened to him.
“Thanks for the explanation,” I say to Chad.
Chad grunts, staring at his latte cup. Vonn and I leave him with his long-haired friend and the other half of his blueberry muffin, but it doesn’t look like he has much appetite for his food anymore.
I squint down at the bathroom scale, past the set of toes parked there. Here it is, two-thirds into the month of November, and I’ve only lost ten pounds. I’m behind schedule. Last month I lost a total of twenty-two, a whole five pounds beyond the call of duty. I can’t waste my entire head start. A curse on Nettie’s kitchen being cheery and welcoming, and a curse on Nettie for fixing such wondrous meals.
To make things even worse, Thanksgiving is coming up later this week.
Honestly. Holidays should be banned out of respect for people trying to lose weight.
I wolf down some breakfast and hustle off to meet Vonn. When I arrive at our usual rendezvous bench, he checks his phone and waggles a finger at me.
“About time, Miss Fitness.” He gives me that smile of his with its irresistible energy, aiming it straight at me. “You’re forty-six seconds late. If you’re constantly late, how can we squeeze in a decent walk before I go to work and you go to the Clinic?”
I beam some energy right back. “I’m terribly sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“It better not, or I’ll report you to Leo.”
We laugh, even though in reality it’s a scary thought. I can’t lose my walks with Vonn. He’s the only thing that keeps me sane while I’m in this body.
“I’m glad you’re doing this with me, 007,” Vonn says, his fingers strong around mine as we walk. “It takes pure grit to be out here every day.”
“Beats the gym any time, and the company is better.”
Vonn blows out a heavy sigh. “You know, I’m still having trouble accepting that Steven is gone. Or that his foster parents gave his body to someone else. Permanently. I’m really pissed off at the Institute right now for doing that. Just let the poor guy rest in peace, not farm his body out to strangers.”
“I agree, although we don’t know the Institute had anything to do with it.” While it’s great Steven’s body is allowing Chad to live, it’s awful to think about what it means for Vonn. If I saw Blair and Krista on the street one day and they didn’t know me, I’d be freaked. Even if Steven was for all practical purposes dead already, it’s weird to recycle his whole body like a transplanted lung or liver or heart.
Way ugly thoughts. No wonder Vonn’s having a hard time processing the news. Some serious comforting is in order right now.
I stop Vonn on the path and wrap my arms around him. His arms curve around me. We tighten the hug, and I bury my face against his shoulder.
After a few minutes, Vonn relaxes. When I raise my head, he leans down and gives me a soft kiss on the mouth.
He smiles, then sobers up. “I hate to say this,” he says, “but I’d better head off to work. The squirrels await.”
I smooth my hand over his shoulder, my head spinning from the touch of his lips. Fireworks and warm fuzzies! He kissed me. He kissed me! A short one, yes, but really gentle and full of feeling.
We clasp hands and walk to the far edge of the park.
“See you tomorrow, Superguy,” I say as our fingers slide apart.
“I hope I can kiss you again when we’re in our real bodies.” Vonn’s voice is low, but intense. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while and decided I couldn’t wait.”
I smile into his eyes. “Well, I’m glad you quit waiting.”
We hug again, and I hike back to the MT shelter.
I board the Express bound for the Red Zone and ride while streaming some exhilarating music, replaying his soft kiss in my mind. It’s kind of strange being in Jodine’s body while kissing someone, but hopefully she—or Leo—won’t ever find out. I look forward to when Vonn and I are ourselves again, and we don’t have to worry about that anymore.
As the MT slows and nears the Alameda Street shelter, people around me begin peering out the windows, murmuring and pointing. I turn to see an accumulation of smoke or some kind of grungy haze looming in the sky about a quarter mile away. It doesn’t quite look like weather clouds, and it seems like it’s hanging over the Institute.
My heartbeat quickens, and I scramble off the MT. A vidscreen on a nearby building shows a reporter standing in front of a huge pile of rubble. Like daggers in my ears, I catch the words “The Body Institute.”
Oh, no. The scene looks like the scorched grounds of the Boston branch. Only on a much larger scale. At a near jog, I take off for the Institute grounds.
What I see when I get closer isn’t encouraging. Enforcers swarm the street, and barricades block the entrance. Onlookers gawk while a news team transmits on my left. I pass a knot of reporters.
“—occurred at oh-seven-twenty today,” a reporter is saying. “The explosion originated inside the suspended animation room, where it demolished everything there and ripped toward the front. At the time of the blast, the Institute was not yet open for the day, but casualties include six staff members and two guards who were on night duty. Three other workers experienced severe injuries and have been admitted to the Alameda Hospital. No one at the nearby Clinic was harmed, though the building itself has sustained damage to the roof and exterior from airborne debris. The fire from the initial explosion has been extinguished, and as you can see, the destruction is quite extensive—”
Floating black cinders whirl above my head. A charred odor hangs in the air. It’s of melted plastic, scorched wood, seared metal. I taste the stench in my mouth and gag. To my far left, the Clinic building stands damaged and debris-littered, with dozens of Reducers huddled and weeping on its walkways. My gaze swings across the grounds to the remains of what used to be the administration building.
I squeeze my eyes closed, then open them again. The scene is the same. It’s clear this was the work of one incredibly massive bomb. All that’s left of the building are shattered mountains of glass, heaps of rubble, and charred stubs of support beams. Hunks of sheetrock lie across the lawn, and twisted fragments of furniture jut from the debris. Wisps of smoke rise into the sky like dark serpents.
Has the WHA done this terrible thing?
I reach a barricade and lean against it. An Enforcer shouts and motions for me to back off, but right then, the total impact of what I am seeing hits me full force, and my legs buckle. My knees thud to the pavement. The entire administration building—and its contents—have been destroyed.
My body, my real body, was in that building.
Chapter 19
“No,” I say, the word coming out as a thin croak. “No, no.”
“Please, miss, move away from the barricade,” says an Enforcer with the eyes of a Basset Hound. He pulls me to my feet. As I teeter there, I glimpse a man on the other side of the barrier. He’s a trim guy in a dark suit, clawing one hand through his hair and surveying the scene with wide, distracted eyes.
Dust smudges his suit. It’s Leo Behr.
He catches sight of me and gives an exhale so short and pained it sounds like a huff. “The Clinic is closed today, Morgan. Everything else is gone, including the backup files. And I’m afraid Denver’s files were also sabotaged.”
“What do you mean?” My head swims, heavy and constricted. His words crash in my head, not making any logical sense.
No body. I have no body. My body was in that building.
“I mean, everything is destroyed,” Leo says. “There’s no suspended animation room anymore. No backup fi
les for you or your Loaner. You won’t be able to return to your old appearance.”
His words clear and settle, sinking in like knife blades. “I—I’m Jodine now?”
A frown wrinkles his forehead. Dark hollows shadow his eyes. “Please. Go to the Kowalczyks’ and stay there. I have a lot of things to take care of right now.”
He can’t dismiss me like that. Not right now. Not after telling me in a few horrible sentences that my whole life has ended, and Jodine’s too.
My insides loosen, start unraveling. I suck in a lungful of burnt air. “I can’t go. I just died in that building, Leo. Died. And now I’m stuck in someone else’s freaking body!”
Leo shakes his head. “Nothing can be done about that. Please don’t make a scene.”
“You could have prevented this,” I say, glaring, my breath coming hard and shallow. “You posted more Enforcers, added more security! No one should’ve been able to walk into a high-security area and set off a huge bomb.”
News reporters turn my way. Leo catches the eye of the Basset Hound Enforcer, and jerks his head toward the far sidewalk. The Enforcer clamps his hand on my upper arm and starts to steer me from the grounds.
I twist back toward Leo. “This is all your fault!” I scream, knowing he knows what I’m talking about, the safety he promised me. A sturdy female Enforcer rushes up to help escort me past the camera crew. “You helped kill me, Leo Behr!”
“You’re not thinking straight, miss,” the Basset Hound Enforcer says in a rumbly voice. “We don’t want to have to cite you for causing a disturbance. Go back to your Loaner house and wait until the director messages you. Give yourself time to cool off.”
I moan, which comes out chalky and weak. I moan again, for a different reason. These vocal chords are now mine.
My muscles sag, and the two Enforcers release me.
The Basset Hound pats my back. “There you go, take it easy. Mr. Behr will contact you later with more information.”
I stumble off. The sidewalk to the MT passes under my shoes like a desolate treadmill. This can’t be happening. It isn’t happening. I don’t want to be stranded in this body…for good. I can’t live this way. It’s a cruel joke, a twisted nightmare I’m sure I’ll wake up from soon.