He goes silent for a moment.
“What?”
“Pretty amazing timing, wouldn’t you say? I mean, right before someone busts in to try to kill you, clothes and a passcard magically appear in your room?”
“I think it was Larry who gave them to me,” I blurt out.
“Why?”
“I just do.”
“I can understand why someone on staff might want to help you, you know, avoid getting whacked. But why would one of the doctors who’ve been trying to erase your memories want you to take those pills to bring them back?”
“I don’t know.”
Pierce laughs. “Okay, listen. You’re not allowed to answer ‘I don’t know’ to any more of my questions.”
“Then you better stop asking me questions.”
He sits down at the desk. “Well, whatever the story is, you’re probably better off not knowing.”
“Why?”
“Why put all that mud back in your head again? I wish I could chuck out half of what’s in my brain and get a fresh start. Seriously, it’s for the best that you never took them.”
“I did take them,” I say. “One of them, anyway.”
“What?” He jostles the computer table with his leg and catches one of the computers before it hits the floor.
“I took one right before those soldiers busted in.”
“That’s a problem then,” he says. “That’s a big, huge problem.”
CHAPTER 12
If my brain is in jeopardy, I know I should probably ask why, but it’s still hard to get the question out of my mouth.
“Why is it bad that I took one of the pills?”
He rubs his eyes and says, “I don’t understand all the medical stuff they talk about in their case studies.…”
“You have all their case studies? For everyone in the Center?”
“I do now. That and a whole lot more. Normally I don’t come along on these kinds of projects, but 8-Bit set up this yurt and wanted me here, out of sight, so the soldiers don’t know I’m here.”
“To take their files?”
“To take everything. All their research data and patient files. Every last thing. And to leave with it if 8-Bit runs into any problems. I think that’s what’s in this encrypted file he left me. Instructions about what to do with all this data.”
“Tell me what you know about the pills,” I say.
“You have to take them at certain intervals.…”
“Yes! Twenty-four hours. That’s what the instructions said.”
“They get rid of the plasticizer, but it’s an all-or-nothing kind of thing. If you don’t get it all out, it floats around in there,” he points to my head. “Then it adheres to whatever it feels like adhering to. Like, say, that part of your brain that tells you what the color red is, or what music sounds like, or how to breathe. Or that little thing called your conscience that makes sure you don’t kill people just for the sheer pleasure of it.”
“I’m one pill short.”
I suddenly feel like too much energy is coursing through me. I can’t contain it all. I realize that what I’m feeling is, weirdly, elation. I hug Pierce briefly, intensely, for telling me this. Yes, he’s given me a lot of bad news, but he’s also just given me something I need—hope.
“I just need to get one more, right?”
“Angel …”
“Where can I get more of them?”
He looks like he doesn’t want to extinguish my hopes but knows he must. My heart tumbles onto this concrete reality: I have to go back in there.
I walk toward the computer desk and let myself fall into the chair, my head in my hands. I’ve got whiplash from jerking between the extremes of hope and dread in the span of seconds.
“Don’t look so glum,” Pierce says.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because there’s no way I’m not going to let you go in there by yourself.”
“Absolutely not! You can’t!”
He shakes his head at me and says, “I think that as you get to know me better, you’ll find that I’m rather difficult to control.”
I look back at him, determined, adamant. I’m going to tell him no way, no how is he coming with me. I don’t care what he says.
But then he smiles. And I give in.
He is difficult to control.
I suppose I like that about him.
We trudge along, taking turns in front to block the snow and wind. Dawn punches weakly at the clouds. Through the canopy of the pines I can see the occasional patch of fading stars. A couple times the storm eases up, only to get twice as bad the minute I think the worst is over.
It seems to take much longer to get from the yurt to the hospital than it did to go the other way. Pierce gave me a pair of liners to put under my leather work gloves, but my fingertips hurt from the cold—it’s like someone has been hitting them with a hammer. I look at Pierce’s ski pants and his puffy down parka. It’s one of those real expensive ones, lightweight but warm. In the city, it’s the kind of jacket people steal.
Now there’s something else I can remember that I couldn’t before.
When we get within fifty yards of the compound, I see it. The tower crane. It’s swaying slightly, and we can hear the creaking of the cold metal even in the howling wind. I can just make out the heavy plates of the counterbalance. I wonder if they’re enough to keep the crane stable in these high winds. Each time it moves, I feel my stomach lurch.
We arrive at the fence and find the point where we went through earlier. Pierce cuts the zip-ties. He slides through, careful not to touch the edges. I pass his backpack through and follow after.
We walk at an angle, pressing ourselves into the wind, and I look down into the excavation pit. A line of solar-powered lamps hang by their cords, swinging wildly back and forth. All the heavy equipment sits motionless, like bright yellow dinosaurs stuck in a tar pit.
Pierce looks up toward the hospital. He takes out the walkie-talkie and looks at it. “Maybe I could give it one more try. See if 8-Bit responds this time. See if he could help us.”
“I wouldn’t risk it,” I say. “That woman’s voice we heard earlier …”
“What? You know her?”
“I do. I don’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You told me I couldn’t say ‘I don’t know’ anymore.”
He throws his hands up in exasperation.
“Her name is Evangeline Hodges, and all I can tell you is that every time I think of her, I feel so much hate and anger I can’t see straight. She’s the link between this hospital, me, your boss, and those mercenary guys.”
“If she was, I think I’d know about it.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you seem to be out of the loop on some key aspects of 8-Bit’s plan.”
Pierce gives me a quick, pained smile. My eyes drift toward the main hospital building. I remember the warm, bland world I had there. I miss everyone telling me I should relax. It only lasts a moment, though, and I recognize it for what it is: a longing for safety. I would never want to go back to that life again.
We walk a few more yards, and I stop. I know I need to do something I don’t want to do: I need to give him one last chance to leave.
“Pierce … I … this is far enough. Really. You’ve done more than enough.” I point to the snowmobile. “Push that toward the woods and start it up when you’re out of earshot.”
“I was wondering when you were going to make this heroic little speech.” He checks his watch. “Yep. Pretty much right on schedule.”
I grab him by the wrist. “If I were truly being heroic, I’d actually mean what I’m saying right now. But I don’t. I want you to stay with me, but I realize how selfish that is. That’s why I’m telling you to go.”
“You don’t know this, Angel, but you are actually helping me. Not the other way around.”
“I’m helping you by dragging you into a hospital filled with armed soldiers agains
t the express wishes of your boss?”
“Father.”
“Right.”
“And yes, that’s correct.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“I have my reasons.”
“No doubt very stupid, self-destructive ones.”
He shrugs. “Aren’t those the best kind?”
I look around, trying to get my bearings. Snow blows into my face, and for the next few seconds I see nothing at all. Then I turn toward Pierce. His scarf covers his nose and mouth. He lifts his goggles. All I see are his black-brown eyes.
“My name’s not really Pierce, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I’d tell you what it really is, except 8-Bit made me swear never to tell anyone. He said it could get us both killed.”
“Then you definitely shouldn’t tell me.”
“No, I want you to know. Every time you call me Pierce it reminds me that I’m lying to you.”
He’s just staring at me. I know he wants me to know that he trusts me, but he’s afraid. There must be a good reason why.
“I forbid you to tell me,” I say.
“You forbid me?”
“Yes.” I put both forefingers to my temples. “I remember now. Yes … it’s hazy, but I must admit that under even mild stress, I blurt out other people’s deepest, darkest secrets.”
“I think someone could threaten to cut off your head and you wouldn’t tell them your shoe size.”
I put my hands on my hips. “How about this? If you tell me your real name, I won’t let you come along to help me.”
“You won’t let me come?”
“That’s right, and then you’ll have to find some other way to satisfy your self-destructive urges. And let’s be honest, this is kind of a golden opportunity for self-destruction. I’d hate for you to miss it.”
The warmth of his smile cuts through the freezing gusts of snow.
“Okay, I won’t tell you.”
“Swear?”
“I swear I will not tell you my real name.”
“All right then. I’ll let you come with me and risk getting killed.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate the chance you’re giving me here.”
I put out my hand to shake, but then suddenly let it drop.
“Hey! I thought we had a deal!”
“It’s not that. It’s …”
I’ve caught something on the wind. A scent. Just for a moment. It’s a neutral kind of smell, but one I instantly recognize as the laundry detergent they used to wash our hospital gowns, robes, and bedding. I walk away from him, my head cocked slightly, trying to catch it again.
“What’s the matter?” he asks.
I put my hand up. Close my eyes and sniff again. I turn and look toward the construction site, straining my eyes, willing them to penetrate the snow.
There it is. In this sea of white, I can see a different shade.
“Someone’s there,” I say, pointing.
I hunch down and run across an open area between some of the construction equipment and a trailer parked at the edge of the excavation pit. The person I see is not moving. She is small. I run faster, but I don’t know why I’m bothering. I already know. I just know.
It’s Jori. She’s leaning with her back up against one of the big black rubber tires of a cement mixer. I don’t think I would have seen her at all if I hadn’t been trying. She was so pale to begin with, and the snow is already covering half her body. She’s in her hospital gown; her legs and feet are bare and blue.
I use my teeth to get one of my gloves off, hoping I’m wrong. I touch her chest. If it’s even possible, she’s colder than the snow around her.
I remember the fire on her wing, the way I left her behind. I take one of her hands in mine, and I see that it’s blistered. She burned and then she froze. For some reason, I think of Hodges. A seething rage surges through me.
Pierce walks up behind me. “Oh man.”
I kick the tire of the cement mixer, only succeeding in hurting myself. But I don’t care.
“Someone you knew?”
“The girl I told you about. Jori.”
My hot tears go cold almost instantly in the wind. I wipe my runny nose, and it hurts. The ice on my glove makes it feel like I’m rubbing sandpaper across my face. I feel like I deserve this pain.
“We should move her,” I say.
I don’t even know where to take her. I just know I don’t want to leave her here, forgotten under the snow.
Pierce takes her by the armpits and I lift up her legs. As we shift her body, I see the snow swirl and realize that I’m seeing two sets of footprints. Hers and much larger ones. Not boot prints, either. Footprints. As in, bare feet.
CHAPTER 13
The footprints lead toward the construction pit, up to a double-wide trailer that sits on high ground next to the excavation area. The roof of the trailer is completely covered with solar panels, one or two of which are lifting up slightly as the wind gusts. The satellite dish that was once mounted at the top of the trailer has come loose and is rattling in the wind like a garbage can lid.
We carry Jori’s body toward the trailer, and as we approach, the door blows open. It smacks against the side of the trailer again and again. If it had been open earlier, when we were heading toward the yurt, I’m sure we would have heard the door banging.
When we reach the trailer, I put one foot on the three-step staircase leading to the doorway, still holding Jori’s upper body. Pierce stops, and for a moment we are pulling her in different directions.
“I don’t mean to be, you know, gross or whatever,” he says, “but it’s probably better if we keep her outside. Decomposition, and all.”
I know he’s right, but I hate it.
Now that we’re right up against the trailer, I notice something else. Near the door, I see a hospital gown snagged on a length of rebar that is sticking up through the snow. It can’t be Jori’s. She’s still wearing hers.
We set her down in the snow. I turn her on her side and push her legs and arms together so she’s somewhat in the fetal position. Pierce steps back and gives me a minute. Not that I have anything to say to Jori. Really, I didn’t know her, and she didn’t know me. If I measured it in hours, we probably shared a sum total of a few weeks together. But I know I gave her comfort and I wish I could give her comfort now. But I can’t. The whole world seems like it’s full of nothing but “I can’t” and wishing I could have done more. The dead must be so disappointed in all of us.
Pierce is crouching near stacks of what look like the fancy, faceted concrete blocks they used to build this place. The flimsy trailer door is now whipping back and forth, smacking so hard against the side of the trailer, I’m sure it’s going to snap off its hinges.
I automatically crouch down as I approach the door. I must have spent a lot of time sneaking around construction sites back when I was Angel, and now my reflexes have taken over. I pull my nailer out of the deep inside pocket of my coat. The trailer is dark. All the blinds are pulled tight, and I motion for Pierce to give me one of the flashlights he’s packed. Instead he hands me his headlamp.
I put it on and step inside, Pierce close behind me. As I turn my head to look around, the white beam travels over the walls. We’re in some sort of fancy, temporary construction office. There are leather chairs, a couch, even a Persian rug. I see the usual desk stuff: pens, paper, a desk lamp, a stapler. I look at the framed pictures on the walls. They’re all line drawings of whatever the building is supposed to look like when it’s completed.
At the opposite end of the trailer is a small kitchenette. I walk toward it and notice the clock on the microwave is flashing the wrong time, but it’s still working.
I let the light sweep around the trailer again. Pierce is standing in the doorway. I turn to him, and I’m about to say that I think the trailer is empty when he points to something and pulls me back toward the door.
“There. Look.”
I see the bottom of a bare foot. Someone is curled up on the floor, under the desk. Judging by the size of the foot, it’s got to be a guy.
“Hey,” I say.
I get no response.
“Are you okay?”
I move closer and around the corner of the desk. I shine the light on the person lying beneath it.
“Oh, geez,” I say.
“Is it … is it another body?”
“Yes.”
He pulls the trailer door shut and walks toward me. “Dead?”
“Nope. Buck naked, though.”
He points a flashlight at the guy curled up under the desk. How the kid has even managed to squash himself in there, I don’t know.
“Anyone you know?”
It’s the tattoo-covered kid. “He was on my ward. But I only saw him once before now.”
I’m about to say that this might be a problem. My ward was … well, my ward. The locked ward. But Pierce’s voice is suddenly urgent.
“He’s hypothermic.”
“What?”
“He’s burrowing. Help me get him out of there.”
Pierce begins removing things from his pack. Then he takes off his jacket.
“What are you doing?”
“Body heat. Burrowing is a sign of advanced hypothermia. That’s why he was stripping off his clothes.”
“What?”
“It’s what people do before freezing to death. They take their clothes off and find some place to curl up in the fetal position. Help me. Get on the other side of him.”
Pierce takes his pullover off. I must look horrified, because he tells me, “You don’t have to take your shirt off. Just get on the other side of him and we’ll kind of sandwich him between us.”
Pierce rummages through his pack and comes out with a blanket that looks like a giant silver garbage bag. We pull the kid out from under the desk and roll him into the center of the blanket. Then I take one side of the blanket and Pierce takes the other and we wrap ourselves up with him.
“Ugh. It’s like hugging an Alaskan mailbox,” Pierce says.
We stay there for about half an hour, until the kid starts feeling warmer and begins shivering. Pierce says this is a good sign. “We need to get some clothes for him, and he’s not going to fit into any of my stuff. See if there’s anything around here.”
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