Outbreak

by Tarah Benner

  “What do you mean?” I ask, my nervousness manifesting as impatience.

  I don’t like the sound of this research branch Sawyer is talking about. They sound an awful lot like Constance, and I don’t think we’ll survive being on yet another shady organization’s radar.

  “Your results prompted them to reexamine your VocAps health data — all the genetic markers and risk factors that go into your viability score,” explains Sawyer. “Your risk factors for things like cancer were elevated, which is why you scored so low and ended up in Recon.”

  “But the radiation isn’t giving us cancer?”

  Sawyer shakes her head. “It’s not affecting you at all. See, the data they use to determine those risks dates back to before Death Storm. And your viability results go straight from the DNA sequencing machine to Systems so their supercomputer can pull in your aptitude scores and rank you for each section.

  “When they process all the higher-ed kids’ genome data, they don’t have time to go through the results by hand. No human even looks at it. But when Progressive Research took a closer look at yours, they found some gene mutations that we haven’t seen in humans before.”

  “Mutations?”

  “What mutations?” pipes in Eli.

  “They’re still looking into it, but they think the mutations are helping your bodies repair DNA damage after exposure to radiation.”

  As soon as her words sink in, it triggers a storm of questions.

  “What do you mean they haven’t seen it in humans before?”

  Sawyer’s eyes light up the way mine do in a room full of computers. “Scientists have mutated bacteria and smaller organisms to develop radiation resistance, but they’ve never tried it on humans.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” says Eli. “Are you saying this is something they can control?”

  “Not right now. We don’t know all the mutations that cause it. But if they figured out exactly how your bodies were doing it, it’s possible they could try to edit other people’s DNA.”

  Eli looks a little sick, but I’m still too intrigued to be truly spooked by the idea of compound scientists tinkering with people’s genes.

  “But why us?” I ask. “Why Fringe babies? Is it because our parents were exposed to high levels of radiation?”

  Sawyer shakes her head. “That’s not why you’re resistant. Evolution doesn’t work that fast. This is the sort of thing that would take generations to develop. But this gene is probably the reason your parents survived after Death Storm and why you were both perfectly healthy when you were admitted.”

  Now that we’ve got her talking, I can tell Sawyer is more fascinated than creeped out by this mutation stuff. I’m equal parts intrigued and nervous.

  “Back when they first started experimenting with this, they bombarded bacteria with radiation,” she continues. “They used the survivors to breed a hardier generation and repeated the process a bunch of times.”

  “But when would our ancestors have been bombarded by radiation?” interrupts Eli.

  “People were exposed to radiation all the time before Death Storm,” says Sawyer. “Radon seeping up from the ground . . . cosmic radiation . . . X-rays. There’s no way to tell where it came from — only that your ancestors survived and passed their resistance on to you.”

  My brain is running on overdrive as I struggle to wrap my head around this information. “So you think my parents had these mutations?”

  “They must have.”

  “But that’s impossible. My parents died of radiation poisoning a few weeks after coming to the compound.”

  Sawyer shrugs. “I mean, radiation resistance doesn’t make you one hundred percent immune. I suppose extremely high levels could have caused too much damage for their bodies to repair.”

  I shake my head. “It just doesn’t fit.”

  “I know. I tried to pull your parents’ file to look at their medical records. Only . . .”

  “Only what?”

  Sawyer sighs. “Only there was no file. There’s no record of your parents ever being admitted to the medical ward, which makes no sense. Anyone brought in from the Fringe is required to undergo extensive testing before they’re integrated with the general population. We used to keep Fringe babies under observation here for weeks.”

  I shake my head. “They told me my parents got really sick right after we came here. There has to be some record of them being admitted.”

  “That’s what’s so strange. There should be. But don’t worry — I’m looking into it.”

  “Don’t worry?” snaps Eli, rejoining the conversation after several minutes of tense silence. “You just told us that we have some radiation-repelling superpower. Do you realize we’re going to have to spend the rest of our fucking lives on the Fringe when Jayden finds out?”

  “Jayden isn’t going to find out,” says Sawyer. “Progressive Research doesn’t share their findings outside of Health and Rehab. Their research could have too many ethical ramifications.”

  “Never?”

  “Well . . . I guess if there were extenuating circumstances. But they would need a unanimous vote to release any of their research.”

  “And are there any circumstances that would make them vote to share this information with the board?” Eli prompts.

  Sawyer shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s too early to tell. And we don’t have a large enough sample to perform any kind of conclusive study anyway. You guys are kind of a scientific anomaly.”

  Eli doesn’t look convinced, and in truth, neither am I. I’ve seen too much corruption within the compound to believe any ethical agreement is ironclad. For all we know, Constance could have people planted in the Progressive Research Unit.

  But my fear and uncertainty are quickly being overtaken by suspicion. It doesn’t make sense that Health and Rehab wouldn’t have any record of my parents being admitted, and the fact that they probably shared these genetic mutations just makes the situation even more questionable.

  “Are you sure I have what he has?” I ask Sawyer.

  “I’m sure. I pulled your records, and your file is huge. They’ve been studying you since you took the VocAps test, which means something in your genome raised a red flag. And all your blood tests look like Eli’s. You’ve been exposed to high levels of radiation, but your body isn’t reacting the way it should. I’m going to see if I can get ahold of the raw data.”

  Suddenly, a new thought occurs to me. “You said lots of people brought in from the Fringe have this. Does that mean Celdon has the mutations?”

  “I don’t know. He hasn’t been exposed to radiation, so there’s no way to tell other than pulling his raw viability data. When I go in to retrieve yours, I’ll pull his, too.”

  “You shouldn’t be poking around in this. If you get caught —”

  “It’s okay!” says Sawyer, clearly excited by the prospect of solving a medical mystery. “If I play my cards right, I’ll get into Progressive Research anyway. I’m not breaking any rules by digging into this — not really.”

  I shoot her a look of disbelief. I love the bold new Sawyer, but I don’t want her jeopardizing her future in Health and Rehab or putting herself in danger.

  “I’m not breaking many rules by digging into this,” she concedes. “And anyway . . . don’t you want to know why your body can heal its own DNA? Don’t you want to know if your parents were super mutants?”

  She grins, and I feel myself wavering. I can’t deny that I’m curious, but it’s driven by a morbid fascination with the Fringe Program more than hope.

  I refuse to feel relief that my time on the Fringe hasn’t affected me physically. Being immune to radiation can’t undo the things I’ve done or help me unsee the horrors I’ve witnessed. It doesn’t mean Eli and I won’t be shot or blown up. And if Jayden finds out that the two of us have some special immunity, she’s going to send us out even more frequently.

  But I desperately want to see my parents’ missing file. Something just doesn’
t fit.

  Eli is quiet, and the faraway look of concern in his eyes tells me he’s deep in thought. Sawyer has fallen silent, too, but her eager expression is awakening the Harper who loved breaking the rules and wreaking havoc in the Institute.

  I really want Sawyer to stay out of this, but we can’t do it without her.

  I nod slowly and take a deep breath. “Where do we start?”

  fourteen

  Eli

  The next day, the attending physician comes by to discharge me from the medical ward. He tells me I’m showing no signs of radiation sickness, but nothing about his demeanor indicates that he knows about my unusual test results.

  I can’t wait to escape the nauseating stench of disinfectant mixed with sick people, but I’m also dreading getting back to training. As soon as Harper and I return to Recon, Jayden will be itching to deploy us again — indefinitely this time.

  I’ve been racking my brain to come up with a plan, and the one I have isn’t great. There’s a pretty high chance I’m going to fail, and Harper’s going to hate me. But right now, it’s the only thing I can think of to protect her and Owen.

  On my way to check out, I pass by a cracked door in the ICU. I peek inside and see Lenny lying in the bed with her red curly hair fanning out in every direction. She’s regained some of her peachy coloring, but she still doesn’t look like herself.

  Squeezed into one of those little waiting-room chairs next to the door is Miles. He’s nodding off under a canopy of “get well” flowers and looks more out of place than I’ve ever seen him. He’s got dark grayish bags under his eyes and the strain of worry around his mouth. His shirt is stretched out and wrinkly, which makes me think he hasn’t left Lenny’s side in days.

  As I watch, his head dips forward toward his hand, and he jerks it up at the last second as he teeters on the brink of sleep.

  “Hey,” I murmur, leaning against the door jamb and patting him on the shoulder.

  Miles jumps and opens his eyes. “Hey!” He clears his throat and shifts around in the chair, but he can’t quite muster up his trademark swagger sitting at Lenny’s bedside.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “All right, I guess,” he sighs, dragging his palm over his face. “She got pretty lucky. A few more minutes, and she would have been a goner.”

  His tone is light, but when he turns back to face her bed, I can tell he’s replayed that horrible day over and over, thinking about what he could have done differently. It’s how I felt after Harper made her first kill, and it’s why I have to do this my way.

  “It’s not your fault,” I say in a firm voice.

  “The hell it isn’t.” Miles shakes his head. “I led her that way. I led us straight into a fucking firing squad.”

  “You couldn’t have known.”

  “I should have, though. You guys were attacked along that route. I just thought if we were real quiet, maybe we wouldn’t attract attention.”

  “Well, she ought to be grateful she was with you. I doubt any other private would have gotten her back to the compound so fast.”

  “Man, stop trying to make me feel better, all right?” Miles snaps. “I fucked up. You asked me to take her out and show her the ropes, and I fucking failed. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t taken out that drifter.”

  I swallow down the guilt rising up in my throat. I don’t want to tell him that I could have gotten into position a lot faster if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with protecting Owen.

  “Stop blaming yourself,” I say. “Some of this shit is beyond your control.”

  I let out a burst of air. “And you didn’t fail. I wouldn’t have wanted to send her out with anybody else, and I stand by that decision.”

  Miles shakes his head. “You shouldn’t. I’m not cut out for this babysitting shit.”

  “Yeah, you are.” I pause, hesitant to lay everything out there. “In fact . . . I think you should keep going out on her deployments. She’s going to grow into a good partner for you, and I want you to keep an eye on her . . . and the rest of my cadets.”

  Miles scoffs. “You planning on taking a vacation or something?”

  “Not exactly,” I murmur. “But I . . . I may be going away for a while, and I just want to make sure somebody’s looking out for Harper and the others.”

  “Harper?”

  “Yeah. Jayden came to my room the other day for a little heart-to-heart.”

  I close the door and sit down in the empty chair beside Miles, unloading the story of how the drifters caught us in Owen’s house and led us back to their base. I tell him about the confrontation with Malcolm and how Jayden saw us leave him there alive.

  When I finish, Miles is staring at me as though I’ve completely lost my mind.

  “You went into their base pretending to be Owen?” he repeats incredulously. “Are you insane?”

  “I wasn’t sure what else to do. If they knew we were Recon, they would have killed us for sure.”

  He scowls. “That’s why you don’t stick around to have conversations with drifters! You shoot them and get the fuck out!”

  “I couldn’t,” I groan. “They caught us by surprise, and I had no idea how many there were.”

  “And what do you think is gonna happen when Owen comes back?” he asks. “How’s it going to look when he has no memory of hanging out with those guys?”

  “Bad,” I admit. “Which is why I need to find him.”

  I clench my fists and grit my teeth, gearing up for the lecture I know I have coming.

  “As soon as one of the gang leaders shows his face again, Jayden is going to deploy me. I’m going to find Owen and fake his death. So long as Jayden never sees him again, she’ll have no choice but to believe me.”

  “How are you going to fake his death?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I have an idea. I just need to call in some reinforcements.”

  Miles shakes his head in disbelief. “And you think Owen is just gonna go on the run because you tell him he should?”

  “He doesn’t have a choice. He’s as good as dead anyway, now that Malcolm is questioning his loyalty.”

  “Because of you.”

  “That’s beside the point. Owen can’t stay here . . . not with Jayden and the Desperados after him.”

  There’s a long pause as Miles considers my logic.

  When he looks up at me, there’s a pained expression in his eyes — as though he knows he’s looking at a dead man.

  “Why are you putting yourself through this?” he asks. “Just tell Jayden you aren’t going to be her little bitch anymore.”

  “I can’t,” I groan, staring down at my hands and willing him to understand. “If I don’t go along with this, Jayden is going to kill Harper.”

  “So tell Harper to leave! Send her to another compound the way you planned.”

  My stomach drops. I completely forgot that Miles hasn’t heard the news about 119.

  “That’s not really an option anymore. I don’t want to go into it right now, but trust me . . . I would if I could.”

  “So what if Jayden sends you out there and you can’t find Owen? What then?”

  “I have to find him,” I say. “No matter how long I have to stay out there.”

  It takes several seconds for the meaning of my words to sink in, and when they do, Miles’s expression goes blank. “Are you telling me you’re planning to stay out on the Fringe until you find your brother?”

  I nod. “Jayden’s orders. She says she doesn’t care if it takes six days or six months. I can’t come back without a dead drifter . . . which is why I’m putting in a request for a new partner.”

  Hearing those words aloud and seeing Miles’s expression intensifies the horrible guilt that’s been eating at my stomach all day.

  “You’re dropping Riley?”

  “I have to. She’s not cut out for the Fringe, and it wouldn’t be right dragging her out there with me.”

  “W
ouldn’t be right? What about the other poor bastard you rope into your suicide mission? How is that right?”

  I grit my teeth. “It won’t be a suicide mission if we pull it off.”

  “Yeah, but that’s a pretty big ‘if.’”

  “I don’t expect you to do it,” I say, feeling defensive. “I just can’t put Harper through that.”

  Miles opens his mouth to argue, but our conversation is cut short by a soft knock on the door. It’s Sawyer.

  By the look on her face, she didn’t catch the tail end of my last statement, but she still looks uncomfortable.

  “Glad I caught you before you left,” she says, scooting into the room and glancing at the empty tunnel behind her.

  “Is Harper okay?” I ask.

  “She’s fine. She’s being discharged, too.”

  Sawyer glances down the tunnel again, and I get an uneasy feeling in my gut.

  “Can we talk for a second?” she asks, glancing bashfully at Miles. “In private?”

  I can’t imagine what she could say that I don’t want Miles to hear, but I get up and follow her out into the tunnel anyway.

  Sawyer leads me out of the ICU and through the postexposure wing. Then she turns down a short dead-end tunnel that’s just for storage, where a few extra gurneys are lined up along the walls. As soon as we enter the little alcove, the ambient noise from the wing fades to a low hum.

  “What is it?” I ask. “Did you get your hands on the raw viability data?”

  She shakes her head so her shiny black hair swooshes around her chin. “Not yet.”

  I look at her expectantly. She shifts her weight from one foot to another, carefully avoiding my gaze.

  “Don’t be mad,” she says, “but when I went to read your dosimeter, I snooped around in your bag a little.”

  That’s probably the absolute last thing I expected her to say. Now I know why she was acting all shady, but after everything Sawyer’s done for me and Harper, I’m too grateful to be pissed.

  “When Caleb brought you up to the ward, you were guarding that with your life.” She gestures to my rucksack. “I figured something was up, so I had a look inside.”

  Sawyer jerks her head over her shoulder once more to make sure we aren’t being watched and then reaches into her back pocket to pull out something I can’t see.