“He is pretty big,” Noa said thoughtfully.
“Sure,” Zeke said. “I bet he’ll be fine.”
Noa held it in front of his face and said, “Last chance.”
The guy tried to rear away from the tip of the Taser. Noa pressed it up against his chest and cocked her head to the side.
“Ready?” she asked. “One . . . two . . .”
“We were driving him to south San Francisco.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “There was a truck waiting for him.”
“Just Teo?” Noa asked. “Or were you supposed to get others?”
“Three more,” he said. “Two in Oakland and another in San Francisco. But he was first on the list.”
“What are the other names?”
“I’ll give you them, I swear,” the guy said. “I’ll tell you anything. But you gotta promise me something.”
“What?” Noa asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Let me go somewhere outside the city. Just give me a little cash, enough to disappear for a while.”
Turk snorted. “Yeah, I bet you’d like that. So you can run back and tell them all about us.”
The guy shook his head and scoffed. “Smarten up, you little punk. They already know all about you. Mark Toledo, street name Turk. Mom was a junkie hooker, Dad was a pimp. Landed in foster care when you were two because she hadn’t fed you for a week and the neighbors complained that you and your sister wouldn’t stop screaming.”
Turk looked like he’d been struck. Seeing it, the guy recovered some of his bravado and eyed the rest of them. “Crystal Moore. Trailer trash from Modesto. Mommy’s boyfriend got a little too friendly one night, so you ran away. And there’s little Danny Cepeda. Those cigarette burns healed up yet?”
The circle widened as kids backed away.
“Stop it,” Noa said in a low voice.
“And you.” The guy turned to her with a sneer. “The golden goose. Oh, they know all about you and your little ‘army.’ You really think you can beat them? You can barely take care of yourselves. You’re just a bunch of whiny little brats that the rest of the world could give a shit about. In the end, you’re all going to end up back on their tables. Just wait and—”
He suddenly went spastic, eyes wide, spittle flying from his mouth. Noa jumped back as sparks flew off the end of the Taser. But her hands were empty; Zeke had taken the stun gun and activated it.
“And you were worried he wouldn’t talk,” Zeke said, avoiding her eyes. “Turns out he won’t shut up.”
The guy had slumped over in the chair, unconscious. His chest rose and fell, so he wasn’t dead. Noa clenched her hands into fists to hide the fact that they were shaking.
“How did he know all that?” Turk asked, a tremor in his voice. “How do they know who we are?”
“Some of you were rescued,” Noa reminded him.
“Not me,” Danny said in a low voice. “I found you online, remember?”
Noa chewed her lip. He was right. Some of these kids had already been part of the organization when she joined up; others like Teo had been rescued. Yet this guy claimed to know personal details about all of them.
“Someone’s been talking.” Turk marched back over to the chair. “I bet he knows who, too.”
“Leave him,” Noa said. “I’ll deal with him myself.”
“How?” Turk snorted. “You didn’t seem to scare him much.”
“I know,” Noa said thoughtfully. “But I’ve got another idea.”
“Fingernails?” Turk asked hopefully.
“No,” Noa said. “PEMA.”
Peter frowned at the monitor. After Amanda left, he’d started sifting through the initial data spewed out by his sniffer. Unfortunately, he quickly became overwhelmed. Thousands of emails, research reports, interoffice memos . . . It would probably take a team of people weeks to go through it all, and this was only a single day’s worth of data. He’d have to come up with specific search parameters to narrow the field, maybe zero in on PEMA, Project Persephone, and other likely code words. If he skipped his afternoon classes, he could have the program ready by tomorrow night.
Still, there’d probably be a ton of stuff to go through. He mulled it over. There were a few other hackers he trusted, all of whom had been part of the /ALLIANCE/ when it was up and running. One in particular, Loki, was as good as Noa when it came to hacking skills. But he’d also made it pretty clear that Peter had pushed his luck last time by bricking the servers. He might not be willing to step up again.
Peter sighed. Better to tackle this on his own. He’d take his usual route over the firewall tonight, pushing the sniffer data to the back burner.
It was late, nearly two a.m. He had to be up for school in a few hours, but this was the only time of day he could be totally certain that he wasn’t being monitored. Not that he’d seen any sign that the Project Persephone bastards were still following him, but better safe than sorry. So Peter was parked in the driveway of a house a block away from his own. The owners were a retired couple who wintered in Turks and Caicos. The driveway was long and sweeping, and didn’t have a gate. It had been his spot of choice for the past month: not visible from the street, and far enough from his house that no one could tap into his computer activity.
It was hardly comfortable, though. He didn’t dare run the engine for fear of attracting attention, which meant the interior of the car was freezing. Snow was forecasted for tomorrow, and he offered a silent prayer that the meteorologists would be right for a change. A snow day would give him a chance to catch up on sleep.
Suppressing a yawn, Peter sifted through recent emails. He’d homed in on a few accounts that seemed directly affiliated with Project Persephone. The messages were encoded, but pretty easy to figure out: lots of references to “new R&D products” being moved to the Phoenix facility. He’d spent the evening tracking the company’s shipping manifests. Pike & Dolan had warehouses worldwide, most of which stored their legitimate products: shampoo, pharmaceuticals, even pet toys. But he’d become adept at figuring out which locations were being used as ad hoc operating facilities: primarily buildings where trucks drove shipments in, but rarely drove anything back out.
And there was one near the Phoenix airport.
He pulled up a satellite image of the property; it fit the profile of the other secret labs. Relatively isolated, and surrounded by half-finished buildings; probably all casualties of the economic crash. The warehouse itself looked unremarkable, a huge building the size of an airplane hangar.
Peter cracked his knuckles as he examined it. Not an easy place to sneak up on—surrounded by desert, with no cover visible in any direction. Only one road in and out, and the nearest highway on-ramp was two miles away.
He yawned again, then shook his head to try and wake up. The clock on his dashboard read 2:15. Crap, he had to get some sleep. Peter eyed the building again. Tomorrow he’d dig up blueprints for Noa to study; they were probably on file with the Phoenix building management office. Thankfully, municipal networks were notoriously easy to hack into. And they had some time. According to the emails, shipments were still arriving; the next was scheduled for the day after tomorrow. Noa wouldn’t be able to get to the area before then anyway.
Peter powered down his laptop and turned off the satellite uplink. Starting the car, he eased down the driveway. When he reached the street, he peered in both directions: deserted. He drove down the block to his parents’ house and pulled in, already fantasizing about lying down on his pillow.
Which is why he didn’t notice the black SUV that rolled past a minute later, slowing to watch his Prius enter the garage.
CHAPTER
THREE
“That was easily the worst movie I’ve seen all year,” Amanda announced the next afternoon as they walked out of the theater. “Seriously, the worst.”
“I thought it was awesome,” Peter replied.
“You didn’t,” she said, exasperated. “I mean, really? The aliens turned out to be friendly
all along?”
“That’s what I liked about it. Total shocker at the end.”
“Oh my God, that was terrible,” she groaned. “And even worse was the part where the guy went after them with a paint gun—”
Peter smiled as he watched her talk. Amanda’s face was animated, the color high in her cheeks as she gestured wildly with her hands. This was sort of a tradition they had after seeing a movie together; he’d enjoy it at face value, while she analyzed it to death. Few films stood up to her scrutiny. But this was what she liked best about going to the movies—tearing them apart afterward.
And he’d always gotten a kick out of seeing her riled up.
“Are you even listening?” Amanda demanded.
“Yeah, of course,” he said defensively. “You’re going on about how the diner scene didn’t make any sense.”
“Well, it didn’t.” She snorted. “I mean, that part practically belonged in a different movie.”
“Like I said.” Peter grinned. “Totally awesome.”
“You’re impossible.” She smacked his arm.
“You gotta admit, though. Kind of the perfect movie for a snow day.”
“Yeah,” she said. “You’re right.”
They smiled at each other. It had been kind of a perfect day all around, Peter thought. The snow had started falling right before dawn, making it impossible for plows to clear the roads in time for school. So he’d gotten his wish, and slept until nearly noon. Then, on a whim, he’d called Amanda to ask if she wanted to check out a matinee. She’d said yes, and to his surprise, even offered to come to him, rather than meeting near Tufts. Stranger still, she’d agreed to go to a cheesy Hollywood blockbuster, instead of insisting on a documentary or something with subtitles.
Maybe she’d changed, too, he thought as they walked through the parking lot. The snow had already started to melt, leaving the pavement glistening. It was balmy enough to leave his jacket unzipped. The sun shone down brightly, reflecting off the gold in her hair.
She looked stunning. Peter had a flash of how she used to taste, strawberry and mint mixed together. Her lips were bright red, shiny from the beeswax lip balm she always used. He had a sudden and overwhelming urge to kiss her.
And then, just as quickly, an image of Noa interceded. They were so different: Amanda with her bright wavy hair and small, compact frame; Noa, dark and willowy. Both passionate and intense, but that was where the similarities ended.
Peter cleared his throat. “Want to grab something to eat?”
Amanda didn’t answer. She’d stopped dead in the middle of the parking lot and was staring past him.
“What is it?” he asked.
She started walking again, but her stride was different and strange, kind of a slow shuffle. “Amanda?” Peter watched with a growing sense of dread as she drifted right, then circled around him. He turned, following her with his eyes. Amanda’s face had gone completely blank, her eyes unfocused. Her jaw hung slightly agape, lips loose. Like she’d suddenly turned into a zombie.
He grabbed her hand. “Amanda, stop.”
Obediently she fell still, but didn’t meet his eyes. Her hand felt icy cold, yet clammy. Her chest rose and fell faster than normal under her winter coat, her breath coming in short pants like she’d been running.
“No,” he said softly.
“What?” Abruptly, Amanda blinked and looked at him, then down at their clasped fingers. “Why are you holding my hand?”
“You were . . .” Peter trailed off. Self-consciously, he dropped her hand.
“I was what?” she demanded when he didn’t finish.
“Nothing.” The sun vanished behind a cloud, and the sudden chill made him shiver. He closed his jacket and mumbled, “I was just asking if you were hungry.”
“I should head back,” Amanda said, obviously disconcerted. “I’ve got a test tomorrow.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Let me drive you.”
“I’ll take the T,” she replied, avoiding his eyes. The air between them was suddenly thick with tension and discomfort. “Can you drop me at the Brookline Village station?”
“Sure, but I don’t mind driving to your dorm. I don’t have—”
“I’ll be fine.”
“We could grab something to eat along the way,” Peter pressed as he climbed behind the wheel. “Someplace quick.”
“I haven’t been very hungry lately,” Amanda said, buckling herself in. “Stress, probably. I’m pretty swamped with midterms coming up.”
“Right,” Peter said faintly. Now that she mentioned it, she’d clearly lost weight. Her cheekbones had hollowed out, and her clothes hung more loosely. Peter searched for something to say that would break the pall, and came up empty.
“Thanks,” Amanda said when they finally pulled up to the station. She turned to get out, then spun and leaned across the seat to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Let’s do it again soon, okay?”
“Okay,” Peter agreed.
He watched, hands clutching the steering wheel, as she hurried through the door to the T station. A car honked behind him; the light had turned green. Peter drove a block, then pulled over to the side of the road and parked. Dropping his head down, he fought the hot tears pressing against his closed eyelids.
“I’ll kill him,” he whispered under his breath. “I’ll kill him for doing this to her.”
“So what now?” Zeke asked. “Do we go after the other three targets he mentioned?”
“Too risky.” Noa shook her head. “Could be a trap.”
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing,” he agreed, keeping his voice low.
They were sitting together in the living room. Everyone else was upstairs, still asleep after the long night. Their hostage had become a lot more forthcoming once Noa produced a vial of blood that was loaded with the PEMA virus, courtesy of their “little army’s” raids. Apparently the fact that there hadn’t been a single PEMA case in anyone over the age of twenty-five didn’t matter; his eyes had widened with terror, and he’d proceeded to tell them everything, including the locations of three other lab facilities.
Not bad, considering that in actuality the vial had been filled with water tinted red with food coloring. None of the labs he’d listed had been in Phoenix, however, which was puzzling. She’d asked specifically about Arizona, and he claimed to have no idea what was going on there. So either Pike & Dolan only shared some information with their mercenaries, or he was still holding out.
Or Peter was wrong about the Phoenix lab. Although if he was, it would be a first.
Noa still didn’t know the guy’s name, and frankly preferred it that way. Maybe Peter was right, and taking him had been a really bad idea. But she’d become increasingly frustrated. Peter was able to provide some information, but it came slowly, which left her group with a lot of time to sit around doing nothing. And these kids weren’t easy to handle unless they were occupied by a mission.
Zeke yawned. Noticing, Noa said, “Why don’t you get some more sleep?”
“In a bit. You already crashed?”
Noa nodded. She’d gone down hard around five a.m. and had slept like the dead for twelve hours. That was pretty much all the rest she needed; now she’d be up and alert for days. Which was weird, but helpful given the circumstances.
“Hungry?”
“Not today.” She’d gorged herself the day before last, eating several thousand calories in one sitting. That usually held her for a few days, too; in between what she’d started to think of as “feedings,” Noa could only tolerate liquids. “Anyway,” she continued, ignoring the small twinge she got whenever her physical quirks were being discussed, “I still think we should head to Phoenix.”
“Right. Did Peter send any more details?”
“He’s sending the blueprints today. If we start driving tonight, we could get there by the day after tomorrow.”
“It’s fourteen hours away, right?” Zeke rubbed his forehead. “We could make that in a d
ay.”
“But then we’d be tired when we arrived. This way we’ll have time to set up a base.”
“That should be easy. Lots of foreclosures in Arizona.”
“Yeah, but more nosy neighbors, too, I’m guessing.” Through a slit in the curtains, Noa could see a young boy on a BMX bike winding slow circles on the street in front of the house. He was the only person she’d seen on the block all day.
“Anything from the other groups?” Zeke asked.
“All quiet,” Noa said.
“Feels like it’s been a little too quiet lately, huh?”
Noa met his eyes. They were dark brown, like his hair. She was pretty sure he was Latino, but during all these months together, he’d never talked about who he was or where he came from. She knew only that he’d been trapped in the Boston foster care system, same as her, and that he’d escaped from one of the labs before they experimented on him.
Right after she’d gone on the run with Zeke, she’d sent out a kind of call to arms on wikigroups and memes. The response had been overwhelming. Chapters of “Persefone’s Army” started cropping up across the country, faster than they could keep up with them. Unfortunately, most turned out to be kids looking for an excuse to raise hell: a coffee shop chain was vandalized, their PA logo spray painted across the windows; a car dealership was set on fire. Throughout the media there were scattered reports about this new, terrifying “teen army.”
It all calmed down pretty quickly, though; the vandals either lost interest or were caught and arrested. Meanwhile, Noa and Zeke had assembled their own core group, filled with kids they trusted. Some were teens that Zeke had been working with before he met Noa; others were kids they’d set free together.
Now the official Persefone’s Army was composed of four units, each based in a different quadrant of the country: the Northeast, Southeast, Northwest, and their own, the Southwest contingent. Each group was tasked with tracking the activities of Project Persephone in their area, trying to save targeted teens, and infiltrating facilities whenever possible. There was minimal contact between the units; Noa preferred to have them operate as individual cells, each with its own leader.
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