The next fifteen minutes were agonizing—waiting for Beckett to regain consciousness. Finally, his breathing shifted into something shallower, and I was able to rouse him.
He pushed himself to standing, rubbing his face. “Imogen?”
“Don’t know. They took her outside with handcuffs on about twenty minutes ago. Can you see Finn?”
“No.”
I swallowed. “Beckett, I have an idea. I’m going to open the cages.”
“Huh?”
“With this bowl.”
He frowned.
“See that button down there?” I said. “The red one on the wall?”
“Yeah …”
I nodded, as if that explained everything.
Beckett didn’t try to rationalize with me, but the look on his face told me enough.
“That button will open all the cages at once.” I glanced at Billy across the hall. “So make it to the exit door as fast as you can.”
“If you hit that button with that bowl,” Beckett said, “I swear to you, somehow, I will get to the exit. And then what do you have planned?”
“I don’t know. Get Imogen and Jack. The helicopter is going to be here in half an hour. It’s all I’ve got, Beck. Just get yourself to the exit, okay?”
I didn’t want to say that I was going for Finn first, and everything else would be determined after I saw how bad of shape he was in. Gratefully, Finn’s cell was right next to the exit.
“Alright then,” I said. I extended my arm outside the cage, taking aim, positioning the bowl in my hand so it would spin hard as it flew toward the button. “Ready?”
Beckett rubbed his hand across his hair, still only looking half awake. “Ready.”
But I knew he hadn’t believed I would actually hit the button, because when the bowl made contact and the cage doors slid open, I dove into the hallway, and Beckett was still standing in his cell with a look of surprise on his face.
Then Billy ran past Beck’s cage, and it seemed to shake him back to reality. I ran down the hall, spinning past a swipe, dodging the snap of teeth. My body moved more fluidly than ever before. When the thought “jump” or “spin” arose, my body responded in the same instant, no delay, and with perfect accuracy.
Finn was already up and at the edge of his cell, surveying the mass chaos.
I sprinted for the exit, and he lunged after me. I didn’t have time to look in his eyes to see what they told me—whether he was scared and desperate, or angry and violent.
Just before I shoved through the door, it hit me. Beckett.
Through the mass of bodies in the hall, I saw him, shoved toward the foyer, fighting off Lola with his food dish.
“Beckett!”
“Go! Get Finn out of here! I’m right behind you!”
I’m right behind you. Beckett’s words ran through my head.
Four modwrogs were coming at him, and another six came for me at the door. Others blocked the hall between Beckett and me. It didn’t matter that I wanted to stay and help, nor that I didn’t believe him. I was being pushed out the door by the modwrogs—by Finn, now just a few feet away.
There was no way Beckett would be following me anytime soon. And I finally understood something—why had it taken me so long?
Sometimes people lie because they love you.
I shoved through the exit door and out onto the dirt.
60
JACK
That night in the concrete room logged as the worst of my life. Not because of the injuries, but because I couldn’t get rid of the picture of Caesar’s body inside that cell. The ache I felt rivaled the pain of Mom’s death. Both their deaths—mother and friend—were my responsibility. I’d been too late for Caesar, just like with Finn. When would this end?
Terror and fury sliced through me at the idea of Sage or Beckett finding the same fate. I knew Dad would do it, and the idea sent me off my cot and to my feet again.
The wound to my leg ached the worst, even though the bullet hit the side of my thigh—nowhere near the bone. Dad’s first shot had only grazed my bicep, but the third caught me dead on in the shoulder. They’d wrapped everything up in gauze and tape. My bicep felt normal already.
Dad hadn’t aimed to kill, but I couldn’t figure out what he intended to do now. He’d stationed three guards outside my door. I could see them through the small window. They looked bored. Throughout the night, I’d tried pounding on the door. I’d tried calm coercion. If they’d just open the door, I could take them out. But up to this point, they’d been unresponsive.
I was about to fist the door again, see if I could get a reaction this time, but before I could, the door clicked on its own. I checked the handle. Unlocked. Not by one of the guards. The three of them were still slumped against the wall sleeping.
Who, then?
Visions of Caesar in the control room flashed through my mind. But as much as I wished it, I knew that was impossible. I’d said goodbye to Caesar last night. I’d heard his heart stop.
Maybe Imogen? I hadn’t heard where she ended up, but she hadn’t been in the hall last night when I’d gone for Caesar. So it was either Imogen, or this was some sort of trap. For what though, I had no clue.
Did it matter? The door was open. The helicopter would be here in less than half an hour, and Sage needed on it.
Now or never.
I pulled open the door in one fluid motion and released my anger—the outrage of Caesar’s death—onto the three guards posted in the hall.
61
BECKETT
I never thought my last moments would be in the hands of mutated human beings.
It was fitting, I supposed, based on who my father was and the family I’d been born into. Two modwrogs had worked me into a corner after Sage disappeared outside, and at this point, I only held them off by swinging the metal bowl at their faces.
It didn’t stop them from clawing at me with their hands, though—their arms were longer than mine—and I had a nasty gash on my face that sent blood dripping into my left eye.
When the gun shots rang out, I didn’t register their target until the two modwrogs fell to the concrete directly in front of me, their pale green-gray bodies giant lumps on the floor. Five more shots rang out. I wiped the blood from my face and saw my dad on the other side of the gun. Five more modwrog bodies collapsed to the ground.
The relief of the rescue faded as my dad turned the gun on me.
“Get into your cell.”
Numbness, or weakness from my head injury, or perhaps the look in Dad’s eyes that said he would absolutely shoot, sent me back to the cell where I’d just escaped. A few of the more passive modwrogs had already retreated to the corners of their cages. When Dad pushed the button for all the doors to close, a female across the hall actually looked relieved.
With all the modwrogs contained or killed, I thought Dad would head straight to the exit for Sage and the rest of them. But he didn’t. He turned, heading back toward the lobby.
“I’ll call for you in a few weeks. Think about things while you’re here. I hope you’ll decide you want to work with me at headquarters. You always had a heart for people, Beckett. You know how much the code will help the world—today more than ever before.”
It wasn’t until after he disappeared through the door that I realized what had just happened.
One, Dad had saved my life.
Two, he was leaving the island.
62
SAGE
Even with a slight overcast haze in the sky, the morning sunlight hit my eyes in a way I’d never felt light before. The natural light felt crisp and clarifying, even without a full view of the sun. The scene before me was outlined in perfect precision. Recruits surrounded the arena, seated on the wooden benches. This was the start of morning training, but no one was inside the fence. Because instead, a guard was there, beating Imogen with a staff. She knelt in the dirt, hands still cuffed behind her back.
Being punished, breaking her down in fr
ont of her peers. An example, a warning to the others, more obvious than the Corporation had risked before. The line was formally drawn: There’s us, and there’s you. There is no we. You will obey.
A drop of blood fell from Imogen’s nose and stained the dirt in a perfect circle. The guard hit her again across the face with the staff and her body collapsed to the ground.
Behind me, ten feet down the chain-link tunnel, the building door flew open. The clang of the door against the building’s concrete exterior pulled me from the image of Imogen in the dirt.
Finn sprinted toward me.
“Run!” I shouted to Imogen.
The guard had escaped the arena before I could make it out of the tunnel. Another guard chained the exit closed behind him. Imogen didn’t move.
“Imogen!” I slid in the dirt to her body. “Get up!” I dragged her limp body away from the center of the arena toward the fence.
Finn loped toward us. Other modwrogs weren’t far behind.
The look in Finn’s eyes was unpredictable—a mix of confusion and fear. His arm hung limp at his side, blood still dripping from his wound. I dove for the staff left behind by the guard. Finn was only ten feet away now. I turned to run and put distance between us, but at the last moment, I threw down my staff and spun around to face Finn.
Trust.
Like I promised myself I would.
My heart thudded. Finn might not recognize me at all. Especially not in the bright sunlight, surrounded by people …
But it was too late. Outside the fence, someone gasped. I braced myself as Finn barreled into me and we tumbled to the ground. The breath was knocked from my lungs. When we stopped rolling, dirt covered my hair and clothes, but I was uninjured. Finn pressed to standing and whimpered. He glanced around the arena. His face showed fear and … protectiveness.
He recognized me.
My brother recognized me.
I had very little time to celebrate our small victory. Four more modwrogs loped into the arena: Ty, Cym, Gertrude, and Elizabeth.
I picked up the staff. The sky had started releasing a fine mist. The wetness gathered on my skin, like it had been hanging in the air all along and finally grew thick enough to mix with the sweat on my skin.
My heart pumped, and I felt the pulse of blood in my head. My muscles twitched, as if to tell me they were ready, strong and capable. The energy that I’d felt growing within me through the night surged through my body. Every cell in my body hummed, alive and alert.
Ty came at us without slowing down.
Finn stepped in front of me, blocking Ty’s path. Their bodies collided, and Finn roared. In pain or anger, I couldn’t tell.
I screamed Finn’s name as they rolled to the left.
Cym and Elizabeth loped toward me, and I readied myself.
They were only yards away when Elizabeth’s legs caught in Cym’s, and they both tumbled to the dirt. Cym stood and screeched, swatting Elizabeth across her face. Elizabeth leapt at Cym, and for the moment, I was forgotten.
That left Gertrude. She maneuvered around Elizabeth and Cym and came toward me, undeterred. She had a look of resentment in her eyes, probably remembering the mornings I’d shot her. I didn’t blame her. I was the last face she saw just before the sting of the dart, every time. And now, here I was, no longer blocked by the bars.
I lifted my staff. In truth, cognitively, I had no idea what I was doing. I let instinct take over. Before she got to me, right before she jumped, I shoved the staff to the dirt, perpendicular to the ground, and ducked under its height.
I braced myself, cringing as she landed on the end of the staff. It jabbed into her ribs. She shrieked, the blow sending her reeling to my right. She rolled to standing and whipped around to face me again, her eyes full of fire.
I jabbed at her with my staff, testing her reflexes as she tried to weave around the weapon. After a few attempts at a side maneuver, she charged me straight on. I held the staff steady, but the force of her weight sent me back into the dirt. She paused just before she jumped. I rolled, praying it would move me out of her wingspan.
Mid-air, another body slammed into Gertrude.
Finn.
Together, they went sprawling across the dirt.
Ty lay against the chain-link near the entrance, unmoving.
With his good arm, Finn swiped Gertrude across the face. Her head snapped to the side, and she fell to the dirt.
He looked at me, his chest heaving, sucking in air. A giant gash ran across the side of his neck. His bullet wound oozed with blood. Finn was fighting for me. My brother was fighting for me. He may not understand everything I said, but he was there, somewhere inside. He recognized me enough for it to count.
Determination exploded over my muscles. My cells beat in rhythm with my heart, and in rhythm with a deeper force I couldn’t name.
Imogen remained unmoving near the fence. Across the arena, Cym threw Elizabeth hard into the chain link. She dropped to the ground and stayed still.
Cym wasted no time. She started toward us. A rumble came from Finn’s throat. Cym’s overt aggression hadn’t changed since that first night I met her in the west wing. She was the first modwrog I ever saw. And she still wanted me dead.
Finn didn’t wait for her. He dove at her head on, and they collided like lions, claws on shoulders, necks, faces. Cym bit down on Finn’s neck and he cried out, pulling back. She grabbed his leg, twisting it at an odd angle. Finn limped backwards.
I charged, fueled by an indignant rage from watching her bite my brother. I ducked under her arm as swiped at me. My staff made contact with her spine. Finn grabbed her arm, and swung her sideways. She rolled, clawing at the dirt.
Then, inexplicably, Elizabeth was staggering toward us. With a lunge off his good leg, Finn dove for her. They tumbled. Cym came straight for me.
I swung the staff and missed, but it kept her at bay. I swung again. She dodged it but growled as the tip caught her temple. The third time, I connected with her eye, and she staggered back.
I glanced across the arena in time to see Finn, learning from his own injuries as he bit deep into Elizabeth’s neck. Blood started flowing. Elizabeth tried to pull back. Finn slammed her head into the ground.
Cym stalked closer, swiping at her eye but undeterred.
Finn whimpered, trying to get to me. His leg was damaged. He struggled through the dirt, barely moving. His face contorted into a twist of panic and pain.
I knew he wouldn’t make it to help. I had to take care of Cym on my own.
When she jumped I ducked below my staff like I had with Gertrude, but the staff didn’t hit her straight on. It only nicked her side. As she rolled away, her nails raked across my arm, and heat shot across my skin. The blood mixed with the sweat and water already on my skin and streamed down my arm in four lines.
Fear settled into my chest. Even with my newfound abilities, I felt unmatched for Cym. I imagined her as a recruit before she’d turned mod—strong and capable, even in human form. Cym regained her footing.
Then the number came to me.
Three-hundred thirty-six—loose spot in the links.
Three-hundred and thirty-six links east of the center line.
Cym clambered toward me. I stood up and ran.
I knew if I didn’t make it to the fence before Cym caught me, it was over. Everything we’d aimed for, who I had to live for, all of it would be gone in a few seconds, torn apart by Cym as she ripped into my limbs.
The links were easy to count; I calculated the squares without looking, without thinking, the numbers coming even easier than before the injection.
Ten more feet and I was there. I heard Cym growl just behind me.
I dove, sliding on damp dirt, then crashing into the fence. In a single fluid movement, I scooted back and lifted the bottom of the fence toward me. On my back, I slipped my head and chest underneath the gap between the fence and the ground.
Cym dove. I shoved upward with my arms as hard as I could. The wir
e tips at the bottom of the fence jutted straight out. The chain-link plunged into her neck.
Cym’s eyes bulged, just inches from my own on the other side of the fence. My legs were trapped under her body. I couldn’t move. Her gaze was so close, so readable, so human, that for a moment, I felt like I was mixed with Cym’s body—struggling to breathe, dying.
She pulled away, freeing her neck from the wires, gurgling on her own blood. She only crawled a few feet before collapsing into the dirt.
I slid out from underneath the fence and scrambled up next to her, placing my hand on her chest.
“I’m sorry.” My voice caught. “Cym, I’m sorry.”
She took three and a half more breaths and died.
My hand stayed on her chest. I didn’t want to lift it and feel the impact of what I’d just done. I killed someone.
Cym was a human being. And I’d killed her.
I clenched my teeth and stood. It was then that I noticed the recruits, most of them watching with wide-eyed expressions. Anger rolled through me.
Words poured from my mouth as I stumbled toward Finn, pointing behind me at Cym’s body.
“She was one of you! Don’t you recognize her? This was Cym, your friend! You think you all get sent away? Look at what the Corporation is doing to you. Look!” I waved my hand toward the other modwrogs, strewn across the arena. “Elizabeth, Ty, Gertrude! How many of you have to die before you realize that the Corporation isn’t on your side? They’re lying to you! They killed your parents! They killed your families!”
I saw a few of the recruits look around. A couple of them stood up off the wooden benches, coming to the fence and looking closer at the dead modwrogs.
Outside the fence, a guard raised his gun at me.
A second guard put his hand on the first. He spoke to the first in a whisper, and yet somehow, I still heard it. “No shooting. It’s the girl. We have orders.”
The guard hesitated.
At the other end of the arena, a gunshot erupted.
The Mod Code Page 21