“This way,” Jack continued, “You can connect with Dad, make him trust you, make him think you’ve changed your mind about it all. And then, we take Sage when they’re least expecting it. Maybe even without this Sven guy knowing when we’re going to make our move. But to get there, we need access to Cunningham’s supplies. Plus, Imogen’s right. For Finn’s sake, we should probably make the doctor think we’re a united team.”
Jack’s plan made sense, but I hated the way he always did this, always stated everything like he was the man in charge and that he commanded the final say. How long would I have to live with Jack’s words, Jack’s plans, Jack’s ideas, Jack’s opinions always trumping mine? He assumes that everything always goes exactly the way he decides.
“Whatever,” I said.
The smallest seed of another fight planted itself in my chest.
Imogen stood up with the basket of first aid supplies. She looked at me, looked at Jack.
“Can we please not do this anymore? You guys are fighting because you both want to win a girl. Sage is getting mixed up in the middle of some longtime sibling rivalry. We’re all human. The grass is always greener—it’s a psychological reality to want what we can’t have. Don’t misunderstand me, Sage is a nice catch—cute, sharp, friendly enough. But there are other girls out there.”
I pulled the bloody gauze from my brow, throwing it into Imogen’s basket. Her words tasted sour in my mouth.
“I love Sage. Not because Jack wants her, not because the Corporation wants her, not because she has some special code inside her. I love her because of who she is. I knew her on the farm—really knew her. No one can take that away.” I stormed up the steps toward the door.
“It does beg the question, though,” Imogen called after me. “Is she really that same farm girl?”
I waved her off without turning around, dismissing her comment, and jerked open the door. But as I stepped inside, I thought about Imogen’s words, and they terrified me.
Maybe Sage had changed. I could already tell Vasterias and the island had hardened her—they’d made her more skeptical than ever. What else about her had changed?
And, after all this was over, would Sage even let me help her find her old self again?
19
SAGE
My body felt different running now, compared to when I’d run toward the helicopter earlier today. Then, I was fast. I felt my body move in a way I’d never experienced. Now, I ordered my legs to sprint, and they were doing their best, but it didn’t feel like anything special. It felt … normal. Just the same as when I’d run on the farm.
“Ollie!” I shouted as I got closer. The air was crisp, the morning sun in the sky to the east; the smell of dewy, fresh-cut grass and manicured shrubs filled the air.
Ollie’s ears perked up, and he turned his head in my direction. He must have recognized me because he barked twice and took off at a full run, just as fast as when he sprinted alongside Beckett and me riding horses back at the farm.
He jumped at me when we drew close enough to each other, and his body crashed into my chest at the same time I wrapped my arms around him. I couldn’t contain my sobs and laughter while he licked my face, my neck. Ollie’s soft fur and warm body were the thread to home I needed to keep my sanity, someone from the farm and my life before, alive, and miraculously unscathed.
I stiffened when I saw the gardener steering toward us on his golf cart.
He tipped his hunter green cap and stopped in front of me. “Good day,” he said.
White tufts of hair poked out from the sides of his hat, and he had a full white-gray beard. He looked from Ollie, to me, and back to Ollie again, and I could see softness in his eyes.
He smiled sadly, and I was unsure whether he was sorry to see that someone else cared just as deeply for the dog, or if he knew why I was here and felt sorry for me. Since the man was employed by Vasterias, I assumed the former. The man surveyed me, as if he might open up conversation, but instead of asking questions or requesting Ollie be returned to the golf cart, he tipped his hat again, turned the cart in the opposite direction, and drove off.
I nuzzled Ollie, watching the gardener warily, almost expecting him to turn around and change his mind.
When the man finally disappeared down the hill and around the side of the cottage, I started walking southwest, away from the mansion, refusing to put Ollie down. After the last ten hours of sitting, my legs didn’t feel like staying in one place, and I wasn’t about to let Ollie out of my sight.
I sensed someone approaching behind me and turned to see Dallamore, waddling across the lawn, looking more inconvenienced than anything else. He observed me with Ollie in my arms, then glanced at his watch. “I’ll be up at the mansion. The cameras are on, so don’t try anything tricky. You have a bit of time to wander. Come to the portico in two hours, and we will have lunch. Do you understand?”
I nodded, knowing full well if I found an escape route in the next ten minutes, I’d take it.
I pulled Ollie closer and let Dallamore turn away first and get a good distance away before I started walking again. So much for Dallamore and his wish to “wash his hands of me.”
I scanned the property: rolling hills covered in lush grass, giant trees, and rose bushes. All mixtures and types of colorful flowers were delicately arranged in garden areas with benches. Such a contrast to our flat, dry farm property back home—the Kansas land I loved.
Still, I inhaled deeply, allowing the scents of the outdoors to calm and center me.
In the distance, at the top of the tallest hill, rested a giant tree and a white gazebo. That tree would give me a good view of whatever was over the stone wall, which might help me figure out what to do next.
I buried my face into Ollie and inhaled again, the smell of him wiping away my headache altogether. The presence of Ollie, the reminder of home, bolstered my determination.
Somehow, we were getting out of here.
20
JACK
I knew my mood was foul.
It might have been the fight with Beck and the way his head cracked against the trunk of the tree. It might have been the throbbing in my hand from my broken fingers.
Either way, I didn’t like this guy on the giant wall screen in the conference room. Good mood, bad mood, I wouldn’t like this guy. He looked greasy. Not his hair, just the way his eyes flickered from Beckett, to me, and back again, like he was unsettled, hiding something he didn’t want us to know about.
No one else likely noticed it, which explained how he’d been able to gain the loyalty of over sixty recruits during his time training them. But I had years of practice studying the intricacies of people—the shift of body posture, a change in voice tonality, a twitch of the jaw—the subtle things people did their best to hide but ultimately couldn’t hide at all. People can never fully cover what’s at the heart of them. And I didn’t like this guy.
And yet, we needed him. He was on the inside, at the mansion. And he was going to help us get Sage out.
We told Sven our idea to send Beckett in first, that Beck would tell our dad he’d changed his mind and wanted to help within the Corporation.
“It’s smart,” Sven said. “It will distract Vasterias, confuse your father, make him question things.”
Again, the nearly indistinguishable twitch and upward shift of his eyes came just beforehand.
“Yes, like I mentioned before, I completely support this idea,” Cunningham said. “At the very least, Beckett will be a distraction for Dr. Adamson, who will likely be watching Sage closer than anyone else.”
Surprisingly, from the minute Beckett first mentioned our idea, both Sven and Dr. Cunningham seemed more than thrilled.
“Fine,” I said. I pushed away from the table. This conversation had lasted thirty seconds too long. “Then we’ll head to our dad’s warehouse in New York. Beckett will be to the mansion within twenty-four hours.”
“And I can provide the motorcycles for the three of you
,” Cunningham said. “They’re in the storage unit next door.”
“We’ll only need two,” I said.
“What about the red-haired girl?” Dr. Cunningham replied.
“She’ll be staying here with Finn.”
“No.” Dr. Cunningham and Sven replied at the same time.
I paused, frowned. “Why not?” I glanced from Dr. Cunningham to Sven on the screen. “No one else seems to be caring too much about Finn around here.”
“I care about him,” Cunningham responded, lacking the fervor someone would expect from the father of a dying son.
“Well, certainly you can’t object to someone else being here, willing to sit with him around the clock? Not when it’s in the best interest of your son?”
Even I couldn’t believe Imogen had requested it. And I fought her on it. Because I’d promised Caesar I’d watch over her. But apparently, Imogen felt strongly that Finn was not safe here without her. And God knows I’d argued enough times with Imogen. There was no point.
Sven and Cunningham gave each other a long look that said many things I wish I could have known, and then, they agreed to let her stay.
*
And so it was decided. Final arrangements were made—the full escape plan, the meet-up points, the time we’d be back. Cunningham directed us to the bikes, gave us jackets, helmets, and enough cash to make it to New York.
We would sleep this afternoon, and head out early evening, traveling through the night.
I knew well enough what Vasterias did to test subjects. The sooner we got to Sage, the better.
Hold on Sage. We’re coming.
I just hope she somehow felt it.
21
SAGE
Ollie clawed at the base of the tree, whimpering, begging for me to bring him along like I always did when I climbed the giant oak tree in our front yard back home. But I knew those branches by heart; I’d been navigating them since I was four years old.
This tree was similar—the branches thick, the trunk large, the leaves full with the start of summer—but I didn’t know where my next handhold would come from, and I had to climb high to see over the wall. Ollie watched me with his brown eyes, twenty feet below.
“Ollie, stop whining. I’ll be back down in just a second.”
But I felt just like him. When we arrived at the tree, I hadn’t wanted to put him down. I clung to him, my dog, my last scrap of home, as if I lost him, I’d lose myself.
Which I probably would.
I wedged my foot between a small branch and the trunk of the tree, hoisting myself yet a little higher. A few more feet of elevation, and I’d be able to see over the wall.
Up here, the branches thinned, and I hugged the trunk, both feet on one limb.
I pulled myself another branch higher, my view finally extending beyond the wall.
And … nothing.
Well, not nothing. Lots of something—only rolling hills covered in trees. That’s it. In every direction. Trees and trees and trees.
No houses, no buildings, no body of water, no roads, no help.
I don’t know what I’d been hoping to see—perhaps signs of life nearby, the existence of people outside Vasterias who were living happily in oblivion, even with a corporate mansion in their backyard.
I think I’d hoped to see that island community. That old man in his blue shirt and red boat. Those kids, dancing in the misty rain.
But instead, nothing.
I was alone.
Ollie barked at me from below, cutting through my thoughts.
I began climbing down, disappointed, trying to tell myself it didn’t matter.
Anyway, what would I have done if someone, or some house, had been nearby? How would that get me to Finn, halfway across the world on some island I didn’t even know the location of? Perhaps I could go to the police? How wide did Vasterias’ influence reach around here?
What about hitchiking? A highway ran along the front of the property, back where we’d entered the gates. Now that I had Ollie, I could make it to that highway, stay off the road in the trees until a car came by, and then see if I could hitchhike a ride to the closest town? I’m sure I could scale this wall to escape if I tried hard enough. I’d just have to tie Ollie to my back.
My hands and feet moved branch by branch until I neared the bottom limbs of the tree, my body facing in toward the trunk.
Or, what about someone on the inside? Was there anyone who actually worked for Vasteria’s that I could fool into trusting me, into helping me back to the island?
“Enjoying the general splendor of the grounds?”
The sudden voice from the grass below surprised me. My foot slipped off the branch. I grabbed for a limb to rebalance, but my hand missed. I started to fall. I fell inward, toward the tree, and instinctively, my arms wrapped around the trunk. My cheek scratched along the bark. Heat rose to my cheeks, both at my injury and embarrassment at my blunder. But at least I’d stopped myself from falling to the ground below.
I stretched out my leg, unwrapping it from the trunk, trying to find purchase on the nearest branch. It was a few inches too far away.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Here, let me help.”
Below, a tall, thin man stretched his arms up the trunk. He wore a plaid vest and had long, silver hair pulled into a ponytail.
“Here, are you able to reach your foot to my hands? I can hold you up so you can reach that branch.”
“Don’t touch me!” I cried.
I hoped my anger masked my fear. What was this man doing here? How did he appear out of nowhere? Why hadn’t Ollie warned me?
“I’m so sorry. I was in the gazebo and saw you climbing. I thought I’d come and say hello.”
The gazebo? Why didn’t I notice him before?
Still reaching my leg toward the branch, I glanced down at the man. His voice sounded genuine, the look in his eyes sincere.
My foot finally made contact with the limb, and I inched myself down the trunk onto the branch. Ollie sniffed the grass nearby, his tail wagging, not at all disturbed by the stranger.
I was almost close enough to the ground to jump, but part of me felt much safer up in the tree.
Ollie trotted up to the man’s feet, and the man bent over, his silver ponytail falling over his shoulder. He patted Ollie on the head.
“Dogs have a sense of people, you know,” he said, rubbing Ollie’s ears.
“Look,” I said, “I’m not here at this place by choice, so if you think I’m—”
“I know who you are.”
My chest tightened.
The man stood from his bent posture, placed his hands on his hips and leaned back, stretching as if he’d been sitting for a long time. Ollie trotted off again, in the direction of the white gazebo.
“I mean you no harm,” the man added. “I’m on the board for Vasterias. I’ve come into town for the gala.” He smiled out across the property. “I arrived a day early for the sole purpose of touring the gardens. My name is Dr. Evans.”
A doctor just like the rest of them.
As if reading my mind, he added, “I’m a doctor of philosophy, not science. I teach at Oxford.”
My eyes scanned the man, taking in his aura, the casual way his arms now dangled at his sides. His posture didn’t appear threatening. But looks told me nothing anymore about who and who not to trust. And this guy had appeared out of nowhere.
As if sensing my apprehension and my unwillingness to converse, Dr. Evans nodded at me and turned away, walking back toward the gazebo.
But he paused a little way from the tree.
“I knew your father,” he said. “I haven’t seen him for a very long time, but we were good friends back when he first approached Vasterias with his science. We saw things in the same light, your father and I. We both saw how good the code could be, but we also saw what could happen if it got into the wrong hands.”
This news sent an ache through me. He knew my father�
�the man who wanted nothing to do with me and everything to do with the code inside of me.
“But that’s exactly what happened,” I said, bitter. “It did get into the wrong hands.”
“Yes, unfortunately, it did. His partner, Dr. Adamson, had different visions for it.”
Dr. Evans rubbed at his neck, as if looking up at me in the tree had produced a crick in his neck.
“So how can you stay a part of it if you don’t agree?” The condemning tone in my voice was obvious as I lowered to the bottom branch of the tree.
“Well, I won’t pretend I’m not displeased with the current state of affairs. But I still want to push forward with what your father originally intended for the code. I’m hoping my position on the board is more helpful than harmful.”
“And so you don’t mind using me, using my body, like the rest of them.”
Dr. Evans pulled a small orange flower out of his vest pocket and twirled it between his fingers. “I never said that.”
“Well, what then? Do you agree or disagree?”
Dr. Evans stared at the flower. “Human life was, and I believe still is, very sacred to your father. He never intended for it all to unfold in this way. Neither did I. But you cannot blame them—the owners of Vasterias—for how they act.”
At this, I jumped down to the ground and stood from my crouch.
My voice rose at Dr. Evans. “Blame them?”
At the sound of my voice, Ollie came running toward me.
“Blame them? Of course, I can blame them! They—and you—have ruined my entire life, killed nearly all of the people I love the most.”
Dr. Evans didn’t respond.
For a moment, all that floated in the air between us was my heavy breathing.
It was time to go. I went to scoop up Ollie, but he dodged me, maybe knowing I intended to leave. I cursed the dog under my breath. I wanted out of here, away from this man. I jogged around the side of the tree, toward Ollie, who now sniffed at a flower bush.
The Golden Order Page 6