Revive

by Tracey Martin

  Poor Kyle. Poor me. I am a sulky robot, after all.

  I’m too busy moping to see who it is when the door opens, and a moment later I can’t move because I’m trapped in a hug. Then I recognize the arms gleefully wrapped around me and the voice that calls my name. Instead of relief, I feel slimy with guilt.

  Although it’s a change from mopiness, it’s not an improvement.

  Burying the feeling deep in my stomach, I smile up into One’s handsome face. “Nice to see you again too, fearless leader.”

  When he kisses me on the forehead, I try not to flinch. It’s more than he should do, but it’s a brotherly enough kiss. If anyone important saw it, they’d just gnash their teeth over our imperfect, emotional brains. They’d totally misinterpret why it makes my eyes teary.

  “Welcome back,” One says. “I missed you. We all missed you.”

  “I missed you guys too.” It’s true, and becoming more so by the second. One hasn’t taken his hands off my arms, and they’re warm and good. That’s a problem. Before I left, what I thought he felt for me was dangerous enough. Now it’s worse.

  He’s saying something else to me, but I don’t hear him. I assess him. He’s a centimeter shorter than Kyle, but broader in the shoulders and chest. Kyle has longer eyelashes, and his smile is more infectious. One has a squarer jaw and a more serious face. When Kyle looked at me, I wanted to throw my arms around him. When One looks at me, I don’t know what I want.

  Nothing’s changed that way, and yet everything’s changed.

  “Sev, you spacing out?” One playfully snaps his fingers at me.

  I swat his hand away. “Yeah, sorry. I’m working on the memory stuff. What was that?”

  He pats a pile of clothes on the bed. “I said I’d wait outside while you changed.”

  “Oh, right. Thanks.” I hadn’t realized One brought me my uniform.

  After he shuts the door behind him, I strip out of the medical gown. Putting my old uniform on is relaxing. Even though it appears unfamiliar, part of me must recognize it and the routine. I take that as a good sign. Hello comfy olive fatigues, black T-shirt and combat boots.

  When I open the door, One is typing on a phone. That’s wrong. Click goes one more memory into the correct file—us HYs don’t get camp-issued phones. “When did you get that?”

  Winking, he sticks it in one of his pockets. “After you left, someone decided it made sense for me to have direct communication with Malone and company.” He stands back and appraises me. “Now you look like the girl I remember.”

  “Why would you need direct communication with Malone? There are channels we’re supposed to go through.”

  One shrugs, self-conscious for barely a second, but it’s enough. I see it, and he doesn’t want me to. I wonder if I wasn’t supposed to see the phone either. “I don’t know who made the decision.” His tone suggests I drop it.

  I do only because it’s going to annoy him otherwise. I’m at a disadvantage here, what with missing half my memories, and there’s no need to cause trouble on my first day back. Not if I want a chance of ever contacting Kyle again.

  Kyle. One. Oh, shit. Here comes that slimy feeling.

  “Let’s play test Seven’s memory.” One stands on the opposite side of the narrow corridor and crosses his arms. “Which way to get to our quarters?”

  I swallow because I haven’t a clue. “Are you supposed to torment me?”

  “I’m supposed to figure out how much you know and try to bring your memory back online. So? Left or right? Just guess.”

  Left or right? They’re both the same. The corridor is brightly lit and painted white. There are no windows because we’re underground, probably somewhere near the labs. But I have no idea what level we’re on, or where there’s an elevator, or even where there’s a junction.

  I guess randomly since I have a fifty-fifty chance. “Left?”

  One grins. “Trick question. We’re directly across from the living areas. You could go either way. Docs think showing you around will help trigger things. So we’ll go left first.”

  “Your left or mine?”

  “Good question.” He starts walking, and I fall into step beside him.

  Guess the answer is his left.

  One leads me through corridor after corridor in this section before we head downward. Turns out we were on the topmost of the underground levels. I was right to think we’re near the labs, and we pass by them without going inside. Most are dark, so it must be late. How late is another one of those things I don’t know because there are no clocks.

  It’s quiet around here, and the doors are all marked Restricted. One asks me questions about RTC and my mission. I answer honestly when I can but use my faulty memory as an excuse to delay and consider every detail before choosing whether to reveal it.

  There are no signs to indicate direction, but slowly I begin to rebuild my mental map. No new memories, however, are being triggered. Wondering if peering into a room would help, I stop at one of the doors, but there’s no knob, and it requires a code and a fingerprint to unlock.

  “We don’t have access,” One says. “You’ll remember that too.”

  I frown. “Not even you?”

  “Not even me.”

  “I thought seeing more would help.”

  “The docs are confident it will, but you should see the places you’re most familiar with.”

  I run a finger over the Restricted sign on the door, growing annoyed. “Then why are we exploring places I couldn’t go?”

  “Orders. You need to form a new map of the place, so I’m supposed to take you everywhere. Since we’re in this building, might as well start here.”

  When we arrive at the lowest level, the scenery changes. The floor slopes down slightly and the overhead lights dim. There are fewer doors, and eventually they disappear entirely. Finally, the corridor ends with an armed guard. He sits outside a heavy metal door, facing several monitors.

  “End of the line,” One says. “We’re not going in there.”

  I catch the guard’s eye, and he acknowledges my existence with a nod then proceeds to ignore us. “Why? What’s in there?” Aside from the guard, there’s no Restricted sign or other markings.

  Before One can answer, a racket erupts from beyond the door—clanging and slamming and something that sounds eerily like a howl. I tense, but the guard and One are unfazed.

  “That’s why,” One says. “They’ve been doing some kind of new experiment on the Es, and some of them haven’t been happy about it. Don’t worry. They’re locked up good.”

  He takes my arm and pulls me back the way we came, but I can’t stop staring at the door. And I can’t stop hearing that somewhat metallic screech, so filled with primal anguish. The hairs on my neck stand on end when I mentally replay it.

  “Sev, come on.” One pulls harder, and my feet falter toward him.

  More noise emanates from behind the door, echoing up and down the corridor walls, and I hurry away. I know enough to not like it. “What are Es?”

  “Errors.” One punches a button in the elevator. “Some of you used to call them ‘the ones that came before.’”

  Some of us? I squeeze my eyes shut in concentration, but nothing. No memory yet.

  One laughs at me. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

  “The ones that came before what?”

  The elevator opens, and we arrive at ground level. The building here is more dimly lit, almost as much so as the lowest level, but the walls are warm beige. Bland without being as ugly. Through the windows, blackness presses inward, cold and empty.

  “The ones that came before us,” One says. “The mutants and the messed up. The mistakes.”

  “Mistakes?” I step out of the elevator, keeping my gaze from the windows’ black eyes.

  One heads to the main door and so doesn’t see t
he horrified expression I can feel on my face. “Don’t worry, it’ll come back, I’m sure.”

  “But mistakes? What does that mean?”

  He scratches his cheek. “Sev, you know in your head you have—”

  “I’m an HY. I remember that much. I know about the neural implants. They augment memory and processing.”

  “And?”

  “And?” He’s testing me, but I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to know.

  One waits out the pause then answers. “They make it possible for you to directly interface with computers.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that too.” Although I hadn’t remembered that precisely, it explains why I have cables in my arms with different ends on them. “So those people down there are the ones the camp’s scientists screwed up?”

  “Basically. They’re precursors to the CYs and us. It took the engineers a while before they got it right.” He opens the door, and a gust of chilly air flows into the room. “The things down there aren’t really people. The ones with the faulty neural implants are barely conscious. And the failed CYs are in storage for everyone’s sake, even their own. Come on, I’ll show you one more thing, then we’ll head back to quarters.”

  One starts to go, but I don’t move. Did I know this before? I must have. One acts like I did, and like I regarded it no differently than he does. So maybe it’s no big deal. But lots of things the old me considered no big deal—like, I don’t know, killing a guy in a hotel room—strike me as awfully big deals now.

  Then there’s that howl, that cry. It triggers something all right, but not a memory. More like a sense of revulsion and pity. What could have made that noise, and why does One think it’s nothing? It takes emotions to make such a plaintive sound. It takes suffering.

  Has three months living on the outside made me so weak I can’t ignore these things? Obviously, it has. I couldn’t stand the suffering I caused with the AnChlor either.

  That gives me the chills. No wonder Fitzpatrick wanted to erase my memory. Being on the outside has corrupted me, just like she said. I’m an error now too.

  “Sev?” One cocks his head toward the doorway.

  I wet my lips. “If I don’t get my memories back, is that where I’m going to go?”

  One looks at me for a moment, then laughs. “Is that why you’re being strange?”

  “Well, I’m broken.” In more ways than one.

  “Sev.” He lets the door go, and in two steps he’s closed the distance between us. His strong arms pull me close. As I bury my head against his chest, my muscles relax.

  But my stomach flutters. I’m aware of the security cameras trained on us, and I don’t know what One means by holding me like this for so long. To comfort me, obviously, but in a brotherly way or something else? I tell myself I just want it to be brotherly, but I’m not sure that’s honest. It doesn’t feel brotherly either. My body is very aware of his, and I suspect the same is true for him.

  Things I remember about One: I looked up to him. I trusted him. I loved him?

  Sick as it makes me feel, I can’t deny it. Just like I can’t deny how good I feel right now—safe and warm and protected. But when I recall that dangerous scene we shared the night before I left, I start to think about Kyle. I want it to be Kyle’s arms around me and the scent of Kyle’s skin in my nose. As far as I can remember, I never felt safe or protected with Kyle, and that was okay. Because instead, I felt alive. Wild and wonderfully free.

  It’s impossible to compare One and Kyle because it’s all so different. And forbidden. Damn it. It’s all forbidden anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

  Whatever else happens with my memories, I’m going to have to deal with this. Best to start sooner than later, so I pull away.

  “No one’s going to lock you up with the Es,” One says, releasing me. “We’ll get your memories back.”

  “Yeah, okay.” The words are mechanical because I’m so confused and conflicted that I’d momentarily forgotten about the Es and my freak-out. I don’t want to appear weak in front of One. What I wouldn’t give to be an emotionless CY. Life is difficult enough without this human baggage.

  One heads for the door again. “One more spot that I hope will help, then it’s nearing lights-out, so we have to go to quarters. I’ll finish the tour tomorrow.”

  Saying nothing because it’s safer, I follow him outside. Although I couldn’t tell from within the building because of the bright lamps, the camp is actually well lit. All the buildings have exterior lights. I see easily, definitely well enough to realize the mental image I’d been reconstructing wasn’t entirely accurate. I got the buildings right, but not their precise layout. Nor had I remembered so much asphalt and concrete, or so many trucks parked everywhere.

  Above, the sky is clear and sprinkled with stars, and dark shapes rise in the distance. The mountains, I assume. Everything’s quiet except for the wind in the trees.

  I zip my jacket fully, but it’s thin, not meant for this sort of weather. I wouldn’t mind having my real winter jacket back—the one I got for Boston. But the temperature is above freezing, there’s moderate humidity, and One won’t keep us out for long. Block it out, I tell myself. And I do, although I’m unsure how exactly. It’s like my awareness of the cold fades away.

  “Where are we going?”

  One’s led me off the paved road onto a path behind a hangar. Any moment I suspect we’re going to run into the barbed-wired fence that encircles the perimeter, but we don’t. We end up in the woods, and now it’s truly dark. The building lights are all behind us.

  One removes a small flashlight from his belt and points it at the ground. We’re on a trail. The grass is thin and the dirt well-packed.

  “I don’t remember it being this big,” I say, maneuvering closer to the flashlight beam.

  “The camp? Yeah, it’s big—hundreds of acres, maybe thousands. You don’t remember the trails in the woods? We used the terrain for training exercises.”

  I shake my head. “There’s a lot that’s missing.”

  “It’ll come back.”

  He keeps saying that. I force a smile, wishing I had One’s confidence. The more I realize I’m missing, the more I wonder how much I don’t know—the stuff I’m missing that I don’t realize I’m missing. It could be important. What if it includes the reason I was sent to RTC—the identity of X? I don’t know if I knew that, and it means someone’s life could be in danger right now because my brain is malfunctioning. If X is captured or killed, it’ll be my fault. Another person’s death on my hands.

  And Kyle… But I shake that off. I don’t know why we were in South Station this morning, and thinking about it only worries me. I have to trust in the doctors and Malone and One. It will come back to me. It has to.

  “Here.” One holds out an arm, and I stop. He shines the light ahead, showing a smooth, black surface.

  We’re on the edge of a lake. The water is still, and the area smells rich with rot and pine. My nose is cold, dulling the scent, but it’s peaceful.

  “You used to like this place,” One says. “Do you remember it?”

  He hands me the light so I can look around, but it’s not much use. I think some of the trees are familiar, but how could I know? “Maybe in the daylight.”

  “It was dark the last time you were here too. We came out the morning you had to leave. The sun hadn’t risen yet.”

  There’s something new in his voice. Hope—I place it at last. He wants me to remember this. It was clearly important. My face clenches with frustration because I’m letting him down.

  After I go another minute without speaking, One correctly interprets my silence. “Don’t worry about it. I just thought it might help. We can come back tomorrow.”

  He sounds upbeat, forever positive, but I know I’ve disappointed him. “I’m sorry.”

  “Hey, don’t be.” He gives me a qu
ick hug. “It’s temporary. Let’s go back to quarters. Maybe seeing the rest of the unit will be more helpful.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” Somehow I doubt it. The memories are coming back as they feel like it. In fact, since I’ve gotten back, the process seems to have slowed down. Little things are returning, but nothing huge. Nothing as vivid as what happened earlier.

  One’s plan seems to be to keep me talking, as if my lips can jostle my brain. The entire hike toward our quarters, he hurls questions at me. He’s trying to be useful, I know, but it’s not helping.

  “One, let it go.” I raise my hand to my forehead and press on my bandage. A bit dramatic, but it gets the point across. “I can’t examine this from other angles because I don’t have any other perspective yet.”

  He swears sheepishly. “Sorry, you’re right.”

  A cluster of long, narrow buildings spread out before us. A couple of the nicer ones belong to the camp’s staff, including their own mess hall. I’ve never been in any of those. The rest of us are split up by our unit and designation, and we have our own mess, joined to the staff mess by the kitchen.

  The other buildings are our living quarters. HY1s and HY2s share a building. The HY3s and 4s are much younger and kept separate with greater supervision. The CYs have a similar arrangement, although there are no young CYs. And that’s where my memories stop. From the outside, all our buildings appear identical. I let One lead the way because I don’t know which flat, gray structure is ours.

  As we pass beneath a light, I notice he’s smiling. “What?”

  One doesn’t answer, but his eyes shift to the right, silently telling me what I need to know. A couple men hang out outside one of the buildings, smoking. I feel their gazes on me, but I ignore them.

  We don’t always get along with the pure humans. Click goes another memory. They look down on us as unnatural. We look down on them for being weak.

  Along with the memory comes animosity. I understand why One doesn’t want to speak in front of them, and I keep quiet.