I am pathetic.
What time is it?
Pathetic.
Time check.
On it goes.
But even a watched clock eventually strikes the hour. In this case, five a.m.
When the lights come on, I roll out of bed, twitching like I’m on a caffeine high. None of us conspirators share so much as an excited glance. We dress in our running clothes like normal. Brush our teeth like normal. Pull our hair back like normal.
How funny that I’m finally back to normal and everything else is totally screwed up.
We take off on our run, and I pay particular attention to where I place my feet. No broken ankles for me. I can’t fail Kyle yet.
The snow has picked up but only slightly. It’s a crappy day, cold and humid. If I believed in omens, this would be a bad one.
Delivery trucks roll into camp early Monday mornings, bringing a new week’s supply of perishable foods. I never paid attention before, but I do today. What do the people down in Devor—the nearest town—think of the camp? What will they think in a few hours? What will Malone tell them as they begin a manhunt for us?
Assuming we get that far. Maybe I shouldn’t be so presumptuous.
I pay attention to everything this morning—the air settling in my lungs, the way the wet flakes stick to the trees like melting sugar, the RedZone logo on a guard’s jacket sleeve that, for the first time, makes me think of blood stripes. I watch the kitchen staff step outside for a smoke break, and the maintenance men lug bags to the dumpsters. I wonder how many of them know what RedZone truly is. How many believe the lie. How many will end up dead like Sarah Fisher if they discover the truth.
When we finish our run, I walk over to Cole. The rest of our group of six finds excuses to linger outside, stretching, discussing the snow, retying their shoelaces.
“Fearless leader, do you know if Malone’s around? Last night I got back my memory about the tracker. I think he should know ASAP.”
Lying to Cole kills me. But then, it’s for a greater good. It’s about serving my country. Protecting innocent lives. Saving Kyle.
Whatever. Cole should understand, or he would if I had the chance to properly explain everything to him.
He breaks into a glowing smile, and I am utter slime. Pond ooze that deserves to die in the sun. “Sev, that’s great. What happened? No wait, you probably shouldn’t tell me first.”
Cole gets out his phone, and I hold my breath. Last night, I decided this would be the best method. If I can get in to see Malone officially this morning, our group will have an easier way to time our escape. The timing part is crucial. If Malone doesn’t go for it, we’ll have a lot more guessing to do. Our odds of success go way down.
I try not to fidget but put some urgency in my voice. “Tell him it’s important. I was right about Kyle being in danger.”
Let Malone draw his own conclusions. Maybe he’ll think the actual CIA got hold of me. Whatever it takes to get his attention.
Cole speaks softly into the phone, but I hear Malone’s voice. He’s intrigued but confused. “Tell her to come by in an hour.”
That’s a little too early. It’s 5:40 now, and Kyle doesn’t go anywhere until seven. But maybe Malone plans to keep me in his office when it happens so it’ll be over before I discover Kyle’s gone. I’ll have to improvise when I’m there.
My stomach continues to flail about all morning, but I ignore its complaints and stuff it with eggs and oatmeal. If we fail, this could be my last meal.
I need to stop the if we fail business.
At 6:35, I get up, casually mentioning I’m off to see Malone about my memory. Jordan taps the table once with her finger, the signal to start our internal timers. Octavia gets up too, saying she’s not feeling well. As we split near the living quarters, I tell her I hope she doesn’t have the stomachache I had last night. Then I continue toward the main building, and she goes into our quarters where she’ll get her laptop, lock herself in the bathroom and begin taking down security.
So I hope.
One-hundred-ninety-three seconds to get to the main building. On my way there, I see a plain white van sitting outside Building Two. Kyle is probably being kept in the basement of Building Two. I’ve never been down there, but I know the path the guards will use to bring him to the van.
As for the van itself, the camp has several of them. I’ve never thought much of them before, but now I recognize them for what they are—prisoner transports. There are no windows in the back. No identifying markings.
I put the van out of my head and swipe my thumb to enter Building One. The security guard at the monitors pays me no mind. One-hundred-ninety-six seconds.
Malone’s assistant waves me toward the elevator. Two-hundred-two seconds when the doors close.
I’m outside Malone’s door. Two-hundred-thirty-nine seconds.
He greets me with a fatherly smile when I enter. His fair skin shows its age today. Circles rim his eyes. I hope he had a late night last night. I hope he slept as little as I did. But I damn sure hope that, whatever kept him up, he wasn’t as productive as I was.
“Seven, please.” Malone gestures to the familiar chair with one hand. In the other, he holds an insulated mug. Coffee, not tea—I can smell it. He’s hitting the hard stuff. “You remember what happened with the tracker? Does this mean all your memories have returned?”
He sounds so pleased with me. To think—he wants to scramble my brains later today.
“I did. They are.”
Please be quick, Octavia.
Malone settles back, clearly waiting for me to elaborate.
“To give you the whole sense of what’s going on, I need to start the night before the tracker came out.” I purposely rub my neck and rush onward. “Like I told you, I discovered Kyle was X on Friday when he got injured. When that happened, a couple of his friends ran to find some bandages or first-aid supplies, although Kyle was insisting he didn’t need them. But when his friends returned, they didn’t bring supplies with them. They brought one of their track coaches who was at the dance.”
I stress the word “coaches” like it’s something sinister. It works. Malone hasn’t taken another sip of his coffee. I’ve hooked him.
“This coach helps Kyle bandage his hand, even though there’s got to be nothing left to bandage by that point, and he acts like there’s nothing weird going on. So then it occurs to me that this coach is new. He’s only been at RTC as long as I have…”
I go on, spinning my tale, turning an imaginary track coach into a mysterious threat, all the while silently counting the seconds. I tell Malone that after the dance, I discover someone had searched my dorm room. I start to wonder if it’s been bugged and if there’s malicious software on my phone too. Therefore, I don’t dare call the camp immediately. I’ll get Kyle away from RTC tomorrow, then “borrow” a phone to call in.
Time check: I’ve been in Malone’s office five minutes and seventeen seconds now.
Get on with it, Octavia.
We must have been followed, I continue. I have a bad feeling and want to get Kyle away, but he’s stubborn.
My story has more holes than a donut shop, but I’m starting to enjoy myself as I tell it. As usual, the doing has a wonderful calming effect on me.
“And the tracker?” Malone says. The lines on his forehead warn me that he’s not buying my story, but he still hasn’t touched his coffee. He’s curious and willing to play along.
“Getting to it. So I don’t want to leave Kyle’s side, but he insists he needs to use the restroom. I wait outside and that’s when—”
Malone’s desk intercom goes off.
Oh, THANK YOU, Octavia!
“Sir, our security system just went offline,” comes the voice. “We think we have an external breach.”
Octavia made it look external? Damn, she�
��s good.
Instead of grinning for joy, I fake surprise. From the corner of my eye, I check the camera hidden behind the mirror over the sideboard. There’s a second one, too, over the door. In theory, both should currently be useless.
“What about the backup system?” Malone asks.
“Also down. We’re attempting to contain the problem, but there seems to be some sort of virus corrupting the entire network.”
Malone’s face is stony. “Work faster. Are we in lockdown?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then hurry and get the problem contained. I have a busy morning.” Malone switches off the intercom, and I stand.
“Should I go?”
He looks at me, rubbing his chin. “No. Give me a moment to deal with this.”
I nod dutifully, but the second Malone reaches for his cell, I spring. He goes flying into the wall as I tackle him from behind. The phone skids across the floor.
Must not think. Must act. Must not be emotional Sophia. Must be HY1-Seven.
Before Malone can fight back, I knock his head into the floor, and he goes limp. I bind his hands with a zip-tie Jordan once stole and hid in preparation for such an occasion. Then I try to ignore the blood rolling down his forehead.
Malone’s out now, but he’ll come to quickly. I get on his computer and look up how to initiate the override. It’s a simple sequence, but it requires his fingerprint as the last step. Great.
He’s one-hundred-sixty pounds of dead weight on the floor, but his eyes are already fluttering open. I start dragging him to the keypad then realize my stupidity and bring the keypad to him. The monitor flashes with INITIATING.
Malone’s intercom goes off again. “Sir, did you override the lockdown?”
Malone stirs. I clamp one hand over his mouth and press the intercom with my other. “Yes, he did, but he’s on the phone. He wants you to get back to work containing the virus.”
I let go of Malone and rummage through his desk. I either need keys or something with which to pick the closet lock. Oh, and duct tape for Malone’s mouth and ankles—that would be good too.
I find a loaded .38 first. Well, that’s something. I hesitate for a second, glancing between the gun and Malone’s head.
Malone is a lying, thieving, murdering bastard. Of all the people I’ve hurt or killed, he’s one I could be certain actually deserves it. Besides, shooting him would take care of the problem of him regaining consciousness. Seven wouldn’t hesitate.
But Sophia does. The gun is a lead brick in my hand, and my hand is already coated in blood. If I shoot Malone, I will only be doing what he created me to do, and Sophia is no one’s weapon. Nor will she be RedZone’s tool.
Also, shooting Malone would be noisy. Yeah, way too noisy.
It’s all the excuse I need to reconcile my debate. Maybe that’s a mistake, but I’ll cling to the noise concern as a reason not to shoot a defenseless man.
I double-check the safety then tuck the gun into my waistband since I have no place else to put it.
Time check: running low. Need to move faster.
Ah, masking tape. Better than nothing. I wrap a lot around Malone’s ankles. He murmurs at me, his words slurred. I don’t take the time to understand. I’m not interested.
“Remember, I could have shot you and I didn’t,” I say, fishing through his pockets for the keys. Got them at last. I open the closet, but my backpack is gone. I kick the wall in frustration. There’s no time for this. We have this escape planned out to the second. “Where is it?”
The question is only partially directed at Malone. Alertness has returned to his eyes, but I’m not expecting an answer from him. I’m hardly a model soldier worthy of help.
He answers anyway. “You’re making a mistake, Seven. A huge mistake.” His voice is raspy and cold—a shark’s voice if I ever heard one.
I return to his computer again, searching for my backpack’s new location. “Because I’m not letting you erase my memories? I’m not letting you hurt Kyle like you did his mother?”
“Kyle holds the key to immortality. I’d have shared that with you. I could have made you unstoppable.”
Page after page of files fly by. Maybe it’s in Malone’s email. “Unstoppable? So my unit and I could be The Four’s perfect weapons? Or did you plan to rent us out to groups that could use our services? Did you ever consider that maybe we don’t want to be weapons?”
“We created you!” Malone’s face is red. “You belong to us. The entire reason you exist is for that purpose. You are the product of decades of research, and you’re brilliant.”
“I’m a person. Not a tool.” Why am I having this discussion with him? If he insists on talking, I should at least learn something useful. “Where’s my backpack?”
Malone ignores that, no surprise. “You’re not a person, HY1-Seven. You’re my creation.”
“Yes, you created me. Doesn’t mean I’m going to let you destroy me too.”
“Erasing your memories is for your own good. I’m trying to help you. I know what happened with the AnChlor bothers you, and I can make it all go away. We’ll put you back to the model soldier you were. You’ll be happy again.”
I press too hard on a key, and the display jumps around. Happy? Never mind shooting him. I want to beat Malone with the keyboard. “You mean you’ll make me believe your lies again. Then I will be nothing but your creation. I like being a person instead, even when it sucks.”
Aha. Malone gave my backpack to Fitzpatrick yesterday evening to review the contents. It has to be in her office. Shit.
Time check: time to GO.
Thanks to the override, Kyle’s transfer is back in progress. I take another look at Malone, slumped against the wall, and tell myself once more that shooting him will be too noisy.
But I point the gun at him. “Remember how you hunted down Kyle’s mother? How you killed her in cold blood? I read the CIA’s reports. I saw the crime scene photos of her body.” Malone says nothing. He stares at me so calmly it’s creepy. No doubt a lot of people have pointed guns at him before. I’m not going to faze him that way. “You should be glad your attempts to brainwash me into your perfect weapon failed because I won’t do the same to you.”
Then I leave. Halfway down the stairs, I realize the noise from a gunshot doesn’t make a difference. From somewhere outside comes the sound of an explosion. A tremor runs through the building.
Gabe and Lev are on the loose.
I pound down the last few steps, listening closely for signs of trouble, then cautiously peer around the doorway. The guard and Malone’s assistant are discussing what’s going on. The explosion, on top of the security shutdown, is causing all kinds of confusion. Just as planned.
Five seconds behind schedule, I open the door into the lobby, hoping to appear casual.
“Where are you going?” Malone’s assistant asks.
I blink at her, all wide-eyed innocence. “Malone needed to cut our meeting short because of the security breach. I’m going to training. Do you know what that explosion was?”
“No,” she says and stops being interested in me.
The guard’s walkie-talkie comes to life. “New security alert. Two HY1s set off an explosion by Warehouse Eighteen. They’re still—”
“Hey!”
I slam the assistant’s desk into the two of them as the guard starts for his sidearm. They stumble in a crash of metal and desk chairs.
The walkie-talkie stirs again. “Be aware that any—”
I dive on the other side of the desk as the guard fires wildly in my direction. Keeping low, I pull the .38 from my waistband and return fire once. The assistant screams. I dash for the next bit of cover—the guard’s station. It’s five feet to the door from here, and I’m ten seconds behind schedule.
The guard fires again. Not wanting to waste my few sh
ots, I hurl whatever I can find at his station toward him—a phone, an e-sheet, a monitor. Then I take a deep breath, fire one more shot their way and bolt for the door.
I make it outside, sixteen seconds behind schedule. Somewhere nearby more shots ring out, but the guard doesn’t chase me. I stick close to the buildings, wondering how long Summer’s virus is going to hold out.
A second explosion rocks the ground, this one coming from the woods. Four CYs jog past, no doubt part of a larger unit that’s spreading out to find us. I duck inside Building Two as one of the CYs turns its heat sensors to where I’d been lurking in the bushes.
I’m coming, Kyle.
I take the stairs, straining my ears at the first landing. I’m late, but thanks to the confusion, Kyle and his escorts might be slow.
And there they are. I see them as I reach for the door handle. They’re definitely being cautious under the circumstances. Kyle has three guards, which would be ridiculous ordinarily because his hands are bound. The guard in front has his gun drawn, and he does a standard sweep of the stairwell before motioning the others along.
Shooting people might be unavoidable here. They have Kyle, and I will do whatever it takes.
Intending to catch the guards by surprise, I charge down the stairs. I can’t imagine the order’s been given to shoot all HY1s on sight—we’re too valuable—and I can’t risk shooting from my angle. Not when I could hit Kyle. I have no desire to test the limits of his abilities.
“Sophia?” There’s no question from his voice that I took him by surprise. He’s adorable when he’s confused, but I ignore him in order to contend with his guards.
They weren’t expecting me any more than Kyle. I go after the nearest one: elbow-gut, fist-face, foot-knees. He drops like he would in a drill. It’s too easy, but it’s only because he wasn’t ready for it.
“Behind you!” Kyle yells, pressing himself against the railing. Guard Two reaches for his gun. Guard Three for his walkie-talkie.
Both are bad, but I can’t deal with both at once. Where’s Jordan?
Guard Two gets my attention then—he’s the one with the gun. I block his arm and duck as he swings at me.
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