As I take my food, I see Cole has returned to our unit. He nudges Four—AKA Mike—over so I can sit next to him. Without Jordan, Summer, Gabe or Octavia, we have plenty of room at our table.
The HY2s begin talking again as I sit, and normality’s low rumble fills the space. I poke at the meatloaf and mashed potatoes I’ve been served and wish I’d been able to eat more of that sandwich I’d ordered in the Philadelphia hotel.
“You’re back.” Sky’s smile is broad, and others echo her comment.
My gaze sweeps around the table, taking in the faces, wondering what they know. Cole is on my left, and to his left is Mike with his large dark eyes and skin nearly the same shade. Lev sits across from Mike, and Five—Alan—is next to him. Alan also has dark eyes and hair, but his genetic ancestry is more like Octavia’s, from somewhere in eastern Asia. Across from me sits Sky, and on my right is Twelve—Eva, whose auburn curls have always made me jealous. Finally, next to Eva is Ten—Dylan, who I guess complexion-wise was made to be my male counterpart. Our skin isn’t as dark as Sky’s or Lev’s.
I remember my worries about blending in as we fled the camp. It’s just another way my perspective changed by being on the outside. Growing up, all we knew was that we were created so that two of us—one boy and one girl—would be able to blend in anywhere in the world. The idea of race and ethnicity never really sank in except on a superficial level. They were things we had to study since we would be affected by them on missions, but we had none of them ourselves, just genetic variations for a specific reason.
In some ways, I think the fact that our backgrounds cause no strife made life better here than it is in the outside world. It’s one of the very few positive things I can truthfully say about the camp. On the other hand, being on the outside showed me how much I’m missing out on by not knowing what part of the world my genetic makeup comes from and all the cultural aspects associated with it. I mean, I’ve studied those cultures and learned their languages and customs because I might need to use them one day, but it’s not the same thing. It’s one more way I’ll never be a part of the real world. My culture will always be camp culture. Even if I rebel against it.
“So, Sev.” Eva leans over. “What happened?”
Cole sets down his cup and raises an eyebrow. “Let her be.”
I swallow a mouthful of dinner, thinking on Malone’s words. “I couldn’t tell you.”
Eva sighs. “Yeah, I figured. You and Lev both had your memories deleted. We know. I was just hoping you might remember more than he does.”
“If she did,” Cole says, “she’s smart enough to have learned her lesson and not share.”
I continue eating, letting Cole respond for me. He knows what they know, and he’s less likely to say something stupid. Me? I’m tempted to ask what they were told, but I suspect that’s not a good idea with Cole around. If he wouldn’t share, that has to be a hint. And besides, though my unit is family, these aren’t the members I trusted the most. Those members are gone.
“Can you at least tell us if any of the others are back?” Mike asks. “Fitzpatrick won’t tell us anything.”
“Except a lot of shit,” mutters Alan. “It’s not like we don’t know the seven of you broke out of here.”
Cole holds up his hands in frustration. “Really? Malone just gave Sev permission to rejoin us, and you’re begging her to tell you stuff that will get all of us locked up.”
“Come on, One.” Sky puts her fork down and stretches over the table. “It’s one thing when we’re kept in the dark for legitimate mission reasons, but when members of our unit behave in strange ways, you can’t expect us not to be concerned. We get told Seven and the others were ‘infected’, but not what that means. Infected with what—a biological contaminant from when Sev was on her mission, or a technological bug? We don’t even know if the rest of us were ever at risk.”
So that’s what they were told. Clever Sky letting the details slip.
Yes, I want to tell her. I was infected, not with a virus, but with the truth. And you are at risk for catching it if there’s anything I can do about it.
Since I don’t yet know all of it myself, however, and I’m not supposed to remember any of it, I keep quiet. “I’m supposed to be working on getting back to normal.”
“Me too,” Lev says.
I watch him scrape his fork around his potatoes and consider his tone. It’s possible Lev’s memories are returning too, but finding out will be difficult.
“No more talk about what happened,” Cole says. “Three of us are back, and there’s nothing we can tell you. Don’t let your curiosity get you in trouble.”
Cole’s declaration settles the matter, ostensibly anyway. Reluctantly, the conversation moves on, but while I pretend to participate, I’m analyzing Cole’s tone. Searching it for hidden meanings. Does it mean he remembers but won’t talk, or did Malone screw with his head too?
Three of us are back, he said too. So that answers my question about the fate of Jordan and the others. But if they didn’t return with me, what does it say about the fate of those RTC students Malone put into comas?
Lost in my musings, another few minutes pass before I notice something unusual is going on. The guards stationed by the mess hall doors are exchanging worried glances, and the man on the left is listening intently to whatever is being said on his radio.
My paranoia kicks in. My first assumption is that this has something to do with me, but I logically dismiss the idea as crazy. Not everything is about me.
But then what is it about? Naturally, I’m not the only person in the room who’s noticing. Dylan cuts off in the middle of a sentence, and we strain to hear what’s being said. We’re too far away though, and the room is too noisy despite the sense of unease stirring along the tables.
Even Cole is thoughtful, scratching his chin. He could probably get up and ask, given how Malone’s treating him, but before I can make the suggestion, his phone buzzes. I suppose that means he doesn’t need to ask. Someone is telling him.
Cole reaches for the phone, but he never gets the chance to retrieve it. The windows along the back wall explode in gunfire first.
Chapter Nineteen
Sunday Evening: Present
I dive under the table. Everybody dives under their respective tables. It’s like a drill, only instinct tells me this is not a drill even before I land in my crouch. Camp drills never involve the destruction of actual camp property unless said property was slated for destruction anyway. Like the time when I was thirteen and we got to demonstrate our bomb-making techniques on old…
Focus. This is the wrong time to revel in a functioning memory.
The mess-hall workers—civilian employees, all of them—scream. But not us and not the HY2s. We’ve had the screaming reaction beaten and drilled out of us, and as a result, it’s an almost uncanny calm that settles over the room as the food staff retreat through the kitchen’s back door.
Broken glass continues to cascade onto the tables and drip onto the floor, a deceptively musical sound. Then the gunfire starts anew. Underneath it, I recognize a new noise this time—the low, rhythmic pulse of an energy weapon. The hum is deeper than the weapons the AADs were using against my unit in the Pittsburgh mall, suggesting that either this weapon is set to kill rather than stun, or the weapon itself is much bigger.
Possibly both. Happy thoughts.
My limited analysis of the situation takes place in a fraction of a second, the same time it takes me to curse my own lack of a weapon. Of course, I’m not the only one in that predicament. Not even Cole gets to strut around the camp armed with more than a phone.
Speaking of that phone, I shuffle below the table until I can see him wedging the device from his belt. His face turns ashen as he reads it.
Behind Cole, the glass rain has ceased, and Mike raises his head above the table. As he does, the building roc
ks violently. I stumble, grabbing the nearest seat for support, and Mike swears as his head smacks the table ledge. My ears pop once, and I sense an invisible wave sweep over me and across the room. The pressure changes subtly then returns to normal.
Hair on my neck stands on end. Someone fired a powerful energy weapon for sure. Shit.
“What is it?” I ask Cole in unison with Dylan. “What’s going on?”
Cole stuffs the phone back on his belt. “Listen up, HY1s. We’re being called on to assist camp security. An E has gotten loose, and they want our help to bring it down.”
“Just one E?” Eva asks incredulously. “One E is doing this?”
“Must be one hell of an E,” Alan mutters.
I push the seat aside and crawl out from under the table. “Security can’t handle it on their own?”
It would appear not. The mess hall is a sparkling disaster. Glass covers every table and inch of the floor within twenty feet of the windows. Some of the braver and more curious HY2s are also maneuvering out from under their tables, and their heads turn toward us, searching for answers.
Cole pops up next to me. “Fitzpatrick is on her way with more intel.”
We’re all out from under the table when she limps into the mess hall. With her cane in one hand and an assault rifle slung over her shoulder, she motions us over. “Don’t make me walk. I just rushed here, and you know I can’t run these days thanks to some disobedient person in your unit.”
Her gray gaze pierces me, and I raise my head higher. So what if I’m supposed to be pretending to be a perfect soldier. There is no version of me that wouldn’t be proud of having shot her. Not unless Malone gave me a full lobotomy.
Fitzpatrick dumps the rifle on a table. “The E is a Destroyer class, second generation of the pre-CY line. It has anger issues.” She glares harder at me, and I hope it gives her eyestrain.
“Old technology,” Cole says, ignoring our bitching contest. “Why do you need us to help?”
“Yeah.” Alan wipes his hands on his pants. “Shouldn’t be hard to dispatch it.”
Fitzpatrick crosses her arms. “Ask Seven. She’ll explain to you that Malone doesn’t like wasting defective tech.”
I fight to keep my face neutral. “Malone wants it taken alive?”
“And as undamaged as possible. It’s the last of its kind, and they’ve been performing neurological experiments on it. That’s part of the problem. The thing’s gotten smarter and more independent than it was ever supposed to be. Its first target after breaking free was to take down security’s central hub. This is why you’re being mobilized. We have a lot of downed guards.”
Fitzpatrick runs over the specs with us, and it doesn’t sound good. The Destroyer-class models were beasts. Or make that tanks with legs. Their metal areas are made from a super tough alloy, impervious to small-caliber rounds, and their circuitry is shielded to prevent energy weapons from frying it. The most vulnerable areas on it are the few fleshy spots it has left—its face and parts of its hands. But we can’t take head shots because that’s likely to kill it, which is the opposite of what Malone wants.
“It has a kill switch on the back of its neck,” Fitzpatrick says. “But the switch is small, and it would require a precise hit to trigger it from afar. And the thing’s not exactly cooperating by standing still. Snipers have been deployed around the camp. We want you to get its attention long enough for one of them to take a shot.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Lev mutters.
Fitzpatrick snaps her head his way. “Not you, Eleven. You’re too damaged.”
“And the rest of us?” Sky sighs with resignation. “It’s nice everyone’s more concerned with saving the E than killing us.”
“The snipers aren’t going to hit you,” Fitzpatrick says.
“No, but the E might.”
Fitzpatrick snatches her rifle from the table. “Then I suggest you dodge anything it shoots your way. I’ve taught you better than to be a whiny, clumsy-footed fool. That distinction is reserved for Seven.”
Cole clamps a hand on my arm, and I bite my tongue to keep from lashing out.
“Any questions?” Fitzpatrick asks. Despite the destruction reigning beyond the mess hall doors, she’s pleased for any chance to insult me.
Both her radio and Cole’s phone go off at the same time. “It’s heading into the woods,” Cole tells us. “Snipers aren’t going to be as much help.”
We’re armed and deployed in the next five minutes, although from what Fitzpatrick said, our side arms aren’t going to do much more than annoy the E. Cole keeps in radio contact with Fitzpatrick and the guards, and collectively we develop a strategy for bringing it down with minimal damage. Above, a drone circles the camp, providing continuous updates on its whereabouts. It’s handy to have that sort of surveillance now, but I’m thankful the weather made deploying such a device impossible on the day I escaped.
I take off into the trees, seeking out the coordinates Cole relays into my ear. Security is laying a crude trap that will theoretically tangle up the E long enough for a sniper to get a clear shot at the kill switch. My unit’s job is to box the E in until it stumbles into the trap.
Out here, the snow reaches my ankles, and I press against a bare beech tree, listening. The E is to the west. The trap is to the south. The dense forest makes my binoculars less than useful, but I can hear the E snapping branches and shots being fired. Occasionally, a gust of wind brings the sound of voices my way too.
The radio in my ear springs to life. “Look sharp, Seven. It’s heading your way.”
“Copy.” I train my sight left. The night is dark in the woods, but the camp lights are on full brightness, giving the sky a dull glow. It’s nothing my vision can’t handle, but I’m less sure about the E. Fitzpatrick’s briefing on its capabilities was less than ideal.
I hear the cracking branches and the thud of the E’s feet before I can see the shadows shifting in the trees. The woods come alive. If this were a movie, small birds and animals would be fleeing in terror.
I flex my knees a few times, preparing to run. Then the E bursts through a cluster of fir trees, stepping into view.
It’s enormous, 2.2 meters tall with a shoulder span more than twice my width. Some kind of metal plating covers most of its body like an exoskeleton. One eye has been replaced by a camera, but either it wasn’t fitted well or over time the E has attempted to rip it out. The device sits clumsily above its nose, giving its face a lumpy, grotesque appearance. Wires ripple along the fleshy bits of its neck, direct connections between its brain and the ancient chips used to augment it.
Never before have I been so grateful for my internal wiring. Needing to slice into my arm occasionally isn’t fun, but it’s far better than the E’s puckered grommets. Where the wires extrude down the length of the E’s neck, they resemble open sores.
At RTC, I read Audrey’s copy of Frankenstein one afternoon, and staring in horrified pity at the E, I understand that story in new ways. It is Frankenstein’s monster, not comprised of dead men’s body parts but of mad technologies. A fully empathic creature that was failed by its creators and is seeking revenge. A step in my own evolution.
I don’t want to help hunt it down. I want to set it free. But that’s not the right reaction. It can’t be free for the same reason Frankenstein’s monster couldn’t be free. The outside world is no place for it. Unfortunately, neither is the camp.
My mouth is dry as I check in. “I have visual.”
The E’s hearing is excellent. Though it’s easily thirty meters away down a slope, its head snaps in my direction. One mostly metal arm raises, and the energy weapon built into the limb lets loose. The E roars along with it.
I hit the snow, feeling the shock wave ripple over me and the birch in front of me shake. The blast knocks snow from the lowest branches, and cold wetness tumbles onto my head.
A second shot follows, keeping me on my knees. That’s definitely a powerful weapon if it can get off two shots in such quick succession.
Luckily, it can’t get off three, and bullets aren’t as effective in the dense forest. I take off to the south, hoping to get it to give chase. Instead, it screams incoherently again and pounds a massive fist into a dead tree, cracking it in half.
“Come on!” I yell at it. “This way!”
I’ve been authorized to shoot at it, to taunt it, but I can’t bring myself to do it. The creature is clearly suffering enough. In this single regard, I want to follow Malone’s orders as closely as possible. I want to leave the E as unharmed as I can, both physically and mentally. There’s some remnant of a person in that bio-cybernetic brain, and that person deserves more dignity than they’ve been allotted.
The E, however, doesn’t give a damn for my sympathy. After a moment, it decides I’m enemy enough to pursue, and I hear it trampling through the brush behind me. My saving graces are that its large body makes maneuvering a challenge, and the energy weapon gives off a distinct change in pitch before it’s ready to fire. I have to hit the ground running twice as I lead the E toward the trap.
“Incoming.” I breathe heavily, traipsing up the next hill. My front is covered in melting snow, and more icy water runs down my neck.
“We’ve got you covered,” says an unfamiliar voice, one of the security guards.
“Keep going, Sev.” That’s Cole’s voice. “We’re coming up from behind and boxing it in.”
Keep going. Like I’d choose to turn around and face that thing on my own? No, thanks.
The next crucial steps all take place behind me. I hear the thwack of the high-tension ropes releasing as the E lunges into the clearing at the crest of the hill. It lets out a cry of rage as I grab the nearest tree and catch my breath. Then, while it struggles to shake off the ropes, two more shots are fired. The first must miss its mark, but the second does the job. The E falls silent, and the forest does with it.
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