Resist

by Tracey Martin

  While my eight-year-old self winced in sympathy for Octavia, she pulled herself together and finished the course. She was slower. Her time came in near or at the bottom for our unit. And we lost to the grownups that day. Fitzpatrick was pissed off.

  We lost the next year too. But not on the third try. Once we turned ten, we won and we never stopped winning since. The only change from year to year was the time spread. It kept getting bigger. Not that Fitzpatrick was ever satisfied with our performance. There was always something each of us could have done better, a skill she made us focus on.

  Get up and finish this. Do not let them win.

  I lift my head from my knees and square my shoulders. Fitzpatrick is what I need. She might not know where Malone is taking Kyle and Cole, but she would be able to find out. And I know just how to persuade her to do it.

  Somehow, I don’t think she’ll be proud of me for my perseverance.

  The E’s cellblock is far quieter during the day than it was on those nights when I tried to sleep down here. At first, I worry that maybe the Es have all been transferred to labs already, prepped for today’s experiments. But when I sit quietly and concentrate, I can tell that’s not the case.

  Occasionally, I can hear them shifting about in nearby cells. Their footsteps are heavier than normal ones, and a few seem to have eerily metallic voices. Sometimes all I hear is a plaintive whine whose precise origin is a mystery. Once, these sounds would have chilled me, but today they reassure me that I’m not alone.

  That’s good because what I’m planning is not only reckless, but probably crazy. Unfortunately, it’s all I can come up with under the circumstances. Given my recent track record on plans, that’s worrisome, yet I have nothing left to lose at this point. I’d rather be killed in the usual ways than have the very essence of who I am destroyed by Malone.

  Get up and finish this. Do not let them win.

  Fitzpatrick can be so unintentionally inspiring.

  I’m pacing my tiny cell, playing through all the steps involved in my plan, when someone finally gets around to feeding me. Since it’s too early for lunch, someone must have realized I missed breakfast and is trying to correct the error. Our calories and nutrition are carefully monitored and controlled so it’s not pity, but rather another example of how we’re treated like lab rats. But the reasons for the visit don’t matter. All that does is getting a faster start on my plan.

  My stomach grumbles, displeased that it’s still being denied. I tell it to shut up as the electronic lock clicks in my cell door.

  I have one chance at this. If anything beyond my control occurs, it’s all over for me and everyone else. Therefore every single one of the details within my control must be perfect. The thought is somehow comforting. I’ve been an emotional Sophia mess lately. I’m proud of that person I became, but turning her off temporarily is also a relief. There is respite in numbness.

  As the door opens, my mind clears. My hunger pangs vanish. My muscles loosen. Little does Malone understand that when I am HY1-Seven, as I will always be to him, that I’m the least emotionally vulnerable. I can be what he wants me to be. Most of the time, I just choose not to.

  For what I hope will be the last time, I am his damned robot assassin. And the two security guards with my food are not expecting it.

  Before the door can fully open, I lunge at the closest guard. He’s holding me at gunpoint, but he’s not prepared for such a sudden attack. I’ve locked my hands around his arms and tossed him behind the cot, which I’ve strategically moved into the center of the cell, before he knows what hit him. The second guard is forced to drop the food tray in order to reach for his side arm, and that gives me a second to work with. I get to his weapon before he does, slam him into the door and snatch his radio and badge. Then, while he’s flailing in his attempt to fight me off, I shove him inside the cell and lock the door.

  By my estimation, odds are at least three guards have witnessed my revolt on their monitors somewhere in this complex. Stealing the guard’s radio wasn’t so I could prevent him from calling the incident in. It was just so I could eavesdrop on the chatter.

  Meanwhile, the guard outside the cellblock will be putting the area on lockdown. It’s supposed to take him no more than five seconds in an emergency. Even at my fastest, I can’t make it to the door before then.

  The only thing I can do is destroy the lock first. With two seconds remaining, I fire my stolen gun at the door’s locking mechanism. Once. Twice. All around me, an alarm sounds and lights flash. The control panel by the door sputters and dies in a hail of sparks.

  Now it’s worth my time to dash. Security will be mobilizing, and I no longer have surprise on my side. I need to give these people something more to worry about than me.

  Grunting, I pull open the broken doors at the end of the corridor. The lone guard at the station is on her radio, calling in backup. When I burst through, she drops the radio and raises her side arm. I’m expecting it and am already diving for the shelter of her desk.

  A second later, I pop up and tackle her from behind. She goes down, and I push her limp body aside to get to the controls. I need her security badge for this, as well as the one I stole from the guard in my cell, but the ability to unlock an E’s cell is not nearly as restricted a behavior as it could be. Security needs to go in and out of those cells every day to take Es to the labs. I wouldn’t call the procedures involved lax, but for me, they aren’t a challenge to override.

  I throw open all the cell doors at once.

  The alarms, the flashing lights—it’s gotten the Es riled up. If they were mostly sleeping before, they are all wide awake by the time their cages inexplicably open. And the rush of noise that follows—confused and triumphant, even insanely gleeful—at any other time would have made the hairs on my neck stand on end.

  Even now, I shiver at the knowledge of what I’ve done. Some of the Es might understand that I’m the one who freed them and leave me alone, but there’s no guarantee. I’ve put myself in as much danger as I have everyone else. I can only promise myself the cause is worthy, and the camp has the resources to keep the damage contained within its boundaries.

  Thanks to the radio, I know security is on their way. The guard I knocked out blinks up at me, her face filled with horror. Those inhuman footsteps are coming this way in all their blind rage.

  I grab the guard’s gun and hand her back her radio. She wasn’t unconscious for long, but even a second or two means she likely has a concussion. Unlike in the silly movies I watched at RTC, there’s no shaking off such a thing. When those Es figure out where to go, she’ll be helpless.

  “Get on the radio,” I tell her. “Use your clearance to call Fitzpatrick and find out where she’s heading, and I’ll carry you out of here.”

  The guard blinks again, longer. I’m afraid the damage I’ve done to her is too great for her to respond, then one of the Es lets out a bone-chilling scream. A blast rocks the forced-open security door.

  Without a word, the guard snatches the radio from me. Her voice trembles initially, but she puts through a recognizable identification code in a message for Fitzpatrick.

  I grab the radio from her before she can attempt to be sneaky and add anything else. Leaving the channel open, I pick up the guard just in time and throw her over my shoulder. The first of the Es burst through the doorway with hellacious cries and begin pummeling the guard station. Behind me, glass shatters and metal shrieks, but the noise is nothing to the way the Es are incoherently yelling.

  The guard grabs my back, screaming, and I take off down the hallway. Debris from the destroyed guard station flies by my head. Luckily, the Es are no better at aiming during a fit of madness than the average human.

  “Get us past your friends,” I tell the guard, setting her down outside a new set of security doors.

  I kill the locking mechanism on these doors too, ensuring the Es can f
ollow. Although I suspect many of the Es with their strength, which is super-human even by my standards, could rip the doors from the walls, why take chances when I’m in need of maximum distraction?

  The guard is still recovering when I pull her into a carefully chosen stairwell with me. This location should see the least security rushing to the scene, but we encounter a squad on our way up. Since the guard with me is noticeably injured, the others rush by us, acknowledging the info she manages to convey, but paying little attention. Because she says nothing about me, and the others are so concerned with the E breach, they don’t notice that I have her at gunpoint. We continue our way to the surface, unimpeded.

  “In here.” I drag the guard into a bathroom.

  While I hadn’t counted on the guard being a woman since fewer than one-third of the camp’s guards are, I decide it’s worth it to take advantage of the situation. She’s close enough to my size that I force her to exchange uniforms with me. Such a maneuver won’t hide me from an AAD, and probably not even a CY, but it provides a level of anonymity from any quick glances by human security.

  I leave the guard tied up in the bathroom and take off, holding on to her side arm and ID. During a security breach of this magnitude, trainees are under orders to return to their quarters and await instruction. My unit, on the verge of no longer being considered in training, will probably be mobilized to assist in the fight. But first, they must follow protocol.

  I have to get to Fitzpatrick before she gets to them or my plan becomes infinitely more challenging. Fitzpatrick too has to follow protocol, along with all of the camp’s non-civilian staff. Because of the guard’s assistance, I know where Fitzpatrick should be heading, and I race across the grounds, hoping I can cut her off. Given her leg wound, she shouldn’t be able to get there too quickly.

  With my stolen uniform and a much bigger problem to deal with than me, camp security pays me no mind. I see snipers taking up positions on guard towers, hear engines starting in the distance and hold my breath while a unit of CYs marches out of their quarters and disperses across the camp to assist with containing the Es.

  No one bothers me. My name was never mentioned on the radio. The guard who called in the incident didn’t have time to identify me as its cause before I freed the Es, thus creating a far more pressing and dangerous situation. And so, the radio chatter concerns only that problem. It’s getting bigger, getting worse by the second.

  Up ahead, Fitzpatrick disappears around the side of a training building, and I put on an extra burst of speed. She’s almost at her destination. Cold, thin air grates against my lungs. It’s painful, but I feel so alive. Wild, but not free. Not yet. Although the freedom is so close I can taste it on my tongue, and it tastes like a dazzling winter day.

  Don’t get intoxicated by the adrenaline, I warn myself. My plan is far from being successful yet.

  Turning the building’s corner, I slam into someone. I’ve planned for it and know it’s Fitzpatrick. Even if I hadn’t, the stink of stale coffee that hovers around her would have given it away. Shoving her against the concrete wall, I discreetly slip her gun from its holster and press it into her stomach. “If you don’t want a right leg to match the left, you’re going to help me.”

  Fitzpatrick’s eyes open comically wide, and I can practically see her adding up the facts and arriving at the number seven. “I should have known. You set loose all the Es? Jesus, I know you’re a fuckup, Seven, but this blows away my expectations.”

  “Really? It’s about time. I’ve been trying to do that for nineteen years. But this is Malone’s fault. He’s forced my hand.”

  “Don’t blame others for your shortcomings.”

  Somewhere in the distance, an explosion rocks the camp. The ground rumbles beneath me with the force.

  “I’m not blaming anyone for them. I think my plan is kind of brilliant actually, and it’s working so far. But enough conversation. I’m desperate to save Cole and Kyle, and you know desperate people are willing to go to whatever lengths they have to. You taught us that.” I pause and take care to hide the gun better as a security squad runs down the next path, trailing a jeep. “I need you to take me to Malone’s meeting.”

  Fitzpatrick barks a laugh, and I want to smash her smug head into the wall. Instead, I press the gun barrel deeper into her stomach. “You out-thought yourself,” she says. “I don’t have that information.”

  “Please. You have a high-enough level clearance to get it in an emergency, and I do believe this counts. So get on your phone and call in to Malone’s assistant. Now.”

  Amazingly, Fitzpatrick smiles. I might be part robot, but this just confirms for me that she has ice water for blood. “No. You’ll have to shoot me again.”

  My patience is wearing thin, and the noise is increasing. Some of the Es could be heading this way. But Fitzpatrick calling my bluff is not going to work. “I’ve already done it once. You really think I won’t do it again? It’s my proudest moment.”

  I will too if she forces me, but it’s not ideal for my plan.

  As I’ve noted before, Fitzpatrick is made of tough material. “Then do it. It’s worth it to me to see your plan fail.”

  Damn it. A bleeding, wounded Fitzpatrick will make my life more difficult. Fortunately, there’s a reason I brought an insurance plan with me when I turned myself in. “Is it worth it to see your nieces and nephew shot too?”

  She freezes, and I know I have her even if she doesn’t realize it yet. “You don’t know anything about my family, Seven.”

  “Actually, I do. I spent some time researching them while I was on the outside. I mean, it’s hard to imagine someone as inhuman as you are being related to regular people, but apparently you are. It was fascinating learning.”

  “You’re lying.” She doesn’t sound entirely convinced. “You can’t possibly have found them.”

  I grit my teeth, wanting to speed up this dance. “Why not? Because I don’t know that Kathleen Fitzpatrick is an alias? Your real name is Mary Steinbach, and I’ll list the names of your sister and her children, your cousins, aunts and uncles, parents and their addresses if you make me, but I don’t think we want to waste time on that. There’s an E getting close. Can you hear it?”

  Fitzpatrick’s leathery, tan skin has turned a couple shades paler. “You would never hurt innocents, especially children. It’s always been one of your many weaknesses, Seven.”

  I cast my thoughts back to all the regretful rage that consumed me this morning, and I channel it into my voice, my expression, my touch. Feeling it is a Sophia luxury I can’t indulge in, but Seven can damn well make certain Fitzpatrick is aware of it boiling beneath my skin.

  “You’re right. I can be emotional. I let myself care about other people, and they’re in danger. Because of me. Because I had the chance to kill Malone before, and I wanted to prove something to myself by not taking it. That didn’t serve me well, and it’s a mistake I’m done making. So if you want to chance just how cold-blooded a killer you’ve made me, go right ahead. Then ask yourself whether you also want to chance what Three and Six and Eight and Nine, who didn’t turn themselves in, would do. Even if you think I’m too weak, you were quite proud of them recently for being better soldiers. One phone call from me and you’ll have fewer Christmas presents to buy this year.”

  It’s a bluff. All of it. But it might be my best one ever. I felt those words this morning, and the only way I could ever carry out this threat is if I were in the same sort of blind rage that the Es are in as they tear apart the camp. Yet by dredging up the memory of those emotions, by concentrating on Kyle and Cole and Malone, the absolute sincerity of my intentions clings to my words.

  If you can make yourself believe the lie, you can make others believe it too. Fifty-four variations thereof over the course of my life.

  This morning, I believed it. This afternoon, I’m counting on making Fitzpatrick believe
it. And while she’s right that I would never hurt an innocent child, I don’t think she’s half so sure about the rest of my unit, although I am. Ultimately, I want her to believe that I’d do it myself though. It’ll save a lot of time that way.

  Fitzpatrick curses silently, her face so contorted with fury that she’s a caricature of herself. “Give me my phone. I’ll call in the request.”

  Slowly, I hand it over. “If you so much as think of double-crossing me—”

  “You’ll blow out a six-year-old’s brains. I heard you. It’s a low blow, Seven. Particularly for you.”

  “You’re the one who taught me to make my hits count. And like I mentioned, I’m desperate.”

  Fitzpatrick’s request takes a while, and her voice becomes tauter with each person she has to pass through before she reaches Malone’s assistant and gets her to cough up the information. I keep one ear on the conversation, listening for any signals that Fitzpatrick is screwing me over, and the other ear on the fighting. Es have broken out of the building, and AADs and a helicopter have taken to the air. It’s a sure sign I need to get out of here fast.

  While Fitzpatrick’s on the phone, I maneuver her to the most isolated parking lot. She has her own car, but I don’t want to get in any car she’s especially familiar with. She could have weapons stashed somewhere in it.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Fitzpatrick says after she relays the address of the meeting.

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” I open the door on an SUV. “I’m taking you with me. I might need you to get me by the gate when I get to the meeting. Now get in and keep thinking of those adorable blond children back home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tuesday Morning: Present

  Malone chose the location for his meeting well. I look up the address as Fitzpatrick drives. He’s rented a luxury compound near one of the ski resorts. It’s exactly the sort of place that won’t blink an eye when rich people with lots of security roll in, and it’s isolated enough that very few, except those involved in the actual renting process, will notice their arrival. And, of course, while they’re meeting, those in charge get to bask in the luxury they’re accustomed to.