by Walter Jury
“We’re grateful for your help,” my mother says as we scramble into the back of the extended cab. Through the filmy little window between the cab and the truck bed, I can see David examining Christina, whose arms and legs are moving beneath the straps he’s used to hold her in place. She looks like she’s having a nightmare.
She’s waking up, and she’s not going to know where she is.
She’s going to be scared to death.
My hand is on the door handle in the next second, but my mother puts her hand on my leg and squeezes. “We’ll be there soon,” she says quietly as the truck’s engine roars and we lurch forward. I sit back in the seat, cross my arms over my chest, and jam my hands into my armpits to force myself to stay still. Mom nudges my shoulder with hers. The look on her face tells me she sees me, that she knows I’m going nuts right now. Knowing she gets it drains a little of my tension away.
Surprisingly, Esther and Timothy don’t ask us any questions at all. The only sound in the cab is the squeak of the windshield wipers as we bump our way down gravel roads, then briefly onto a two-lane highway, where I see a sign that tells me we’ve left the state park and entered Pennsylvania. I am dying to look behind me, to see how Christina’s doing, but I keep my eyes up front, memorizing the route as we wind along more unpaved single-lane roads, forcing myself not to lower my guard.
Finally, Esther turns down a long driveway that ends in a wide gravel parking lot that forms a clearing in the middle of the dense woods. At least twenty vehicles are parked in two orderly rows. There are a few compact cars, several pickups, a row of SUVs, one enormous Cadillac sedan, and three plain white delivery trucks. Two men stand at one end of the parking lot, on a paved trail that tracks through the forest behind them. They are well built and tanned, their rust-red hair cut close to their heads. I think they might be twins; they look so much alike. Esther waves her arm out the window as she drives toward them, executes a wide turn, and backs her way up to where the twins are standing.
As soon as she stops, I’m out the door, my mother right behind me. I walk around the side of the truck. The twins, guns in holsters at their hips, are helping David roll the stretcher off the back of the truck as he holds up an IV bag connected to Christina’s limp hand. I am at her side just as the wheeled legs of the stretcher extend and lock into place. The raindrops on her face look like tears, and I wipe them away as she blinks up at me. “Tate?”
I lean down close. “It’s me, baby. I’m here.”
“My head . . . hurts,” she breathes, wincing. She’s got a pressure bandage over one side of her head, and David has carefully cleaned the blood from her face and neck.
“I know,” I say. “You’re going to feel better soon. And you’re safe.”
I hope I’m right about that.
David clears his throat, and I raise my head to see him standing on the other side of the stretcher. His fingers are curled over its metal railing as he gazes down at me, bloodshot eyes floating in his paper-white, freckled face. “I’m going to take her to our clinic and do a head X-ray, then I’ll stitch the laceration.”
I take Christina’s hand, about to tell her I’ll be holding it through the whole thing, when one of the twins says, “Rufus is waiting for you in his study.”
He’s staring right at me.
My mom links her arm with mine, part warning, part reassurance. “Of course.”
Then David pushes the stretcher through the spitting rain, onto a blacktop sidewalk, carrying Christina away. The twins lead my mom and me down the same sidewalk until we reach a fork in the path and David heads down one branch while we take the other. My heart races as I lose sight of Christina. I’d planned to be with her, to protect her. To keep her from accidentally revealing what she is. And now she’s on her own. But as much as I want to sprint after her, I remind myself to follow my mom’s lead.
Esther and Timothy walk silently behind us as we enter another clearing, this one at least a half mile in diameter. About a dozen cabins are situated in a neat semicircle on either side. Each has a solar panel on the roof. A few of them have large enclosed porches out front. Most of the windows are covered with black curtains. In the center of the clearing are several larger buildings. I look at each of them, sizing them up, wondering about the location of the clinic where they’ve taken Christina.
The twins lead us up to a three-story octagonal lodge dead in the center of the clearing. Like all the other structures in the place, solar panels ring the roof. My mom wasn’t kidding when she said these people were self-sufficient—it’s likely they produce more energy than they consume. We follow the twins up a set of wooden steps to an enormous shaded porch. One of them holds the door to the lodge open for us while the other strides into the cool, dark room. It’s like an enormous cave. All the windows are heavily curtained, and on one side of the room sit three long wooden tables. Down a set of shallow, stone-tiled steps is a sunken open area. A massive wood-burning fireplace dominates that side of the space, tall enough for a man to walk into without ducking. Hanging above the high mantel, hewn from rough wood, is some sort of sculpture. It looks like an ancient rune. I stare at it, trying to figure out where I’ve seen it before.
“This way,” one of the twins says, extending his arm and gesturing down a wide hallway opposite the sunken area. We follow the twins until they stop on either side of a doorway. “Go on in.”
My hand tightens around the strap of the backpack as my mom and I enter. The room is a library. Three of the walls are built-in bookcases, two stories high, complete with a rolling ladder to allow access to the top shelves.
Standing at the center of the room is a man.
He looks a lot like Santa Claus.
Huge white beard, round belly, rosy cheeks, curly white hair. Bushiest eyebrows I’ve ever seen, like someone’s glued two chinchillas to his forehead.
He puts his arms out, wiggling his thick fingers. “Mitra. I haven’t seen you since the wedding, but you haven’t aged a day.”
My mother smiles warmly. “You’re too kind, Rufus.” She steps forward into his embrace.
Over her shoulder, his eyes meet mine. They’re all twinkly and jolly, but there’s something else there, too, a sharp curiosity. “You look just like your father, young man.”
I smile, and I do my best to make it friendly. “Thanks.”
“Where is Fred?” he asks my mother as he releases her. “Is he meeting you here?”
“Fred was killed yesterday,” my mother says, her voice catching.
Rufus Bishop’s face drains of color. There is genuine sadness in his voice when he says, “I hadn’t heard. I’m so sorry.” He rubs his hand over his belly, his brow furrowed. “Oh, this is so sad. So sad. How did it happen?”
“The Core came after him, led by Race Lavin,” my mother says simply. “Fred was shot when he tried to escape. But Tate got away and came to me, and that’s why we’re here. We were trying to get to Charlottesville, but the agents gave chase. That’s when Christina was injured.”
His bushy eyebrows rise. “This kind of outright attack hasn’t happened in years, not since Anton Cermak.” He sees the question in my expression and explains. “He got himself elected mayor of Chicago and made a threat to out the H2. He was shaking hands with Roosevelt when he was shot—they claimed it was an assassination attempt against the president, but the members of The Fifty knew better.” He crosses his arms over his chest, like he’s made some kind of decision. “If the Core is after you now, they must have judged the threat to be immense. You’ll all be safe here. We take security very seriously.”
And then his pale blue, bloodshot eyes land right on me. I have just enough time to wonder why he’s not asking what we did to stir up the Core before he says, “So I know you’ll understand when I ask you to turn over your possessions to be searched.”
He gestures toward the backpack, and his lips lift into a cold, calculating
smile.
I GIVE MY MOTHER A SIDELONG GLANCE, AND SHE NODS. I slide out of the backpack and offer it up as the burly twins step into the room. My mother hands one of them her bag. Rufus takes the pack from me. He opens it, and he doesn’t even seem surprised when his eyes light on the scanner. He takes it out and holds it up.
“This is why, isn’t it?” he asks me.
I put my hands in my pockets and adopt my clueless-kid expression. “Why what?”
He chuckles. “I must look like one hell of a dumb redneck to you, don’t I?” His words are jovial, but it’s not hard to detect the threat underneath. “Let me tell you something you might not know, boy. I worked for Black Box before it even was Black Box. I’m the one who hired your father when he graduated from college.”
Now I really am a clueless kid, no pretending required.
Rufus sees my surprise, and a look of satisfaction crosses his face. “Just because we choose to live out here doesn’t mean we’re ignorant.” He turns away from me and waves the scanner at my mom. “Now. This is why, isn’t it?”
“This is why,” says my mother. “This is what the Core was after.”
Rufus smiles and flicks it on. Blue light courses over his beach ball of a belly. He tilts his head, then shines it over my mother, briefly turning her olive skin sapphire blue. He does the same thing to me, and then to the twins. All blue. It seems like a glorified flashlight, and I relax a little as the twins lean against the bookshelves, looking bored.
Rufus switches the scanner off, looking the opposite of bored. “I’ll be damned,” he says softly. “He did it, didn’t he?”
I make a mental note not to underestimate this guy again.
“He did,” Mom says, her tone neutral, giving little away.
Rufus shakes his head and holds up the scanner. “He’d been working on this for years.” His eyes flick up to my mother’s. “Yes, I was one of the few he told. But now the Core is aware of its existence, and they want their technology back.”
“Yes,” my mother replies. “As soon as it was in the open, they came after it.”
His cheeks are turning a ruddy red. “You know what they’ll do if they have this.”
My mother shakes her head. “We don’t know anything for sure. There could be many reasons why it’s important to them.”
Rufus stares at my mother for a full minute, long enough to make me want to grab her hand and make a run for it. His face has turned a mottled shade of pink by the time he says, “Do you think they’re going to put it in their museum of alien heritage?” And then he starts to laugh.
It’s just a chuckle at first, but it’s not long before he’s doubled over, clutching his belly as he guffaws. “You were always such a liberal, Mitra. All the Shirazis are. But you . . . you’re still friends with some of them, aren’t you?”
My stomach tightens. She is?
Rufus straightens up, and he’s no longer laughing. “Fred told me that you wanted to introduce him to some of them. You’re blind to their true nature.”
My mother stands completely still, watching Rufus with a small smile on her face. I wonder if she’s fantasizing about dropping a few dozen Valium into his hot chocolate tonight.
“I’m a scientist,” she says, “and I believe in things for which I have evidence.”
“I wonder if the blood on your son’s shirt is evidence enough of the Core’s intentions?” He points at me, and I look down at myself.
And immediately wish I hadn’t. Once again, I am covered in the blood of someone I love.
“Obviously I understand the risks and wish to be cautious,” my mother says in a steady voice. “Or else I would have surrendered the technology to the Core immediately.”
“What will they do if they have it?” I ask.
Rufus gives me an appraising look. “Until now, no one could tell the difference between human and H2, but with this . . . It’s a quick way for anyone to know. Imagine how that could change things.”
“Or you could just tell me what you think.”
His eyes narrow. “When they first arrived here, there weren’t many of ’em, and mixing with the native population was essential to preventing their own extinction. But now there are more of them than there are of us.”
I shake my head. “But all I keep hearing is that most H2 don’t even know they are H2. This Core group doesn’t want people to know the H2 actually exist, right? In other words, they don’t want things to change.”
Rufus lets out a sharp bark of laughter. “Wrong. Just because they want to keep people in the dark doesn’t mean they don’t want things to change. With this technology, they could breed us out of existence in a single generation. Sure, they’d do it quietly so no one would know what was happening, but make no mistake—they’d snuff us out. They believe they’re superior. They think they’re doing the world a favor by spreading their alien genes.” He’s practically grinding his teeth now, and his face is beet red.
I can’t tell whether he’s brilliant or paranoid to an insane degree.
“We’re safe here, and we have our freedom.” He jabs a thick finger at my mom. “See how much freedom the Core will give us if they scale up this technology and are able to figure out where we all are.”
His words send unpleasant prickles over my skin, because I’m once again remembering standing in my father’s lab, staring at that screen with the population numbers twitching up and down . . . What if my dad already scaled it up? What was he doing?
My mother waves her hand dismissively. “With the power and weaponry Black Box has amassed, we can—”
“Brayton Alexander’s been taking government contracts for years! That’s why I left!” Rufus roars, blue veins standing out on his forehead. “If he gets ahold of this thing, he’ll probably sell it to them!”
My mother is unruffled by his outburst. “You know very well he only sells what he’s been authorized to by the board so we know their capabilities and remain able to counter them.”
“Intelligence is the opposite of what it is!” he shouts, and then seems to catch himself. He crosses his arms over his heaving chest. “Fred must’ve gotten tired of it. It’s probably why he left Black Box. Am I right?”
Mom’s lips become a firm line.
Rufus grunts. “Thought so,” he says in a quieter voice. “Fred and I are alike. He hated the H2. And he knew Brayton was out for nothing but profit.” He glances at me. “Brayton Alexander doesn’t care about being human. He only cares about money and power.”
“Fred didn’t trust Brayton,” my mother says, but she stops there. She doesn’t tell him about what Brayton did yesterday, maybe to avoid stirring Rufus up again.
But he’s ignoring her now, talking only to me. “That’s because your father was smart. You did the right thing by coming here instead of running to Brayton. And by fighting to keep it from the Core. You’re a brave young man,” he says to me, patting his belly like it’s a family pet. “And now that we have it, we can do so much with it.” His eyes have the same cold, eager glint that Brayton’s did.
Mom sees it. “Rufus,” she says in a low, hesitant voice.
“All humans have the right to know they’re an endangered species,” Rufus says, giving her a glare full of warning. “And they have the right to decide what they want to do about that. This technology could give them that knowledge and power.”
I almost agree with Rufus. But judging by what’s happened since Race Lavin became aware of the scanner’s existence, I think my father was probably wise to keep it a secret. Because if it was still a secret, he would be alive, and Christina would be whole and healthy. He’d still be working on using it as “the key to our survival,” whatever that means, but now it falls to me, and I don’t want to fail him.
Rufus returns the scanner to the pack, and I almost make a grab for it, but the twins are staring at me with a wa
tchful curiosity. I wouldn’t even make it to the door if I tried something right now.
“Phones, please,” Rufus says, his tone changing instantly from hard-edged to jovial, making it clear this conversation is over. “We’ll keep them in a safe place until you’re ready to leave. No reception out here anyway.”
My mother nods at me and offers up her own, so I follow suit and give him Dad’s.
Rufus drops them into a pocket of the backpack. “You two must be hungry,” he says, hitching a cheerful smile onto his face. He calls out to one of the twins, “Paul, go tell the lunch staff to keep the dining hall open for another thirty minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” he says, and then I hear his footsteps clomping down the hallway.
Rufus turns to us. “We have a guest cabin. You can rest there while the Alexander girl recovers. I’ll have some extra clothes and provisions brought to you.” He says all this to me, like my mother isn’t even in the room.
He dismisses us, and we’re escorted back into the hallway. Without our phones and the scanner, I feel incredibly vulnerable, but also powerfully confused. Rufus said my father was like him. But Rufus seems so full of hate, and my father only seemed . . . cold. Then again, he looked anything but cold when he saw Race in my school cafeteria, so maybe he did hate the H2 as much as Rufus says. But he made one thing clear: A full-on fight with the H2 wasn’t what he wanted. And my mother—she has H2 friends. I’m having trouble understanding that right now, too. After what we’ve been through, it’s hard to believe that the H2 are anything other than our enemies.
It’s easy for me to forget that Christina is one of them.
But as soon as I remember, the tension fills me up like liquid steel. What if David figures it out? What if they use the scanner Rufus just confiscated? What would they do to her? Very quietly, I whisper these questions in my mom’s ear in Persian, the language she taught me as a child.
She gives me an odd look, maybe because, for the past four years, I’ve refused to speak Persian in her presence. Then she glances around us. “Nguran nbash,” she whispers. Please don’t worry.