The Hunt

by Stacey Kade

  Get rid of him, instinct ordered.

  Annoyed, I prepared to shove at this obstacle that tried to stand in the way of—

  “Ariane, stop! Please!” Zane’s urgent whisper broke through, his hand tight on my arm.

  I started at the sound of his voice, blinking rapidly, and looked up to find him staring at me, fear and frustration etched on his features.

  His mouth tightened, the corners turned down, creating harsh lines on his face. I’d done that. I’d made him look so frightened and severe. “The guards.” He jerked his head in the direction the hybrids had taken.

  I leaned out cautiously to peer around him. Sure enough, two large men in dark suits were trailing Laughlin’s hybrids at a discreet distance. Likely the same men we’d seen following them into the school. Obviously, whatever cover story Laughlin had provided for them allowed for guards to be an expected presence. Maybe they were supposed to be the children of a high-profile exec or something. That would make sense with what the teacher had said to me about “my father” when he thought I was Ford. No doubt the guards reported to Laughlin on a regular basis, keeping tabs on the hybrids and their exploits.

  And I hadn’t even noticed them. I’d come this close to exposing us to more danger. I might have been able to talk Ford and the others into an alliance, but Laughlin’s paid security detail—goons was the colloquial term, I believe—wasn’t likely to be as amenable.

  My heart beating in a panic, I retreated behind Zane again, just on the off chance that one of them would turn around. Zane might be mistaken for a normal human Linwood student. I would not, especially given the look of their charges.

  “Are you okay?” Zane asked, his breathing uneven and too quick. I’d really scared him. Scared myself, too.

  Folding my shaking arms over myself, I nodded rapidly, trying to clear my head. “Yeah, yes.”

  “What happened?” he asked.

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I couldn’t hear them.”

  He frowned, not understanding. “What?”

  Of course not. He’d have no idea what it was like to live with an incessant rolling murmur in the back of his mind, an ocean of voices swelling to drown out your own thoughts.

  “You know I can hear thoughts.”

  He nodded.

  “Some people I can hear better than others, but I can get something from everyone.” I shook my head. “It’s a constant noise.” I paused, trying to think of how to explain it in a relatable way. “My father once threw a television away.” Actually, he’d smashed it to the floor first in a rare fit of anger. “He’d tried to fix it, but something in it was just broken. It emitted a high-pitched buzz whenever text appeared on the screen.” Which, given his news-watching tendencies, was pretty often. “It drove him crazy.” I gave a tight shrug. “It’s like that. All the time.”

  Zane winced.

  “I’ve learned to live with it, but I never imagined…” I heard the wonder in my voice and hated it, the weakness.

  The smooth tone that indicated a class change sounded overhead, startling me. The students remaining in the hall scrambled in all directions.

  Zane took my hand, his palm warm and reassuring against mine. “We need to get out of here,” he said grimly, and started down the hall, back toward the main entrance, pulling me along with him.

  It took me a second to shake off the last vestiges of shock and twist free. “No, we can’t.”

  He stiffened. “Look, I don’t know if you’re aware of what almost happened…”

  I flinched at the censure in his voice but forced myself to ignore the emotion and focus on the salient strategic point. “Nothing has changed. Gaining their cooperation is still our best option.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “They completely ignored us. I think we should take that as the first bit of luck we’ve had in forever and get the hell out of here.”

  “And do what? Go where?” I argued. “Besides, we’re here. They know we’re here. Retreating would send the wrong message.”

  “And what message is that?” he asked, his mouth tight. “That we’re smart enough to leave while the leaving is good?”

  I shook my head. “That we’re vulnerable, weak. Open to attack. It’s a basic principle of predator and prey. Running only confirms that you don’t believe you have the strength to win.”

  “How about the ‘sitting duck principle’?” he hissed, tipping his head at a point behind me in the hall. I glanced over my shoulder and found a pair of teachers watching us with suspicion.

  Zane was right; we couldn’t stand here, obvious targets, in the hallway. We’d be caught by the humans for sure. We needed a chance to regroup, rethink. Some place out of sight where no one would notice that we weren’t quite up to snuff as Linwood Academy students or that there seemed to be two Fords running around today.

  “Come on.” I caught at his hand and tugged him deeper into school, away from the teachers.

  He came along with me, not quite dragging his feet but making it clear that he was going against his better judgment.

  I concentrated on the rooms beyond the hall, hidden behind heavy and polished wooden doors, listening to try to find an empty one. But with so many minds nearby, it was easier said than done.

  “Here.” Across from a glass-enclosed courtyard filled with more of the brightly colored flowers and grass that appeared too green to be real, I found a “quiet” room and shoved the heavy wooden door open.

  I stopped dead on the threshold, Zane bumping into my back and grabbing carefully at my arms to keep me from stumbling forward.

  The room wasn’t like anything I’d seen at our school. First, the entire left wall was mirrored. Second, the space was virtually empty. Unlike almost every square inch of Ashe High, which had been occupied to beyond capacity, this room held only a few rows of chairs and a baby grand piano.

  And a startled kid—young, swimming in his school-required blazer—seated on the piano bench.

  So much for empty. But it was probably the best we were going to get.

  I stepped inside and Zane followed, letting the door swing shut behind.

  The kid at the piano saw us in the mirror. He froze, and then spun around to stare at us, his face pale and his throat working, as if he were trying to find words.

  “Do you mind—” I began.

  He nodded hastily, as if his head was loose, and gathered up his music, spilling half of it on the floor as he bolted out the door. I was beginning to think that Ford might have a reputation equal to or greater than that of Rachel Jacobs when it came to evoking fear and dislike among the populace.

  “Now what?” Zane asked. He jerked at the knot in his tie until the slippery fabric pulled free from his collar.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m working on it. The guards seem to follow them to classes, but surely they don’t sit in the actual classroom with them. If we could just find a way to get a message to Ford or one of the others—”

  Zane sighed and sank into one of the plastic chairs across from the piano, dropping his tie onto the seat next to him. “Ariane…” He shook his head. “You’re assuming that they’re even capable of that kind of functionality.”

  I frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  “You saw how they were.” He leaned forward, as if pleading for me to understand. “The way they moved.” He shuddered. “It wasn’t normal.”

  “It wasn’t human,” I said carefully. “But that’s not the same thing, is it?”

  His mouth tightened. “What if you didn’t hear their thoughts when they walked by because there wasn’t anything to hear?” he asked. “She didn’t even react to seeing you.”

  “She looked at me,” I argued, realizing even as I did how weak that sounded. “Beyond that, their choices were limited if they are under orders to be discreet,” I said. “Besides, not reacting causes confusion in the enemy and—”

  “But, see, you’re assuming all kinds of things about their ord
ers and nothing about them,” he said. “My mom said Laughlin controls them. If he’s in control, there’s not much for them to think about, right?”

  “You think they’re just…shells.” Empty living bodies, responding only to programmed stimuli. Just the idea made me feel queasy.

  “It’s possible, isn’t it?” Zane persisted.

  I nodded reluctantly. “Anything is possible.” GTX and Laughlin Integrated had made that more than clear. But that theory—living robots, operating only on command—didn’t mesh with Mara’s experience as she’d relayed it to us. She’d seemed convinced that they hated her. Empty vessels don’t hate. And they don’t stalk, either. So either Mara was mistaken about what she’d experienced (one more vote for her being perhaps less than the best source for reliable information) or these hybrids had very, very good game faces.

  My initial inclination had been toward the latter, but now, after Zane had raised the question, I couldn’t completely dismiss it, much as I would have liked to.

  I bit my lip. “It was a strategic response.” Or nonresponse, rather. “It had to be.” And I could prove it. All I had to do was figure out how to engage them in a situation where they would be free to speak or otherwise communicate.

  “Are you sure?” Zane asked quietly. He held my gaze, those familiar blue-gray eyes warm with sympathy.

  Frustrated, I could feel the ache in my jaw from clenching my teeth too hard. What did he want me to say? No, I’m really not sure, but this is the last hope I have, so I’m clinging to it for all I’m worth? I opened my mouth. “I—”

  The lights flickered suddenly overhead and then went out, the only illumination now coming from the windows set high in the back wall. Zane leapt to his feet, as though his chair had shocked him. He glanced up at the lights instinctively and then over at me.

  I shook my head, adrenaline lighting me up on the inside. I wasn’t doing it. Which meant, unless the school was suffering from an unexpected power loss, they were coming. Guess they’d decided to take matters into their own hands.

  “Yeah, pretty sure,” I murmured in answer to his earlier—and now likely forgotten—question.

  I turned to check the door—still closed—my chest thundering with a heady mix of anticipation and dread, which felt oddly familiar, almost comforting.

  Facing Zane, I said, “Get to the corner. It’s more defensible.”

  “And origin of the phrase ‘backed into a corner,’ in case you’ve forgotten,” he muttered. “This is so not a good idea.” But he did it anyway. He trusted me. God, I hoped I was worthy of it.

  I moved to the center of the room, putting myself between Zane and the entrance. “Keep your eyes on me,” I said to him. “Don’t watch the mirror.” In the dim light, the mirror could easily be used as a source of confusion or distraction. And with two of us who looked alike already, adding reflections to the mix could make this go downhill quickly.

  “Got it,” Zane said grimly.

  I should have been feeling the same—determined, resigned, frightened—but I couldn’t help the strange thrumming of excitement in my bones. You are not made for a normal life. Mara’s words echoed in my head.

  I ignored them and tightened the scarf around my neck, double-knotting it so it wouldn’t come loose. If nothing else, I needed Zane to know and trust that I was me and not Ford.

  I’d just lowered my hands when the door opened, startling me even though I’d been expecting it.

  Ford entered in the lead, the two boys behind her. As soon as they cleared the doorway, though, they spread into the same formation they’d held in the hall: Ford in the front, the other two on either side and slightly behind her.

  Facing them, I now had a better view of all three. Ford resembled me as much as I remembered; there’d been no mistake about that. The line on her face looked somehow embedded—a tattoo? Could it be a number one, something to do with her model or version number? But to put it on her face…I shuddered. Neither of the others had a similar mark that I could see.

  The guy to her right was considerably taller. His thin frame topped out at close to six feet, still shorter than Zane but surprising for one of us. Ha. Like I knew anything about “us.” But based the Internet research I’d done at home in Wingate, the “grays,” our alien forebears, were usually understood to be quite diminutive. More like the other boy, the one on Ford’s left.

  He was the smallest of the three, but he appeared young as well. Perhaps he was the newest hybrid iteration? That would make him Carter, if they’d been named in succession. That left the tall one as Nixon. Carter appeared almost cherubic. His hair had a rebel curliness to it, nothing like the uneven chaos that Ford and I shared or the straight, fine hair that Nixon had. Carter also looked like he might have dimples. If he, you know, ever smiled. He was also the only one carrying an iPad, like the rest of the human students.

  “Your human thinks too loudly,” Ford said bluntly, startling me with the suddenness of her voice in the otherwise silent room.

  The squeeze of power surrounded me, thicker and heavier than I’d imagined. It was like being encased from the elbow down in thick but mildly pliable plastic. There was also a faint and disconcerting sensation of movement, warm and fluid against my skin, as if it were alive. I could flex my muscles but not move any of my major limbs. Which, of course, was the point.

  “Don’t struggle,” I said to Zane, who gave a strangled laugh. He’d probably figured that out before me, having witnessed me doing the same thing to others. I was the one new to it.

  “That would be for the best,” the boy—I couldn’t think of him as anything but that due to his size—advised in an apologetic tone. “It will be easier for everybody if you remain still. We don’t want to hurt anyone unnecessarily.”

  “Speak for yourself, Carter,” Ford said without even glancing at him. The cold flatness in her voice sent a chill through me, as did Carter’s immediate submission. He dropped his gaze to the floor and closed his mouth firmly, as if making sure no further words would escape by accident.

  Crap. “You can’t kill us,” I said. “Discretion has to be part of your mission standards.”

  Ford raised her eyebrows. “True. But that’s only a problem if we are caught killing you.”

  A good point that I hadn’t thought of. Very literal and logical.

  Zane muttered something under his breath about ducks, and I could feel sweat gathering at the back of my knees.

  “Oh, I’ll make sure you’re caught,” I said with a shrug that I hoped conveyed ease, confidence, instead of the horrible, creaking tension in my shoulders. It was like balancing on the edge of a cliff, not sure which way the wind was going to push you—toward solid ground or into stomach-dropping, life-ending nothingness. Not that, of course, any kind of wind was going to move us anywhere with them holding us down.

  It was taking every ounce of self-will I had not to struggle against the power binding me. I didn’t need my hands to fire back at them. Knock them over, throw them together in a heap, find and stop their hearts. The power buzzed eagerly in my head and under my skin, building in an automatic response to the threat.

  But fighting back would (a) confirm that this was indeed a fight, which I was trying to avoid, and (b) give them an idea of my strength.

  My logical side was whispering that that would be a very bad idea. The fact they didn’t know how strong I was—or wasn’t—might be the only thing holding them from an all-out attack. They didn’t want to take the chance of a mission failure. In this case, it was better to let them wonder whether I could beat them rather than to try and prove that I couldn’t. As hybrids, we knew nothing about one another’s capabilities, and that same ignorance that had put Zane and me in danger walking into the school might now save our necks.

  “Yes, you are the GTX superior specimen. So we have heard.” Ford’s dark eyes were fixed on me, her gaze boring through my head.

  I frowned. “I—”

  “But there are three of us agains
t you and a human.” The sneer in her voice, if not actually showing on in her expression, was quite obvious.

  I sensed Zane bristling behind me and prayed he would stay quiet.

  “You are still so confident?” Ford said.

  “Yes,” I said, even though it had sounded more like a statement than a question. But no sense leaving any doubt on the table.

  Ford cocked her head to one side, like a bird examining an unknown object.

  With a jolt, I recognized the movement as one I used as well. But viewing it from the outside, the foreignness of it sent a chill through me. It screamed NOT HUMAN. No wonder Zane had noticed something off about me, despite my best efforts. Had we inherited that gesture from the alien species from which we’d been made, something buried in the DNA that survived even after it was comingled with the human cells?

  I wondered what, if anything, the three of them knew about our genetic donor. My father had always said that a body—alive or dead, he’d never been clear—from the Roswell crash in 1947 had been the source. But I had no way of knowing if that was true. They likely didn’t have any more information than I did, but I felt a pull toward them, a tug of kinship. We were, essentially, four orphans from the same family. If we could compare notes…

  “Perhaps we should turn you over to our creator instead for examination and analysis,” Ford said. “He would welcome the opportunity to deconstruct a superior specimen.”

  So, no family gabfest, then. Ford’s tone had gone flat again, but I suspected she’d used the word superior in sarcasm. She was really hung up on that whole idea—someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to convince her that I was the real deal. I guess that answered my earlier question of who came first.

  “Perhaps our creator would reward us,” she added with enough of a speculative lilt to make my stomach cramp with dread.

  I hadn’t given much consideration to the idea that she would sic Laughlin on me; I’d been counting on her hatred of him to rise above everything else. But her desire for advancement and/or preservation of her unit might be stronger. I had no way of knowing what her “home life” at the lab was like.