Burning Bridges (Shattered Highways Book 2)

by Tara N Hathcock

  “I’ll assume you don’t really care for your employment, then?”

  Dr. Cans glanced back over her shoulder and smiled brightly. “No. No I do not.”

  Chapter 46

  “The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.” F. Scott Fitzgerald

  She can surround herself with people but at the end of the day, they’re not the ones she has to live with.

  She may lose everyone else in her life, but she’ll never lose me.

  ***

  Quincy

  Why are you still here?

  Quincy bolted awake, the thought beating in her mind.

  Still fighting…

  …but do you want to?

  Quincy tried to slow her breathing, but it was hard; the panic was rising and she didn’t know how to quell it. The remnant of her headache was still beating against her brain and her body, making it more difficult to ignore the voice. Because she wasn’t sure it was wrong.

  Why was she still here? She’d found the company - Logan and Dave could take it from here. Logan was good at the heroics and Dave had the science and that gentle, kind spirit to soften whatever the others had been through. What did Quincy have left to do?

  Nothing, the voice whispered seductively. You have nothing left.

  Quincy closed her eyes, trying to will the voice away. She didn’t have nothing. She had…she had…

  Quincy shoved to her feet and promptly hit the floor, the dizziness catching her off-guard, another remnant of the headache she’d suffered last night. She wasn’t usually dizzy after a migraine. In fact, it was usually the only time she was able to get a decent night’s sleep, but now she felt like she had just run a marathon - and been hit by a truck at the end.

  She vaguely remembered Dave sitting with her last night. Murmuring soft words she couldn’t make out but that felt warm and safe all the same. Giving her something that wiped everything away, a small measure of relief in the moment. It was probably the medicine, whatever it was, that was causing the dizziness now.

  Always a struggle.

  Quincy pushed back up, ignoring the dizziness in her bid to find her shoes. She needed out. She needed to run. Anything to make the voice stop, even for a few minutes.

  She inched her way out from behind her curtain. Dave was sitting behind his desk, slumped over in sleep. It didn’t look very comfortable, and Quincy crept over quietly. His laptop was open in front of him and Quincy leaned over Dave’s sleeping body and gently tapped a key to wake it up.

  A file filled the screen. A file on her. It looked like he’d been updating her information to include this latest migraine and the medication he’d given her. Before she could dismiss it out of hand, though, something caught her eye and she froze. Beside the main body of text was a note. Quincy had seen Dave’s files on the other patients and knew that he used these notes extensively as a way of flagging information he wanted to explore later. Her file was no different, with notes littering the sides of the document. But this note had only one question written on it:

  If memory equals processing space, how much of either does the patient have left?

  She hit the street at a full sprint. She didn’t bother to grab her headphones. More noise wasn’t going to help right now. She had to go. She had to shut it off. She had every intention of just running the block around the clinic; she wasn’t entirely gone. She remembered very well what had happened last time and the disastrous consequences of going off on her own, which was why she didn’t try to sneak. But she didn’t take the time to track Logan down either. She couldn’t. She had to go.

  Despite her good intentions, at the end of the block, instead of turning right to keep to the sidewalk, she went straight, diving onto the pavement without noticing.

  How much memory do you have left? the voice mused. Can’t be much.

  The increased headaches. The way she seemed to be soaking up information and new skills more quickly than ever before. She had thought it was just because she was more aware now. But that wasn’t it, was it? The more she took in, the less space she had left. And what would happen when that space ran out?

  But it already has, hasn’t it? the voice whispered. You know it has.

  Quincy O’Connell. Grace Elliot. Kara Scott. But before Kara Scott? There was nothing. What she had left of Quincy was disappearing, too.

  She ran harder, pounding the pavement beneath her feet, trying to beat the thoughts out of her head.

  You’ll never run fast enough.

  How do you outrun something that’s inside you?

  You don’t.

  She was going to reset. It seemed so obvious, now that Dave had pointed it out. A computer can only hold so much data, and a human brain is just a complex computer. It made sense that there would be only so much she could take in. Once she hit that point, her computer processor was set to wipe the soft data, the unnecessary data, to make room for more.

  The last town she had lived in. The book store. The coffee shop owned by…owned by…

  But it was no use. It was gone. All of those little details, the ones that meant nothing but actually meant everything, that made up the sum total of her time as Quincy O’Connell, were gone.

  Quincy was breathing hard now, sweat dripping down her arms. She wasn’t used to running this hard, for this long. But she had to go faster, because it wasn’t working. It wasn’t shutting down the noise, the voice, like usual. She couldn’t sink into her usual rhythm. Her footfalls were all wrong. She was all wrong.

  Then why are you still running?

  That infernal voice. Would it never stop?

  You know the answer.

  Quincy slammed to a stop, gravel skidding under her shoes from the suddenness of it. She did know how to silence the voice. How to make it all stop. And her feet apparently knew too. Because they had carried her to the edge of the Bear Canyon Creek bridge.

  Chapter 47

  Claire

  “But I don’t understand.”

  The question was whispered, but the woman formerly known as Allison Cans squeezed Miguel’s shoulder to quiet him.

  “Claire will explain it to you later,” she told him quietly. “Now, focus. This isn’t going to work without you.”

  Claire still doesn’t understand it herself. They were creeping as quickly as possible towards the common room and kitchen, Miguel in front and the three women spread out in a line behind him. Dr. Cans was holding his arm gently, giving tugs here and there to remind him where to look.

  “Hold up,” he whispered, holding his arm up like a soldier commanding his troops. They all stopped.

  “There.” Using his free arm, he pointed up towards the northwest corner of the hallway in front of them. Positioned directly over the cross road that would lead them to the common room was a small camera.

  “I would never have seen that,” Amy whispered in amazement.

  “I didn’t see it,” Miguel said, the ever-present blindfold still fixed firmly over his eyes. “I saw the light frequency it uses to scan for heat.”

  “Infrared,” Dr. Cans corrected off-handedly. “Where is it pointed?”

  Miguel motioned to the hallway across from them. “It’s scanning in a pattern. Once it scans the opposite direction, we can go one-by-one.”

  “Amy,” Dr. Cans said, “can you go first? You should be able to tell if someone is coming more quickly than we can.”

  “I guess hypervigilance has its perks,” she said, moving forward. Ever since she’d agreed to work with Dr. Cans on her gift, she’d been practicing during their nighttime lockdown hours. She was pretty good now at picking up on even the smallest hints that might indicate trouble - slight sounds, vibrations in the floor, the shift of airflow in a room. Even Claire had to admit it was impressive. She’d managed to follow Dr. Cans all the way to Claire’s room without being seen or heard. After listening at the door, she’d cleared the way to Miguel’s room and wa
s anxiously waiting to go.

  “I guess it does,” Dr. Cans agreed with a small smile. Amy’s attitude had been on the upswing ever since she’d started learning how to use her ability and now, with the hope of seeing her son again, she was ready to try anything.

  That’s what hope could do for you, Claire supposed.

  Miguel pointed at her and Amy stepped forward quickly, following his direction and moving swiftly to the opposite side of the hallway. She pressed her back firmly up against the wall and closed her eyes. She was checking the floors and walls for vibrations, Claire knew. She had seen her do it over and over these last few weeks. After a moment, Amy opened her eyes and waved the all-clear.

  Miguel glanced back up at the infrared sensor and pointed again, which Claire took as her sign to move. She scuttled over as quickly as her flimsy slippers would allow and pressed her back firmly against the wall beside Amy. Miguel was the one who could see different wavelengths of light, not her. She didn’t want to be too far from the wall.

  Dr. Cans joined them a few seconds later, and then Miguel walked leisurely towards them. Show-off.

  “Now what?” he whispered once he’d joined them.

  “Now we get to the kitchen and wait,” Dr. Cans said. “Miguel, if you please…” She motioned him forward and they resumed their slow progress towards the kitchen.

  “So really,” Amy spoke again from the back of their little group of rebels, “who are you?”

  Claire felt more than saw the woman’s annoyance.

  “Amy, don’t we have better things to worry about right now?” she asked testily.

  “I can multitask,” she replied flippantly. “I am hypervigilant, if you recall.”

  Dr. Cans sighed. “Is there anyone close to our position?”

  “Nope.”

  “Fine,” she said. “You can ask two questions.”

  “Then I’ll ask again, who are you?”

  Dr. Cans seemed to roll the question around before answering, hesitating just long enough to choose her words very carefully.

  “I work for the doctor who discovered reflexive neurological bias,” she finally said. “Rhinehardt funded his initial research. He just didn’t realize what they would do with it.” She shrugged. “He’s spent the last few years trying to track down people suffering from the condition and help them. When he realized they were doing the same thing, only worse, he started looking for you.”

  “And that’s why you’re here?” Claire asked, piping into the conversation. “You’re what? An agent? A private investigator?”

  “Something like that,” she said vaguely, but before Claire could dig further, Amy jumped back in.

  “You work for this doctor, tracking us down? Why?” Amy asked. “The company is dangerous. Why would you want to go up against them?”

  “There’s a doctor who discovered RNB?” Miguel wondered as he led the way through the dark hallways.

  “Of course there is!” Amy snapped. “Everything had to be discovered by someone.”

  “Yeah, but I just hadn’t thought about it before. What’s he like?” Miguel wanted to know. “Nice, I bet, if he sent someone to help us.”

  “He is nice,” Dr. Cans said, smiling at Miguel. “I’m sure you’ll think so too.”

  “Wait,” said Amy. “I thought you were helping us get out of here, not taking us to another doctor.”

  The panic in her voice spoke volumes. To everyone who might happen to be in the vicinity. Dr. Cans spun around but Claire had already taken Amy’s hand.

  “Shh,” she whispered. “It’s going to be alright.”

  “But she said -”

  “No, she didn’t,” Claire broke in, interrupting Amy’s train of thought before she could get any louder. “She just said we’d like him. And if she’s working for him, I’m sure he is on the outside, pulling the strings. But that doesn’t mean we’re going from one prison to another. Does it, doctor?” Claire asked pointedly. They both looked towards the woman doing her best to not appear too impatient with their little delay.

  “Of course not,” she said. She hesitated, but then went on. “I’m sure he’ll be at the safe house waiting for you, and if all goes well, so will your families.”

  “Do you mean that?” Amy asked, quiet again. “Will my son be waiting for me?” Claire could feel the desperation flare. “Because if you tell me he’ll be there and he isn’t, or that this is some kind of set up to move us from one ring master to another, I won’t survive it.”

  Claire had no doubt Amy was serious. It would be the final blow for Amy. If the voice in her head was whispering half the thoughts that the voice in Claire’s head was murmuring, Amy would be done. One could only keep a mother away from her child for so long.

  “That was the plan when I came in,” Dr. Cans said. “We already knew where your families were. Dr. Garrison’s job was to contact them and arrange to have them safely transported to the safe house.”

  “This is all so unbelievable,” Amy said. “I hardly believe it myself, and I’m living it. I’m not sure Randy would risk -”

  “The Randall Madison I spoke to on the phone would risk anything.” Dr. Cans spoke with a quiet confidence, completely certain. “I did speak to him, you know,” she whispered, “before we knew where you were or whether you were still alive. That man would move mountains to find you. He’ll be there.”

  “And Jack?” Amy’s voice was barely audible, fear waging war with the fragile hope blooming in her chest. “Will Jack be with him?”

  “And your mother, most likely.” Dr. Cans smiled at her. “When I spoke with Randall, your mom had moved in to help care for your boys.”

  The smile on Amy’s face was tremulous. “I bet he loved that.”

  “They’re fighters, Amy. Just like you.” Affectionate exasperation crossed her face. “Now, can we continue?”

  “Right.” Amy’s fragility disappeared, replaced by steely determination. “Let’s go.”

  “What about those of us who don’t have any families?” Miguel asked as they started inching forward again.

  Dr. Cans reached forward and gripped his hand for a moment. “Then we help you go wherever you’d like to go,” she reassured him. “You’ll have a new identity and a new life, and the company will never find you again.”

  “How can you be so sure of that?” Claire asked instead. “How do you know they won’t find us? New identities aren’t foolproof, after all.”

  “They are when I build them,” Dr. Cans retorted, her green eyes crinkling as she grinned back at Claire. “I’m not half bad when I set my mind to something,” she said, in what felt like a private joke. “Plus, I’ve had some practice. Miguel, how’re we looking up there?” Dr. Cans asked, shifting her attention back to the task at hand.

  Miguel shrugged. “All clear. I think the worst of it is behind us. They don’t expect us to be able to make it past the heat sensor and the camera in the area outside our rooms. The rest should be pretty simple.”

  There was silence for a few minutes as they crept along behind Miguel, each momentarily lost in their own thoughts. But then,

  “What about you, Claire?” Amy asked. “Who will be waiting for you?”

  Who would be waiting for her, she wondered. Would this Dr. Garrison be able to convince her husband to leave his comfortable life and go on the run with her, the wife who hadn’t been gone for just a year but who had been gone, in fact, since the day the accident changed their lives for the worse? She doubted it.

  “No one, sweetheart,” she whispered back. “It’s just me.”

  Dr. Cans shot a look over her shoulder. She must know about her husband. But Claire didn’t feel what she expected to feel from her. Curiosity, maybe. Pity, for a woman whose husband didn’t care. No. Just concern. And maybe a little respect.

  They continued on in silence. Up a set of stairs and slowly around the dark corners of the deserted hallways.

  “I never returned your book,” Amy whispered suddenly.
r />   “I don’t think now is the time to be worrying about that,” Dr. Cans assured her. “I can get another copy.”

  “You know, this reminds me a little of Northanger Abbey,” Amy continued, as though Dr. Cans hadn’t spoken. “With all the sneaking through the hallways, the mystique and the adventure.”

  “A mystery around every corner?” Dr. Cans said. “Sure, I can see that.”

  “I think I’m ready for a little less Catherine Moreland and a little more Elinor Dashwood though, if I’m being honest.”

  Dr. Cans laughed. She laughed and, as one, they came to a halt, staring at her in amazement.

  “Is she okay?” Amy asked, peering around Claire at the doctor, who was doubled over with one hand propped on her knee and the other slapped against her mouth, trying to hold the amusement in.

  “Is she…laughing?” Miguel asked, wonderingly. They had never seen the usually straight-laced, professional-to-a-fault doctor do more than laugh in a polite, detached manner. This was belly-shaking, eyes-watering humor.

  “Really, doctor,” Claire finally said, becoming concerned, “is now the best time for this?”

  “No,” Dr. Cans finally said, straightening up and wiping her fingers beneath her eyes. “It’s just been so long since I’ve been able to laugh.”

  “Wait!” Amy said, and the sudden tension in her voice was enough to sober all of them. “Someone’s coming.”

  “How far away are they?” Dr. Cans asked, all-business now.

  “Not far,” Amy said, eyes closed, listening. “Three…two…one…”

  Chapter 48

  Logan

  Logan was not happy.

  He had been in the clinic, looking out over the small city block, when Quincy blew past like the Colonel was on her tail. He’d shot out the door and called after her, but she either didn’t hear him or didn’t care. Either way, something was wrong so he took off after her.