The Last 8

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The Last 8 Page 20

by Laura Pohl


  “Why didn’t you fight back?”

  “We’re pacifists.”

  Rayen scoffs. “There is no pacifism when it comes to war. You either fight or you die.”

  “Perishing was the honorable thing to do,” says Andy, and a part of her is proud. “We chose not to fight, and we chose not to give them the answers they wanted. The ones who got away from the massacre fled.”

  “So they followed you to Earth.”

  “The Hostemn are exterminators,” she says, with a deeper anger than I’ve ever seen from her. It burns inside her, lighting up in flashes in her retinas and beneath her skin. “They conquer planets and enslave species. Take the best of them and leave the rest to rot.”

  Hostemn. So that’s what our enemy is called.

  “And they build themselves in the process,” Rayen says quietly. “The human faces?”

  Andy doesn’t need to answer. What are humans compared to beings who can bend the laws of the universe? They wanted to look like her species, not ours. We were just a small coincidence.

  “So you left us to die. Better for them to kill off the entire human race than for you to get hurt.” Rayen’s words are daggers.

  “Do you know their weaknesses?” I ask.

  Andy shakes her head, and I don’t think that she’s lying. “I don’t have the knowledge.”

  “How’s that?” I ask. “Wasn’t your species the wisest in the universe?”

  Andy doesn’t answer. There’s something that she’s not telling us. Even if she is what she says she is, it’s not possible that this Andy doesn’t know anything about the universe at all.

  “You have to let me go,” she says again. “Please. They’ll hunt me.”

  “Why do they want you?”

  “Because I’m the last,” she says. “Because they killed all the others. They know that I can’t resist, that I’ll give them the knowledge that they seek.”

  “And what knowledge is that?”

  “Everything.”

  Rayen and I exchange a look. I’m not convinced. I don’t really believe in this kind of thing in the first place. An alien species that knows the answers to everything in this universe sounds like a fairy tale.

  “You mean the answer to life, the universe, and everything?” I ask.

  Andy blinks, and a corner of her mouth turns up in a half smile. “I know the answer. Do you want to know the question?”

  Rayen rolls her eyes so hard that I think they might get stuck to the inside of her brain.

  Andy has given us all the answers we wanted, the answers to the questions that we wrote on that whiteboard two weeks ago. It seems so long ago now.

  Humans were nothing at all to the universe. Only a speck, an instant.

  “One more question, Andy,” I say. “If Violet’s mom knew about all of this, if she knew that another alien race might come and invade our planet, then why didn’t she do anything to stop it? Why didn’t she do anything to prevent an invasion?”

  Andy stares ahead in silence.

  “Wasn’t there anything that could’ve been done?” Rayen asks. She’s frowning deeply, because this is the only thing in this story that doesn’t make any sense. “You may not have wanted to fight, but we all know that humans aren’t pacifists. That’s bullshit.”

  “There was a project,” Andy says. “‘Insider.’ At least, that’s what it was named before everything was called off.”

  “Why was it called off?”

  “Because it didn’t work,” she replies, her voice cold. “Most of the subjects died during the experiments. There was nothing that could be done.”

  “Human experiments?” My eyebrows shoot up.

  Andy nods. “Yes. That was the only option. Earth didn’t have the right resources to combat them. And we would not give our knowledge away for free.”

  “So you’d rather let us die than defend ourselves.”

  “There was no defense!” Andy’s voice rises and tears burn in her eyes. “There was nothing that could be done! Don’t you understand? We fled in desperation! They took our families and our planet and all they wanted was to learn what we know. And if humans had been allowed to see our knowledge, there’s no doubt that they would’ve followed the same path.”

  She sits back against the chair, huffing from the sudden outburst of anger. Her cheeks are reddened and her eyes burst into a hundred different colors—green, red, purple, pink, orange, blue, and yellow, shifting like stars. It’s beautiful.

  “What was the project?” Rayen asks, pressing for more information.

  “They were trying to breed special soldiers,” Andy mutters. “Stronger than humans, blended with a little bit of our genetic code. Enough for them to stand a chance.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “As I said, they died.”

  “You said most of them died.”

  Andy shakes her head.

  “How many survived?”

  She says nothing.

  “How many, Andy?”

  “Six.”

  She looks up and meets my eyes, and I understand. I know the truth.

  But Rayen doesn’t. “And where are they now, these super soldiers?” she asks.

  Andy looks straight at her.

  “Two of them are standing right in front of me.”

  Chapter 40

  Rayen runs from the room. The door bangs behind her, and I have no idea where she’s going or what she’s looking for.

  “When did you find out?” Andy asks quietly.

  I look back at her. “I tested the blood-analysis machine again. Put in my blood and Flint’s.”

  Andy nods, understanding. “I never meant for this to happen.”

  “That’s a half-ass apology and you fucking know it,” I tell her. “None of us meant for any of this to happen.”

  She stays quiet, regarding me with her multicolored eyes. When we put Andy in these restraints, another person emerged. It’s like she cracked a shell and let her true self out.

  The thought creeps me out. I’m done with aliens in shells.

  “I know,” Andy says. “And I’m sorry that I can’t change what happened. I’m sorry for what has been done to you. Most of us were against the experiments.”

  “What exactly is wrong with us?” I ask.

  Andy shakes her head. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Clover.”

  “I’m not human.”

  “You survived because of that,” Andy says quietly. “Do you really think you could have survived all those car wrecks and plane crashes if you weren’t genetically engineered to withstand the odds?”

  Anger burns in my throat. There are no miracles in this world. It wasn’t luck that helped me survive. I was conditioned, like a lab rat.

  “It’s in your genes,” Andy continues, her voice even. “Your piloting skills, Avani’s ability to stitch everyone up. You’re smart. You’re strong. You’re better.”

  My hands ball into fists. “I know how to fly because of my abuelo. He taught me. Because that’s what our family does.” My throat catches, my voice breaking. “We fly.”

  “You piloted a Blackbird by yourself. It’s in your blood, yes, but what our genes do is improve yours. The project was supposed to take your talents and enhance them, to achieve one hundred percent of your potential. To make you the best. To make you survive, no matter what.”

  Part of me doesn’t want to hear any more of this, but I force myself to keep asking questions.

  “How did you choose the subjects?”

  “Most of them were voluntary,” Andy says. “We told people that the government would provide for their children.”

  Had my mother volunteered me? What did she think she would get out of it?

  “What happened?” I ask.

  “The experiments s
tarted going wrong. We returned the children to their parents and kept track of those who survived. But we weren’t sure how many experiments had actually worked.”

  “The six of us,” I say. Five of us who are still here, and Adam.

  Oh, Adam. The only one who didn’t have to see this mess. In a way, I envy him.

  “The six of you.”

  “Was Violet ever a part of it?” I ask, eyeing her. “Was she ever part of the experiment?”

  Andy shakes her head. Violet’s mom wouldn’t volunteer her. I wonder how many kids lost their lives before this war even began.

  Rayen barges in again, this time carrying an enormous folder with her. She drops it on the table, and I recognize it from Melinda Deveraux’s archives. She must have searched them quickly to get back here so fast.

  She opens up the folder and spreads its contents on the table. It’s thick with files, photocopied birth certificates, and Polaroid photos of hundreds of kids. On file after file, I see the word “Deceased.” My stomach churns at the thought.

  Rayen flips through the pages and pulls out the six birth certificates that we know we should find among them. The only experiments that worked, the only ones who made it through the final phase of the project. She stacks them up, leaving countless others in the folder. I look at the detailed biological processes that were done to us to alter our genetics. We’re man-made, a product of science. We were made for the purpose of stopping this invasion.

  It looks like we failed.

  Rayen closes the folder and looks up.

  Our names are lined up on the table: Adam Foster, Avani Sharma, Brooklyn Spencer, Clover Martinez, Flint Rogers, and Rayen Kindelay.

  “Why us?” she asks, turning to Andy.

  “I told Clover. It was voluntary,” she repeats. “We didn’t tell the families what we were doing, but we offered them government aid.”

  Rayen nods, slowly. She doesn’t look all that surprised. “Why didn’t you bother to check whether the experiments had worked or not?”

  “The program’s funding got cut off before we could contact all the survivors,” Andy says, patiently. “We tried to keep tabs on them, but we couldn’t contact them further. How do you think everyone would’ve reacted if we’d told them that they’d all been part of a government experiment?”

  Rayen has no answer to that. I know what would’ve happened—Abuelo would’ve kicked the government off our farm before they could even say “alien invasion.” There’s no way we would’ve believed this, unless the world had turned upside down. And in the end, it had.

  “You were conditioned to return to Area 51 in times of extreme stress,” Andy explains. “That’s why you all made it back here.”

  “How different is it?” Rayen asks. “Our DNA. How much of it is yours?”

  “Your DNA differs from regular humans’ by about three percent,” Andy states. “For monkeys, it’s about four percent, so you have an idea. You’re a completely new species.”

  But Rayen seems to be driving at something else, something that I hadn’t even considered yet. The aliens can detect humans, and they can obviously detect Andy’s species.

  But they can’t recognize us.

  “Andy, how much of that three percent is your species’ DNA?” I ask.

  “About two percent.”

  The question hangs in the air, and I’m too afraid to ask it.

  Rayen does it for me. “What’s the other one percent?”

  Andy’s lips tremble before she gets the answer out.

  “It’s theirs.”

  Chapter 41

  We have their DNA.

  I barely have time to wrap my mind around this as Rayen and I leave the room, only to find that Violet, Brooklyn, and Flint are back. Rayen goes back to call Avani in the lab, since we have told her nothing. We call an emergency meeting in the war room, trying to keep it together.

  When we’re all gathered, Violet frowns. “Where’s Andy?”

  “She’s indisposed,” Rayen says, before I can answer. “We need to talk to you.”

  “You’ll talk to me after you tell me where Andy is,” Violet snaps.

  “Violet, please, let us explain,” I say.

  Rayen and I exchange a look. She hands Violet the project folder. It’s better for her to see it for herself, rather than hearing it from us. Our story sounds like madness even to our own ears. It’s easier to back it up with proof.

  Violet opens the folder, eyebrows raised, until she actually sees what she’s looking at. She takes her time, reading through the information and turning over pieces of paper. I watch her so carefully that I can see when her breath hitches.

  “What is this?” she asks calmly, but her voice is an octave higher than normal.

  “The truth,” I say with a sigh. “I put the pieces together, Violet. We know why the aliens are here.”

  She stares at the documents, still turning pages, openmouthed.

  “I need to talk to Andy,” she says. But she doesn’t move.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Brooklyn asks, unable to hold it in any longer.

  Rayen and I wait as Violet continues reading in silence.

  “We leave for one day and you turn the place upside down,” Brooklyn complains. “It’s not like—”

  “Brooklyn, shut up,” Violet says. Breathing hard, she runs her fingers through her blond hair, tangling it. She breathes deeply, once, and regains control. “Okay,” she finally says. “But these files mean nothing. I need proof.”

  “This is proof,” Rayen says. “Besides, Clover already shot her, and she’s fine.”

  “What in hell?” Flint asks, and he looks even more confused than Brooklyn.

  All eyes turn to me. I blush. Rayen gives Violet a pointed look. The answers are all in that folder, and she knows it.

  “Are you sure of what you’re saying?” Violet asks.

  “Yes,” we say in unison.

  “Excuse me, but again, what the fuck is going on?” Brooklyn asks.

  “Andy—” Rayen starts.

  “Has lied to all of us,” Violet cuts her off, her tone harsh.

  “What the hell?” Brooklyn says. “None of you are making any sense.”

  “Andy is an alien,” I finally say. “She’s been hiding here because they’re after her.”

  The silence in the room is deafening.

  “There’s more,” Violet says calmly. She hands the folder over. “This is why all of you survived.”

  Brooklyn, Avani, and Flint huddle together to read the folder. Brooklyn flips the pages quickly.

  I wait, still tense.

  After a while, Brooklyn closes the folder, leaving all the papers inside. Tears are welling up in her eyes, and she’s clearly struggling. “What do you…” She doesn’t manage to complete the sentence, choking halfway through. “What do you mean? Not human?”

  They all look up at Violet. As if she can offer an explanation. As if she can offer an apology.

  She can’t, of course. Something is deeply wrong here, something that we’ll never be able to overcome. Boundaries were broken, and we can’t be defined anymore by our losses or our families or what we used to be, simply because we’re not the same as we were before.

  We are not human.

  “I didn’t know about the experiments,” says Violet. “I knew that they had worked on some sort of countermeasure, in case of an alien invasion. I just never guessed…”

  “Never guessed?” Brooklyn suddenly shouts. “You never fucking guessed? What is this?”

  She turns to me, turns to Rayen, her breathing hard. Avani murmurs under her breath, quickly scanning the files, taking in whatever information they can offer. The information that was stolen from us. Something that we should never have known.

  “Don’t tell me that you really think—”
Brooklyn says.

  “It’s true,” I tell her. My voice isn’t harsh. It isn’t soft, either. “Everything that is written in there is true. Andy confirmed it when we interrogated her.”

  “You interrogated that thing?”

  Suddenly, just like that, it shifts. Andy is not a friend. She is a thing. She is the enemy.

  “Yes, we did. But we can’t lose ourselves—”

  “We can’t lose ourselves? What the fuck, Clover? We just did! We are not human, or haven’t you read the folder?”

  “You were made to fight this,” Violet says. “That’s what you were meant to do.”

  “Well,” Brooklyn says, “then it looks like we fucking failed, didn’t we?”

  She gets up from the table and storms out of the room. Avani follows her out.

  Brooklyn’s words still echo, resonating with each of us. I can understand her desperation, her fear, her anger, because everything that’s been taken from her has been taken from me, too. We have nothing left to identify with. Our whole lives have been a lie. And the only people who could help us understand are dead.

  We have nothing.

  Nothing.

  Chapter 42

  We all scatter to different places in the facility. Brooklyn and Avani huddle together in a corner and share a moment so private that I turn away. I go back to check the door of the room where Andy is being held, but it’s secure. I can see her on a surveillance monitor.

  Sputnik follows me, ever silent, a loyal companion who I don’t deserve.

  I roam around the compound, my feet aching for exercise even though they hurt. I check all the rooms out of habit. Sputnik goes in and out of them, circling around, but even she can’t cheer me up. I just keep walking, as if it will take the weight off my mind.

  Adam died for nothing.

  Somehow, I wind up near Violet’s quarters, outside her office. I can hear a sniffling noise, so I push the door open. Violet is sitting in her mother’s chair, her eyes red, a bottle of whiskey on top of the desk. I slip past the door and walk forward, my shoulders slumped, unsure if I should even be here.

  Violet looks up. Her blond hair is a mess, and she stifles another sob. Her whole demeanor is undone. She glares when she sees me.

 

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