by Ellery Kane
Not surprisingly, a few months later, Augustus was acquitted of the charges. He certainly had a way of wriggling out of tight spots.
Quin shook his head. “I can’t believe I fell for him.”
“We all did,” Elana agreed.
My mother turned from the computer, her expression sympathetic. “Don’t beat yourselves up. I’ve evaluated hundreds of criminals like Augustus. He is a con artist. Lies come to him as easily as the truth. He gets by in this world by taking advantage of the goodness in people.”
Before my mother closed the computer, she clicked on Augustus’ social media profile. “I’ve got to see what this snake in the grass looks like,” she murmured.
It was apparent that Augustus had not accessed the site in several years. Still, he had over ten thousand friends. At the top left corner, baring all his teeth in a captivating smile, was Augustus.
Edison gasped. “Hey!” he exclaimed. “I’ve seen him before. He was at Guardian headquarters last week. I saw him talking with General Ryker and some of the lieutenants.”
My mother sighed. “This is a mess. All those people thinking Augustus is going to help them, when really he’s just biding his time, playing both sides.”
“What can we do?” I asked. I turned to Quin. “Do you think the Council is on to him?” I already knew the answer. I had witnessed Augustus’ power over his colleagues.
Quin shook his head. “I don’t think so. They all look up to him, just like I did. He told us he made millions on Wall Street and retired early to start a charity for inner city kids.”
Carrie cleared her throat, turning the group’s attention to her. “I may have something that can help with Augustus,” she said. “Before I left, I emailed Dr. Bell and shared some of my suspicions about him. I know she’ll look into it.”
Quin gave Carrie a concerned look. “Are you sure that was a good idea? Can we trust her?”
Carrie shrugged. “I trust her. She gave up her career at Zenigenic to work for the Resistance after her daughter became addicted to Emovere. I know she believes in this cause—it’s personal for her.”
I thought of my uncomfortable conversation with Sharon Cloverdale in the Map Room. “If that’s true, then I’m sure we can trust her,” I reassured Quin.
“I have a feeling that time will take care of Augustus,” my mother offered. “You all made a brave step in leaving. People will start to ask questions. Liars like Augustus don’t like questions.”
She was right. Questioning Augustus seemed to be the surest way to expose him. He had nearly dropped his mask when I had challenged him in front of the Council, but he seemed to have an uncanny ability to land on his feet.
Carrie changed the subject, directing another question to my mother. “Dr. Knightley, can you tell us what you know about the Guardian Force?”
“Absolutely. Let’s go to the garage.”
I was shocked to see that my mother’s laboratory was coated in a thin sheet of dust. She was usually meticulous about maintaining its condition and rarely allowed me inside. I had a feeling that when my mother believed I was dead, she gave up on maintaining a lot of things.
“Please forgive the mess,” she said. “I haven’t been down here in a while.”
She pulled a large box from one of her shelves. It was labeled Dishes, in large black letters. Inside there were hundreds of thick file folders. No dishes. With my mother’s clever disguise, the files had hidden in plain sight for years. I hadn’t noticed before, but on that same shelf, there were a lot of Dishes.
“These are the Crim-X files,” she said. “Each inmate enrolled in the program had one.”
I turned my eyes to Quin. His eyebrows were raised slightly, curious. I suspected that his father’s file was what my mother had wanted to show him.
“I haven’t shared this with anyone,” she disclosed. “Not even Lex.” She patted my arm sympathetically. “I should have been honest with you from the beginning.”
“It’s okay,” I assured her, even though her secrets always stung bitterly, an unintended betrayal.
She took a breath and began. “The government has been working on developing a super soldier for a long time. Crim-X was their first attempt. I didn’t know it at the time, but the research trial was never about reducing crime. It was all about finding the exceptions, the George McAllisters. The government believed by identifying these men, they could isolate the characteristics of an ideal soldier—one who was not affected by fear, was willing to take extreme risks, and couldn’t be swayed by his caring for others. After George was arrested, I asked the government scientists to abandon the program, but they refused. When I started to suspect I was being used, I threatened to go to the media. I took all of these with me when I resigned.” She gestured toward the box of files.
We were all speechless, transfixed by my mother’s story. Only Carrie didn’t seem surprised. Working at Zenigenic, she had likely grown accustomed to the government’s subterfuge.
My mother continued, “When I went to work for Zenigenic and helped to create Emovere, I thought I was doing a service to others, helping people control their emotions. I didn’t realize the government was already surreptitiously paying the pharmaceutical companies to help with their quest for a super soldier. Once they perfect the dosages, I suspect the Guardian Force and other programs like it will be deployed everywhere that we have an ongoing military presence, including all of the cities that are under martial law. The government is already well on its way with Emovere and Agitor.”
“And Substance X,” I added.
Carrie shook her head in agreement and turned to the others. “Do you know what medications you were administered?” she asked them.
“I’m pretty sure we only received Emovere,” Quin said, gesturing toward himself, Max and Elana. “But there were always rumors that they were lacing it with something … to make it more potent.”
Edison nodded. “Definitely Emovere—didn’t really seem to work so well on me though.” He chuckled. “Once you pass the jump test, I think they start Agitor. You have to be pretty advanced before you get Onyx.”
“Onyx?” Carrie and my mother asked simultaneously, jarred by Edison’s revelation.
“I don’t know too much about it,” he admitted. “But I heard a rumor that one recruit stabbed his squadron leader while taking it. Apparently, afterward, he told some of his buddies that he liked it—it made him feel good to hurt something. I was told they give it to all the lieutenants in charge of recruit dismissals … or should I say executions.”
I shuddered, thinking of the ten bodies the Resistance had discovered. It was no wonder the lieutenants needed Substance X. They had been tasked to shoot their own.
“Why do they call it Onyx?” Elana wondered.
“That I can answer,” Edison said, grinning wickedly. “Ryker said it will turn your heart as black as a stone.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
POINTLESS
LATER THAT MORNING, MAX KNOCKED on my bedroom door. I was lost in thought, trying to imagine how my mother held all those secrets inside of her. Even though it was silly, it angered me, her withholding. It made me wish I was better at walling her out.
“Hey,” Max said. “We’re taking Artos for a walk. Wanna come?”
“Definitely.”
Outside, the air was warm, hinting at spring. Two squirrels darted up a nearby tree, and Artos could barely contain his excitement. Quin gave a quick tug on his leash, and Artos fell into line, composing himself. When we were a block from my house, without a word, Quin slipped his hand into mine.
“How come there’s no one holding my hand?” Max teased us. “Who do I talk to about the shortage of available men around here?”
“What about Edison?” Elana offered, and we all laughed.
Feeling guilty, I added, “You know, he’s really not that bad.”
Elana turned her head sharply to look at me, her eyes narrowed. “Really?”
Quin said nothing,
but out of the corner of my eye, I saw his jaw tense. Inwardly, I cursed myself for opening my mouth.
I couldn’t help but notice a few anxious faces peering at us from the neighbors’ windows. As we passed, the curtains fell back into place, concealing the occupants inside. Fortunately, our neighborhood was mostly middle-class families, making us less vulnerable to the crimes that had besieged wealthier subdivisions. Still, it wasn’t commonplace to see groups of people walking outside, and it must have unnerved them.
“What do you think your mother is planning?” Quin’s voice was serious.
“Planning? What do you mean?”
Elana answered for him. “We can’t just do nothing, Lex. This whole super soldier thing is scary, and besides, they used us. They made us think we were special, elite, when really they just wanted to exploit us.”
“I know,” I agreed. “But the Resistance is just as corrupt. Why would we risk our lives for any of it? It all seems so pointless.”
Quin released my hand. When he turned his eyes to me, I was surprised to find anger there.
“Do you know what’s pointless, Lex?” he asked, his voice raised. He had never yelled at me before. “My mom died so the government could get what they wanted. My brother was adopted by a family he never met. I have nobody. That’s pointless.”
Quin turned down a side street, yanking Artos with him. We all knew better than to follow him. I instantly felt ashamed.
Elana tried to comfort me. “I understand what you’re saying, Lex. Quin … well, you know Quin.”
As she spoke, my eyes were drawn to a black sedan parked at the end of the block. Max noticed it too. He diverted course, turning sharply back toward my house. With no discussion, Elana and I followed, exchanging a look of concern. The sedan’s windows were tinted dark, giving away nothing, but I had a feeling there were eyes inside looking back at us.
Because of my mother’s involvement with the Resistance, we had already been the target of ongoing scrutiny by the government. Twice in the last two years, black-suited men had arrived at our door unannounced, asking to speak with my mother. It was the kind of request that allowed for only one answer. Both times, I listened to her quickly dismiss the men, telling them that she was a scientist, not an activist. She put on her best absentminded professor act, claiming she couldn’t remember how she had heard of the Resistance and didn’t have an inkling as to why they were using her image in propaganda. Thankfully, my mother was a convincing actress.
As we walked back down my street, I allowed myself one casual glance over my shoulder. The sedan was gone.
When we arrived back at the house, Quin was already sitting on the porch, throwing an old tennis ball into the yard for Artos to catch. As we approached, my stomach flip-flopped. Quin stood, Artos’ eyes following the ball closely. To Artos that ball was the entire world. I wished I could be so singularly focused. Instead, my insides were a tangle of thoughts and emotions.
“Did you see that car?” Max asked Quin immediately.
Quin shook his head, frowning with unease. “No.”
“It’s happened before,” I explained to them. “The government likes to keep a close eye on my mother. We’ll have to be especially careful when we leave the house.” I gestured toward my left forearm that, unlike theirs, was unmarked.
They nodded their agreement, and we began walking inside.
“Lex, can I talk to you for a minute?” Quin’s voice sounded dejected. I knew he was already punishing himself for raising his voice at me.
We walked in silence to the backyard. I sat down on my old swing set and began pushing myself with my feet, quickly gaining momentum. Quin sat in the empty swing next to me not moving.
“I’m sorry I got angry.” He looked down at the ground, making circles in the grass with his feet.
“You were right, Quin. What I said was selfish—I wasn’t thinking.” I was swinging higher and higher, trying not to cry.
Quin walked behind me and abruptly stopped my swinging, returning my feet to solid ground.
“I yelled at you,” he said.
I stood up and turned to him. “People yell at each other sometimes. It’s okay.”
Quin didn’t respond, but he shook his head in disagreement. His face looked pained.
I reached over to him and gently hooked my fingers into his belt loops. In spite of himself, his lips turned up in a slight smile. I pulled his body closer to me, and I heard him catch his breath, surprised.
“I forgive you,” I whispered. “Do you forgive me?”
Quin didn’t answer, but he kissed me hard, wrapping his hand around my ponytail. I didn’t even care if anyone was watching.
“I guess that’s a yes …” I said before he kissed me again.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
THE FLASH DRIVE
WHEN WE WALKED BACK INSIDE, my mother and Carrie were engrossed in conversation, sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, which was stacked solid with thick file folders.
“Mom, your friends are back in town,” I told her, interrupting their conversation. “We saw a black car on our walk.”
My mother frowned, her face unsettled. “Did they see you?”
I nodded. “I think so. We turned around, but …” I shrugged. “Well, we’ll need to be prepared for a visit. Let’s just hope they didn’t see those,” her eyes wandered toward Quin’s tattooed arm, resting against the back of the dining room chair.
“What were you working on?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. Nothing unnerved me more than the thought of another visit from those black-suited men.
Carrie motioned me over. “Your mother and I were just talking about your theory.”
My mother gave me a proud glance. “I think you’re right, Lex. The government has been recruiting trauma survivors for the Guardian Force.” She paused, then added, “It’s a calculated risk.”
“Why a risk?” Elana beat me to the question.
My mother’s face was excited. She relished teaching opportunities. “Well, on one hand, trauma survivors are ideal candidates for emotion-altering medications. For starters, they are at increased risk for anxiety, making them more likely to abuse or become addicted to Emovere. The government doesn’t have to do much convincing, if you know what I mean.”
I looked at Quin. He was nodding his head in agreement.
My mother continued. “It’s not surprising that they’re drawing from the second generation of the Crim-X program as a starting point.” We had told my mother about the other Legacies jumping from the bridge.
“But here’s where the risk comes in …” Her voice trailed off suspensefully. “Trauma survivors are also more likely to be Emovere resistant, like Elana and Edison. The drug doesn’t affect their brains in the same way. It’s probably a big part of the reason that so many recruits fail.”
Elana smiled. She seemed to find comfort in my mother’s explanation. “So it’s like what makes us weak, also makes us strong.”
“Exactly,” my mother said. “It’s a lot like resilience.”
Carrie and I exchanged a look. Resilience—that was her word.
My mother reached into her pocket and produced the flash drive, displaying it in her hand for us. “Resilience is what this is all about.”
Finally, I thought to myself, eyeing the flash drive eagerly.
She inserted the drive into her computer and opened a file entitled Exceptions. It contained hundreds of other files, each labeled with a name. She looked at me as she spoke.
“Remember the article I showed you a few years ago?”
I nodded, and my mother continued, addressing the group.
“I wrote an article about the partial immunity to Emovere observed in certain populations. I suspected that their immunity was related to trauma, but I wasn’t sure how. What I did know was that if the government had been looking for exceptions, then I should be looking for them too. I went back through our clinical trials and identified all the failures, the
subjects who hadn’t responded to Emovere in the way that we’d hoped. I noticed a pattern.”
My mother opened a graph titled Elapsed Time from Trauma. On the x-axis it read Emovere Resistance; on the y-axis, Time since Trauma (in years). She pointed to the line that ran across the graph, zig-zagging a bit here and there, but decreasing steadily. “You can see that the less time that has elapsed since a trauma occurred, the more resistant the subjects were to Emovere. I think, in some cases, the recency of the traumatic event is too powerful for the drug to overcome. From what I’ve learned in the last two days, both Elana and Edison fit this profile.”
Elana shifted uncomfortably in her seat, avoiding everyone’s eyes. I saw Quin and Max look at each other quizzically, but neither spoke.
My mother’s face brightened with excitement. “Using the brain scan and neurotransmitter-release data that I obtained from the exceptions, I created a new drug, a vaccine of sorts. I’ve been calling it Resilire, the root word for resilience. In theory, it should work to permanently prevent the impact of emotion-altering substances, particularly Emovere.”
“In theory?” I asked.
My mother nodded. “I’ve never been able to test it, but I developed a small sample here. I don’t have the equipment to produce it in large quantities. That’s why I wanted the Resistance to have it. If the drug was mass-produced and administered to Guardian recruits …”
Carrie’s mouth hung open.
I finished my mother’s sentence—“No more super soldiers.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
THE IDEAL SUBJECT
“CAN WE TEST IT?” CARRIE asked. The anticipation in her voice was too intense to muffle.