My Next Breath

by Shannon McKenna

  “What? Go where?”

  “I don’t care as long as you don’t leave town,” Holt said. “Keep your phone on and charged while I decide what to do about you.”

  “But—”

  “Get out. Now. Jordan and I have actual work to do.”

  There was no arguing, not with their pitiless eyes boring holes into him. He rose and stumbled to the door, his face hot with shame.

  Outside, he looked around for Kruger’s familiar shadow, before he remembered that Kruger was lying in a long steel drawer at the morgue.

  He shuffled out into the parking lot, jumping at shadows while he second-guessed himself, thinking of what he should have said to that arrogant bastard Holt and his nitwit son. Picking apart his failure to do so. Reminding himself that he was still on the chain. Don’t leave town. Stick around for more punishment.

  Rand put his car in gear and picked up speed on the long drive down the avenue of trees out of the Mayburg grounds. It was getting dark very early. Drizzling again. Then the windshield was dotted with rain, swept away by the wipers he turned on. The rhythm was soothing. Almost hypnotic.

  What the fuck—

  He braked and swerved wildly, tires screeching, to avoid hitting the—

  The airbag burst open in his face. He was crushed back into his seat by the enormous, suffocating pillow. It slowly deflated but he kept his eyes screwed shut. He didn’t dare open them again.

  She could not possibly be there. Barefoot and scrawny in her skimpy flowered hospital gown. Stringy hair. Wild, staring eyes. A wide, screaming mouth.

  Anne. Simone’s mother. Dead thirteen years. Violently angry with him.

  Everyone was angry with him right now. But it wasn’t his fault. None of it was his fault, and it was all so fucking unfair. He lifted his head. Opened his eyes.

  Saw the shattered trunk of the tree he’d hit. Its dripping branches tangled with the wipers, which were still on. The road was empty now. No ghostly figure. He could have wept in relief.

  He twisted around to unbuckle the seat belt—

  “Hello, Rand,” Anne whispered from the seat next to him. “How’s my little girl?”

  Rand screamed. The seat was empty again. But the damage was done.

  He couldn’t stop screaming.

  * * * *

  A fresh storm of clashing, roaring noise raged inside Simone’s head. She hunkered down in the center of it. It hurt, but she was beyond panic now.

  That moment in her kitchen when she’d accepted death had been the turning point. One thing shone in her mind: that dying was better than this. The pain would be over. The torture would stop.

  There was something to be said for that.

  At some point, she was conscious that the SUV had slowed down, and that they were on a smaller, winding road, climbing higher. And higher. She felt her ears pop. The light was nearly gone. Evening gloom shadowed the mountains. Clouds hung heavy in the sky.

  Zade slowed to a stop and killed the engine. Silence settled in.

  She focused her eyes. They were in a car shelter attached to a cabin on a mountainside, surrounded by towering trees that were barely visible.

  Zade sat staring at her. “We’re here. Let’s go in.” It wasn’t a question, but his voice still sounded uncertain.

  “It would be a long, cold, dark walk back down that mountain,” she said.

  “I’m not holding you captive,” he said wearily. “I just want to keep you safe. I would never do anything to hurt you. Please come inside.”

  “Okay.”

  When she got out, the air outside the car was cold, sweet, and fresh. She breathed it in hungrily as she stretched her legs. It seemed to clear her head.

  The cabin was small but comfortable. One big room with dark, heavy log beams and wood paneling. A niche in the back held a bed with what was probably a bathroom opening off to the side of it. A kitchen on the other end. A couch and some chairs were grouped around a glass fronted wood stove.

  “I’ll get a fire going,” Zade said. “Then we can eat something.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said.

  He looked her over briefly. “Yes, you are.”

  “You’re doing it again, right?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Doing what?”

  “Using your … whatever it is you have. Looking at me and telling me how I feel. I’m not okay with that. Back the fuck off.”

  He looked hunted. “Uh … that’s just my ASP. Short for augmented sensory processing. It helps me to—”

  “I don’t care what it is or what you do with it. Just don’t use it on me.” Her voice shook with vehemence. “It’s creepy. How I feel inside my own body is my own goddamn private business.”

  “Got it,” he said. “Won’t happen again. I’ll just go heat some food anyway. For myself. Sit down. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Simone wandered around the room instead, staring out the windows. There was little to see, with night coming on. Zade clattered around in the kitchen and then came to crouch down in front of the stove, poking a long lighter into the dry kindling stacked inside.

  He clicked the lighter. A small fire whooshed to life and crackled as he added split wood, piece by piece, his dark eyes reflecting the flames.

  Simone drifted closer to it in spite of herself, shivering. “Nice place,” she said. “I assume you own it.”

  “I do.”

  “Any other homes besides this one and the warehouse place?”

  “A few, yes.”

  “Huh. Must be profitable being a fugitive ex-supersoldier.”

  He shrugged. “We do what we can.”

  He put a few slightly larger pieces of wood onto the fire and shut the glass doors. Then he headed back to the kitchen, rummaging through the freezer.

  He held up some plastic microwavable containers. “Lasagna or chicken enchilada bake?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Both it is.” He stuck four of them into a microwave. Hit some buttons.

  He came back to the stove and gave the fire a poke. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “No alcohol for me, thank you. Things are weird enough as it is.”

  “Okay. So, ah … where are you, with that stuff I told you?” He was careful not to look at her as he asked the question. “Are you ready to talk about it now? Or should I just shut up again?”

  She stared down into the flames, her arms wrapped tightly across her chest.

  “We can talk, I guess,” she said.

  Zade let out a slow sigh. “Good,” he murmured.

  “But assuming that I was going to entertain your insane world view for even one second, there are too many things about this that just don’t make sense.”

  “Tell me what they are,” he said. “Maybe I can help you.”

  “Right,” she said. “Like you’ve helped me so far.”

  “Yes.” His voice had a harder note. “I have. You’re safe here, Simone. I didn’t let your stepdad’s thug throw you into their getaway van. If I had, you’d be in a windowless box right now, fucked up to your ears on their evil junk. And that’s where you’d stay. Until they incinerated you.”

  She shook her head, holding up her hand. “I just don’t understand,” she said. “It doesn’t make sense. I never bothered anyone, except for ordering that genetic test. All I did was work, night and day. For years. Isn’t that what they wanted?”

  “Ultimately, no. Things changed when you started bucking the compulsion programming. You refused direct orders. They can’t allow that. You’re potentially very powerful and they need to feel like they’re in control of you.”

  “So, if what you say is true … then I’ll feel this pain and noise forever?”

  “Not necessarily,” Zade said. “It’s been over thirteen years for me and by now it’s just a zap, now and then. Some wicked fucking headaches, but I survive and I’m doing fine.” He gazed at her intently. “You know I’m telling the truth.”

  It wasn’t a question. She
couldn’t deny his words, but even silent acknowledgment made her feel like another pillar had been knocked out from under the foundation of her world. More crumbling dust, more rubble. It never stopped.

  Simone sat down heavily on the couch. “I don’t want to believe you,” she whispered. “God. That fucking noise. Driving me nuts.”

  “I’m sorry about that. But look on the bright side. You don’t have Frey-Moller.”

  She let out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, which means my mother didn’t have it either. And I was raised by a man who let them kill her and cover it up.”

  “That worthless piece of shit did not raise you.” Zade’s voice was hard. “You raised yourself.”

  She waved that away. “Whatever. Maybe I won’t die in screaming agony from Frey-Moller, but this feeling still sucks, and it’s gotten worse ever since I broke up with Jordan.”

  “Worth it,” he said. “It was the right thing to do. No matter what price they made you pay. That guy’s a self-satisfied prick.”

  “Wait,” she said slowly. “You mean … you know Jordan?”

  “Not personally,” Zade said. “I’ve surveilled him along with all the other Mayburg types. Jordan and his dad are with Obsidian. And so is Rand.”

  Chapter 19

  Obsidian. God, she hated that word. Just hearing him say it triggered an urge to smack his face. Hard.

  She couldn’t deny anything he said. She heard the ring of truth in it. She’d felt the plastic cuffs biting into her wrists, felt Kruger rubbing his crotch against her bound hands. Heard what Rand had said into his phone while refusing to look at her.

  Get one of the reinforced holding cells ready.

  No, none of this was a surprise. Just another goddamn wrecking ball.

  “If what you say is true … ” She stopped, biting her lip.

  “It’s true, and you know it. Make the adjustment. Get it over with.”

  She shrugged angrily. “Then I’ve never consciously decided anything, ever. In my whole adult life.”

  Zade considered that, his face unreadable. “Maybe not,” he said finally. “But who gives a shit? We all gotta start somewhere. Anyway, Jordan Holt is modified. He knows about it, though. Always did. He’s proud of his mods. Feels like he’s the chosen one. Big dickwad.”

  “He was so puzzled when I broke it off,” Simone said. “He said something so weird. That I was acting outside my parameters. I remember thinking, what a crazy thing to say to your fiancée after she finds you with your pants around your ankles.”

  “They probably conditioned you to want him,” Zade said. “And when you rejected him, it triggered your symptoms. But you kept pushing back. Because you’re a bad-ass.”

  “Don’t try to soothe me,” she muttered. “I don’t feel like being managed.”

  “Lighten up. Us modifieds have to take our credit wherever the fuck we can.”

  She just sat there for a while with her eyes shut, trying to make some room inside her mind for this new info. Then another disquieting thought occurred to her.

  “Are there more people like you out there?” she asked.

  “Yeah. A whole group of us. We all escaped together from that research facility that I told you about.”

  “You’re lucky to have them,” she said. “I never had a group. I don’t remember a single thing about any of it. Apart from the dreams, I mean.”

  “You’re in a different category of modifieds,” Zade said. “They didn’t fuck with you as much as they did with us.”

  She gazed at him thoughtfully. “Is that a fact? And you can tell this just by looking at me?”

  “With ASP, I can make some educated guesses,” he replied. “You got a lighter dose of brain stim than we did. Probably one of the vanity programs.”

  She recoiled. “Vanity programs? What, like getting your lips plumped?”

  “Don’t take it personally,” he said. “But you didn’t get gene-vectored up for super strength or bone density. They never intended for you to be a foot soldier who had to crawl through radioactive waste. They just wanted to soup up your brain. Our mods were a whole different thing.”

  “Yeah? How so?”

  “Seven out of ten of us didn’t survive,” Zade said. “Vanity mods aren’t like that. They’re for people with money and big personality disorders who want an edge. Holt did it to his boy to groom him for leadership. And Rand is filthy rich now, all because of you. He’s nothing without you. A no-talent blowhard.”

  Simone pressed her hands to her head. “I can’t even think about Rand right now,” she said. “It makes the noise in my head worse.”

  “I know,” Zade said. “It sucks. After we escaped, we were all fucked up for a long time. Noah came up with some good mind tricks to ride it out. Like the talisman. That was his idea. I’ll teach them all to you. They really help.”

  “Noah?” She looked up, wide-eyed. “Wait a minute. You’re not talking about my ex, are you? Noah Gallagher?”

  He looked her straight in the eye. “That’s exactly who I’m talking about.”

  “Oh God,” she whispered. “You know him. So he’s—”

  “Modified. Yes. Hannah too. And Sisko. You met him at Angel Industries. Noah was the leader of our group. He kept us alive after we escaped.”

  She looked away. It was too much, all at once.

  Zade waited patiently for a while before he ventured to speak again.

  “I just couldn’t have any more big revelations, by the way,” he said. “Although it may not have been the best time to tell you that. Sorry.”

  She nodded, feeling numb. “I assume that Noah and I getting engaged was all about using me to infiltrate?” she asked, her voice colorless. “And when he got distracted by the belly dancer you decided to give me a whirl yourself?”

  “Fuck no! We didn’t know about the Obsidian connection—”

  “Stop saying that word!”

  “Sorry,” Zade said swiftly. “He didn’t know about that when he met you. He just admired your design work. And you. He thought you’d be an asset to his brand. You would have been. You’re gorgeous, brilliant. Classy.”

  “Don’t kiss my ass right now,” she warned. “It won’t end well.”

  “Okay, message received.”

  Simone closed her eyes. She had to accept this new version of reality in order to function. But right now it seemed like an impossible task.

  “It’s true that the whole thing started with me trying to use you,” he said. “But I knew right away I was in over my head.”

  She waved a weary hand at him. “Stop, Zade.”

  “No bullshit. I thought you’d be cold and calculating. But you weren’t. You’re red-hot, and you drive me fucking crazy. From the first time I saw you.”

  “You did seem way more enthusiastic about seducing me than Noah ever was,” she said sourly. “Not that it makes me feel any better.”

  “Forget him,” Zade said. “He never belonged in your life.”

  “It’s a fake life,” she said wistfully. “Nothing ever has belonged in it.”

  “The real one starts now,” Zade said. “And I want in.”

  “No.” She held up her hand before he could say more. “Don’t even start.”

  “Simone—”

  “Not a chance, Zade. Not after the things you said. The lies you told. Absolutely not.”

  He had the good sense to shut up at that point.

  Simone just studied the dancing flames for a while, trying to put it all together. But she couldn’t make sense of anything.

  “Okay,” she tried again after a while. “So maybe I am modified by, ah … Obsidian.” It took physical effort to force the hateful word out of her mouth. “Then what is it that you want from me? To hack into Batello? To get closer to Mayburg? You didn’t have to fuck me to do either. That went above and beyond.”

  The microwave beeped. Zade rose to his feet. “Hold that thought. Dinner.”

  She trailed him into the kitchen area, watching him
set the plates, forks, and plastic microwaveable pans on the table. “You’re dodging me.”

  “No, I’m just fucking ravenous.” He opened a couple of beers and set them on the table. “Sit down.”

  This was not a fight worthy of her extremely limited energy, so Simone sat down and served herself some cheesy baked enchiladas. After a cautious bite or two, she realized that the food was actually pretty good.

  They refueled in silence. She finished well before he did, and sipped her beer, amazed by how much he ate. Finally done, he opened his second beer.

  “Where were we?” he asked.

  “You were coming clean on why you seduced me,” she said.

  “Oh. That.” He took a long, fortifying pull. “It’s all about my brother Luke.”

  “And? The connection escapes me. Completely.”

  “Give me a chance. You remember when I told you about my brother, right? The one who—”

  “Yeah. You were captured together when you were kids,” she said. “I remember everything you told me. What about him?”

  He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Luke was working as a security contractor,” he began. “Protecting some retail tycoon. Guy turns up murdered. Shot by Luke’s gun. Eighty million in bearer bonds stolen and Luke was nowhere to be found. His prints were on the gun, so the cops blamed him. But my brother’s not a killer. Or a thief.” He left it at that for several seconds, his eyes faraway.

  Simone lifted her beer bottle and clinked it with his. “Finish your thought,” she said. “So Luke is innocent, and … ?”

  “Right. So we knew it wasn’t Luke, but we couldn’t catch a break. We found no leads until around the time you, uh, broke up with Noah.”

  “That’s a diplomatic way of describing what happened,” she murmured.

  Zade moved quickly on. “A lot of things happened real fast right about then. Like the thing with Caro Bishop.”

  “Right,” Simone said. “The belly dancer. Noah’s true love. I was there, remember? I witnessed the fateful moment that they met.”

  “Yeah, well. Anyway, she was being pursued by Mark Olund, another Midlander who went berserk. A total psycho. Turns out it was Mark who kidnapped Luke. But Mark didn’t know that Luke always videotaped meetings with new clients. Which meant that Luke videotaped his client’s murder and his own abduction. Caro was the one who found that video.”