Don't Look Now (20 page)

Seeing that he wasn’t going to budge, Diem stalked across the room to her laptop. “I think Jackson is in that class. Let me get his number off the student directory.”

Peter paced while he waited. Diem seemed to be moving in slow motion. He watched with mounting frustration as her fingers stumbled over keys, then hit backspace to correct the errors. After what seemed like forever, she looked up at him. “Got his cell here. He’s on the other side of campus, though, and probably asleep. You know, seeing how it’s the middle of the night and all.”

Peter was already dialing, praying that whoever Jackson was, he didn’t turn off his ringer when he went to bed.

A male voice answered on the second ring. To his enormous relief, music played in the background. “Jackson?”

“Yeah?” The kid’s voice was drawling, slow. Like he was stoned.

Peter gritted his teeth. It was probably too much to hope for a sober person to be up this late. “Hey, listen. I’m a friend of Amanda Berns, and I heard about what happened in study group tonight.”

“You’re a what?” Jackson interrupted.

Definitely stoned
, Peter thought with irritation. “Amanda Berns. They took her away in an ambulance?”

“Oh, yeah, man. That was wild. We thought she’d just, like, fainted, you know? But then she started twitching and everything, so—”

“Wait, what? She had a seizure?”

“Well, yeah, dude. And she didn’t wake up. So someone called an ambulance.”

Peter dropped heavily down on Diem’s bed, ignoring her yelped protest. “Which hospital did they take her to?”

“Um, yeah, they didn’t really say. Hell, I almost passed out too. But from boredom. Man, that class—”

“Can you try thinking a little harder?” Peter was holding the phone so tightly he half expected it to shatter in his grip.

“Sorry, man. Like I said—couple guys dressed in black, with, like, bags—”

“They didn’t have any badges on their sleeves?” Peter interrupted. His friend Cody had been a paramedic before he was killed; that was how he’d been paying for medical school. And his uniform had been navy blue, with round white sleeve patches that read
EMS/CITY OF BOSTON
.

“No, they were definitely black. Pretty rad, for ambulance guys, y’know? Both of them were totally yoked, too.”

Peter hung up, cutting him off.

“What?” Diem demanded, staring down at him with her huge brown eyes.

“Amanda had some sort of seizure. They took her to the hospital.”
Except they didn’t
, he added silently. Mason had seized the opportunity and whisked her away.

Diem laid a hand on his shoulder sympathetically and said, “Listen, Amanda will be fine. They’re probably just keeping her overnight for observation, right? We can find out where she is in the morning.”

“Yes,” Peter said, his resolve hardening. He didn’t feel tired anymore, or scared. He was just really, really pissed off. “I’m going to find her.”

“Well, all right,” Diem said, clearly taken aback by his tone. “When you find out where she is shoot me a text, okay? I’ll send flowers or something.”

“Sure,” Peter said. “Flowers.” He didn’t bother adding that wherever Amanda was, he knew for a fact FTD didn’t deliver there.

CHAPTER
SIXTEEN

A
manda opened her eyes. A bright light was positioned directly above, forcing her to wince against the glare. She tried to lift a hand to shield her vision, but discovered to her consternation that her arm wouldn’t move. She raised her head a few inches, trying to ignore the pounding in her temples. Her eyes widened. Her arms and legs were bound with restraining cuffs to the metal rails of a hospital bed.

Immediately, she flashed back on all the terrible things Peter had said about what happened to Noa. How she’d woken up on a table. How they’d performed some sort of operation that changed her; he’d never elaborated on that part, but she gathered from his discomfort that it had been serious and irrevocable.

And most of the other kids who ended up on these tables were never seen again. Unspeakable things were done to them. They were chopped up and stuffed into coolers. . . .

Amanda fought back a wave of panic. She closed her eyes again and focused on getting her breathing under control. Keeping them shut, she took a physical inventory.

Aside from her throbbing head, nothing really hurt. She had a vague memory of study group, and dots suddenly swimming across her vision. Concerned faces overhead . . . and then . . . an ambulance? There had been cold air, strangers in dark uniforms. And . . . Mason?

Her eyes jerked open at the memory and she lifted her head again. The bed was surrounded by a hospital curtain on metal rollers. Still, aside from the IV drip running down into her arm, there was no other equipment in the room. That was a good sign, right?

Amanda tucked her chin, trying to get a good look at the gown she was wearing. A thin blanket covered her to the waist. Above it the gown was white with tight navy pinstripes. It didn’t have any hospital information stamped on it, but maybe they didn’t do that anymore. She hadn’t spent much time in hospitals, so couldn’t say for certain. It was awfully quiet, though. And she couldn’t see any of those handheld devices that adjusted the bed or called a nurse. Not that she’d be able to use it anyway.

Amanda tugged desperately at the straps with both arms—nothing. She tried again with her feet, straining as hard as she could, but couldn’t even lift her legs an inch off the bed. Whoever had tied her down made sure she was completely immobilized.

Amanda felt panic encroaching again, spurred by her helplessness. She gritted her teeth and fought back against it. Maybe she wasn’t Noa, some streetwise teenager who could fight grown men. But she wasn’t a coward, either. And if they were watching, she didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of appearing terrified.

Unfortunately, she was incredibly thirsty. It felt like she’d swallowed a bucket of sand. They hadn’t killed her yet, so maybe they were planning on keeping her alive. For now, at least.

“Um, hello?” she called out tentatively. “I’m kind of thirsty.”

A moment passed, then shuffling footsteps approached. Dread rose up her throat, all her muscles clenching as she braced for whoever was about to appear.

The curtain separated with a whirring of metal beads. Amanda found herself staring at a kindly looking elderly woman whose hair was drawn back in a tight white bun. She was built like a fireplug, small and squat and crammed into pink scrubs patterned with dancing ducks. She beamed as if Amanda was the best thing she’d seen all day, then chirped, “Oh good, you’re up! And how are we feeling?”

We?
Amanda thought. “Um, okay, I guess. Except that I’m tied to a bed, and don’t know where I am.”

A shadow flickered across the nurse’s face, but her smile didn’t falter. “Of course, it must be very disorienting,” she said sympathetically. “It’s for your own safety, however.”

“My safety?” Amanda snorted. “Yeah, right.”

The nurse pursed her lips. “Well, let me get you some water. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared, leaving Amanda to stare after her retreating form. She twisted her head, trying to see through the small gap in the curtains, but everything outside was shadowed. The nurse trotted back in with a plastic cup that had a straw jutting out of it. “There we are. Let me help you.”

The nurse gently cradled the back of Amanda’s head as she tucked the straw into her mouth. Amanda considered refusing to drink, but her thirst was so overpowering she ended up greedily sucking on the straw. She drained the cup, and the nurse eased her head back onto the thin pillow. “There,” the nurse said, sounding pleased. “That must feel better, right?”

“Where am I?” Amanda asked.

“The doctor usually explains these things.” The nurse was running a hand over the cup, betraying some inner agitation. “I’m afraid I’m not supposed to say anything, dear.”

“So where is he?”

“Oh, he won’t be in for hours yet. It’s the middle of the night, you know.” The nurse blinked at her again, still smiling.

Amanda had never considered herself to be a violent person. But at that moment, more than anything she wanted to wrap her fingers around the nurse’s plump throat and squeeze until her watery blue eyes bugged out. “Where am I,” she repeated in a growl.

The nurse flinched noticeably. “I could get something to help you sleep, if you like.”

“If you don’t tell me where I am right now, I’ll start screaming,” Amanda said calmly. When the nurse didn’t react, Amanda opened her mouth wide. Hurriedly, the nurse raised a hand.

“Wait! All right, dear. I’ll tell you.” She stepped closer to the bed and lowered her voice. “But when the doctor comes through for rounds, please don’t mention it, okay? He has a very . . . specific way he likes to handle new patients.”

I’ll bet he does
, Amanda thought grimly, but she nodded her acquiescence.

“You’re in a PEMA ward, dear.”

“What?” Amanda cocked her head, trying to read the woman’s face to see if she was lying.

But her eyes were warm as ever as she repeated in a voice filled with empathy, “A PEMA ward, Amanda. I’m afraid that you’re really quite ill.”

Noa picked moodily at the plate in front of her. She wasn’t hungry. Last night she’d had one of her gorging sessions, which meant she wouldn’t be able to eat again for a few days. During dinner, she hadn’t been up for her usual charade of consumption. She was pretty sure the other kids suspected she had an eating disorder anyway, so why bother faking it?

It had been a long, relatively uneventful day. She’d spent some time in the makeshift “infirmary” that Monica maintained in the main house. The converted guest bedroom was better equipped than most hospital rooms. The girl they’d found in Arizona still hadn’t regained consciousness, and Noa could tell by the worry lines creasing Monica’s forehead that she might never wake up again. She had the same incision as Noa, and her blood work had tested positive for PEMA. The machines monitoring her stats showed a slow degradation of her condition. It wasn’t the first time they’d encountered this. They’d rescued other kids during raids who’d suffered too long at the hands of the Project Persephone bastards. Many had deliberately been infected with PEMA, then subjected to the same operation Noa had undergone.

They’d buried far too many kids here, in a small plot of land overlooking the sea at the edge of the Forsythes’ property. And she could tell by Monica’s silence that soon enough they’d be digging a fresh grave for this girl, probably without ever learning her name.

The thought depressed the hell out of her. Sometimes Noa felt like Sisyphus, just rolling that damn stone uphill, only to have it come tumbling back down. Over the past four months, they’d managed to save a few dozen kids. And only about half of those had survived. Were they really accomplishing anything?

Noa pushed away her barely touched plate of lasagna. She was alone in the kitchen, at the massive oak table where they ate most of their meals. The rest of the kids had already decamped to the living room, an enormous space with cathedral ceilings, lots of comfy sofas and chairs, and a roaring fire, welcome tonight since the fog had rolled in. She could hear them teasing one another as they played a board game. It was funny—once they got here most of the kids seemed to magically turn into regular teenagers.

All except her. Somewhere out there, the Project Persephone people were looking for her. And Noa was equally certain that at some point, they’d catch her.

She heard Taylor laugh sharply. Noa scowled. She’d been surreptitiously watching the girl all day, but hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. If anything, Taylor seemed to have made a point of hanging out in plain view, with Matt by her side like a small sullen shadow. They’d helped Monica in the garden, Taylor brightly asking about the different kinds of plants, oohing and aahing over how self-sustaining the farm was. She’d helped cook dinner, then volunteered to clean up afterward. Monica seemed to have taken a real shine to her, which bothered Noa more than she cared to admit.

Zeke had been avoiding her all day, too. Along with Remo, Janiqua, and Teo, he’d been helping Roy rebuild the barn. They’d only shown up for meals, tired and dirty. After the last plate was cleared, he’d headed to his room, barely grunting good night. Noa had seen Roy and Monica exchange a meaningful look, and her face had flushed.

Maybe Zeke was right. Taylor was the first kid who not only didn’t seem awed by her, she wasn’t impressed at all. And Noa had to admit that bothered her. Much as it made her uncomfortable, she’d gotten used to the other kids treating her like she was some sort of superhero. Perhaps because of that, she was perceiving a danger in Taylor that didn’t really exist.

And the fact that Zeke found her attractive didn’t help, either.

Irritated, she got up and cleared her plate from the table, rinsing it and stacking it in the dishwasher. She should go for a walk again, try to clear her mind.

Noa was about to leave the kitchen when Roy came in. At the look of concern on his face, her heart sank. Had they lost the girl already?

“Evening, Noa,” he said, pulling out one of the kitchen chairs and dropping heavily into it. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Noa said. “Just needed a minute alone.”

Roy nodded, but she could tell he was preoccupied. Running a hand over his face, he said, “There’s something we should talk about.”

“Okay,” she said uncertainly. Whatever it was sounded serious, judging by his grave tone.

“Let’s go for a walk.”

“Sure,” she said, although now that he suggested it, she was loath to leave the cozy confines of the house.

Still, Noa followed him out the back door. The solar lights hardly penetrated the gloom tonight. It was an unusual fog, thick and low to the ground. She could barely see ten feet in any direction, and was struck by the strange sensation of walking into a dream. Noa tried to shake off her dread, fighting to keep her voice steady as she asked, “So what is it?”

Roy avoided her eyes as he said, “We got your new test results back.”

“Yeah?” It had become a matter of routine every time she came here; the first day back, Monica always drew a few vials of blood.

Roy walked on, headed toward the cliff top. Noa followed, her heart in her throat. “I’m not exactly sure how to tell you this,” he finally said. “But we both thought you should know.”

“Know what?”

“Your cells. They’re changing.”

“Changing how?”

“That’s the thing. We’re not exactly sure.” Roy stopped and turned to face her. For the first time since they’d left the house, he looked her in the eye. “I know I already asked last night, but has anything changed lately? Are you feeling any different?”

Noa tried to suppress a rush of fear. Her heart was pounding insistently, and she could have sworn that the extra thymus pumped in time with it. She ran through the past few weeks in her mind. Had anything changed? She couldn’t say for certain. “Not really. I mean, I’ve been more tired, but we didn’t really get much sleep out there.”

He nodded as if that’s what he’d expected. “It could be nothing, it’s just . . . unusual.”

“Unusual?” Noa said, a quaver in her voice. “But I’m not sick, am I?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

His look of concern belied his words, though. Roy was an expert on microbiology, and he clearly thought that something was very wrong. “When you say they’re changing, I mean . . . what exactly are they doing?”

“They’re dividing at an abnormally high rate,” Roy said. “Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but now they’re breaking down, too. And we haven’t seen that before.”

Noa didn’t know much about biology; she’d only made it through a few months before she bailed out of school entirely. Times like this, she wished she’d paid more attention. “So am I dying?”

A long pause before Roy said, “Honestly? We just don’t know. We’d like to run some more tests tomorrow. It might be nothing,” he hurriedly added, seeing her reaction. “But just to be on the safe side, we’d like to have as much information as possible.”

“Of course,” Noa said faintly. She suddenly felt dizzy; was that because her own cells were betraying her? “Information.”

Roy laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Easy, Noa. If we’re lucky, it’ll turn out to be nothing.”

Noa tried to muster a smile and failed. If she’d learned anything over the course of her life, it was that luck was usually against her. “Sure.”

“Let’s get back inside,” he said, dropping his hand. “It’s nearly time for bed.”

Noa followed him in silence. She’d slept heavily the night before, clocking almost thirteen hours. Which meant she’d probably barely sleep for a few days. Usually she was grateful for that; it gave her extra hours to plan the next raid. Tonight, it would only provide time to dwell on this conversation.

“Try not to worry, Noa,” Roy said as they approached the house. He was struggling to sound comforting, but she could hear the strain in his voice.

Noa was about to respond when she realized that he’d gone stock-still. “What is it?” she asked.

Roy was frowning. “I thought I saw—”

His words were cut off as something flared a hundred years away from them, casting the trees in silhouette. It took Noa a second to realize that a burst of flame had suddenly exploded from the house.